"You will bow to my awesome power. There is nothing that can stop the destruction I bring upon you. Prepare to meet your doom!"
Anubis, Redemption, Part 1

"Anybody want to wish me luck?"
Colonel Jack O'Neill, Redemption, Part 2

Chapter One

Jack cocked his head as Carter's voice came through his headset. She sounded excited. 'That's my girl,' Jack chortled to himself. 'You pulled a solution out of your butt again - and saved our asses to boot.'

Confidence rang across the void in her words. It was clear to him that she needed time to get it all set up, and that was up to him to find her some.

"Alright, well, in the meantime, I'll just... keep falling." Jack knew Carter wouldn't let him down; she never had and never would.

As he waited, Jack winced and blinked sweat out of his eyes. A little refrigeration would be welcome right now, and he wished they hadn't pulled so much of the life support systems out, especially the temperature control part. Sweat trickled down across his ribs and he could feel his fingers slipping around inside his flight gloves making maintaining his tight grip on the stick take more focus then he cared for.

The fact that the gate didn't look white-hot didn't mean it wasn't turning his ride into a flying toaster oven. And the idea that it was positioned squarely under his butt gave Jack an almost irrational desire for an old-fashioned chicken plate. The men who crewed Huey copters in Vietnam were in the habit of installing thick steel plates under their seats to protect their assets - the family jewels - from stray ordinance. Though the 'chicken plates' were more psychological than physical protection, he wished he had something similar between him and his explosively dangerous cargo - like about three-gazillion miles of crowded vacuum.

Instrument readouts, what there was left of the flight instruments that is, jumped and juddered as the ship and 'gate fell. Jack could feel every molecule of air in the resultant jolt of teeth against teeth.

Come on. Carter,' Jack projected, hoping for her voice sooner rather than later. His forearms burned with his efforts to keep the craft under control and he was beginning to realize just what a soup bone endured in the pot.

"Carter?"

"We're done! Uploading the new program, sir. All you'll have to do now is activate the generator."

Jack nodded. "Roger that."

"You won't have much time," she cautioned. Did he hear some worry in her voice? On the heels of his mental query came his dismissal of it as a factor. Whether she was worried or not was moot at this stage of the operation. Now it was in his hands - quite literally - yep, no pressure there.

"I know," he acknowledged.

"Sir," she paused. "If this works..."

"I know!"

"Sir," Sam added.

"What?" Jack snapped and then regretted it.

"Good luck." She sounded apologetic, and for that, he didn't growl a reply. She of all people knew what would/could happen. Heck, she'd probably already calculated his rate of decent. That is if their current plan worked. And it had all been going so well, hadn't it?

To distract himself, Jack pulled his visor over his eyes, and let himself sink into the relative calm and comfort of his training. "Activating Hyperspace generator," he intoned as his long fingers flipped the toggles. "Now..."

His eyes widened as the misty hyperspace window appeared in front of him. Unlike the last time, the X-302 arrowed straight for the middle of the murky opening that led to god only knew where. Not that it mattered, as long as it took his aircraft and its deadly cargo far far away.

Jack reached upwards and wrapped his fingers around the twin levers on either side of his head, grasped them and pulled firmly. Then he bent his head forward and squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath and expelled it when he heard and felt the popping sound of the explosives firing that would separate and propel his command module away from the body of the X-302.

The screech of protesting metal set his teeth on edge as his module protested his actions. Its rapid and then aborted surge upwards had his stomach climbing up his throat.

'Oh, so not good!' He swallowed bile and muttered. "Come on you son of a bitch, you can do it."

With one last eardrum-shattering screech, the module and X-302 parted company. Suddenly free of the weight of the stargate and aircraft, the command module bucked upward and then away. Jack opened his eyes and chanced a look around him. Then he heard a loud bang, as he was jerked to one side, so hard that he bit the inside of his mouth, his vision filled with an incandescent blue.

If he could have screamed he would have, but his lungs wouldn't work. Nothing worked, except for his nerves. Oh, but they worked all right. Pain coursed along them, his body riddled with white hot threads pulsing with blue fire until he reached an orgasm-like peak, then darkness flooded across his consciousness.

In what felt like the next instant bursting bubbles of light erupted behind his eyeballs, followed closely by his body being violently thrown into the safety straps. His ears were assailed with the scream of atmosphere against ceramic hull plate and Plexiglas canopy. Through the light show the world beyond the clear canopy oscillated between black and blue.

Instinct thrust out Jack's arm to ground himself against the inner hull of what was now nothing more than a composite box dangling from a blossom of parachutes. His throbbing head did the math; he'd lost a couple of minutes back there somewhere. He'd judged the loss a small price to pay; he'd come way too close to taking that one-way trip 'with' the gate. Absently sucking on his lip, he tasted the tang of his own blood, not entirely sure just why it was there.

Afterimages of jagged blue lightening overlaid his vision, and he tingled in the most annoying way, his sense of touch so muted he doubted that he had contact with anything, let alone the flight seat he was firmly strapped into.

Just as he began to fear that way too much had been pulled from the X-302 he finally found the dim flashing red telltale of the capsule's beacon. At least they would be able to track him down; because there was no way that he was going to get a message out. That portion of the control panel was sending up lazy curls of smoke, fouling the air with the acrid taste of burnt metal and insulation.

Like any good pilot his hands automatically sought out the fire extinguisher for just such emergencies, only his gloved hands - after a frustrating search because of the still lingering numbness - found only the bracket that it should have been mounted in.

Oy!

Plan B.

Jack nearly had to claw the smoldering panel up with his hands, reaching in he was able to wrap gloved fingers over the short before the increase in oxygen caused the smoke to flare to open flame and smothered it. He sighed with relief. This ride was way beyond an E ticket.

No sooner had that problem been solved than his whole body was violently slammed down into his seat, almost stunning him.

'Splashdown. Now that's a first for me.' He grinned. 'Cool!'

The rebound of the capsule bobbing up from the water slammed him upwards into his straps. He just knew that he was gonna have some great bruises as reminders of this latest caper.

There was a half a dozen nearly as brain-jarring lurches from one side to another, coming from no set direction as sea and buoyant foreign object sought their reconciliation. Jack was just along for the ride. He was immediately reminded that this was why he was Air Force; he turned green as the swell of the ocean transmitted itself through the singed hull that enclosed him.

Fumbling with the straps that held him in place he managed to coat his boots with the contents of his stomach rather than his lap. Thank God for small favors. He knew he shouldn't have had that cake.

Free of his bonds and his oh so sweet confection, Jack knew that seeing the horizon was - at the moment - the most important goal he had. Gingerly, so as to not slip in the steaming slime he'd just created, he stood to un-dog the hatch, one shoulder planted against the low ceiling of the cabin against its bobbing-cork motion.

That was when he discovered that his neck hurt like the dickens.

'Oh, for crying out loud, is there such a thing as 'splashdown whiplash?' ' he thought as he rubbed it with one hand before he attacked the hatch again.

With the heavy fasteners removed all he had to do was fire the explosive bolts. Even though they were small and vented entirely to the other side of the hatch, Jack pressed himself to one side as far as possible before slamming his hand down on the large button. Thankfully, that too hadn't fallen victim to the drastic weight-reduction program. His hand hit the edge of the inner hull instead and he yelped. Dang, it felt like he'd broken a finger with that clumsy move. Cursing the ocean, the hatch and the designers of said hatch, he tried and succeeded the second time.

The hatch wrang-ed out a half an inch in a roar, then with an ear-splitting not-quite-metallic screech it disappeared entirely. So fast that Jack couldn't tell what direction it had gone.

The smell of the sea invaded the acrid air of the X-302's capsule and ignited Jack's stomach into another spasm. His head just clearing the edge of the opening he christened his odd boat with strings of phlegmy discharge that the wind immediately blew back into his face. This was so not his day.

Spitting and scrubbing at his face with his hands he lunged upwards into the salt spray to the sounds of approaching jets and the low whump-whump of helicopters. Both arms sprang upwards to block the spray, the too bright sun and incidentally to help improve his unsteady balance.

He felt pathetic, but at this stage he didn't give a damn. Jack counted himself lucky that this little mission had been as smooth as glass - sort of. He could have been killed if anything had really gone wrong - like landing anywhere other than the ocean.

Please someone, just pick him up and put him in a nice steady aircraft.

Unsteadily he waved his sliver-clad arms most enthusiastically.

***

The helicopter slowly lowered itself over him and what was left of the X-302, legs dangled from the open hatch of the sleek airship, another figure couched behind the orange clad man sat there. Jack watched as at a slap from the second man the first slipped out feet first to plunge into the heaving waves.

This was the swimmer part of the rescue team - his ticket to freedom. These men risked their lives plucking hapless flyboys like him from the ocean. In just moments the swimmer jutted up out of the gunmetal colored water to salute the helicopter. Jack saw the rescue basket already occupied the open hatch above him, and as he watched it slipped free into space buoyed up by a slender cable.

"Sir, I'm here to help you."

He'd been so occupied watching what was happening above that he missed the approach of the swimmer entirely and flinched in reaction to a voice so close in the crashing of waves against the capsule.

Jack shook himself. He was getting way too old for this and needed to pay better attention.

"Just tell me what you want me to do."

"Are you injured, sir?"

Jack shook his head. "No, just a bit shook up is all. Other than that I'm fine."

"I'm not surprised, sir. Whumping into the ocean like you did has a tendency to do that," the swimmer chuckled while he treaded water.

"Ya think?" Jack smiled. He liked this guy. What's more, he felt he could trust him with his life, which was a very good thing because that was exactly what he was about to do.

In short order Jack was in the ocean, passively allowing the swimmer to tow him to the rescue basket floating on its two large orange floats not far from them. The moment he slipped into the water, seawater seeped through his silver pressure G-suit and chilled him to the bone. He distracted himself by watching the hovering helicopter and the man in the black scuba suit.

As the waves swirled around him, whipped into frothy tips by the hovering helicopter, he inadvertently got a mouthful of salt water. He spat it out, and then winced as the sores in his mouth burned from the salt.

As they both swooped up and down in the swells he could glimpse the larger helicopter that stood station well out of the way, it was here to recover the command capsule, couldn't have that fall into anyone's hands - like the Russians. Jack inwardly snickered at the thought; the very idea that his life-long enemies had blue prints, but still might want the hardware too. Would wonders never cease?

Jack followed the kid's instructions and let him do all the work of getting him into the basket. At a raised fist from his savior he and the basket sluggishly popped from the waves and into the air. He had to shut his eyes from the vertigo induced as the cage twirled in a couple of swift circles in one direction and then another.

When it banged into something his eyes shot open - before him was the helicopter. Appearing like a huge hummingbird in a stiff blow, it made his stomach clench. Normally this wouldn't bother him but that damned ocean had started something that only a good solid stay on land could cure.

He and the rescue basket were carefully and swiftly pulled inside the open hatch of the copter. Jack found himself propped against the far wall cushioned on blankets with another one wrapped around his shoulders.

The basket was stowed aft of him and tied down. The swimmer was already there swaying before the hatch as his teammate hauled him inside. Jack wasn't paying any attention to the corpsman who tried and failed to get his attention.

"Sir?"

"I'm okay," Jack shouted to be heard above the prop noise.

"Are you..."

"Positive," Jack answered firmly but shivered despite the warm blanket. "I could use some dry clothes though."

"We'll get you something to change into once we've landed," assured the corpsman.

He caught the attention of the swimmer and leaned forward to push out his hand. Immediately it was grasped by the smiling young man and shaken firmly.

"Thanks."

"Just doing my job, sir."

"Thanks, just the same."

The flight lasted only minutes, not enough time for Jack to get acquainted with the swimmer, whose name was Ben. He never got the rest of their names, but he did have their smiles and the feel of a job well done that each and every one of them radiated.

The pilot put the whumping-bird down like it had never left, so light was his touchdown. Jack wasn't too happy about being helped from the craft, but tolerated it. But when that gurney arrived he put his foot down. It squished seawater when he did, but he put it down nonetheless. A mule had nothing on him.

The medic ended up pushing the gurney back with him and acted as his escort as Jack limped and squished across the deck toward the indicated hatch. Behind him the helo and its crew slowly disappeared straight down as the deck turned lift lowered it into the dark sunless storage bays until it was needed again.

At least the motion of the ocean wasn't as bad here on the carrier. But his little problem with that was minor compared to this desire to return to the SGC. Jack hoped he could get a swift ride back as he wondered just what else was down in the dark yearning to see the light and feel the freedom of the air under its wings - as did he.

"We really need to check you out, sir," the medic objected once they'd stepped through the open hatch.

Jack stopped and turned around, nailing the hapless Navy medic with his full glare, the one he reserved for times like this. "Does the word no mean nothing to you? I'm fine - wet but fine."

"My orders state you're to have a full exam," the medic paused and then added, "sir."

"Doesn't it say colonel on my uniform?" He fingered the sodden collar of his soggy pressure suit and grimaced.

"No, sir, it doesn't."

"Well it should."

"The exam?"

"No exam, I'm fine."

"Then why are you limping?"

"That's an old injury and if I told you how I got it, I'd have to shoot ya."

The medic's eyes widened and Jack sighed.

"That was a joke." Jack paused and shivered. "Look, if you must do something, get me some dry clothes. I feel like I soaked up half the danged ocean."

He flinched as a cold trickle of water seeped under his collar and ran down his back. The flinch turned into a spasm of pain that ripped along his spine and up to the top of his head. His hand automatically rose to massage the back of his neck, but when Jack realized his actions had caught the attention of the medic, he switched targets and swept his long fingers through his short hair with irritation, leaving behind tufts that stuck up at odd angles.

"Is there a problem here?"

Jack sighed. "No, there isn't. This corpsman was just getting me some dry clothes," He turned to the corpsman and nailed him with a glare. "Weren't you?"

The corpsman frowned and addressed his words to the Navy officer who stood behind Jack. "Sir, I was attempting to escort Colonel O'Neill to sick bay but he has refused."

"Colonel Jack O'Neill? I'm Lieutenant Commander Sam Thompson, the Enterprise's XO. My boss sent me to bring you to his cabin. He'd like to meet the jet jockey that's so important that his ship was diverted to scoop him up out of the drink."

Jack smiled. "Glad to meet you, Thompson, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather skip all the chitchat and fly back home. I've got a heck of a debrief waiting for me, and the sooner I get there, the sooner I can get some downtime."

"Shucks, sir. Are you gonna turn down the Navy's hospitality?" The office drawled. "Where I come from it's not polite to turn down an invite from the boss."

"And where would that be?" Jack couldn't help it, he was cold, tired, and just wanted to go home - certainly in no mood to make nice with the squids from the Navy.

"Galveston, in the great state of Texas."

Jack grimaced, "I should have known. You wouldn't know my CO, would you? You sound just like him."

When Thompson opened his mouth, Jack waved his hand. "No, don't answer that, I'd have to shoot ya too if I told you his name, and I hate the paperwork when that happens."

"Then you might as well come with me, Colonel. My boss doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"So... no Tomcat?"

The XO shook his head. "No Tomcat. Your ride will be here in about an hour. Just enough time to pay my boss a visit and change into something dry."

"For crying out loud, the things I do..." Jack muttered under his breath but followed the Navy officer. At this point, he could do little else, or risk being shipped back to the SGC in irons, which would not sit well with Hammond - even if he had saved his planet... again.

Thompson turned to the medic, "You're dismissed, corpsman. I'll take it from here."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Yes, thanks but no thanks," Jack muttered and ignored the look of disapproval he received from the medic.

"Tell me, Colonel. Are you always this good-natured? Or is this a special gift of yours?"

"What?" Jack feigned a look of confused innocence. "Oh, that?"

"Yes, that."

"Let's just say that I get cranky when I'm tired and leave it at that."

"Whatever you say, sir." The Navy officer looked like he didn't believe his excuse and continued. "If you'll come with me? You can change into a poop suit before you meet the Skipper. He doesn't like it when people drip all over his deck."

Jack stopped in his tracks. "A what?"

"A poop suit," the XO turned and smirked. "What you flyboys call a flight suit."

Jack rolled his eyes. "It figures." He shook his head and muttered to himself. "And this is the thanks I get..."

"Did you say something, Colonel?" The XO looked far too innocent for Jack's taste, but he refused to rise to the bait.

"Naw, just squishing along."

The colonel pasted a smile on his face and waved his hand. "So this is the Enterprise? And the captain would be James T. Kirk?" he smirked.

"No, he would not. And if you know what's good for you, you won't say that to the captain. You have no idea how many times we've heard that particular line."

Jack smiled and tried to like it, really he did. But his bum knee hurt, his neck hurt, his mouth felt like he's chewed a hole in the side of it, and his stomach still wouldn't quiet down. Not to mention the headache that was getting worse by the second. At least the aircraft carrier was large enough that the effect of the ocean waves was negated... mostly. Other than that, he was fine... just fine. Or would be once he was back safely back on dry land.

"You can change in here, and then I'll escort you to see the skipper," the XO indicated an open door that led into a small compartment. Jack stepped inside and looked around. When he saw the flight suit laid out on the bunk, he raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Your poops suit awaits," the XO clearly thought he was being hilarious.

"Of course it does," Jack grimaced. "Don't quit your day job," he muttered to himself. Who was that guy trying to kid? 'Don't try to teach this old dog to suck eggs, squid. I can out-do your pithy attempt and acting the innocent bit without half trying.'

Although the bunk behind him looked very inviting, he ignored it and concentrated on peeling off the silvery pressure suit that seemed to have adhered most unpleasantly to his skin.

Stepping out of it, one leg at a time, he braced one arm against the wall to keep his balance. Once the garment released its grip on his ankles, he flung it into a corner and picked up the dry clothing. His attention was drawn to his mottled chest. Looking more closely, he noted his chest and legs had a light coating of white that itched like crazy but flaked off and drifted to the floor when he scrubbed at it.

Even he had to admit that he looked like hell and was glad he had turned down the corpsman's invitation to be examined. From the looks of the bruises that covered his chest and shoulders, not to mention how the muscles in his back corded and rippled every time he moved, he'd had one bumpy ride.

Jack leaned closer to the mirror in front of him and noted the bruising followed the exact outlines of his harness from the X-302. Yep, it had been one bumpy ride all right. And he would have a time keeping out of Doc's hands once he made it back to the SGC. While he had been able to bull his way out of a medical exam on the Enterprise, Fraiser knew him - and his tricks - and would not be so easily fooled. Crap.

But at least he felt warmer once he'd stepped into the dry flight suit and zipped it up. It did wonders for his sour mood and he felt ready to face almost anything as he stepped into the corridor - even a captain from Texas.

Orginal Header:

Title: Redeemed
Authors: DinkyJo; [a synthesis of Dinkydow and JoleneB]
Email: jd3031@socket.net; and/or jbuttolph@hotmail.com
Category: Missing Scene, drama
Pairings: Jack/Sam
Content Level: 18+
Season: Season 6
Spoilers: Redemption, Parts 1 and 2
Warnings: Wet Jack ahead, but nothing explicit.
Summary: That splashdown wasn't as simple as it looked.
Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own any of them. Couldn't afford to if I did and don't have a mountain to hide them in. Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions do. I wrote this for entertainment and won't be making any money for it, so please don't sue. But, if you guys want any help with scripts, or Jack, just give me a holler.
Author's Notes - Dinkydow: I couldn't help but wonder what was going on inside the command module after Jack ejected from the X302. Here's our take on it. My thanks to my hubby who used the "chicken plate" - mostly successfully - in Vietnam. I'd also like to thank my friend, Linda, for her expertise in "Navy-speak."
Author's Notes - JoleneB: Dinky's idea was very interesting cause it appears no one has taken advantage of this rather large time gap so full of possibilities. Just hope we filled it with the proper mixture of action and whump; but I'm sure you'll let us know. EG