Teal'c

Among those that CaptainEllis and I had encountered was Lt.Wong. It is he that has been caring for O'Neill. His concise words are as rapidly uttered as his steps. He was anxious, worried. He feared for O'Neill. My own grew with each step closer to my warrior brother.

Our passage echoed in the twilight of the ramp. O'Neill lay in the middle level of this rock warren and my guides assured me that it was accessible from an entrance that opened onto our current path. Lt.Wong indicated the desired opening, yet my attention was diverted as a faint cry drifted from it.

"CHARLIEEEEeeeee!"

'O'Neill!' Even this faint and faded, his pain reverberated in that cry. His terror, and mine, lay on my tongue, its foul taste bitter to me. Launching myself toward that dark tunnel I pulled Lt.Wong in behind me, but only for a second. He too, had heard, and sprinted to stay with me. My guide pointed out the correct corridor as twilight flashed to perpetual darkness as we passed from ramp to tunnel. The Tau'ri beside did not hear faint sounds of struggle then relative quiet that my enhanced hearing relayed. Using the strength given by the false god within, I pushed faster, leaving my companions behind. Hand on weapon, I surged forward, fear for my friend at my heels.

Swiftly racing down the long, wide corridor I could feel the increasing warmth and see light spilling from an opening. Foolishly I stopped in that opening, before me, across the room, lay O'Neill, barely recognizable, swaddled in blankets within a rescue basket. Lt.VanSickle knelt on the other side of him facing in my direction, but his attention was on my warrior brother, he was administering to his needs, I was sure. But a dark, slim figure rose at O'Neill's feet, hand raised, and the familiar flat black of a large flashlight held aloft by it. O'Neill's Son of the Heart raised his head and froze at seeing me, just as that figure's hand descended towards his unprotected back.

"No!" Exploded from my lungs.

Pulling, deploying and aiming was a well-practiced move, this threat would not harm one I was sworn to protect. Victory flushed me as I squeezed the trigger, I knew that Lt.VanSickle would be caught in its passing, but better to ache than risk certain injury. Intent on his assailant I was late to see the look of shock upon my warrior brother's chosen. More shock than my appearance would account for. As the shadow dropped harmlessly to the floor, the one I wished to protect tried to speak. Nay, to cry out, a word I could read, if not hear. 'No.' Confusion gripped me.

Gliding across the stone floor of the chamber, zat ready, I surveyed it, hunting for additional targets, yet keeping the first constantly in sight. Behind me I heard Lt.Wong stumble in, then CaptainEllis.

"Ancestors!" Sounding no less vehement than my own outburst upon entering, the second arrival used a more standard Tau'ri term of derision. Swinging around, distrust colored their countenances, and vanished when I waved my weapon in the direction of the shadow. It was CaptainEllis who identified it as one of their group, a certain CaptainIronHorse.

As the others exclaimed over the ramifications of the tableau before us I approached the twitching body of the lieutenant, helplessly sprawled across O'Neill. Stepping over the Stokes, I knelt to gently grip the younger man, easing him up to cradle him within my arms. His eyes sporadically opened and closed, garbled words slipped from grimacing lips. He was in greater pain than I had expected, had experienced.

Carefully I straightened his limbs and listened to his babble, to my shame it was not babble. From his own lips, he told of hurting O'Neill, only no reason was given, again and again he asked my forgiveness, he was distraught and grief-stricken by what he had done. Thinking I had attacked him for the transgression. He begged me to see to O'Neill, to forsake him -- to forgive him.

What had transpired here, I was not sure, but I knew that Lt.VanSickle would never harm O'Neill without good reason. Raking my eyes across the still shadow tossed like flotsam against the wall nearby, I believed he had a very good reason. Part of it lay before me, but I needed to discover the remainder.

"Here, let me take the Lieutenant," Lt.Wong, appeared at my side, holding out compassionate arms for the body I held and I gave the boy up to him, knowing from just the short time in his presence that he held him in high regard and would succor him, protect him. Easily I passed my burden to him, turning my attention to my warrior brother.

O'Neill was in a similar state of consciousness, neither awake nor totally unaware. His dead son's name grunted from clenched jaws, evidence of his pain as he restlessly, jerkily moved his arms and head. A tickle of blood threaded across his neck from an obvious puncture wound at his throbbing exposed veins.

Lt.VanSickle was being well cared for by Lt.Wong, who muttered to the agitated younger man, breathing soft words of O'Neill being safe and cared for, succeeding in quieting an outpouring of self recrimination from his disoriented charge. Clearly the boy avoided looking in my direction. To avoid the sight of O'Neill? Or, of me, whom he still presumed zatted him for his actions? Such inquiries must wait; now, my warrior brother is my first concern.

"Is there water?"

CaptainEllis was quick to provide cloth and water, most perceptive of him. Bathing my friend's face and neck, cleaning off the blood, I felt his heat, his very dryness. With soft touches, in place of words, I slipped water between crusty, cracked lips, forcing him to ease their tightness, blocking his sounds of distress. I did what I would have done with my own son -- I comforted him. Under my hands, his body relaxed. He slipped beyond reason. Hopefully into a place better than I knew he was accustomed to. Fingers slipped to the wound, that had let slip his lifeblood, his heart was strong, steady. There was time still.

"What has happened here?" I asked looking up from my kneeling position next to O'Neill, pinning CaptainEllis with my eyes. He was distressed, I did not accuse.

"I don't know, I wish I did," his tone was sorrowful, eyes slightly wide. He was clearly horrified and confounded by what we found within this chamber. His eyes held compassion for my brother and his chosen, as they shifted from one to the other.

Lt.Wong rose, his charge still and unmoving, and approached.

"Lt. Van Sickle wasn't making much sense, but from what I gather. He was attacked and knocked out. The assailant tried to inject him with a syringe, but Colonel O'Neill pulled that person off him, preventing that from happening. But the Colonel seemed bent on choking the life from them. The Lieutenant had to use force to save that creature's life." He indicated the unconscious woman lying unbound on the floor. "He broke the Colonel's arm in the process. The he saw you and he believed you zatted him for hurting O'Neill. I've never seen anyone zatted before, but have studied the aftermath of it. The lieutenant's reaction is not typical. He's still in pain."

"Look, there's a syringe on the floor," Captain Ellis, moved towards it, careful not to touch. "Maybe we should, well... bag it?"

"Excellent idea Monty, evidence," answered Lt.Wong, who rose, retrieved a specimen bag and rubber gloves, and did just that. I waved him over; I wished to see this coward's weapon.

"You will need an additional bag," I stated to him and pointed out an additional syringe, in the shadow of the Stokes, an empty one, unlike the bagged one, the one that must have been meant for Lt.VanSickle. This shadow had emptied the contents of this into my warrior brother, explaining the wound he bore. Rising I approached the shadow, toeing her over roughly.

"Rope."

As Lt.Wong retrieved the syringe, 'Monty' scrabbled for something with which to bind the shadow. Returning with parachute cord, favored by O'Neill for its many purposes, I knelt to the task with great satisfaction. Multiple wraps at ankles and knees, elbow and wrist; further binding the single arm behind her back and closely tethered it to the wraps at her knees. This shadow would not move. I left her upon her face in the dust as befitted the unworthy.

Returning to O'Neill I observed that Lt.Wong was in the process of checking his status.

"O'Neill?"

"I'm not sure, but I think he may have been injected with more morphine. From first glance, a dose is missing. As for the other syringe, it's color is off, probably not morphine. It's anyone's guess. The Colonel has depressed breathing and now deepening unconscious state. I will splint his arm. But he must receive care soon."

"I concur."

"And Lt. Van Sickle?"

"Some rest, though I'm not certain. We'll know soon, he already shows signs of awaking."

"Does he require immediately medical care?"

"No, I'm certain of that, he's in no real danger, just very uncomfortable. He was in an exhausted state when this happened. Rest will cure more than medicine. And perhaps meaningful words."

"Then I shall need help to get O'Neill to the Gate; words I have."

Captain Isiah Cochran

"This isn't going to be much help to me."

My buddy, the Bird Colonel, minced back and forth, compulsively straightening his uniform, finger creasing the creases to even more crease-ly-ness, gettin' that just pressed look he likes to have. He was driving me nuts. I swear ever day since the general's assignment of punishment, he's gotten worse. He really needed to shrink himself.

"Of course, it will. The Colonel's a standup kinda guy. No problemo," I poured on the positive, anything to calm him down, he was wearing a path in that lush carpet of his and I swear if I didn't know better, I'd think he had a crush on the man. Pre-date jitters. Now, if I could get to O'Neill, it was a done deal -- for me, but Mac here, he was gonna have problems. Colonel O'Neill hated his guts. Wouldn't have 'em for garters. Nada, no way, yepper.

"Perhaps not for you. He probably likes you," that statement resulted in yet more compulsive preening, cockatoos had nothing on this guy.

"Me! I can't even get an appointment," I admitted. And why was that? O'Neill had specifically requested my transfer in. Requested! So, why won't he even talk to me?

"That's another difference we have. I can. Not that it would help any."

He had me there, being the head shrink had its advantages, like being able to order the Colonel to show up at an appointment. Bad idea in my opinion, that was sure to piss him off. Better to invite him, offer him something he couldn't get otherwise; like a first hand account of that mess at the old grocery store.

"Hey, it's not that hard, you explain the whole thing, just as it went down. Don't leave out a thing. He can't help but do the right thing. Or is the great Colonel MacKenzie chicken?"

Cluck, cluck. Can't blame him though, O'Neill could kill him deader than a doornail with his pinky. Mac here has just the right temperament to push any man into that kind of action. Good thing I like the wimp or I'd have to kill him myself.

"Was it the right thing? General Hammond had every right to have us locked up at Leavenworth for what we did. But he gave us each a conditional reprimand. Leavenworth would have been easier. Colonel O'Neill will never sign off on its removal and assign punishment. And I believe that the general knew this. I'm sure he doesn't like me either."

Geez! He's doesn't think the general punished us enough! What a glutton.

"Hey, MacKenzie, I got news for ya, I don't think anyone else does either," grinning widely, I swung my foot a bit harder as I slouched on the corner of his on-base office desk. Nice desk too, all cherry, and not the kind that comes off on ya hand. Impressive.

"Thank you. Just when I thought that I couldn't get any more depressed, you opened up whole new depths of despair for me with that statement."

Shit! He looked down in the mouth. I didn't mean to kick him that hard, poor socially deprived pooch.

"Hey, I was kidding. I... well, kinda... maybe... well... I like ya."

"You do."

That perked him right up, in a kinda 'don't quite believe what I'm hearing' way. And, well, I do like the dumb galoot.

"Yeah. Everyone warms up to a kicked puppy, even if it's a three-legged pit bull," I said and smiled hugely, huffing a few guffaws for good measure.

"Ha Ha. Have your fun. I'm sure I'll never be able to convince the man to remove that reprimand from my file. This is the end of my career."

Oops, down in the mouth -- again!

"Hey, I have an idea," jumping down from his desk I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. His eyes kinda rattle, like a cheap doll's.

"Oh, I should transfer, or just resign!"

"Naw. Besides that won't solve the problem. We need to win Full Bird Colonel All-American Hero 'Jack' O'Neill over to our way of thinking, that's all." I push off from him, he wavered a bit and I raised both arms in triumph. We had it made in the shade.

"You are in great need of a good analyst. Here, get comfortable," he pointed to that movie prop of a shrink's leather tufted coach of his. "I'm sure I can arrange a visit to a very special room off base. Basic white?"

Crap, he made a joke. Didn't he?

"Was THAT a joke?" I couldn't keep the big-toothed smile off my face at that. Lord above there was hope for this socially crippled dork. Moving right up to him I swung an arm around his back, gripped his shoulder firmly and rubbed my loose fisted hand, knuckles down, over his head, he ducked down and tried to push me away. Wasn't gonna happen.

"Stop that. What would someone think if we're caught like this," he wailed in a high-pitched voice, still struggling to get away, I held on tight. This poor excuse for a Bird Colonel was gonna get all the brotherly love he could stand, and then some.

"Like they don't already think we're gay now?" I laughed, letting him loose. He jumped away and glared at me. I laughed even harder. He gave me a funny look and then turned to a small ornate, decorative mirror, revealing it's true vain purpose in his office. He checked himself. Bet he did that every time he stood up from that desk. Patting his hair with a hand he erupted into the most unmanly giggles I'd ever heard. Well, at least since I left second grade and my voice changed. He turned to look at me, I patted my head and he laughed harder. He looked almost human with mussed hair and we both laughed for a few minutes until we were reduced to the occasional hiccupping snort.

"What did you have in mind," he wheezed out once he could breath well enough to talk.

"Simple. Kill 'em with kindness."

Teal'c

O'Neill has oft times explained 'hunch' to me, describing it as a feeling of rightness, of properness, of need. It was not proper that these two, who have sought each other out should be so separated by any distance. I could feel their need to be close, this 'feeling' caused me to suggest to Lt.Wong and CaptainEllis that perhaps, before they left to seek transport, that watching over them would be simpler if they were closer to one another. They were agreeable and it was only the work of mere moments, yet it lifted the weight of the overbearing alien stone from my soul when each was close enough to feel the heat of the other.

After the others had left, I sat with my back to the entrance; confident that I would hear any approach long before it could be a threat. Resting my crossed arms upon my raised knees, I sought to warm myself, or perhaps my inner self. To see O'Neill and his Son of the Heart like this chilled my heart with sorrow. Concentrating my attention upon my commander and friend, I watched as he fidgeted in distress. He was fearful; a strange state for one who does not frighten easily and wondered what demons possessed him to bring him to such a state.

In contrast to my friend's restlessness his chosen lay preternaturally still, his young face tilted towards me. How like a child. Precious and so easily lost, I saw O'Neill in him. He too can appear innocent when unaware, though we both know that is impossible, his innocence sacrificed on the altar of honor as mine was on the altar of my false god. He was innocent once, as perhaps I had been.

"Charlie..."

The hoarse whisper draws me to glazed, unguarded amber eyes; he can be so guileless and vulnerable when injured, and it shocks me. This name he breathed, I knew, and the tragic memories it invoked. Many times, O'Neill has visited that certain inner field of agony, adding new furrows of anguish with each remembrance. Experience leads me to not react to his seeking of his dead son, but to attempt to steer him from such thoughts. To distract, not deny.

"All is well. Rest."

"Charl..."

His restlessness stills once he catches sight of Lt.VanSickle, I watched as O'Neill's hand stole over the edge of the Stokes to rest on the lieutenant's hair, he sighed as he closed he eyes, his breath slowed, he slept, but the hand remained and occasionally his fingers stroked through the dark strands. He knew where the child was, that was all he really needed to know. His fear now gone.

Seldom is my life-hardened heart pricked by such pain as this scene causes. How one such as I, who has brought death to perhaps thousands, can have a living son. Yet this man, one whom I hold above all others, who has saved millions, lives daily with the loss of one and believes it to be his fault, worse to see it nearly repeated with his chosen. There will be a reckoning for this very deliberate pain caused to them both, I will see personally to that. Even forsaking the new ways that O'Neill represents, jeopardizing the future of my people if that must be, no one shall walk from this unpunished. I swear on the blood of my warrior brother, blood he and I have shed in joined battle with those who would follow false gods. We are more than brothers of commingled blood; we have dipped gory hands into each other's very souls. Nothing can separate us, not even death.

Dropping my knees, I assumed the cross-legged posture of Kelno'reem and entered it lightly. Using it to gather my strength, to contemplate the situation and guard my brothers. Many minutes passed before the younger finally stirred, he was very late to awaken, which concerned me. To accidentally have harmed him beyond that which I intended weighed heavily on my heart. One should never be required to harm a friend, but both he and I have done so.

Swiftly I rose to my knees to retrieve O'Neill's now lax arm, laying it under the warm covering over him before reaching out to touch the younger man's shoulder. My touch drew him to himself, an eye blinked at me uncomprehending. An indrawn breath and the clenching shut of his eyes told me he recognized me and thus remembered the last time he saw me.

'Forgive me. Oh dear God, forgive me."

Words so faint that only I would have heard them, even O'Neill, who could have reached out to touch that pale shocked face, would not have heard those horrified words. And for that I was grateful.

Not speaking, I watched as O'Neill's young warrior rolled up onto a hip, pushed with his hands against sleeping pallet to raise his shoulders from the floor, pulling in his legs to support him. His eye opened and lit on his commander, only to shake his head, avert his sight and push himself away and kept pushing until he met the cold stone at his back, yet still he pushed. Showing his unwillingness to submit to even a physical barrier, one he would never overcome. Yet he tried. Fear had found a new vessel within this cold chamber.

"Lt.VanSickle what do you fear?"

"You. Me. Her." He waved at the trussed unconscious shadow still carelessly tossed against the wall. "You zatted me," he whispered, arms wrapping around him as he lay his cheek against the hard stone, hiding the eye that could see.

"Yes I did, but not for the reason you believe."

"No, I'm sure I have the right reason, I saw it in your face."

"You saw my anger that one I would protect was threatened, and my pleasure at ending that threat."

"Me."

"As O'Neill would say, 'the operative word is threat,' I am most precise in the words I chose."

The young man paused to consider my words, taking many minutes before glancing at me. The living green of that one eye encompassed such deep pain and self-recrimination, emotions I have learned to recognize in two amber eyes over the years. Could I see a spark of hope in their green depths?

"You said 'threat,' not 'harm?' "

"Indeed."

"I'm confused, I was the only threat here."

"You were not." Deliberately I pointed at the shadow. "That was the threat. Not to O'Neill -- but to you."

"Me? But you zatted me?"

"The shadow was very close. I regret it was not possible to exclude you," I bowed my head in apology to him, holding my eyes downcast until he considered my words and spoke his thoughts.

"You could have said something instead."

His voice was not the only sound, his movement to fully face me produced the rustle of coarse tough cloth and I raised my eyes to his and softly smiled my explanation.

"There was little time and it was a very large flashlight."

"Oh," he glanced aside at the almost weapon. "It is kinda heavy. But it doesn't absolve me of what I've done," dejection rang in his last words as he slumped against the wall at his back in defeat.

"You saved O'Neill from killing by accident."

As was wont with passionate youths, his defeat ignited into hot anger at my statement; he stiffened and became colder than the stone around us.

"Don't you understand? I BROKE HIS ARM!"

At that shout of pain, he shot to his feet, rushing for the corridor. I must prevent him from running, once started, he would believe it to be a viable tactic in future. One that I pray is purged from O'Neill one day. Emotions cannot be outrun.

"No. Listen. You shame yourself needlessly. You have done no wrong. If you had not acted as you did, I would have zatted you, calling you cur for not holding O'Neill back from killing, an act against his nature, but not his instincts to protect. That would have shamed you."

He slumped against the portal, using it to support him, dropping his head. A tremor coursed through him. Silence, not even his ragged breathing could be heard. Does he hold his breath?

"Teal'c, will I ever be as wise as you?"

Those words, so deflective, so much like my warrior brother, bought a smile to my face. He will not run again, he had no need.

"Why ask for what you now possess?"

Tensing, he straightened, building that mask that O'Neill carries like armor, this young warrior learns from only the best. He turned and walked back to me, I grasped his arm in a warrior's greeting, his fiery green eye, a reminder of the hurdle he daily traverses, looked deeply into mine. Opening the gates to my soul I allowed him to see the rightness of his act and my sincere regret that my actions caused him to think otherwise. Slowly his taut body relaxed and my smile was echoed, ghostlike, upon his pale feature. O'Neill's dark-haired warrior stood before me ready to do battle. Determination marked his very bearing. O'Neill will be proud, as am I.

Dr Daniel Jackson

"Sorry. Sorry."

Offering apologies in my wake I rebounded off the hallway wall and slewed around the corner.

The claxons still beat that blood pumping rhythm that made my heart skip beats as I raced for the Control Room. An airman caught my arm when I slipped on the last step up into the back of the room, he held on while my eyes adjusted to the gloom.

"Sergeant, report!"

KAWOOOSH!

The general's echoing voice was drowned by the Gate's roar as the room filled with blue metallic light, momentarily blinding me. Shaking off my help, I pushed into the forest of silhouettes, only to bump into someone else, who then latched onto me; I seemed to be forever being supported by someone.

"Daniel!"

"Sam! How'd you get here so fast?"

"Luck, I was in the Briefing Room when it started," her fingers bit into my elbow as she steered me towards the windows, keeping me upright when I struggled over something unseen, a chair perhaps. I'm not a klutz, honest, I just wasn't looking were I was going, my eyes glued to that field of shimmering blue. Where news of Jack might be had would come from there.

"Sir, it's SG-1's IDC code," quietly utters Sgt. Davis, his face surreally colored.

"Open the Iris, Son," General Hammond's relief could be heard in his words, but also something else.

The same 'something else' I felt -- dread. Where Jack is concerned nothing is every easy -- on him. We were about to find out what had happened, why the Gate had been underwater. All the answers -- all the tragedies.

Reminding myself to breath, I concentrated on the Gate, it took a few moments to realize that a FRED was emerging from it. 'Stokes' popped into my head just as the general's request for a medical team to the Gate Room blared over the speaker system. A rescue basket, complete with person, was secured to the four-wheeled conveyance. Teal'c stepped through behind it, bellowing for a medical team. Then... then, I knew -- it was Jack.

Sam's own shock of recognition was a sharply said, "Colonel," in an alarmed voice as she released her grip on my arm, I spun and blindly sought the stairs, it wasn't until I had lengthened my stride in the broad hallway before the blast doors that I head her boot clad feet close on my heels. Barely missing colliding with the wall I slithered through the slowly widening gap as the metal barricade retracted into the wall and raced into the cavernous space. Across the room a medical team emerged from the opposite blast door, surrounding the FRED before I could travel my greater distance to my injured friend. Large powerful hands snatched me from my flight, stopping me, forcing me to struggle against them.

"DanielJackson. MajorCarter."

Teal'c, it was Teal'c. His quiet acknowledgement of our presence calmed me; seeking his face I saw the mask he used when any of us were injured. Twisting in his grasp I looked in the direction of the Stokes, all I saw was a crowd of backs which, like a centipede moved back through the now gaping entrance they had entered through, leaving a denuded FRED. Pushing down the devastation that ignited in the pit of my stomach I shook off Teal'c's now loosened hold on me.

"Teal'c, my office please," General Hammond's amplified voice loud and raspy in the sudden stillness.

Was I the only living soul here? Out of more than a dozen others present here, was I the only one that felt this overwhelming crush to know, to see -- to touch Jack.

"Daniel," wrenching my eyes to Sam, I could see she felt it too. I wasn't alone. "Go, be with the Colonel, I'm going with Teal'c."

Words were unnecessary, I knew she felt horrible staying, but her loyalty to Jack forced her to stay and discover the military part of this apparent disaster, turning I fled after the centipede.

***

"Daniel?"

Warm fingers squeezed my shoulder, making me jump a little. It was a familiar slim, firm hand, and that same hand could calibrate the most delicate instrument or drop a Jaffa in their tracks. Sam. She slid down the wall to sit at my side, I didn't bother to lift my face from my folded arms, she's so close I can feel and hear her draw her legs up to her chest, keeping them from blocking the entrance to the Infirmary. We were like bookends here, waiting for our dented book.

"Have you heard anything?"

She asked me, I knew she was looking at me, studying me, I shook my head; she was concerned about me, but I knew she was terrified for Jack. Her voice was too cool, too precise; she was in that military mode that she and Jack could adopt in the blink of an eye, the one that so irritated me from time to time. The one that both would snap on when they got too close, cared too much -- to and for each other. My heart ached when they did that, too many moments could be their last, and they played this game of pretend.

"Teal'c says his back may be broken."

Her words hit me like a dry wind, one that sucked the life from any creature it touched. Tightening my arms around my knees, I buried my face deeper into my arms to fight the shudder that passed through me. Damn! This could be one of those last moments; for Sam, for Jack, and... for me. Unlike Sam I was free to express my admiration, my love to the man, not the kind of love they should be professing to one another, but love just the same. Losing Sha're nearly destroyed me, I survived thanks to Jack and I would survive losing him in turn. But it would be hard, very hard, but for him I would do it. He wanted me to live, so I would. How much harder would it be for her? I think it would be very hard for her. Maybe too hard.

"How?" I whispered, not moving, wishing this was all a nightmare and I'd wake up.

"He was caught in a flood. In that canyon on the planet, they had to go find him and lift him out of it. They brought him back almost two days ago and couldn't dial out."

Jack may have prophesied this, that one evening, when I stayed after my watch, into his, keeping him company. It was one of those rare times he dropped that 'dumb as a board' act and talked in excited tones about the geology around us. I knew his love of the stars, and I guess geology would be a natural extension of that, but he knew so much, far more than I'd thought would interest him. Oh sure he had to know some; he read all the reports, including the geology surveys for each mission, and acquiring rare metals, like Naquadah was one of our standing mission goals. He talked about the type of flood a canyon that narrow could experience, commenting that boulders the size of trucks would act more like Styrofoam than stone in the rushing water of such a flood.

"Oh."

"It gets worse." Sam's quiet voice didn't even waver. Pretending.

How could it be any worse? Jack pulled into a frothing maelstrom full of truck-sized boulders, fighting to avoid being crushed and unable to move now because he didn't quite make out in one piece. It couldn't get any worse. Could it?

"Worse?"

"He was attacked."

"Attacked, by whom? Is that why he got caught in the flood?" This time I looked at her, this time I projected my voice. Is this how he wound up in that canyon, did someone push him? Teal'c is not going to be happy if that's the case. Maybe I should have gone back with him?

"No, after. Daniel, he was attacked right there where everyone thought he was safe. She was a member of the team. He was strapped into that rescue basket; he'd just been given a morphine injection. He was helpless, and... and..."

Her distress cracked that military pretense of hers and brought me out of that selfish tight little ball of self-protection. Reaching out with my arm I draped it across her back, cupping her far shoulder in my hand, pulled her close and leaned in, giving her contact and comfort all in one. She huffed a shuddering breath. This was hard on her. This was always hard on her. She hated to see people injured or suffering, like her mother had. Her mother's death colored every event like this. She had been shown at a tender, impressionable age that death was the result of illness and even her staggering intellect couldn't convince her that maybe, just maybe, the outcome could be different.

"Teal'c's already back on the planet, with some SFs to retrieve the woman," Sam concluded in a more controlled voice, but she didn't move away, her need that great. She relaxed against me, accepting my comfort for once.

"A woman attacked Jack?"

"Yes. Teal'c believes she held him down and injected him with an additional dose of morphine."

"Held him down, in that condition, that... that was..."

My mind stalled, he was helpless. What could he have done? Cruelty was something I still couldn't understand, even after all I've seen and experienced.

"Brutal?"

"Yes... yes, " my voice trailed off to a whisper. It was -- brutal, something of a ruthless nature, uncaring, unfeeling and precise. She took my best friend and reduced him to nothing with precision; she ruthlessly and uncaringly held him down and tried to harm him. Where were the people who did care about Jack? "Where was Eric?"

"Out cold."

"That's how she could get to Jack, she took care of Eric first."

"Yes, but after injecting the Colonel she tried to do the same to the lieutenant, only somehow the Colonel pulled the woman off of him, nearly strangled her."

"He used his arms... then his back can't be broken," I squeezed her hard and smiled. This was good news, the best yet. Jack would be okay, he'd...

"Daniel, that depends on where the break was, his arms may work, that doesn't mean his legs will."

"Oh..." My fledgling elation plummeted. Sternly I reminded myself that it WAS good news. He could move his arms and... Wait, I don't recall seeing Eric? "Is Eric alright?" That question caused a new terror to grip me; Jack wouldn't take the kid being injured very well. Darn, I hope his absence here was a good sign.

"Yes and no."

"I don't understand?"

"He broke the Colonel's arm."

"What! Why...."

"The Colonel was out of it, he only saw that woman hurting someone, and he wouldn't let go. Eric was forced to break his arm to prevent him from killing her."

Jack is stubbornly singled minded; protection of those he trusts and loves is one of his highest duties. I could see him, confused, hurt and determined to end such a threat, a permanent solution would be uppermost in his mind, knowing his limitations, he would go for the kill. It's not a personal choice, just sound military strategy, my friend abhors killing, even if necessary. He has always been a reluctant soldier in that regard. And to think the noble ambition of flying for the pure joy of it lead him into covert operations, where they discovered he was good at killing.

That blackened Jack's soul, though not entirely, a golden incorrigible core will always remain, despite what he believes. And now Eric is being pulled down a similar road, and Jack will blame himself for the darkness that will tarnish his soul in turn. After many attempts to convince him otherwise, Jack still believes his own soul is condemned to the fires of Hell. He'll be in for a rude shock when he finds himself staring at those pearly gates. The thought lightens my heart just a tiny bit; I just hope he doesn't have the opportunity to quip about those gates quite yet; his friends still have to prepare him for that shock.

"Not the best of solutions, but preferable to the alternative. We're going to have a problem with both of them over this won't we?"

"Yes, I believe so. Teal'c intends to speak to them."

"Jack respects him, he'll listen. Can't say that he'll do more than that, but he'll hear Teal'c out."

"Daniel..."

"Yes?"

"You realize the Colonel might not make it and if he does, they'll be forced to retire him."

"I'm trying not to think about that. Better he never wakes up than be retired like that."

"You don't think the Colonel would be able to cope."

"Sam, think about it. Remember every instant he's forced to recover. Told not to move. Remember Antarctica, when that other doctor sedated him without his permission?"

"Yes, Janet tore into him but good."

"Sam, Jack was making everyone nuts and succeeded in hurting himself more than once. Later, I discovered what that doctor did was normal and Jack should have been moved to the psych ward and tied down until he was willing to do as his doctors told him."

"You don't suppose..."

"I'm pretty certain that's what the military doctors did to Jack after he escaped Iraq."

Visions of an emaciated, younger Jack struggling against pristine padded restraints, pinning him to crisp white sheets in a clean, airy room, being attended by sterile minded nurses muddied my thoughts. He must have believed he had gone insane. Didn't he just escape from those who had practiced total uncaring power over his body? He must have been terrified.

"Yeah, I see what you mean. He'd be a prisoner again."

"With no hope. He can't live without hope."

Teal'c

My arrival on PBX 123 was accomplished in but a step, far less effort than I had expended earlier in this day. Before me the on-world team was within sight, most with hands on weapons or communication devices. Weary. I nodded in approval; caution allows one to live longer.

Small groups toiled over the vast expanse, offering no central target if surprised, to my left Sgt. MacDowell stood from her undetected hiding place behind the two drowned MALPs. I surmised she must have been checking the units when the Chaapa'ai activated. Everyone was busy, a harmonious team working toward a common goal, the visible pride of a good leader.

Stepping down from the stone platform I heard the distinct sounds of the SF's exiting the Chaapa'ai behind me. The rustle of cloth, creak of leather and the almost inaudible sound of weapons slicing arcs through the air as they swept the area for threats, soon settling into a relaxed stance, too relaxed. Yet, one was vigilante, one still sought what the others no longer looked for. He, I would mark, attentive ones were hard to find, even among the Tau'ri. I would speak to O'Neill on his behalf, there were many teams needing new members.

Lt.VanSickle was the first my eyes sought, yet the last found. Only when he rose to his full height did I find him, he stood beside the opening that I had nearly fallen afoul of on my last, so recent, visit.

"Sgt.Plymouth, please take your men there," I pointed out the dark slot of the Ramp, "I shall join you shortly."

His acknowledgement came as I strode forward towards the on-world team's leader, O'Neill's young warrior -- his Las'la, Chosen.

This young leader has done his foster-sire proud, he stands, easily giving direction to the efforts around us, yet watches my approach. Much as the SF that had not relaxed, he was vigilante Fatigue hung as a pall over his features, he appeared somewhat bedraggled, still clothed in the soiled garments from before. He has not spared himself, driving to achieve his goal. I felt regretful that he remained here rather than return to the SGC to rest, he was not fully recovered when he arrived and I am certain that he will not rest until relieved of his command here. Something I do not foresee until O'Neill himself can do so. Hammond of Texas will wait, out of respect, rather than suborn my warrior brother's command.

Those teammates nearest him show concern; he has no doubt driven himself far beyond what is necessary. Stopping I offer a salute in respect for his obvious efforts, fisted hand to chest, dipping my gaze to the ground before fastening unto his green eye, finding it dulled.

"You are well?"

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Neither of us offers the clear negative our answers would give. A pained expression passes over the Las'la's face; he had hoped to hear of O'Neill, yet I left before any news was given. That was regretful, but my honor pushed me back to retrieve the shadow, a clear threat to his young warrior. My fondest wish at the moment was return him to the SGC rather than the prisoner, to see him cared for would be as if caring for O'Neill himself, something I had not the skill for, leaving my warrior brother in safe hands of DoctorFrasier.

"I have come for CaptainIronHorse."

He nodded his understanding, turning aside to speak to another.

"Captain Ellis, would you guide the SFs to the Captain, and please retrieve the laptop also."

"Gladly, Sir. Be right back," my former guide limped off toward Sgt.Plymouth.

"His limp increases."

"Can't get him to rest, he's become a leech since you left. They've all become leeches," a sigh only I could hear rasped from his clenched teeth.

"They worry for you. They will rest when you do. Sometimes it is necessary to lead by example."

He laughs, strain laced the amusement; I had not expected so open a reaction. O'Neill -- I had expected him to react as O'Neill would, he is Las'la, he is different, through inattention I had given him an equality, dismissed his own uniqueness, I felt trepidation at my lapse. Assuming a reaction is lying to one's self, death waits at the end of that path.

To see more of Lt.VanSickle's uniqueness I lead him into conversation, requesting the status of his mission. Asking what transpired here within the Gate Canyon. He spoke at length, his thoughts clear and concise, belying his appearance of near collapse. His sudden attention, gaze fixed beyond me, heralded the arrival of the prisoner.

"I must leave."

"Can you get word to me?"

"On my honor."

Inclining my head I pivoted and strode towards the Chaapa'ai. The Las'la's haunted expression and pleading deep within his eye crystallized my resolve that he shall have word as swiftly as I could force it in his direction.

CaptainEllis and I arrived at the stone platform simultaneously. Sgt.Plymouth's SFs dialed the gate, while the man himself stood on the opposite side, alone, a large hand clamped to the one arm of the shadow. They had brought special restraints for this one, but I had not heard of the intent to gag the woman. Yet, somehow it comforted me. Shadows should have no voices.

Once the connection was established the SFs and prisoner departed, I lingered awaiting the presentation of the laptop. The lieutenant had given no explanation and none had yet been offered by CaptainEllis. As the last SF disappeared, my companion spoke.

"This is all the information we have on the site and Eric's report on what happened. He spent most of the time you were gone on it, he'd just joined us when the Gate activated. Is there word on the Colonel?"

"No," I accepted the proffered machine, tucking it securely under my arm. "I have promised him word when I have it," I let my eyes indicate of whom I spoke, the captain nodded his understanding. My eyes lingered upon the Las'la. Somehow I communicated my concern.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of him," CaptainEllis tapped his watch. "Not much light left, and dawn is only detectable by a watch in the tunnels. He's gonna have his misplaced."

"Indeed," I smiled my approval, receiving a defiant smirk in return before I strode through the Chaapa'ai.

I would return.

Dr Janet Fraiser

There was a casualty coming in, from where or who it was -- I didn't know. All I knew was that there had been an unscheduled activation of the Stargate. It could be any number of worlds where we had teams. Nervously I checked the triage area, my staff was as efficient as always, everything in place and ready for use.

It was silent here, no patients, but I could hear the thud of feet coming from the elevators, the sound grew into an avalanche of noise culminating in a crash as the door burst open, startling me. An occupied Stokes flashed by me, my team already doing what was needed, Leaven stopped to brief me. Listening I watched as a man was lifted on the Stokes' detachable backboard and log rolled expertly unto the gurney.

Colonel O'Neill.

Pushing my personal concern down, I watched Leaven read from a sheet of paper detailing the patient's condition. Just for a moment I thought of them as instructions, as if the Colonel were a bicycle that needed assembly at Christmas, shaking free the insane image I fought to remain detached

Back injury, possible morphine overdose. A dose of injectable delivered by syringe when a member of the survey team had attacked him. I ordered the syringe run down to the lab for confirmation of morphine. There was a second syringe, but dismissed it for the moment, it wasn't part of this. Glancing at my patient I observed the tremors, actually small localized seizures, as they rippled across one side of the exposure burned and bruised face. One bared, freed arm already had IV fluids pumping into his veins, as another nurse prepared a multi-port in the other arm.

"Pupils myopic and sluggish."

"Ma'am, respirations shallow and 30."

Not good, I stepped in and helped to strip the uniform off of him. His body was covered in bruises and scratches. Exposure was evident over his hands, face and neck. His entire body was covered in sand and dirt. Hands methodically, gently cleaned, revealing a total body flush. One of the male nurses cut off his boots revealing water wrinkled, well formed, narrow feet. Probably the only part of him that was undamaged.

Every move was calculated, not jarring the unconscious object of our work. Leaven had told me of the loss of motor function in legs and arms, later a recovery of function in the arms. The legs remained the same it seemed, no reports of movement there. His paralysis was secondary, but we mustn't lose sight of it. We had to insure that the patient wouldn't die before we had time to deal with a possible broken back or spinal injury.

"Respirations shallow and 25."

"BP is rising."

My hands and eyes toured the nude battered body before me, leads appeared across his chest as if by magic, the medical music began.

Beep beep beep beep ---- beep.

"Where are the lab results on the syringe?"

"On it's way."

"Tell them to do a street test, I just want confirmation we're dealing with morphine."

"Tremors are generalizing." "Irregular heart beat." "Breaths erratic and hesitant."

Colonel, don't do this.

"Get a vent in here. Prep to intubate. Someone GO to the lab -- NOW!"

[see Chapter Seventeen]