Hostages-- part Two

Author: Badgergater

Part Two of two

(see part one for all disclaimers)

/----------\/----------\/----------\/----------\

With my prisoner out cold for the moment, I had to move quickly. Digging through my vest pockets, I found the first aid kit, laying out disinfectant and a field dressing. I’m no doctor, but I’ve spent enough time in the field to know that normally you don’t ever remove a knife or an arrow from a wound. You leave it for the professionals, because pulling it out can cause more damage than leaving it in. But, this time, I knew I was one hell of a long way from any sort of medical help, and no way to get there but walk. And walking was making that knife move, chewing up more tissue with every step, which was defeating the purpose of leaving it in place.

So quit stalling, Jack, and do it, I told myself.

Steeling my nerve, I reached down and gripped the knife, took a deep breath, and yanked it out. It pulled out of my leg with an ugly sucking sound, followed by a gush of blood. I groaned, rolling on the ground in pain, my hands reflexively gripping my thigh as if I could hold in the pain. "Shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," I chanted as blood welled, turning my sand colored trousers a dark rusty brown. "Focus, Jack, focus," I ordered myself as I daubed disinfectant onto the wound and tied the bandage around my thigh.

For a moment then, I fell back to lie on the sand, eyes closed, teeth clenched, ordering the pain to back off, taking control. I didn't have time for this, not if I didn't want more pain, worse pain, the kind of unending pain that would happen to me if the Iraqis got me back. Visions swirled through my head, boots, fists, clubs, chains, oh shit...

I don't know if I really passed out or not, I don't know how much time passed if any when I came back to myself. The bandage tied around my thigh was blood soaked, and more blood had trailed down my arm from the slice there. I found another bandage, applied antiseptic to the cut, and awkwardly, using teeth and one hand, managed to bandage my forearm.

Done, I looked around to see that my captive was coming around, making feeble little movements, eyelids fluttering.

I considered slitting his throat and just leaving him there, but I might need him. With the gun back in my possession, and the knife, too, even injured, I could control him. For a soldier, he didn't seem very well trained.

Finally, forcing myself to my feet, I got up and took a tentative limping step. Okay, I could walk, not fast, not comfortably, but I could move. Going over toward my hostage, I kicked his foot. "Get up."

He was moaning, his jaw already starting to color with bruises.

"Get up, buddy," I added a few choice words I'd learned over the past couple of months.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open, and he stared up at me.

"Get up. Let's go." We had to move, and keep moving before they found me, took me back, tried to take me back because I wasn't going back, not alive, not if there was anything I could do to prevent it. "Move!"

Still groggy, he managed to get to his knees, and then wobbled to his feet.

"Head hurt?" I asked smugly.

"Ummm," he was working his jaw side to side.

Maybe a sore jaw would keep him from talking so damn much, I thought hopefully.

I motioned Spyboy forward and we began walking again, still following the river.

We were moving a lot slower. He was still stumbling and me, I was just limping along. I tried to drink as much water as I could, knowing it was important to keep hydrated with the blood I'd lost. Despite the bandages, the wound seemed to be seeping blood slowly but steadily. It would probably stop if I did, but I couldn't afford to stop, not now, not when I knew we should be getting close to the front lines.

/----------\

~Teal'c~

We moved as swiftly as we could, following the tracks of O'Neill and Jackson.

"How are we doing, Teal'c?" Major Ferretti asked me as we took a rest break.

"I believe that we are getting closer, Major Ferretti," I informed him.

Later that afternoon, we found fresh signs.

I stopped, staring at the ground, observing the scuffmarks and a dark stain in the sand.

"Teal'c?" Major Carter had stepped up to stand beside me. She was looking around in concern, recognizing what I'd found.

"I believe there was a fight here..."

"Daniel and the Colonel?" she asked, her expression indicating both hope and worry.

"Yes. There are signs of a struggle, and one man has been wounded," I pointed at the bloodstain. "It is not a minor wound."

"Can you tell which one?"

I stepped carefully around the tracks, circling the area to find where the men had walked onward. "Here, this is O'Neill’s bootprint, larger than Daniel Jackson’s. O’Neill is not walking evenly, his tracks have changed," I told the others.

"Then they’ll have slowed down and we should be able to make up even more ground," Ferretti noted grimly. "Let's go."

/----------\

~Daniel Jackson~

Hot. Thirsty. Hungry.

I was just thankful that my jaw wasn't broken. Or that my larynx wasn't crushed, in which case I would be dead.

Remind me *never* to get Jack O'Neill mad at me again.

I just wish I could figure out how to get through to him.

Even his own wound hadn't slowed him down much, even though I could his see every step was painful. As he walked, the blood was still leaking through the bandage on his thigh, slowly darkening his pant leg.

Finally, too tired to go on, I stumbled to my knees and stayed there.

"Get up!" he ordered harshly.

"No." I can be as stubborn as Jack.

"Get up!!" he demanded, shoving my shoulder hard.

I slid down into the sand, exhausted.

"I need to rest."

"No, we need to keep moving." I could see that he was weaving on his feet.

"Jack..."

"Damn it, don’t call me that!"

"Okay, Captain, your leg is bleeding..."

"I know. *You* stabbed me," he snarled.

"Yes, I did. In self defense. You were trying to kill me..."

"If I was *trying* to kill you, *Daniel,* you'd be dead."

"Right, okay, so you were just trying to almost kill me. The point is, your wound is still bleeding. You need to rest even more than I do."

Jack’s eyes were odd, too bright, too busy, darting here and there, mostly behind us. "You just want to hold me up long enough for your friends to rescue you."

"No, I'm just trying to keep you from bleeding to death." I answered, as reasonably as I could, keeping my voice even and calm.

"Oh, right, sorry, I forgot," his tone was snarl as much as sarcasm. "You care because you're my teammate and you and me and those folks back there, we all go traveling in big fancy spaceships across the stars..."

"Not spaceships. Well, okay, usually not spaceships. I mean, only once in a while we use spaceships, we don’t have any of our own, we have to borrow them. Normally we use the Stargate..."

Jack glared at me with undisguised fury.

It was a terrifying look.

I shut up.

After a moment, he sank wearily to the sand, running a hand through his sweat darkened hair.

"I could fix that bandage for you," I offered very softly.

"Just shut up." He pulled another bandage from his vest pocket, wrapping it around the one already in place. Taking a long drink from the canteen, he tossed it at me and pointed over to the river. "Fill it. I'll be watching," he hefted his gun, pointing it at me.

I took the empty water container and headed over to the water, drinking my fill and refilling the canteen, returning it to him.

I studied Jack as I walked toward him. Frankly, he didn't look good. He looked sick, sicker than the blood loss or any infection should have made him so quickly. Maybe it was the drug he'd been given. But why had he reacted so differently from the rest of us? I remembered being excited over the tapestries and murals in the great hall at Quantoon, so much so that it suddenly struck me as odd. Had the drug exaggerated my excitement at what I'd found, just like Sam had seemed overly enthused, too? And Jack, well, Jack had been unhappy from the moment we'd set foot on this planet. So had the drug exaggerated one’s emotions? That made sense. One way to smoke out a Goa’uld was to make him angry. I’ve never seen one yet whose eyes didn’t flash when he or she was truly angry. So, a simple chemical hyper-emotional stimulator could make a Goa’uld reveal itself. But how did that drive the snake out of the host? And how had that led to Jack thinking he was in Iraq and that I was an Iraqi? Obviously, he was reliving something that had happened to him during the Gulf War, maybe related to the tiny bits and pieces he’d once revealed about being a prisoner?

I sank back down on the sand, savoring the chance to rest. "Why do you hate the Iraqis?"

He snorted. "Oh for crying out loud, what kind of stupid question is that? You're the freakin' enemy, that's why. I don't need a reason."

"I'm not your enemy."

"Riiiight. You're good old Danny Jackson from Chicago..."

"I'm not from Chicago. I just went to school in Chicago."

"Then where are you from, huh?"

"I was born in..." oops, wrong answer. Telling him I was born in Egypt wasn't going to help. Change the subject, Daniel, quick. "...in a place that's not important. What *is* important is that I'm your teammate and your friend..."

"Shut the hell up, would you? I'm not buying *that* story, so can it." He climbed carefully to his feet. "Now if you've got that much energy to talk, you should have enough energy to walk. Go."

I went.

/----------\

Eventually, the terrain began to change as we left behind the dunes and moved into an area of more rolling hills. We still hadn't seen a sign of a road or a town, no sign of human habitation at all, but the ground had become less sandy and more rocky. It was still arid but with more plant life, odd looking grayish-green bushes poking out from among the rocks.

We climbed a long rocky slope that eventually topped out onto a small plateau that stood several hundred feet above the river.

Once at the top, both of us winded, Jack pushed me to the ground and took out his monocular. For several long silent moments he studied our backtrail.

"Shit!" he swore.

I turned to look where he was looking. Was that a moving figure, or group of figures? Teal'c and Sam, maybe even some of the locals coming after us.

Jack roughly grabbed my shoulder, jerking me to my feet, pushing me ahead of him, forcing me forward at a quick pace I could hardly maintain. I honestly don't know how he did it.

/----------\

~Jack O'Neill~

They were on my trail. A couple of hours behind us, maybe less with the way I was feeling sorrier by the minute.

Damn.

Double damn.

My headache was spiking again, making it hard to think. The blazing hot sun seemed to be sucking the moisture, and the energy, out of me. Of course, the blood loss from my leg where Spyboy had stabbed me might have just a little something to do with the way I was feeling.

I pushed my prisoner forward, desperately searching as we traveled.

And then I found the spot I was looking for. The faint game trail we were following wound it's way down off the plateau, past a series of big boulders, opening onto a level spot back along the river. It would work.

Once we'd descended down off the plateau, I shoved my hostage to the ground, fastening my belt around his ankles to be sure he stayed put. Moving quickly, I worked my way back up the trail toward the large boulders. Searching through my vest, I found the prize, a small brick of C-4, just enough to make one mighty big explosion. If I timed it right, I could take out my pursuers with one blast.

Forming the material into a lump hidden among the rocks, I inserted the detonator, brushing out my tracks. Satisfied that it was well-hidden, I limped back down the trail to retrieve my prisoner as I untied his ankles.

"What did you do?" he asked suspiciously.

I grinned.

He looked worried. "What did you do? Jack? Tell me!"

I looked over at him. "I left your friends a little surprise."

"A surprise?" His eyes were suddenly frantic. "Jack, you can't. Those are *your* teammates and your friends, you can't..."

"Stop your damn useless yapping!" I hissed at him. "I'm not buying your story, so you can just quit with the buddy routine."

"Jack, I’m telling you the truth. That's Sam and Teal'c and probably an SGC team coming after us. We're not Iraqis, we're your friends and we're here to help you."

How stupid did he think I was?

"Get going."

"You can't do this. Please listen to me. You’re sick, you’re not yourself. I don’t know what the problem is, but we’ll figure it out. Those people following us are your friends. You can't hurt them..."

I grabbed his collar, hauling him to his feet. "*You* listen, Mr. Whoever-the-hell-you-are. You can shut up and come with me. Or I can leave you here for the buzzards. I'm running out of patience with your mouth."

"Jack, please. Think. Think. The Quantoon gave us a drug to check for Goa'ulds..."

"Goulds? Who the hell are they? Some Iraqi cult? Saddam's bodyguards?"

"Quantoon was the town where we visited and you were drugged."

"Shut up!"

"No, I'm not going to..."

I couldn't stand it anymore. There was a bandana wrapped around his neck. I pulled it off and gagged him with it.

That got me some peace and quiet at last.

/----------\

~Daniel Jackson~

I couldn't get anything but mumbles past the gag.

I had to stop him, had to keep him from detonating that C-4, prevent him from killing Teal'c and Sam and whoever was with them.

I stalled, walking slower, stumbling along, frantically trying to think of something to stop him, and coming up with nothing but a last desperate and most likely futile attempt to overpower him. I watched him from the corner of my eye, waiting for an opening, any opportunity.

I couldn't let him kill them.

Jack stopped, pushing me down while he checked on the people following us. He knelt on the hard ground, using one hand to shade his eyes as he looked back. The expression on his face, God, it was terrifying, cold and calculating. This was the Jack O’Neill of Special Operations, a man who’d done things I didn’t want to know about.

Despite the heat, I felt a chill ripple down my spine.

And then, as I watched, something happened to him.

Jack blinked, his face going even paler under the sunburned, dirty skin, his eyes tightening, his fingers curling into fists, his shoulders going tense and rigid, his eyes suddenly distant. Blinking rapidly, a snarl warped his lips into a grimace, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

He shook his head, closing his eyes, mumbling what sounded like, "leave me alone you bastards" in a voice that was half defiance, half plea for mercy, half wail of despair. His hands flew to his temples and he rocked forward, elbows on the ground, sweat running down his face.

Was he having some sort of seizure? About to pass out? Experiencing a flashback?

"Mwwmwmwmm," I desperately tried to say something intelligible. "Mwhwmw…"

Though nothing came out but wordless mumbles, it worked.

Jack’s eyes jerked open, and he stared at me, confused and desperate, and then the angry mask was quickly back in place. "Shut the hell up!" he demanded.

I shook my head no, the only communication I could make.

Stumbling to his feet, he flew at me, rage in his face. I kicked out at him, hitting his wounded leg and he fell, landing hard, scrambling back to hands and knees. Reaching out, he grabbed my foot, dragging me toward him. "You stupid…" he hissed.

And then he stopped, staring at me for a moment before spinning to look at the trail behind us.

The people who were trailing us had reached the spot where he’d set the ambush.

Like it was happening in slow motion, I saw him reach for the detonator.

"NNnnnnn," was all I could scream past the gag as I lunged at him.

I barreled into him, hard, my momentum knocking him flat. His face screwed up with pain as he landed on his injured leg. Jack rolled, trying to get out from underneath me, but desperate, I stayed with him, burying my head into his stomach, tangling my legs with his.

He swung a fist at me, the blow glancing off my skull, and I head butted him, hard, in the stomach. I heard him gasp for air, and retch, but he didn’t quit, he rolled, pinning me underneath him, reaching out now for the detonator.

I couldn’t stop him.

Mesmerized, I watched his finger push the button, and in despair, I closed my eyes as the explosion echoed across the barren landscape.

/----------\

"Teal’c…" We had paused while the Jaffa knelt to study the footprints in the trail. I was sipping from my canteen in the heat of the blazing sun.

"We are not far behind them now, MajorCarter. They are traveling quite slowly."

"Good. We need to get to them, before the Colonel…" I stopped, shaking my head. "If he hurts Daniel, he’ll never forgive himself."

"Indeed, he will not. O’Neill takes his actions most seriously," Teal’c agreed as with his usual cat-like grace he got to his feet. "We should continue…"

I nodded, wiping the sweat from my face. "When we catch up with them…"

"We will make O’Neill understand."

I smiled, wordlessly thanking him for his never failing optimism. I needed that, needed to hear some encouraging words. Maybe it was my exhaustion, the heat, the aftereffects of the drug in the Quantoon’s GodWine, but I felt drained, weary, and worried.

By the time I got to my feet, Teal’c had already started walking.

One moment, we were marching forward, making our way up the trail. The next, something unseen knocked me flat in the same instant I saw Teal’c stagger and drop to the ground. All around us, dirt filled the air, blinding me, rocks peppering my back even as the ground beneath me fell away and I heard the explosion rip through the air.

Long seconds passed while I slid, then stopped. Coughing, choking on the thick air, eyes closed against the flying grit, I heard shouts, then someone touched me.

"Major Carter?" Ferretti’s dust covered face appeared above me.

I could barely make out his words over the ringing in my ears. "I’m okay." I pushed myself up off the ground and saw Teal’c, lying a few feet away. "Teal’c?"

He was stirring slowly, shaking himself.

I tried to get up, groaning as the world spun dizzily. I put my hand up into my hair, feeling something wet and sticky.

Teal’c was staring at me. "MajorCarter?"

"I’m fine," I insisted, trying once more to get up, making it to my knees and failing to make it any further. Only Ferretti’s quick move to grasp my arm saved me from falling.

Lou steered me over to sit on a rock, waving a hand at one of his team. "We need some medical assistance over here," he shouted as he pulled a dressing out of his vest, handing it to me.

I took it, holding it carefully against my head where I could feel the blood flowing.

Ferretti’s team was there, around me, and Teal’c, who was on his feet now, holding his arm.

"It is nothing, Major," he said, seeing my look. "My arm is damaged, but my symbiote will heal it quickly, more quickly than you will recover."

"I’ll be okay in a minute…" I swallowed down the rising bile, demanding my body obey, trying not to flinch while Sergeant Alfonso wrapped a bandage around my blood caked head.

"You should stay still, ma’am, you could have a concussion," Alfonso suggested.

"I’ll be ready…"

"Sorry, Major, you better stay here. The Colonel’s little trap did more than damage a few of us. We need to find a way around this…" Ferretti waved his hand, and for the first time, I looked ahead.

The trail we had been following, the trail where the Colonel had taken Daniel, was gone, disappeared under a rockslide that had pulled down the whole hillside.

We would have to find an alternative way around, and then find their trail again. It could take hours. In the meantime, the Colonel and Daniel could disappear into the trackless desert.

Forever.

I looked over at Teal’c, and knew the delay could be deadly for one or both of them.

/----------\

~Jack O’Neill~

My trap worked, and it didn’t.

I saw the dust cloud long before I heard the echoing boom of the explosion. Pulling out the monocular, I studied the area as the dust settled, and saw them all get to their feet. Damn. They’d escaped.

But the trail they’d been following was gone.

I hadn’t stopped them, but I’d sure slowed them down.

Bought myself some time.

Enough time, maybe, to escape, to find my way to my own lines.

If I had a clue where they were.

If I had a clue where I was.

That was the thing. Scary, sort of, if I let myself think of it, because nothing looked right or familiar… the river, the landscape, the lack of people. There should be people here, along the waterway, I knew that. I’d studied the country.

Of course, where I was within the borders of that godforsaken hellhole called Iraq I didn’t have a clue, since my captors had transported me, blindfolded, inside a truck.

The city I’d escaped from could be anywhere in the country.

Or then again, maybe not even in the country.

I could be in Iran or Syria or Lebanon, or any other nameless, though equally hostile, place.

Most of the places in this godforsaken part of the world looked pretty much the same… sand, sand dunes, rocks, sand, dry brush, sand, the occasional palm tree for decor, sand, rocks, sand... see the pattern?

But even if I was in Iran or Afghanistan or some nameless Russian republic, there still should be people. Deserts were empty, sure, but rivers, waterways, that’s where the people congregated.

It was eerie.

Weird.

I closed my eyes, wishing the throbbing headache would go away so I could think.

Wishing the dreams or flashbacks or whatever the hell they were would stop, too, because they weren’t helping me any, either.

Maybe what I’d been through in the past few months, the beatings and the lack of food, had somehow scrambled my brains, not that they’d ever been much to brag about anyway.

I rubbed a hand across my face, wiping the sweat away.

A too-bright, technicolor strobelight image flashed through my head: hands, fists, flying at me, too many too block, no way to evade. Surreal I knew, yet, instinctively, I ducked, hunching my shoulders, folding up, drawing my knees up to protect my vulnerable midsection.

The blows never landed.

They weren’t real.

I knew they weren’t.

But they’d seemed so real.

Was I losing my mind? Was all of this just playing out in my head? Was I so desperate to escape that I was imagining everything?

Delirious.

Too hot.

Too dry.

The river.

We needed to get down to the water, cross it.

Uncurling with a groan, I sat up, looking across at my hostage.

He sat there in the hot sand, staring at me with an unreadable look on his face, a look I could have sworn was part worry, part pity, part concern. See, that proved it, I had to be delirious.

He was the enemy.

Nothing more.

Forcing myself to my feet, ignoring the pain in my leg, I limped over to him. "Get up," I ordered. He staggered to his feet. "That way," I pointed down toward the water. He stood, looking at me, until finally I gave him a shove. "Go, or I’ll shoot you where you stand."

That got him moving at least.

I kept one hand on his shoulder as we moved, partly to be sure he didn’t try anything, partly to help prop myself up. I was feeling more weak and dizzy by the moment, the combination of heat, blood loss, weeks of near-starvation and dehydration combining with exhaustion taking its toll.

Never.

Some things were worse than death.

And that was one.

I’d rather die free.

/----------\

At the water’s edge, my hostage stopped. "Go," I ordered.

He turned back to me, trying to form words around the gag and failing, shaking his head negatively, over and over again.

I yanked the bandanna away from his mouth. "What?" I demanded.

He wrenched his jaw around in a circular motion, moving it as if it were stiff and sore.

I knew how he felt, actually, I’d been there all too recently.

But I had no time for pity now. "What?" I insisted.

"We shouldn’t go in there," he pointed with his bound hands.

"Riiiggghhht."

"There’s no way to know what might be in there."

"Like, what, *alien monsters* or something?" I sneered.

"Yes, anything. Crocodiles or quicksand or Goa'uld larva… there’s no way to know."

I snorted. "Oooh, I’m scared."

"You should be. We don’t know what’s in that water, Jack…."

I grabbed him by the collar, yanking him closer to me. "Don’t… call… me…. that…. you sonuvabitch…" I snarled. How many times had I told him that? Ol' Spyboy didn’t listen very well.

"Okay, okay, okay," he tried to placate me, putting on a rather impressive innocent act, one which I’d probably have appreciated more if I hadn’t been feeling quite so wretched. And so worried about our pursuers.

"Look, J…Captain, all I’m saying is, there’s no way to know if that water is safe."

"I’ll take my chances."

"We don’t know…"

God, the man liked to argue. "No, we don’t know what’s in that water, but what I *do* know is that back there, behind us, are *your* friends who want nothing more than to lock me up again."

"Yes, they’re my friends but they’re your friends, too," he answered with a sincere, almost pleading look.

Man, this guy could win an Academy Award. "Just get going and save your breath for walking."

He went, then, wading slowly into the water, feeling carefully for his footing. Within half a dozen steps, the water was nearly up to our waists. It wasn’t cool, but God, it felt good. I ducked my head under, letting the water sluice down my back, washing away some of the sand and grit.

My captive had stopped, turning back to watch me. He extended his hands. "You have to untie me, if you expect me to swim."

"Swim or drown, that’s up to you. But I’m not untying you." I gave him another shove.

He staggered, slipping, somehow regaining his footing, and moving carefully forwards.

I followed, taking a step, my foot sliding, and my weight came down hard on my left leg. I nearly fell as my leg buckled, pain enveloping me. Moaning, I gritted my teeth, standing on my good leg, waiting for the pain to ease. Finally, I took a tentative step, and my injured leg held me up.

With a sigh of relief, I forced myself onward.

As it turned out, we didn’t need to do any swimming. The river was wide, but not deep. A few more strides and the water level peaked about halfway up my chest. Walking with my arms held aloft to keep the gun dry, I stumbled forward into shallower water.

We were on the far bank now, but there was no time to rest. We had to get out of the open, into the shelter of the grove of trees I’d spotted, the only green, living things visible for miles around. Staggering with weariness, every step sending shooting pains up my leg, I forced myself forward, into the shade of the trees, sliding to the ground.

Exhausted.

Looking up, I wondered what kind of trees they were. Not what you’d expect in the desert, not any kind of palm I was familiar with, not pines or date or fig trees.

Actually, they looked like nothing you’d expect to see on Earth.

Not on Earth.

Fairy tales. Science Fiction. A bad movie plot. Impossible.

I shook my head. Damn, I was letting *Daniel’s* nonsensical stories get to me.

"We’ll rest here," I ordered, waving the gun at him until he got down on the ground. I took the cloth I’d used to gag him to blindfold him, then tied his bootlaces together.

An hour, I’d rest an hour, and then we’d move on.

/----------\

~Daniel Jackson~

I lay, exhausted, letting the soft sand cradle me.

I loved the desert, I’ve always felt at home there. It was, after all, my first home, the deserts of Egypt. But this isn’t home, isn’t Egypt, isn’t Earth.

And I’ve got to find a way to get Jack to believe that.

I’ve got to find a way to help him.

He’s looking worse and worse, pale, shaky, stumbling, his pant leg soaked with blood.

It’s good he’s resting, maybe the bleeding will stop.

Maybe he’ll pass out, and I’ll be able to get the drop on him. But when I look over at him, I see the determination, the sheer utter dogged will shining from the too-bright eyes, and I know for a certainty that he will die before he gives up or gives in.

/----------\

Blindfolded, I lay trussed up on the ground, the shade of the trees doing little to mitigate the heat. I could feel the beads of sweat sliding down my face, my fingers thick and swollen from the heat and from the tight binding around my wrists.

The blindfold prevented me from seeing Jack, but I could hear his harsh breathing, the painful rasp as he stifled a groan. The sound of his staggering footfalls seemed loud in the silence. I couldn’t tell what he was doing, only that he was moving away from me.

God, I hope this doesn’t mean that he’s going to leave me here, like this, helpless. And if he goes off alone, we might never find him, not in time to save his life, or his sanity.

I heard another sound, vaguely familiar, and then I recognized it as the metallic rasp of a zipper opening. Another sound, like running water and then a sharp, strong odor as he relieved himself, although where his body was getting the moisture from, in that heat, I didn’t know. I’d sweated out everything I’d had to drink, my bladder felt empty, like my shrunken stomach.

He must be hungry, too, on top of being in pain.

And scared.

Jack hides it well, he always does, never admits to it, but I know there are things that frighten him.

I know, right now, the thought of being locked up again terrifies him.

This must be what happened to him long ago, that vague reference he made once of being in prison.

He’d never mentioned it to me again, never offered details, even when I’d probed.

He’d resisted, in that stubborn, dogged way he has.

So I’d let it ride, figuring that if it was something he wanted to talk about, doubtful as it was, he would.

And if he didn’t want to talk, nothing I could do would make him.

Jack’s like that.

Emotion all wrapped up so neat, so deep inside that even he can pretend it doesn’t exist.

Though I know it does.

I heard the sound of the zipper closing, heard another staggering step and a curse that was hoarse with pain as the footsteps came closer. I could sense his presence, the heat rolling off his body as he bent over me, tugging at my boots.

"You can take the blindfold off now," he said quietly.

Moving carefully, I raised my hands and pulled the dirty rag away from my eyes. Jack was standing a few feet away, all his weight on his right leg, though he was trying not to let me see that. The gun was in his hand, pointed at me. His hand shook slightly, as if the small weapon was too heavy for him to hold.

"You don’t need to point that at me. It might go off you know."

"I know," he answered, wearily, waving the weapon at me anyway. "Get up. Let’s go."

"You don’t look in very good shape to be traveling."

He ignored the comment.

I climbed to my feet. "I won’t try to escape, you know."

"Riiight," he snorted in derision. "As if I’d take your word," he sneered.

"I swear, I won’t do anything to hurt you. I want to help."

Jack glared at me, squinting his eyes. "You just don’t ever quit running your mouth, do you?"

"No, I don’t, not when I’m trying to save a friend…"

"Save your breath, *Danny*," he spat out the name.

"Look, please, those people following us are my friends, but they’re your friends, too."

"Shut up," he snapped.

I could see the wet, dark stain of fresh, bright blood on his pant leg, soaking it from mid-thigh to below his knee. "You need help with that."

"And you’re going to help me?" he sneered, a disbelieving look on his face.

"Yes. I will. Please, let me…"

He lifted the gun "Walk, now, before I come to my senses and decide to shoot you to shut you up."

/----------\

We walked, for hours.

I don’t know how Jack did it, because the heat was stifling, sucking the air out of my lungs. My legs were leaden, my clothes sweat soaked, my head spinning from the heat.

I tried to glance back, to catch a glimpse of him as he staggered along behind me, face ashen despite the sun, looking like death warmed over.

"This is nuts," I kept talking, hoping to break through to him. "You can’t keep this up. You’ll kill both of us."

He didn’t answer. Looking back, I saw he had stopped, standing with legs braced, and then his injured leg just sort of buckled and he went down, all in a heap.

I spun to go back toward him, but his eyes snapped open and the gun was up and in my face, wavering, as he blinked the sweat from his eyes. "Come any closer and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes…"

And that’s when we heard it.

/----------\

~Teal’c~

We left the injured behind, MajorCarter and one of MajorFerretti’s team.

Time was of the essence if we were to rescue O’Neill and DanielJackson. The heat was building, and I feared for the lives of these fragile humans.

The landslide had considerably delayed our progress while we searched for another way, backtracking to find an alternate route. Once we had bypassed the damaged section of trail, we were unable to re-acquire the trail of O’Neill and DanielJackson.

Despite all my tracking skills, we made no progress.

Time passed quickly.

One of MajorFerretti’s men found the solution by accident. He had gone to the river’s edge to fill his canteen, when I heard him shout.

Running toward the water, I found him kneeling at the river’s edge.

"Here, Major," he pointed it out to Ferretti, a smudged footprint.

"They crossed the river?" Ferretti looked at me.

"It appears so, Major. We must follow them."

The water was more shallow than I anticipated, and we were able to cross quickly and without incident. On the far side, we scoured the riverbank until we found more footprints, leading away from the water and into a grove of trees.

There were many signs there, telling me much. "They paused here, to rest," I explained to the others. "They remained only a short time, and then they moved on." We were not so far behind them as I had feared, but other worries clouded my mind. O’Neill’s condition was obviously deteriorating, his footsteps staggering, as of a man no longer in complete control of his own actions, walking unsteadily and here and there, beside the boot marks, I found drops of rust red blood, soaked into the thirsty sand.

/----------\

We marched on through the heat until Ferretti called a halt. "We have to stop," he told me, looking at his exhausted, sweat-coated men. "My guys need a break."

"I shall go on then."

"Teal’c…"

"I am able to continue, despite the extreme conditions. I will track them, and you may follow at a faster pace once you have rested."

I could see that Major Ferretti did not like that suggestion, but he acquiesced. "Okay. But be careful. We know the Colonel’s, well, he’s…"

"I understand that O’Neill is not well. He is desperate to go home, and does not understand the current situation. I am well aware of the danger of challenging a warrior in such condition."

Ferretti nodded. "Be careful then."

"I shall." I know O’Neill well enough to know that I must never underestimate him.

Turning back to the faint trail in the sand, I began to trot after them.

I believed I could not be far behind, and would find them soon.

I was correct in the first assessment, but sadly wrong in the second.

/----------\

~Jack O’Neill~

I’ve spent enough time in the desert to know that sound, and fear it.

The wind was rising suddenly. It felt good on my skin for a moment, moving the stifling air, and then the implications of wind and sand combining hit me.

Sandstorm.

"Damn." I tore the sweat-caked bandana from my neck, tying it around the lower half of my face even as I looked behind us and saw the dark, roiling cloud advancing across the landscape.

Danny saw it, too, and knew it for what it was. He looked around frantically, then began to run towards the only shelter anywhere around, a small outcropping of rock.

I followed, slipping and sliding, my left leg buckling, throwing me down. I struggled to get upright, then felt a hand on my arm, pulling me. "Come on," he shouted against the wind.

I started to pull my arm away, to yank it out of his grasp, but then thought what the hell and let him help me. Leaning on him, staggering and swaying, we hurried across the sand.

And didn’t make it.

The rock was still dozens of yards ahead of us when I felt the first stinging sand hit my back. Hunching my shoulders, trying to move faster, cursing my leg and my exhaustion, letting my hostage pull me forward, I staggered onward.

The air turned black as the wind roared, the cloud of dust blinding and disorienting, turning daylight to darkness within mere seconds. My bandana slipped and I inhaled a lungful of sand that left me coughing and choking, driving me to my knees.

Danny saved me again, dragging me forward, taking me with him as I tried to get my legs under me enough to help.

A step, two, four, a dozen, falling, crawling blinding forward…

/----------\

~Daniel Jackson~

I couldn’t even see it, I literally ran smack into the rock, cracking my shinbone painfully against hard stone.

I was fully prepared to kiss it anyway.

Safety.

Still dragging Jack with me, we got behind the rocks, huddling away from the howling wind.

Airborne grit scoured every exposed inch of skin, my cheeks, neck, and hands. I curled myself into as small of a ball as I could, breathing shallowly, my mouth against my arm, filtering air through the cloth as the wind buffeted me.

Beside me, I could feel Jack shaking.

Hour after hour, we huddled, doing nothing more than enduring while the sand piled up around us like snowdrifts.

~Jack O’Neill~

I was in hell, engulfed in darkness and heat, the air too foul to breathe, a roaring in my ears, my skin stinging, pain surging through my body, radiating outward from my leg. I tried to move it, to ease the cramping muscles, but that only brought more agony.

My body shuddered, and shut down, awareness vanished…

//"Tell us…"//

//"Answer the question!"//

//"Filthy American…"//

//"You will die…"//

//"Dog…"//

//"Defiler of our country…"//

//"Murderer of the innocent…"//

The voices went on and on… why wouldn’t they leave me alone? I wasn’t going to tell them anything, I had nothing to tell them, I couldn’t tell them, because… because I couldn’t. It was all I had left…

It was no longer a rational decision, just stubborn, bitter defiance.

Until the end.

Flashing, bright lights, too bright after days in the darkness of my airless, fetid cell…

Images, swirling, like a kaleidoscope… faces, places, blood, death, anger, fear, pain, but no hope, never hope, only ugliness and despair…

"Nooooooooooo!" The shout welled up out of my raw throat, and I jerked upright, clawing open dry, crusted eyelids, expecting to once more feel unforgiving concrete beneath me, solid walls surrounding me, and see the cracked, chipped ceiling above me.

What I saw instead was disorienting. I shook my head, and looked again, disbelieving.

It was dark, all right, that much was right, but it wasn’t pitch dark because overhead, there was sky, alight with flickering stars. Beneath me, instead of hard concrete, there was something soft and yielding, pretty much surrounding me, encasing me almost, something dry and gritty.

Sand.

No walls, just sand, piled up around me in dark, windswept mounds.

Outside.

Desert.

Sky.

"God," it was nearly a sob. Where was I? What had happened? How could I be here? I’d just been there, back *there*, with *them*?

And then, one of the dark lumpy shapes moved.

I scrambled backwards, away from it, all but overcome by sheer terror.

And then it turned to me, and I saw it was a man.

That man, the one I’d taken hostage.

Daniel Jackson, he called himself.

Friend, he insisted. Yeah, sure. Riiiight.

I fumbled at my vest, found my 9mil still reassuringly stuffed in the waistband of my trousers. Remembering this guy was no soldier, I was pretty sure he didn’t know enough about weapons to realize the gun I carried was probably so full of sand and grit that it would blow up in my face if I tried to fire it. I waved it at him, and ordered hoarsely, "Don’t move."

In the darkness, all I could see of his face were his eyes trained on me. "I need some water," he rasped softly, slowly reaching his hands around to his belt to get his canteen. He lifted it carefully, having trouble opening the top with his bound hands, then noisily drinking deep. His eyes never left my face, and when he was done, he wiped a hand across his lips, and held the canteen out toward me. "Drink?"

I took it, lifting it to my lips, savoring the warm, stale water. All that mattered was that it was liquid.

I drank sparingly, and handed it back to him.

"You okay?" He was still staring at me.

"Fine, as if it matters to you."

"You didn’t sound so fine a minute ago." He was keeping his voice soft and low, soothing.

"You wouldn’t be so fine, either, if you were me," I answered.

"They treated you that badly?"

I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound.

"As if you don’t know."

"I don’t. Tell me."

"Suuuuure. Tell you what your friends did to me, the bastards."

His forthright gaze was fixed on my face. "Beat you. Starved you. Tortured you, too, I’d imagine."

"No need to imagine."

"Jack…."

"Don’t call me that!" I nearly screamed at him, my fragile control threatening to snap, as I scrambled across the sand, shoving the gun against his throat.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I could feel my hands shaking, my brain spinning, and then I spied something on the horizon and damn near freaked.

Looking out over the dunes, toward the distant horizon, I saw stars dusting the clear sky, and two moons rising.

Two moons.

Had all those blows to the head damaged my eyesight that badly?

I stared down at my hand, one hand, five fingers, one gun.

So why was I seeing two moons, when I didn’t see two of anything else?

Oh god oh god oh god… was I losing my mind? Was I still in that cell? Was this all a figment of my fevered imagination?

My hostage craned his head around to look at what I was seeing, and then his gaze snapped back to my face.

"It’s okay. It’s real."

"No it’s not."

"I told you, we’re not in Iraq, we're not even on Earth. You were drugged."

Drugged, yeah, that explained it. Drugged out. Whacked out. Out of my skull. "Drugs, yeah."

"This is real, Jack, real. I’m Doctor Daniel Jackson, your friend, and you’re Colonel Jack O’Neill, the team leader of SG-1, and we use the Stargate to go to other planets, to explore and search for allies and technology. The Gulf War ended ten years ago Jack, you went home, home to Sara and to Charlie…"

A sudden image blossomed in my mind: my own backyard, green green grass, towering trees, sunshine, Sara’s smiling face, my arms wrapped around her as she showed me new pictures of Charlie... school pictures… and then… a gunshot, and Sara’s scream…

"Oh God. No. No. This is all a trick…" I pushed myself away from him, denying what my eyes were seeing and what my brain was showing me.

"Jack, we’re on another planet. With two moons. And the stars, Jack, you know the stars. These aren’t the stars of home…."

I was staring upward now, my eyes searching desperately for familiar constellations, for the North Star and the Big Dipper and mighty Orion, and the lazy W shape of Cassiopeia…

And failing to find any of them.

I couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be true. This was Iraq, this was some trick….

/----------\

Jack was staring up at the sky, his body tense, his face wearing a look of fear mixed with terror, awe, confusion and skepticism.

We’d seen so much, come to accept so much as routine, and now, if he didn’t remember anything of the past five years, I honestly didn’t know what Jack would do.

I had to keep talking, keep trying to convince him, find a way to break through to him.

Whatever the drug had done to him, it hadn’t done the same to us. Why?

And then it hit me… because my reaction to these people had been one of excitement at meeting a new culture, Sam had been thrilled over the wonder of new technology, and Jack… Jack had been drawn back in a time. Back to days of fear and horror, because these people were so like those people who had held him captive, done unspeakable things to him that I didn’t want to imagine. Things I knew were exactly the kind of thing Jack would never, ever talk about, would have never talked about with anyone.

He’d been thrown back to relive a time he’d barely survived.

If the drug we’d been given heightened one’s emotions, that would explain why Sam and I had been so caught up in our excitement, because that’s how we see new cultures and new places, with a sense of excitement and awe. But Jack, Jack was a warrior, suspicious by nature. His first job was to protect his team and his first reaction would always be that of caution, wariness, even animosity… magnified by bad memories of his time in the Middle East...turning the mission into a disaster.

"Jack, we’re on another planet. With those two moons we’re seeing. And the stars, Jack, you know the stars. These aren’t the stars of home. You can see that. You don’t have to believe what I’ve been telling you, believe what you see, what you see with your own eyes."

He was shaking his head, the growing moonlight glinting off his silvered hair as he stared up at the unfamiliar orbs floating above us.

"Listen to me. Think. Remember. The SGC. General Hammond. The Stargate program. Your team, Teal’c, Sam and I, we’re your teammates…"

I thought I was getting through to him. He seemed to be listening, paying attention to what I was saying and thinking about it.

//C’mon Jack,// I urged him silently. "You know I’m right. You know what you’re seeing. No tricks. Truth…"

With an incoherent roar of rage, despite his injury, he was suddenly right there, on top of me, pinning me down using surprising strength considering all he’d been through in the past two days, his hands wrapping around my throat.

"Shut the hell up!" he shouted into my ear, shaking me. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!"

I tried to scream, digging my fingers under his hands, but he was too strong, his long fingers wrapping around my neck with a vise-like grip. I couldn’t breathe, I bucked and writhed trying to dislodge his hold, but I couldn’t break away. My lungs heaving in a futile attempt to draw in oxygen, everything started to go gray.

//Jack, you’re killing me,// I pleaded. //Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t do this…//

The last thing I saw was Jack’s enraged face above me as he strangled the life out of me.

/----------\

I was not very far across the river when the sandstorm struck, forcing me to seek shelter, delaying my search once more.

It was many hours before the wind abated. Sand and debris still filled the air, but I could not wait. Covering my nose and mouth with a bandana to filter the air, I prepared to go in search of my missing teammates once more.

This time, of course, I no longer had a trail to follow.

I would have to anticipate O’Neill’s probable route, and hope that I could correctly estimate his line of travel.

Knowing that he believed himself to be back more than 10 years in his past, fleeing captivity by the Iraqis, I could only surmise that he would attempt to return to the area where he would expect to find assistance from the American forces. There was no way to know precisely, I could only guess that he would travel in a roughly westerly direction, and that he would travel in a straight line to cover the most ground in the minimal amount of time.

"MajorFerretti?" I spoke into my radio. "It is I, Teal’c."

"Ferretti here. What have you found?"

"I have been delayed by the sandstorm and there is no longer a trail to follow O’Neill and DoctorJackson. I am proceeding to the west, in hopes of crossing their trail, or finding other sign."

"Okay, we’ll look for your trail. Keep in touch. Ferretti out."

"I understand, Major. Teal’c out."

/----------\

I moved as swiftly as I could, jogging when I was able although it was difficult to make rapid progress in the loose, shifting sand. My arm no longer pained me, my symbiote having healed the wound while I rested during the storm.

I traveled toward the setting sun as dusk fell.

I found no sign of my teammates.

I could only persevere in hopes that I could find some sign of them, a difficult thing, to find two humans in this vast landscape.

It was, however, a task at which I could not fail.

The lives of my friends were at stake.

/----------\

It grew dark, but a pair of moons rose, gliding upward into the sky, illuminating the sand adequately for me to continue my search.

The desert stretched all around, silent and still.

There was no sign of those whom I sought.

I had all but conceded failure when I heard a sound.

Noises carry far in the quiet of the desert.

I stopped and listened, and heard nothing more.

A tall dune stood before me, and I struggled up to its peak through the shifting, sliding sand.

Stopping, I stood poised, listening, hearing nothing but my own breath and heartbeat.

I studied the landscape that spread out before me. The moonlight was bright, casting large shadows from the dunes.

And yet, there, something, a small flicker of movement…

I began to run, sliding down the dune face, toward the motion.

As I neared, I could make them out… two figures, one holding down the other… O’Neill, his hands around DanielJackson’s throat…

I raised my staff weapon and shouted "Stop!"

O’Neill spun, staggering upright, facing me, his handgun held out before him.

I lowered my weapon. "O’Neill, do you not recognize me? It is Teal’c…"

I was close enough now to see the Colonel's eyes, wild and dark, darting from me to DanielJackson’s downed form. The hand holding the gun was shaking, as was his usually dominant voice. "Stay away!" he warned.

I let my staff weapon fall to the sand, spreading my hands wide in a gesture of peace. "O’Neill, I am…"

"Stop!"

DanielJackson was lying crumpled in the sand, unmoving, perhaps dead. I continued walking forward, toward O’Neill.

"Stop!" he insisted, once more.

Then O'Neill shot me.

I felt the bullet strike me high in the shoulder a split second before I heard the shot, the blow spinning me around, throwing me off my feet to land on my stomach in the sand. I struggled to turn over, only to see him standing above me.

"Stay down or I’ll shoot you again!"

I heard a rasping, coughing, choking sound and then Daniel Jackson’s voice. I was relieved to hear him speak, because I had feared he was dead.

"Jack, don’t," Jackson’s voice still sounded hoarse and broken. "That’s Teal’c. He’s our teammate."

O’Neill twisted, aiming the gun at the other human, then back at me. "He’s one of *them*."

"No," Daniel Jackson coughed. "He’s one of us. He’s on your team, on SG-1."

Gasping between words, still coughing, the archaeologist informed me of O’Neill’s state of mind. "Teal’c, Jack thinks he’s back in Iraq, re-living something that happened to him years ago, during the Gulf War. He thinks we’re his enemies."

"On my team, riiiight." O’Neill’s voice was trembling on the edge of hysteria. "What’s that thing on his head, huh? Some tribal symbol? Huh?"

"It is the sign of Apophis, he whom I once served."

"Apophis? What kind of name is that? That’s no Air Force General, at least not in my Air Force."

"I am not in the Air Force of Earth. I am Teal’c of the planet Chulak, but I have sworn my allegiance to your people, the Tau’ri. Apophis was not a general, but an alien enemy, a Goa’uld, one of many enemies that we have destroyed."

O’Neill shook his head. "Stories. Crazy stories."

DanielJackson was sitting up now, one hand held to his neck, his voice still hoarse as he suggested, "Maybe you should show him Junior."

In the now bright moonlight, I nodded, accepting the wisdom of his suggestion. Reaching my hands slowly and carefully toward my t-shirt, I pulled it up. Inserting my hand into the pouch, I extracted my symbiote.

Unhappy to be taken from its secure womb, the creature squealed and writhed, wrapping its tail around my wrist.

/----------\

I staggered back, away from the man on the ground, and the snake-thing he held. "What the hell is that?"

I had gone nuts, absolutely, completely stark raving mad, seeing things, hallucinating…

"It is my symbiote, the alien larva which I carry. You have given it the name Junior."

"I named that thing? What is it, a pet?" I shuddered. Snakes are not my favorite things, let me tell you.

"It is no pet. It is the larva of the beings who call themselves gods, an alien creature which gives me strength and good health."

"That thing?" I was afraid I was going to break out into some sort of hysterical laughter. I never suspected I had such a vivid imagination, that I could dream up something as weird as this. "Geesh, get rid of it."

"I cannot. Without it, I shall die."

"Better off dead than carrying that thing," suddenly I realized where he’d been carrying it. I could see the X-shaped outline on his stomach. "What the hell are you?"

"I am a Jaffa..."

"Alien warrior, right?" Okay, this was too much. Even I could hear the tremble in my voice. Alien warriors and alien creatures and alien planets and alien moons, people claiming I was some colonel, for cryin’ out loud, as if I’d ever get promoted to colonel…

But, if this wasn’t real, how was this happening? I could see the creature, and the man holding it, the two moons sailing high overhead in a sea of unfamiliar stars. I could feel the sand beneath my boots and the hot breath of the wind against my face. These men knew things about me, me and my family and my home, things they couldn’t know; they looked at me with trust…

My skull began to pound, my head spinning, and then the flashes began again: more and more, faster and faster, ever more garish images racing through my brain, of people and places and events…

My head feeling ready to burst, I sank to my knees, hands clasped to my temples, my gun dropping from numbed fingers as my overloaded brain went on strike.

/----------\

The look of horror on Jack’s face when he saw Junior is something I’ll never forget. Even in the poor light, I could see his eyes go wide in the too pale face as he staggered backward, away from the sight.

Okay, the sight of Junior would be very strange if you weren’t expecting it.

Which is what I’d hoped would happen, hoped he’d be convinced.

Hardheaded as he is, it wasn’t easy.

And then I saw him cradle his head, and collapse.

I couldn’t get there fast enough to catch him, but the sand was soft, cushioning his fall. I kicked the gun away, dropping to my knees beside him. His eyes were rolled up in his head, his whole body gone suddenly slack and loose, unconscious, whether from the shock of what he’d gone through or something worse, a drug induced stroke for all I could tell.

"Jack?"

He didn’t answer and he didn’t move, but his chest was rising and falling regularly. That at least was reassuring.

Teal’c was already reaching for his radio. "MajorFerretti, we are in need of assistance. We have located ColonelO’Neill and DanielJackson. Both are alive, but injured."

"We’re on our way," Ferretti promised. "Leave your radio on, we’ll home in on your signal."

"Acknowledged." Teal’c turned toward me. "What is O’Neill’s condition?"

Jack’s breathing was rapid and shallow, his pulse racing, and I could feel him shivering as the desert air chilled. "I think he’s going into shock."

Teal’c was already pulling off his jacket, handing it to me, so I wrapped it around Jack.

/----------\

It seemed like a very long time before the others arrived.

The SG-2 medic quickly went to work assessing his patient. "What are his injuries?"

"He passed out about 20 minutes ago. He’s been having hallucinations of some kind for the past three days, I think from the drug the locals gave him."

"And this wound?" Alfonso was putting a fresh dressing on Jack’s thigh.

"A knife wound. About four inches deep."

"How?"

"I stabbed him." Everyone turned to look at me. "He was choking me. I didn’t want to…"

"We understand, DanielJackson," Teal’c said, softly.

Alfonso had also found the arm wound, bandaging that as well.

I held my breath as he checked Jack’s vital signs, then added another blanket from his pack, wrapping it around the long lean form. "His blood pressure, breathing and heart rate are all elevated. Between the blood loss and the heat, he’s dehydrated. I’m going to get an IV started, then we need to get him back to the SGC as quickly as possible."

While the medic worked, Jack never moved.

Finally, we were ready to leave.

It was a long, long walk back to the gate. The rescue team moved fast, taking turns carrying the stretcher, while I helped Teal’c. Though Junior was hard at work, it was the second healing in a short time, and this injury was more severe than the last.

If he’d been human, Jack might have killed him.

He might have killed me, too.

Thank God he hadn’t, because he’d never have forgiven himself if he had.

/----------\

Hour after hour, we slogged through the heat and the sand, and finally, we reached the gate.

Jack was still unconscious, but at least he was still breathing when we stepped through the wormhole to find Janet and her staff waiting.

He was hustled out of our sight and off to the infirmary, Teal’c too. Sam and I hurriedly completed our post mission checks before joining Ferretti and the general in the hallway outside the infirmary, all of us nervously pacing. Every few minutes a nurse would hurry in or out, and we’d get a quick glimpse of the work going on around O’Neill.

Finally, Janet emerged, a weary smile on her face.

"The Colonel is stable. The surgery went well, the leg wound is nasty, but there doesn’t appear to be any permanent damage. With rest, he’ll be fine."

"What about…" I started, not knowing how to say it, "what about his ah, mental state?"

Janet frowned. "That we won’t know until he’s awake, which will be hours from now, when he’s slept off the anesthetic. In the meantime, I want you to get some rest, Sam, Daniel, both of you."

"He shouldn’t be alone," I insisted.

"He won’t be, Daniel. I’ll be here and the nursing staff."

She didn’t have to say the rest. Considering what had happened, and Jack’s agitated state, mine might not be the best face for him to see when he awakened.

/----------\

I was confused.

The last thing I remembered was sand and dust and dark, black sky and being somewhere that sure as hell wasn’t here.

Here I knew.

Why do I always end up here?

Someone was talking to me, squeezing my hand, issuing orders, so like the good soldier I am, I listened, and obeyed.

Opened my eyes.

"Doc?" My voice was a raw croak, but I guess I said the right thing because she smiled.

Doc has a nice smile. I like it. It means I’m gonna be okay.

"Hi, Colonel. Glad to have you back." She held up a cup, and set the straw against my lips and I sipped gratefully. "Sir, do you know where you are?"

"Infirm’ry."

"Yes, Colonel, that’s right. You were brought in this morning. Do you remember what happened?"

I searched through my head, and dredged up some memories, and they were *not* good. Even as I was trying to sort through the jumble of images in my head, I could hear the tempo of the beep-beep machine-thingies going from a nice sedate waltz to a frenetic disco beat.

Doc’s smile disappeared, a frown taking its place. "Colonel, easy, easy. You’re okay now. You’re home, you’re fine…"

Damn… I’d shot Teal’c and strangled Daniel. I tried to push up off the bed, my arms so weak I did little more than shudder, my eyes searching frantically for my teammates. "Daniel… Teal’c?"

"They’re fine, Sir."

I sank back on the bed, and looked up at her, searching for reassurance, wanting to trust her. "Doc?"

"Colonel, they are fine. I sent your team to get some rest. They were exhausted. They didn’t want to leave, but you were asleep and I insisted."

I closed my eyes slowly, absorbing her words. "They were hurt."

"Yes, but Junior has healed Teal’c. Daniel has a few bruises, but they’ll be gone in a day or two. He’s more worried about having hurt you."

"Hurting me?"

"He stabbed you. You nearly died."

"I tried to kill him. He did the right thing." I shivered, recalling how close I’d come to killing him, and more than once.

"Well, he’s worried about it. You’ll need to talk to him, reassure him."

I nodded. "Was anyone else hurt?" I stared up at Doc, needing to know the truth, remembering the explosives I’d set.

"Sam has a slight concussion, and needed a couple of stitches. Lt. Wallace of SG-2 has a broken arm. But there was no damage done to anyone that won’t heal."

"Right." I let my eyes close, not wanting to think about what I’d done, what I might have revealed, what I very nearly had done to people who meant very much to me.

"Colonel, the drug you were given by the people of that planet was still in your system. I found remnants of it in your blood when you were brought in. We’re still studying it, but it’s very potent, and the effects seem quite unpredictable." She patted my arm. "Now, I do have someone who wants to see you. For just a moment."

/----------\

I’d left orders for Doctor Fraiser to call me when the Colonel woke. I needed to talk to him before he talked to his team. I needed to make sure he understood what I’d done, and why I’d done it, because I’d revealed something I knew he didn’t want made public.

I’d had to.

And he would have to understand that.

So when the doctor informed me that O’Neill was awake, I dropped the paperwork I’d been clearing off my desk, and proceeded to the infirmary.

My second in command, looking nearly as pale as the white sheets he was resting on, was dozing when I arrived. Maybe this was too soon, I thought, maybe I should give him time to rest and heal. But no, I know Jack too well, know that he’d fret about what might have happened. It was better that he dealt with what had happened now, rather than let his imagination create worry. "Colonel?"

He opened his eyes listlessly, then snapped awake when he saw it was me. O’Neill fumbled for the bed controls, raising the head to a more nearly sitting position as I entered, taking the chair at the bedside.

"How are you feeling, Jack?"

He shrugged, not looking at me.

Oh-oh. Bad sign. "Doctor Fraiser says you’re making a good recovery and will be fine."

Another shrug.

"If you’re angry at me, Jack, I understand, but I’d like the chance to explain."

That got his attention. His eyes lifted, looking intently but briefly into mine, then drifted away again, still trying to pretend he didn’t care. "So explain."

I sighed, choosing my words carefully. "You know I had to tell them."

"You didn’t."

"Yes, I did. You know that. In my position, you’d have done the same."

Once again, his eyes bored into mine before looking away. "Jack, I only gave them the bare facts, but they had to know, so they would understand what was happening. For your safety, and for their own. Only Major Carter, Major Ferretti and Teal’c were in the room. And you know they’ll never tell anyone."

He said nothing, staring up at the ceiling before very slowly letting his eyes go closed. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t physically ready for this yet, that he was exhausted, but then he opened his eyes once more, and looked me in the eye.

I’ve been in the military all my adult life, I’ve done and seen some terrible things, but his gaze made me shiver, his eyes were so empty and cold and dark.

"They don’t think less of you for any of it, Jack," I said softly, wishing I could make him understand that no one blamed him.

"Suuuure. They don’t mind that I tried to kill them."

"The drug you were given led to your actions. It wasn’t you."

"They didn’t react the same way."

"They haven’t been through what you’ve been through, Colonel," neither one of us had to name the incident we were talking about, those four months when he as an Iraqi POW. "Jack, it wouldn’t be human for you to have felt anything less."

"I nearly killed them."

"Nearly doesn’t count, not in this business. Close only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades."

His lips twitched as he tried to hide his reaction. "I thought that was my line, Sir."

A wave of relief washed through me. That was a very Jack O’Neill answer. He would struggle with what had happened, agonize over what he’d see as his failings, but I knew he could deal with it. He’s a very strong, determined man.

And his team would help him through it.

/----------\

~Jack O’Neill~

I managed to go nearly a week without talking to Daniel about it.

Sure, he came to visit me in the infirmary, like Carter and Teal’c did. We talked about inconsequential things, never about what I’d done.

On the fourth day, Doc gave me a pair of crutches and sent me home. An airman drove me, dropping me off in front of the house, I hobbled up to my front door, found my key and unlocked the place. It had that musty smell of an unoccupied place, a place closed up for too long. So I hobbled around some more, opening windows and airing things out before crutching down to the living room, propping my leg up with a couple of pillows, and falling asleep on the couch.

The doorbell woke me.

I knew it would be Daniel.

Damn.

Rising cautiously, I found my crutches, got to my feet, and made my way to the door, looking out the side window to catch a glimpse of a familiar figure standing just outside.

Yup, Daniel.

Reluctantly, I opened the door.

"Hi." He looked pensive.

"Hi," I answered, totally noncommittally.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

I turned and headed back to the couch, trusting him to shut the door and follow me.

Which he did.

I took my time getting comfortable, or as comfortable as possible, considering, on the couch.

Neither of us said a thing.

The clock ticked.

A car drove past on the street.

Somewhere down the block, a dog barked.

"So," he finally said.

"So."

"Ah, feeling better?"

"Kinda."

"Doc says you’ll be off all week."

I pointed at the crutches. "Sort of hard to go planet-hopping with those."

"Right," he nodded and looked down at his hands. "Jack…"

"Daniel…"

"About what happened…"

"It’s over." That’s my philosophy. No use crying over split milk. Just let in the cat and get it off the floor quick as you can, I always say.

Daniel was looking at me, waiting for me to say more.

I said nothing, staring back. I’m good at that.

One thing you can say about Daniel, he’s never easily dissuaded. "Surprised me that you knew that much Arabic."

I shrugged.

"That’s where you were in prison, wasn’t it? During the Gulf War, in Iraq?"

I nodded. Let him do the talking. Easier that way.

"And being on that planet, made you remember, and then the drug…"

"Bad trip." I didn’t clarify whether I meant Iraq or the drug. Though it was both, actually.

"I’d imagine so."

No, Daniel, I don’t think you could imagine. And you really shouldn’t even try.

"It’s okay," he continued. "I just wanted you to know that I’m okay with what happened…"

"I’m not."

"I know it wasn’t you who treated me like that."

"That *was* me, Daniel."

"Okay, I know you have that side of you that does what you have to do, I mean, I’ve always known that about you. But that’s not the real you."

I shook my head no. No one knows the real me.

"I’m sorry for that," he waved at the thick bandage covering the stitches on my leg.

"Don’t be. You were defending yourself."

It was his turn to shrug. He had his hands wrapped around his chest in classic distressed Daniel style.

"Actually, I was rather impressed."

His head shot up, to meet my gaze.

I nodded. "Shows you learned something in all those hand-to-hand combat sessions. Good to know I haven’t been wasting my time."

A small smile touched his lips.

"But don’t make it a habit of stabbing your team leader. Tends to make them cranky."

"Deal," he said.

"Deal."

/----------\/----------\/----------\<finis>/----------\/----------\/----------\

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