Author’s note: A short little fic ....
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The things I'm asked to do for my country.

Damn.

It never ends.

There is no sacrifice too great, no request too horrendous, no end to their needs; no limit to what they’ll ask of me, nothing they won't ask me to give.

I've given them everything I can.

I don't know if I can do this.

I'm not sure I can give up one more thing, give away something this precious.

Yes, precious.

It's a part of me, a piece of my very soul, of who I am, what I am, what makes me unique.

They want it.

Hammond sent me out here to PT4-343 to make a deal, any deal, to get back SG-11.

Seems the Ptarrans have heard of SG-1.

So yeah, well, we're famous.

I always knew that was gonna turn out to be a pain in the mik'tah.

And now that trouble had come home to roost.

They'd made their demands. The Ptoof of Ptarra or whatever the hell he called himself, he'd stated clearly, calmly, completely, what was required.

I just don't think I can do it.

I sure as hell don’t want to.

I can't.

Okay, so usually there's more than one way to skin a cat, but not with these dudes.

They know what they want, and they want it. Now.

I look around at the council that surrounds us, the hostile faces of this alien tribe, their deep, purple eyes giving off an eerie glow. No, not that kind of glow, thank God, but disturbing none the less.

We're sitting around the council ring that encloses the great statue, the gleaming, golden image of the Ptarran's Golden God.

"The Good God of Ptarr has spoken. We must have that which we seek, or we shall kill those pneufoohs," said the alien leader.

"Foofoos?" I whisper at Daniel.

"Pneufoohs. Infidels. Strangers. Bad guys. Us," Daniel translates. Smart boy, Daniel.

"Well, we didn't mean to Panoof ya," I answered amiably, smiling, still trying to figure a way out of this, some way to prevent this terrible sacrifice, some way to appease the natives that will allow all of us to leave here, intact. "My great and glorious leader, Hammond of Texas of the shining dome," I rub my hand self-consciously through my spiky silver hair, "has authorized me to offer you alternatives..."

"Aiyeeeehhhh!" the natives shriek, the horrible sound reverberating through the village, across the meadow, echoing back at us from the surrounding mountains.

"We must have the perfect one! And the perfect one only!! It is what the God demands," says Poofpoof.

"Gods, schmods," I mutter under my breath.

"Jack, careful," Daniel warns.

I wave an annoyed hand in the air. "Yeah, right, I know. It's just..."

Daniel looks at me with worried eyes. "Look, Jack, I know how hard this is. I know what they're asking. I mean, if they asked the same of me, I don't know if I could do it. And Teal'c, well, asking Teal'c would be like, like..."

"Difficult," I sigh.

"Yes," Daniel answers simply, looking at me with sympathy. "The decision is yours. None of us can make it for you."

"I know that," I answer softly, looking around once again. Such a primitive place. If I do it, if I give them what they want, I know the decision cannot be undone. Once given, it will be gone forever. Who knows how these people will use it, or abuse it? Turn it into something unholy, or worse yet,
something holy.

Across the flickering fire, I see Carter's face. She's looking at me with confidence. She's so sure I'll make the right decision. I wish *I* could be so sure. And Daniel, Daniel's looking at me with that 'come on Jack, do the right thing' look I've seen far too often. I know he could give me a million
arguments why it's the right thing to do, but that doesn't mean I want to do this. That doesn't mean it won't be hard. That doesn't mean I will regret giving in to the Ptarr's demands.

I hate to concede. I despise having to surrender. I truly loathe having to give something so precious to creatures like these.

But I have no choice.

Duty, honor, sacrifice, all the things I have pledged myself to do for my country; the oaths I have taken to serve leave me with no choice.

For this, George Hammond may just have to buy back my soul a second time, damn him.

How could he make me do this?

He knows how important this is to me.

And yet, he ordered me to do it.

And I must obey.

Reluctantly, I look down at this precious thing I must give to them.

I reach out and touch it, one more time, one last lingering gentle motion, fingers flitting delicately across the soft surface...oh Lord, this is hard.

Squaring my shoulders, raising my eyes to Poofda's wild gaze, slowly I nod.

My chest is tight, the air squeezed from my lungs, my hands shaking, my knees weak as I rise, and hand him my precious gift.

"Treat it well," I say at last, biting back a sob.

Before I can change my mind, I turn away from the fire and walk away into the darkness. Daniel follows me, his hand on my shoulder. "Jack, it will be okay..."

"Yeah. Sure, easy for you to say. Let's get the hell out of here, hey?" I grimace, missing it already in this first moment when I make that move, that comforting, familiar, casual move I’ve made over and over and over again, a thousand times on a thousand worlds, already missing it's comfort, it's
reassuring feel. Damn.

"Come on, " I order my team.

SG-11 is led out to join us. They're staring strangely at me, already they can see the difference, and I don't want to meet their eyes. "Saddle up, campers, the deal's done and we are outta here. Now."

Without a backward glance, we march away from the village, toward the rising sun, and the heat of day it will bring.

Hour after hour, we trudge under the burning sun of Ptarr. I feel hot, sweat beads on my forehead, drips down into my eyes, the heat smothering me. Damn good thing it's not much farther to the gate.

"Sir, we'll get you another one," Carter consoles me.

"Hmmph." I don't want another one. I worked on that one such a long time, to give it the perfect symmetry, the ideal feel...

"Jack, are you upset?" Daniel eyes me closely.

"Upset, why would I be upset?" I growl. “I didn’t see the rest of you having to sacrifice your, your….” I waved at my teammates.

Teal'c is staring strangely at me. Okay, Teal'c's stares are always strange. "O'Neill, I do not understand. You have given the Ptarr your cranial adornment. Is it not just one of many?"

I stop, meeting the big Jaffa's eyes. "That 'cranial adornment' was my hat, Teal'c, my favorite hat. My lucky hat. It took me weeks to bend the brim to such perfection. It took me months to break it in to be soft and supple. It wasn't just a 'hat' for crying out loud, it was a one of a kind, custom made
Colonel Jack O'Neill cranial adornment."

"We'll get you another hat, Sir."

"Yeah, and in the meantime, I've got to wear this," I spat with contempt, pulling the wrinkled, folded boonie hat out of my pocket. "You call this a hat?"

"Ah, yeah," said Daniel.

"What?" I growled. "A man who wears a 'do rag? And purports to know a great hat when he sees one? Oh for crying out loud."

"Ah, yeah, no one will ever mistake this for the perfect cranial adornment..." said Daniel, tying his 'do-rag behind his head with a smirk.

Meanwhile, back in the village, the Ptarr were dancing in frenzied religious fervor, O’Neill’s baseball cap with the brim bent to perfection now perched perfectly atop the gleaming gold head of the great glorious statue of the one and only Good God of Ptarr.