The Long Road Home

Authors: BadgerGater and jla

Email: [email protected]

Summary: The first team mission after Shades of Gray reveals that all is not well with SG-1

Category: Drama, Sequel; Angst; Action/Adventure; H/C

Season/Sequel: Sequel to and immediately after Shades of Gray;

Rating: PG, couple adult words

Spoilers: Shades of Gray, FIAD, Solitudes, 100 Days;

Warning: A bit of language (Jack speaks, after all)

Disclaimer: Stargate and its characters belong to Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Gekko, Double Secret Productions, etc. We're just borrowing them. No copyright infringement intended, no money exchanged hands. It's all in fun, well fun for us, maybe not so fun for SG-1.

Author's note: Feedback, please, okay campers?

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Jack O'Neill was alone in his house again. Well, on his deck, to be precise.

He hadn't expected to be, and he sure as hell didn't want to be. He'd just spent a week here, home, alone, probably the longest week of his life, while he'd been undercover. Posing as retired, disgraced by and disillusioned with the Air Force, waiting for a man he hated to contact him and lure him into a trap.

He'd hated doing it, hated the lies, hated what he'd had to do. But he'd expected it all to be over, and it was over, or so he hoped.

He'd expected not to be alone anymore.

Jack took another sip of his beer, by now grown warm as he'd sat contemplating the ugly truth. He hadn't been forgiven or understood by his team. It was going to take some hard work on his part to repair the rift this last assignment had caused, a rift that he had helped widen with his words to Daniel. He thought he'd telegraphed the truth in non-verbal ways, he thought he'd given Daniel and his team enough clues that they wouldn't take his words at face value. Obviously, his communication skills were slipping.

His leadership skills weren't doing so hot, either, come to think of it. It would be a long time before O'Neill forgot what he'd learned during the interrogation of Col. Makepeace. There had been a look of triumph on the dishonored Marine's face when he had gleefully informed O'Neill of what Daniel had said to him while Makepeace had been assigned to SG-1. Makepeace had gloated over the chance to repeat the archaeologist's words, saying he had *never* trusted Jack's command. O'Neill hadn't wanted to believe it, but one look at Carter's face had confirmed Makepeace's ugly words as truth.

Jack had started questioning himself after that. He'd found it hard to trust his own judgement, or at least not second-guess his assessment of people. Had he been so far off in his analysis of his team? Had he lost one of the skills that was vital to what he did? Maybe it was time to accept that promotion, get out of the field, and get safely behind a desk where he wouldn't get himself or anyone else killed.

Climbing stiffly to his feet, O'Neill tossed the beer into the trashcan and went into the house, turning on the television. Maybe he could find a hockey game to distract him. But the truth was, after a week of hiding in his house, he was sick of TV and beer and playing chess against himself, and, okay, even tired of watching hockey by himself. His house was spotless, his yard perfectly mowed and weeded, his truck polished to a blinding shine, every article of clothing he owned was freshly laundered, folded and put away in a drawer; the recyclables were taken out, the garbage cans empty, the garage spotlessly cleaned. There wasn't a damn thing left to do around the place.

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

He'd asked his team over, and they'd all refused. Gave good excuses all of them, he had to admit, but lame, half-hearted *excuses*, nonetheless.

He'd gone first to Daniel's lab, finding the archaeologist immersed in studying glyphs engraved on an urn one of the other SG teams had brought back from somewhere.

"Hi, Daniel," he'd opened, cleverly.

"Hi," was the equally witty answer from the linguist.

Jack didn't fail to notice that Daniel had neither looked up nor called him by name. "Thought maybe you guys would like to come over tonight. I'll buy and cook the steaks..."

"Ah, sorry, but I, ah, really need to finish this translation..."

"Okay, so I won't cook, I'll get take-out."

The young man still didn't raise his head from his work. "I really do have to finish this. For Sg-4."

Jack nodded. He hadn't even gotten the usual "some other night" promise. Quietly uttered, cutting words from earlier in the day replayed themselves in his mind. "I lost." Jack had felt pathetically grateful that Daniel had come to see him after the staged theft from the Tollan and the phony outburst at Hammond that had followed in the briefing room. Yet, the mission had required that Jack brush him off and push Daniel and the whole team away.

Today, he'd gotten it back in spades. The words "I lost" rang through his head. Straws drawn and Daniel lost, so he'd *had* to go see O'Neill, not that he wanted to be the one, as Jack had believed, and taken comfort in.

"Sure? Last call. Food, movies, beer...." Jack wheedled.

"Sorry, no. Can't," Daniel still hadn't looked up or met Jack's gaze.

O'Neill had left the cluttered office, an ache in his chest. It was going to take a long time to get things back to normal with SG-1. If ever.

Carter, then, he'd drag her away from whatever it was she was doing. The over achieving Major needed to lighten up, take a break, learn to have fun. She was, of course, in her lab, working on some contraption made of wires, computer chips, odd shaped lumps of metal and shiny doodads. He didn't have a clue what the thing might be. Carter was grinning hugely as she carried on a running chatter with Sgt. Siler. The two of them were deeply immersed in their work, but O'Neill felt no remorse in breaking in.

"Hey, hi guys."

Carter's blonde head popped up from behind the contraption on her lab table. "Oh, hi Colonel. Surprised to see you here." Her grin was gone, replaced by a bright, alert, professional 'How may I help you so you'll go away and let me have fun, Sir?' look.

Surprised? Why was that? He was back at work, she knew the whole disgraced/retired thing was a farce, and he did usually stop by her lab, once a day at least, just to be astounded by the odd things she would be working on. "Major, thought maybe you, Teal'c and me, we could, ah, get dinner..."

"Sorry, Sir, but we're sort of in the middle of something here," she turned again to Siler. "Try turning that knob instead," she suggested, and faced her CO once again. "I really need to finish this, Colonel." Polite, but a subordinate's brush off to the unwelcome visit of a senior officer she couldn't simply tell to 'get out and leave me alone.'

O...kay... He hoped he'd kept the disappointment from his face. "Oh, sure. See ya."

So next he'd gone for the sure thing, Teal'c. The big guy was always glad to get some time away from the base. He wouldn't turn down the Colonel's offer of a night out, Jack was sure, but Jack was wrong.

"I am sorry, O'Neill, but I have been unable to satisfactorily complete Kel' no reem for many days. I must complete my meditations and give my body the healing rest it requires."

'What was really going on behind that impassive face?' Jack wondered. He nodded, trying to be understanding. "Some other night, then," he'd answered and walked away, trying not to feel disappointed.

He'd been turned down by all of them. Sure, they all had good, reasonable sounding reasons, he'd thought as he headed for the elevators to the surface. But it seemed like none of them even *tried* to hide the fact that they were...brush-offs.

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

Four long hours later, he was still pondering their excuses.

Well, he sighed to himself, they were at least alive to make excuses. So, they were angry at him and letting him know it. Okay, fine. He could live with that. They'd get over it. He'd win them back, they'd understand what he did and why he did it, and all would be forgiven, eventually. Sure.

O'Neill sighed. Why couldn't life ever be simple, clean, honest?

Because, he reminded himself, there were slimeballs like Maybourne, people who bent the rules, played games, lurked in the shadows and tainted everyone with their dirty little deals.

Can it, Jack, O'Neill ordered himself. It's over. Pick up the pieces, and go on. You've done that so many times you are a pro at it. You're the team leader, it's your job to get your team back on track. Put aside your own feelings, as CO you aren't allowed to have any. Fix what's wrong with your team, because it's your job to make SG-1 a functional, cohesive, effective unit. You didn't earn those eagles by taking the easy way out, ever, so don't expect this to be easy, either.

You'll find a way.

Yeah, right.

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

Early the next morning, Colonel O'Neill knocked on General Hammond's open door, and hearing a quiet "Enter" he stuck his head in the door.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Yes, Jack, come in. Sit down." Hammond quickly assessed SG-1's team leader, noting the well-concealed but still visible signs of unease in the demeanor of officer in front of him. Combine that with the shadowed, sleepless eyes and George knew there was trouble. "How's it going?"

"Peachy."

Oh, oh, bad sign. "How's your team handling things?"

"You mean, how are they handling the last mission and my return?" O'Neill shrugged. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

Hammond sat back, contemplating, not liking that answer, especially not liking the Colonel's admitted uncertainty. That was something he rarely saw in his brash subordinate. "Maybe I should have a word with them."

Jack scrubbed a hand across tired eyes. He hadn't slept well, lying in bed, thinking of what he could do to repair the bond that made SG-1 special. "No, Sir, I don't think that would help. Might make things worse. We need to work this out for ourselves."

The General nodded. "Okay, Colonel, as long as you think you can handle it. If there's anything I can do in the mean time to help..."

"No, Sir, I don't think there is. We just need a good mission or two under our belts, a chance to get comfortable with each other again."

"Good. I've got something for you, then. It's pretty straightforward. We'll brief at 1300."

"Yes, Sir."

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

At one o'clock that afternoon, civilian time, SG-1 was gathered in the briefing room. Major Carter clicked the remote for the video screen. "This, Sirs, is P4R-999. MALP data indicated Earthlike gravity, atmosphere and climate conditions suitable for human life. We then sent a UAV to make a sweep at a 10- mile radius around the gate. We found nothing. But *this* showed up on the 20-mile sweep."

The screen showed a clearing in the forest where a ring of stones circled an earthen platform, raised some 6-8 feet above the surrounding ground. On that platform, another small ring of stones, and on that ring of stones stood a device of intricately carved, gleaming metal.

"We're not sure what it is, but it looks like..."

"The Touchstone," Daniel breathed.

Behind him, O'Neill heard Teal'c's chair creak as the Jaffa suddenly sat up straighter. "It is not a Touchstone. It is a Kona-narad-bentanock."

"Kona-norad-what?" Jack asked.

"Kona-narad-bentanock. A Goa'uld planetary defense device." Teal'c explained.

O'Neill leaned forward in his chair. "As in 'a thing that protects a whole honkin' planet'?" There was excitement in his voice.

Teal'c nodded.

"Something that small?" Carter's tone was disbelieving.

"It utilizes concentrated naquadah as a power source," the Jaffa added.

"That's powerful stuff, Teal'c," Carter agreed, "but can something that tiny protect an entire world? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I do not know how the device works, but I have seen one before, and know of only that one. Apophis used it to protect his homeworld. When it disappeared, he believed Ra stole it for his own purposes."

"So this Norad planet-protector thingy was stolen by Ra and placed on this planet?" Jack asked, turning to Teal'c. "Why?"

"There may have been something important on this planet that Ra believed needed to be protected. Or someone. He had a mate."

"A mate? As in producing children?" Jack shuddered. Kill one Goa'uld, and a dozen more sprang up in it's place. Damn.

"I do not know for sure, O'Neill, but that was the rumor. This may be Ra's planet."

"So he stole this device from another System Lord, and then just left it sitting there?" The Colonel shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."

"It is possible that the natives do not know its importance. With Ra gone, there may be no one there who knows of its great power, or is aware of its true function. It does not appear to be activated. If it were, there would be a series of lights, flashing, and glowing."

"So you think we could pick up this Konan-Norad doohickey at garage sale prices?" O'Neill smiled.

None of his team did.

There was a look of disgust on Jackson's face. "*We* are not going to start stealing things from people now, are we?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought that was just a ruse for Maybourne's people."

Hammond was about to step in, but O'Neill beat him to it.

"Oh for crying out loud, Daniel, it doesn't belong to the people of this planet. They stole it first, or Ra did, and gave it to them. And they're not even using it, right?" Jack turned to Teal'c. The Jaffa nodded. "So we're just liberating it." The Colonel turned to Hammond. "General? A planet protecting device *would* be rather useful."

"Indeed, Colonel," Hammond turned back to Carter. "What about the inhabitants of this planet, Major?"

"From what the UAV showed us, there was a settlement a few miles from the gate, near the device. The 'town' appears to be uninhabited at this time, but there are signs that it is occasionally visited."

"By whom?" asked O'Neill.

"We don't know, Sir. It might be natives, there are villages 25-30 miles from the gate, and more. Or it could be someone coming through the gate or visiting here," Carter again clicked the remote and a new image appeared. A pyramidal structure stood in a small valley.

"A Goa'uld ship landing site," Teal'c stated.

"Yes. It does *not* show evidence of any recent landings, however. Note how the vegetation has grown over the paving blocks here and here," she pointed to green clumps on the screen. "Our analysis indicates the landing area has not been used for 3-5 years."

"Since Ra died?" Daniel queried.

"That would be a good guess," Carter smiled at him. "There are also no signs of any other visitors to the site. There are no trails from the native villages to the Goa'uld site, indicating the locals do not trespass there. We've been watching the site carefully for a week, and have seen no signs of human activity in the area."

Jack's mind was racing, assessing the risks. "Teal'c? What do you think? Abandoned?"

The Jaffa nodded at SG-1's team leader. "It is likely that once Ra was killed, no other Goa'uld has visited to this planet. The System Lords are very good at keeping secrets, especially the location of places they wish to keep hidden from their enemies."

"So, do we have a go, General? That's one mighty nice prize, there."

"General, are we sure we have the right to go in there and just take this thing?" Daniel questioned. "What if it's actually doing something we don't know about, protecting this planet and it's people in some way? We have no right to take something that's theirs."

"It's not theirs, Daniel. It's stolen," Jack reminded. "Finders keepers, losers, weepers. They stole it, or, err, someone stole it for them."

"We don't know that, for sure," Daniel countered.

"I'll take Teal'c's word on it," Jack answered.

Daniel glared. "General..."

"Teal'c said the device is not being used," Hammond reiterated. "If that is correct, if the device is obviously not in use and appears to be abandoned, SG-1, you have permission to make the pick-up. If not, it stays. Is that clear, Colonel?"

O'Neill nodded. "Yes, Sir. Perfectly. We salvage only abandoned materials."

"Good. Tomorrow, then, you have a go to P4R-999." Hammond stood up, the others quickly following suit. "Dismissed," the General ordered, and headed for his office.

Jack looked around at his team, smiling broadly, glad to have the okay to be back in action. "So, kids, tomorrow it's a field trip."

"Yes, Sir," Carter agreed.

Daniel was quiet.

This *so* isn't working, thought O'Neill unhappily, as he watched his team file out of the briefing room.

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There were only three people in the SGC locker room at 0855 the next morning. Teal'c was already fully attired for their mission. Carter, who'd arrived 10 minutes early as usual, was also in full gear and double-checking her backpack.

O'Neill looked up from tying his bootlaces for the third time. He too was ready to depart. The Colonel had planned to wait for Daniel, but that strategy didn't seem to be working. Deciding it was time, O'Neill shrugged into his vest and picked his backpack off the floor. "Let's go."

"But Sir, Daniel..."

"He'll come," 'I hope,' O'Neill thought worriedly. "He likes to be fashionably late. I don't."

O'Neill strode down the hallway from the locker room to the gate room followed by his teammates. Carter, with a nod at her CO, turned off to hurry up the steps to the control room, O'Neill and Teal'c continuing on in silence to the gateroom.

The place was busy as always, technicians performing the standard inspections before the team's departure, though Jack had to admit he didn't have a clue what they were doing. It looked important, though. O'Neill turned to look up into the control room, spotting the General standing beside Carter.

Jack paced impatiently, glancing at his watch. O857. Three minutes. No sign of Daniel. O'Neill stalked past the doorway, peering down the hallway, hoping to see his errant archaeologist. He hunched his shoulders against the pull of the heavy pack he carried as he paced once more across the gateroom floor. Pre-travel jitters, the kind he used to get when boarding a plane for a mission, hours or minutes from jumping. Just like then, his adrenaline was pumping, and he continued moving to ease his nerves.

Finally, he heard footsteps coming up behind him, and Jack whirled, ready with a quip for Daniel, but it wasn't Daniel, it was Carter. "Seen Daniel?" he asked, more sharply than he'd intended.

"No, Sir, but then, he's always arriving at the last minute," she answered stiffly.

"Right. He likes to raise my blood pressure," O'Neill snapped, looking again at his watch. O858.

A blur of motion at the door, and it was Dr. Jackson, scooting into the gateroom, still pulling his vest over his shoulders.

Jack tapped his wrist. "Cutting it close, Dannyboy." He'd meant the words to be light, but they'd come out heavier than he'd intended. Daniel's eyes flickered across his face, but didn't meet his gaze.

"Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and tactical nuclear weapons, isn't that what you always say?" Jackson retorted.

Jack was taken aback, and didn't know how to answer. "So, campers are we ready?"

"Yes, Sir," Carter answered, without a smile.

O'Neill turned and nodded up at the control room. The dialing program started, the giant wheel of the Stargate spinning, locking in chevrons as the technicians called out the action. "Chevron one, locked. Chevron two, locked. Chevron..."

The Colonel waited impatiently, fingers tapping on his MP-5. Carter was standing beside the MALP, Teal'c beside her, talking in low tones as she adjusted something on the equipment. Daniel stood a few feet away from them, silently.

O'Neill approached. "So, Doctor Jackson, did you pack...."

"Yes, Colonel, I've got my handgun and extra rounds, my sunscreen, my video camera and half a dozen tapes, my canteen, and my allergy medicine," the archaeologist answered coldly.

"Ah, good, then," Jack didn't know what else to say.

Just then, the gate kawooshed into life, the tidal wave of plasma jetting out and sinking back like a film covering the interior of the gate's ring.

Carter sent the MALP through, watching closely on a small monitor at the base of the ramp. "MALP is through," she called out. "Clear picture. No hostiles, nothing out of place." She looked up to meet O'Neill's eyes. "Colonel?"

"Let's go, then," he said, and turned for the gate.

Daniel was already stepping through, not even waiting for the others. Teal'c hurried to follow, then Carter, and O'Neill jogged up the steps to follow.

In the control room, General Hammond watched with concern. Maybe this mission hadn't been such a good idea after all. He shook his head. No, he had to trust O'Neill. The man was a damn good officer. He would find a way to turn things around. Or so he hoped, for Jack's sake.

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P4R-999, just another Earthlike planet, one more wonder of the universe that he didn't appreciate, O'Neill thought sadly. He scanned the area carefully, taking in the surrounding hills, covered with blue/green trees. The slight breeze carried the scent of something pine-like. Fluffy clouds floated overhead in a blue sky.

"Nice planet," the Colonel commented with a grin.

No one else said anything.

O'Neill's grin died. Okay, so they were bent on the silent treatment. He could handle it. He wasn't going to change; he'd just carry on, act normal, and wait it out. They'd get over it.

Wouldn't they?

Jack waved a hand at the trees to the left, the direction of the clearing holding the device, as he remembered from the briefing. "Okay, then, folks, let's get this show on the road. Carter, this is your baby, you and Teal'c on point. Daniel next, and I've got our six."

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

SG-1 walked in silence through the quiet forest. There was no sign of anyone. They marched wordlessly for hours before Jack called for a halt. Carter and Teal'c talked softly about the device, the Jaffa trying to answer her questions about the machine they were there to retrieve. Daniel consumed his energy bar wordlessly.

The whole day went like that. No extra word was uttered by anyone other than O'Neill, and his jokes fell hopelessly flat. They camped that night about 15 weary miles from the gate. The walk had been a tiring steady upward climb, the land rising slowly away from the valley containing the gate. The Colonel had maintained a steady watch, but they'd encountered no natives and no signs of Goa'uld visitors.

They'd eaten their MREs in silence, the ignore O'Neill game apparently having turned contagious. Carter and Daniel were even sniping at each other, the rare times they spoke. Jack was never so glad to turn into his blankets. Things had to get better tomorrow, he convinced himself. Things were sure to turn around once Daniel and Carter got to work on that device and the writing on it. The old camaraderie would return once they got busy doing their thing.

'Yeah, right, Jack, like going on this mission has revived their bond with you,' his subconscious reminded him. He pushed the thought away, ignoring it, because there was nothing to be done about it for the moment. In the morning, he'd renew his efforts to get things back to normal.

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

Normal didn't return. There was a cold, icy wind in the morning, coming down off the distant snow-covered mountains. O'Neill pulled up the collar of his jacket and huddled into its warmth, ineffectually attempting to warm his hands above the fire.

Breakfast was a silent affair. Working quickly, they broke camp and walked onward into the teeth of the bitter wind. It made speech all but impossible. 'Even the elements are conspiring against me,' O'Neill thought unhappily.

At last, they reached the clearing which held the device. Teal'c and O'Neill carefully reconnoitered the area, checking for traps or hidden defenses. After an hour of cautious searching, they returned to where Daniel and Carter waited. "Looks okay, kids. Go do your thing," he ordered.

Carter headed straight for the device, a look of eager anticipation on her face. Daniel immediately went to check out a small structure of hides stretched over poles that stood within the circle. He was quickly absorbed in studying the treasure trove of small jars, pots, and carved icons that filled the 'teepee'.

After 15 minutes, with no sign of Daniel emerging from the native structure, O'Neill went to check. "Daniel," he called, ducking inside the small teepee.

The archaeologist did not look up from his study of an artifact he held in his hands. "What?" he asked, exasperation leaking into his voice.

"Ah, we came to get the planet protector thingy, not play with the toys. You can do that later if we have time."

Daniel turned and glared at O'Neill. "I'm doing it now."

The Colonel's patience was wearing thin. "Daniel, we need to stay on task here."

"This *is* on task."

"No," Jack reiterated. "Getting the device comes first. This comes later."

"Right. Later. What's important to me is always *later*, and then later is always too late," Daniel snapped, setting aside the objects he'd been studying. "I'll get right to work helping the Major, *Colonel*," and he brushed past O'Neill and out the door.

Jack watched as the two went to work, Carter taking photographs, Daniel video taping. They exchanged quiet words as they worked, looking at the device. O'Neill, feeling superfluous, informed Teal'c "I'm going up there to watch," and hiked away from the clearing.

It was less silent alone in the woods than in that clearing with his team. And although the wind howled out here, it seemed less cold away from the chill reception the others were still giving him. This whole trip was going really, really well, he thought dismally.

Once he arrived at the top of the small hill, O'Neill hunkered down in the shelter of some large rocks, turned his baseball cap brim to the rear, and set his field glasses in front of his eyes. Carefully, he scanned the horizon, working the landscape in sections, examining everything carefully. He didn't know what he was searching for, that was one of the things about SG missions on alien planets. One didn't know what was normal and what wasn't, what was out of place or wasn't. Mostly, he looked for movement, for signs of human habitation, and found none. The only thing he did see was a glint of something, far away along a stream. He studied it for a long time, then looked away, and it was gone when he looked back. Had it been something or someone?

O'Neill hurried back to the others. Daniel and Carter were still engrossed in examining the alien doohickey, Teal'c offering suggestions.

"How's it going, kids?" he asked.

"Fine," Daniel answered.

"We're still looking things over, Sir, trying to decipher the writing."

"And do you know what it says yet?"

"Well, it seems to be something about 'death to those who remove this device," Daniel answered shortly.

"Oh, ah, that sounds good."

"Right," Daniel, it seemed, had been learning sarcasm and understatement from his team leader.

"So, how long, here?"

"We need to read all the warnings on the stones, before we attempt to move this," Carter answered

"And that will take?"

"Three or four more hours, at least, Colonel."

"Okay, then," Jack decided. "Teal'c and I are going to do a little recon."

"Something wrong, Sir?" Carter asked.

"Probably not. But I'd like to be sure," and busy, O'Neill thought. "We're going to check for signs of visitors from the north," O'Neill pointed, "make sure there's no one from the village heading this way. You kids stay here."

"Yes, Dad," Daniel was getting good at the sarcasm, O'Neill thought unhappily.

"Okay, see you in a couple of hours. Don't leave without us."

"No, Sir, we won't."

"And don't do anything I wouldn't do, while I'm gone."

"Right, Sir."

"Oh, right..." Daniel's voice echoed hers.

The Colonel started to walk away, then quickly turned back. "And Carter, *don't* turn that thing on."

"Yes, Sir. Bye, Sir."

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

O'Neill and Teal'c walked an hour north, and then began circling toward the spot where the Colonel had thought he might have seen something. They checked in once with Carter, who reported nothing amiss.

Finally, they reached the stream bank. "Is this the place, O'Neill?"

"Yeah, Teal'c, somewhere around here. It might have been nothing, but..."

"It is always wise to check."

"Right. I'm glad somebody agrees with me about something today." O'Neill walked carefully along the streambed, and then stopped, staring. There, in the wet ground near the water, was a footprint. "Teal'c," he called softly, pointing. "Is that what I think it is?"

The Jaffa bent down and carefully examined the footprint, then stepped across the stream to examine more prints there. "It is a Jaffa bootprint."

O'Neill's stomach lurched. "Jaffa boots? On Jaffa feet?"

"Most likely. A large and heavy man made this print. Those were made by similar men." Teal'c pointed at the tracks on the other side of the stream.

"How many?"

"Half a dozen or more. Heading that way," Teal'c pointed toward the hills.

"Damn. We need a closer look," Jack looked back the way they'd come, thinking about the others. Turning on the radio, O'Neill spoke softly. "Carter, we've found sign of a party of natives. Stay put. Get the device ready for transport, then dig in, keep undercover, and wait for us. I repeat, stay put until I get back to you." O'Neill clicked the radio off and turned to Teal'c. "So where...." He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. A bolt of energy struck the ground explosively a few inches in front of his boots. He jumped back and ran as men streamed out of the trees, firing staff weapons.

"Teal'c this way!" he shouted, knowing they had to lead the natives away from Carter and Daniel.

They ran.

Dodging weapons fire, running through the trees, splashing through the stream, changing direction, hiding their tracks by running in the water, stepping out on rocks that would not reveal their footprints.

O'Neill wasn't sure how many miles he and Teal'c had traveled before they stopped. His lungs were heaving and his legs felt leaden. He really was getting too old for this, being chased by angry natives with big weapons and murderous hearts. Hell, those guys had started firing without so much as a 'hello, who the hell are you guys?' They'd never even given him a chance to show them his good side.

That was a bad sign.

Finally having slowed his breathing to something close to normal, Jack knelt down and splashed water from the stream across his sweat streaked face. He straightened his back with a groan, and sipped from his canteen, forcing himself to take the water in slowly.

Teal'c, O'Neill observed, was hardly even breathing hard. How the hell did the man do it? Jack wondered, especially at age, what, 104 or something? Damn. Actually, he knew exactly how the Jaffa did it, but this human wasn't yet willing to trade in his own aging and too often aching body for a life-giving but ewwww-ugly snake in his gut. Some things *were* a fate worse than growing older. "Any sign of them?" O'Neill asked at last, when he could finally trust his voice to come out as something other than a breathless croak.

"I do not now see any sign of our pursuers, O'Neill. But I doubt our subterfuge will confuse them for long."

Jack nodded. He grabbed his radio and spoke softly. "Carter? Daniel? Do you read?" There was no response. He frowned. Sure, they were now a couple of miles away but the radio ought to carry. Of course, they were in an area of rugged hills that might be blocking the signals. "Carter? Daniel? If you can hear me, we've encountered the natives and they are definitely hostile. We're leading them away from you. Get yourselves and the device back to the gate if you can." O'Neill figured this was hopeless, but he had to try.

"They did not respond?" the Jaffa asked.

"No. Guess they can't hear us. So, we better go, huh?" O'Neill turned wearily and started to walk quickly once more, trying to ignore the ache in his knees and the stitch in his side.

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

The Colonel and the Chulak alien had been moving for hours when they reached the edge of the forest. In front of them was an open meadow, covered in clumps of short grass. Not enough cover to hide a short six-year old, much less a pair of over six-foot tall men. "Anything?" O'Neill had checked the open area with his binoculars, but still had a nagging feeling of unease.

"I cannot see anything out of place, O'Neill," Teal'c stated calmly. "We must cross or they will be upon us. I can hear them coming."

"Okay," the Colonel nodded, still not liking the situation, but agreeing there was no alternative. "On three, run like hell. Don't quit until you get to the other side. Whatever happens." Jack stared pointedly at his companion, not stating the obvious but trusting that Teal'c understood he was not to stop if O'Neill didn't make it.

"One, two, three..." Jack was on his feet and sprinting as hard and fast as he could, age be damned, Teal'c running easily alongside him.

They were halfway across the open ground, totally exposed, when all hell broke loose. Shots from the woods peppered the ground around them. Jack swerved and slipped as his boot caught on something in the tangled grass, stumbling awkwardly to his knees. The tumble saved his life as an energy bolt cut through the air where, only a split second before, his head had been. He flattened himself on the ground, then scrambled forward on hands and knees. As he regained his feet running, from the corner of his eye O'Neill saw Teal'c go down. "No!" he shouted, skidding to a halt, running back and pulling on the Jaffa's arm. Teal'c made an effort to get to his feet, staggering steps, and a second shot hit him. Jack tried to lift the man's weight onto his own shoulders, but the big alien was too heavy for O'Neill's smaller frame.

Another staff weapon blast blasted the ground mere inches in front of the Colonel's boots, splattering them with slivers of rock and dust.

Jack stopped, and lifted his gaze to see a dozen or more men coming out of the trees toward them, weapons raised. He felt Teal'c slump and slide to his knees, leaning against O'Neill's left leg.

The Colonel looked around at the encircling men, licked his suddenly dry lips, and pasted a smile on his face. "Hi, guys. Nice to meet ya'. Lookin' for us, were ya? I'm Jack, this is Teal'c and we're peaceful trave...."

Something crashed into the back of his head and the world went dark, the ground rushing up to meet him, but he never felt the impact.

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

Daniel and Sam had retreated to a safe spot in the shelter of the woods, waiting, watching and listening for further word from SG-1's CO while keeping a sharp lookout for natives. For hours, there had been nothing but silence. Finally, Carter heard a distant sound, and raised her head. "Daniel, did you hear that?"

"What?"

"I don't know. Sounded like something, off that way."

"No. Didn't hear a thing."

"Hmm." She checked her radio, cautiously called her CO, but got no answer. "That's odd."

"He probably shut it off."

"I don't think the Colonel would do that. But if they headed that way, and crossed over that hill, they're probably out of range."

"He'd call if they were in trouble."

"Right," Carter answered uncertainly, a worried frown creasing her forehead.

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

Jack groaned, coming slowly awake, his head pounding. He was lying on his left side, and rolled over onto his stomach, groaning again at the pain that was throbbing through his head. Using his arms to push himself off the hard floor, he lifted his head to look around. The world was spinning. 'Oh, shit,' he thought ruefully. 'Here comes this morning’s MRE. Tastes about the same going either direction,' he decided, wiping a hand across his sleeve when the spasms finally ended.

"Crap." He let his head drop. He knew where he was, or at least what kind of place this was. He'd been in prisons before. The sights, sounds and smells were unmistakable. Lying prone once again, he tried to collect his thoughts, and remember how he'd gotten here. Bad guys, chasing him, chasing them, shooting at them, shooting Teal'c.

Teal'c.

Oh, God. "Teal'c?" Jack tried once again to force himself upright, managed this time to swing himself up and around, into a sitting position. "Teal'c?"

The Jaffa was there in the cell with him. Too dizzy to stand, Jack crawled across the floor toward the still form. He didn't know how bad the big guy had been hurt, hell, he could even be dead, although Junior had done some remarkable things in the past. "Teal'c?"

The Jaffa moaned. O'Neill's quick inspection of the injured man revealed a raw, blistered burn high on Teal'c's shoulderblade, another deep burn on his thigh, the wounds weeping blood and fluid. Having nothing else to use as bandages, Jack pulled off his shirt and his t-shirt, folding them and using the soft cloth to cover the wounds. "Easy there, big guy."

Teal'c's eyes opened slowly. It took him a moment before he was able to speak. "O'Neill, we are prisoners?"

"Yeah, looks that way."

The Jaffa groaned. "You should have left me."

"Couldn't do that," the Colonel shrugged away his action.

"You ordered me to leave you, O'Neill."

"Ah, well, you know, that's me. Always like to tell people what to do."

"You should not have returned for me."

"I, ah, need company when I'm walking through the woods. Get scared otherwise. Boogeymen out there, you know," Jack added lightly, checking the Jaffa's wounds once again. "How bad?" he asked.

"I am quite seriously injured. It will take my symbiote a long time to heal me. If it can."

O'Neill cursed. He had no first aid supplies, nothing at all. The damn natives had taken everything, their packs, vests, the GDOs, even his hideaway knife. He did have a canteen, and gently brought it to the injured man's lips.

Teal'c drank gratefully, and lay back on the floor with a moan. "O'Neill, I am unable to travel. You must leave if the opportunity presents itself."

Jack sank back to sit with his back against the dank, rough wall of their cell. "Can't do that Teal'c."

"You are injured?"

"No." Nothing serious at least.

"Then you must go without me."

"Nope. It's the wild horses thing, Teal'c, you remember," Jack explained, waving a hand in the air. "Undomesticated equines would be needed to remove me, and I haven't seen a single horse in the neighborhood, so..." O'Neill shrugged. "Bugging out without you is *not* an option. Just one of those unexplainable Earth rules, you know. Can't leave a wounded comrade in arms."

"We are not on Earth, O'Neill," Teal'c pointed out unnecessarily.

"Same difference, Teal'c," the Colonel insisted. "No one gets left behind."

"Such action is not a display of good sense, O'Neill."

"Maybe not. But then, I've never been accused of having much sense, good or otherwise."

"O'Neill, before I lost consciousness, on the way here, I saw a familiar symbol painted above the entrance to the village. It was the sign of an ancient and powerful Goa'uld, one who sought after knowledge and made many discoveries..."

Before Teal'c could finish, footsteps echoed in the hall. Jack pushed himself up along the wall, stepping defensively between Teal'c and the doorway.

The lock rattled, and the door opened. Four or five men, dressed in an odd combination of Jaffa armor and native cloth, clustered in the doorway.

"Hello," Jack said softly.

One of the men stepped forward, glared at him, and issued a command. O'Neill didn't need to understand the words to know it was an order, he'd been in the military long enough to recognize that tone of voice. The words sounded vaguely familiar, like English distorted by isolation from Earth, Jack thought, remembering something Daniel had once told him about languages drifting. That was why Australians and Canadians sounded sort of British, but different from each other. And Americans talked an all but unintelligible version of their own mother tongue as well.

"You. Out!" the guard ordered.

Jack feigned ignorance. Strong arms grabbed him, and he tried to pull away, but he was outnumbered and outmuscled. Dragged out of the cell, he was pushed down a long, dark hallway, forced up a flight of stairs and shoved into an almost empty room. Chains hung from one of the heavy beams that crisscrossed the ceiling of the room. Jack's hands were jerked roughly up over his head and heavy metal cuffs snapped securely around his wrists, holding him uncomfortably in place.

Oh, this was looking way too familiar. He didn't like this.

The man who had issued the order sauntered into the room, looking at O'Neill like the bound man was a piece of prime beef he was preparing to carve. He was an ordinary looking man, except for his eyes, not glowing, but an odd shade of gray, cold, dead eyes that held no hint of compassion. It was a look O'Neill recognized, one he dreaded, and he had to fight to hold his body rigid to suppress the shiver. He'd met a man like this once before, long ago, another man with no name in a nameless place very like this one. Not alike in the outward ways: that had been a land of heat instead of cold, of dust and sand dunes and oil wells instead of green forests and rich fields; but alike in that it was a place of pain and misery, a place devoid of hope, filled with endless days as long and dark as the unending nights, days and weeks and months that went on forever...

The Colonel kept his head lifted, defiance in his eyes, watching as the man circled him like a cat playing with a captive mouse. O'Neill was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. "You know, you should just let me go before you get yourself in trouble. Turn me and my friend loose now and we can all just forget about this little misunderstanding."

The man laughed. "Oh, I'm not turning you loose until you tell me everything I want to know."

The man was behind O'Neill now, and Jack didn't like the fact that he couldn't see what the man was going to do. He twisted as far as the chains would allow. "I hate to disappoint you but I'm afraid I'm not much of a story teller."

"Too bad." The nameless man struck without warning, a vicious blow to the Colonel's unprotected kidney. The punch knocked the captive off his feet, his weight dragging against his bound arms, the manacles digging viciously into his wrists. O'Neill staggered, regaining his feet, mouth clamped tight shut against the pain.

The man stood in front of O'Neill now, his face inches away from the captive. "Who are you?"

"The tooth fairy."

The man did not smile. A fist buried itself into Jack's solar plexus, slamming the wind out of him. He gasped for air, tried to double up and would have if the chains hadn't held him in place, as somehow he managed to suck in a breath that eased the ache in his lungs.

"Your name?"

O'Neill was still gasping for air. "Bart Simpson."

This time the fist impacted his lower left rib, and Jack bit the inside of his cheek to hold in the gasp of pain as he felt the bone give.

"I think you are lying, toying with me. You think you are tough and strong, and that you will defy me. You think I am someone to be trifled with," the bantering tone ended, the voice turning deadly dark, The man ran his hand along Jack's jawline, grabbing it even as O'Neill pulled away as far as his bonds would allow. "But you are wrong, stranger." They stared at one another, eye to eye, unyielding warrior to unyielding warrior. The interrogator laughed, laughter that never reached his cold eyes, and released his grip on his captive. "Glare all you want. You do not frighten me. Or amuse me." Turning away from the Colonel, the man walked over to a small table in the corner of the room and picked up O'Neill's GDO. "What is this?" he demanded.

"Toothbrush."

Jack felt more blood flow inside his mouth, his teeth clenching against the agony as another punch hammered into his battered ribcage.

"The truth this time. Who are you?" the native snarled, jerking O'Neill's head back by the short gray hair.

"Told you," Jack gasped. "Bart, the tooth fair.....ooooffff."

The fist was once again buried in his already aching gut. 'Great, here comes the rest of breakfast. Heaving sure is fun with broken ribs. Too bad he moved so fast, threw my aim off. A little bacon and eggs would have looked good on those shiny black boots,' O'Neill thought.

This time it took the Colonel long, long moments to regain his breath but even as his lungs heaved for air he continued to stare defiantly at his tormenter. As the interrogator stepped closer, once again glaring into Jack's face, O'Neill hawked, and spat a mouthful of blood tainted saliva directly into the face of the native.

Rage flared across the previously impassive features. The man grabbed something off the table, O'Neill catching a quick glimpse of the short bladed hideout knife he normally carried tucked in his boot. The interrogator stalked back to his captive in three swift strides.

"Tell me your name," he ordered.

The Colonel remained defiantly mute until the short blade slashed across his back. "Arrrgggh," he flinched and tried to pull away, brought up short by the chains.

"Your name," the man shouted.

"F--- you."

The knife tore through the skin across O'Neill's bare back. Prepared this time, he bit the inside of his cheek again rather than give his tormenter the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Six times, the nameless man asked, and six times the Colonel refused to answer. Each time, the knife cut again into the flesh of his back. Jack felt the knife catch at least once on bone. O'Neill was gasping for breath, forcing his wobbly knees to keep him on his feet but uttering nothing more than curses.

The angry interrogator finally walked around to stand once more in front of the stubborn captive. "You are difficult, but you *will* lose. You will *beg* me to listen to your words. I have time." The man turned away, stopping next to the two big goons guarding the door. "Don't kill him, but teach him that it is unwise to disobey me. Then drag him back to his friend." The man turned to look once more at O'Neill. "We'll talk tomorrow. If you still can."

The first guard stalked toward Jack, waved his staff weapon at the chained man, then swung it against O'Neill's ribs. He felt another one crack, and bit back the groan that threatened to escape his lips. The second guard was reaching for the manacles holding Jack's hands to the beam, releasing them. Jack sagged toward the floor. The first man stepped closer, and O'Neill straightened, spun, kicking, his heavy boot catching the big man in the groin. He watched the man go down with a satisfying shriek, clutching himself. Jack saw movement out of the corner of his eye, turning toward the second guard, but slowed by his injuries, he was too late. A fist crashed again into his ribs, and the sudden lance of sheer agony combined with a lack of air to drive him to his knees.

The guard kicked the fallen man, striking again and again. O'Neill attempted to curl himself into a protective ball, but it did not stop the abuse that rained down on his body. The second man, still staggering, joined in the beating until Jack was nearing unconsciousness, his muscles gone weak.

A foot connected with a broken rib, and pain shrieked along his nerves. He tried to protect his ribs by covering them with his arms, but the next blow connected with his right hand and he felt the bones snap.

The Colonel fell into the welcome blackness.

The beating did not stop.

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

O'Neill awoke again in the cell beside Teal'c. He'd thought he'd hurt the first time he'd awakened there, but he was mistaken. That first pain had been nothing compared to the agony that wracked his body this time. He shifted on the hard floor, and groaned as broken sections of rib ground together and his collarbone grated, pain stabbing him with every breath. His battered muscles and bloodied back protested even the slightest of movements. His right hand was a grossly swollen, useless thing, and both his wrists were bloodied and torn.

Jack forced his eyes open and dragged himself across the floor toward Teal'c. The Jaffa was breathing, but unconscious, probably deep in the healing meditation of kel no'reem. O'Neill let his head fall to the floor and drifted away.

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

Carter was worried. Daylight had long ago faded into dusk and nightfall had now painted the landscape a deep, dark black. There had been no further word from the Colonel or Teal'c. The radio remained disturbingly silent. Her instinct was to go in search of them, or go back to the gate to report trouble and request assistance, but O'Neill's last order had been to stay put.

"I don't like this," Sam whispered to Daniel. "We don't know where they are."

"Jack said they were leading the natives away from us," Jackson reminded the Major. "They probably had to take a long way around to get back here, and they're just holing up until daylight."

"Maybe," Carter continued to stare out into the darkness. "I just wish we'd hear from them. It's not like the Colonel to be out of touch this long."

"Yeah, well, *the Colonel* hasn't been acting like himself much lately, so who knows?" said Daniel.

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

O'Neill heard them coming. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been left in the cell, minutes, hours, or days. Somehow, he found the will to force himself to his feet, weaving, leaning his shoulder against the wall, unable to straighten up completely, but looking the guards in the eye as defiantly as his battered body could manage.

Once again, strong hands grabbed his arms and forced him out of the cell. He let them all but carry him, conserving his energy, leaning heavily on them as he was dragged back to the bare room.

This time a chair sat in the middle of the room, and he was pushed into it. He bit his lip to keep from hollering when his arms were jerked behind his lacerated back, his collarbone, ribs and abdominal muscles shooting with pain that made him want to throw up. Again. He couldn’t stop a groan from escaping as his wrists were tied behind him, his broken hand throbbing with every heartbeat.

"Bastards," he mumbled.

"Ah, good, you are ready to talk today," said the man who had interrogated him yesterday. He looked dapper, well dressed, well groomed and well fed, three things O'Neill definitely was not. Bruises covered the Colonel's shirtless chest and back, blood stained his BDUs, and one eye was blackened and swollen nearly shut. Blood was caked in the spiky gray hair and painted rust red streaks across his back.

"No," Jack muttered.

The man walked around the chair, assessing the condition of his captive, nodding in satisfaction. He reached down and roughly took hold of the Colonel's chin. O'Neill jerked away. "Ah, my friend, you remain defiant. Good. You are a strong one, a challenge. You do not give in to the pain. But we have something that will put an end to that. It is a gift from the gods, kreis'chela'o." The man walked to the small table and returned with a small metal tube with a single sharp looking protuberance.

Jack's eyes weren't focusing very well, but even in his current condition, he recognized a needle when he saw one.

The man's eyes lit up with anticipation. "Ah, you don't much like needles do you?" He laughed, and stabbed the device into O'Neill's already black and blue stomach.

Pain streaked through Jack's body and his back arched. He bit his tongue holding back the scream as the drug entered his body, burning like acid, eating into tissues and finding its way into his veins. Coursing through his bloodstream, it set his heart racing, his breathing increasing rapidly.

A headache worse than any migraine he'd ever experienced speared into his brain, and he moaned.

He felt...odd, strange, hyper, alert, weak and strong, painfilled and powerful, freezing and on fire, all at the same time. He felt like he could run a marathon, but unable to walk across the room. He felt like he could tear his torturer limb from limb, but couldn't lift his chin off his chest. He felt like he was flying and dying, all at one moment.

"Ah, defiant one, you will not be so defiant tomorrow, when the drug begins to wear off. You will tell me everything." The man once again signaled to the guards. They untied O'Neill, pulling him to his feet, but his knees buckled. His legs felt boneless, unable to support him. The goons dragged him out of the room, through the hall, down the stairs and back to his cell, throwing him on the floor next to Teal'c.

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

As consciousness returned, O'Neill felt himself shivering and shaking, abused muscles spasming and he clamped his teeth shut to stop the moan of pain that wanted to roll from his throat.

The pain was intense, excruciating, agonizing. He tried to find words for it, thought if he found words to describe it he could somehow control it, stop it, hold it in. It didn't work. He shoved himself off the floor to sit leaning sideways against the wall, arms wrapped around his chest, rocking back and forth as if the movement could help him cope.

"O'Neill?" The voice was weak, rasping.

"T-t-t-teal'c?" Jack crawled across the narrow confines of the cell to sit beside his companion, still rocking, shivering, unable to sit still, afraid if he stopped moving the pain would overwhelm him. "How you dddoing?"

"I am improving, but my symbiote will require many days to heal me."

"Jjjunior will ffffix yyyou up. Wish I had a Jjjjjjunior." With trembling hands Jack checked the Jaffa's wounds; pulling the bandage he had made of his t-shirt off the thigh wound, holding the blood stiffened cotton in his hands. Better. Not bleeding anymore. He checked the damaged shoulder. The deep, jagged wound was healing, even the Colonel could see that, but he could also see that Junior was far from completing his task. He replaced that bandage.

"O'Neill...." Teal'c tried to push himself to a sitting position, and failed. "You are unwell."

Jack laughed, the hollow sound breaking into a fit of coughing that left the man gray-faced. "Unwell. Yup. Injjjured. Hhurt. Maimed. Bbbattered, bruised, bbbroken...." he couldn't stop talking, couldn't control his stuttering words. "Drugged. Chelios, Chris Chelios."

Teal'c reached out his hand to touch O'Neill's goosebump covered arm. "What?"

"Chris Chelios. Nasty. Drugged. Bad stuff. Bad, bad stuff. Worse than Sokar's stuff. Chris Chelios. Played for the Blackhawks. Never should have traded him. Nnnnever. Never. Never. Chris Chelios. Great hockey player, the best but they sent him to Ddddetroit. Dddumb trade. Drugged."

Teal'c was confused. Why was O'Neill suddenly talking drunkenly about a hockey player? True, this Chris Chelios was a player ColonelO'Neill admired, but why discuss him now?

"Chrisss Chelios. Chrisss Chelios. Chrissss Chel-io-s." O'Neill, still rocking, could not stop shivering.

Suddenly, Teal'c understood the Colonel was trying to tell him something, some word, the name of something or someone that sounded like the hockey player's name. What was O'Neill trying to say? The Jaffa silently repeated the name over and over to himself, and at last made the connection. The Goa'uld symbol he had seen in the village, a Goa'uld whose story he knew, an alien who had experimented with chemicals and drugs that both increased pleasure and magnified pain.

"Kreis'chela'o?"

"Yup! That's it. Yup. Yup. That's it. Chris Chel-io-sss." Jack, groaning, climbed to his feet and began pacing. Each step sent shafts of agony lancing through his ribs and back, yet he could not stop himself, could not resist the drug's overpowering command to act, to move. O'Neill felt so sick he wanted to curl up in a ball in the corner and never move, yet at the same moment, he felt strong, strong enough to fight a whole squad of guards.

Guards. The guards were coming. He heard their footsteps. They came through every couple of hours, banging on the cell door, waking him up. Sleep deprivation was apparently part of their torture. No food, no water, no rest.

An idea gripped his fevered mind. O'Neill, suddenly realizing he still had the blood stained t-shirt in his hands, pulled it over his head as quickly as he could, awkwardly, hissing as the movement jolted his broken collarbone. Making a shhhssing! motion at Teal'c, he moved to stand close beside the door, out of view of anyone looking through the small window in the cell door. He heard the guard come to the door, and his sound of surprise when he could see only one prisoner. Quickly, the guard opened the door and stepped in. Jack laced his fingers together and clubbed the guard with both fists. The native went down like he'd been hit by a truck.

"Teal'c, ccccome on. We're lllleaving." O'Neill leaned over his teammate, wanting to scream at the pain the movement caused, but ignoring it, pushing it aside, grabbing hold of Teal'c in a fireman's carry. As he hoisted his teammate upright, Jack moaned and staggered as he felt his clavicle shift and his ribs grind, and yet he walked out of the cell, the Jaffa slung over his shoulder.

“O’Neill,” Teal'c's voice was barely audible. “Leave me. You are doing yourself further injury.”

“Had…tttthis…cccconver…sssation already, …Ttttteal’c.”

O'Neill knew he was doing the impossible. Healthy, he couldn't possibly carry Teal'c and he knew it. Yet, here he was, injured, carrying the wounded Jaffa. Jack could feel the pain, yet it was almost like it was someone else's pain. He could feel the strain on his muscles, the damage he was doing to his back, but it was almost like the muscles, bones and torn skin belonged to someone else. The feeling was unexplainable, agonizing and numb at the same time, giving him strength that for now overwhelmed the pain.

Once out of the cell, the hallway was dark. It was night, although he wasn't sure which night, or how many nights they had been here. The fortress was quiet. O'Neill made his way through the dimly lit, silent corridors, slipping through the darkness. There was another guard at the door. Jack set his now unconscious burden down on a step, slipped through the stillness, and came up behind the man. His hand snapped out, chopping into the man's neck, and the native crumpled silently, dead, his neck broken. O'Neill's black op's skills hadn't been forgotten, even though he hadn't made use of them in years. His hands still knew the moves, his body still responded to his commands, even as he cringed inside at what he had to do.

There was no time for compassion now, for pity or sympathy. These men had tried to kill them, had beaten him and shot Teal'c. They were warriors, like he was a warrior and this was a war, and he was fighting to win. Teal'c needed to get home. He needed to find Daniel and Carter and get them home before the unnamed madman with the drug caught them too.

The Colonel went back for Teal'c, once again hefting the heavy man up onto his shoulder with a groan, jogging through the quiet streets to the city gate. Two guards. O'Neill waited impatiently while they stood talking in hushed tones, then separated. One, the lucky one, walked quickly away to complete his rounds atop the city wall. The other stood next to the gate, leaning back against the wall. Again, Jack eased Teal'c's motionless form down to the ground and went after his prey. The Colonel catfooted behind the guard at the gate, gliding like a wraith from shadow to shadow through the night. Biding his time until the man turned away, O'Neill closed on the guard with a rush, arms encircling the neck, one sharp movement and the man lay dead.

Once more, the Colonel returned to the unconscious Jaffa, picked up the injured man, and disappeared swiftly into the dark forest.

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

O'Neill walked for hours until he came upon a stream. He gently set Teal'c onto the ground, and went to sip water from the stream. Cupping his hands, Jack carried water to his teammate, the Jaffa rousing enough to swallow the liquid.

"O'Neill?"

"Ttttteal'c. Hi. Feeling better?"

"My symbiote is still working to heal me. It is a slow process."

"More wwwwater?" O"Neill asked, fingers drumming nervously along his thigh.

"Yes." Jack again dipped water from the stream and helped the Jaffa drink.

"Bbbbbetter?"

"The water is helpful. But O'Neill, you must listen to me."

"I alwways listen to you, Ttttteal'c." It wouldn't be so hard to listen if he wasn't so shaky, so jittery, so nervous and hyper and exhausted all at once.

"O'Neill, the drug you were given, kreis'chela'o. I know of it. It was invented by the Goa'uld to increase sexual pleasure and prolong performance. It was effective, but there was a dangerous side effect. It makes a Goa'uld deathly sick. Given to a human in concentrated form, it improves strength and stamina, just like in the Goa'uld, but it also greatly increases sensations, like pain."

The Colonel's sharp eyes were locked onto Teal'c's face. "I kkkkknow that. Hurts." He shuddered.

The Jaffa reached out to grab his commander's sleeve, to make the man stand still and listen. "O'Neill, you must heed my words. The increase in one's strength and stamina lasts only for a limited time. The drug will wear off in no more than 20 hours after it was administered, possibly as little as 15. You will become confused, disoriented and comatose soon after. Without treatment, you will die. O'Neill, you must leave me and return to the gate, now, while you are still able."

The Colonel shook his head. "Ccccccan't do that, ccan't, wwon't, ccan't. No one gets llllleft behind."

"You must leave me and go, O'Neill, or you will die."

"Gget back, befffore then. Hurry hhome. Get Ddaniel and Sssam to help, hurry. Gget everyone home ssafe." O'Neill knew what he had to do, knew he could do it, knew the drug was dulling his thinking and obscuring his good sense, but he couldn't see any other solution. He had to get his team to safety, had to get help for Teal'c. Even as he realized the drug temporarily gave him the superhuman strength to save his teammate, he could also feel the damage he was doing to his own body. O'Neill knew there would be a price, there was always a price, but he would never shrink from doing what had to be done. Stifling a groan of pain, he bent and picked up the Jaffa, once again hurrying toward the place they'd left Daniel and Sam.

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

Carter was frantic with worry, her gut instinct to go in search of O'Neill and Teal'c warring with her need to obey the Colonel's order to stay put. In the end, obedience won, and the two of them stayed near the circle, and waited.

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

Stumbling, sliding to his knees, O'Neill dropped Teal'c to the ground, groans emanating from both injured men. The Colonel was feeling worse with every passing minute, the drug's positive effects waning. The great strength the injection had given him was faltering while the pain was increasing.

"Tteal'c? You okay?"

No answer. The Jaffa had once again lapsed into unconsciousness.

Jack forced himself to breathe deeply, or at least as deeply as his broken ribs would allow. 'Think!' he ordered himself, 'slow down, take stock, use your head!' He knew he was not yet fully in control, but the Colonel was winning that part of the silent battle within his own body, his head clearing bit by bit with every passing minute, even as the pain increased, threatening to shatter his fragile control. Concentrate! He wasn't so far away from the others now, close to the stone ring and the artifact. He could make it. He had to make it.

With one more supreme effort, O'Neill slung the insensate Jaffa over his shoulder and marched on. At last, trudging over the final hill he arrived, breathless, at the ring of stones encircling the Conan-the-Barbarian-thingy SG-1 had been sent to this planet to retrieve.

Putting Teal’c down outside the circle, he warily approached "Carter! Daniel!" O'Neill hissed into the darkness, hoping his teammates were still here.

"Sir?" Carter called from the woods, overwhelmingly relieved to hear his voice. "What happened to you? Why haven't you used your radio?"

"Long sstory, Major. Tteal'c's hurt. We escaped but the nnatives are chasing us. We've got to go!" he said, still unable to completely contain the hyper actions and slurred speech caused by the drug.

Daniel dropped down on his knees, checking Teal'c's injury. "What happened?"

In the darkness, Sam couldn't see the Colonel very well, but the distress was evident in his voice, an angry, almost frantic quality pervading his speech and actions. He seemed to be shivering, causing him to stutter, but then, his jacket and shirt were gone and he had only the torn t-shirt covering his chest. She could see goosebumps on his bare arms. "Are *you* all right, Sir?"

He didn't answer the question. "Nnno time for talk, damn it. We've got to rrig up a stretcher and get to the gate." He turned to Carter. "Major, use those poles, mmmake a stretcher with your jackets." He indicated the teepee-like native built structure.

"Jack, those 'poles' are part of a structure built by these people, probably for religious reasons. We can't tear it down when we don't know why or..."

O'Neill looked over at the archaeologist. "We nneed them, now, for Teal'c. We'll wwworry about why later. Turning back to Carter, he ordered, "Now, Major."

"Jack..."

"Damnit, Daniel, nnnot now," O'Neill snapped. “Unload everything from the bbackpacks. Ppack one with the Conan-thingy and anything else we ab-absolutely need to get to the gate.” No movement. “Nnow, Daniel!”

Carter started to work, quickly, Daniel helping but turning now and then to peer angrily over his shoulder at O'Neill. He emptied his backpack, then replaced only the med-kit, a handful of energy bars and gathered up the spare ammo from all the packs. Sam picked up the heavy kona-noran device, and placed it carefully in the backpack. All the while, Jack paced back and forth toward the hill to the north, watching warily for signs of pursuit.

"Ready, Sir!" Carter called.

Jack jogged back to his teammates, pointing at the others. "You'll have to carry him."

"Us?" Daniel answered incredulous. "Sam can't..."

"You have to. I can't gggrip anything," Jack held up his hand, for the first time revealing the obvious injury. "I'll take the ppacks."

"Sir, you didn't tell us you were hurt!"

"I'll be ffine, just fine. Just help me with the backpack!" he ordered roughly.

Carter lifted the pack then, setting it against the Colonel's shoulders, feeling him flinch, staggering as the heavy weight settled on his back. "Sir, are you sure you're alright?"

"Don't wworry about me."

"This is heavy, Sir..."

"I know, Carter. Let's ggget moving." O'Neill turned and, left handed, picked up his MP-5. "Daniel, cccome on! Mmove!"

Transferring the still unconscious Teal'c to the improvised stretcher, the strange procession began the long walk back to the gate.

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

Through the long night, hour after hour, Daniel and Sam struggled under the heavy weight of the wounded Jaffa. Finally, Carter stumbled, nearly losing her hold on the stretcher.

"Stop," Daniel said, setting down the poles.

Jack, who had been following to watch their back trail, quickly caught up. "What are you doing?"

"We need to rest," Daniel said simply, already on his knees.

"God damn it, Dr. Jackson, this is not the time..."

"Jack, we have to rest. Now. Sam can't keep up this pace, neither can I. I don't know what's going on with you..."

"Wwhat's going on with me is that I'm the CO of this Ggodforsaken outfit, and it's my jjob to get us back to the gate. I'd carry him mmyself, if I could, but I can't, so you have to. Nnow! Get moving!"

"Sir, please," Carter spoke up. "We need to rest or we won't make it all the way."

"Wwomen in the Air Force. Ccivilians in the Air Force. Ggoddamn useless *scientists* ruining the Air Force," O'Neill muttered, pacing.

Carter looked from her CO to Daniel, stunned. This was not the way the Colonel normally acted, something was wrong, but she didn't know what. Sure, she understood the need to push, push hard, to reach the gate; she understood they were being pursued; and she understood the importance of the device they had retrieved, but she did not understand her commander's actions.

O'Neill relented, and let them rest 10 minutes every hour, but he set a blistering pace in between. The Colonel walked steadily, uncomplaining, focused solely and only on the goal of reaching the Stargate. He had to get his team safely off this planet and get the device home. When he'd done that, then he'd worry about himself.

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

They'd traveled for hours before they ran into trouble. Suddenly, like ghosts in the night, silent figures emerged from the trees, shadows, mere outlines, three men carrying staff weapons. Daniel and Sam stopped, setting down the stretcher.

Jackson spoke up. "We're peacef--"

Jack didn't wait for Daniel to finish, didn't waste precious minutes talking. He remembered these men, men who were here to stop him from getting his team to safety, stop them from reaching the Stargate. The Colonel stepped up, thumbed off the safety on his weapon and fired a burst of automatic weapons fire, gasping as the recoil painfully jolted his ribs and hand. The silent men dropped.

Stunned silence followed the outburst of deadly sound, marred only by the harsh sound of Jack's ragged breathing.

Daniel spun to face O'Neill, disbelief clouding his face. "What are you doing? My God, what the hell did you just do?"

"I ssaved our lives," Jack answered.

"You what?" Daniel stalked toward O'Neill, furious. "You don't even know that those men were after us. They might have been friendly..."

"I *ddo* know them. They were *nnnot* friendlies."

"You don't know they were going to shoot us!" Daniel shouted.

"There wwasn't ttime to ask!" Jack shouted back.

"Damnit Jack, you killed those men!" Jackson's anger was raging. "You killed them without even giving them a chance."

"They wouldn't have given *us* a chance!"

"You don't know that!"

"I know wwwhat they ddid to Teal'c!"

"You think you know who they were! You don't know."

"Ttrust me, I know."

"Oh right, trust *you.* That'll be the day."

Jack flinched like Daniel had just struck him. In the darkness, Daniel didn't see.

"Sir, Daniel, please, we have to move away from here. Now. The sound of gunfire carries a long ways in this quiet, Colonel," Carter pointed at the bodies lying beside the trail. "Any hostiles within miles will know where to come looking for us."

Jackson and O'Neill were still glaring at each other, silently. Finally, Daniel turned away and went back to pick up the stretcher, his movement brushing against O'Neill, forcing the Colonel to stumble backward, landing hard on his back with a muffled groan. Daniel and Carter, starting once again down the trail, didn't hear the painfilled sound.

O'Neill lay on the ground for long minutes, eyes closed. God, the pain, the pain was overwhelming, whatever the drug was doing, it was winning as it magnified every excruciating detail. He could feel each cell within the torn body tissues, each rough-edged sharp fragment of bone, each aching bruised muscle, each leaking drop of blood. His fresh blood mingled freely now with Teal'c's long dried blood on the black t-shirt he wore, the one he'd once bandaged the Jaffa with.

He finally rolled over and pushed himself off his knees, staggering as he came upright. One task at a time. Breathe. Stand. Piss off team. Move! Get to the gate.

He could think of no way to keep the others moving and motivated except anger, anger at him, focus their anger at him. Anger was an emotion he knew well, he knew how much strength it could give a person, how it could drive a person on. He used his own anger at the nameless man, at these nameless natives, at what they'd done to him and to Teal'c and what they'd do to his team if they caught them, he used that anger to drive himself to his limits, and beyond.

He goaded his team on with his anger, let their anger build against him. If they didn't trust him and his leadership, then they could hate him, despise him, loathe him, anything, it didn't matter, as long as they reached the gate.

Nothing mattered, but reaching the gate.

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

O'Neill walked well behind the others after that, watching their six but wanting to keep his distance, afraid they'd see something was wrong, that they'd detect his injuries. But when they stopped he'd walked on obliviously, so focused on movement that he'd almost tripped over Carter's form sprawled beside the trail. He staggered, and threw his hand out instinctively to catch himself. Sliding to his knees, he couldn't prevent the sound of pain that escaped his lips as the fall sent shards of agony arcing through his ribcage and hand. "Arrgggh, God," he moaned.

"Colonel?" Carter's voice was filled with concern. "Sir?"

"Son of a bitch, Major, you need to stay the hell out of my way. Lying down on the trail isn't helping," he gasped.

The concern turned to hurt. "Sir, I'm sorry, I..."

"Carter, don't be sorry. Just get the hell moving."

"Sir, we need to rest, and I should take a look at your hand."

"No, Major, you shouldn't take a look at me. I'm fine.."

"Colonel, your hand is broken. I could splint it..."

"Right, and I've already fallen victim to your wonderful medical techniques, and once was more than enough. No splints, Carter, I can do without any of *your* medical expertise. Now let's go," he growled.

"Yes, Sir," Sam snapped, curtly.

"Watch the insubordination, Major," O'Neill chided.

"Oh yes, Sir, I will," Carter wiped a hand across her exhausted face and stepped up to once more take the handles of the stretcher.

"Leave him be, Sam, it's what he wants," Daniel spoke up from the shadows. "A few more hours and we'll be home, and he can order somebody else around all he wants."

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

As the sky began to lighten with the approach of dawn, Major Carter bent over Teal'c's still form, once again checking the Jaffa's pulse. For the first time, it seemed stronger, and his breathing seemed more even. "He's improving, Sir," Carter told her CO with relief.

"Good, good. Let's go then," O'Neill ordered.

"We need more rest," Daniel was sitting on the ground, hands on his knees, his gaze fixed on the dusty trail beneath his feet. "We've been carrying him for hours and we're done in. The Stargate's not so far, we haven't seen any natives for hours, and Teal'c's stable."

"There's no time to rest, get up," Jack demanded once more.

Daniel raised his head to stare defiantly at O'Neill. "No."

"No?"

"No, Jack, no. Is that plain enough for you? N. O. I've had enough. Sam is exhausted and so am I, and you're acting like a madman. I don't know what your problem is, but I've had enough. You're way out of line."

"I don't care what you think about me," the lie passed easily across his lips. "I don't care if you trust my command." Lying had gotten so easy, he'd told so many lies now, what were a couple more? Jack reached to grab at Daniel's shoulder, faltering when pain lanced through his chest and shoulder at the movement, biting his lip to hold back the cry of pain. "As long as you're on this team, you'll damn well do as I order, trust or not."

"Not," Daniel spat. "And as for being on *your* team, that can be changed as soon as we get back."

"Whatever the hell you want, *Doctor* Jackson. *After* we get through the gate."

Carter was appalled at the rancorous exchange. "Sir, please. Teal'c *is* improving. We've got time to rest."

"So you think. Who gave you permission to think? Huh? Either one of you? Scientists. Geeks. Nerds. Useless," O'Neill turned away, staggered, caught himself hoping the others didn't see.

They hadn't.

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

The exhausted members of SG-1 wearily walked the last mile to the Stargate as the sun rose, bathing the land around them with the glowing golden light of dawn. None of them noticed the beauty, all of them still caught up in the nightmare of the night just passed, in their exhaustion and pain.

Jack stumbled onward, grateful the others were so engrossed in their own misery that they didn't notice his faltering steps. He was finding it harder and harder to stay on his feet and move forward as the blackness encroached on his vision. It was like looking down a long tunnel now, a long dark tunnel, the Stargate his only light at the end of that tunnel, his whole being focused on reaching the Stargate. He no longer understood why that goal was so important, he only knew it was, and he had to do everything in his power to get there. Twice he fell to his knees, his legs cramping and his whole body shuddering with tremors, but each time he somehow found the will to force himself upright and drag himself forward. He'd fallen further behind the others now, ten yards, 15, then 20, but they didn't seem to notice, and O'Neill no longer cared. They would reach the gate, his team would be safe. Getting them home safe was what mattered. All that mattered. Safe.

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

Sam staggered to a halt beside the DHD, her cramping fingers gratefully uncurling from around the pole that formed the stretcher bearing Teal'c. Thankfully, there were no natives around the Stargate, and they'd been able to simply walk up to it. Carter watched as Daniel dialed the coordinates for home, and once the roiling plasma had settled into place across the ring, she entered the GDO code and waited for the acknowledgement.

"We can go now, Sir," she said, turning to O'Neill. Her glance caught him unaware, staring at the ground, and she didn't understand what she saw on his face. Pain? Confusion? Exhaustion? Regret at the way he'd treated them? Sam had a vague recollection of seeing that look before but she couldn't remember where or when. She didn't know what was going on with her CO, she didn't know if any of them knew him anymore, after this mess of a mission on top of Edora and the undercover mission. Maybe she'd never known him, Carter thought sadly, maybe what he'd told Daniel had been the truth, and none of them had ever met the real Jack O'Neill.

Sam shook her head, too tired to puzzle through the enigma of her CO's recent actions. She'd deal with that later, when she had the time and energy to consider all this.

"Sir?" he hadn't acknowledged her first comment, but now he lifted his head. She watched as he deftly slid the mask of indifference across his face, the mask she'd seen him wear so often to cover his feelings and emotions.

He nodded, and stood back to watch as they carried Teal'c up the steps, across the gate's platform and disappeared into the event horizon. He paused a second, rubbing his good hand across his face, so unutterably weary he barely had the energy to command his wobbly legs take the final step forward into the wormhole, and home.

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

By the time O'Neill stumbled through the gate, Janet and her medics were clustered around Teal'c while Daniel and Sam slumped exhausted on the ramp's steps. As the wormhole disengaged behind him, Jack stopped and stood staring around the chaotic gateroom, watching the action, feeling cut off from all the activity, like he was simply observing something that had no relationship to him.

O'Neill listened disinterestedly as the familiar voice of a tiny, brown haired woman asked, "What happened?"

Carter answered, "I don't know, Janet. Teal'c was with the Colonel, and they were captured by the natives. They both came back hurt."

The white-coated woman's gaze shifted quickly to meet O'Neill's. "The Colonel's hurt, too?" Fraiser asked Carter.

"Oh, he's just absolutely fine, at least his mouth and his temper," Daniel snapped.

Fraiser stared from Jackson to Carter as she continued to assess the condition of the unconscious Jaffa. "Major?"

"The Colonel's hand is probably broken, he's got bruises and a shiner, but I think that's all."

"Yeah, he seemed okay otherwise. Just pissed," said Daniel, stalking out the door.

Jack was too tired, too confused to move, surrounded by all the commotion. Suddenly, there was a face in front of him and a familiar voice filled with concern. "Colonel O'Neill?" He lifted his gaze to look into the brown eyes of a short woman. "Colonel? Are you hurt anywhere besides your hand?"

He shook his head no.

The face still looked worried. "Sir, there's blood on your shirt."

He looked down at it in surprise. "Teal'c's blood," he answered her softly. "You nneed to help Teal'c. I couldn't..." his voice trailed away, his gaze fixed worriedly on the Jaffa's silent form.

Fraiser nodded, turning a worried glance at the doorway where medics were loading Teal'c onto a gurney. "Yes, Colonel. I'll see to Teal'c. You come down to the infirmary as soon as you've changed, Sir. I want to give you a complete check-up and we need to treat that hand."

He nodded again and watched her leave.

A young man walked up to him. "Sir? Can I help you with that?"

O'Neill nodded, and let the airman take his weapon. Next, the young sergeant unsnapped the buckles to the Colonel's backpack. He groaned in relief as the heavy weight was lifted away.

Jack took a step, stiffly, and another, pausing at the bottom of the steps. His job was done. He'd brought his team home, brought the device home, achieved his objective. He'd done what he needed to do, got them all home alive. His mission was accomplished, now he could...rest.

Rest. He wanted to drop, right there, but he knew he shouldn't, not here, that was wrong. Jack knew he had to find a safe place, a quiet place, a place he belonged. O'Neill walked slowly through the busy hallways, seeking a place he felt at home, seeking a place he knew. When he found it, and discovered the door was unlocked, he pushed in, let the door slide shut behind him, and curled up on the battered old couch with a moan. As he tried to relax, his muscles spasmed, his whole body shuddering with the aftereffects of the drug and the toll of long hours of adrenaline surging through his system.

Within minutes, he was unconscious.

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

"Teal'c?" Janet spoke softly to the man who lay on the infirmary bed. "Teal'c, can you hear me?"

The eyes flickered, slid closed, the mouth forming words she could not hear.

"Teal'c, you're back in the SGC, in the infirmary. You'll be okay, thanks to Junior," Fraiser smiled, glancing up at the Jaffa's teammates, but surprised that O'Neill was not yet there with them. "He's getting stronger every minute, with our medicine assisting his symbiote," she explained.

Just then, the doctor spotted an airman entering the infirmary, looking around as if searching for someone.

"Airman?" General Hammond stepped forward to ask the young man.

"Sir, did Colonel O'Neill come here?" the sergeant inquired.

Hammond shook his head. "No, son. What's the problem?"

The young man looked worried. "Sir, I helped the Colonel with his gear, and when I'd emptied the backpack I realized I had blood on my hands. When I checked the pack, there was fresh blood on it. That got me thinking. The Colonel seemed a little lost, sort of confused when he left the gateroom. Maybe it's nothing, General, but I just got worried when I saw all the blood. There was a lot."

"Doctor?" Hammond turned to his CMO.

The pleased smile had left Fraiser's face. "I told him to come here, but I haven't seen him, yet." She looked at the rest of SG-1.

Carter looked worried, shook her head.

"He told us he was okay..." said Daniel.

"But he was behaving oddly, hyper, angry, pushing us, goading us toward the gate," Carter whispered. Suddenly, it clicked, in her mind. That look, she remembered now where she’d seen it before. In Antarctica. Oh, God. While he was quietly, so very quietly, dying, and trying to hide it from her.

A soft voice spoke up behind them, and the group turned as one to face the form on the bed. "O'Neill is badly injured," Teal'c whispered. "The natives interrogated him. He was beaten, bones broken." The Jaffa had to pause to catch his breath. "A Goa'uld drug was administered to him in an attempt to make him reveal information. Initially, Kreis'chela'o gives a human extraordinary strength and stamina but causes extreme pain as well. It has surely worn off by now." Teal'c stopped again, then continued. "He is in grave danger."

"What kind of danger, Teal'c?" Fraiser asked.

"The residue of the drug will leave his muscles weak, too weak to breathe without assistance. And if I recall correctly, there is also a possibility of the heart stopping without warning. In time it will pass, but until then..."

Janet nodded, thinking aloud. "The drug must leave by-products in the muscle tissues, a paralyzing agent, perhaps, and possibly a myocardial irritant as well." She raised worried eyes to the General. "Sir, we've got to get the Colonel to the infirmary now. He needs supportive therapy in addition to treatment of his initial injuries. With the injuries Teal'c indicated, he couldn't have gone far."

"Then we'd better find him," Hammond grabbed a phone and began issuing orders and asking terse questions, Sam and Daniel staring expectantly, awaiting information. Hammond waited, listened, then slammed the phone down. "Security confirms the Colonel has not left the SGC, but he's not in his office. I've got a search started." He paused to stare intently at the two unhurt SG-1 members. "Sgt. Davis reports seeing the Colonel leave the gateroom, and Lt. Simmons saw him in the hallway, looking disoriented. Where would he go?"

"I don't know, Sir, if he didn't go to his office, or home..." Carter stammered.

"Did he say anything to either of you?"

Guilty looks crossed both faces, and Hammond had a sudden inkling that the situation with his premiere team had gone from bad to worse. "Dr. Jackson?"

"We, ah, didn't talk much on this trip, General."

Hammond raised an eyebrow in surprise, then turned to Carter. "Major?"

"No, Sir, the Colonel was acting out of character but he didn't give us a clue that he was badly hurt. After he came back with Teal'c, he just seemed totally focused on getting us to the gate. He had so much energy, he seemed so intense and focused, it was inconceivable that he could be badly hurt."

The General didn't miss the movement as Dr. Jackson suddenly wrapped his arms around his chest. "We didn't see anything wrong. I just thought he was..."

"He was what?" Hammond demanded.

Daniel gulped, and admitted, "Being difficult, about... things. Since the whole undercover mission we've hardly said a civil word to each other. Things have been tense..., uncomfortable..."

"Colonel O'Neill, reluctantly and under protest, I might add, took on a difficult and dangerous solo mission to uncover traitors in the midst of the SGC. He was ordered, by authority higher than mine, not to reveal anything to his team. Being the good officer he is, he obeyed his orders, regardless of the personal cost. And now he has completed another dangerous mission and brought his team home in as close to one piece as he could manage, at what appears to be considerable cost to his own well being. And you believed he was acting purposely 'difficult'?" Hammond glared angrily at the two people standing in front of him.

"We didn't know, Sir," Carter said quietly.

"Well, you do now. I'll talk to you later, but for now, let's concentrate on finding him. Before it's too late."

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

A PA announcement had failed to get a response from O'Neill or from anyone who knew where the Colonel had gone. Security Forces personnel swiftly began a room by room search.

"There are a thousand places he could be," Sam uttered worriedly.

"But why would he hide?" Daniel asked, peering into every nook and cranny of the briefing room.

"Teal'c explained that when the drug wears off, the victim crashes, hard. He may have gotten sick, looked for a quiet place, and collapsed. It also causes confusion and disorientation, so he might think he should be hiding. Or he might simply have blindly looked for a safe place, or someplace quiet," Carter ran a hand through her blonde hair. "The General's got almost the whole staff searching but even so, checking out the whole base will take hours."

Daniel paced. "We should have seen it. If I hadn't been so mad at him I'd have noticed something was wrong."

"He was hiding it, Daniel, not wanting us to know he was hurt."

"We should have paid more attention. We didn't even ask how Teal'c got back to the ring. I just assumed Teal'c had walked, then passed out. I never even considered that Jack could have carried him. Never considered that the blood on his shirt was his, not Teal'c's."

"I didn't see it either, Daniel, I was angry at him too. He did it on purpose, you know, pushing us to make us mad so we wouldn't see."

"Well, it worked," Daniel stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, fighting his own exhaustion. "So, where would did he go?"

"Someplace safe."

"And that would be?"

"Home."

"Security confirms he didn't leave the base."

"His office, then."

"Already checked."

"Hammond's office."

"Not there either. Your lab?"

"No. He hates all the science stuff that goes on there. Besides, my assistant is running some tests there today."

"The cafeteria?"

"Nope."

"The infirmary?"

"Last place he'd go."

"Teal'c's quarters?"

"We checked them first." Sam paused. "Your office?" she asked.

"Mine? I don't think so, I don't think he even thinks of me as a friend anymore, if he ever did."

"Let’s check your office. Come on," Carter said, already running out the door.

Dr. Jackson's work place was dark, the door closed, but it swung open at a soft touch. They both heard it immediately, the harsh sound of labored breathing. Carter reached for the phone to call for a medical team as Daniel sank to the floor beside O'Neill's still form shivering on the couch.

"Jack?" Daniel reached to touch the wounded man who lay curled up on his side on the sofa. The minute his fingers brushed O'Neill's back, the man moaned. Daniel jerked his hand away, his fingers wet with blood. "Tell them to hurry, Sam," he said over his shoulder, then turned back to the shivering body on his couch, his voice softening again as he soothed O'Neill. "Jack, it's okay. You're safe. We're safe. You got us all home." Gently, Jackson wrapped O'Neill in the throw that covered the sofa.

"Home?" the injured man mumbled, barely audible.

"We're home, Jack. Safe."

"Teal'c? Daniel? Sam? All safe?" he asked in a slurred whisper.

"We're all safe."

"Safe, here, knew I was safe, here, with Daniel, in Daniel's office," O'Neill mumbled, not recognizing who was with him. "Daniel knows. Daniel understands. Danny...good kid. Little...brother."

"Yes, we're all safe," Daniel kept a reassuring hand on Jack's shoulder, felt the tremors shaking the thin body.

"He should have known. How could he not know? Lost. He lost. I lost," the voice faded away, as the pain returned, stronger and stronger. Hurts. Hurts so bad. Oh God, oh God, hurts. Don't let them know. Protect them. "Home. Get... home."

"We are home, Jack, it's okay, you got us all home safe."

"Not safe. Nowhere's safe. Drugs, the man with the drugs, after all of us. Hurt them, he'll hurt them. Can't let them hurt them. Maybourne, NID, bastards all of them, they'll hurt them," in Jack's drug fogged brain, this mission, and the last, were all tangled together, threads from one interwoven with threads from the other. "General, don't make me lie. Let me tell them the truth. Don't make me do this, don't make me hurt them. I don't want to hurt them. They're all I have. I have to protect them. Must protect them. Anything I have to do to protect them. Anything. Even if they hate me for it. Protect them." O'Neill babbled on, caught up in the last vestiges of the drug's effects.

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

Footsteps raced down the hallway, booted feet skidding in the doorway, Dr. Fraiser's tapping heels just behind the running SFs.

"He's here, alive," Sam told the doctor.

Fraiser was immediately on her knees beside the Colonel, fingers quickly searching his wrist for a pulse. She pulled out her stethoscope and listened to his heart and breathing, her frown rapidly growing deeper. "Colonel?" He muttered, moaned, but didn't answer intelligibly, his limbs still shaking uncontrollably. "Let's get him out of here. Now!" she ordered. She turned to a waiting medic. “Trauma code to infirmary bay one! Let’s *move* people.”

"Janet?" Daniel asked.

She shook her head. "I'm not sure yet, but he's badly hurt." And with that, she hurried out of the office, following the orderlies as they rushed the Colonel to the infirmary, Daniel and Sam right behind her.

The staff quickly got O'Neill on a bed, the medics cutting away the bloodied clothes as the code team started the initial breathing and circulation evaluation. Janet heard a gasp as the secondary survey was done on his naked form and the damage to his body was revealed-- deep lacerations welling blood on his back; black, bootshaped bruises pretty much everywhere; bone-deep rope-burns on both wrists; and the mangled mess someone had made of his right hand. She turned and saw the mobile half of SG-1, worry etched on their faces as they hovered in the door of the bay. Her eyes softened for a minute before the professional took over. “Out! Clear the bay!” A Sergeant escorted them out.

Janet had turned back to her team. “Come on, folks. By the numbers. Get an ET tube in him. I need a chest tube kit, *now*." Pointing at two nurses she ordered, "You and you, lines. Subclavian and femoral. Not *that* one, that clavicle’s broken. I need a saline bolus and two units of cross-matched blood as soon as we get a line in.” As the code progressed the med-team fell into its familiar, well rehearsed rhythm. Eventually, all they could do outside the OR was pack his back lacerations until they could be irrigated and closed under anaesthesia.

A portable x-ray unit was quickly brought in and as soon as the films were developed, and O'Neill was reasonably stable, Fraiser ordered an OR prepared and the patient prepped.

Taking a deep breath as her team worked to finish preparing the wounded man for surgery, Janet took a brief moment to go out to the hallway and update the worried crowd waiting outside his room. "We're prepping the Colonel for exploratory surgery. He's got a collapsed lung and possibly other internal injuries. I'd rather not have to operate now, his blood pressure is still too low and I don't know how much of that drug might still be in his system, but I don't have a choice. We’re watching for signs of arrythmias, but since we don’t know what the drug or its byproducts will do, we have to wait for changes in his ECG. We'll see," she tried to put as much optimism as she could into her voice, but her worry leaked through.

"Do your best, Doctor," ordered Hammond.

"Yes, Sir," she answered and disappeared to get back to work.

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

They paced silently in the corridors for hours while O'Neill was in surgery, each one lost in his or her own thoughts. Finally, a weary Dr. Fraiser emerged. "It was touch-and-go a couple of times, but we were able to get the damage repaired and he's in recovery. I’ve sent for a dialysis unit from the Academy hospital in order to remove some of the toxins from the Colonel’s blood. He took some fairly severe blows to his kidneys, and they aren’t working too well right now. We'll know more over the next few hours," Janet didn't miss the mixture of relief and fear from O'Neill's worried teammates, and she let a small smile soften her features. "He won't be awake until tomorrow at the soonest. No visitors until then. You're all exhausted," she stared pointedly at Sam and Daniel, "so go home. If there are no complications, you can visit him tomorrow."

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

Daniel didn't leave the base that night. It wasn't the first night he'd spent in his office, the battered old couch serving as his bed. Exhausted by the day's events, Jackson pulled a blanket over himself and curled up on the couch, but sleep wouldn't come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jack's face, the strange, strained look the Colonel had worn, the anger, and the hurt he'd seen in the eyes, not physical hurt, but the emotional hurt. Damn. Damn this place and damn this impossible job and the things good people were forced to do.

Unable to sleep, Daniel got up, filled his coffee cup from the pot in his office, and wandered down to the infirmary.

"I told you to go home," Janet Fraiser reminded him sternly.

"Couldn't sleep. How is he?" Daniel peered past Janet and into O'Neill's room. All he could see was the curtain pulled around the bed, all he could hear was the incessant beeping of medical equipment confirming that Jack was there and still breathing.

"Holding his own. Still asleep, but his vitals are improving slowly. It's a good sign. Now, go, sleep."

Jackson let a small smile cross his face. "Sleep's not working. Can't I at least sit with him? For a while?"

Janet looked into the archaeologists eyes. "Daniel, he won't know you're there."

"But I will." Daniel stared down into his coffee cup as if the words he had to say were written there. "I know it doesn't make sense, but, when he was hurt and confused, he went to my office. That was the place he sought out, the safe place he went to, my place. It's the least I can do, after how I've treated him, to be here with him. Even if he doesn't know. Please. I need to be here."

Janet stared at SG-1's archaeologist thoughtfully. She knew O'Neill wouldn't be awake until morning, the effects of the anaesthesia hadn't worn off yet. Even when they did, she had left orders for enough sedatives to relax an elephant, just to still the tremors caused by the continuing aftereffects from the alien drug.

Fraiser sighed. Half her time as the SGC's Chief Medical Officer was spent taking care of her patients, the other half, it seemed, was spent taking care of those who were worried about her patients. All the SG teams had strong bonds but this team most of all. She could forbid him entrance and even order him to go home, but it wouldn't help Dr. Jackson deal with what had happened, and it wouldn't hurt Colonel O'Neill to have his friend sitting at his bedside. There were times these people had an almost psychic bond with one another, and who was she to say there couldn't be some benefit from Daniel's presence?

Jackson looked up at her when she placed her hand on his arm. "Daniel, I don't know what's happened between you and the Colonel, but do I know his team is his family and he needs all of you, especially now. Tell the nurse I said you could stay with him."

"Thanks."

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

Daniel walked slowly into the infirmary, past the curtain and up to O'Neill's bedside. He hated seeing Jack like this, so pale and still, so much smaller than he seemed the rest of the time, without the vitality and energy that made him who he was.

Who he was. Commanding officer/boss. Pain in the ass. Big brother. Friend. Was he still a friend? All that had happened over the past few weeks had left Daniel wondering, wondering why Jack had attacked their friendship that day in Jack's living room, when Jack was trying to keep Daniel and the others in the dark about his undercover assignment. Couldn't he have come up with another way, a better way, a less hurtful way?

A terrible idea came to Daniel then. Had Jack simply believed his words would be so incredible that Daniel wouldn't ever believe them?

Daniel had been hurt, yes, definitely, as much as he'd tried to deny it, Jack's words had hurt and still did, even though he knew they weren't true, even though he knew the Colonel had been ordered not to tell the truth to his team.

Still it hurt. Jackson was angry with the General, angry with the Tollans and the Nox, angry with Jack, and angry with himself. That thought took Daniel aback. Angry with himself? Yes, he was, angry because of the way he'd reacted to Jack, letting Jack's words hurt him, and then revealing that hurt to Jack. So, he often accused O'Neill of acting like a bullying six-year old, and he'd just gone out and done the same, trying to punish him with silence, by ignoring him. So, yeah, they didn't agree on everything and they never would, but they didn't need to. Trust meant you could be different and disagree but you knew the other person would never hurt or betray you.

Words hurt. Didn't matter what the old saying was about sticks and stones. Words did hurt. Words were powerful, they were the most powerful things in Daniel's world, and he'd used them to strike back at his best friend.

Jack *was* his best friend, not that either one had ever said it to the other, or ever would. They just were, for some strange reason he didn't understand, and Jack surely didn't understand either. They hadn't needed words to know that, to understand it, to rely on it, to trust in it and each other. It was something that had happened.

That damned undercover mission threatened all they'd gained over the years.

Truth was, Daniel had been surprised by Jack's reaction, and tried to make a joke of it, get in a little dig the way Jack always did, figuring Jack of all people would understand. Daniel'd meant "I lost" as a joke, the team hadn't really drawn straws. Jackson had in fact insisted he was the only one to go, and he'd gone to talk to Jack because he'd known that he was the only one the Colonel would talk to, if he would talk to anyone. He shouldn't have been fooled by O'Neill's act any more than Jack should have been fooled by his statement.

But it was obvious Jack had taken it to heart, as much as he had. Maybe because their friendship in fact meant as much to Jack as it did to him?

Daniel stared down at the still form on the bed, tubes leading in and out of his body in it seemed like dozens of places, providing oxygen, fluids, antibiotics; suctioning fluid from his chest around his lung, the catheter removing urine tinted pink with blood from the bruised kidneys. Beneath the vivid bruises the lean face looked even thinner than usual. Janet had explained that the drug had kept Jack's metabolism racing in high gear, that he'd lost weight, become severely dehydrated, and suffered from exhaustion on top of his injuries.

Daniel just wanted the brown eyes to open; he wanted Jack to talk to him, yell at him, direct a hundred sarcastic wisecracks at him, do something, anything but lie there silently.

Tentatively, Daniel reached out a hand and touched O'Neill's arm where it rested on the blankets. "I didn't mean it Jack, you know that, don't you? I thought you knew. I was just trying to give you back some of your own medicine, make you realize how your words had hurt me. And now you might never know." Jackson wrapped his arms around his chest and paced. "I hope you can hear me, Jack. Are you listening?"

O'Neill had been willing to die to protect his team, covering his actions with lies, back with Maybourne and the NID and the undercover assignment, just like he'd been willing to die to protect them on P4R-999, covering his own wounds with more lies, white lies covered in his own blood.

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

For nearly an hour now, Daniel had been sitting at Jack's bedside, quietly, just sitting and thinking, but still reluctant to leave. Exhausted himself from the long trek to the gate, he dozed.

Suddenly, the peaceful quiet of the infirmary was broken as the steady beeping sounds emitted by the monitors changed to frantic alarm tones. He jumped to his feet, wondering what to do, but within seconds, Fraiser and a pair of nurses arrived, unceremoniously ordering him out the door.

"Stay with me, Colonel, stay with me," she pleaded, staring at the erratic lines on the monitor. “Multiple PVC’s with runs of V-tac. Alright, Lidocaine bolus. Get the drip ready.”

Unable to leave, Daniel stood instead in the door way, watching the frantic activity, Janet's worried frown telling him more than he wanted to know.

A hard board was slipped under Jack’s back. More shouted information and orders. Drugs added to the IV lines. Half the crowd staring at the monitor, the other half poking and prodding Jack. The defibrillator wheeled into place and charged. "Come on, Colonel," Janet exhorted her patient, hovering, “Don’t go into V-fib.”

A flurry of activity.

A nurse called out, “No pulse.”

“Damnit, Colonel. Never can do what you’re told. Charge to 200! Clear!" Fraiser placed the paddles on O'Neill's chest. His back arched off the bed, then subsided. Janet stared once more at the machines that were recording the Colonel's vitals. "Sir, don't do this. Don't do this. Come on...come on... That's better, that's better, that's it."

Holding his own breath, Daniel watched, horrified, not realizing how scared he was until long minutes later he finally saw them relax, saw the relieved expressions appear on their faces as the beeping monitors returned to a comforting, steady rhythm.

As soon as Janet was free, Daniel sought her out. "What just happened?" he asked, arms firmly wrapped around his chest.

"The Goa'uld drug is making Colonel O’Neill’s heart muscle irritible, causing an irregular heartbeat."

"A heart attack?"

"No. It won't do any damage as long as we catch it in time and restore a normal sinus rhythm." Fraiser explained, soothing. She didn't miss Jackson's worried glance across the room at the Colonel.

"That looked... nasty. Painful."

"He's still deeply unconscious, Daniel. He's not aware of the pain."

"Not *aware* of the pain? What does that mean, exactly?”

"Although we’re giving him a lot of pain medication, the alien drug appears to interfere with its action. His vitals indicate tremendous ongoing stress, probably pain related. But it’s unlikely he’ll remember it." Janet took a deep breath, and tried to be positive but also truthful. "It's not good, Daniel. We don't know much about this drug, about how long this could go on, or how much of this his system can tolerate on top of his other injuries. We’re getting him started on dialysis to try to help his kidneys flush the drug and its metabolites out of his system. That should help."

"He *will* be okay?" the young archaeologist asked hopefully.

Doc patted his arm comfortingly. "He never quits, Daniel. He'll get through this, if anyone can."

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

Doc sighed in exhausted relief. The worst seemed to be over, and the Colonel was at last on the road to recovery.

Janet checked her patient one more time, pleased with his steady improvement, deciding he didn't need to be intubated any longer. "Sir, I'll take out that nasty tube if you'd like? Colonel, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand, would you?" She thought she felt a small movement, a slight response, and smiled. "Good, Sir. Then out it comes. You're doing well, Colonel."

She removed the device and lowered the amount of sedative feeding into his veins through the IV before heading out to the hallway to update his waiting team. "He's doing much better this morning," she reported. "I've removed the breathing tube and backed off on the sedatives. He should be regaining consciousness soon."

Relieved smiles greeted her announcement, and as she walked away she heard the three of them dividing up the 'watch' to be sure one of them would be with O'Neill at all times.

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

Jack didn't want to wake up. He was all too familiar with this sluggish, heavy feeling, one caused by drugs that muted the body's pain but sapped his energy and dulled his thinking. He knew he was in a place he didn't want to be, the sounds and smells revealed he was in the infirmary long before he was ready to open his eyes and confirm the unwelcome fact.

The infirmary. He remembered some of what had happened, but somewhere in the midst of that long walk back to the Stargate, his memories stopped. He remembered shooting the natives, and Daniel's reaction, and he didn't blame the man for it. Daniel didn't know what those men had done, didn't know Jack had recognized the faces of the guards who had beaten him. He should have explained, would have, if he'd had the time, but there hadn't been time, and he'd been so tired and confused. He'd explain, now, to Daniel.

O'Neill struggled to open his eyes and finally succeeded. He was looking up at the familiar gray ceiling. He gathered up the energy and slowly turned his head to the left. Teal'c sat there, Teal'c?

"O'Neill, you have awakened."

Jack licked dry lips. "Ya think?" He looked around at the abundance of equipment, tubes and wires holding him down to the bed. "Looks like I did it this time, huh?" he asked, battling to keep his eyes open.

"You were severely injured by the natives, and then inflicted more damage on yourself by assisting me," said Teal'c somberly. "You should not have done so, O'Neill."

"What, I was supposed to leave you there?" the Colonel retorted, letting his eyes close. "Told ya' I couldn't do that. Remember?"

"I remember, O'Neill, but I do not agree. You could have left me."

"Couldn't," he mumbled, feeling himself start to drift away again.

"O'Neill, you must remain awake while I inform Dr. Fraiser," said the Jaffa.

"Sure, I'll just wait right here," Jack muttered, watching the big man walk away, still moving stiffly but alive and obviously relatively well, since Teal'c was no longer confined to an infirmary bed. And O'Neill knew from personal experience that Fraiser wouldn't have let the Jaffa be on his feet if he wasn't well on the road to recovery.

So just how long *had* he been unconscious?

Before he had time to think further, Dr. Fraiser's smiling face appeared above him. "Hello, Colonel, how are you feeling?"

"Thirsty."

She poured water into a glass, fitted a straw into the liquid, and helped him drink. "Sip, easy, not too much," she ordered.

"I know the drill, Doc," he muttered, sinking back down on the pillows.

"Yes, Sir, I know you do."

"What happened? After we got back?"

"We found you in Daniel's office, barely conscious. You must have gone there. You don't remember?"

He shook his head slightly. "Things got pretty hazy even before we got to the gate." O'Neill looked around. "Everyone's okay?"

"Yes, Sir, Daniel and Sam are fine. I just discharged Teal'c this morning, and in fact, he's supposed to be resting now himself."

"This morning? What morning would that be?"

"It's Monday, Colonel. You slept all weekend." Fraiser grinned reassuringly at O'Neill's look of confusion. "It was Friday afternoon when you got back. You've got two broken ribs, a broken collarbone, several broken bones in your hand, and some nasty lacerations on your back and wrists. Your left lung had collapsed. You needed emergency surgery for the internal injuries, but we were able to take care of everything. The alien drug, however, caused a few complications, the worst of which was an irregular heartbeat. But once we got you on dialysis and got the drug cleaned out of your system, you rebounded quickly. You're doing much better."

"I know you probably feel pretty lousy at the moment, Colonel, but I promise, you'll be good as new in a few weeks. " She finished checking his vitals. "You gave us quite a scare, Sir, with that little disappearing act."

"Disappeared? Hmmm. Don't remember that. Guess I was sort of out of it by then."

"We were busy taking care of Teal'c when you came through the gate, and no one thought you had serious injuries. Apparently, that's what you'd told Sam and Daniel? You were supposed to come down to the infirmary, and when you didn't, we started looking. We had a hard time finding you. The delay in starting treatment was nearly fatal." Fraiser's face turned serious. "You need to be more forthcoming, Colonel. Hiding your injuries is *not* a smart thing to do."

"I had to keep everyone focused on getting home," he answered softly.

"Yes, you did. But not at the expense of your own life. We need you around here, Sir. Try to take better care of yourself next time, would you, Colonel?"

"Sure Doc," he muttered, too tired to think further. It always amazed him how much strength and energy it took to do something as ordinary as talking.

"Rest, Sir," Doc smiled and headed out the door.

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

The clock on the wall showed he'd been out for hours, O'Neill realized as awareness returned once again. The infirmary lights were dim, so that 8 o'clock must be in the evening. He let his eyes slide closed once more, but a hand touched his.

"Sir?"

The Colonel found the strength to open his eyes and move his head on the pillows, looking into Carter's worried eyes. "Hey, Carter."

"Hey yourself, Sir. Glad to see you're awake."

"Hmmm. Really."

"Yes, really, Sir," she let a smile cross her lips. "It's good to have you back."

He lifted a heavy hand, realizing a cast from fingertips to elbow was making it weigh a ton. "Hmm, your work, Carter? Your splinting technique has improved."

"No, Sir. Janet's. So it's done right," she said softly.

"Sorry about the splint crack, Carter." He tried to wave the heavy hand in the air, managed only to lift it a couple of inches off his blankets. "You know I don't mean any of that stuff. Just a way of deflecting worry, ya' know?"

"I know, Sir. Just like you answer questions with questions."

He nodded. "Right. So, everybody's okay?"

Carter smiled. "Teal'c's gone to his quarters, doing his kel'no reem. Junior's been working overtime, but he'll be fine soon."

"Daniel?"

"He's around here, somewhere. And not even a scratch this trip."

Jack sighed. "Hmm, good, that's good." O'Neill's eyes were getting heavy again. "Sorry, Major, don't mean to be throwing you out of here, but I think I'm about to nod off on ya'."

"That's okay, Sir, you're here to rest and recuperate. Sleep. Trust me, it's good for you."

"Carter..." he said, wearily, eyes already closed.

"Sir, trust me. Like I trust you."

She turned to leave and six steps from the bed barely heard his heartfelt, "thank you, Major."

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

O'Neill recuperated quickly and within two days was sitting up in bed, restless, complaining about the inactivity, pale beneath the bruises but well on the road to recovery. Fraiser credited it to his general good health, hearty constitution, and sheer stubborn bullheadedness. He'd be ready to go home in just a few days. Something, however, was obviously bothering him, since he'd made an extremely unusual request to talk to her.

Janet checked his chart, and found nothing amiss. "So, Colonel, what's the problem?" she asked bluntly, knowing that with O'Neill it was best to just come right out and say what needed to be said.

"Nothing," he answered, avoiding her gaze.

Ah, that look meant something definitely was wrong. "Sir, I *did* give you the little 'always tell your doctor the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth lecture' just the other day, didn't I?"

He nodded.

"Well, now would be a good time to follow through on that, Colonel."

He was silent for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer, but finally he said, softly, "it's nothing medical."

"Personal, then?"

"Yes, sort of."

"Nothing's personal in the Air Force, Sir."

He raised his gaze to glare at her.

"Colonel, if you tell me what's bothering you, maybe I can help. And you must have thought I could, or you wouldn't have asked to see me. So, out with it..."

He shrugged, grimacing at the ache that movement started in his shoulder, then shifted his gaze, letting it flit across her face. Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "What's up with Daniel?"

"Daniel? Nothing that I know of. He's fine."

"Then where is he? Don't tell me he's been sent off on a mission with another team."

"No, he's been on base all week."

"Oh."

"Sir?" Janet's brain was racing. When had she last seen Daniel? This morning in the cafeteria, getting coffee. Yesterday, in the hallway. He'd been here in the infirmary, too, but that had been late, and the Colonel had been sound asleep. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen him in O'Neill's room at any time when the Colonel was awake. "He hasn't been to see you?"

"No," came the soft answer. "You're sure he's alright? You're not hiding something from me?" he inquired suspiciously.

"Dr. Jackson is fine, he wasn't hurt at all. A few blisters, but nothing serious." She paused to think what to say. "Colonel, he *was* here the first couple of days, stayed all night in fact."

"Well, he hasn't been back." The brown eyes were once again staring down at his hands, fingers drumming on his blanket. "Guess he hasn't forgiven me."

"Forgiven you?"

"For what happened on the planet, killing those men. Pushing him and Sam so hard. Being, ah, less than honest, about ah, you know, stuff," both on 999 and back when he'd been undercover, Jack thought.

"Sam said you had to do what you did, she said you did the right thing."

"She's military, she understands. Daniel isn't and doesn't," Jack once again thought about Jackson's reaction to not just this mission, but his actions before that as well.

"I think you two should talk. I'll send for him."

The Colonel's gaze snapped up to her face. "No," he ordered. "It's up to him if he wants to come."

"He does, Sir, I know that. I think he just doesn't know what sort of reception he'll receive."

"Neither do I," O'Neill admitted softly. Looking up once again at the doctor, he added, "let him decide, Doc. It's got to be his decision."

Fraiser nodded. "Okay, Sir."

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

Dr. Jackson was trying to work, peering at the computer screen in his office, but not really seeing what was in front of him. He was thinking, and not about the translation he was supposed to be working on. He was once again thinking about Jack, wondering if he ought to go see him, unsure of himself because he didn't know what to say. Funny, that wasn't usually a problem. Words were his work, his life, but personal words, words that revealed his own emotions, were too hard.

He knew he needed to go, to gather up his courage and face Jack. They had to talk this out, resolve the issues raised by their actions over the past few weeks, because they couldn't work together if they didn't trust and believe in each other. That's what made SG-1 work, the four of them, working together, knowing and trusting each other. The last mission had shown what a disaster it was to go through the gate without that trust intact.

Could that trust be rebuilt? Daniel didn't know, but he knew he had to make one more effort.

Having worked up his nerve to face Jack, determined to talk things through, the SG-1 archaeologist/linguist left his office and started down the corridor. Funny, there weren't many people around, almost like it was after hours. Not that the SGC every actually closed, but the activity level of the place did take a major downturn late in the evening.

Late. Daniel glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight. Wow. Where had the time gone? He had no idea it was so late, certainly too late to talk to Jack now, but at least he'd stop down at the infirmary to check on the man.

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

The lights were turned low in the infirmary. O'Neill was asleep, still hooked up to far too many tubes and medical devices, Daniel worried, still far too pale and quiet to reassure Jackson. Doc had said he was making another stellar recovery, though, so he shouldn't worry.

Still did, though. Guess they were fated to always worry about each other.

Daniel slipped into the room past a nurse busy in the office and pulled up the hardbacked chair that sat beside O'Neill's bed.

"Hi, Jack," Daniel said softly, needing to talk even if his friend, or at least the man he hoped was still his friend, couldn't hear him. "Janet says you're getting better and she'll be sending you home soon. I know I haven't been here to see you. I wanted to, but I sort of figured you wouldn't want to see me, after all that's happened. Me giving you the silent treatment, you yelling at me and Sam. You should have told us, you know that? You should have said you were hurt, we'd have understood. How could you think we wouldn't have? God, Jack, Teal'c said they beat you and drugged you and the only thing you were worried about was taking care of us."

He paused, not sure of what else to say. "Since I came back from Abydos, you've always looked out for me, from the first night when I had nowhere to go, to every trip off planet. I never appreciated it until you weren't here, during that time you were on Edora." Daniel grinned softly. "Most of the time I just thought of you as an annoying mother hen, until you weren't there and then I realized how much I'd come to depend on you, how much I took for granted that you were there and because you were, everything would be okay. I even missed arguing with you." Daniel frowned. "Then you did came back but it was like you weren't really back with us, you were still back there. So that whole undercover thing it seemed to make a weird sort of sense that you'd changed in all that time, that you'd thought about what you were doing, that you'd decided that you didn't need us any more.

"But we still needed you. I still needed you. You're my best friend, Jack. Teal'c and Sam and Rothman and Janet and the others, they're my friends, but you understand me, Jack, better than anyone. You understand what it's like to lose the people who mean the most to you, to be left alone and lost and not know how to go on.

"You didn't tell the truth but I didn't either. I thought you'd understand the joke, see that I was trying to be like you and joke about something serious. We didn't draw straws and I didn't lose, I chose to visit you."

Daniel leaned forward on the chair, resting his forehead tiredly against the clean white sheets of O'Neill's bed. "How did we come to this, Jack? After all this time and all we've been through, how did we let our friendship end?"

"Didn't," came the soft voice from the bed.

Daniel jerked his head off its resting place, surprised blue eyes meeting sleepy brown ones. "I thought you were asleep."

"Was, until someone came in and started making speeches." O'Neill's eyes were overly bright. "Daniel, you know I never meant what I said that day in my house. I had to say those words, I needed Maybourne to believe me. He couldn’t be allowed to think of SG-1 as hostages for my good behavior. I just thought *you'd* realize there couldn't be any truth to them."

"They sounded like the truth to me," Daniel said softly.

"They weren't. They were the words that came to mind and I knew Maybourne would believe them. If I'd had time to think, I'd have said it different, but I didn't, and... Danny…when I saw your face….It was a …*very* long night.” He coughed, caught his breath, closed his eyes until he could control the pain. "Aw, hell, I'm not good at talking about, you know, touchy-feely serious stuff, you know that, Daniel."

A slight smile flitted across Daniel's face. "You're doing pretty good right now."

"Doc's happy juice. Loosens the tongue." Jack let his eyes slide closed once again. "So, how about we start over, declare all this stuff water over the bridge..."

"That would be water under the bridge, or over the dam..."

Jack chuckled, then stopped abruptly. "Ahhhh."

"You okay?"

"Hurts when I laugh," O'Neill explained, needing a moment to collect himself before finally re-opening his eyes. "Okay, all this trust/no trust stuff is water long past the bridge. What say we give SG-1 a fresh start? We've got enough real enemies out there that we can't afford to be fighting among ourselves."

"Okay. Sounds like a deal."

"Shake on it," O'Neill suggested, then looked from one hand in a cast to the other still fitted with monitors and IV lines. "Okay, we'll just say it, and mean it." He grinned softly. "Now go on, get out of here and let an old guy get some sleep, would you?"

Daniel's face wore a relieved smile as well. "All right. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure. You can come and let me kick your butt at checkers."

"Chess. I'll win."

"That's why I don't play chess with you."

Daniel headed toward the door, pausing at the doorway, and turning back, his eyes on the floor, then lifted them slowly to meet O'Neill's gaze. "Jack, I've *always* trusted you. I'd never have come back to Earth otherwise."

"You needed help to search for Sha're."

"I could have found help on Abydos. But you, I trusted you."

O'Neill's face turned dark. "And I failed."

"No, we didn't fail. We tried, and we didn't know the reality of who and what we were after. It was an impossible search all along, and deep down I always knew that, but you gave me the hope to go on."

"Shouldn't have then. It was only false hope."

"No, never false. Hope is hope."

"Fair trade then, because when I went to Abydos the first time, I had no hope. I had nothing, but you reminded me that there was a reason to never give up."

A small smile graced Daniel's face. "False hope there, too, I guess."

"For my marriage, yeah. But for my life, you reminded me of something important that I'd lost, the hope that things would get better. And they have gotten better, not perfect," a dark look crossed the lean face, "never perfect, ever again, but good, good enough. Good enough to go on."

Daniel stood silent a moment. "Sad, isn't it? We're a real pair..."

"But we're not hopeless, not yet. And we never will be, as long as we trust each other."

Jackson nodded. "Okay. I'll buy that."

"Yeah, so we're okay?" O'Neill watched Daniel nod, then let his tired eyes slide shut again. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, but get out of here. Go home and sleep. You need it worse that I do. Go. Get." Jack waved a cast-covered hand in the air.

"'Night, then."

"Goodnight, John boy."

Daniel chuckled. "Goodnight, my friend."

He walked away, and didn't see the satisfied look on the Colonel's face or hear the softly muttered, "a good night it is."

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

Jack O'Neill once again sat alone on his deck, enjoying the late afternoon sun of a glorious summer day in Colorado Springs. He let Sol's warmth sink deep into his aching body. It felt good to be here, outdoors and most of all, home. He'd spent far too many days confined in Doc Fraiser's efficient but boring custody, deep underground in the SGC infirmary. Not that he was claustrophobic or anything, but more than a week in the mountain would give anyone, even him, a serious case of cabin fever.

Jack was over that now. Around him, green trees sighed in the wind, the soft smell of fresh mown grass wafted over from his neighbor's lawn, and the wind ruffled his hair: the normal, ordinary things most people took for granted.

Even as he rested, O'Neill could still feel the damage inflicted on this last mission. His last dose of pain meds was wearing off and soon he'd have to go back in the house and swallow a couple more of those pills he both despised and appreciated. They made him sleepy, but they also made the pain retreat to more tolerable levels. The wounds in his back still pulled, as did the surgical incision on his chest. His ribs ached, they would for a while yet, and his hand, when he tried to flex the fingers, responded slowly with a flaring of dull pain. He'd strained muscles in his back and shoulders, carrying Teal'c like that, a feat he still couldn't believe he'd accomplished, but Doc said he'd been lucky-- no permanent damage done anywhere. The discomfort was growing less every day. He *was* feeling better, in more ways than one. O'Neill's body was healing, but he knew from experience it would take time.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face and lull him to sleep.

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

Daniel Jackson stepped out of the doorway and onto the deck in search of his friend and CO. Jack, he saw, was sound asleep on one of the patio chairs. He looked younger and more at peace than he'd looked for a long time, Jackson thought, the lines of worry and pain erased from his face as he rested. Daniel hated to wake him, but Janet had been adament-- it was important that O'Neill eat regularly to fuel the needs of a healing body and gain back the weight he'd lost.

"Jack?" Daniel called softly, and watched the brown eyes open slowly, sleepily, and then widen quickly in complete awareness.

"Daniel?"

"Dinner's ready."

"Dinner? Oh, please, don't tell me you cooked." Jack clutched at his heart theatrically.

SG-1's archaeologist grinned. "No, Sam and Teal'c brought take out, your favorite. Steaks, baked potatoes and salad, from O'Malley's."

"I didn't know they took takeout orders."

"They don't, usually, but Sam sweet talked the cook."

Daniel extended a hand toward O'Neill. "Come on. Before the food gets cold."

Jack reached up with his good hand, grasped Daniel's strong wrists, and with a sharp gasp half pushed, half pulled himself to his feet. He straightened slowly, allowing his body a moment to adjust. O'Neill didn't miss Jackson's worried look. "I'm okay, Daniel, just a little stiff." He placed his hand companionably on the younger man's shoulder, and only leaning on it a bit, shuffled into the house to join the others at the dinner table.

His team.

His friends.

His family.

Once again.

They'd all be okay.

Jack O'Neill grinned.

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

FINIS