Snared

By Badgergater

Email: [email protected]

Season: 4 or 5

Warnings: None

Rating: Anyone

Pairing: None

Category: H/C

Summary: Trouble with the natives on an alien planet

Author’s Pledge: The real Jack O'Neill, presented with honest, accurate information so that the potential reader may make an informed decision on whether or not to read.

Author’s Note: Jack and always Jack

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

I’ve always known my life was one big cosmic joke. That fate had it in for me, in spades. That between my broad shoulders someone, God, Fate, Mother Nature, Buddha, had painted one big and honkin’ target.

Hell, maybe I’d been born that way.

Bad genetics.

You know, the unluck of the Irish.

Because here I was, within sight of my team, within sight of the gate and the hope and the medical assistance it promised, and I was stuck.

Quite literally.

Like a rat in a trap.

A very pissed off, snarling rat, but a rat, none the less.

"Sir," my radio crackled to life, Carter’s voice unmistakable despite the static. "We can make a run for the gate."

Maybe they could, but I sure as hell couldn’t. "Then go!" I ordered.

"Not without you, Sir," her worry was obvious, despite the less than perfect tonal quality of the communications gear.

"Yes, without me, Carter."

"But Sir--"

"Major! I gave you a direct order. Get the hell off this rock and--"

"We’re not leaving without you, Jack," Daniel interrupted.

Great, bleepin’ great, a freakin’ mutiny. If I ever get off this useless hunk of rock alive I am sooo gonna find myself a new team, one that will actually obey my orders. Is that too much for a Colonel to ask? "Daniel, get off the damn radio," I shouted. "I’m talking to Carter, and Major, I’m *ordering* you to activate that gate and go home. Now! I’ll cover your sixes."

"No, Sir," Carter’s answer was polite but stubborn, and totally insubordinate.

If I survived this mess, I’d have her reading the regs for weeks. Months. Years. Fury laced my voice. "Major Carter, *no* is *not* a word you are allowed to say to me."

"But--"

"Carter, I am pinned down here," how literally I hadn’t told them. "And you are not. Go home, bring reinforce--"

And then once more all hell broke loose and for the time being, the conversation was moot. No one was going to get to the gate for a while because another wave of attackers was pouring out of the trees like water streaming out of a leaky bucket.

Lying flat on the ground, gun barrel propped on a rock, I got as comfortable as I could, which wasn’t very. Setting my P-90 on single fire mode, I took careful aim at the swarming enemy. Make every round count, I reminded myself grimly, because though my supply of ammo was generous, it was finite. And I wasn’t sure the number of alien attackers wasn’t infinite.

Or so it seemed.

I squeezed the trigger.

One shot, one down.

Two shots, two down.

Three shots, three down.

Don’t think of them as people-- four shots, four down-- think of them as targets-- five shots, five down. Methodical, efficient, deadly fire-- six shots, six down-- an exercise in perfection because if so much as a single one of them got past me, I and maybe my whole team was doomed.

Seven shots, seven down.

With each bullet I felt the weapon’s recoil, the gun butt smacking solidly into my shoulder. A good weapon, the P-90. Eight shots, eight down-- and despite the noise and chaos around me, I heard the metallic clatter as each ejected casing hit the rocks of my little hidey hole.

Nine shots, nine down.

Hidey hole.

Right.

Ten shots, ten down.

Damn stupid, really goddamn stupid thing I’d done to get myself into this mess.

/---------\

Three days into an uneventful and dare I say it, almost pleasant visit to the planet, we’d been attacked.

Out of the blue.

Completely without warning.

Hell, there hadn’t been one single sign of current inhabitants, not a one, nothing. I’d have bet my whole Simpsons DVD collection that there wasn’t anyone else on the whole planet. Even now, I still hadn’t seen one of the natives close enough to know if they were truly human. Honestly, I’d been too busy running, shooting and fighting for my life to play amateur anthropologist.

That was Daniel’s job anyway.

Emptying the clip, I discarded the empty and inserted a full one with the practiced ease of a hundred firefights. It took only seconds and I was back shooting in rhythm-- find a target, aim, hold my breath, squeeze the trigger; find a new target, aim, hold my breath, squeeze the trigger; find a target-- and so it went. At least as long as my ammo held out.

At last, the onrushing wave of attackers faltered, broke and retreated.

"Cease fire!" I shouted into my radio, but I didn’t need to. My team understood the situation.

An eerie quiet prevailed.

Taking a deep breath, I blinked the sweat and dust out of my eyes, ears still ringing from the rattle of gunfire. With my attention no longer focused on the battle, I suddenly realized there was a rock jabbing into my hip. I shifted my weight to ease the discomfort, or started to, at least.

And wanted to scream.

Agony roared to life in my right foot, racing with lightning speed through the nerves of my foot, ankle, calf, thigh, hip, back and straight up my spinal cord to the center of my brain, forcing a strangled sob from my throat.

Oh, God, that hurt.

And kept hurting, because the bloody mess that was my foot seemed suddenly to have taken on a life of its own. Shredded, brutalized muscles cramped and seized spasmodically, each jerk on already abused-beyond-reason flesh causing me to gasp.

I dropped my head and panted. Oh god oh god oh god.

Hurts.

Hurts, damn it.

During the firefight, I’d been too busy staying alive, too busy firing my weapon, keeping my brain too engaged elsewhere to acknowledge the pain messages my body had been screaming at me. I know it’s hard to believe you could forget something like having your foot caught in the alien version of a bear trap, but I had. It was all about focus, concentrating on doing what you had to do. Some people describe it as having a high pain threshold. Me, I think it’s a well honed survival instinct. Concentrate hard enough on what you have to do right now and the rest sort of fades into the background.

For a while.

And now that the battle was over, at least for the moment, the little problem with my foot was clammering for attention.

Oh, yeah, I was remembering it now.

How could I not?

Noise, a noise that was something other than myself moaning, broke into my consciousness, something that I knew I should be listening to, responding to—

"Sir, are you all right? Colonel?" Carter’s voice over the comm gear brought my focus back to the here and the now and the problem at hand.

No damn it, I wasn’t all right. I needed a minute, a couple of minutes, maybe an hour or two, to get my breathing back under control as the spasms lessened a bit and the pain retreated to merely human proportions.

I toggled the radio switch, hoping the poor sound quality of the transmission would prevent the tremors in my voice from betraying me. "Yeah, everyone--" my leg seized up again and I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out-- "everyone okay?" I finally gasped.

"I am uninjured, O’Neill," Teal’c replied.

"Fine, Jack," Daniel added.

"I’m fine, Sir. You?"

Good. They were okay. That was good. "Peachy." I can be a really good liar when I have to be.

I sagged back to catch my breath, refusing to look down at the bloody mess that was my right foot, afraid it looked as mangled as it felt.

Cursing my own stupidity for letting this happen.

/---------\

Things had been going so well. No problems, no hassles, no nasty, pissed off aliens, just a nice, quiet alien world. We’d made camp near some ruins Daniel and Carter were studying.

Maybe something we did pissed them off.

Maybe our just being here pissed them off.

Heck, maybe they were just naturally, permanently pissed off.

The natives never gave us a chance. One minute, we were all alone, peacefully going about our business and the next, they just appeared. Well, no, to be accurate, they didn’t just appear, they just attacked, actually, charging out of the forest, shooting darts and screaming an incoherent battle cry. There’d been nothing we could do but abandon almost everything in the camp and make a run for the gate.

Pausing only long enough to grab weapons and ammo, we bugged out.

Only later, much later, did I realize that our escape had been too easy. In the perfect 20/20 of hindsight, I saw it plainly, how the natives herded us along the path back toward the Stargate, firing only sporadically, their metal arrows flying through the air at our heels and over our heads like hordes of angry bees.

The four of us ran at a steady ground covering pace made easier by the lack of packs and extra gear. Long before my lungs started to burn with the effort, I’d felt the familiar dull ache begin to build in my overstressed knees.

I ignored it, and ran on.

Finally risking a glance back, I saw that we had outdistanced our pursuers and slowed. "Teal’c," I called and when my Jaffa point man looked back, I signaled for us to slow down. As SG-1 dropped back to a walk, the aliens following us slowed their pace, too.

"O’Neill?" Teal’c nodded toward the natives.

"I see. They’re herding us," I observed, worried.

"Toward the gate? Why?" Carter seemed surprised.

"I don’t know, Major. Maybe they want us to leave," I snapped, mind racing to examine all the possibilities. "Or maybe it’s a trap."

There, so, I’d thought it, I’d said it, I’d known it was possible, even likely, and yet, I’d ignored my own sense of danger and fallen for it anyway.

Or fallen in it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

We moved steadily at a fast walk, and it didn’t take us long to get close to the gate. Then, moving cautiously, we approached our escape route. I began to think that we’d make it, that it would just turn out to be an exciting paragraph for the mission report (Encountered aliens. Chased by same. We ran faster and carried bigger guns, thus, we won.) and a lot of hassle over lost equipment, and nothing more. "Okay, people, let’s fan out here and not offer them one big, fat easy target, eh? We could be walking into an ambush." I motioned Teal’c to my left, keeping Carter and Daniel in the middle as I worked my way to our right flank. "Keep your eyes open," I reminded them, though I knew I didn’t need to spell it out for them.

We were veterans at this.

Still, it was good advice, and I should have listened to it myself.

SG-1’s standard ‘hasty exit under hostile threat’ maneuver is a well established routine. Daniel dials the DHD and Carter sends the GDO code while Teal’c and I provide cover. It’s a simple and effective plan, one we’ve used often and well. Except of course, this time it didn’t work. Because, despite the fact I expected a trap, it was me, Special Ops Colonel and the SGC’s most veteran team leader, who fell into the trap myself.

Literally.

Okay, so I didn’t fall into it. I stepped smack dab into it, actually.

I was never going to live this down, if I lived long enough to ever live it up again.

Walking forward, my eyes roaming side to side in search of anything amiss, taking one step at a time, pausing to reconnoiter before taking another, I took each stride slowly and carefully.

But, as it turned out, not slowly and carefully enough. Though to be fair, I only have two eyes, and there were four directions to be looking, without even considering up or down, down being the point at which this whole mess started.

And I don’t think, even if I’d have looked, that I could have seen what was about to happen.

One minute I was walking along, stepping over an innocent looking log, and the next, totally unexpectedly, my foot broke through what should have been solid ground but wasn’t, and I stumbled awkwardly. In that first surprised split second, something clamped down on my boot, something hard and sharp. I looked down in shock, a long moment passing as I stared down at the blood welling from torn flesh. What the--?

Crap.

And then the pain hit, in an instant the numbness flaring into red hot agony where hard metal bit through the boot and into my flesh like a shark latching onto a surfer. My forward momentum jerked me off my feet, the fall helping metal teeth further shred skin and muscles and nerves. I would have screamed except the hard landing flat on my belly, falling on top of the P-90, knocked the wind out of me.

The only sound I made was a muted, strangled groan as I desperately tried to suck air into my empty lungs.

Even before I pulled in a full breath, I twisted, trying to see what had caught me.

A contraption of cold, hard metal with razor-sharp, tooth-like projections was firmly affixed to my right foot just below the ankle.

It was simple, it was primitive, it was nasty, and it was very, very effective.

I was caught.

"Sir? Where are you?" Carter had noticed my disappearance.

Still trying to figure out how this stunning turn of events happened, I realized the trap had yanked me down into a foliage covered depression in the soil.

"Just fell--" And before I could explain further, the attack began.

The natives came swarming out of the forest, rolling forward like a massive, dark wave, screeching their high-pitched battle cry.

Twisting my torso, ignoring the pain shooting up from my ankle as I moved, I pulled the P-90 out from underneath me. Praying it hadn’t been damaged in the fall, I brought the gun up, sited on the approaching figures, and fired my first volley at their feet. That’s SOP—primitive natives, we’ve usually found, are terrified by the noise of our weapons, by the zing of bullets passing close by through the air. Hey, it scares the crap out of me, let me tell you, so it sure ought to petrify them.

Think of it as sort of a mini version of shock and awe.

These guys, however, were neither shocked nor awed.

Nope.

They didn’t stop, they didn’t falter, they didn’t even so much as slow down.

Time for plan B—if you can’t scare them, shoot them.

"Take ‘em down!" I shouted and poured the next short burst into the front ranks of the attackers, seeing a dozen and maybe more crash to the ground, their agonized screams joining the cacophony of sound: Teal’c’s staff weapon blasts, Carter’s clattering P-90 fire, the pop-pop of Daniel’s 9 mil, all accented by the rasp of my own harsh breathing.

Undeterred by the carnage, the natives kept coming.

"Crap," I muttered, and joined my teammates in firing longer bursts across the wave of attackers.

This time the charge shuddered, broke, and fell back into the treeline.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I could still see dark forms milling around along the edge of the forest, but there was no forward movement. Still breathing hard, I tabbed my radio. "Everybody okay?"

Each of my teammates answered affirmatively. "Good. Stay put in case they haven’t had enough."

"The gate, Sir?" Carter asked.

"Let’s just give them a minute. We don’t want to get caught out in the open," I ordered. There was no cover around the DHD, and it was a long run across open ground to get from it to the gate. We’d be exposed to the natives’ weapons for a long stretch. Well, my team would be. I wasn’t running anywhere with that big hunk of metal attached to my foot.

The thought of it prompted me to finally, though I didn’t want to, take a good look at just what it was that had caught me.

My foot was firmly trapped, wrapped in a claw-like mesh of unforgiving hard metal. Twisting carefully around, I managed to sit up and reach forward toward the metal cable that ran from the trap into the ground. I pulled on it as hard as I could, muscles straining, but it didn’t budge.

Okay, then, time to try something else. I studied the contraption carefully, and spotted a sort of round tab protruding from what looked like the spring mechanism. It looked like it might be a release. Carefully, I reached down and pressed on the round metal.

I was wrong about it being the release.

It was not, it was just the opposite in fact. My touch didn’t loosen the trap’s already vicious hold, but tightened it. "Arrrghhh," I shouted as the metal teeth bit deeper, burrowing further into flesh and bone. I fell back, beating my fist against the ground. "Oh god," I was moaning as everything went gray and wobbly, the sky turning dark, the alien planet spinning dizzily. I fought back the urge to throw up, quelling my too-rapid breathing.

I was quite effectively caught like a rabbit in a snare.

/--------\

PART TWO

That was something like three hours ago.

There had been three attacks, and three retreats, since.

I dropped my head to rest it on my arms, totally exhausted. Pain will do that to you, especially when combined with adrenaline spikes, because when they’re over, they leave you drained. Washed out. Weary.

And when you’re worn out, that’s when the pain overwhelms and wins.

Oh, god, it hurt, like my flesh was being sliced and my bones slowly crushed.

/-----x-----\

I was so down in that I didn’t hear them approach.

Suddenly, they were there, right beside me, well, standing above me, actually.

If they had been the enemy, I’d have been dead.

Thankfully, they were not.

"O’Neill, you are injured."

Oh, no one but Teal’c can state the obvious so succinctly. "You noticed."

"Jack? What’s--" Daniel’s voice died away as saw my predicament, and knelt down beside me. "What happened?"

"What do you think? I stepped into a trap."

"Does this--" Daniel’s hand was reaching for the small round plate atop the device.

"Don’t!" I hollered, sitting up and slapping his hand away. "Tried that already. It just makes it worse. Tighter."

"Oh."

"Perhaps I could be of assistance," Teal’c offered quietly.

He’s always so confident, so calm and collected that he imparts the same feelings to me. I waved a hand at my foot. "Be my guest. It’s not like I’m going anywhere." Okay, so it was a snarky thing to say, but I was hurting, you know?

Daniel moved back, taking up a watchful position, I noted, while Teal’c knelt down beside me. The big Jaffa studied the alien device quietly. "I need to examine this more closely."

I nodded, knowing there had to be a ‘but’ on the way.

"But it will require that I move your leg, which may be painful."

"Ya think?" I fell back, covering my face with one hand. "Okay, just do it. And be quick about it, huh?"

"I will, O’Neill," Teal’c said softly, his hands closing carefully around the blood smeared boot, lifting the device and with it the trapped appendage.

"Arrghhhh! Damn it," I started to sit up, then sank back once more, feeling the sweat popping out on my forehead. "Son of a--" I clamped my mouth shut to fight back the swirl of pain-induced nausea. I knew Teal’c was doing his best to be both careful and quick, but gawd, it hurt.

Just about to the point where I was going to throw up, or bawl, he finished.

"I am done, O’Neill," Teal’c carefully set the trap and the booted foot back down. "I am sorry for causing you pain."

"Not--," I gasped for air, swallowing, "not your fault. Damn—stupid-- thing to do."

Teal’c was still studying the heavy metal trap. "I did not see a release mechanism."

"I didn’t either," I whispered hoarsely, my breathing back under control, and the pain, too, well, mostly, sort of, to be honest, not really. "Maybe-- you could shoot the cable?" I suggested, pointing at the metal line that ran from the trap and buried itself into the ground.

"I shall attempt it. Shield your eyes," Teal’c advised.

Again, I covered my eyes with my hand, then spread my fingers to look up at the Jaffa. "Aim careful, would ya? I’m sorta fond of that foot, messy as it is at the moment."

"I shall fire my weapon with utmost care," Teal’c promised. As soon as I had once again covered my face, the Jaffa raised his staff weapon.

I heard the familiar snap/hiss as the weapon activated and repressed a shudder. I trust him completely, but it’s still a scary sound

Teal’c fired his weapon.

Cautiously, I removed my hand from my face and stared down at the smoking, smoldering, but solidly intact cable that still held me trapped. "Guess that didn’t work," I noted with a weary sigh. I was getting really, really bad memories of being trapped once before, pinned to the gateroom wall like a bug stuck on a windshield. Teal’c had tried and failed to free me then, too.

"I believe we shall require assistance to remove this--"

"Bear trap," I suggested.

Teal’c raised an eyebrow. "I have seen no bears on this planet."

"We didn’t see those guys, either," I waved a hand at one of the native’s bodies lying at the edge of the forest. "But they were here."

"I do not believe you should be moved--"

"Nope. Can’t," I agreed. "So you better get going."

"We can’t leave you here," Daniel protested.

"The natives may return," Teal’c added.

"I’m sure they will," I agreed. "So you’d better get the heck out of Dodge before they come back. Leave me all the extra ammo--"

"I could stay," Daniel offered.

"No, you and Carter better get back, send help."

"Only one of us would need to go," Daniel countered.

"That only leaves more people in danger here."

"MajorCarter is capable of defending herself. As am I," Teal’c reminded. "DanielJackson may return to the SGC and request rescue."

Jack sighed, and nodded, feeling faint. "Okay. Leave your water bottle, and the 9 mil. Teal’c, give him cover."

"I should not leave--" the Jaffa started.

"I’ll be fine by myself for a few minutes. Now go. Before the locals come back. And Daniel--"

Jackson stopped and looked down at my face. I noticed he seemed pale beneath his tan but I’d bet he wasn’t as pale as I was. "Tell Hammond not to waste any time, huh?"

"I will."

I fell back wearily, watching them go, then turning back to scan the forest. Soon, I heard the gate dialing, the flushing sound of the kawoosh, and then the snap as it disengaged. Within moments, my two remaining teammates were back at my side.

"Sir," Carter started. She hadn’t been close enough before to get a really good look, but she could see the whole ugly, blood-soaked mess now. "How are y-- oh my god--"

"It looks worse than it is," I lied. "And don’t even *think* that you’re going to touch it. I haven’t forgotten Antarctica."

Her face reddened. "Colonel--"

"Carter, I know you mean well but really, now’s not the time," I snapped impatiently. It was taking most of my energy and all of my concentration not to swear or scream or go completely whacko. Trying to carry on a conversation at the same time was just too much.

"We should use our time to construct additional defenses," Teal’c offered.

"Yes. Exactly. Find a spot to hunker down." I waved a hand at the small depression I was lying in, which, with the inclusion of the large log, had provided me with pretty good cover. "There’s not room for all of us here."

"I could provide a covering crossfire from over there, Sir," Carter offered, pointing at another downed log lying off to the left.

"Good," I nodded. "Teal’c--"

"I will remain here."

"No, I want you to go with Carter."

"I do not think that is wise."

"But I do, T," I insisted. "Watch each other’s back."

"Then who will watch yours, O’Neill?" Teal’c inquired softly.

Oh, the big guy always gets to the heart of the matter.

"I shall stay here until assistance arrives," he insisted.

And then there was no more time to talk because another attack began.

Teal’c threw himself to the ground beside me, taking aim at our attackers. I couldn’t believe they were coming back for more. After the devastating losses we had already inflicted, the natives were still doggedly pressing the attack. Pouring out of the forest in ragged rows, they advanced despite the withering fire.

They were close now, closer than they’d ever been, as if sensing the weakness of their prey. The line staggered forward, bodies dropping to the rapid fire of our modern weapons, but always, another form sprang forward to take the place of the fallen.

"Stubborn SOBs," I muttered as the advance rolled steadily forward.

And kept rolling.

"We can’t hold them!" I shouted. "Make a break for the gate. I’ll cover--"

"I am not leaving," Teal’c defied my order, aiming carefully with his staff weapon, the blast destroying a trio of attackers.

"Me neither, Sir," Carter shouted over the sound of gunfire.

A dart whipped past my face. "They’re behind us," I shouted. Turning as far as I could, though it wrenched my foot causing more blood to gush from the wounds, I triggered a burst of gunfire that took down the enemies who had flanked us. "Get the hell out of here!" I ordered my teammates once again.

They didn’t obey, and I didn’t have time to argue with them.

Sweat poured down my face. I aimed and fired, aimed and fired, my hand cramping against the stock of my gun before the attack finally wavered and broke.

The wave retreated, but my worries didn’t. "Carter, how much ammo have you got left?"

"Four clips, Sir."

And I had three. T’s staff weapon didn’t need ammo, of course, but one staff weapon couldn’t hold off hundred of attackers.

Oiy.

Another attack, and we’d be up a creek without the proverbial puddle.

/-----x-----\

The silence lengthened and stretched.

Which would come first, another attack, or a rescue team?

The natives charged out of the forest.

This was it. The jig was up. A few minutes and my ammo would be gone.

That’s when I heard it, the familiar and most welcome sound in the galaxy, the sound of the cavalry arriving at last.

The gate clanked, kawooshed, and then there was shouting and more bursts of gunfire. I heard someone hollering, "Go, go, go. Go get ‘em boys," even as I watched the native’s advance slow, stagger and turn suddenly into a full fledged retreat.

This was one time I wasn’t going to complain about the Marines, I promised.

Half a dozen green-clad forms were suddenly hovering around me. I had the sudden realization that I was probably never going to hear the end of this.

"The Marines are here to save your butt again, Jack," Dave Dixon smirked. "Bit of a mess you got yourself into, huh?"

"That’s what happens when you’re out here working instead of lounging around on base," I retorted. "So did Daniel give you the message to bring a blowtorch or something?"

Just then, a familiar figure stepped past the Marines. "I’ve brought a whole tool kit, Sir," Siler walked forward, carrying a large box. "We’ll get this taken care of soon, Colonel."

"That would be good." I suddenly felt shaky. I knew it was the end of the firefight, the fading of the adrenaline surge that produced the sudden lethargic feeling. Maybe a bit of blood loss, too, I realized, as the Marine medic knelt down beside me.

"Let’s just get a look at this, Colonel," the medic started, his hands moving carefully down toward my bloodied boot. The man studied the situation for a moment, then turned back to me "Sir, there’s not much I can do at this point. Can’t put a dressing on that until we get you free. The most I can do is apply some disinfectant." He pulled a bottle out of his pack, removing the cap. "This will sting, Sir."

Sting, right. I’d heard that bit of malarkey before. I nodded. "Do it then."

"Okay, Sir." The medic upended the bottle, sluicing the liquid all along the blood crusted wound.

It felt like acid. I hissed, fighting the urge to writhe. "Gawd—that-- hurts."

"Sorry, Sir."

"Right," I snapped. "I’ll bet."

The medic ignored my remark.

The damn trap-thing must have been made of Naquadah. It took Siler about 12 years to cut through the anchoring cable and free me, well, sort of free me. I still had the big hunk of metal trap embedded in my foot. "I don’t know about this, I’m not really into the Quasimodo look," I griped as they prepared to heft me onto a stretcher.

"We could just leave you here, Sir," Dixon suggested with a smirk.

"That’s Marine thinking. Thanks, but no thanks."

By this time, the alien sun had set and the landscape was dark. I was relieved, feeling a little less like the prime exhibit in the center of the zoo with the darkness providing at least a bit of privacy.

Moving, however, wasn’t going to be fun.

The medic gave me a couple of pills to ease the pain, and they were helping, lowering the unending throbbing to a more tolerable level.

Now there were half a dozen men clustered around, preparing to lift me and my ungainly extra appendage onto the waiting stretcher. I noted with relief that Teal’c had taken up the post by my boot. The Jaffa would be the one charged with moving my heavy foot.

"On three boys," said the medic. He looked once at me and I nodded. "One, two, three."

I was lifted, the heavy weight of the trap momentarily dragging my foot down. I bit my lip, tasting blood as I was raised off the ground, shifted over to the stretcher and set down again.

"Doing okay, Sir?" the medic asked cheerily.

"Peachy, son, just peachy."

"Okay, then, we’re ready to transport," the medic told Dixon.

Once again, the gate was activated, and I was carried home.

/-----x-----\

Good ol’ Doc Fraiser stood waiting at the base of the gateramp. She gave me a cheery smile. "So, Colonel, you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble."

I wasn’t going to admit I was glad to see her, nope, not, I was going to be cool as a cucumber, like this was no big thing. That plan lasted about a half a second. "Doc, get this damn thing off—"

Doc reached down and lifted the blanket, her cheery smile morphing instantly into a worried grimace. "Sir? How did this--"

I frowned back up at her. "Stepped-- right in it." It seemed like the medic’s pain potion was starting to wear off. The foot was throbbing unmercifully again. "Not exactly the latest Bruno Magli, is it?"

"No, Sir, it’s not. Let’s get this taken care of, Colonel, and we’ll discuss shoes later."

As long as she gave me something to make me stop hurting, to be honest, I really didn’t give a damn what she did. Within minutes, the medical staff was prepping me for surgery. Oh joy. Knock you out, stick tubes in delicate places, jab needles into innocent, helpless veins, and give you drugs that make you feel like your brain and body are disconnected. Then again, right, at the moment, being disconnected from my right foot wasn’t really such a bad idea. And, yeah, okay, the docs fix you up, too. But you’d think they could invent a better way to do it, one that involved fewer needles, fewer stitches, and fewer days stuck on hard lumpy beds with grumpy nurses refusing to let you eat real food.

However, by the time they wheeled me down the hall toward the OR, I really didn’t care what they did to me. I was, in fact, feeling quite uncharacteristically happy, very, very happy. Downright giddy, in fact. Whatever had been in Doc’s little feel-good cocktail had been extremely effective.

/-----x-----\

Next thing I knew I was waking up in post op.

Shivering.

I tried to say something, but before I could get the words out, a nurse was covering me with a warm blanket.

God, that felt good.

The nurse was talking to me too, saying something, but I was still a bit too fuzzy to make out the words. She sounded happy though, and I figured that was good.

I slipped back into sleep and sweet dreams of a foot massage from Mary Steenburgen.

/-----x-----\

I floated upwards to awareness with what felt like one hell of a hangover. The odd part was, it felt like it was centered in my right foot, which was really strange. After all, I’d had a lot of hangovers in my lifetime, but I couldn’t remember any that had ever taken roost in my right foot.

Finally, I opened my eyes and lifted my head, looking down the length of the bed to where my right foot was uncovered by the blankets, but covered in neat rows of dainty stitches.

Lots of rows. Lots of stitches. Oiy. My right foot looked way too much like one of Grandma O’Neill’s sewing projects.

"You are awake."

I turned my head a bit and discovered that Teal’c sat beside my bed.

"T?" Okay, so witty conversation doesn’t spring to my tongue first thing when I wake up. Hey, no one’s perfect.

"Indeed, O’Neill, it is I."

"That’s good." I licked dry lips and tried to think of something significant, or at least amusing, to say. "So, everyone got off P-3 whatever okay?"

"Everyone, O’Neill."

"No one else hurt?"

"No one, O’Neill."

"That’s good."

"Doctor Fraiser informed us that you have sustained a serious injury but she believes your foot is not permanently damaged, and you will recover completely."

"That’s good. I’d hate to have to give up curling."

"Indeed." Teal’c smiled.

I smiled back, and nodded, and drifted toward sleep. "Thanks, T," I mumbled.

"You are welcome, O’Neill."

Maybe I wouldn’t court martial my whole team after all. Maybe I would even forgive them.

Maybe I’d just wait to decide, until later.

---------The End---------