Time Expired

BadgerGater

Title: Time Expired

Author: BadgerGater

Email: [email protected]

Rating: PG, a couple of four letter words

Season: anywhen

Category: Word a Month Challenge: Time

Summary: Time is running out for Jack O’Neill

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted elsewhere without the author's consent.

Author’s Note: Thanks, Tanya

SUMMARY: Time runs out.

Disclaimer : Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Author's Note: Thanks so much, Tanya

Two minutes. Just two minutes more. That's not so long. Only one hundred twenty seconds. An eternity to hold out against an aggressive, attacking, swarming enemy.

'God, he was tired,' Jack O'Neill thought. 'Maybe time is actually catching up to me. I'm getting too old for this kind of physical exertion. Maybe I ought to leave this battle to younger men. No, not while there was still breath in his body. He knew he was in better shape than most men half his age. 'Suck it up, O'Neill,' he told himself. 'No time to be dawdling now.'

His lungs burned and his legs ached from his efforts as he sped toward his beleaguered teammates. A shot whipped past his head and he ducked instinctively, throwing himself off stride and slowing his rush to aid the others.

Damn. Too late, O'Neill. Too late; too slow. His friend was down on one knee but the shot, thank God, had gone wide. He watched his teammate climb slowly erect, sweat soaking his uniform, exhaustion showing in every movement. They exchanged a silent nod, ready to go on.

Their foes were gathering for another rush. Jack, sweat drenching his face and dripping off his chin, clutched his weapon, grimly determined as he tried to peer into the eyes of his opponents hidden behind their masks. He tried to anticipate their strategy, to find some advantage, some way to blunt thie attack.

His defenders were weary.

Time was moving slowly. Ninety-seconds now, just ninety-seconds and they would be safe. He checked on each of his teammates during the brief respite in the battle. Each one seemed as tired as he felt. "Hold on, guys, hold on," he encouraged them.

The enemy surged forward again, charging at them, weaving and ducking, trying to find a weak spot in O'Neill's defensive line.

Once again, the team held them back.

Seconds only remained now, until it would be over, less than a minute. He'd been on the other side of such battles many times, in the role of the attacker with time running out. He knew their desperation.

Seconds, just seconds. Exhausted, weary in every joint and bone, he felt all the old aches and pains hard times and hard use had inflicted on his body.

Just a little longer.

Another charge and Jack suddenly found himself locked in hand to hand battle with one of the attackers, younger, stronger, seemingly inexhaustible.

"Gray haired old men like you ought to stay home," his foe growled.

Wrong thing to say to this gray-haired not so old man, Jack thought grimly. You should never make me mad.

Summoning up his last reserves of energy, he sped past his attacker, cutting him off from his goal as he launched himself at the taunting enemy. Both of them crashed and tumbled onto the cold hard surface beneath them.

Suddenly, there was a roaring in his ears.

It was over.

Time expired.

Long seconds passed before O'Neill climbed to his feet and stood, drained, head down, hands on knees, drawing in deep gulping breaths. Suddenly, his teammates were all around him, laughing, shouting and slapping him on the back.

"Way to go, O'Neill."

"What a hit."

"You sure took that guy down."

Finally, wearily, he lifted his head, looked up at the scoreboard and the clock. It was over, his team stood victorious, 1-0.

Almost too tired to skate over to the bench, Jack joined his teammates, shedding stick, gloves and gear. Sitting down on the bench, he began to unlace his skates, looking forward to the rewards of victory, a tall, cold beer while he and his team relived the glories of the best hockey game of the year.