Switched

By Badgergater

Season: 2

Episode: Holiday

Summary: Jack and Teal'c deal with the consequences of that oops moment

Pairing: None

Rating: G

Spoilers: Holiday and before

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: Mine only in my dreams. I know I'm not the owner in any way shape or form.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was, well, weird.

One moment he’d been standing there, in Machello's place, looking across the alien device at Teal’c, feeling normal and ordinary, with that little thrill of excitement that was always there when he was on a mission, especially on an off-world mission. Accented, of course, by the worry he was feeling over Daniel’s situation.

Jack looked over at Teal’c, “on three,” he reminded the Jaffa. “One,” he reached down with his gloved hands to grab onto the cover plates they’d brought for the handlebars of Machello’s doohickey. "Two. Three."

O'Neill touched the handgrips.

There was a sudden sickening…shift… a dizzying sense of something happening, a flash of mindbending disorientation, and then a sudden massive sense of *wrongness*.

As if his body wasn’t his own.

The first thing that struck him was that he'd moved, swapped places, because he was now on the other side of the machine, like he'd been teleported or something. Looking across Machello’s contraption, Jack O’Neill gasped as he saw his own face looking back at him in the fraction of a second before he felt something… wiggle… in his gut… like there was something… alive… in there.

Uh-oh.

“What?” Carter’s single word query echoed through the room as her gaze flickered from one man to the other. “What?”

And then he heard his *own* voice speaking to him from the far side of the machine, “O’Neill, are you ill?” but it sounded not quite right, and when he looked, there stood *his* body, *his* wide-eyed face looking down at *his* hands, hands that were flexing as if their owner didn’t recognize them…

“Teal’c?” Jack's voice didn’t sound like his voice, it sounded like, well, sort of like Teal’c’s voice in an odd sort of way, and then his gut wiggled again.

And he knew, just as the person across from him raised his face, as in Jack’s own face, to stare at him…

“Oh for cryin’ out loud…” he muttered, slipping off one of the gloves, even though he knew he shouldn’t but, with a sinking feeling, knowing it was already too late and it didn’t really matter because what had happened to Daniel had just happened to him and Teal’c and… and... oh shit...

Jack pulled the glove off and stared down at the ebony colored hand at the end of his arm, the broad, blunt fingers not at all like his own, long slender pale ones.

“O’Neill?”

“Crap,” Jack mumbled, his knees going weak, as he fought not to retch because throwing up inside a gas mask was one of those things you just *really* never wanted to do…

^^^^^^^

Carter was still staring from one to the other of them, knowing something was wrong.

Nothing had happened. Neither man had moved. They'd started to lift the device and then... well, actually, *something* had in fact happened because both of them had stopped, and now they were looking at each other like neither one had ever seen the other before.

Oh-oh.

The Major had a sudden sinking feeling. “Sir? Teal’c?”

Teal’c’s back was to her, but Carter saw his shoulder’s go suddenly rigid, saw the glove go off and hit the floor even as her teammate sank to his knees.

She hurried to stand beside him, stunned as Teal'c's lips spouted words that were definitely from the Colonel's vocabulary. “Carter? What the *hell* just happened? Huh?”

^^^^^^^^

“Teal’c? What are you doing?” Carter’s voice sounded confused, but at least it was Carter’s voice emanating from Carter’s own body, Jack realized thankfully.

“Colonel?” he heard her voice rise an octave, incredulity written so plainly on her face that it was clearly visible through the distortions of the gas mask she wore. She was staring from one to the other of them, obviously confused.

“Yes, Carter, the *Colonel’s* here,” Jack waved a hand at her, the hand that was his but wasn’t, gulping to pull his heart out of his throat. Well, okay it wasn’t exactly *his* heart and it wasn’t *his* throat…

…and with a moan he was once again fighting the overwhelming urge to toss up his lunch, or, er, Teal’c’s lunch as he realized that the wiggling sensation inside him was...oh shit... Junior.

He was in Teal’c’s body and Teal’c was in his…

Double shit.

“O’Neill…” he heard his own voice say.

“Colonel?” Sam’s head was spinning as she looked from one to the other. “Teal’c?”

“I am Teal'c,” answered O’Neill’s face and voice.

“Colonel?”

“Right here. Where it doesn’t say Colonel on my uniform,” O'Neill’s snarky tone was being spoken by Teal’c’s lips.

“Holy Hannah,” Sam breathed.

“Oiy,” said O’Neill.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Their arrival back at the SGC had been met by a minute of stunned silence, followed by a babble of sound as Hammond ordered them to the infirmary while Carter tried to explain and the SFs and the gateroom staff whispered loudly in the background.

Trying to maintain his dignity, ignoring the stares, Jack stalked from the gateroom, down the unending corridors and rode the elevator up to the infirmary, Teal'c, Carter, Hammond, and an escort of SF's followed the grumbling Colonel.

It was all way too confusing.

And odd.

Jack felt...well, weird.

He knew his own body, after all, it had been his for 40-something years now. He knew every quirk, every ache and pain, knew its feel, knew his reach and his stride. Hell, he'd nearly tripped and broken his neck just walking down the gateramp because he'd misjudged his strides on the incline. And then he'd miscalculated the elevator entrance and painfully thunked his wider-than-expected shoulder into the doorframe.

This Incredible Hulk thing sooo wasn't him.

Of course, he reminded himself, it could have been worse. He could have traded places with Carter.

^^^^^^^^^^^

Arriving at the infirmary, Jack walked over and took a seat on an exam table, Teal'c sitting down on the one across from him.

O'Neill took the heretofore impossible opportunity to study his own body. "Good God, is my hair really *that* gray?" he muttered, reaching up to run his hand across his bald head, Teal'c's bald head, he reminded himself with a shudder. And that face, well, he sure didn't have that baby-faced look anymore, the one that had always prompted people to describe him as boyish, even into his 30s, but where had all those lines and that grim stare come from?

Jack shifted uncomfortably. How the hell did Teal’c manage to wear his pants so tight? Must be some Jaffa magic trick because it was amazing that the big guy hadn’t started singing soprano.

Teal'c's body felt odd. Jack had never been this heavy in his whole life. And yeah, okay, it *was* powerful, which was sort of okay, er, real okay, actually. He picked up a plastic cup from the table, and crushed it effortlessly in his hands, just to feel the strength, watching the play of his muscled biceps. "Sweet," he whispered. For a delighted moment, Jack thought maybe it wasn't such a bad trade after all.

And then that wiggling sensation was back in his gut and he suddenly remembered that he was carrying around a Goa'uld larvae.

Damn, here came his, well, Teal’c’s lunch.

Jack made a mad dash for the bathroom, quickly realizing he wasn't going to get there before he started throwing up. Just in time, he spotted a wastepaper basket. Dropping to his knees, he began heaving his guts out like a teenager the morning after his first bender. Sheesh, he thought, embarrassed. But every time he so much as thought about that, that...that... snake... inside him, his stomach roiled uncontrollably and he started to retch again.

Just then, O'Neill heard familiar footsteps approach from behind him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Teal'c?" Doctor Fraiser asked, worry spiking through her. Teal'c was never sick, well, not sick in any normal human way. Not like this. Her worry meter maxed out immediately.

Jack turned around, weaving upright, one hand on the wall to steady himself. "Ah, no, Doc, actually it's me."

Fraiser looked baffled. "Teal'c?"

"No. Colonel O'Neill."

"Colonel?" she still looked shocked.

"Teal'c and I had a little run in with that switcheroo machine."

Fraiser's face went pale. "You mean, you're the Colonel and Teal'c's in...you?" Fraiser was staring from the heavily muscled dark skinned man in front of her, his fingers playing idly with a Kleenex box, across the room to the tall, lean, light skinned man sitting patiently on the exam table. “Colonel?”

The dark-hued hands spread wide in O'Neill's familiar gesture. "Peachy, huh?"

“Oh boy,” Doc whispered.

^^^^^^^^^

Three minutes into the briefing, Major General George Hammond had already developed a headache. It was too disconcerting to deal with it, with Teal'c's body containing O'Neill, and O'Neill's body containing Teal'c; Teal'c's dulcet tones spouting O'Neill's litany of ill-humored sarcastic complaints, while O'Neill's usually sarcastic voice delivered quiet comments in measured, tempered responses.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes... no, the voices were still all wrong... it was just about impossible to keep them sorted out, one from the other, what with Carter and Dr. Fraiser debating in the background.

Reports. That's what he needed, written reports with NO pictures, so he could read the words and understand them without the impossible distractions of the voices and faces.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Janet bustled into the infirmary. Colonel O'Neill, no, wait, Colonel O'Neill's body, inhabited by Teal'c, sat on an exam table. Taking a deep breath, the doctor walked up to her patient.

"Teal'c? What's wrong?"

"I fear I may have done damage to O'Neill's body."

The stately, quiet speech emanating from the Colonel's form was really, really hard to get used to, Janet thought with a disbelieving shake of her head. "What do you mean?"

"Upon completing my mission report for the General, I proceeded to the gym for my usual afternoon workout. However, before completing the appropriate warm-up exercises, I began experiencing great discomfort."

"Where?" she asked.

"In my knees, and my back, Doctor Fraiser. My right shoulder also lacks a full range of motion, and cannot be moved without great difficulty."

Janet sighed. "Teal'c, this is Colonel O'Neill's body. He is very fit for a middle-aged human, but he has over the years sustained some major injuries. Several of those old wounds, though healed completely, carry long term complications. And it's common that in humans, by the age of 40, these types of injuries lead to the start of a condition known as arthritis. It's not life threatening, just, uncomfortable."

"Can you not do something to ease this condition, DoctorFraiser?"

"Unfortunately, no, Teal'c, not really. Some medications do help in the short term, but I imagine it's mostly mind over matter on the Colonel's part," she said kindly. "I can give you something..."

"No, Doctor, I would not wish to ingest unnecessary substances. If O'Neill can persevere, then so shall I," he added with a stately nod.

Janet smiled. "Teal'c, just remember, without the symbiote, O'Neill's body is much more fragile than the one you're used to. You could do severe damage if you're not careful..."

"I shall endeavor to be more careful, then, doctor," Teal'c agreed.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

The words appeared across the computer screen... ASty tttghastt m,oooooooooooooiomneeevnt Tyeras'lkcv...

"Arrrgghhh," O'Neill dropped his head into his hands, momentarily surprised at the smooth feel of his bald skull....

This body swapping stuff was so *not* his kind of fun.

He couldn't type, not that he'd forgotten how, that was a brain, not a body thing, but these oversized, thick fingers kept hitting two keys at the same time...

"Crap."

He needed a break.

He was hungry. Starving actually.

Jack could hear his stomach growling, or maybe it was Junior... no, Jack, don't think about Junior. He quelled the thought, and forced his mind away from the wobble in his gut that he knew was Junior... no, Jack, don't think about Junior... and decided he really was hungry.

He'd finish the report later.

He needed food.

Now.

Walking through the halls, he kept getting odd looks. The base grapevine had obviously been hard at work, everyone seemed to know about what had happened. No one addressed him as Teal'c, but then again, they didn't call him Colonel or Sir, either.

Maybe they were just as confused as he was.

O'Neill arrived at the commissary without incident, grabbed a tray, and loaded it up with two tuna sandwiches, four apples, two bowls of Jello and a piece of that apple pie he loved. Turning to look for a table, he nearly dropped his tray, seeing *himself* sitting over in the corner. Steady, Jack, he reminded himself, he was Jack, even if he didn't look like Jack, which meant that was Teal'c over there, looking like him.

Equilibrium restored, at least momentarily, Jack walked over to join his teammate.

Teal'c had the remnants of a huge tray of food in front of him, the bony remains of several servings of fried chicken, a lonely mound of mashed potatoes swimming in congealing gravy, two apple cores, an empty jello bowl, a pie plate with crumbs that looked suspiciously like the remains of blueberry pie, a melted spoonful of chocolate ice cream in the bottom of a dish, and something on Teal’c’s chin that looked suspiciously like a milk mustache.

"You ate all that? Teal'c, so help me, you’re gonna make me gain 10 pounds..." Jack started, then noted a sick look on his, erm, Teal'c's face. "Teal'c?"

"I believe that I am ill..."

"Sick?" Jack asked with alarm, noting Teal'c's hand rubbing his stomach.

"Perhaps I have consumed excess food."

"Teal'c, if I ate that much I'd be sick for a week..."

Teal'c raised his face to stare unhappily up at O'Neill. "I shall be subjected to this discomfort for a week?"

"It's just an expression, big guy." Jack patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Now, let me explain the concept of heart burn to you."

^^^^^^^^^

Kel no reem was pretty weird. Communing with the snake was, well, more than weird, actually, more like scary.

Almost as scary as the thought of Teal’c shaving his... my... head.

Thank God he’d put the kabosh on that in time, Jack sighed with relief. One bald head on SG-1 was absolutely the limit.

O’Neill shuddered, and uttered a silent prayer for the search teams to hurry up and find Daniel.

^^^^^^^^^

Carter soon figured it out as O'Neill knew she would. With Machello's, the real Machello's help of course. Figured out how to get them all back into their right bodies, despite the machine's fail safe thingy that wouldn't let people just directly switch back. Jack was totally confused, but he trusted Carter, so he did what she said.

The switch from Teal'c's body into Daniel's had been interesting. That same sudden sickening…shift… the dizzying sense of something happening, a flash of nauseating disorientation, and once again the sense of *wrongness*, though slightly less pronounced than before. It *was* nice to be human once again, and he was sure as hell glad to be rid of Junior, but it still felt abnormal. For a moment he wondered if he'd start speaking in 23 languages if he stayed in Daniel's head. No, he knew that wasn't true. And damn, the glasses felt odd where the metal sat on his nose.

Jack brushed the hair out of his, er, Daniel's eyes. Daniel needed a haircut. For cryin' out loud, how the heck could he see where he was going, with that mop falling in front of his face? He was going to have to have a talk with that boy.

At last, Jack got to stand at the machine one more time, his own body across from him.

He was so ready for this.

Jack looked over and nodded at Daniel and those unfamiliar hands that were answering to his command reached out and fastened onto the machine’s handgrips...

There was a sudden sickening…shift… a dizzying sense of something happening, a flash of mindbending disorientation, and then a sudden massive sense of *rightness*.

As if his body was once again his own.

"Yes!" he raised his hands in triumph.

He’d never been so glad to feel those familiar aches and pains, never in his whole life, never thought he’d be thankful for those creaking knees and the aching back.

Thankful not that they hurt, but that they were back, *his* knees, imperfect as they were, as often as he cursed them and the unavoidable reminder of hard living and the piling up years that they were. The point was, they were *his*, like the achy back and the gray hair and the lines on his face. They were *him*, comfortable and familiar and right, and he wouldn't trade them for good health and a snake in the gut anyday.

He was back.

And that was good.

---The End---