The Candlestick Chronicles by Cjay

Chapter Three: Jack Jumped...

Lieutenant Jennifer Hailey concentrated on the back of Dr. Jackson's head willing the normally understanding scholar to make eye contact with her in the rear-view mirror. She knew she was in serious trouble. A junior grade officer didn't just rewrite a direct order from her superior, unless the situation was life threatening. Yet, she was sure that she'd made the right call. If she could convince the two men in the front seat of that, they just might help her convince General O'Neill.

Pleasing the General had become her number one priority. She really hated it that the man she respected most in this world was, more than likely, not only angry with her, but disappointed as well. She could hear his deceptively calm voice in her head asking why she'd disobeyed a direct order and dreaded her inadequate response.

***

Daniel Jackson kept his eyes on the road deliberately refraining from making eye contact with either of the recalcitrant passengers.

Daniel was all too aware that the silent plea in their eyes would sway him to run interference; and this was Jack's call. No, he had to remain objective. He couldn't let the fact that for him Jon was Jack (well close anyway) influence him. Daniel for his part had always (well mostly) trusted Jack's instincts. The fact that Jon had convinced Hailey to bend Jack's mandate a bit seemed not only in character, but somehow appropriate.

As for Hailey, she was a military officer, and as a civilian (well, technically) he had to respect that she'd disobeyed an order. Perhaps after Jack heard the two offenders out, he would let Hailey off with a warning. Jack might be hard, but he was generally fair; Daniel counted on his sense of justice.

***

Teal'c maintained his own counsel. The smaller version of his warrior brother had informed them in a most uncannily familiar way that his 'fishing expedition' had been the right call, and the fruits of said exploit well worth the elder O'Neill's wrath. Oddly Teal'c had to concur.

The danger had proven to be minimal; the possible discovery of one of the agents involved in a plot against O'Neill, a most valuable result. However, it was for his leader and brother of the soul to decide if the intractable pair was to be pardoned or punished. Opening his cell phone, Teal'c entered the number for O'Neill's private line.

Jon O'Neill sat loosely in the backseat of the large Ford truck allowing his body to sway with every turn. There was no point in arguing with either the big Jaffa or the oft-stubborn archaeologist; they had their orders.

Teal'c held the small cell phone away from his ear as he checked in with his commander. The other occupants of the vehicle could clearly hear the General's frigid tone--he was more than a little furious.

Following a brief exchange, the big warrior passed the phone to Hailey.

Agitated, Hailey took a deep breath and put the small device to her ear. "Lieutenant Hailey here, Sir."

Jon listened attentively, but was unable to hear the General's side of the conversation, as Hailey continued, "General, Sir, we've uncovered one of the conspirators... posing as a high school student."

Jon could feel her unease and her body language telegraphed O'Neill's unbending displeasure. 'Damn it Jack,' Jon cursed under his breath and watched the junior officer's color pale even more as she listened to O'Neill's response.

Gulping, Hailey sat straighter in her seat. "Sir, yes, Sir."

***

Instead of returning both himself and Hailey to the base for their little meeting with his nibs they were to be summarily removed to his home; clearly O'Neill feared they might be intercepted en route to the base. Jon wondered if they'd be any safer hiding out at a private residence.

Then again, if their unknown assailants accepted Jon's fictitious history this was the best course of action.

Well it was a big if, but if the bogies did regard Jon as the orphan he portrayed then the O'Neill boys had the advantage. Jon figured that was what Jack was hoping for; or more precisely, gambling on. It's how he would have played it, and after all they were carbon copies of one another, right?

Slipping his hand across the seat, Jon clasped Hailey's clammy, slightly trembling hand, giving it a squeeze. Turning her head his way, she gave him a tremulous smile. It dawned on him just how much giving in to his demands had cost her. 'Crap! O'Neill you're a selfish ass.' Contrite, Jon continued holding her hand, offering what little comfort he could.

***

Jack hung up the phone. Opening his mouth to confer with Carter, he was interrupted by the deep claxon and then the whoosh of the Stargate, both heralding the swift arrival of Sergeant Walter Davis. "Excuse me, General, Ma'am, we're receiving an incoming transmission from SG-9."

Jack's worried expression deepened. "They aren't due back till 0800 Monday."

Walter barely concealed his long-suffering attitude. "Ah, yes, Sir. Major Thornton says the matter is urgent and he needs to confer with you ASAP, General."

Waving the little Sergeant ahead of him as he moved swiftly toward the gate room, Jack turned to his Lt. Colonel. "Carter, you go ahead to my house and let Daniel and Teal'c know I'll be along directly. A driver will bring me out as soon as I deal with this little crisis."

Torn between her orders and her concern over whatever calamity SG-9 had encountered, Sam agreed. "Yes, Sir."

Unsure as to how well the General's larder would be stocked and knowing his appetite, Sam called ahead for Chinese take out, then headed up and out of the base.

The trip to Jack O'Neill's suburban neighborhood proved to be quiet and thankfully uneventful. Just to be safe Daniel circled around and took a few of the back streets, hedging their bets. Finally convinced they hadn't been followed, he parked Jack's big Ford behind the O'Neill home.

***

Teal'c stayed on the trio's six, as they'd cut through the large, slightly wooded backyard and entered the rustic dwelling through the backdoor. Once they were inside, he checked the perimeter, before making his way inside.

Jon looked around the kitchen with a definite feeling of melancholy. Nothing had changed. It was just as he remembered it, neat and Spartan.

Okay so it wasn't usually this tidy. O'Neill had to admit; he'd been known to grow an interesting assortment of fungi in his fridge now and again. Overall however, he'd always been a neat freak, liked to keep things simple and appreciated a clean refuge after getting so dirty hopping from planet to planet.

Shaking off his feeling of deja vu, Jon reached into the refrigerator and selected a cold bottle of beer. Twisting off the cap and flipping it into the sink, he headed towards the living room only to be intercepted and relieved of the Heineken by a less than amused Daniel.

Daniel crinkled his brow in his usual ruminative manner. "Ah, Jon, I realize that you're well... don'tcha think that given the situation a soda is more appropriate?"

"For crying out loud Daniel, you'd think I was a kid or something." Throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender, Jon returned to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of cola. "Fine, I'll maintain a sober attitude, at least until the old man shows."

Teal'c followed him into the large paneled room arching his brow. "Indeed Jon O'Neill, I do not believe that the consumption of alcohol is beneficial for a body which is as yet, half-grown."

Groaning, Jon plopped himself into his once favorite chair and covered his face with one long fingered hand. "Jeez, don't remind me."

Hailey found the interaction between the three males comforting, her worries over what else the General would have to say faded slightly. It felt almost as if General O'Neill was here with them instead of his 'knockoff.' She noticed a similar awareness in Dr. Jackson's eyes. Catching his gaze, she lifted her brows as if to say, now you understand how easily one could be confused.

Comprehending her unspoken petition, Daniel nodded. "I think we need to remind you, as well as ourselves, Jon. Otherwise we'll all end up in hot water along with Hailey."

Rubbing his hand over his face, Jon squinted up at the man who had once been his closest friend and for whom he was now a virtual outcast. "Not to worry Dr. Jackson," He told him with soft bitterness. "I plan to make it very clear to Mon General that I and I alone, am responsible for Hailey's deviation from the mission."

Hearing the underlying pain in those words, Jennifer Hailey felt a deep regret. Here was a person (okay, a man's mind in a boy's body) whom she both revered and loved; who'd been forced to live out the rest of his days away from all that he had known and loved, simply because he was not the 'original.' It was heart rending and she marveled that Jon had adapted to his circumstances so well; her admiration soared.

Daniel, always sensitive to Jack's unspoken feelings, also heard Jon's pain. He'd never been able to fully convince himself not to feel guilty over the way they'd tossed this version of his best friend aside. Oh, he knew it had been necessary, but that didn't make it right. Catching Teal'c's eye, Daniel wondered if he would ever be able to resign himself to Jon's fate.

"Indeed you are not. Each of us must accept responsibility for our own actions Jon O'Neill." Teal'c had long ago reconciled their decision to distance themselves from Jon O'Neill. As a Jaffa he understood sacrifice; and yet, returning Daniel Jackson's gaze the dedicated warrior could not fully deny his unease. Abandoning the younger O'Neill would not be so easy this time.

***

SG-9's little crisis proved to be annoying and solvable. Their linguist had misinterpreted the local tribal elders' petition for Major Thornton to become a blood brother and pulled their weapons, just as the shaman had ventured to nick the Major's arm with a blade.

Summoning another team as backup, General O'Neill made sure to choose one whose linguist was more fluent in Lakota, SG-7's Captain Matthew Hawk. "Walter, make a note about this latest incident in Captain Leslie's file and we'll have him spend some quality time with Dr. Jackson."

SG-7 was technically on stand down for their yearly physicals, but Doc Brightman could poke them in the butt with her needles after this crisis had been averted.

Thirty minutes after they'd hastened through the wormhole, SG-7's team leader made voice contact.

Colonel Perry's tone held more than a tinge of pride as he reported back. "General, Sir, Captain Hawk has successfully ironed out the problem."

Jack, his hands tucked in his pockets, tossed the ball back in Perry's court. "Any further recommendations, Perry?"

"Yes, Sir. I believe our continued presence would be most beneficial, General. Hawk and the chief have really hit it off, Sir." Perry's voice held a smile.

Jack caught Walter Davis's smirk and shrugged. "Right then, I'll expect you all back on Monday. O'Neill out."

Rubbing his hands together in a gesture of accomplishment tinged with glee, Jack turned to his trusty little banty rooster of a sergeant. "Anything else pressing, Walter?"

Looking up into O'Neill's tired face Walter took pity on him. The man had been working very hard since he'd taken over the SGC and today's new set of worries surely hadn't helped. "Nothing, General. Shall I order your car, Sir?"

"That would be peachy, inform Major Kearney that he has the command." Jack called over his shoulder rushing from the room before the little dictator changed his mind.

It seemed that every time O'Neill had tried to make a getaway lately, the little despot had chased after him crying 'urgent.' He appreciated the man's zeal, but wondered if Walter perceived the new General as superhuman.

Walter watched the General's hasty retreat with a bemused smile. The irreverent O'Neill had always had a special place in his heart. His understated style and strength, commanded one's respect. So far, he'd proven to be a capable base commander, but Walter knew he needed help juggling the many duties of command; at least until he was fully broken in.

***

Brigadier General Jack O'Neill discarded his rumpled BDU'S, briefly shedding the mantle of command. The stars on his shoulders weighed a great deal more heavily than the eagles which used to perch there and he enjoyed the light feeling of his civvies.

Jack was tired. He was not looking forward to dealing with Hailey's insubordination or ditto-boy's self-satisfied attitude.

That Jon would be smug was a given, it was exactly how Jack would have felt if the shoe were on the other foot. The kid had uncovered something and with no untoward effects to either himself or the Lieutenant; Jack had to give him that.

It was the whole required punishment thing he'd have to dole out to Hailey that bothered him the most. If he were still Colonel O'Neill, he could have found a way to sidestep the impending disciplinary action, but he wasn't a Colonel anymore. Nope, he was the General, the man, the patriarch and the guy responsible for the masses.

His team still came first. However, his team had grown significantly.

Hailey should have known better, she could have gotten herself and carbon copy boy killed or worse. Jack had sent her in to protect the lad and she'd allowed her personal affection for her commander to sway her resolve. While Jack fully understood the error, General O'Neill could not allow her to repeat it. 'Okay O'Neill stop beating yourself up about this, get your butt home and just deal.'

Slamming his locker, Jack headed up and out of the mountain. A car was awaiting him as he stepped from the last portal. The SF holding the door open for him was unfamiliar. Okay, they'd had to replace more than a few men following the battle with Anubis and given that he'd been in a state of deep freeze for a few months, Jack was still getting to know them all. Looking him over briskly, he noted the fellow's plain face was benign enough, his stance and smart salute correctly military. Taking in the man's nametag, Jack bit back a grin. 'Simpson? I wonder if his first name is Homer?'

Returning the salute loosely, Jack slid into the backseat and closed his eyes. The headache he'd been battling all day pounded at him with a vengeance. "Home, James."

"Sir, yes Sir." Simpson's raspy voice snapped smartly.

Jack roused himself slightly; the fellow must be a heavy smoker. "Fighting a cold airman?"

"Sir, yes Sir." The husky voice replied once again.

"Chicken soup will fix you right up." Jack muttered sympathetically.

"Sir, yes..."

"Enough airman!" Jack interrupted, this guy must be a by the book type or a brown nose, either one was too much for O'Neill in his present condition. "I'm gonna take a little nap, give me a holler when we reach my street." Jack did his best to ignore the next round of 'sir, yes sir' and dozed off.

***

Sam finally pulled into the General's driveway. Traffic had been in a tangle and a dark van had been dogging her every move all the way down the mountain. Once inside the heart of town, she'd taken several detours to shake her unknown shadow and doubled back several times just to be thorough. The circuitous route had added over fifty minutes to her trip, but she was convinced she'd lost the tail.

Laden with several large bags of Chinese takeout, Sam hustled up the walk. She was both eager to see Jon and dreading the encounter. Had he changed over the past sixteen months as the General had? Or would he still be a miniature replica of her Colonel? Sam was about to tap on the door with her foot when a smiling Daniel Jackson opened it.

Taking a couple of the big bags from Sam, Daniel inhaled hungrily and looked past her. "Yum, did you get Moo Goo Gai Pan? And where is Jack?"

Sam gave him a mock frown. "Nice to see you too, Daniel. Crisis at the base, he'll be along ASAP."

Stepping back thoughtfully, Daniel led the way into the kitchen and set the bags on the counter. "What sort of crisis are we talking...?"

Placing her burden on the table, Sam shrugged. "I'm not too sure, something about SG-9 and the locals. I passed Colonel Perry hustling to the locker room as I left my office, most likely the General sent SG-7 in as backup. I'm guessing they needed Hawk to sort out one of Leslie's messes again."

Groaning, Daniel removed a few cartons of aromatic food from the bags. "Great, you know what that means... Jack will assign him to me for more training."

The mouthwatering aroma of the spicy food drew Teal'c into the room. Arching a brow, he bowed slightly and accepted a plate from Colonel Carter. "I was under the impression you enjoyed teaching Daniel Jackson."

Caught, Daniel reflected briefly. "I do, Teal'c, what I don't enjoy is his continual impetuousness. When will he learn to rein in his zeal and look before he leaps?"

"I used to ask myself that very question about another young scientist I once knew." Jon's voice, heavily laced with irony preceded his arrival.

Sam hid her smile over the truth of those words behind a cough. "Hello Jon, it is good to see you..."

Thrusting his hands into his pocket, Jon leaned against the doorjamb. "You too Carter. I assume you remembered the spicy shrimp?"

"Of course, Sir... err... Jon." 'Oops.' Sam's flushed cheeks betrayed her embarrassment as she indicated a large container. Some things hadn't changed; he could still make her blush with just a look.

Stepping forward to open the carton and pull out a set of chopsticks for him, Sam took in the changes in his physical appearance. Jon had grown at least a foot taller and filled out some, he looked even more like the O'Neill she'd first encountered in the briefing room over eight long years ago.

Jon accepted the carton and chopsticks. "You're the best, Sam." He uttered softly, resisting the urge to give her a quick hug. He'd missed her.

"Is the condemned prisoner allowed a last meal?" Jennifer asked lightly from the entryway. She was doing her best to keep things in perspective, but as the General's arrival approached it was getting harder.

While the military side of Lt. Colonel Sam Carter was aware that she should be stern, empathy softened her reply. "Naturally, knowing you'd need fortitude I brought you sweet and sour chicken and crab rolls."

Hearing the understanding in the Colonel's response, Hailey relaxed somewhat. "Thank you Ma'am. I am starving, the food they feed those kids at the school is worse than our mess."

Sam glanced at her watch with a sigh. "We may as well eat. Looks like the General got tied up."

***

The sedan jerked to a halt, pulling Jack roughly from his nap. Before he could react, the rear door was yanked open and an armed gunman slid swiftly in beside him. The vehicle jerked violently once more as it resumed speed.

Jack O'Neill had compiled a long list of things that he hated over his fifty odd years; numbered among the top ten was a having a cliché bad guy poke a gun in his ribs, it tended to make him decidedly cranky. And this dude was certainly cliché. Despite deceptively clean white-capped teeth, spiffy threads and carefully slicked back hair, the gunman's breath smelled like sewage. "And you would be?"

"Your worst nightmare ass-wipe." Stink-breath muttered menacingly.

"That would be ass-wipe, Sir." Jack quipped.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a bullet in your good knee?" Halitosis-boy inquired icily.

Jack returned the man's frigid glare. "Been there, done that, got the tee shirt." 'Jeez, O'Neill, how original!'

"The boss said he wasn't to be marked... yet." Raspy Simpson, tossed coldly over his shoulder. "Settle down Frankie, you'll get your chance to impress the General."

Jack imagined he could hear music from an old gangster movie playing in the background. "Look, let's cut the godfather repartee and get down to business. What is it you boys want?"

Chuckling, Frankie jammed the gun barrel painfully against Jack's ribs. "Why General O'Neill, Sir... All we want is a pound of your flesh."

Jack was used to ignoring pain. He'd been tortured by the best of them. "So sorry, don't have any to spare. In fact, the Doc has been after me to bulk up a bit... thinks I'm too thin... Always muttering about how baggy my uniforms seem to be..."

"You're one sarcastic mother aren't you?" Frankie snapped the hard metal into Jack's ribs with a bit more gusto this time. "Well then General, I guess you've got something to be afraid of."

"Gad! You ended that sentence with a preposition, bastard!" Jack knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he just couldn't.

"Think you're something special don'tcha you O'Neill?" Cracking the gun against Jack's left knee, Frankie leaned in closer and hissed. "Shut your hole fly-boy. You won't be so cocky once the boss lets me educate you."

'Crap! Okay, that hurt.' Jack rolled his eyes and bit back a caustic retort. The sedan's speed had increased considerably, taking the winding mountain road at a risky pace. Focusing his gaze over the odoriferous Frankie's shoulder, Jack recognized the route. A light rain had begun to fall. Unless he missed his guess, they'd be coming to an area with several hairpin turns; the vehicle would have to slow up or the driver would lose control.

Feigning passivity, Jack pressed his body away from the gun and Frankie's offending scent, affecting a whine. "Okay, okay you win. Just lay off the knees will ya?"

Snorting, Frankie relaxed and settled back in the seat, his gun still pressed against Jack's side. "Hear that Avery? The tough guy has a weak spot."

"I heard. Now lay off him, Frankie. You two are distracting me and this road is treacherous enough when its dry... gets slippery as a greased pig in this kind of weather." Raspy complained.

Jack took advantage of Frankie's momentary distraction, noting that both rear doors remained unlocked. Odds were, he'd have only one chance and he wasn't about to blow it.

As the rocketing vehicle took a sudden turn, its wheels slid on the slick pavement and the sedan veered sharply. Raspy attempted to maintain control, while Frankie, having been knocked away from O'Neill's side, struggled to remain in his seat. Jack took his chance.

Yanking the rear door open, Jack O'Neill, unyielding survivor, threw his body outward. Tucking into a ball, his body launched itself into space at break-neck speed.

Jack hit the asphalt hard, his velocity taking him rolling up and over the steep embankment. Unable to stop, he continued to plummet over a crag and down into the darkness beyond.

The sedan continued onward, careening out of control; finally slamming into the jagged wall of the mountainside, its high-speed impact causing the crushed remains to bounce off the granite face, and then plunge over a cliff into the abyss below.

Jack's momentum took him flailing and skidding, tumbling out of control, over the rough terrain.

Unable to slow his fall, a now very battered General O'Neill tried to relax and move with the impetus of his descent; finally, smacking head first into a large pine tree and coming to an abrupt halt.

Stunned, Jack lay there, numbly struggling to regain his wind; amazed he was still alive and hesitant to inventory his injuries.

He was lying on his back, his face turned upward into the misty rain. Finally able to take a deep breath, he inhaled the sharp iron scent of blood and wondered if his Irish luck was going to help him through this time.

He'd distinctly heard the snap of a gunshot as he'd hurled himself from the moving car. While he hadn't felt an impact, he had to admit that he'd been a tad preoccupied at the time. Jack hoped the car's movement had thrown off Frankie's aim. However, the screaming pain in his left side suggested otherwise.

The nagging headache he'd been fighting all day hadn't improved; in fact, the agonizing ache had escalated into the unbearable zone. Jack wondered what Janet would have to say to him once he crossed over to the other side. That she'd meet him was a given, she'd always been there when he'd needed her in the past.

Groaning, Jack tried to stave off his rising nausea. His head was spinning, his vision seemed to shrink, and the fading light of dusk narrowed. Jack wondered if he'd fallen into a tunnel. The world turned a dusky black and he knew no more.

On to Chapter Four