Captain Montgomery Ellis

Dropping my hand from the radio I looked at it, stared at it. It shook. Closing my fingers, tightening them into a fist I wanted to choke Eric, or hug him senseless. Just wasn't sure which.

He'd just scared the hell out of me; he seems good at that. The first time he did this was subtler and far worse, when he realized Colonel O'Neill was in trouble. That lost look in his one green eye, the brightness obscured by a dark despair. It was then that I knew there was a link between these two, far deeper than any had suspected. I'd watched both of them, they were becoming fast friends, and this despair shining from the lieutenant's soul was proof that they might be more, than 'just friends.'

Who would have thought that the older, harder colonel would enter into a relationship with a green lieutenant, a colonel who is legendary within certain circles, known as a great leader in the heat of the moment. Not one to back off or down because things looked bad. I know people die with leaders like him. You hear about the hard-assed, no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners, leave-no-witnesses man with a heart of ice. How very, very wrong.

When I first saw him, he was rather unimposing, frumpy. Clothing that had to be hiding his bad state of physical fitness, such as a beer gut to go with the common and not-so-humorous humor he spouted often and loudly, surrounded by a team of smart-looking and smart-acting professionals who appeared to be covering for his lack of intelligence. A fallen legend. How very, very wrong.

Because I made all the wrong assumptions, I turned to a young lieutenant in hopes of finding a leader. Even in such an unorthodox structure of reversed ranks. To my surprise, he showed he was becoming one. Behind the physical and the still obvious mental damage, shown the makings of a leader, and to find him in such a state, in such a place, was frustrating. He was better than what Colonel O'Neill appeared to be, yet I knew the military would never allow this talent to stay, his brilliance but a shooting star across the smoldering red giant of a legendary burned out superior officer. How very, very wrong.

It is at this point, while doubting my own intelligence, and that of the military, that I began to discover just how wrong I was. Watching Lt. Van Sickle meant by default I watched Colonel O'Neill. During the time the team was prepping for it's off world assignment both men were not often seen without the other in attendance. Since the lieutenant listened to the colonel, I began to listen too. And I made a shocking discovery. The man wasn't who I thought he was. I've always prided myself as a good judge of character, or at least, of ability. To have failed so badly in this case was embarrassing.

The red giant's vast gravity shaped the shooting star's course, propelling him towards our mutual goal with unerring accuracy. The man had his finger on us all and none of us even felt it. It was then that I realized he possessed a keen intellect, who else could project such an image of buffoonery, and make it so real no one even thought about doubting it? I certain hadn't. Yet, still, I was very, very wrong.

Colonel O'Neill was not a red giant, not an elderly star destined to become a cold cinder and future hazard to navigation. He was a vital living massive star, a star which when it dies creates a vacuum so profound that light cannot escape it. I had discovered his intellect, seen his tactical skills and even a hint of his nurturing ways. All so buried inside that false facade, that none knew what he was doing, even when it was doing it. Neither was he past his physical prime, in fact, he would put a man 20 years his junior to shame. His 'clown' suit hid a lean, understated musculature that must have been composed of steel cables. He is just the wrong side of thin, but way on the other side of strong for his build. Fast, agile and graceful. A ballet of economic motion hidden in a shambling gait.

And how did I see all of this? Very simple. Eric Van Sickle. That young man is doted upon by this legend in clown clothing. Oh, he was good at hiding it, but then you'd catch his eyes when he believed no one was looking, they softened. How well I know that look. The same look my wife gives our son, the same look I give to them both. Love cannot be hidden, even by a master of misdirection such as Colonel O'Neill.

I'm sure that I don't see all of the man, only what leaks through the mask. Somehow, I get the distinct impression that he is a childless father looking for a place to happen. And it seems that Eric is his choice of location. I wish him well in that course of his orbit. For as a father myself, I can see that Lt. Van Sickle needs the approval of an older man, a surrogate father. He has that look, the same look that some of the children my dear wife welcomes into our home have. Those children from places I would never call home. Their eyes never allow us to venture into that world more than a day or two; it is just too painful. So, we are only the first way station in their journey. As Colonel O'Neill is Eric Van Sickle's last. I hope.

Watching the two of them acting like hooligans that day certainly confused most of our group, except for a few of us. Those of us experienced with children knew what was happening, even if appearances could be misconstrued in other, ugly ways. Theirs was the play of innocents, a delight for any parent to behold.

My had anger cooled somewhat by just remembering who these two men were to me, and the rest of this mission group, I focused on them, as their lives literally hung in the balance before me, and that made me uncomfortable. Captain that I was, command was not my area, I was an advisor, nothing more, these men stood between all of us and possible disaster. And I was about to hand back to them the responsibility that for the last hour had been mine. I hoped.

Things were going smoothly, that should have been my first clue. The second was that Eric was slipping downwards; he and the Colonel had been just beyond my questing fingertips, now Eric was a hand further away. He didn't seem aware that he was not moving upwards with the Stokes. What was happening?

Unknowingly I had grasped his rope, it felt rough, and looking at it; it appeared frayed.

Damn.

Shifting my weight onto a hip I craned my neck to look behind me, past my supine body towards the FRED, zeroing in on the rope that stretched between me and it. What I saw froze my heart in mid beat, it was thin, too thin, and it was about to part.

Flopping back onto my stomach I squirmed up to the cliff edge.

"Eric! Grab onto the basket," I shouted out forcefully; I watched him raise his eyes from the man he was protecting to mine, he looked puzzled. Worse of all he was not doing as I asked -- demanded.

"NOW!"

The command was screamed in my best drill sergeant voice, the rope pinged past me into the air above him just as he got his good hand firmly wrapped around an edge of the basket, the other, the maimed one, he was still trying to get to obey him, it wasn't. Reaching out, I lunged for, and got a fist full of his shirt, which of course I only succeeded in blinding him when it slipped up his body. Using my tenuous connection, I slithered forward to allow my other arm as much reach as possible, snagging him under an arm, pulling for all I was worth. I began to slide toward nothingness. No way was I letting go, but when something gripped me around the ankles and startled me, I almost did. It had to be Marie; she was hauling my ass back where it belonged.

"Come on, kid. Get a grip. NOW!" I yelled at him frantically, hoping to scare him into saving himself and me. Finally he got a good grip on the slowly rising Stokes, however his rope hung below him trying to drag him down. It may not have looked like much, but it weighed more than enough to make his 'kitten clinging to the side of a chair' act difficult.

"Marie, let go! Get to the FRED. Be ready," I felt her release my ankles as I let go of Eric, slowly, opening my hands, extending my fingers fully, afraid that if I moved too fast, or too far, he'd slip away. I snatched in a hand to pull out my pocketknife and set to work sawing at the rope, my eyes focused on Eric's, his boring into mine, all I saw was determination. Not a hint of fear, I know mine showed enough of that for both of us. The rope drifted in loops to the raging water below, instantly pulled into nonexistence. The Stokes had only inches to go before its edge was level with the lip of the canyon, when it reached that point I raised a fisted hand and felt the ropes quiver as Marie stopped the FRED.

As I reached down to pull at Eric, I heard her running steps and felt her fall against my side before her arms too, reached for our commander and between the two of us and a little help from him he was pulled from the abyss.

And just as suddenly as he was sitting there -- safe -- a horrendous crack split the air. There below us, the skeletal tree crashed into the canyon wall before being sucked straight down in a rapidly forming whirlpool. The whole drift of sand must have moved, creating a vast vacuum, and a death trap. I marveled at a sight I thought never to witness in my life, its deadliness made me shiver.

Eric, legs mostly still in the canyon, leaned out for a better view. through instinct I latched onto his arm, determined that he would not slip back into that chasm, he was here and would stay here. He felt my hand tightly gripping his upper arm and he swung to face me and spoke.

"Thanks."

A simple word, the complex ones scudded across his face and through his eye telling me all I needed to know and I smiled. For the moment all was right with the world, but just for the moment.

"Jack."

Never had a small word held so much emotion as O'Neill's given name coming from the young man in front of me, but it was more command than comment, and just a bit of a plea. The three of us galvanized into motion and together we finally pulled the stricken, unconscious senior officer from the maw that he has so far survived.

The metal of the basket made a horrendous noise as it scraped across the line between space and rock, one could imagine sparks flying.

Once the foot of the Stokes was firmly on the ground we lifted it up and carried it to the grouping of rocks anchoring the FRED, trailing ropes. The lieutenant was right there, kneeling beside the man checking him, as Marie and I settled to the stone across from him bent on the same task. Questions and answers flew between us all regarding O'Neill's condition and what had happened during the night below.

It didn't sound good, the man admitted to being unable to move his arms during the ascent just before passing out. Add that to the back pain and the position he was found it. It wasn't good at all, none of us knew a great deal of medicine, but we weren't stupid either. I knew we really needed to look at his injuries, but that was too risky, speed would have to do, we needed to leave and leave now. Get him to the Gate. Get him to those who did know medicine.

God, I'd forgotten the Gate. It was underwater and completely unusable. Maybe that prick Drake has discovered a solution? About time she earned her pay rather than cause trouble.

"You mentioned we had IV supplies. He's really dehydrated," Van Sickle never raised his eye as he spoke, that green orb was focused on his friend.

"Marie can take care of that, while you and I turn that FRED over, we need to get to the Gate," I gently urged, reaching across O'Neill I laid a hand on his shoulder to break into whatever private thoughts were churning inside him, bringing him back to the here and now.

The lieutenant was tired, it showed, and from his narrative of his night with the colonel he hadn't slept at all, worried, busy and too afraid to sleep. But here he was giving his all, re-inflating tires and helping me bull our transport back onto them. He took his guardianship of his superior seriously; it showed in his refusal to quit, and his level headedness, not letting O'Neill's condition or his own worry cloud his judgment.

How he could think clearly enough to even make the decision to remove as much gear as possible to lighten the FRED, I didn't know. It was a smart move, stashing the discarded equipment safely in the rocks wrapped in our last tarp. And I felt vaguely like a coward, letting this nearly out-on-his-feet young man shoulder the heavy duties and responsibilities of our group. He had made a good decision to take the barest of medical supplies into the canyon, those supplies now gone, taken by the water. If not for him we could have lost all of the medical supplies we had stripped from our main encampment, and the Colonel was going to need them. That man hadn't twitched a muscle.

If he had, Eric would have been at his side in a shot. No one could miss his frequent glances at Capt. Everett, Marie. Titles seemed so needless now; respect existed between us all, Eric was clearly our leader and we his followers. And as a good follower, Marie checked over the colonel as thoroughly as possible while setting up the portable IV. But I did see Eric wince when she slid the needle into a pale, bruise-mottled exposed arm of the one he considered leader.

Even after Lt. Van Sickle's return and assumption of the mantle of command, worry still wore at me. Eric was tired, O'Neill seemed badly injured and had yet to awaken, camp was at least a day away, and the Gate might still be useless. Was either of them capable of dealing with any of the problems that were plaguing our mission? Did I have a right to just let them try?

My watch told me that the sun had been up for nearly two hours. Two hours. This whole life and death drama felt like two very hard endless days. Just getting everything ready to leave had taken less than an hour. That sent a shiver up my spine. Eric had confided to me he intended to get back today, I knew it was very possible, but it was going to be difficult on everyone.

It was only the work of moments to get O'Neill secured to the FRED and I noticed that there was plenty of space for passengers. I hadn't been entirely fooled by his ploy to get me off my feet during the journey here, only my pride prevented me from noticing and it would have forced me to walk the whole way too. Eric recognized that I would have been useless if I had, Marie and he could do the distance. I couldn't. And he planned on doing the same on the return trip, when it should be he that rode, resting for when he would be needed again, at camp.

The downgrade was steep and rocky, the FRED lurched violently, the man in the Stokes showed every movement in a grimace or blanching of his face. The worst jolts punctuated with soft cries of pain. He was unconscious and still he reacted to the movement. Driving was my task; Marie could, but would have been thrown off eventually, for she could only depend on one arm for support. The blocky rocks slid under the tires and I was forced to hop on and off constantly, I knew that this was going too slowly and I knew why. Only how do I fix it? My opportunity came after I had slipped back on board, looked at O'Neill out of habit, and was startled to see his eyes were open.

"Colonel O'Neill, I don't know if you recall me..."

"Geologist, Ellis, Montgomery, Captain," hissed between clenched teeth as the FRED bottomed out against the non-trail, eyes snapping shut for a moment.

"Well I guess you do, not that it surprises me. But did you know that Lt. Van Sickle is out there killing himself because of you?"

Despite what must have been painful brightness to those newly open brown eyes, they widened in surprise at my words. They quickly darkened to black coals and narrowed as if trying to see at a great distance. And suddenly shifted away.

"What?" He tried to lift his head, which I promptly prevented, wagging a finger at him.

"He sees the pain of every jar you take, he's personally removing obstacles from the path of the FRED." I could feel his attempt to lever himself up enough to see for himself, I firmly held him down, too easy a task. This was making navigating the slope difficult and I wandered from my intended path.

"What!" O'Neill grunted out just as his eyes slammed down against more pain as we humped over another rock.

"Yes, he is. He's tired Sir. He hasn't slept, he pushed himself hard getting here and he's pushing harder getting back." I held the FRED's control box up for him to see as I gently pushed the tiny joystick into a slow quarter circle, successfully avoiding the next unstable rock.

"But..."

My god, the man looked puzzled, did he not think the kid wouldn't go to such trouble for him? Maybe it just never occurred to him, for such an intelligent man he seemed rather dense at the moment. Knowing so little of him, he may have very good reasons for this denseness, or maybe it's an effect of his injuries? No matter, this needed to be resolved.

"There is only one solution, I know you have an aversion to it and I don't pretend to know the reasons, but I know what will happen if this keeps up. Lt. Van Sickle will get hurt or worse. Only you can fix this. If you weren't of such vaulted rank I wouldn't hesitate, even if the boy refused to speak to me as long as I lived. However, I will not embarrass him, he is in charge and he respects your refusal and is doing the only thing left to him. And it's your fault, Sir."

Having kept my eyes on my task, picking the FRED's path carefully, I now risked a glance. He was looking inward, eyes fixed on feet he could not see, as if the outside world did not exist. Mere moments later his eyes locked with mine, the command unspoken, I slowed and stopped our descent; he spoke.

"Get 'em."

Nodding my reply, I felt sick, I had just bullied an injured man into something he really didn't want to do. His eyes had held the same determination that Eric's had when he clung to the Stokes by nothing more than his fickle fingers, remaining there by will alone. But what else could I do?

Bringing the FRED to a stop did not immediately bring Eric running, he was down slope, back bent, straining to shift a large stone, almost a boulder, I did not think that two men could have budged it. But this young man has recently learned that things don't get done unless one tries and he tries mightily. I felt a misplaced pride in him, misplaced because I had nothing to do with this new attitude, the man next to me did.

Slipping from my perch I awkwardly knelt and picked up a few pebbles. Tossing one in the lieutenant's direction, I popped it off the sole object in his current universe. He exploded upward and nearly fell on his butt as his feet slipped in the grit dusted across the hard rock trail. Lifting a hand to shade his eye, I could mentally see the squint as he wondered what the hell prompted the pebble. I waved at him to come. He dropped his gaze to the ground and started the tricky task of trudging back the thirty steep feet to me. I watched him during his approach; occasionally he would raise his head and look at me with a question writ across his grimy sweaty face. He should have been excited, he should have flown up that trail, but he had no energy, he was close to collapse.

And this is why we were booted from the military; we were now unable to go the distance. Even if we were never intended to need it while here, it seemed that this endurance was still needed, if lacked. If we had but one able-bodied person along, we would not be in this predicament. All of us, except O'Neill, were uninjured, but possessed a disability that prevented the kind of endurance needed for this kind of mission. My report would reflect that even at a 'safe' base that there should be a certain percentage of able-bodied personnel for emergencies.

When Van Sickle was mere feet away I indicated the Colonel, who lay quietly, unmoving or unable to move, his eyes so hooded they were black and glittered unhealthily. Yet, when those eyes beheld my tired commander, the boy leader, they softened as I had noted they tended to do, his whole body seemed to relax, shifting the pain elsewhere. Only for a moment, then the dark coals returned and the body stiffened as Eric smiled and leaned over him.

"Morphine," croaked from the blistered lips.

Still it was a fierce demand none could mistake. If he could have moved he would have trust forth an arm, baring the skin, ready for the needle he so dreaded. Raw courage. Duty.

Eric's face showed a shock that even the flush of exertion and dirt could not disguise, it did not slow his mind for his next words were to me.

"Captain Everett, could we have some privacy please?" I nodded and moved off, out of earshot, but not sight.

Colonel Jack O'Neill

Pain hit in waves, interwoven with troughs of numbness. Eliciting coherent thought was damned near impossible. But I had to, needed to. Eric was in a bad way and my delicate sensibilities were making his situation worse.

Fraiser was gonna kick my ass, but good, for letting this happen, I'd promised to keep the kid safe, quiet, let him rest and recover. So here he was pulling my nuts outta the fire, pushing himself too hard, all because of my own stupid little emotional needs, getting him to like me, including him, appearing to give him the support he craved. And look what it's gotten him. He's about to drop in his tracks.

My dramatic outburst spent my reserves; my demand for that hated drug is now the only thing keeping me from slipping back into the dark. A dark filled with flares of blinding pain. Something was wrong. I've been hurt enough to know that. Hurts worse than that blotched HALO jump and the nine days it took to crawl away from the landing.

The pain I could live with, it was the lack of it that scared me. It seemed to be spreading slowing from my back outwards, shot through with a case of pins-and-needles like nothing I'd ever felt, worse then those that I'd had when thawing out from Antarctica. That cold still lived in my bones and was greeting the new chill that followed my rapidly expanding problem as a long lost lover, as if my very blood had stopped and was cooling in place.

Try as I might, nothing worked. No wiggling toes, wagging fingers -- damn -- I couldn't even lift my own head to look around. I had to convince the kid of what I wanted him to do. I would not have him paying the price that only I should be paying. I wasn't stupid, no matter what I try to convince people of, I may never move again, I knew about back injuries. I was unmoving meat now. But the kid still had a chance at a future and that I would protect if possible. He was still my responsibility and that I would not shirk.

We stared at each other as Captain Everett moved away, Everett was a good man, one I would have to speak to, he was not happy at telling me what he had and may harbor the idea that had strong-armed me. Fat chance of that.

"Sir... Jack... ?"

My friend, Lt. Eric Van Sickle, the person I seemed to be destroying by just laying here, was puzzled. He's smart he'll soon figure it out, and then leave; that would be for the best. Being around me has never long been healthy for anyone.

"Morphine," my stubbornness was my only ally in protecting him; I refused to fail in that role again.

"But... ?"

"Please."

Even as dull as my brain was, his reaction was slow, proof of his fatigue, but that stubborn mask finally slipped into place, I remember when Charlie... swallow ...when Charlie did that. This would be a battle of wills, one I had to win and lose at the same time.

"Why now?"

His face flitted from concern to anger over that background of stubborn as he ground that question out. Yep, seen that before. Only the truth would work now.

"You tell me."

'Coward,' echoed across the morass under my mental feet. 'Tactical 101,' whispered and ghosted in swirls through it. Something inside me never made living with me easy, possessed of a perverseness that forced me to make others reach for what I could easily tell them. Back in a time when I could have been described as innocent, near the dawn of another era, I was told I was a frustrated natural teacher. I know now that no one should ever learn what I know.

"You're in pain."

"And..." Come on kid; tell me something I don't know.

"What did Monty say to you?"

"And... " Dramatically I rolled my eyes to hide the laboring of my lungs from the force I placed behind that repeated word.

"Damn it Jack, I'm tired..."

"Exactly." Yes, you are, that's the whole point of this exercise.

"What's that mean?"

"You tell me." Use that brilliant brain of yours; out do this old soldier.

"We're just running in circles here."

"Exactly." You're a good kid. Two for two. You're doing too much shitting around here; ya gotta go.

"Fuck! There's no time for this!"

"Exactly." Damn, he's so close to seeing it. One more little leap of logic.

"And you're gonna say 'You tell me,' again aren't you."

I nodded. The cogs were moving.

"You want me to reason this out?"

I nodded again and watched from under half mast eyelids, holding them up was becoming difficult, I was cold.

"You're in pain," he ticked off a finger, "I'm tired, running in circles," two more fingers, "and no time," dropped yet another.

"Morphine," I uttered quietly from behind my traitorously lidded eyes.

"And Morphine..."

In my mind I saw yet another finger ticked off.

"But, it's not the same as the rest..."

"Solution."

His sudden intake of breath was my answer, seeing his face wasn't necessary, even if I could open my eyes. Warm fingers against my cheek caused me to flinch violently.

"But..." Now was the time for the truth.

"I can't be hurt anymore." And, that hurt, as the truth always does, hurting me, and I knew it was hurting him, probably worse than me. "Not your fault."

"Are you sure?"

Concern was slathered thickly across his words, disguising their meaning. He needed a spur and now was the time.

"Get to the Gate, Lieutenant," putting as much command voice as I could into the words, biting them out. And like the coward I knew I could be, I slipped into the waiting darkness.

Captain Montgomery Ellis

What was said I guess I'll never know. O'Neill seemed the type that would die before he ever revealed a word, and Eric was fast learning that tactic too. Guessing was the only thing I could do.

Eric turned from O'Neill, his face like stone, beckoning to Captain Everett. When Maria arrived he asked her to inject the colonel with a dose of morphine and apologized for the fact that he didn't know how. Of course after that exchange, guessing really wasn't necessary. The colonel had remedied the problem, at his own personal expense. I hope the bill is not beyond his ability to pay or Eric's to survive. However, I can't imagine the man giving our young lieutenant any maneuvering room to assume any blame.

Once the drug had O'Neill firmly in its grip, Eric ruthlessly took to the trail, still careful of our cargo, but not as before. No longer did he stop to remove all obstacles. But when he did, his anger fueled his strength, but anger is fleeting and burns out quickly, as did his strength. He conceded his condition by hitching a ride on the FRED, but not for long, insisting that Marie trade off with him. She and I both took to using strategies to force him back to riding as soon as opportunity allowed. He stayed longer and longer each time.

We were more than half way, traversing a stretch of open level plateau; it was here that he finally succumbed to the needs of his own body. Stretched out alongside the Stokes, face buried it its side he fell asleep. One had to admire his ability to do that, as comfort was not something his position offered, but his body took what it could get. He was safe enough that way on this leg of the journey, in an hour we would begin the gentle decent into the broad shallow valley that contained the deepest of the streams that emptied into the creek canyon. Watchful of our path, I intended on keeping him asleep as long as I could. The stream ahead had been a difficult crossing the first time, and I expected no less this time.

Marie was walking ahead of the FRED, watching for problems and it was her yelp that awoke our young commander. She had slipped on the trail and slid upright for a few feet. Her balance was phenomenal, considering her inability to control one arm to advantage. She burst out laughing in relief, as did I. Dropping my head to stifle my mirth with a free hand I automatically swept my gaze across the two bodies in my care, one of them looked back at me.

"Sir, Ah... Eric... Feeling better?"

"Ah... Mmmm, kinda. What happened?"

"Marie is auditioning for the circus," I pantomimed a skating figure with my hands. He smiled shyly then frowned, dropping his eyes to the man between us.

"The Colonel... ?"

"Still out like a light. I've been keeping an eye on him. He seems better. Relieving the pain has to be helping. Don't you think?"

He snaked a hand over the edge of the Stokes to check the pulse in the man's neck, tested the temperature of his face and rested his spread hand on his chest, feeling it's movement. All the while still stretched out alongside the Colonel, but hitched up onto his side and leaning into the metal basket, using it as an anchor for his physical body as his hand upon O'Neill was his emotional one.

"Where... ?"

"Look, there's your answer," pointing down the gentle grassy slope to the slow ribbon of brush guarded water, unmistakable as our next obstacle. Beyond this only a few small streams, hardly chuckholes in our road, stood before the overgrown rubble ramp down from the plateau to our tunnel camp. After all we had cut the trail coming out and left it in a condition to return.

" 'member this one, we almost lost the FRED," he muttered almost to himself; as he sat and buried his face into his hands, dry washing it.

He must have been remembering the field of boulders just under the surface, like overrun stepping-stones. One tire had slipped off, not far luckily, he and I both used a sturdy branch lever to hold it while Marie inched it forward, then we heaved it up to the next stone. We had to be careful as the far wheel clung to another boulder precariously, it too could slip off, leaving the vehicle balanced on its undercarriage, wheels dangling. That would have been the end of our rescue mission, then and there.

"I want to scout out that field of boulders before we try it again."

He leaned against his now drawn up knees, one hand anchoring him to the Stokes as he stared off towards the stream, lurching gently with the motion of the FRED, every line of him screamed thoughtful and exhausted.

"A sound idea," I agreed, and it was, it had been a near thing.

The lieutenant stayed with the FRED, riding, until I stopped just outside the brush that fenced the stream, yet another testament to his fatigue.

Maria was hunting up and down the barrier, no doubt looking for plants as she had all the way. She came up to me when Eric slid off to check the status of the stream.

"How is he," she asked as she lay the back of a hand against the Colonel's cheek, she appeared satisfied with what she felt.

"He seems better, his breathing is more regular and he seems to have relaxed."

"That's good. He'll need another shot soon. Perhaps after we cross? How's the lieutenant?"

Her eyes sought out his form as he waded among the barely seen boulders like Poseidon bent on vengeance. Her face held something, something that told me she might just think of him as more than just 'the lieutenant.' Her attention returned to the Colonel, before rummaging among the medical supplies secured within the Stokes alongside the man's body, the only safe space available.

"He's exhausted," her eyes fastened on Van Sickle's distant figure, at how he further exhausted himself, her frown perhaps hinting of her disapproval of his exertions. "You're no better," she added, shifting her gaze to me and narrowing her eyes.

"As are you I expect," I steadily stared back at her and dared her to deny it.

"Maybe, but I didn't get up every hour on the hour, like an expectant father waiting for his son to get back from his first date either." Her face smoothed and a grin blossomed across it and I knew that I had been found out.

"That bad was I?"

Nodding, her attention now elsewhere, she muttered, "Last one," while hanging a clear bag of fluid on the portable IV pole. "We need to get to camp soon. He needs to get to the SGC even sooner I'm afraid." Her worry and fear leaked into her words, I felt defeated and expressed that to her.

"Do you think that it will matter?"

"I'm no doctor and this is a complicated injury, and you know just as much as I do. What do you think?" Her voice was defiant. Was she angry at O'Neill's dire condition, or, that I sounded as if hope was already gone?

"I really don't want to contemplate that, just one too many things for me to handle. SG-1 is supposed to be charmed, but O'Neill is without his team."

"This frightens me, he's stood between us and disaster more than once, now he'll never stand again. What will become of Earth now?" Marie's eyes held a deep anguish, an anguish I wished I could ease, but I felt it too. If I thought about this much more I knew I would find that hope was really gone. Maybe Earth's hope as well.

"I'm part of the military, but even I know many of the smart ones leave, or are forced to leave, as Eric will be forced out eventually." My statement seemed to catch her off guard. Had she not thought about this? Surely she knew this.

"We have to stop tossing out the smart ones, no matter how badly disabled they are. I wonder who's behind this project. He should get a medal or something," she stated vehemently, as her fingers brushed back some errant hair across the Colonel's forehead, like she was making him presentable.

"Didn't you know? You have your hands on the culprit right now."

"He did? He's so much more than he appears," giving me an incredulous look.

"That's why I really don't want to think about just how badly he's injured. We lose him and we lose so much. Even Lt. Van Sickle will be lost to us, to Earth and to himself. I don't want to see Eric become an embittered pensioner and I certainly don't want to see Colonel O'Neill become a cripple. A man like him will refuse to be that; he'll give up, or end it. Either way we lose another brilliant mind. It's too ugly to contemplate." I shudder at the words I'd just said, seeing those children that visit my home from time to time, such a coward to not try to remedy their plight. Maybe...

Colonel Jack O'Neill

Gone. All of it was gone, it was never there, and I knew this. But it felt so real?

Gentle rocking, memories of our child in my arms, of a pride and a boundless joy.

Such warmth by my side, an innocence that I could never mar and would kill to protect.

Warm exhalations, trust. Charlie.

Gone. No rocking, no breaths, no body beside me. Cold.

My soul wept at the loss. All I possessed was an empty feeling, sucking my heart into a whirlpool of numbness below my lungs.

Charlie!

Fleeting touches on my face and a warmth on my chest. But too soon gone. Charlie?

NO! It's the drug. Concentrate. If I'm not careful I'll lose my place in time. Think!

Tugging pain at my arm. Remember. I.V.?

Pain, a tried and trusted anchor. The whirlpool ate at it and I lost my tenuous hold on my questionable reason, slipping back into the dark.

Captain Montgomery Ellis

NO!

Running full out, my momentum pushed up a spray as I hit the stream. The deepening water slowed me, as had my clumsy trip over the sizable limb I had been dragging to the water in preparation of the next section of the crossing. The FRED was just past the mid point, above the deepest of the water when it tilted alarmingly.

Damn it, a wheel must have slipped. But Eric, where was he?

Marie was running towards me, from the opposite bank, I must have shouted. I had to have shouted out.

The Stokes wasn't centered on our transport as before, if it slipped off... O'Neill would drown. He was helpless.

The water was just below my lower ribs, it was chill and swift, and footing was difficult on stream's slippery bed. Pushing both arms out, I lunged for the now slipping Stokes. God, O'Neill was awake and looked to be struggling, eyes frantic, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Go. Go. Go. Forget me! Go."

His words rang in my ears as I cast a few loops from the loose rope ends around the edge of the basket and tied them to the upper edge of the FRED. Capt. Everett arrived to relieve me of that task. Swinging around I saw the lieutenant clinging to a boulder 40 feet downstream, just in time to see him lose his grip and be pulled under. O'Neill's screams were no more than grunts, too drugged for coherency; I tuned him out. Plunging into the water I swam, this was a risk in such boulder-riddled swift water, but I hoped that the hydraulics would suck me to the side before hitting any head on.

General George Hammond

There should have only been three people who knew about this; but I have all of SG-1, except for their missing teammate and all of SG-2 standing ready in the Gate Room. Unauthorized and unasked. How do you punish that kind of insubordination? Tradition dictates medals.

This is an occasion, Major Carter's newest UAV is poised to launch. Thank God, the little thing is constructed of off-the-shelf parts, her answer to the budgetary pressures the SGC must endure. The model plane would be at home any Sunday in any open field, a cheap, fuzzy digital camera and a short range sender shares half of its hollow body with the liquid fuel that will keep it airborne for a staggering four minutes before a one time data burst fries the sender. Then its small airframe will crash to the alien soil forgotten, so cheap that recovery isn't an option.

The loss and injury to UAV recovery teams forced this decision on us, I for one agreed with it. Lives don't come off shelves.

The little plane flies for the upper quadrant of the Gate, just scooting under the ring that could easily have shattered it into a million pieces. The young lieutenant at the radio controls is a bright red, but focused on his job as never before. For him it is now a task to complete perfectly, to make up for the shaky start. He's flying blind, his eyes closed in concentration, lips moving, counting off seconds as his hand slowly rotates the tiny stick on the control. Imagining the toy spiraling upward above an alien Gate he cannot see.

Silence rules here, not even the SF's restlessly shifting below can fill it. Only the sudden tapping of keys from Sgt. Davis' station let only the closest know that the data burst has happened. It's happened! Damn, there is hope!

As if on strings, those of us in the Control Room, close on the sergeant, I have the rank to allow clear sight of his workstation screen.

"Water!"

It's difficult to stifle the urge to slap a hand over my uncontrollable mouth. Carter is there in an instant slipping into the workstation on the sergeant's other side, perhaps left open for this very reason. Her key tapping is much faster, more frenzied and mayhap more productive.

"Sir."

"Yes," I croaked through my tightened throat.

"Both MALP's are underwater, the Gate is partially submerged. Sir, MALP's aren't built for that." Her smile is like sunshine after a storm. She sees hope.

A realization occurs, if the lieutenant handling the toy plane had control of it when it had gone through the Gate, we would never know this information and the whole mission would have been lost. O'Neill's luck again rears it's head. Just when you believe there is no recourse, something happens, but I also know that payback is just around the corner. And with Jack, it's never pretty.

Now that we know what's wrong, just what the Hell do we do about it?

Colonel Jack O'Neill

It was gonna be a rough jump, the plane's lurching from side to side in short jerky chops. Crap, we have no business jumping under these conditions, but Special Forces go when and where needed. Difficulties are our stock in trade.

Been sleeping, but it's so rough, all I can do is doze.

'Teal'c pull up!' We slam through the blossom of flame, buffeted so badly I bang my head and gray out.

Cracking an eye, I slam it shut. Bright, way too bright to be that pesthole. Carefully I move my leg, the cuff and chain is gone. Okay, been there, done that. They must want to play. A shadow crosses over me and I slit my eyes just enough to see a very bright white blur. I feel a tug on my arm, a painful tug, and then a burning crawls up the vein. The world blurs and becomes black.

Awareness returns in a dim room. But the sounds, those I know. I spent way too long in a hospital after Iraq. Why am I here? The cause crashes in on me and I jerk upwards, ripping the IV from my arm, I stumble from the bed. Charlie and blood, so much blood, I trip, glancing my head off of the wall. I sink below the thick red cold blood that had been my son's.

Broad bands of padded leather, I feel them first and remember why they are there. Knocking myself unconscious was more than enough reason for them to truss me up like this. All the nurses are afraid of me, thinking me just an animal after Iraq. Who cares if tying me up is the last thing I want, after all, I've spent most of the last four months restrained in one way or another. What should it matter?

The first sight to greet me is the watery light are eyes, green eyes. Not quite a matched set. One flashes surprise as they drop from sight. I panic and throw up the sash, there below me is Charlie sprawled on the grass below. Not moving.

Charlie! I can't move!

A man is suddenly there, leaning over me, his hand on my chest, I plead with him.

"Go. Go. Go. Forget me! Go."

He's wet. Why is he wet? He's tying me down. I can't move?

I cry, scream and mumble my son's name, imploring this stranger to help him. He's too interested in the restraints. He pushes away and nods in satisfaction before leaving.

Someone else touches me, asking me to relax. With an effort I move. And in a flash of horrible pain I pass out.

General George Hammond

"I will go."

Burying my face in my hands I sigh loudly, usually I would never allow anyone to see my inner thoughts or emotions through my physical behavior, but I can't help it. This briefing has been long and arduous. And seemingly the stars on my shoulder mean little or nothing.

"Teal'c, I can't allow you to risk your life this way," said as I remove my hands from my face and raise them towards my current biggest problem.

My actions garner looks of sympathy from further down the table, and just a few glares, mostly from his teammates. They have no more patience, they want O'Neill back and they want him back now. Well, so do I, but I know that losing lives in the process would harm the Colonel more than he might already be harmed.

"Nevertheless, I will go."

Both Jackson and Major Carter, minutely nod their heads in agreement at that statement.

"Sir, with the proper equipment, it's not much of a risk," the blond astrophysicist blurts out.

My direct gaze reduces her to a bright red, and then Jackson speaks up.

"You see, General Hammond, we need to do something now, before the situation worsens. Before it's too late," he finishes, removing his fingers from the tabletop; he pushes his glasses further up. All during his words he had been using those fingers to tap out his points. My glare had no effect on him at all. All his thoughts were on his friend, Colonel O'Neill; Jack.

All of our thoughts were of him and the others on PBX 123, as are mine.

"And if something does go wrong, if Teal'c is lost? What do you propose to tell Colonel O'Neill then?"

My most vocal opponents looked stunned, none had thought of that. There is a reason I have these stars on my shoulders, I'm here to take into account every angle. And this angle would do more harm to Jack, even more than if we were to stand, and watch him bleed to death through our mutual inaction.

"Good. Teal'c I am willing to let you go under the condition that all precautions as taken. None of us here want to burden Colonel O'Neill unnecessarily. Do we?"

From the faces up and down the conference table, my point had been driven home. Haste makes waste. Jack would cringe at that, he really hates clichés. I've always wondered why, he uses enough of them himself.

Jack would much prefer us to move slow and careful. He already sees himself as a harbinger of death, so many have died around him; survivor guilt is a real problem for him. He doesn't need to have another name added to his list of deaths he believes he is personally responsible for, no matter how improbable that assumption can be. And I for one refuse to allow him any further chances to make such illogical leaps of guilt.

Standing I give my two-star stamp of approval.

"People, you have a go."

[see Chapter Fourteen]