Home > Fan Fiction > General > Passages of Time part 8

Passages of Time part 8

Passages of Time - Part Eight:

Up till now, Daniel Jackson had considered the worst point of his recent
adult life was seeing the true condition of Jack's battered body in the
stark overhead lights of that hotel room in Giza. The moment that Janet
had removed the blood stained t-shirt to expose a bruised and livid
chest was an image that Daniel would never forget, whether he lived to
be a hundred years old or didn't make it through the remains of this
day. But in the course of one infinitely long hour, he came to realise
that an even worse nightmare would have been to witness the torture
inflicted upon this man who was as close to him as any brother could
possibly be. Or to be on the painful receiving end of that harrowing
experience himself.

It had started with a simple threat from the grinning Slav, who was
clearly enjoying the method they had devised to prolong their torturous
game even further and get their own back for the tedious sport of cat
and mouse they had spent the afternoon playing. A game, in fact, they
had begun in Egypt and were in no hurry to finish too soon, they had
until later that night to complete their tasks and collect full payment.
In the meantime, they could both revel in the pain they were about to
inflict on their two unsuspecting victims. It would be a pleasure to
prove just how fallible these two arrogant Americans really were.

"You see Colonel, since you're so incapacitated at present, we took the
liberty of typing your suicide note for you," the Slav explained
gleefully, "We just need some fingerprints on the keys and paper to
authenticate the message. Of course, such a profound piece of text
didn't use all the letters of the alphabet, so we only need about twenty
keys imprinted."

He looked across the room at Daniel then, an ominous glance that the
younger man could only scowl at in response. "Sounds like a fair workout
to me. One injury for each key you refuse. I wonder if your friend can
handle the beating!"

Jack was unable to hide his shock at those last words, his head turning
sharply towards the threatening voice as if to see whether he was
serious. The Slav smiled sadistically as he turned the tables on his
victims, "Of course, we could always change it to one broken bone, or
one bullet wound per fingerprint. You decide, Colonel!" He laughed
viciously, enjoying the look of hatred in the eyes of O'Neill's trussed
up friend.

Heart thudding painfully in his chest, Jack tried to keep his breathing
steady, fighting panic and defeat. What did it matter if his
fingerprints were on the typewriter keys? The thing would be blown up
along with them all in just a few hours anyway. He wasn't going to let
Daniel take a beating just to save his own name.

Except, what of his promise? They had agreed neither one of them would
give in, they had to stall long enough for a miracle. But when he had
given his word, Jack had never dreamed it would be the younger man who
would suffer more because of it. "Shit!" Jack swore under his breath,
shaking his head, his own blindness causing him to forget that his
emotions were on show to those around him.

Daniel watched his reaction, suddenly afraid that Jack might give in to
protect him. He struggled against his bonds, trying to find a way to
give him a sign, a warning to live up to his part of the deal. He bent
his head as low as he could given the painful angle of his shoulders, he
could just touch his chin to the floor. In one desperate motion, Daniel
banged against the wood and grunted as loud as he could behind the
strong tape across his mouth.

Jack's heightened senses heard the sounds and understood their meaning,
but did Daniel know what he was asking him to do? Jack shook his head
again miserably. Yeah, Daniel knew. He wasn't stupid, he knew what was
going to happen and he was willing to endure to save them both.

"Well Colonel?" The Slav gloated at the turmoil visible on Jack's face.
"What is your decision?"

Jack shuddered inwardly, "Sorry, but my secretarial skills are crap!" He
managed, listening to the footsteps of the Slav walk away from him,
imagining the sadistic smile on his face as he sized up his victim. He
tried to determine the meaning of the thud of movement from across the
room, holding his breath for the first sound of impact.

The Egyptian hauled the trussed up man to his knees and held him in
place. Daniel swayed slightly as he watched the Slav approach, bracing
himself, barely aware of the pain in his thigh or finger any more, his
legs growing increasingly numb along with his arms.

The first punch to the chin snapped Daniel's head back painfully. The
Slav followed through with a resounding thump in the chest. Dissatisfied
with the awkward angle of his stooped attack, he signalled the Egyptian
to release the man's shoulders and let him drop to the floor.

Daniel breathed heavily, struggling to get enough air into his lungs
through the restricted intake of his nose, his nasal passages already
suffering an allergic reaction to the dust layering the floor he was
face down on. If he couldn't get his breathing under control he would be
in danger of asphyxiation.

The Slav stepped around his prone body, repositioning to raise his foot,
swinging it forward in a solid kick to the stomach. Daniel grunted
painfully against the tape over his mouth, snorting a breath with
increasing difficulty.

Jack listened to the sound, understanding with frightening clarity. "Let
him breathe or he'll die!" He gasped angrily.

The Slav looked thoughtful for a moment, deciding to make this an
exercise in subtlety, in a round about sort of way. He leaned down and
yanked the tape from Daniel's mouth. The man gasped for air, inhaling
huge lungfuls desperately. "It goes back on now if you don't give me a
print," the bald headed man said coldly.

"Don't do it, Jack!" Daniel managed with a cough, "I'll be fine."

Jack listened painfully to the rasping breath, weighing the odds. What
was the saying, 'Give him an inch and he'll want a ruler'? Well give him
a print and he'll want twenty! Jack shook his head despairingly, "No can
do," he told the Slav.

The Egyptian tore off a new piece of tape and stuck it across Daniel's
mouth, then he pulled him back to his knees for the Slav to continue his
workout.

The most frightening sound Jack had ever heard was sudden silence. With
growing anguish he had identified another three punches or kicks, he
couldn't tell which, nor could he tell where they were aimed. All he
could determine was the force of the impact, the grunt of pain they
produced and the drastic effect they were having on Daniel's ragged
breathing. The rasping noise increased in pitch, reaching a panicky peak
which ended with shocking abruptness, followed by the thud of a body
keeling over onto the floor.

For several long seconds, Jack listened to the silence in terror,
straining to hear any sound of shallow unconscious breathing, but he
could hear nothing. He had to do something, he had to find a way to save
Daniel without giving up both their lives. Maybe he should simply take a
greater part in the game? "Stop!" Jack gasped in a choked voice, his
decision made, "I'll do it. One print! Just remove the tape. Let him
breathe!"

"Two prints, Colonel. That is the current price," the Slav laughed at
the Colonel's defeat.

Jack swallowed dryly, feeling snared in the trap, wondering if this was
really the way to turn things around in their favour. "Okay. Just take
the tape off him," he agreed bleakly.

At a signal from the Slav, the Egyptian pulled the tape from Daniel's
mouth and nudged him roughly in the chest with his foot until he started
coughing, beginning to revive. Then the Slav drew his 9mm handgun from
the back of his belt and trained it on the sightless Colonel whilst the
dark skinned man approached him and untied the bonds around his elbows.
He retied the rope around Jack's waist and forearms, pulling it
painfully tight to pin his elbows to his sides, leaving his hand
sufficiently free to provide the necessary prints on the typewriter,
without being able to reach up to remove his blindfold.

Jack felt pins and needles shoot down his arms as the numbness gave way
to the constricting sensation of the rope. He listened carefully,
focusing on the sound of his friend's breathing as it returned to some
semblance of normality. "Daniel? You okay?"

"Yeah!" Daniel croaked, gazing at the group worriedly, knowing that
something was afoot, that Jack had given into their demands, but how far
had he gone? "What did you do, Jack?"

"It's okay!" Jack responded simply, wanting to say more, to tell Daniel
that he knew what he was doing, that he was just trying to get some
control of the game for himself. But he could not reveal any more to
their captors. Instead, he concentrated on noise again, refocusing on
the thud of footsteps crossing the room towards him, the creak of a
chair being placed in front, the strange jangling bell of an old
fashioned typewriter being knocked about.

Submissively, Jack allowed himself to be led, a hand grabbed his left
index finger, pulling him close enough to jam it down on a cold smooth
key. He felt the rounded indentation beneath the tip, vaguely wondering
what letter it represented. One more imprint and he yanked his hand away
rapidly, flexing his fingers and casually checking out how far he could
reach with his arm bound. He could feel the movement digging his elbow
into the ribs down his left side, but he didn't allow himself to wince,
forcing his face into a blank mask.

Carefully he listened, searching for sounds of the typewriter being
moved away, waiting for anything to change. He heard another strip of
tape being pulled from the roll. "Leave it off and you can have one
more," Jack offered hastily, desperately wanting to avoid that renewed
trauma, he couldn't listen to the harrowing sound of Daniel slowly
suffocating to death again.

"Two, Colonel!" The Slav negotiated in return.

Jack nodded reluctantly and repeated the same exercise as before. When
he had added his print to two more keys he leaned back against the stone
wall, wondering whether the Slav would keep his end of the bargain. Even
if he did, how long could this go on?

Straining to understand every noise, Jack identified footsteps, a
rustling of bodies. But this time there was no tear of duck tape before
the repeated smack of punches began again.

Helpless against the onslaught, Daniel resolutely refused to cry out,
worried that any noise would only encourage the Colonel to submit
further. It seemed that the Slav had finally found Jack's true weak spot
and Daniel really didn't appreciate being the source.

The Egyptian was still holding the younger man upright, yanking on the
rope trapping his wrists behind his back. The Slav had pushed his gun
into his belt and returned to the method he loved most, taking a
swinging punch at the half conscious man's chin, which made a satisfying
thwack to the ears of his assailant, catching the jaw solidly and
splitting the lip open bloodily. Daniel's glasses slipped from one ear
to hang down amidst a spurt of blood, his head lolled forward onto his
chest, red stains forming on his shirt as he passed out with a groan.

Nodding to his colleague, the Slav's lips formed a devious smile as he
took the rope to keep the unconscious man upright, allowing the Egyptian
to silently stick the piece of tape he had pulled off the roll earlier
over Daniel's mouth.

"Enough of this futility, Colonel," the Slav announced in a booming
voice that echoed across the empty floor. He drew his CZ75 from his belt
and retracted the bolt with an ominous sound that he knew the
blindfolded Colonel would recognise. "I believe, you either still owe us
at least four fingerprints or we owe your friend here four bullets!"

Not wishing to leave any incriminating evidence inside the body in the
form of bullets that did not come from the Colonel's own weapon, nor did
he want to end the game too soon. The Slav aimed at an armchair that had
been pushed against the wall nearby and fired a single round into the
padded upholstery.

The noise was shockingly loud to Jack's ears, the concussive boom
blocking out all chance of determining where the bullet hit. "Daniel!"
Jack gasped, "Answer me! You okay?" The echoing gunshot slowly faded to
silence. Jack swallowed panic, straining to hear breath sounds or
movement.

"Three more!" A cold voice said right next to his ear, hot breath
hitting his cheek as Jack's heart stopped and he recoiled in shock. He
had not heard the man creep up beside him, he hadn't even heard his
breathing, what chance did he have to confirm whether Daniel was still
alive, albeit unconscious, all the way over the other side of the room?

But if he was still alive and Jack gave in, that would be the end of it,
right there, right then. He shook his head wordlessly, unseen tears of
grief and anger in his sightless eyes as he imagined what pain he was
causing his friend. Desperately he searched for a way out, an opening to
take advantage of.

The hot breath faded rapidly from his cheek as the Slav glided with
surprising stealth back across the room and prepared to fire another
round. This time the Egyptian also had a job to do, timing a well placed
kick to Daniel's existing gunshot wound at the same time as the second
bullet was fired.

The piercing pain woke Daniel abruptly, the gunshot loud in his ears as
he slowly became aware of the source of the sound and the fact that his
mouth had been taped shut again. He looked up, just in time to see the
Colonel make his move.

When the second round fired, Jack could take no more. He leaned forward,
frantically scrambling with his outstretched hand to gain purchase on
the hefty old fashioned typewriter. Wrapping his long fingers around the
platen, he heaved it with all his strength, his anger and helplessness
exploding furiously, channelled into that single motion, swinging his
whole body behind it to send the unfortunate machine crashing against
the stone wall nearby. There would be no more negotiating for
fingerprints with the typewriter in pieces!

The Slav looked furious and, for one long moment, Daniel thought he was
going to kill them both there and then, aiming his semiautomatic and
firing at the Colonel's head, but Jack was already toppling off balance
from the swing of his body against the restriction of bound ankles. He
fell sideways to the floor just in time for the bullet to lodge in the
stone wall above him.

The Egyptian shouted something that Daniel didn't understand at first,
then he realised the meaning, "Beretta!" If either man were to be shot
dead, it had to be done with the weapon checked out of the armoury in
the name of Colonel O'Neill, for the subterfuge to remain convincing.

The Slav reluctantly lowered his weapon. The fallen Colonel was lying on
the floor, about to push himself up off his painful ribs when he had
frozen into place, hearing the bullet whistle past his ear. He hung his
head, breathing hard and spitting blood again, listening intently for
anything that signalled the next move.

The bald headed man glared at him malevolently, then turned towards
Daniel, seeking a target to vent his anger. Without warning he smashed
the butt of the semiautomatic against Daniel's skull. The Egyptian
finally let go of his bonds and the young man slumped to the floor with
a groan, dazed and bruised, his head spinning as he tried to focus his
blurring vision.

The Slav replaced the weapon into his belt and signalled his colleague
to follow as he approached the prone Colonel. Grabbing one elbow, the
Egyptian hauled the blindfolded man roughly to his feet, smacking him up
against the stone wall. At the Slav's bidding, he untied the bonds from
around Jack's waist and arms, freeing his movement, but pressing an arm
across the Colonel's shoulders to pin him into place.

The larger man stepped in front of O'Neill, sizing him up, noticing the
pale colour of his skin, the blood stains on the floor and his clothes.
He slowly dragged Jack's t-shirt from his khakis and raised it high up
his chest. Then he examined the man's weakest point, admiring the way
the bruising had spread through his left side, expanding out from the
original boot print. He noted the way the ribs no longer ran smoothly, a
slight crooked indent detectable beneath the blackened skin.

Curiously, he stroked his fingers lightly down the discoloured flesh,
noticing the tremor of fear in response to his touch. He smiled at the
way the Colonel tried to draw away from him, the way he swallowed
reflexively. The torment clearly visible in his body language.

Enjoying the torturous effect it was having, the Slav circled his
fingers around the bruising, edging ever closer to the centre.
Increasing the pressure inexorably, until he could feel the body shudder
beneath his contact.

Jack struggled futilely to fight against the constricting hold across
his shoulders, blind and helpless to the power of his captor's
malevolent impulses, terrified of where that vicious whim might finally
take him. He felt the fingers closing in towards the centre of damage to
his ribcage, flinching in anticipation as the pressure began to
increase. He inhaled, holding his breath, trying to draw his trembling
body away from the Slav's painful touch.

The bald headed man watched every reaction with growing glee, his
sadistic pleasure reaching new levels as he timed his next moves. When
his captive raggedly expelled his breath, unable to hold it any longer,
the Slav lifted his hand barely inches away from the body, watching the
Colonel sag in relief at the cessation of torture.

Pausing for a long drawn out second, the Slav held his fingers close to
O'Neill's quaking side, a smile of anticipation widening on his face. He
grinned toothily at his Egyptian colleague who was watching raptly,
waiting for the moment.

Without mercy, the Slav suddenly jammed his fingertips hard into the
centre point of damaged flesh. Jack inhaled sharply, an anguished gasp
caught in his throat, beads of sweat on his forehead. He clenched his
fist tightly, a shudder of pain passing through his entire body, unable
to conceal the excruciating agony being inflicted upon him as bone was
forced to grind against bone.

The Slav dug his fingers even harder until he felt the Colonel's tension
begin to slip, threatening to pass out. Slowly he released the pressure,
lifting his hand to stroke the skin once more, feeling the cold clammy
flesh with a sense of satisfaction, knowing without a doubt that he had
seen all the classic symptoms of someone bleeding internally. No matter
what else he did here today, this man was dying anyway.

He shrugged, bored with the game. It seemed that neither man was worth
expelling any more energy on, a workout would be less than gratifying.
Still he couldn't resist one final parting shot before he killed them
both and he knew how much agony it would cause the man who had tried to
get one up on him by destroying the typewriter. Besides, there was
nothing more pleasurable than a single perfectly placed punch.

Daniel held his breath as he watched the Slav's brutality in his
examination of the Colonel. When the bulky man finally stepped away
seemingly satisfied, Daniel expelled air through his nose in relief, but
his next snorted gasp became a strangled scream of anguish as the bald
headed man changed direction, rounding on Jack and slamming a solid
right fist into his left side, dead on target for his already weakened
ribcage.

They all heard the loud crack breaking the silence, the unhealed bone
finally giving way with an horrendous sound that made Daniel's blood
turn to ice.

The pain was unbelievable, Jack didn't even have time to let out a howl
of agony before he passed out, his brain shutting down protectively. His
head lolled forward, blood spilling from his lips onto his t-shirt, his
legs lifeless, no longer able to hold him. Instead, the Egyptian
continued to keep him upright, pressing him against the wall, awaiting
the Slav's signal before his release.

The bald headed man considered the Colonel's limp body thoughtfully, a
look of sadistic glee on his face. Finally fulfilled he nodded and the
Egyptian let go and walked away. Jack's knees buckled and his body slid
down the wall into an unconscious heap on the floor.

His blue eyes filled with tears of rage and grief, Daniel glared with
hatred as the two men casually sauntered towards the door. "We'll be
back shortly," the Slav grinned mercilessly.

Within minutes both men returned. The Slav carried a piece of
typewritten paper, pressing it against Jack's lifeless hand to get the
fingerprints he so fervently desired. Then he produced a Beretta and
contemplated taking a gamble with the last stage of the game, but it
seemed like a safe bet and the payoff would be tremendous.

If they could get the Colonel to kill his own friend with the Beretta
before shooting himself, there would be no argument in anyone's eyes as
to the circumstances here. The other injuries would be forgotten, put
down to fighting between themselves before the violence had escalated.
To pull off such a feat of deception would earn his pay and probably set
himself up for life on the reputation. And his Egyptian colleague was
willing to go along with it in view of the potential rewards.

He knelt down beside the unconscious Colonel and murmured into his ear,
a foreign language that he knew would be recognised by the victim,
drawing him inexorably back to where the next scene would be set.

Daniel strained to listen, vaguely recognising one or two syllables, but
not enough to identify their country of origin.

Unbeknownst to the Slav and his Egyptian colleague, Jack was already
right back where they wanted him, a familiar feeling of torment and pain
and eternal darkness dragging him back to an inhumane torture, a steel
box rapidly closing, until he was trapped within its agonising despair.

With time to kill, the Slav decided to explain his efforts to their mute
captive, enjoying every moment of his sadistic task. "We decided it
would be more convincing if the Colonel were to actually pull the
trigger when he kills himself. That is, of course, after he has murdered
his friend!"

Daniel blanched at the thought, then he considered the odds. Jack, in
his current condition, being persuaded to shoot, and firing with his
left hand. How was that going to work?

"Of course you might not believe we can pull it off," the Slav leered,
reading the expression on his face, "But it's already been done once."
The Slav nodded towards his Egyptian colleague, "My friend here
witnessed your Colonel do the exact same thing under the influence of
drugs. He shot a young girl. It was a blank bullet of course, but he was
led to believe he had murdered her. It was a most effective ploy created
by our dearly departed Russian friend Dmitri," he laughed coldly, "I do
hope he doesn't mind me reusing his tricks."

Daniel's mind reeled, trying to absorb the implications of his words.
The young girl could only be Cassie, but as far as he knew, there had
never been any such incident. At least not that she had told anyone.
Daniel couldn't disguise his shock, reluctant to believe his captor, but
somehow it all added up. Little clues, looks shared between Jack and
Cassie in the hospital, the renewed closeness between them. He had put
it down to their shared experience of imprisonment, but what if it was
more? A secret kept between two friends, if only because the truth was
too difficult for either one to admit?

The Slav saw the doubt on his face, "It doesn't matter whether you
believe me or not. You will be a witness yourself very soon. In fact you
will be on the receiving end! And this time the bullet will most
definitely be live," he pointed out chillingly.

Daniel watched them attempt to revive the Colonel, finally removing the
blindfold from his eyes. Jack blinked slowly and Daniel felt a tremor of
shock at the lack of focus in those dark brown eyes. He had seen that
look before recently and he knew with dreadful certainty that his friend
was nowhere near the present and probably no longer conscious of his own
actions.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack O'Neill was still in Iraq, it was a confusing place. A jumble of
images thrown together before his eyes. He didn't remember being
released from the box, but now he lay on the wooden floor of the guard
house, his wasted muscles unable to hold him vertical, his body badly
beaten, a mass of pain and bruises.

He was hauled upright, held by the tight grasp of a guard. Struggling to
keep his head steady on his shoulders, his vision swam nauseatingly and
he tried to focus on the face looming in front of him. "One bullet, two
choices," the strange accent said. "A shot to the head. Him or you!" The
face smiled cruelly, showing him the single cartridge already inserted
into the clip, before he slammed it into the Beretta and pulled back on
the slide. He placed the loaded weapon into O'Neill's trembling hand.

Jack hefted the semiautomatic, the weight felt uncomfortable somehow,
but it had been a long time since he had held any gun. He was just glad
he didn't have to load it himself, he wasn't sure that his nerveless
fingers were up to the fiddly task. With an odd feeling of deja vu, he
watched the large shaven headed man step away to one side, then Jack
gazed ahead, regarding his objective with a sense of detachment.

The intended victim was lying against the opposite wall, his wrists and
ankles tightly bound behind his back, his mouth taped over. Raising the
Beretta to aim at his target, Jack released the ambidextrous safety.

He thought he saw a flicker of recognition in the bright blue eyes that
stared at him. Hesitantly, he studied the face, trying to place the man,
wondering if it was possible they had met before, perhaps under
different circumstances. But Jack knew that this was the only reality
available to him, anything else was simply an hallucination, conjured up
by his imagination to help him withstand the insanity of his life.

Jack paused again, a thought thudding painfully inside his head as
though trying to break through, waiting to be formed into one simple
truth. He shook his head, pushing the hazy notion away to concentrate on
his aim. His finger flexed around the trigger as he watched the blue
eyes blink away tears of grief.

Numbly Jack considered possible reasons for this display of emotion,
what the man might be leaving behind. He gazed at the look of loss
reflected in his eyes. Perhaps this man had a family, a loved one that
he knew he would never see again. Jack thought about his wife, Sara,
wondering if she would be able to forgive him for what he was about to
do, wondering whether he would ever be able to forgive himself.

Jack's finger tightened on the trigger, his hand extended in front. The
mistreated weakened muscles of his arm began to shake with the tension.
He couldn't do it, he could not kill this helpless man. With a gasp of
anguished despair, Jack turned the Beretta on himself, bending his elbow
to aim the barrel directly at his own temple. Barely aware of the
frightened look of horror from his originally intended victim. Before he
could pull the trigger, he caught a flicker of glee on the face of the
man standing off to his right, a sadistic leer that filled his memory
with a flood of images.

One single scene pushed to the fore, an Egyptian standing beside a pale
blond man, their handguns trained in his direction, a petite woman stood
in the centre. A bright red splash of colour flashed before Jack's eyes
and each man toppled to the floor. He felt the pistol bucking in his
hand again and again until it was empty, and then nothing.

Recalling a not too distant time when he had wished he was dead, Jack
tried to concentrate his fuzzy thoughts and recognise the change.
Finding a need for vengeance now stood out above all else, retribution
against the person who had put him into the box, revenge for the
suffering and torment he had been forced to withstand. The gauze cleared
to reveal a solution so obvious it had been overlooked by his addled
mind. There was a way. If he was going to die anyway, he might as well
take his torturer with him.

Blinking away sweat, Jack focused on the blue eyes across the room,
seeing a leering smile in his peripheral vision. The large man had not
moved, his attention rapt on the game playing out under his control.
Jack's trembling finger tightened on the trigger, all of his senses
becoming keenly aware of every living thing, each slightest movement in
the room around him.

The feel of the guard grasping his right shoulder to keep him upright,
the hot stale breath of the bald headed man standing alongside him,
barely two feet away. The reflexive blink of blue eyes gazing painfully
at him from across the room. The hefty weight of a cast covering his
right hand and the feel of solid metal beneath the fingers of his left.

In one split second of movement, Jack turned his hand, shifting his aim
two inches to the left, and pulled the trigger, feeling the heat of
explosion searing his forehead, the concussive boom blasting his ear
drum. The bald headed man's expression turned to shock before being
obscured by a red mist of blood.

At the same time, Jack raised his heavy right hand in a shattering
motion, slamming it solidly into the face of the guard still holding his
shoulder, a jarring blow that reverberated painfully all the way through
the plaster into Jack's healing fingers. It smashed the guard's chin and
nose before he could react, too close to escape the splintering
destruction of the hefty cast.

The grasp went limp, releasing O'Neill as the corpse fell backwards
covered in blood, knocking over the table lamp in the corner as he went
down, turning the rest of the room into a landscape of high lurking
shadows and darkness.

Jack's legs buckled beneath him, no strength left in his damaged body.
Distantly he recalled the wide eyed gaze that stared at him from across
the room, finally recognising those bright blue eyes. "Daniel!" He tried
to cry out the name of his friend, but the sound died on his lips as he
passed into oblivion.

~~~~~~~~~~

The scientist in Captain Carter wasn't sure that she believed in that
unofficial rule which said the thing you seek will always be in the last
place left to look, but now seemed like the ultimate time to prove it
for herself. They had checked every likely home bar this one, so that
law was beginning to ring true. This had to be the one they were after,
there were no other options left. Except the loss of two friends, she
thought grimly. If they were not found here, then they were gone. There
would be little chance of still finding them alive.

With a deep calming breath, Sam led her team down the rough trail into
the dense green forest. The sun had already set, the pale light of dusk
replaced by almost impenetrable darkness within the thick canopy of
trees. It seemed there was little time left for any of them, soon the
helicopter would be recalled for the night and the search would be
called off.

With that thought in mind, she made a strategic decision, "Use your
night vision goggles, we'll jog in as far as the clearing. If they are
there, it's not likely they'll be hiding outside in the woods! Okay,
people? Let's move out!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was never going back into that box again, he wouldn't take it
anymore. He would fight anyone that tried to force him to spend another
day in such terrifying confinement. He would fight them and win, of that
he was grimly determined. Somehow he would survive, no matter what
happened. He wanted to live. All he had to do was open his eyes and open
his mind to the possibility.

He had finally defeated his captors, he had battled against everything
they had thrown at him and ultimately gained retribution. His need for
revenge had been sated. Now Jack only had to escape his own darkness,
fight against its eternal hold. He wanted to survive and he wanted to
break free, yet his energy was spent and the pull of permanent oblivion
was so much stronger.

But hadn't he made a promise? Hadn't he vowed he would never give in?
Jack struggled to recall the truth of the matter. How could he have made
any such pledge? Who had there been to hear it?

Slowly Jack tried to recall the last thing that had happened, the
slaying of his jailers, the end of the torture. And somewhere out of the
blackness came a face. A pair of shining blue eyes that had gazed at him
full of grief. Those same eyes staring wildly at the aftermath of a
battle to the death.

And suddenly Jack remembered the last words on his lips before he had
stumbled and fallen into the bottomless pit that enveloped him. It was
the name of his saviour. The name of the man who had demanded that
promise. It seemed so long ago, a vow to never give in, but it was the
reason he was still here. And now it was the reason he had to survive,
to escape the darkness. To open his eyes and set himself free.

With all the effort he could summon from his entire battered body, Jack
forced himself to the surface. His eyelids flickered, blinking, pushing
themselves open to face the soft light and shadows surrounding him.

"Daniel!" Jack gasped, his hoarse voice full of pain.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel had been watching for far too long, praying desperately as he
worked at his bonds. Kneeling with his back to the door, rubbing the
nylon rope against the sharpest point of the latch, his wrists red raw
and beginning to bleed by the time the strands started to fray.

The bald headed man was definitely dead, he had taken the full blast in
the face, but the Egyptian may only be unconscious, Daniel couldn't tell
from that distance. He could not see the face of the body obscured in
the corner behind the fallen Slav, could not detect whether the chest
heaved in a breathing motion. The man could wake up at any moment and
then the game would be lost.

And Daniel knew that somewhere below them was a ticking time bomb.
Trapped within this shuttered room, he had no way of knowing how long
since the sun had set, how close they were to that nine o'clock
deadline. After all that had happened, the idea of dying in an explosion
was beyond comprehension. Daniel rubbed harder at his bonds, matching
his desperation with renewed prayers, uncertain whether they would be
heard, let alone answered.

All Daniel knew for sure was that his friend had finally won, against
all the odds. And he was still alive, albeit barely. He could only watch
Jack breath, glancing across constantly to study the rise and fall of
his battered chest, praying that it would continue, no matter how
shallowly. He was painfully aware that, somewhere within, Jack was
bleeding internally, and the longer it went untended, the more dangerous
his condition would become.

He couldn't even call to him, try to drag him from unconsciousness. Jack
had to wake up, he had to tell him where the bomb was, he had to help
Daniel end the game, because any second now the Egyptian might awaken.

Daniel caught his breath at a flicker of movement on O'Neill's face.
Slowly, inexorably, a tiny white slit appeared, blinking and squinting
at the dim light, until his eyes finally opened, dark brown, unfocused
and confused. "Daniel!" Jack's voice was a pain filled whisper.

Daniel could only grunt in response, working even harder at his bonds,
desperately needing to talk to his friend, to free the tape from his own
mouth and ask all the questions flooding his head.

"Is that you?" The voice sounded faint in the shadows, a tone that
needed encouragement, faith that Daniel could not give without words of
his own.

Grimly he concentrated on his bonds, feeling them almost frayed through
the final strand of rope that tied his ankles to his wrists, he pulled
even more tautly as he worked, ignoring the soreness and pain cutting
into his skin.

With a sudden snort of expelled air, the rope split apart. Daniel's
bound ankles dropped to the ground. At least now he could move, even
with his wrists still tied.

Standing slowly and stiffly, Daniel ignored the shooting pain of pins
and needles in his shoulders and legs. He pushed his back against the
door knob until his bound hands closed around it, his fingers scrabbling
to release the rope that stopped him from moving more than a few feet
from the entrance. Focusing away from the renewed agony in his broken
finger, he concentrated hard, holding his breath until he finally
managed to free the loop from the door handle.

He jumped painfully across the room, collapsing beside the Colonel when
his injured left leg gave out. He nudged Jack until his eyes opened
again and he forced himself to focus on the face in front of him.
"Daniel!" He breathed, his voice a bare whisper, "You look trussed up
like a Thanksgiving turkey!"

Daniel shook his head in front of Jack's face in frustration, trying to
get his attention on his mouth, needing desperately for Jack to lift his
hand and remove the tape. He pulled up his knees and nudged Jack's
fingers which still rested over the butt of a recently fired Beretta.
Finally, Jack responded, raising his hand slowly to weakly fumble at the
edge of the strip of duck tape.

When Daniel felt the feeble grasp was strong enough, he yanked his mouth
away, feeling all the little hairs on his face pull away with the tape.
His split lip tore open wider and he gasped, tasting fresh blood in his
mouth, but at least he could open it once more. A wave of relief washed
over him as Daniel breathed deeply for the first time in over an hour.

"Thanks!" Was all he managed to say at first. Watching Jack's eyes slide
shut again, he added way too loudly, "Jack, wake up, damnit! We need
your help."

"Daniel, pipe down!" Jack groaned, grimacing at the sound so loud in his
ear, "I'm not deaf!"

"Sorry, Jack," Daniel lowered his voice, turning around and pushing his
bound hands within reach of Jack's fingers. "But you have to stay with
us, you have to help free my wrists. We have got to move, we're not out
of the woods yet, remember!"

"I thought this was a forest!" Jack croaked lamely, the events flooding
back to him. "Oh, God!" He gasped as he attempted to lift his head, his
hand clenching over the tangle of Daniel's ropes as the agony in his
left side burned like fire. "What hit me, a truck?" He swallowed against
the dizziness which threatened to send him straight back into oblivion,
breathing shallowly as he tried to fight it.

"No that!" Daniel nodded towards the Slav, "But I don't know if the
other guy is dead or alive. Can you see if he's breathing?"

Pushing himself up with his right elbow, Jack lifted his head high
enough to see over the body of the Slav, to check the face of the
Egyptian in the corner, obscured behind his colleague's bulky shoulders.
He shook his head grimly, immediately regretting the woozy motion, "He's
dead!" Jack swallowed bile, the contents of his stomach churning
sickeningly as his head swam. A pair of white eyes stared blindly at
him, stark against the Egyptian's dark hair and skin. Jack had
apparently fatally wounded him with the crushing impact of plaster
against nose, forcing the bone into his brain and killing him outright.

"You sure?" Daniel asked, concentrating on staying still as Jack's left
hand worked at his bonds.

"Oh yeah!" Jack hung his head, fighting to stay conscious, his vision
blurring and his head roaring.

The movement at his wrists came to a halt. Daniel twisted around,
worried that Jack had passed out again, but he was staring at the two
dead men, his sickly bewildered expression slowly changing. "Jack, you
okay?" Daniel asked worriedly.

Jack didn't speak, he didn't move, he simply continued to gaze at the
bloodied corpses with a look that bordered on disbelief. Finally, he
turned away from them, back to his friend, a joyful expression slowly
creeping across his gaunt, pale features. "I won!" He whispered in
astonishment, "I actually beat them." The smile grew wider, spreading
towards his eyes until the haunted look that had shadowed his face for
over three weeks began to lift, as though a harrowing death mask was
being removed, "Daniel, I won. We won!"

"Yeah, you certainly did," Daniel agreed quietly and despite the sharp
pain of his bloodied split lip, he couldn't help grin at the sight of
his friend returning to the land of the living. "But can you do anything
about this rope?"

It was a painstaking task, undoing knots tightened by a long struggle,
with only one hand to use, but Jack worked at them with growing
determination, focusing away from all the images in his head to a narrow
view of nylon rope. When they finally loosened, he pulled them free
easily, watching Daniel flex his red raw wrists and lean across to untie
Jack's ankles before doing the same with his own.

Daniel stood up, free at last, his body aching from the abuse it had
taken, but the pain was almost welcome, heralding the freedom of
movement.

He crouched down beside the Colonel, unmindful of his own leg wound, and
placed two fingers against Jack's neck to check his pulse. Even to
Daniel's untrained touch, it felt weak and thready. He withdrew his hand
and looked at his watch, wondering how much time they had left, knowing
it couldn't be more than half an hour. Squinting in the pale light, he
couldn't be sure he had read it right until he used the backlight,
"Shit! Jack, what time did you say that bomb was set to blow?"

"Nine," Jack murmured faintly, drifting away again.

"That's what I was afraid of! We have GOT to go!" He shouted urgently.
"I know I shouldn't move you, but if I don't, in two minutes, we're both
going up with the house!" He stooped down and put an arm around
O'Neill's shoulders, trying to haul him upright as gently as possible,
"Don't die on me now, Jack," he pleaded softly, almost stumbling as his
wounded leg threatened to give way on him, he hefted the body further
around his shoulders, unable to avoid Jack's damaged ribs.

Jack gasped in pain at the movement, his eyes flying wide open, ready to
struggle away from his aggressor. "Jack, come on help me," Daniel
pleaded fervently, "Move your legs, come on! Do you want to get blown
up?"

Leaning on each other, they made it out into the hall and headed for the
front door. Daniel scrambled to get it open and they practically fell
down the porch steps. Daniel's legs almost buckled as he took all of
Jack's weight, hauling him across the clearing in one last ditch effort.
It occurred to him that he had no idea how much C4 was inside the house,
but he knew he was about to find out. If they weren't far enough away,
they would be the first to know.

The way ahead was suddenly lit up by a blinding flash of light. Daniel
felt the heat rushing at them from behind before the blast hit and the
noise deafened them. He felt himself being pushed forward, his feet
lifting off the ground as he grimly struggled to keep hold of Jack. The
shockwave threw him off balance and he travelled about six yards before
landing face down on the grass, momentarily stunned, his ears ringing
painfully. As he passed out, Daniel vaguely wondered about the odds of
being blown up twice in one day and surviving.

~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Carter's team had found Doctor Jackson's abandoned vehicle, Sam
recognising it immediately having been given a test drive when Daniel
first purchased it only a fortnight before. She radioed their location
to the other two SGC search parties as well as the Sheriff, whose
deputies were only a few miles away. Then Carter rushed with her team up
to the treeline.

All thought of stealth disappeared rapidly when the night sky lit up in
front of them. Barely ten yards from the clearing, Sam ran as hard as
she could through the remaining undergrowth, reaching the edge of the
trees in time to see two indistinct silhouettes against the bright white
light, thrown down the hillside by the force of the blast.

Yelling to her second in command, Sam told him to radio their position
to the helicopter and get it down here immediately, then she took off
running again, with her team not far behind. The aftermath of the
explosion echoed around the mountains, the blast of light imprinted on
her retinas.

~~~~~~~~~~

A thudding noise slowly encroached into Daniel's dazed thoughts, a noisy
beat growing louder as it approached. Slowly he rolled over, his groan
of pain sounding muffled to his deafened ears. He reached out a hand,
blindly seeking his friend. When he found nothing, Daniel forced his
eyes open and pushed himself upright with an immense effort.

Jack had been tossed a few feet further downhill, Daniel crawled across
to him, shaking him gently, desperate to keep him awake until he could
get help. The thudding sound grew nearer and Daniel realised it wasn't
inside his head anymore, the beating of rotors through air drew his gaze
in the direction of the noise.

Suddenly he saw it, the black silhouette of a helicopter, its landing
lights flashing through the night sky as it swooped low over the trees
towards the still burning house. A shadowy figure ran across the
clearing below and for a frightening second Daniel thought one of their
assailants had survived after all, then his numb ears finally translated
a shout, a voice that he recognised with utter relief.

"Daniel!" He watched Sam Carter approach, her footsteps following her
bright flashlight. She stooped low as the Huey came in to land further
across the clearing, whipping up grass and leaves with the whirring
rotors.

A petite doctor and a tall muscular Jaffa jumped from the helicopter the
moment it touched down, racing across the clearing towards them. Daniel
smiled weakly at the welcome sight of his saviour, Doctor Fraiser,
struggling to focus his fuzzy gaze on her. "Jack's hurt bad," he
whispered hoarsely. Janet glanced at Daniel as she stepped around to the
prone body lying beside him, an unspoken question forming in her dark
eyes. "Worse!" He admitted painfully.

With a grim sense of deja vu, she crouched over the body, this time
joined by a silent Teal'c and Sam Carter, shining their flashlights in
order for the doctor to do a rapid examination. "Jack, I thought you
promised Cassie you'd be a bit more careful in future?" The doctor
chided gently, getting little reaction from the barely conscious man.
Quickly, she checked his pupils and his weak pulse.

"His rib's broken this time and he's bleeding internally," Daniel
croaked dryly.

Janet was examining Jack's side in Sam's wavering flashlight beam,
pulling up his blood stained t-shirt to reveal a sight that she had
hoped to never see again. She glanced at Daniel, her own pain reflected
in his overly bright eyes, then she got to work, ignoring the image of a
hotel room in Giza that was conjured up as she carefully checked his
ribcage. She noted the broken indentation, the cold clammy skin as he
bled internally, the blackened bruising that had spread throughout
Jack's left side, and the rest of his chest nearly as bad as she had
ever seen it.

Jack briefly surfaced, blinking in the bright spotlight beam with a
horrid feeling of deja vu, only he didn't remember seeing his friends
there before. He focused on their faces, saw the looks they exchanged,
the misery and pain in their eyes, and understood that he was to blame.
"I'm sorry!" He murmured weakly, his vision blurring again, his eyelids
fluttered, hardly able to keep them open, he was so tired. Jack gave in,
closing his eyes, he passed out, slipping gladly into the warm depths of
peace.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daniel came round first, just after lunchtime the following day. What
must have been the worst Monday in his life finally over, his bullet
wound stitched up and his blood loss replenished via transfusion. He had
given in to unconsciousness as soon as he saw Jack placed on a stretcher
in the safety of the helicopter and had been out for over sixteen hours.
He awoke feeling pain free and comfortable, a multitude of bumps and
bruises, his splinted broken finger, and other injuries, being numbed by
a mild influx of painkiller administered via his IV drip.

Blinking in the subdued lighting of the infirmary, Daniel tried to
recall how he had got there. A slight frown still on his face when the
doctor stepped into view, a blurred indistinct figure due to the absence
of his glasses.

"Janet?" He croaked hoarsely, feeling the pull on his split lips, and
the bruising in his throat as he swallowed dryly. He was rewarded by a
pair of spectacles being pressed into his right hand.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, smiling gently as he blinked her into
focus through the lenses.

"Oh, fine, actually," he answered a little too quickly, adding with a
wince, "How's Jack?"

"He's going to be all right, Daniel," Janet hesitated, "We had to
operate to stop the internal bleeding, but it could have been worse, and
we managed to fix up his ribs. We had to put in some pins, but the bones
should heal okay, so long as the Colonel behaves himself this time. Even
we miracle workers have a limit on how many times we can put humpty
dumpty back together again."

Janet paused, her overly bright smile slipping exhaustedly, she had been
awake for thirty hours straight and the strain was beginning to take its
toll. "You're not looking much better yourself, Daniel," she pointed out
quietly, struggling to suppress her shock at the state he had been in
when they had started cleaning him up and tending his wounds. As if the
Colonel being in such a poor condition was not bad enough, to find the
pair of them battered, bleeding and bruised was even worse.

Both men practically had matching injuries, colourful contusions to the
chest, stomach and, in Daniel's case, his right side and shoulder. They
also shared bruising to the larynx from apparently brutal strangleholds,
and their jaws were shadowed with blackened bruises to go with the split
lips.

The base of the Colonel's back was a mass of vivid colour, one shape in
particular, which appeared to be a boot print, had been well placed
enough to bruise his right kidney. Janet didn't know for sure how Jack's
ribs had come to be broken, but the pattern of damage revealed by the x-
rays indicated a very vicious and lethal fist. The impact of that
discovery alone had nearly ended the doctor's resolve there and then, as
she struggled to remain professional, trying not to imagine the immense
pain and torment the deliberate placement of such an injury must have
caused.

So the list of damage inflicted on the two men went on. Daniel's
additional injuries included a swollen bump on the top of his head,
hidden from view by his brown hair, and nasty rope burns on his wrists.
Not to mention the entry and exit wounds of a 9mm calibre bullet to the
thigh and one broken little finger that had been completely snapped in
two.

And yet, despite everything, somehow, together they had managed to
survive.

"What on earth happened out there, Daniel?" Janet asked eventually.

Daniel shrugged tiredly, knowing it was a question he would be asked
many more times before he would ever be able to tell everything. For now
there was only one thing that was important to him, "He won, Janet." His
voice hitched as the realisation of what had been overcome hit him fully
and he stared at her with tears in his eyes, "Jack won!"

"I think maybe we all did this time," Janet said softly, patting his
hand. She thought about how close they had all come to disaster and how
it seemed, from the bodies that had been found in the blast wreckage of
the cabin, well what was left of the bodies, that at last all their
remaining demons had been laid to rest.

Daniel closed his fingers over hers and squeezed them tightly, holding
her gaze wordlessly. The experience they had shared would never be
forgotten, but maybe they could begin to put it behind them now. "Can I
see him?"

Janet was unwilling to stop him, knowing how important it was to him,
"Just for a minute, then back to sleep, okay?"

Daniel nodded and Janet helped him from the bed, wrapping a robe around
his shoulders and sitting him in a wheelchair that she had brought in
for just this purpose. "Oh, you may want to return these," she said
suddenly, fishing a hand into her white lab coat and pulling out a chain
holding two metal dog tags. "I found them in your pocket," she said
gently.

"Thanks," Daniel took them from her, holding them tightly, glad to be
able to live up to one of his own promises from that day.

She wheeled him into the next room and, with a vivid flash of deja vu,
Daniel realised he was glad for the dimness of the lights as he regarded
his unconscious friend. The pale bruised face, the split lip, the top
half of his chest exposed with electrode pads positioned amongst the
contusions to monitor his condition until he stabilised, his left side
swathed in post-op surgical dressing.

Daniel absorbed the sight slowly, noticing the insertion of a chest
tube, leading to a pressurised bottle down beside the bed, and the thin
plastic nasal tube aiding Jack's breathing. He gave Janet a questioning
look, waiting for her to explain the full extent of the Colonel's
condition, as he knew she would eventually.

"As well as the internal bleeding, a small shard of bone from the broken
ribs punctured Jack's left lung. The chest tube is helping drain the air
until the damaged lung has resealed itself. It's not as bad as it looks
Daniel, don't worry, he's showing good signs of improvement already,"
she said positively, pushing all personal feelings aside about the
condition of both men for when she had the time and energy to deal with
them in privacy.

"Jack's blood level and vital signs are almost back to normal. If he
continues to improve at this rate, we'll be removing the chest tube this
evening," Janet added reassuringly, "You know Jack, he'll be up and
about in no time, he'll just have to take it easy for awhile, so he
doesn't pop his stitches or do anything to prevent his ribs from healing
properly."

Janet watched from the end of the bed as Daniel nodded acceptance for
what she had told him, trusting her prognosis. He gazed at his friend
awhile longer before slowly standing from his chair, putting all his
weight onto his good leg to lean into the Colonel's ear. "You won,
Jack!" He grinned softly, "You beat them all." Gingerly he lifted the
dog tags and placed the chain over Jack's unconscious head, laying the
tags gently onto his chest, back where they had always belonged.

"Come on," Janet urged, with a smile, "I told Sam and Teal'c I'd call
them if you woke up, I sent them both off to get something to eat.
They've been hanging around the infirmary since we brought you both in
last night, taking turns over which one of you they sat with, I'm sure
they'd like to see you. But after that you need to sleep, Daniel, you
don't look any better than Jack does right now. Believe me, it's not a
pretty sight!"

Daniel shrugged tiredly and lowered himself back into the wheelchair to
be returned to his own bed, feeling like he could sleep for a week, if
the nightmares would let him. He wondered whether Jack's were letting
him rest for a change.

~~~~~~~~~~

Too many voices were fighting for supremacy inside Jack's head, each
clamouring to be heard. But somehow he knew that only one of them had
something vital to say, the rest were simply chemically induced static.
Slowly he retuned his senses and concentrated harder on one nightmare
vision in particular. A malevolent face loomed at him from the darkness,
a huge bald headed man, laughing sadistically. Jack shuddered, not
wanting to hear what he had to say, but knowing he would be forced to
listen anyway.

"The explosives were signed out of the armoury in your name, Colonel,"
the face grinned maliciously, "I've already placed the other charges."

Jack fidgeted restlessly in his sleep. "Where?" The voice asked inside
his head

"Oh, here and there, you know. One in the General's office, the
infirmary, your friend Doctor Jackson's research lab, the control room,
a few in the briefing room. A little over twenty four hours from now,
the first bombs will explode. It will be a wonderful display of military
pyrotechnics, that will echo deep in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain for
at least two days."

Two days!

Jack's eyes flickered open, wide and alert, adrenaline pumping through
his veins. A beeping noise sounded softly beside his head and he glanced
around in confusion, struggling to recognise the location. Slowly he
realised he was lying in the SGC infirmary, a place he knew he didn't
want to be for far more reasons than his mind could cope with right now.
Swinging his legs off the bed, Jack pushed himself upright with
difficulty, his head swimming dizzyingly at the sudden movement. There
was a dull pain in his chest and side, but nothing he had not felt
before.

Reaching across, he fumbled at the monitor, switching it off before
removing the itchy pads from his chest. He gazed at the intravenous drip
for a moment as it pumped chemicals into his veins for reasons he could
not quite fathom, then he carefully disconnected the tubing from the
needle in the back of his left hand and dropped it to the floor.

Jack slowly stood up, swaying slightly. His senses felt fuzzy and numb,
as though the nerve endings had been detached, and he was unable to
focus his thoughts beyond one single imperative. He shivered as his bare
feet touched the cold concrete floor, he was wearing a pair of hospital
pyjama bottoms, but his chest and back were open to the elements.

Glancing around the softly lit room, he spotted a robe hanging from the
door and edged towards it gingerly, taking small steps as he tried to
regain some semblance of equilibrium to his spinning head. His mind did
not even acknowledge the presence of a woman with unkempt blonde hair
sleeping soundly in a chair on the other side of the bed.

Opening the door as he pulled the robe around him, Jack peered into the
corridor. He gasped when he saw a foreboding figure coming at him, a
large malevolent presence that sent a tremor of fear through him, the
man's words continually repeating in his head. He closed his eyes for a
long nerve wracking moment, struggling to control breathing that seemed
somehow more difficult than it ought. When he reopened his eyes, the
passageway was quiet and empty, the lights dimmed during the night
hours.

Slowly, determinedly, Jack moved along the hallway towards the stairwell
at the end, following his instincts to seek out a point of danger that
he sensed was present even though he couldn't tell why.

He struggled to open the spring loaded exit door, it felt heavy, the
effort pulling across his chest and wrenching at his side. Finally he
stood inside the doorway, swallowing nervously as he faced the darkness
of the stairs with trepidation. Images flashed through his mind, recent
realities mixing with distant visions, all clamouring for attention, to
maximise his fear and intensify his weaknesses.

With a ragged shuddering breath, he forced himself to move, climbing
slowly down the flight of stairs. Compensating for an unusual lack of
strength in his legs, Jack leaned heavily on the railing for support as
he descended the remaining levels into the lowest part of the SGC. He
reached the very bottom of the stairwell, the end of the line, his chest
heaving as he struggled to fill his lungs sufficiently before
continuing, driven beyond conscious thought to complete his vital task.

Opening the door and padding softly out into the corridor, his feet
began to feel chilled on the painted concrete floors. He shivered
involuntarily, trying to remember where he was heading, but the face
loomed once more and he recalled the words again, turning towards the
stairs that ascended into the control room. A ghost like apparition,
moving so quietly that the night duty officer dozing at his console
didn't even notice him pass.

Jack turned and climbed to the next level, finding himself in the
mission briefing room, a cold, lifeless place at night, but full of
memories. Stepping to the window, he gazed down at the view. The two
storey high metal ring stood silently, waiting for traffic. Jack tried
to recall when he had last used the Stargate, but he could no longer
remember, he knew it had been a long time ago, but for some reason he
could not recall the circumstances. In any case he had more pressing
things clouding his mind.

He turned back to the room, seeking a likely hiding place, consulting
with the image inside his head, recognising it as one of the people who
had invaded his life, filling every moment, waking or sleeping, with a
malevolent presence until he had teetered on the brink of insanity. Jack
wondered if he had finally gone over the edge, standing there,
shivering, listening to the voices inside his head, being directed to
seek out a hidden threat. Surely they would have found every bomb
already, why would he find one the others had missed?

Even so, he vividly recalled the Slav saying 'a few in the briefing
room', but there had been something else, something he could not yet put
his finger on, an arrogant hint of a clever deception. Jack's life in
the past six weeks had been ruled by double and triple cross, somehow he
knew that was not over yet.

He stepped across the room and stood in the centre beside the table,
wondering whether he would ever return for a real mission briefing. The
jury was still out on that one, he thought grimly, lifting his hand to
scratch the stubble on his chin. Unless they would let him return as a
left handed Colonel, he smiled ruefully, surprising himself. He did not
remember wanting to return to duty, or having cause to smile, when he
woke up that Monday morning. What had changed?

Jack shook the hazy thought from his head and gazed around the room,
looking for clues. He suddenly had a feeling of being watched, lifting
his head higher to stare directly at the security camera that faced him
from the furthest end of the room. There was a second one in the
opposite corner just over his right shoulder, aimed across the room to
view the entrance as well as the conference table.

He had never really taken much notice of them before, but for some
reason they seemed significant now. Jack frowned, his mind wandering
from his task as he gazed around the room again looking for the answer
that he knew was right in front of him. He gazed at the SGC logo hanging
on the wall, a permanent sign that this place was here to stay and, now
that he was down in the depths of the mountain again, maybe he would be
too.

With that simple thought came another image of the Slav in his office
that Monday morning, arriving uninvited to bring an abrupt end to Jack's
first attempt to reenter the base. His accented words played over and
over in Jack's mind, beating a repetitive cadence until one single
sentence stood out above all others.

"Even your security cameras hide more than they can see and, when the
time is right, all will be revealed!" The Slav had observed cryptically.

Jack stared up at the far corner again, regarding the darkened lens
thoughtfully, an indistinct notion beginning to form into a more
positive idea. He stood there awhile longer, tilting his head to one
side, deep in thought, chewing the edge of his lip where it wasn't
split. He scrubbed his fingers through his greying hair and finally he
shrugged, inhaling slowly before he walked towards the camera.

It may not be the most logical place, but it seemed to have a certain
sense of symmetry, at least from the point of view of a bomber who
yearned to see the results of his explosion. Jack reached up towards the
high camera, feeling the stitches down his left side wrenching and the
pain in his ribcage flaring sharply, the painkillers wearing off fast
now that he was no longer benefiting from a regular flow. He groaned,
lowering his arm again rapidly and waiting for his head to stop reeling
before looking around for something to stand on. Wheeling one of the
padded leather chairs closer to the wall, Jack contemplated it,
wondering how steady he would be if he stood on it.

"Oh, what the hell," he muttered under his breath, "It's not like you
have a better idea, Jack." He planted the first foot up onto the seat,
wobbling slightly and leaning his plastered arm against the wall for
support. He reached up to feel around the back of the camera with his
left hand. His fingers dug into something soft, pulling his hand back to
examine the grey putty like material under his nails. Jack gazed at
them, somewhat dazed but unsurprised that his theory had proved correct.

Shifting in the chair to get even closer, he felt behind the camera
again, his instincts kicking in, becoming more lucid and urgent as he
blindly ran his fingers around the edge of the entire package to check
for hidden wiring. Then he wrapped his hand around the rectangular block
and lifted it down from its secret perch to examine it carefully.

According to the timer, it still had nearly twenty eight hours to tick.
That's odd, Jack thought to himself, how could the Slav get the day
wrong?

He gently laid the explosive device onto his plaster cast to free up his
other hand and gingerly eased the detonator from the overly large block
of plastique, disconnecting it completely to successfully defuse the
threat.

"Colonel O'Neill!" A loud voice startled him and he nearly dropped the
charge. He looked up to recognise the source, wobbling on his precarious
perch as he tried to bring the two figures into focus.

"What day is it?" His hoarse whisper asked curiously.

General Hammond exchanged looks with Teal'c as they moved closer across
the floor. The security officer had alerted them to the unusual events
in the briefing room, having been watching on the camera monitors, all
attention stepped up after the near disastrous start to the week. Both
men had been awakened from their light slumbers, listening to their
separate telephone calls with a reaction of disbelief, but now they bore
witness to the curious scene for themselves.

"Colonel O'Neill, what are you doing?" Hammond asked with a look of
incredulity.

"What day is it?" Jack repeated his earlier question, a frown forming on
his pale bruised face.

Wondering why it could possibly matter, Hammond said gently, "It's
Wednesday, Jack."

"Wednesday? Already? That can't be right!" The Colonel said, almost to
himself. He paused thoughtfully, then looked at them with clear brown
eyes and asked, "What time is it?"

"It is a quarter past six in the morning, O'Neill," Teal'c responded as
he stepped nearer.

"Too late!" Jack muttered in disgust, "He set it way too late, but how
could he make a mistake like that!"

"Who?" Hammond asked in growing confusion, trying to fathom out what the
Colonel was doing standing on a chair in the corner of the briefing room
when he should surely still be in the infirmary recovering from surgery.
He drew closer and looked into O'Neill's dark eyes, but they seemed
lucid enough, maybe a little dazed, but he did not look like a man who
had finally flipped over the edge.

Jack slowly went over the words that had been bouncing around inside his
head since he awoke. The Slav had said the explosions would echo deep in
the mountain for at least two days. "Two days!" Jack murmured under his
breath, that was it! Adding the times together, he eventually looked up
with a sober expression on his face, "General, what's happening at 1000
hours tomorrow morning?"

Hammond paled slightly, swallowing dryly, wondering how O'Neill could
possibly know about that. "Why do you ask, Colonel?" He asked warily.

Jack gazed at him openly, his dark brown eyes unshielded, a knowing look
of betrayal clear for all to see. "What's happening at ten hundred hours
tomorrow, General Hammond, Sir?" Jack repeated coldly, realising the
answer was being avoided because it directly effected him in some way.

Teal'c also turned to the General, a look of accusation on his features
as he awaited the answer.

Hammond stared painfully at O'Neill, "Senator Mitchell has arranged a
meeting ahead of the Senate Committee hearing on Friday. It commences
here at 1000 hours tomorrow morning, Jack." The General paused, sighing
deeply, "He's coming to take depositions from the rest of your team and
anyone else in the SGC that was involved with your recent actions in
Egypt."

Jack stared at his commanding officer with a look of shocked disbelief,
his mind churning with the possible implications of his words. Suddenly
it all added up, the unique timing and positioning of this particular
explosive charge, secreted in such a way as to cause injury to a visitor
in the briefing room at a specific time, obviously with one single
target in mind. And if Senator Mitchell was the Slav's own personal
target, then Senator Mitchell must be the man they all wanted a piece
of.

"I was going to tell you Monday morning, Colonel, but I didn't get a
chance." Hammond shook his head dejectedly, this was yet another order
being forced upon him that he neither agreed with, nor had any power to
fight against. "It's not supposed to be hostile, Jack. He's just coming
to collect all the facts relating to your conduct, that's all."

But it was supposed to be a closed hearing to decide whether an internal
investigation would even be necessary. Why would they be interviewing
members of the SGC beforehand when they didn't have O'Neill's story yet?
When they had yet to decide whether they would want to delve further.
And when they had yet to find out who else they would need to talk to.

Unless of course a certain Senator wanted enough ammunition to plan a
sneak attack. To undermine the credibility of what would be a shaky
witness at best. A man who already viewed the very idea of the hearing
as a further extension to his ongoing torturous nightmare. The only man
who actually bore witness to any wrong doing on the part of the Senate
Committee's operational liaison Philip Marshall. And the only man whose
testimony could possibly result in an internal investigation being
progressed, thus posing a potential threat to the secrecy of the
Senator's own involvement.

Slowly, Jack realised there could only be one reason for this particular
Senator to arrange interviews with members of the SGC and that was to
prepare his ambush of Colonel O'Neill in advance. To be ready to launch
a verbal onslaught against the witness during the hearing, the only safe
option now left open to the Senator. To remove all credence from
O'Neill's statement would successfully ensure there would be no follow
up investigation.

"He's going to hang me out to dry!" Jack whispered palely. He looked at
the block of plastic explosive that still rested on his plaster cast.
Hefting the large chunk of C4 with his left hand, he tossed it in the
direction of General Hammond, who caught it deftly. "There's your
Senator, General," Jack said quietly, numbed by the implications of his
find. He shook his head in disbelief, "Triple cross," he murmured
bleakly, "Might have known."

"What do you mean, Jack?" Maybe it was the early hour of the day, but
Hammond still wasn't following. Judging by the look on his face, nor was
Teal'c for that matter.

"All the charges the Slav planted, he said were set to go off Tuesday
morning, but this one wasn't," Jack explained carefully, identifying all
the facts in order, "If everything didn't go according to plan and he
didn't get his money, this bomb would have gone off tomorrow morning,
not long after the meeting began which had been called by the Senator
that hired him. If the Slav didn't get his money, the Senator would be
killed in retribution."

Learning the name after all this time seemed somehow anticlimactic, a
piece of information that Jack was no longer sure of how to use, all his
fight had been expelled during the past few days and this final nagging
task had now been completed. He licked his lips nervously as it slowly
sunk in, muttering the identity under his breath, "Senator Mitchell."

The name began repeating inside Jack's head, his stomach churning in new
fear at the impact of this knowledge. The man was still alive, Jack had
just saved his life! The man who had caused him to endure so much. The
man who had hurt Cassie, Daniel and Janet. The man who had played with
the lives of countless people, all effected by the events in Cairo in
one way or another during the last five and a half weeks. How could he
face such evil again? It would be like meeting with the devil himself,
having suffered at the hands of, and then killed, all his minions.

Jack shook his head again, "Senator Mitchell," he murmured above the
buzzing that was beginning to sound in his ears.

Teal'c was watching O'Neill closely, protectively. He saw Jack's dark
brown eyes glaze over, noticed the wavering of his stance, the tremble
in his grip. He hurriedly stepped forward, catching the Colonel like a
feather as his legs buckled, toppling him from the chair. His eyes
rolled up into his head and Jack passed out with a soft moan.

General Hammond let out a held breath when Teal'c safely caught the
falling man. "I think the Colonel's been away from the infirmary for too
long," he said quietly. "We'd better get him back there and let Doctor
Fraiser check him over."

~~~~~~~~~~

Teal'c was just settling the Colonel gently down on his abandoned bed
when Hammond followed a worried looking Doctor Fraiser into the room.
Close behind was Captain Carter, who had eventually awoken sometime
after O'Neill had gone walkabout, shocked by the surprise absence of the
patient and at something of a loss as to what might have happened.
Standing off to one side, the trio waited while the doctor made some
rapid checks of Jack's pulse and vital signs, listening to his breath
sounds with her stethoscope and marking her findings onto his chart
before reattaching the IV drip.

"Colonel O'Neill, you're going to be the death of me," she admonished
the unconscious man softly. "You ever try this again and I'll handcuff
you to the rail myself. I promised Cassie I'd have you ready for
visitors when she finishes school this afternoon, I don't want to have
to tell her it was your fault she can't come, now do I?"

Hammond smiled at her gentle words. With the exception of Doctor
Jackson, everyone on this base had only known Colonel O'Neill for two
years, and yet their lives had all been profoundly touched by his
actions during that time. He had made far too many trips to the
infirmary in the name of the Stargate program, either due to his
unceasing sense of adventure or through his efforts to save the base and
its inhabitants.

Once again it was his selfless act that had left him in such a grave
condition, starting with his attempt to rescue Doctor Jackson and
hopefully now ending with him saving the SGC from another explosive
threat. It was difficult to imagine what would have taken place if it
was not for the presence of Colonel O'Neill and the General counted them
all lucky that Jack had survived this latest ordeal. Perhaps now the
Colonel would finally be able to see a light at the end of the tunnel,
even if it might still seem a little dim and distant at present.

~~~~~~~~~~

With a look of grim determination, Hammond picked up the telephone and
made his call. During the last three hours, the General had formed a
plan with the two remaining members of SG1, whilst Doctor Jackson and
Colonel O'Neill continued to recover in the infirmary. It was a devious
scheme that would take some clever acting and synchronisation, but they
all believed they would be able to pull it off and the payoff would be
tremendous.

If the Senator wanted triple cross, he was certainly going to get it,
Hammond thought with a sense of anticipation as he waited for the
telephone call to be connected.

"Senator Mitchell? General Hammond here, Sir. I'm afraid I've got some
most disturbing news."

~~~~~~~~~~

When Jack resurfaced again, late that Wednesday afternoon, his hazy
vision slowly focused on a bright smiling, fair haired face not more
than three feet from his head. Her tongue sticking out in concentration
as she applied thick red and green colouring pens to his cast. Jack
watched spellbound as Cassie painstakingly painted the white plaster
with brightly coloured flowers. A sudden thought crossed her face and,
with a grin, she turned to the box on the night stand and found a brown
marker pen, quickly drawing the outline of a flower pot and colouring it
in. Her task finally completed to her satisfaction, she signed her name
to it and sat back to admire her handiwork.

"Ahem!" Jack said softly so as not to startle her. He was rewarded with
a look that would keep his heart warm for weeks.

Cassie's eyes lit up and she smiled widely. "Jack!" She exclaimed
happily, jumping off the bed and flinging her arms across his shoulders
to hug him, carefully avoiding his chest.

Jack laughed and wrapped his left arm around her, holding her tightly.
"Hey sweetheart, how ya doing?" He croaked hoarsely.

"I'm fine, Jack," Cassie's voice was muffled as she buried her face in
his shoulder, then she lifted her head. "But Mom says you haven't been
looking after yourself very well," she said accusingly, "You promised me
you'd be more careful!"

Jack slid his arm away and tried to sit up. The young girl placed a hand
lightly on his chest, "Mom said you shouldn't move about too much yet
because you might pop your stitches," she jumped back off the bed and
adjusted the control to raise the top a little, before propping an extra
pillow behind his head to make him comfortable. Jack chuckled as she
took charge, realising just how much like Janet she was turning out to
be.

Finally, Cassie stepped back, satisfied, gazing at him as she waited for
an answer to her original accusation.

Practically withering under her mock sternness, Jack gave her a sheepish
look. "Sorry!" He said in the end, adding with a grin that stretched at
his split lip, "I won't do it again, honest!"

Cassie looked at him, determining the sincerity of his words, then she
jumped up again and settled down beside him. "You'd better not," she
warned with a giggle, "Or you won't get your present."

Jack's eyes grew wide, looking like a little boy at Christmas time,
"What present?"

Cassie giggled again at the expression on his face, "Not telling! You
can't have it until Daniel gets here."

"How is Daniel?" Jack asked with sudden seriousness.

"He's got a limp!"

"Is that all?" Jack asked gently, knowing she would tell him everything
she knew.

"Well, he looks nearly as battered as you do, Jack, and he's got a
broken finger! But with help from the walking cane that Mom's making him
use, he's been wandering about a bit since lunchtime," Cassie reported
happily, glad that Daniel was recovering so quickly, and equally pleased
to tell her friend such good news.

A fleeting recollection of hearing Daniel's voice sometime during the
night came into Jack's head. His left hand reflexively went to his neck
and he felt a presence that had been missing for too long, a metal chain
and the weight of his dog tags. Suddenly seeing his friend for himself
seemed so important. "Where is Daniel?" Jack asked.

"I'm here, actually," Daniel's voice drifted across from the door, where
he'd been standing for a couple of minutes, watching the two friends
interact, wondering again about what the Slav had told him shortly
before the end.

Two heads turned towards the door. "Daniel!" They both exclaimed in
tandem.

"Well, don't just stand there," Jack called, "Cassie said she's got a
present for me and I can't have it until you're here!"

Daniel grinned, happy to see Jack really smile for the first time in
weeks, an expression that reached his eyes and began to make him look
human again despite the bruising shadowing his face. He hobbled across
and perched on the end of the bed.

"Sorry, I made her promise. I wanted to see you open it," he said
softly, feeling the ache of his bruised jaw and the sharp pull on his
split lip, but he couldn't help smile widely after all they had endured.

Jack held his gaze for a moment, his fingers still toying with his dog
tags. He lifted the chain slightly, "You?" He asked quietly. Daniel
nodded. "Thanks," Jack said with a look of deep gratitude.

Cassie jumped off the bed excitedly. Glancing at Daniel to receive his
nod of approval, she turned to the night stand and lifted the top layer
from her box of colouring equipment to reveal the larger compartment
below, which hid a small brightly wrapped package that Daniel had helped
her buy the previous week.

Lifting it out she turned to Jack, a solemn look on her face. "It's to
replace the one you lost," she said, a slight quiver in her voice.

Jack took the gift, feeling a familiar weight and shape through the
colourful paper. Moving his right arm across his chest, he rested the
package on the plaster cast and fumbled with his left hand to tear the
wrapping open, trying to hide his eagerness. Daniel grinned at the
boyish look of glee on his face, the exact reaction he had been looking
forward to seeing.

Finally, Jack freed the object from the paper and held it up in his
hand. His long fingers running over the smooth red enamel, admiring the
complexity of tools held within the cleverly crafted package, all the
exact same items as his original Swiss army knife. "Sweet!" He said
softly, gazing at Cassie, "Thank you."

The young girl was smiling so widely her jaw ached, "Promise when you
get better you'll show me some more uses for it!"

"So it was you who taught Cassie how to pick locks!" Janet's stern voice
cut through the room and they all winced, turning towards her. She
looked at Daniel, "And he taught you too, I suppose!"

Daniel nodded sheepishly, feeling like a snitch. But caught red handed,
what could he say? He turned back to Jack and shrugged an apology.

Janet crossed to the bed and took Jack's arm, holding his wrist to check
his pulse, deciding it was only a little fast because she had him
scared. She let him stew a bit longer whilst she took his temperature,
then finally turned and released her face into a wide smile. "Just don't
let me catch you teaching my daughter how to hotwire a car!" She joked.
Daniel and Jack exchanged guilty looks. "Oh you didn't!" She added in
astonishment, glaring from one man to the other and receiving a pair of
supremely innocent faces in return.

Daniel was the first to break down under her gaze, "Um, actually, that
would be my fault." He paused, hugging his arm across his chest
nervously. Seeing Janet's look of disbelief, he added, "Really, Jack
didn't do it, honest! Um, it was me," he shrugged uncomfortably.

"Daniel!" Janet spluttered, "This might be the sort of thing I've come
to expect from Jack, but I thought you'd know better!"

"Hey!" Jack exclaimed with the hurt look of one being falsely accused.

"Mom's right, you know!" Cassie whispered in his ear, watching the
adults with a mischievous grin.

Jack shrugged, "Yeah. Guess you're right," he admitted with a soft
smile, "But don't tell her that!" He added, listening to Daniel trying
to explain himself out of this one.

"But you never know when it could save her life!" He pointed out
defensively.

"Yeah, speaking of which," Jack decided to rescue him, shifting the
conversation slightly, "How on earth are you supposed to hotwire that
new car of yours?"

"You're not!" Daniel grinned at him, vaguely wondering when Jack had the
chance to try, "It's supposed to be hotwire proof! Believe me, I've
tried it and I couldn't manage it. Why do you think I keep a spare set
of keys in the back!"

"Well I wish I'd known that Monday!" Jack replied, then he thought about
it for a moment, his face turning serious, "Actually, no I'm not," he
murmured, almost to himself, wondering what would have happened if he
had been able to start the car and make his getaway, unwittingly leaving
Daniel behind to suffer his fate at the hands of the Slav.

Daniel frowned, wondering if any of them would ever find out everything
that had gone on in the previous few days, or in the past six weeks for
that matter.

Janet eyed the two men, deciding to call a halt to visiting hours, "Come
on, I think Jack needs to get some more rest. You too Daniel, you've
wandered around enough for one day. And you can come back again
tomorrow, Cass," she added before her daughter had time to protest.

Jack nodded wearily, hugging Cassie again and kissing her cheek
solemnly, "Thank you for the gift, it's wonderful," he told her. "And
there are a few more uses I haven't shown you yet," he whispered with a
grin.

He watched Daniel lead Cassie from the room, then settled down tiredly
as Janet fussed over him for awhile longer. "I heard that, you know!"
Janet murmured in his ear as she adjusted his pillow, "Welcome back,
Jack!" She smiled widely, and left him to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Senator Mitchell had been relieved to hear the news from General Hammond
that Colonel O'Neill was finally dead at last, but he was furious that
the explosive charges placed within the SGC had been located and
defused. The General had told him about the initial blast at the main
entrance and how that had led to a search of the entire facility,
turning up several more terrorist bombs.

The Senator stared thoughtfully at the telephone. What of his two hired
mercenaries? They should have reported in by now, if only to try and
claim some of their money. Hammond was adamant that only the bodies of
Colonel O'Neill and Doctor Jackson were found in the wreckage of the
cabin.

Mitchell sat back in his padded leather chair, steepling his fingers to
his chin in thought. With a degree of foreboding he realised that the
Slav and his Egyptian colleague must still be out there somewhere, alive
to tell the tale of the Senator's involvement. Surely, by now, they also
knew that a bomb had been placed in the cabin in order to kill them?

Now the Senator would have to attend the very SGC that he had hoped to
destroy. A meeting had been arranged for the next morning, originally
setup as a fallback plan with a view to taking depositions that he could
use to destroy the reputation of one of the SGC's finest people. Now he
would have to tread more wisely, the people he was to interview would be
emotionally wrought following the loss of their friends. If he played it
right, he might be able to get them to reveal much more than expected.

~~~~~~~~~~

Back to top

Previous Page