Title: Responsibility

Authors: BadgerGater & Dileeca

Email: [email protected] [email protected]

Category: Drama, H/C

Rating: PG

Season: Ahh, about 3 I suppose, Carter's a major

Summary: Jack takes responsibility to the extreme

Warnings: Violence. Jack gets hurt.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions, and we know it, and don't intend to infringe on their rights, privileges and property. Okay? This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the authors and may not be posted without the authors' consent.

Authors Notes: Another collaboration from D&B Jack Whumpers, Inc.

PCL-124. Sounds innocent, doesn't it?

It wasn't or at least, none of us were innocent there, thought Jack O'Neill. They'd been home for over a week now, and while his bruises were fading, the cuts were healing and the bones knitting, the visit to that little planet was going to leave some permanent scars, he figured. Jack grimaced, trying to find a more comfortable position to stretch out his long legs on his foot-too-short sofa, and finally gave up trying. He got to his feet, groaning at the stiffness as the movement pulled on still healing wounds on his back, and hobbled to the kitchen.

You know, Jack, this is getting to be a bit much, he thought, as he headed for the refrigerator. Maybe there was a beer left in there, if Daniel hadn't thrown them all away.

"And what is it you think you're doing?" asked Daniel's soft voice from behind him.

Jack turned, flinching as that movement pulled on sore muscles and cracked ribs. "Looking for a beer," he growled, straightening up from the beerless shelves of his fridge.

"There aren't any."

"I can see that," he said, exasperated. "Nothing in here but fruit juice and milk."

"Those are good for you."

"Yeah right. What would be really good for me would be a beer, a good, old fashioned bottle of real American beer."

"Janet said no alcohol while you're recuperating...

"And if I followed all of Dr. Fraiser's orders I wouldn't have any fun at all, would I?"

"No, but you would probably be a lot healthier."

"But I'd be a lot un-happier. And believe me, Daniel, you don't want to be dealing with a really unhappy Jack O'Neill."

Jackson shrugged, a soft smile playing across his features. "No, but Jack, we all just want to make sure you stick around and keep annoying us."

"Then maybe you should do a better job of following orders." O'Neill regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth.

Daniel's face turned suddenly dark. "Jack, I...

"Aww, shit, Daniel. I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that."

"No, Jack I think you did," and there was hurt in the quiet voice.

"Look, Daniel, you know my mouth always runs faster than my brain..."

"But it was the truth."

"Okay, there was some truth to that. But the rest of that truth is, if I wanted to live a safe and healthy life, I wouldn't be in the Air Force, and I especially wouldn't be in the Stargate program. Okay?"

And he certainly wouldn't have gone to PCL-124, he thought, remembering what started as an ordinary morning nearly two weeks ago.

<><><><><>

They'd gone through the Stargate and emerged into a large, spacious room. Reconnoitering, the team found most of the building to have a few pieces of what looked to be furniture, or maybe decorations? artifacts? rocks? scattered around the quiet, seemingly uninhabited rooms. O'Neill was about ready to order SG-1 back to the gate and home, when he heard Teal'c call out.

Following the sound of the Jaffa's voice, they entered a room, this one different from all the others. It was more dimly lit and contained what seemed to be rows of benches. On one wall there was writing.

Daniel Jackson began smiling. "Wow."

"PCL's version of Playboy?"

Daniel gave him a look. "There are no pictures here."

"Playboy has pictures?" Jack commented with a smirk. "Well, you know we intellectuals only buy it for the articles,"

"Sorry, no, no Playboy. It's a listing."

"Of phone numbers? Top Ten Movies? Best Jaffa Jokes of the new millennium?"

"I'm not sure. Yet." Daniel was walking along the wall, mumbling, his fingers trailing along the writing, as if feeling the oddly shaped symbols would help him read and understand them. "See, this is...."

Just then, Daniel's hand passed over a series of bright red rings on the wall and touched a small indentation. A panel slid open.

The Colonel, having learned his lesson about moving alien artifacts back with that head-grabbing knowledge-stuffing thingy left by the Ancients, immediately jumped back, grabbing Daniel who was standing transfixed by what was happening. The open panel revealed a recessed shelf and on it sat an object resembling a vase, or perhaps an urn. As they watched, the material began glowing and shimmering, the colors changing, swirling as they stood staring, mesmerized.

"Wow!" said the archaeologist.

Jack smiled. "Cool. I had one of those when I was a kid. A Kaleidoscope."

"No, I think this is something more, I think it's..." Daniel raised his hand.

"Don't touch," Jack hollered the order, grabbing at Jackson's hand.

He was too late and too slow. Daniel's hand touched the object and it suddenly and completely went dark. No glow. No shimmer.

"Ahhh, Daniel, what did you just do?"

"I only touched it."

There was a rumbling sound, coming from the building around them. "Uh oh," said O'Neill.

Teal'c and Carter came dashing over to stand beside their teammates.

"Sir, what..." Carter asked, and then stopped.

A group of aliens was entering the room, humanoid forms completely cloaked simply in white robes, their faces hidden beneath shadowy hoods, gliding across the floor toward SG-1. Like white clad monks, thought O'Neill.

"What have you done?" one of the aliens asked.

And then suddenly there was a bright shaft of light and the four members of SG-1 crumpled to the floor.

---------------------

O'Neill awoke some 40 minutes later, according to his watch. It was a little hard to read, owing to the splitting headache and dizziness the Colonel felt on awakening. After a few moments, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, pausing a few seconds before forcing himself the rest of the way to his feet. He took a look around, assessing the situation. Teal'c was just sitting up as well, carefully noting his surroundings.

"Teal'c?"

"I am well enough, O'Neill. I have ascertained that our weapons and other equipment have been taken from us."

"Oh great," muttered the Colonel, looking around at the rest of his team.

Carter was groaning, shaking her head as she pushed herself to a sitting position. "Major Carter?" her

CO inquired.

"Oh, wow, Sir, that was some kind of energy bolt or something..."

"Yeah, or something. Knocked us out for 40 minutes." O'Neill looked over at Jackson, who was also stirring.

"Hey, Danny, come on, buddy, wake up."

"My head hurts," Jackson mumbled, sitting up and holding it.

"Join the club," said O'Neill.

Around them was darkness, the area lit only by a single bit of dim light from a glowing orb suspended some 8-10 feet above the floor. They were lying on a featureless cold floor, some kind of stone it seemed like. O'Neill stepped forward, holding his hand out in front of him in the near darkness. Nothing. He took a cautious step, feeling his way in the dim light, until running into... something. A wall, he guessed, completely featureless and clear, transparent like a glass box. The Colonel felt around the edges, discovering they were in some type of enclosure about 12 feet by 12 feet, walls completely smooth and transparent. There was no sign of a seam or a crack that might indicate a doorway.

And then there was a flicker of light behind him and O'Neill spun toward the source, despite his headache. Not so fast, Jack, he told himself, having to catch his balance as the dizziness faded.

The sphere had changed to a brighter light, giving off a stronger glow that illuminated the faces of SG-1 but left the area outside their cell still in shadow. The aliens were back, once again visible only as concealed forms in the hooded cloaks they wore. Jack attempted to move forward to get a closer view but the barrier was still there.

"Who are you?" asked a disembodied voice from the darkness.

"Ah, it would be polite to turn the lights on so we could see who we are talking to," suggested O'Neill.

"We are peaceful travelers from Earth," Daniel started.

"We didn't mean to do any harm," said a puzzled Daniel.

"Hopeless primitives," spat another bodiless voice from the darkness around them.

Jack took offense. "Alright, now we've been called young before. And yeah, primitive, too. But we're not hopeless. And we didn't mean to damage anything."

"If we damaged something, we didn't mean to," apologized Daniel.

"Damaged something? You broke the seal, you touched the icon. You have destroyed years of work, decades of labor, centuries of sacrifice."

"Ah, look, now on my planet something so important wouldn't be left laying around where just anyone could get hold of it," O'Neill paused, sensing sudden disapproval radiating from the aliens. He waved his hands placatingly. "But then, of course, it's your planet and you want to do things you're own way, that's perfectly understandable. We are sorry. We didn't mean to harm anything, and I'll personally give my promise that we will not do it again. Just give us our gear back and we'll be glad to go right on home," offered O'Neill.

"With our sincere apologies," Daniel added.

"That would be me."

"Colonel Jack O'Neill of the United Stated Air Force. That's on the planet Earth. Where we're from, Earth," he added hastily in explanation.

"Yes, Sir," said O'Neill, thinking a little respect might soothe ruffled feathers.

"No," he answered, stubbornly.

"Do you as leader take responsibility for your people?" the question was repeated.

"Of course," the Colonel answered, over the protests of the team's archeologist.

"We came to your world through the Stargate..."

"Not vandals," said Daniel.

"Silence," thundered the voices. "Only the leader, only O'Neill may speak."

"Well, I often let Daniel speak for me," said the Colonel. "He is a man of many wise words." Behind him, O'Neill heard a strange choking noise from Daniel. Surprised you, did I? he thought with a grin.

"I am the leader," O'Neill reiterated.

"I will do that," said Jack, waving a shushing hand at Jackson.

"Yes, by accident."

"Yes."

"We didn't see any warnings," retorted Jack, frustrated.

"Not to us."

"Well, yes, but..."

"We didn't understand your warnings."

"That does not matter. You O'Neill have admitted that your people touched the icon."

"Okay yes, we touched it." The Colonel did not like the direction this conversation was taking, not at all.

"I touched it," Daniel moved to stand beside Jack. "If anyone is to be punished, it should be me."

"Daniel, can it," Jack whispered furiously to him. "Let me handle this." Raising his voice again, he said to the aliens, "I stand behind our actions, I am the leader of this team and I am the one responsible for our actions."

"Oh yeah," answered Jack, muttering "been there, done that." He didn't see the raised eyebrows behind him as Daniel and Carter looked at each other in surprise.

The lights went out, leaving SG-1 alone again in the dim light.

----------------

"Jack, I'm the one who broke their law, violated their sacred..."

"Daniel," Jack shot a withering look at the archaeologist.

"I did it, I'm responsible."

"Now, that's enough. Get it through your head, Daniel, that when we are on a mission, I am in charge of this team. A fact which makes me responsible. Me, and only me. What this team does, I am responsible for. I take responsibility for the actions of all of us. That's what my job is all about. Let me do my job."

"But..."

Jack waved a finger. "Ahh. No buts."

A short time later, the sphere began to glow once again, lighting up the chamber, or at least an area of several hundred yards around SG-1's cell, and the aliens reappeared.

-----------------

<><><><><>

Deep under Cheyenne Mountain, klaxons sounded.

"Incoming wormhole!" announced the excited voice of Lt. Graham Simmons.

"Who is it?" asked General Hammond, charging into the control room. SG-1 had gone through hours ago, early this morning, and no one else was due back for days.

"I haven't received a code, Sir. The wormhole has activated and is just, well, silent."

Hammond's mind raced feverishly, going over the possibilities. This was a moment he hated, one when they didn't know if a friend or a foe was out there, one where he had to leave the iris closed against the enemy and pray it wasn't a desperate attempt to get home by a team without a GDO, someone injured. He waited, begging every God he knew not to hear the sound of a thump that could be the end of a human life. Silence.

And then something strange began to happen. The iris began to glow. Not Sokar, not again, thought Hammond, ready to order in emergency cooling crews, if this was an assault meant to cut through the iris.

It wasn't. In another moment, an image began to form on the surface of the iris, like some cosmic big-screen TV. SG-1 stood before a group of cloaked aliens. The SGC was receiving sound and pictures through the wormhole and it wasn't anything General Hammond wanted to see or hear.

------------------------

O'Neill turned to the Phosphorenes. "I take responsibility."

"Then step forward." The Colonel did, expecting to hit the invisible wall. To his surprise, it wasn't there and he stumbled ahead. Daniel tried to follow, but he did hit the clear barrier which had suddenly reappeared.

"Come then, O'Neill."

Jack strode forward. Ahead of him appeared three steps and a small platform. On the platform was a large ring, similar to the Stargate. No glowing chevrons, no nifty little pictures of star formations, just glowing, shimmering stone. O'Neill stopped before the ring.

Just as he was beginning to wonder what would happen next, something grasped the back of his shirt and ripped it away, leaving him bare to the waist.

Oh oh, he thought, in the moment before things went from bad to worse.

"Yes," he said, staring resolutely ahead.

"No." O'Neill thought he detected surprise in the alien's tone.

"We ask again..."

"Look, just do what you have to do and be done with it, huh? Or is talking me to death the torture?"

"Okay. So do it."

There was no sound, no motion, nothing that could be seen, but suddenly Jack O'Neill felt the sting of a lash across his back, the burning pain as something unseen bit into his flesh. He bit his lip. Behind him, he heard a stifled gasp from Daniel as Dr. Jackson watched his friend being punished for his deed. The team saw no weapon, no device, just saw O'Neill's body jerk and a red welt appear across his back.

"One," intoned the voice.

Again the lash struck, and again pain seared across his back. His team saw another welt mar O'Neill's skin.

"Two," said the voice.

Another blow, raising another welt across his back.

"Three."

A stinging pain across his shoulders.

This wasn't so bad, this was bearable.

More welts. And then the platform began to move, slowly turning, so now O'Neill had to face his team, and they in turn had to watch his face as each blow was delivered.

Nasty, but, do-able, O'Neill told himself, willing his face to be a disinterested mask to hide the pain.

This time the direction changed, the blow cutting across existing welts.

Another cut, ripping across his shoulders.

The blow tore the skin on his back, and he could feel blood trickling down his ribs.

Stung, he thought, now that one really stung. The platform was still revolving and now his back was again to his team. The other members of SG-1 could clearly see each blow land and leave another mark, see the blood and the torn flesh.

Warm blood, trailing down his back.

He could hear the others pleading with the aliens to stop. Jack didn't look at them, didn't want to see them, didn't want them to see the pain he was having trouble keeping off his face.

It was harder now, not to anticipate the next blow.

Jack felt his lip tear where he was biting down on it to keep from crying out as the invisible whip tore his back again.

In the transparent cell, so near and yet so far, unable to help their team leader and friend, Daniel was frantic, pounding on the glass, alternately refusing to look and yet needing to watch, his own hands becoming bruised as he battered vainly against the invisible yet inviolable barrier. "Bastards. Stop this. Let him go. Let him go."

Carter was trying to be rational, staring at the aliens defiantly. "If you're so superior, you know you don't need to do this. Compassion, you should have compassion. Isn't that a superior trait?"

Teal'c face appeared as impassive as ever, but his huge hands were clenching and unclenching, rhythmically, like the labored breathing they could hear from O'Neill.

Damn that hurt, Jack thought.

The whip cut deeply into his back.

I wonder how many ribs are sticking out? he thought.

Won't Doc be glad to see me this time?

You know, I don't think the infirmary is really such a bad place.

His back was raw, welts crisscrossing and cutting the flesh, blood oozing from the cuts.

"Do you wish to rest, O'Neill, before we continue?"

"And take a break from this kind of fun? Oh, no," he said, hoping the sarcasm hid the tremor in his voice. One hundred blows. Oh God, he thought, he couldn't last 100 blows, no one could. But they said it wasn't a death sentence. Did they know how fragile humans were?

The unseen device struck his back again.

---------------------------

<><><><><>

In the SGC control room, Dr Janet Fraiser stood beside General Hammond. "Sir, he needs medical attention. His back," she shuddered at the glimpse she had gotten of the bloody, damaged tissue revealed by the slow revolutions of the punishment platform.

"Doctor, I can see that, but there doesn't appear to be anything we can do about this." Hammond heard a noise behind him, saw more people standing, staring, and he let his anger boil through into his voice. "Clear these people out of here. No one except essential personnel in this room," he thundered. By God, no one was going to be watching O'Neill in pain so they'd have something to gossip about later in the cafeteria. "Lt. Simmons, can't we turn this damn thing off?"

The young officer was conferring with several others, turned back to the SGC CO and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sir, it seems we can't disconnect it. We can't end the broadcast or send a message back to them."

<><><><><><>

O'Neill felt another cut open, another rivulet of blood trickle down his side.

Welts on top of welts, cuts over cuts.

A gasp of pain escaped him. Damn, he thought, have to do better than that.

The tip of the lash bit high into his shoulder. He could hear Daniel yelling at them to stop, hear Carter pleading with them to stop, hear Teal'c offering to take his place. With his eyes, O'Neill tried to tell them he was okay, forced a smile to his face to reinforce the lie.

Jack envisioned himself on a beach, the sun warm on his back.

He was drinking a margarita.

Sunburned. His back was on fire from the sunburn.

The margarita tasted strangely like blood.

No, that was the taste of blood in his mouth, from his cut lip, where he bit it, to prevent himself from yelling out his pain.

Braced for another blow, Jack suddenly realized it had not come. Thirty? Was that the magic number.

Jack felt himself lowered until his feet again touched the floor and then his hands were released. He stumbled, falling to his knees. Damn, damn you, he thought defiantly, using his anger at the situation to straighten his knees and propel him back to his feet. Staggering, he forced his legs to work, to put one foot in front of another. Looking up, he saw Daniel's face. Oh, don't look so guilty, Daniel, he thought. Carter looked worried. Teal'c, well, the Jaffa wore his usual steady face. Good one to focus on, O'Neill thought, as he stumbled the last few steps. The barrier let him through and then Daniel was catching him as he fell. Only then did the implications of the words hit him; 'this phase of the punishment.' Oh shit. There was more.

---------------------------

<><><><><>

"The wormhole has disconnected," said a shaken Lt. Simmons. "General?"

"Simmons, dial up PCL-124, now. We've got a rescue team standing by," he told the young lieutenant as he headed down to the control room. There, Hammond confronted Col. Makepeace of the SG-3 Marines.

"Colonel, I want you to get our people out of there and get Col. O'Neill back here for medical treatment, immediately."

"Yes, Sir," Makepeace saluted, his usual smirk gone. He'd been watching, and what he'd just seen, well, he and O'Neill might engage in some good-natured rivalry, well, okay, sometimes it went beyond good-natured, but, even if he would never admit it out loud, Makepeace respected the Air Force Colonel. Pretty tough guy, for one of those glamorous flyboys. He'd have made a hell of a Marine, he thought, giving O'Neill the highest compliment he could imagine. "SG-3 will bring them back, Sir."

Hammond looked up impatiently at Simmons. "Lieutenant, where's our connection?"

Simmons answered softly, "Sorry, General, we're unable to establish a wormhole. Everything appears to be functioning perfectly, Sir, but we cannot make a connection to PCL-124. Chevrons are entered and locked but no wormhole is forming."

Fuming, Hammond swung back to Makepeace, "Colonel, your team is standing down, but you'll be on standby to go through the minute we get a wormhole established."

"Yes Sir."

<><><><><>

------------------

Daniel eased Jack to the floor, careful not to touch the bloodied mess that was O'Neill's back.

"Hey, we need water and food and our medical kit," protested Carter.

"You may have liquid and nourishment, nothing else," said the voice, and suddenly their canteens and food packs were on the floor beside them. "And this medicine only. We do not wish your O'Neill to die." One tube of antiseptic ointment and one package of sterile gauze appeared on the floor.

"Generous, aren't they," Daniel said angrily, picking up the ointment and gauze. "And they call us primitive."

Carter grabbed a canteen, held it for the Colonel to drink. "Sir?"

He opened his eyes, saw what she offered, and sipped the liquid gratefully, coughing, then drinking deeply.

"Geez, Jack, I'm..."

"Daniel," said Jack through gritted teeth, "If you say the word sorry I will smack you."

"Okay, okay. Look, I'm going to have to try to clean your back a little bit." Using Jackson's jacket as a cushion, Teal'c helped the injured man to lie down on the floor on his stomach. Daniel fought back bile as he looked at the mess that was his friends's back-- the deep cuts and welts oozing blood and fluid. "Okay," Daniel carefully breathed out, and as gently as he could, using a strip ripped from his shirt, he tried to wipe away some of the blood.

O'Neill nearly jumped off the floor. "What the hell was that?" he gasped.

"Just water, Jack, sorr--" he bit off the word as Jack turned his head to glare at him. "Look, I have to try to clean this."

Again, Daniel poured more water on the wounds, gently wiping away the blood, then began applying a liberal coating of the antiseptic cream as Jack lay silently, breathing harshly, eyes closed, hands clenched. He stopped once, as a moan escaped O'Neill's lips before he could stop it. "Jack, you okay? I know this is the worst area, the cuts are deepest here."

"Hmmm. Just get it done, Daniel, okay," he asked, eyes still tightly closed. Carter knelt in front of him and reached forward, taking the Colonel's hands, clasping them tightly in her own, to give him a focus.

"Easy, Sir. He's almost done."

O'Neill was silent again, but Carter felt his hands crushing hers as he held on, only releasing her hands when Daniel finished.

"There, all done, that's it. Better?" Daniel asked.

"Oh, much," Jack groaned softly as he laid his head back down on Daniel's jacket. Jackson could barely make out the mumbled "thanks." Teal'c took off his own jacket, and Carter added hers to cover O'Neill as he lay face down on the hard floor.

----------------

O'Neill dozed. The pain wouldn't let him sleep, but he drifted, somewhere between wakefulness and oblivion, trying to let his body find a state of quiet that would let him rest. It wasn't working very well, he thought vaguely, maybe because it had gotten so cold in that room. Damn aliens, couldn't make up their mind, cold, then hot. He shivered, and someone was easing the jackets over his back once more. He wanted the warmth but even that soft contact burned.

Jack dozed again, waking as an unseen hand wiped his face, funny, he didn't realize it had gotten so warm in here. He looked up, thinking maybe that was why the others had all taken off their jackets. It was warm and he moved to brush the jacket from his own shoulders, shuddering as pain flared across his back with the movement.

Whoa, Jack, don't do that. Lie still, he told himself.

A hand touched his arm soothingly. "Easy, Sir. Don't try to move."

"Major?" he asked groggily.

"Shh, rest Sir."

Again, the cool cloth was wiping his forehead. Felt good, he thought. "Hmmm."

He dozed again, rousing when he felt a hand again on his forehead and a cloth wiping his sweaty brow. In the dim light, Teal'c offered him water and helped him sit upright enough to drink, before he sank back onto the floor to rest.

-------------------

He didn't know how long he'd been drifting in and out of awareness before the light in the room once again began to increase. Using his arms, O'Neill pushed himself upwards, groaning with the effort.

"Don't, Jack, keep still," soothed Daniel.

O'Neill ignored the words, pushing himself to a sitting position, then grabbing Teal'c's hand, pulling himself, okay, mostly letting Teal'c pull him upright, as the glowing sphere once again appeared before them. Straightening bit by bit, he bit back a gasp of pain as the movement pulled on raw tissues and damaged muscles. Summoning up all his strength, Jack moved to put himself between the sphere and his team. "What do you want?" he rasped.

Before Jack could stop him, Daniel tried to push to the fore. "You are not going back out there," Daniel insisted. "I did the crime. I should be punished."

"No way," said the Colonel.

"Jack, no, please, look..."

Jack's face was tight with pain and anger too. "Daniel, I told you. I am responsible. Now get out of my way."

"You can't do this."

"I concur, O'Neill," added Teal'c stepping up beside Jackson.

"Too late. I've already done it and now there's no sense in you or anyone else going through this." Jack stuck out a hand, felt the barrier give, and brushing past Daniel, using every ounce of willpower to straighten his shoulders and stiffen his knees, he marched out of their cell and into the punishment chamber.

<><><>

------------------------

The gateroom had been the scene of feverish activity for hours as test after test was performed on the dialing equipment and programs. "Sir, we've tested all the gate components from the power supply through the computer system and everything is functioning normally," Sgt. Siler reported to a harried and still worried General Hammond.

"Then why can't we get through to that planet?" the General demanded.

"Test activations to planets other than PCL-124 have been completed successfully."

"So what's happening, Sgt?"

"Frankly, General, I don't know. We really don't know that much about how this thing works, Sir. But we've proven the problem is not on our end. I'd say something or someone on PCL-124 is blocking us."

"Great. Dismissed, Sgt," said Hammond, continuing to stare up at the huge Naquada ring.

Suddenly, the ring began to move. "Incoming wormhole," announced the technician.

"Close the iris," Hammond ordered, heading once more for the control room.

By the time he'd climbed the stairs and stood once again behind the banks of computers where Simmons sat, the iris was once again glowing, an unwelcome image again beginning to form.

Oh Lord, please, not again, prayed Hammond silently, but no god answered his plea.

<><><><><>

---------------------------

O'Neill was being questioned.

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Yes." O'Neill answered defiantly, ignoring the sweat trickling down his face.

Once again, Jack walked forward, staggering on the steps but righting himself.

His knees went weak at the pain of that motion, but O'Neill complied, teeth gritted. A gasp of pain escaped him as he was again hoisted off his feet to hang suspended above the floor, his raw wrists burning.

Think of something else, O'Neill, think. Concentrate. Hammond would repeat the entire book of regs. Daniel would recall the genealogy of all the major and minor Gods of all the major and minor cultures on Earth for the past 10,000 years; Carter would probably recite the multiplication tables, backwards; Teal'c, geez, Teal'c would think of what, of Jaffa jokes? of, of...God, he didn't know... what would Teal'c think of at a time like this? Think of something, O'Neill. Anything.

It was stupid, but it was all that popped into his head: 99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of cold, refreshing beer.

The first blow to his jaw rocked him. What the? He'd been prepared for another assault on his back, maybe even his ribs. But not... 98 bottles of beer, take one down;

Another blow split his lip, opening up the cut he'd made before with his own teeth while trying to hold back the pain.

Shit. Take one down, pass it around, 97 bottles of beer on the wall.

Another blow snapped his head sideways. Black eye, he thought. 96 bottles of beer on the wall. Sweating, from the heat. Hot in here. Who'd turned the heat up, huh?

A solid smack to the cheek, he'd have a lovely bruise. 95 bottles of beer, take one down.

Another blow, higher, and he felt that old cut on his eyebrow open up again as the blood begin leaking down his face. Not that spot again, he thought, really wishing for a beer.

As the platform slowly revolved, SG-1 could see O'Neill's face as bruise after bruise appeared, seemingly out of thin air, each unseen blow rocking the Colonel's body before the turning circle hid his face again.

The blows shifted, to his ribcage, the first driving the air from his lungs.

Cracked rib, he thought, as the next blow sent familiar agony knifing through his side.

Somewhere about the time he was taking the 83rd bottle off the wall, O'Neill passed out.

The Phosphorenes were suddenly conferring. "We will pause to give O'Neill respite before the punishment may continue. We do not practice pointless cruelty, there is no reason to administer punishment for the sake of punishment, if the wrongdoer cannot contemplate his act, and his punishment."

"Isn't this enough?" cried out an anguished Daniel. "Stop this. Now. Please. Let me take his place. This is barbaric."

"No, Daniel Jackson, it is I who should take the remainder of O'Neill's punishment. I can recover most quickly due to my symbiote."

Again, Jack was lowered to the floor, but this time, when his feet touched the surface, his knees buckled and he sank soundlessly to the hard floor.

"Sir? Colonel, are you okay?"

Long, agonizing moments they waited, calling his name, before they saw movement and heard him mumble an answer. Finally they were able to make out his words. "Oh, I'm just peachy," he slurred through swollen lips and stiffening jaw.

Carter was furious. "Let us go to him, help him."

<><><><><>

Part 4

As the image from PCL-124 once again faded from the iris, Dr Janet Fraiser stood beside General Hammond. "Sir, we have to stop this before they kill him. Can't we do something?"

Hammond glared at the Stargate. "No, Doctor Fraiser, apparently we can't."

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To the three members of SG-1, the time was endless, watching O'Neill, crumpled on the floor in a fetal position, breathing harshly, shivering. And then too soon the respite was over.

"Sir, please, don't get up, don't..." Carter begged.

"Jack, stop." Daniel was beating his fists against the glass wall. "Stop this. Stop."

"Colonel O'Neill, perhaps now is not the appropriate time to show proof of your courage," intoned the deep voice of the Jaffa.

The Phosphorenes stepped closer to O'Neill, who had so far been unsuccessful in his efforts to climb off the floor. "If your representative is unable to continue, another will be appointed in his place."

"No!" said a barely audible voice from the floor. Jack couldn't bear the thought of anyone else being hurt, not when he was there and able in any way to protect them, even if it meant more pain to be endured. He knew how to do that. Summoning up his strength, Jack O'Neill used wobbly arms to push himself to a sitting position, then placed one foot on the floor, pushing off, staggering to his feet. Weaving, he straightened, slowly, inch by inch, until he stood at his full 6'2" height, wavering but upright.

"Jack, no!" he heard Daniel holler from behind him, heard fists pounding futilely on the unseen but effective barrier.

"Yes."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes." O'Neill answered stubbornly.

Once, again, Jack walked forward.

The watchers, once again including the unwilling audience back at the SGC, did not think this time he would, or could. For a moment he stood still, then a look of determination crossed the battered face and slowly he raised his arms over his head.

The shackles appeared, snapping shut on his wrists and a moan escaped him as he was lifted from the floor.

"Jack, no," whispered Daniel, wanting to turn away but unable to.

Jack steeled himself to accept what was to come, to hold in the pain, to not cry out, to spare the others.

This blow was different, some sort of shock, like an electric shock, like a stun gun, Jack thought through a haze of pain, as agony rippled along his nerves.

The pain of the first blow had barely faded away before the second shock left him gasping for breath.

He shuddered with the third, unable to stop his body from reacting.

The fourth shock was so intense that he writhed silently against the bonds that held him. Again, on the fifth and sixth touch of the unseen device, he grimaced, biting back the scream that wanted to form in his throat at the shock, each one seeming more excruciating than the last.

"STOP!" A voice, louder, deeper, from somewhere in the dark fringes of the room. "Council, we must confer." A figure strode forward from the shadows. "That is enough. We must discuss this. This is not at all the reaction I expected. Perhaps we have misjudged these people of Earth."

Whispers from the darkness.

"Glad to oblige ya' there," Jack slurred, as he was once again lowered until his booted feet touched the floor. Gasping with pain, this time he defiantly managed to stay upright when the chains were released.

Sam, Daniel and Teal'c also found the clear wall was gone. They surged forward, taking hold of the Colonel, helping him.

As he staggered into their waiting arms, O'Neill mumbled, "it's over?"

Carter, face grim, tears glistening in her eyes, answered, "yes, Sir. Over. You made it, Sir."

"Good," said the Colonel, letting his eyes slide closed and surrendering to the waiting darkness.

They rushed to the Stargate, dialing for home, carrying the unconscious Colonel. As their molecules were flung across the universe and they stepped out of the wormhole into Earth's gateroom, SG-1 was stunned to see a medical team waiting, General Hammond, Colonel Makepeace and his team of Marines all standing silently at attention at the foot of the ramp.

As Dr. Fraiser rushed to the Colonel, Carter looked around in surprise. "Sir? How did you know?"

"We witnessed it, Major."

"Sir?"

"The Phosphorenes apparently wanted all of us to view the punishment and the Colonel's courage. They engaged the Stargate from their end and sent us a picture. We all saw what they did. We saw what the Colonel did," said Hammond, looking grim as he watched his CMO work on his Second in Command. The General stepped over to them, as he saw O'Neill's unconscious form lifted onto a gurney.

Fraiser had only seconds for the General. "He's badly injured Sir, but his vitals are strong. They intended to hurt him, General, not kill him." She looked down the hall after her patient. "I need to go, Sir."

"Yes, go Doctor. Take good care of him."

"I will, General."

--------------------

Knowing they wouldn't leave the infirmary without word on their CO, Hammond conducted an informal briefing of SG-1 in the hallway, with the three able-bodied but distracted members of his number one field team. "What happened out there, people? Before that kangaroo court session? We saw the rest."

SG-1 explained, Daniel standing silent, arms wrapped around his chest, staring into the infirmary where Fraiser and her staff were working on his friend; Carter, indignant, anger plain in every word and gesture, reporting the details of their 'misdeed' and their capture; Teal'c, in his ever steady voice, simply and solemnly relating O'Neill's insistence that he and he alone was responsible.

"We'll mark PCL-124 as a world to be avoided from now on, people." Hammond soothed.

"A little too late, Sir," Daniel amended quietly.

"Dr. Jackson, our business here is risky business, going through that gate, I know it and you know it and Colonel O'Neill knows it," he reminded the young man.

It was nearly two hours after SG-1's return before a harried looking Dr. Fraiser was able to take a break to brief the SGC's CO and O'Neill's worried friends. "General, he's doing as well as could be expected. The Colonel has two cracked ribs and a cracked cheekbone; there are several of the deepest lash marks that will require stitches, the other cuts and bruises are too numerous to detail; he's de-hydrated; feverish and in considerable pain. I think we've averted the danger of shock and he's stable for the moment."

She looked around at the rest of the team. "Are the rest of you okay?" she asked, and got nods all around. Fraiser knew them well enough to know they were worried and upset, well, anyone who'd watched what happened would be, so she did her best to be reassuring. "Look, you all know Colonel O'Neill has a remarkable healing capacity. I expect him to make a complete recovery in a few weeks. Now, Sir, if you'll excuse me, I've got more work to do."

With relief, Janet left the tense group in the hallway and returned to her patient. The Colonel was lying on his stomach, the raw flesh on his back covered for the moment by a sheet as the nursing staff worked to get his temperature down. "Any change?"

"No, still holding steady, ma'am," replied one of the nurses.

Janet was concerned over the high temperature which continued to hover at 103 and the slightly elevated blood pressure and respiration, but she knew those could be pain induced symptoms.

Moving to the head of the bed, she reached out and touched the Colonel's warm forehead, "Sir? Colonel O'Neill?"

"Hmm," he mumbled, eyes fluttering, "Doc?"

"Yes, Colonel, it's me. How are you feeling?"

"Hot in here."

"You're running a high fever, Sir, but we're working on getting it under control. Do you need more pain medication?" she asked. She knew there was no comfortable way for him to lie on the bed, either on his sore ribs or his damaged back.

"No, I'm fine," he stated, letting his eyes drift shut again. "My team, my people, they're okay?"

"Yes, Colonel, I just talked to them. They're fine, just a little worried about you."

"Shouldn't be," he mumbled, fighting to keep his eyes open. "I'm fine."

"I'll tell them that, Colonel. Now, I need to get some stitches in your back, then we'll be done here and you can sleep for a while, okay?"

" 'kay, Doc," he mumbled, letting his eyes fall shut again.

Fraiser spent the next hour on the grim job of repairing what she could on O'Neill's back, thankful that the injuries weren't as deep as she'd first feared. The Colonel lay silent and unmoving while she carefully cleaned and stitched his injuries. Finally, the last task, she disinfected and bandaged his wrists, raw from his struggles against the chains that had held him.

"Damn them anyway, Colonel," she whispered as she finished.

"Damn right," he mumbled.

She was aghast he'd heard her. "Sorry, Sir, I didn't think you were awake."

He opened one weary eye, "hard to sleep, lying like this," he mumbled, "while you were doing that."

"Rest now, Colonel," she ordered, and adjusted the sedative in his IV.

-------------

It was after midnight when General Hammond found his way down to the infirmary to check again on Colonel O'Neill. "Dr. Jackson," he greeted SG-1's archeologist/linguist, who was sitting beside O'Neill's bed.

"General."

"You should get some rest, Son."

Daniel looked at the SGC commander and shook his head. "I can't after what's happened."

"Making yourself ill won't help him. It wouldn't be what he would want."

"General, it was my fault."

"Dr. Jackson, did you listen to what the Colonel told you? He is the leader of SG-1 and he takes responsibility for his people, more than most officers do. I'd have done the same in his shoes. Though I doubt I could have done it half as well," Hammond said softly.

---------------------------

Dr. Fraiser didn't go home that night. She called her daughter, apologizing, explaining she had a patient to keep an eye on. She caught cat naps on a spare bed, checking on the Colonel every hour. It was more than just worry about a patient, she acknowledged that, Dr. Warner could have taken care of his medical needs, even her highly competent nursing staff could have handled this. But Janet Fraiser wouldn't have slept at home that night, either, remembering what she'd seen that day, the cruelty of the Phosphorenes, the unflinching courage shown by Colonel O'Neill; the anguish of his team, the anger on the General's face. As a military doctor she'd seen some ugly things, but this was both ugly and beautiful, cruelty and courage wrapped together, and she knew she wouldn't have been able to sleep that night, anyway. So she might as well be here where she could do some good, offer a little comfort to the Colonel or his team.

The Colonel wasn't sleeping much better than his doctor, despite the pain medications and sedatives, Fraiser noted. He was feverish and uncomfortable and in the end, overruling his objections, she upped his meds enough to ensure he slept.

The last time she checked O'Neill, at nearly 4 a.m., she found General Hammond wearily seated beside his second in command's bed. "How is he doing, Dr. Fraiser?"

"The same as an hour ago, Sir," and the hour before that, she thought, remembering the CO's worry.

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One sleepless night for Fraiser turned into three days of the same; of treating the feverish Colonel, briefing a worried General and trying to keep a tense SG-1 in hand while they stood vigil with O'Neill. She gave up on trying to keep them out of the infirmary, finally agreeing they could stay and giving them the job of seeing to his needs: helping him drink, mopping his fevered brow, talking him through his nightmares, convincing him to allow the medical staff to give him enough pain meds to reduce his discomfort. As he battled through the worst, and the raw, livid tissues on his back began to heal and the vivid bruises on his face dulled, fading from black and blue to yellow, Fraiser could only shake her head at his stubbornness, and theirs.

Two weeks after the ordeal on PCL-124, she agreed reluctantly to send the Colonel home. Daniel promised to stay with him, oversee his medications and be sure he ate well, drank enough fluids and got adequate rest, always an issue when dealing with a recuperating O'Neill.

-------------------

Coming back to awareness of the here and now, the Colonel realized he was standing in his kitchen, and Daniel's back was disappearing down the hallway. He stood a moment, then realized that was the sound of the hall closet door. Damn, Daniel was leaving. Cursing at the stiffness hampering his every movement, O'Neill hurried after the younger man.

"Daniel!" He hadn't meant for the word to come out so sharply, like an order, or like a parent chastising an unruly child. Then again, he thought with a sigh, being a team leader was a lot like being a parent. More softly, he added, "where do you think you're going?"

The young archaeologist stopped at the doorway and turned back, the hurt still evident on his face. "I think I should go. I don't think I'm wanted here."

"Oh for crying out loud."

Jackson turned for the door.

Jack grabbed for the door, realized that was a mistake and he couldn't bite back the groan, because that hurt. Shit.

"Are you okay?" Daniel's voice was worried.

Jack straightened slowly, carefully, letting the breath hiss out between his teeth. "Just moved too fast," he said with a tight grin. "Guess I'm not as mobile as I thought I was." Okay, O'Neill, don't lay it on too thick or he won't buy it, he warned himself. "I think I better sit down."

Daniel took Jack's arm, eased him back to the living room. The Colonel sat down carefully, leaning against the side of the sofa, his back still too sore to allow him any other way to rest.

"There, is that better?" There was worry in Daniel's voice.

"Yeah," Jack closed his eyes a moment, gathering his strength, gathering his thoughts. When he opened them, Daniel was sitting on the chair across the room, perched on the edge like a bird ready to take flight at the slightest provocation. Okay, O'Neill, you're the team leader, so lead.

"Daniel," he started, his voice now soft, "I don't want you to leave. Please." The use of that word caught Jackson's attention, it was one O'Neill used rarely. "We need to talk about this." God this was hard. Let me fight a dozen snakeheads or butt heads with the brass, but making me talk about my feelings is like torture, okay, like a different kind of torture.

"You got hurt because of me."

"No, I got hurt because of what *we* do. Because of what *I* do."

"I touched that device."

"Yes, you did. But that's your job."

"To totally mis-read a culture and get you nearly killed?"

"No, Daniel, it's your job to be curious. See, I would have walked into that room, looked around it and left."

"And you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"True. But we also wouldn't have learned anything, on this or most of our other missions. Our jobs are different; that's what makes SG-1 work as a team. I do the things I do well. You do the things you do well, the same for Carter and Teal'c. We all have our strengths and our weaknesses. As the leader of SG-1, it's my job to be the paranoid, worry first, ask questions later guy. I'm supposed to protect my team in any way possible, even protect them from their own actions, with my life, if necessary. I'm military, and I accepted the risks that go with that a long time ago." O'Neill ran a hand through his unruly gray hair, thinking what to say next.

"It's also my job to encourage the rest of you to do your jobs. It's your job to discover things, to envision the possibilities; to make the leaps of intuition, to see the things that I look right past and miss. You're supposed to be looking and seeking, exploring. Me, I'd only see something as a weapon to fight the gould, and only if it was an obvious one. You see the subtleties that I miss, Daniel. And the team needs that, I need that, the SGC needs that." Jack paused a moment, shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't call you guys kids for nothing, you know. Being SG-1's leader is a lot like being a parent. I've got to let you explore and test your limits, and sometimes that's hard to do because there are consequences. But as a parent, you do whatever you can to keep your kids safe, no matter the cost." O'Neill's voice got very, very quiet. "I failed at that once. I will never let that happen again. Ever." He raised his face to look into Daniel's eyes, and there was fierce determination in his voice. "I will do whatever I have to do to protect my team. Anything. At any cost. That's my right and my privilege."

Daniel sat quietly. "Jack... I didn't mean...."

Jack looked away, out the picture window at the stunning vista of mountains, snowcapped even now. "I know. You didn't mean to cause any trouble, and I didn't mean to hurt your feelings because you're my best friend and if you leave, well, if you leave I'm never going to get my beer, huh?" he said, trying to lighten the moment.

"No beer," Daniel said finally.

"Okay. Poker?"

"I never win, Jack. You cheat. Chess?"

"I never win at chess. Checkers."

"Deal."

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