I'm Home
Author: Badgergater
Season: Five or before
Episode: None
Spoilers: None
Category: Drama, POV
Summary: Jack's alone and in trouble off world
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I acknowledge the ownership of MGM, Gekko, Double Secret, SciFi (bless their hearts for season 6 and 7) and all the other Powers that be... I'm just borrowing Jack and his team for entertainment purposes.
Author's note: For the WordaMonth: Blood (Other WordAMonth fic can be found at www.frondfic.com)
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They say it’s thicker than water.
That you can’t get it out of a turnip.
That it travels with sweat and tears.
Or it might be on your hands (it is on mine).
That some folks have a version in blue.
Or a brother.
Mine, it seems, is just plain, ordinary, every day red.
Very, very red.
Dripping slowly.
Bright crimson drops.
Glittering in the moonlight.
Turning dull rusty red as they sink into the soft brown Earth.
Ooops, sorry, not Earth.
Ground. Land. Soil. Dirt.
Grandma O’Neill would be mad at me for saying that. ‘Don’t call it dirt, John,’ she used to tell me as she worked in her garden. 'It’s not something unclean. It’s the thing that gives us life, grows the plants that feed us, the plants that feed the livestock that feed us; it even grows the plants that feed the fish that feed us. Respect it, John. It's not dirt, it's soil.'
Our lifeblood.
Ironic, isn’t it?
My lifeblood is now feeding the soil on this planet.
Maybe someday a plant will grow here.
With my luck, it’ll be a tree.
I chuckle, which turns into a cough, which turns into a sob of pain that I try to hold in.
Too much noise, and they could find me.
Who are they, you ask?
The natives.
Ordinary looking folks.
All the rusty red stuff they had painted on their faces should have been a clue, really. But
, then, how was I to know it was blood and not some primitive paint? Daniel didn’t know. Hell, Carter didn’t know, and shit, she can always answer my questions. Between the two of them, they know everything.Pretty much.
We just didn’t know they were cannibals.
Not until they invited us to stay for supper, and my bowl of soup contained a finger.
Ewwww.
Okay, now I’ve got a pretty damn strong stomach. Takes a lot to make me hurl, even when I’ve got a hangover, not that I get many of them anymore. But you get the picture.
Iron stomach O’Neill.
Lost it.
Apparently, that offended the Hoochicoochies, or whatever their names were.
So they decided to really invite us back for dinner, as in
, being the next course on the menu.Somedays, this job really sucks.
^^^^^^^^
We ran.
They chased.
Somewhere along the way, one of them got lucky throwing one of their little javelin thingies.
Quite primitive, but adequately sharp.
Slices through flesh rather cleanly, I’ve got to say.
Hard to run, with a thing like that, embedded in your forearm.
Tried, though.
Yanked it out, which hurt like an SOB, by the way.
Made it easier to run, though.
Ran as far and as fast as I could.
Got separated from the others, in the dark.
That’s good, and that’s bad.
Bad, since it’s sort of lonely out here with no one to talk to.
Good, since my team might be getting away, because it’s entirely obvious the whole tribe of Hooligans followed me.
Suppose they can smell the blood?
Might be.
Though they haven’t found me, yet.
I’m clear in the middle of a thicket of bushes, with long slender thorns, sort of like rosebushes.
Nasty, scratchy things.
Crawled in here.
Waiting, now.
Managed to get a dressing out of my vest and tie it around my arm, an hour ago or so.
Didn’t see any more blood for a while.
Trouble is, just a few minutes ago, the bandage soaked through.
Blood dripping in bright scarlet drops off my arm, into the brown soil of planet P-something-something.
Making the lime-green plants shrivel up, at least.
Maybe nothing will grow here, where my blood has spilled.
That would be okay with me.
Damn, must have dozed off.
Feeling a little groggy here, lightheaded, dizzy, nauseous.
Might be because I’m sort of tired, having run mile after mile with that screaming horde of Hoodats chasing me.
Might be because my blood sugar is a little low, haven’t eaten anything since waaaay before suppertime, since I wasn’t going to eat any of that Hoosier finger food.
Might be because the blood is pooling on the ground beneath the steadily dripping hole in my arm.
Blood loss does sorta take the steam out of ya’, ya know?
I think they’ve left.
No sounds, no movements. Lotsa quiet out there.
Gave up, maybe?
I hope.
Gotta get to work here, though. Got to fix up this arm, stop the bleeding because I think my blood supply is lower than the Red Cross’s blood bank on a holiday weekend. Just not much of the red stuff left to spare.
Bandages all gone.
With my good hand, rummaging through my vest, I find what I’m seeking.
It’s not much, it’s not meant for this, but out in the field, you gotta do what you gotta do.
Improvise.
I’m good at that.
When Plan A doesn’t work, move on to Plan B.
B as in blood.
Don’t giggle.
Bad sign, giggling.
Steady, Jack.
Don’t be nervous.
This won’t hurt.
Much.
Hard to hold the needle, harder still to put that little thread through that teeny tiny little eye. My hand’s not too steady or maybe it’s my eyesight that’s gone wonky.
Might be either. Might be both.
Don’t matter.
There.
Got it.
Needle threaded.
Deep breath.
Don’t pass out, Jack.
Hey, this is no big deal. How many times in the last five years has ol’ Doc Fraiser and her cohorts jabbed a needle into your flesh? Huh? That’s all this is.
‘Cept, of course, this time you’re doing it to yourself.
Stick it in.
Oh crap, that hurts.
Pull it through.
Oh crap, that *really* hurts
.Gasp at the pain. Surprising how such a little thing could hurt that much.
Don’t let it stop you.
Shiver.
But keep going.
Hard to tie a knot.
Hold one end in your teeth, tie with the other.
Awkward, but it works.
Fight back the gagging urge to barf right here and now.
No time for such foolishness.
One stitch down, five-six however many to go.
Don’t count.
Like the commercial says. Just do it.
Bet they’ll never make a commercial about this.
Just do it, tough guy. Stick the needle in, pull the thread through, tie the knot.
Over and over again.
Damn.
Don’t think.
Don’t feel.
Just do it.
Done.
Sigh.
Take a deep breath, stifle the sob.
The worst is over.
Now to find the way home.
Not sure which direction I ran in the dark.
Didn’t have time to memorize the terrain.
I think the gate is back that way.
Long walk.
Start slow.
Get upright.
There, see, can do it.
Standing on two feet.
Walk.
No rush.
Walk.
Keep steady.
Over there, yup, that looks like that little hill by the gate.
Go that way.
Can do.
Looks familiar.
Familiar faces, too, waiting.
Stepping forward, smiling.
Smiles turning to worried frowns.
“No big deal,” I croak. “Just a little blood.”
Cradling my arm, I wait, leaning on Teal’c as Daniel dials us home, Carter sends the GDO code and finally, I can step through, into the light and warmth.
Doc will be waiting.
With more needles.
But an end to the pain.
Good thing.
I’m tired.
But I’m home.
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