The Candlestick Chronicles by Cjay

Chapter Four: Jack Whumped Over...

A trickle of sweat made its way down Clare Wellington's ramrod straight spine. Despite her outward calm, she was more than a little terrified of her 'daddy'- a man who gave new meaning to the words cruel, heartless and sinister.

Damien Wellington smiled coldly and repeated his query softly. "Once again Clare, my darling, exactly when is your young admirer Jon supposed to call? It's well after seven p.m."

Clare suppressed a shudder. Damien's smile never seemed to reach his slate gray eyes. "I am confident Jon will call as soon as he is able."

Wellington's long bony fingers formed a steeple as he rested them against his thin lips. "Hmm. I have yet to meet the man, who could resist your ample charms my sweet, let alone a mere adolescent; still, he is an O'Neill. Perhaps, he is as resilient and cunning as his namesake."

Clare resisted the urge to squirm in her chair, pushing aside thoughts of the punishment she would endure should Jon O'Neill fail to phone her.

Throughout the years she had been his 'daughter' Damien had honed his skill in inflicting pain to an art. "The night is still young Daddy. Jon confided to me that his uncle was quite upset with his antics."

"Either way, I win." Rising from his chair, Damien snaked his way behind Clare, running his clammy hands over her bare shoulders.

Leaning down, he brushed his withered lips against her cheek. "Should the little bastard neglect to contact you, I will take great delight in using my considerable skills to expand your education."

Memories of previous forms of instruction caused Clare's pulse to leap and her lovely eyes dilated with wild fear.

Damien experienced a surge of satisfaction; very little brought him true pleasure these days. "Never fear, I shall be very careful not to mark your tender flesh this time my love, but it is important that you understand the pain your inadequacy will cost me. O'Neill is a very valuable commodity."

A soft whimper escaped Clare's throat. Unfortunately, she understood her daddy's aberrant tastes all too well. 'Please Jon,' she prayed, 'Call me.'

***

"Okay Jon, now that we've satisfied our appetites for food, I've been wondering about something." Daniel Jackson had that mischievous twinkle in his eye, his lips twitched in a half smile of bemusement.

Jon O'Neill found the familiar expression Daniel wore both irritating and endearing. Unable to squelch his next thought, he clenched his fists - if Danny really was so interested where had he been? Jon had not seen the erstwhile little geek since Jack had dropped him off at school over eighteen months ago. He totally understood the original O'Neill's discomfort and need to distance himself from his clone, but Danny's rejection had hurt more than Jon allowed himself to admit. "Gee, what an unusual occurrence, Daniel Jackson wondering about something... how freaking bizarre."

Refusing to be cowed by Jon's sarcastic retort, Daniel, determined to forge a renewed bond with the stripling who was and wasn't his best friend, charged on. "I'm interested in just how you've enjoyed your return to the world of academia."

Jon bit back another snide remark. It was no use, once the nosey meddling side of his personality reared its over-intelligent yet, oh so obtuse head, Danny was like a dog with a bone. Snorting, Jon closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Counting to ten, he tried to rein in his annoyance and failed. "Gad! I haven't seen 'hide nor hair' of any of you for over a year and the first thing you think to ask me is that? Sheesh!"

Stunned by the rancor in those few words, Daniel swallowed his next question.

Jennifer Hailey took pity on both Jon and Dr. Jackson. The resentment Jon felt was justified to say the least. Yet, it was painfully obvious both men wished to salvage some semblance of their friendship. "I think we'd all like to know just how you've managed to adjust so quickly to the wonderful world of high school, Jon. I mean, the General never tires of rolling his eyes and muttering about scientists..."

"And so, you all naturally assumed I'd find the experience less than... stimulating." Jon finished for her, offering a small smile. "Ya know there's an old saying about accepting the things one cannot change... I guess I embraced that concept along with high school."

"Ah, and perhaps everyone would be amused to hear exactly which subject is your favorite, Jon." Hailey teased good-naturedly.

Groaning, Jon surrendered. It was no use, Daniel would never let him live this one down, might as well turn the revelation to his advantage, brag about it and hopefully deflect any ribbing. "It would seem I have a gift for the art of cooking..."

"Specifically, the art of baking." Hailey interjected.

Daniel's eyebrows connected with his hairline in surprise. "Baking?"

Arching an eyebrow of his own, Jon warmed to the subject. "The things I can do with a bit of flour, some cinnamon and icing will make you salivate like Pavlov's dog Danny-boy."

Sam Carter offered Hailey a grateful smile; the younger officer had impeccable timing. Speaking of time, glancing at her watch Sam noticed that it was 1930 hours.

Teal'c, silently clearing the empty cartons of food from the coffee table, caught Colonel Carter's surreptitious movement. O'Neill was very late. It was unlike his warrior brother to neglect to inform them of his continued delay.

Feeling the heat of his gaze, Sam glanced up and the two exchanged an intense look.

Sam had an uneasy feeling something besides the plight of SG-9 had delayed General O'Neill. Removing herself from the living room, she attempted to reach the general by cell. An automated message reported the phone out of the service area.

Punching in the general's office number proved fruitless as well. Squelching her rising concern, Sam placed a call directly to the Gate Room.

Major Kearney leaned back in his chair and gazed idly at the Stargate, chatting amiably with the sergeant on duty. So far, the major liked his new assignment at the SGC. As head of security, he worked closely with the man in charge, General O'Neill.

Briefed on much of O'Neill's history, Kearney relished the opportunity to learn from the wily general's vast experience and found his sense of humor refreshing, if a bit unorthodox. He himself enjoyed a good one liner, not to mention a naughty limerick or two. "So Bailey, did ya hear the one about the man from Capri?"

Sergeant Scott Bailey made an appreciative audience; his good nature and ready laugh encouraged the senior officer to relay ever-increasing blue prose at a rapid fire pace. The jingling of the red phone startled him for a moment. Jumping up from his seat, the young technician grabbed the handset. "Gate Room, Sergeant Bailey... yes Ma'am. It's for you, Sir."

Curiosity marred Kearney's freckled forehead as he took the phone offered him. "Kearney."

"Major, its Colonel Carter, has the general left as yet?" Sam was unable to keep her voice light.

Kearney's brow wrinkled with concern. "He left well over an hour ago ma'am. I personally bid him goodbye at 1820 hours."

"I've been unable to reach him by cell... supposedly the device has traveled outside of the service area." A shard of dread pierced Sam's heart. "Major, put out an alert, given the circumstances we discussed earlier, I'd rather err on the side of caution."

Kearney had been privy to both Hailey's mission and Jon O'Neill's retrieval; he understood the subtle implication in the colonel's tense voice. "Understood, Colonel."

Trusting that the major would dispatch every available SF to comb the mountain and all the possible routes to the general's home, Sam concluded the call and took a moment to gather her thoughts.

***

Teal'c stood quietly in the archway leading from the living room where the others still chatted, hoping his presence would offer some measure of support. He'd overheard most of Colonel Carter's conversation with the major and shared her apprehension.

Sam, sensing the big Jaffa's comforting presence, turned to study him. How did he contrive to be so cool and in control? It never ceased to make her wonder. Did she too project the same 'in control' façade? Taking a deep breath, she allowed him to see her naked fear. "It would appear the general is missing."

As he often did in times of adversity, Teal'c gathered his dignity for strength. "We must inform the others."

Squaring her shoulders, Sam led the way back into the living room.

Jon caught sight of the pair as they returned from the hall. A master in assessing any given situation at a glance, he knew something was up. "Spill it, Carter."

Sam proceeded to efficiently fill the trio in, using her military persona to cover her anxiety.

"Maybe the General had car trouble." Hailey whispered hopefully.

"That is unlikely lieutenant. If O'Neill had encountered a mechanical problem, he would have called for assistance and informed us of his delay." Although he spoke in his usual benign manner, Teal'c's tone seemed sepulchral.

"It would appear that Jack was the one in danger after all." Daniel mused. "Guess we miscalculated."

"Nope, not likely." Jon stood up and began pacing back and forth. "Why go after only one O'Neill when a singular plan could fail? Makes more sense to tackle the problem from two angles; if they missed with me, then they just might succeed in snagging Jack, and if they're very lucky they'd double their pleasure."

Daniel pushed his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose. If ever they'd needed Jack's considerable strategic expertise, it was now. "Okay, let's say you are right, they had two plots going. What do we do now?"

Pulling a slip of paper from his pocket, Jon's face transformed into a reasonable facsimile of Jack's cat got the canary grin, "Why, Danny boy I'm surprised... thought I'd taught you better... we give them what they want."

***

Clare watched the hands of the large grandfather clock creep upward, its deep chimes sounding the hour; nine p.m. and still not a peep from Jon.

Over the past hour, Damien described his latest plans to educate her in vivid detail. He'd finally left her alone to contemplate her fate and gone off to inquire after his pet protégé, a true amoral degenerate who called himself Frankie. All too often, Damien allowed the sadistic cur free rein and Clare was his target of choice. The things the sicko laughingly did to her invaded her nightmares daily.

Clare felt the deep vibration of her cell phone against her hip with gratitude. She'd given this number to only one person, Jon O'Neill. "Hello?"

"Clare? Hi, it's me, Jon." Jon instilled longing into his voice.

"Oh, hi Jon." Relieved, Clare affected a purr. "I'm so very happy you called. Has your uncle given you permission to keep our study date?"

"Well, not exactly." Jon hedged. "I'll explain later, all right? Do you think you can meet me at the public library, around four p.m. tomorrow afternoon?"

"That should be no problem." Clare assured him. Mindful of her teenage cover, she gushed. "I just got my own little VW. It's a cute metallic blue."

Jon grinned ominously. "Okay then, I'll keep an eye out for it, see you then."

Ending the call, Jon gave Hailey and Daniel the thumbs up. "It's a go."

***

Jon checked the time, still no word.

Major Kearney's attempt to run the license plate of the dark sedan which Daniel had chanced to witness picking Clare up after school, met with a dead end. It would appear that the plate was bogus.

Shortly after filling Major Kearney in on Jon's theory, Sam and Teal'c headed up the mountain to conduct their own search for the MIA general. Leaving a very put out Jon O'Neill, an agitated Lieutenant Hailey and a very worried Daniel Jackson behind to deal with contacting the seductress Clare.

A hard driving rain began to fall not long after the pair's departure, adding a penetrating chill to the moonless night's already cool temperature.

Teal'c called at midnight, informing them that a car had apparently lost control and gone over a high mountain pass; it was still unclear if the vehicle had been O'Neill's car. The impenetrable darkness and rain-induced mist were making the search for wreckage difficult. Understanding the angst his friends suffered, Teal'c vowed to inform them of any further developments as soon as possible.

Endless minutes ticked by, Jon drummed restless fingers on the arm of the chair, fed up with waiting. If Jack was to be found, who better than his duplicate to find him?

Okay, so technically he was a kid, yes; a kid who was very possibly in grave danger. And the only one who truly understood the complex maze that was Jack's mind. "Daniel, for crap sakes will you listen to reason? Let me search for Jack, you know I'm his best bet..."

"Not gonna happen Jon and you know it. I will not risk losing you too." Daniel sighed. He agreed with Jon's reasoning, but if Jack had been taken, then Jon was next and they still weren't totally sure of Clare's intentions or even if she truly was a participant in a plot for that matter. It was up to Danny to keep him safe. "Besides, Jack would kill me."

Exasperated, Jon jumped to his feet. "For crying out loud, Daniel! I'm a big boy..."

Hailey felt caged. She should be out there with the colonel and Teal'c searching for their commander, not stuck here listening to the same argument over and over. "I'd really appreciate it if you two would just shut up!"

Two startled pairs of eyes, one deep brown and one sky blue gazed at her. Realizing she'd been rude and out of line, Hailey blushed. "Sorry, it's just that... none of us want to be here. Look, we all wish we could find the general, but he might just come strolling through that door any minute; and so we stay put."

Jon plopped back on the sofa and placed both hands over his eyes. "Crap!"

Cognizant of how both he and Jon had been going round and round, Daniel looked sheepish. "I know it's hard..." Jon uncovered his eyes and fixed Daniel with a long-suffering stare. "Can we at least give Carter a call? They should have something by now."

Daniel understood Jon's need. He knew damned well that if Sam or Teal'c learned anything of value they'd called, still it was a struggle not to grab the phone and demand an update. "We'll give them a few more minutes. If we don't hear from them by 0300 hours..."

Bright light danced over the room briefly, indicating the approach of a set of car headlights outside. Daniel stopped short and the trio rushed to the front door.

Sam Carter dreaded sharing her news with the three anxious faces animated by the soft glow within the abode. Stepping out of the darkness and into the shimmering pool of light cast by the porch lamp, she motioned for them to return to the living room. "Let's sit down."

Teal'c followed solemnly behind, closing the front door softly. Understanding Colonel Carter's reluctance, he stood behind her chair to offer his silent support.

Daniel could read the pain and anguish in Sam's face. Gulping, he perched on the edge of Jack's favorite chair and waited tautly.

Jon took Hailey's hand and settled on the sofa, with her seated at his side, his expression resigned. "Jack's dead."

Stunned by Jon's flat statement, Jennifer Hailey's gripped his too cool hand tightly. 'How could he be so calm?'

Sam Carter read the underlying pain in those two short terse words.

"We're not sure. His car was found at the bottom of Jade Canyon, the body inside was in poor condition... it ignited on final impact." Swallowing back her tears, Sam continued, "Dr. Brightman is checking the dental work now... the driver was thrown from the wreckage..."

Teal'c placed a comforting hand on Colonel Carter's shoulder. "The man was unfamiliar to me. However, the vehicle was indeed the one assigned to convey O'Neill home."

Daniel's dazed eyes refocused on the big Jaffa's steady countenance. "There is a chance it wasn't Jack inside the..."

Teal'c tilted his head to one side with an almost wistful smile. "I concur, Daniel Jackson, we must not lose all hope as yet. O'Neill has ever been resourceful."

"Did you get a look at the other body T'?" Jon asked knowingly.

Teal'c inclined his head with a smile. "Indeed, Jon O'Neill."

***

Wet, he felt very wet.

Icy cold rain pelted the tender exposed flesh of his face and neck. Jack's entire body screamed in aguish - it hurt, literally everywhere.

'Oh God, my head, oy! Not another skull fracture, crap!'

Summoning his strength, Jack opened his burning eyes, attempting to focus. Nothing. Had he gone blind? Nope, darkness, deep and abiding pitch-blackness wavered before his bleary eyes. The kind of ebony expanse one only encountered outdoors on a cloud laden and moonless night.

'Where the hell am I and just what the hell have I done to myself now?'

'Jeez, I promised Sara there'd be no more accidents! She's gonna kill me - if I live long enough.'

'Okay, focus O'Neill. What mission is this anyhow? The air is too moist for the desert, so that's out; maybe another one of those oh so wonderful jungle ops. That would explain the loamy tang to the air.'

'Ah, no, it's too cold for a jungle. Where then? Lift your head and look around, you nit!'

Raising his head proved to be a mistake, dizziness assailed him with a vengeance.

'Crap! Who the hell is moaning so loud? They're gonna give away my position. Oh, bloody hell, it's you O'Neill!'

Clamping his lips together, Jack rose up once more; albeit, this time more slowly. The misery in his head increased, but it seemed to spin less. Gulping the cold saturated air, he smelled his own blood.

'Damn, I've taken a hit of some kind.'

Jack challenged nausea to a duel of wills - and won. Steeling himself, he gingerly eased into a semi-sitting position.

The loud rumble and thunder of an incoming chopper drew his attention. 'Crap! Move O'Neill, you're a sitting duck here!'

His rubbery legs refused to obey, making it impossible for him to get to his feet and make a run for it. Undaunted, Jack half-crawled and dragged his battered body deeper into the underbrush.

Glaring searchlights tracked back and forth over the terrain, lending a ghoulish form of luminance to his surroundings. The steep pitch of the land and the shadowy outline of dense forest awakened a memory; an op gone very badly, was it Croatia or the Balkans?

Flashes of death, loss and pain, so much pain, assailed his confused mind. The searing agony in his head and left side, multiplied to an unending torture, robbing him of what little breath he had left.

Still, somewhere deep inside, Jack O'Neill survivor, found the strength to continue to inch his way along hoping to conceal himself fully. His questing hands found a shallow indentation amidst a tangle of brush and tree limbs bowing beneath their burden of rainwater; here was a warren of nature's debris, matted and spongy.

Jack burrowed deeply beneath a pile of moldering wet leaves.

Exhausted, he passed out.

***

Frustrated, Major Kearney stood belligerently on the precipice and glared defiantly into the night. 'For crap's sake General, where are you?'

Informing the Pentagon of his findings thus far had been awkward. "General Jumper, Sir... I regret to inform you..."

Jumper's pissed off voice interrupted, "Just spit it out Major Kearney, what has my maverick general gotten himself involved in now?"

Gulping, Kearney got to the point.

'Damn!' Stunned, despite O'Neill's reputation for finding trouble, Jumper took a moment to digest the possibility that Jack's luck had finally run out. "Listen up Kearney, Major Davis will be catching the next available flight."

"Sir, I..." The last thing Kearney needed was someone from the Pentagon breathing down his neck - he had a general to find.

"Davis will act as liaison and facilitate an interface with Washington and the White House." Jumper understood the major's reluctance. "I am confident your team will find our missing Brigadier."

"Understood Sir." Returning his cell phone to his jacket pocket, Kearney cursed under his breath. 'Liaison and interface my ass! Translation, take charge, until General O'Neill or his remains are found.' "Son of a...!"

Kearney sincerely hoped they'd find the tenacious O'Neill alive and in good condition, and soon. If he were lying injured nearby, the cold rain would most likely worsen his condition and quite possibly hasten his demise. He had every available SF and several helicopters combing the crash scene, but the unfavorable weather and lack of light hampered their efforts considerably.

Dr. Brightman checked and double checked both corpses' dental records and found neither to be O'Neill or any member of the SGC staff.

Yet, despite that fact, they were still not sure the general had come through the crash alive.

O'Neill's crushed cell phone was found a hundred yards up the road from the site of the vehicle's first impact, confirming that he'd traveled at least part of the way down the mountain in the destroyed sedan.

The question remained, had General O'Neill thrown the phone from the car window or dropped it as he himself was thrown from the fast moving vehicle?

Either possibility did not bode well for finding the senior officer unharmed. The treacherous and rocky terrain below would take its toll on anyone unlucky enough to tumble from the steep roadway, add in the apparent velocity at which the automobile had been traveling and... well Kearney hated to speculate.

The insistent ring of his cell pulled him back from his musings. "Kearney."

"Major, Colonel Carter here, any news?" Sam Carter's military persona was in full swing.

Despite her cool voice, Kearney was fully aware of the level of her worry, the colonel had spoken to him not thirty minutes ago. "No ma'am, unfortunately no new developments."

A soft sigh escaped her lips before Sam could squelch it. "Anything further from the Pentagon?"

"Their Major Davis should be here within the hour." He'd heard the soft sigh, and his compassion for SG-1's team leader escalated. She'd been visibly distraught while viewing the corpses and wreckage, with the steady Jaffa at her side.

He'd heard the rumors about the supposed deep affection that the colonel and the general shared, but until tonight, he'd witnessed nothing to confirm them. Still, they'd been through hell and high water together and it would be only natural for all of SG-1 to feel deeply at such a time. "We'll find him ma'am." He whispered softly.

Hearing the empathy in the Major's voice, Sam smiled. "I know you will Kearney, carry on."

Sam closed her cell phone with an exasperated snap, pacing the kitchen's hardwood floor. Where was that hardheaded Irishman? Didn't he know they were looking for him? Why didn't he call out or something?

Sam refused to entertain the possibility that he'd died falling from that car. He was so very resilient; surely, he was somewhere nearby? Once they'd located the general they could move forward with Jon's newly formed plan to entrap the teenaged Mata Hari, Clare. With the still unsolved plot against the O'Neill boys in mind, Sam flipped open her cell once more and dialed.

***

"Samantha." Malcolm moaned, pressing his naked form deeper into the black satin sheets. The voluptuous negligee clad blonde, licked her way across his muscular chest and down...

BLING! BLING!

Rousing himself with a moan, Barrett noted the time as 0400 hours and fumbled for his cell phone. "This had better be good!"

"Agent Barrett, it's Sam Carter; we have a situation."

***

Teal'c stood silently gazing out the large picture window in O'Neill's living room, cursing the blackness of the night. With the coming of the dawn, he would once again be on the mountain searching for the man who was in everyway except bloodline, his kin.

He'd left the search reluctantly in order to accompany Colonel Carter, offering his own brand of comfort to his team members and the boy who was and wasn't the general. Teal'c had failed in his self-appointed role of protector when they had all turned their backs on the young O'Neill; an error, he realized now, which would not be repeat again.

His duty was discharged; the others had come to terms with the possible loss of their friend and leader. Now Teal'c was free to search for his warrior brother.

He had no wish to cast aspersions on the expertise of Major Kearney or his security contingent, but they would not find O'Neill this night, unless his brother of the soul no longer lived.

If, as Teal'c suspected O'Neill were injured and perhaps confused, as he had been on countless missions, the seasoned veteran would find a place to conceal himself until the arrival of someone he trusted.

Teal'c turned and took in the stubborn face of the half-grown warrior Jon O'Neill.

"You are so not going without me T'." Jon whispered firmly.

Teal'c knew this moment would arrive. After all, Jon was O'Neill. Arching his left brow and bowing slightly in respect, Teal'c employed his still fledgling humor. "Agreed, Jon O'Neill. Finding oneself is an important quest for the Tau'ri, is it not?"

"T' that humor of yours has become decidedly macabre." Jon grinned. "So, no arguments then?"

"None." Teal'c returned. Looking over the younger man's head his eyes fell on the sleeping archeologist.

Daniel was taking 'a cat nap,' sprawled out on the leather sofa, his mouth open and glasses askew.

Hailey, capitulating to Colonel Carter's demand that she 'catch a few winks' took the spare room.

Jon O'Neill however, informed the colonel with familiar irritated dignity that he had no use for a mother at this stage of his life and that his younger body was a great deal more able to go without sleep than her own, 'considerably older' one.

Despite the blatant insult, Colonel Carter acquiesced fondly. Shaking her head, she took herself off to O'Neill's chamber for a brief rest.

Thus, the deceptively callow youth with the sage wisdom of a man and the Jaffa stood watch over those they loved.

"I have ever wondered how it is that Daniel Jackson can sleep so deeply in any given situation." Teal'c muttered wryly. "We will need to employ stealth if we are to leave without disturbing those who need their rest."

Jon affected his best imitation of the big guy's patented response. "Indeed."oo

As dawn crept up over the mountain, Major Davis grimly studied a visibly disturbed Major Kearney; despite an all night search by the base personnel they'd found no sign of General O'Neill. "What about trained dogs..."

Kearney took an instant dislike to the officious and visibly stiff, Pentagon liaison. "With respect major, up until twenty minutes ago it was raining cats and dogs, pardon the pun. No animal, no matter how well trained, is capable of sniffing out a scent under those conditions."

"Perhaps now that the rain has ceased, a team of dogs might be of assistance." Davis stared intently into the irritated blue eyes before him and realized they'd gotten off on the wrong foot. Expelling a long breath, he ran a hand through his neatly trimmed hair. "It's just that... I respect and admire the general and the possibility that he may be..." Seeing the mutual concern and understanding in the taller man's eyes, Davis trailed off.

Kearney reassessed his first impression of the shorter Davis. Anyone who cared about General O'Neill this much was all right in his book. "Well major, you might say that we've got someone better than a team of canines on the job." Smiling over Davis's puzzled expression, he added, "We have Teal'c."

***

Damien Wellington sat morosely staring out his office window as the first faint vestiges of dawn relieved the darkness. Frankie and Avery were dead. His sources had confirmed their demise just moments ago. General O'Neill was still unaccounted for and it was presumed he had died in the crash; a search continued even now for his body. Damien would miss dear Frankie. Avery was just another thug, easily replaced, but Frankie was an artist, not unlike himself. No, there were few men who could match Wellington when it came to mastering the ancient art of torture. Yes, Frankie had been truly gifted.

Sighing heavily, Damien shifted in his chair, now he'd be required to explain the loss of the senior O'Neill. Oh yes, the trustees would be most displeased.

Still, he hoped that they'd be willing to accept the delivery of a singular O'Neill - and a younger less experienced one at that. 'Ah, but the young are so very malleable and so easily persuaded to cooperate.'

Rising, Damien made his way to Clare's room. 'Yes, the younger the pupil, the more satisfaction derived from teaching them their duty.'

***

Jon shadowed Teal'c; the big Jaffa's hunt angled away from the main search party, taking them at least two hundred yards from where Kearney's men still combed the mountainside.

They'd arrived just as the rain leveled off to a fine mist and a few glimmers of light made their tentative way along the horizon. Catching sight of the adolescent O'Neill climbing down from the driver's side of the general's big Ford truck wearing a baggy dark set of sweats a size too big for his angular body, Kearney balked.

Blocking the unknown youngster's path the annoyed major demanded, "Excuse me son, just who the hell are you?"

The stocky major blocking his way might be unfamiliar to Jon O'Neill, but his tone and challenge were not. Smirking cockily, Jon stepped forward into the light of the Ford's headlight. "I'm Jon O'Neill, the general's... ah, nephew."

The Major gazed intently into the younger man's face, searching for his General there.

A pair of familiar deep chocolate brown eyes with just a hint of mischief and veiled intellect returned his perusal. This youth had the general's lanky build, if a tad shorter and the same relaxed yet unmistakable tone of command in his still high-pitched voice. At the very least, he was a true O'Neill. Kearney had no trouble believing that Jon was the spitting image of his commander at an earlier age.

'So this is the infamous clone of the then Colonel O'Neill. Okay, essentially he is Colonel O'Neill and therefore deserves my respect, but damn... this is awkward. Do I call him Jon, colonel or kid?' Thrusting out his hand, Kearney lowered his voice. "I was hoping I'd get a chance to meet you, sir... Allow me to brief you on the situation."

Grasping the offered hand strongly, Jon raised an ironic brow. "Call me Jon, technically I'm not an officer and if we are to maintain my cover you need to treat me like a kid." Kearney raised a questioning brow of his own. "Well then... ah, Jon... Perhaps this is not the appropriate place for you to be right now..."

Teal'c stood quietly to one side observing the interchange, gratified that the major afforded his warrior brother's younger self the respect he deserved. "I do not agree Major Kearney; Jon O'Neill is uniquely qualified to assist in the search for General O'Neill."

Kearney hesitated briefly, his eyes boring into those of the impassive Jaffa. "Understood. Well then, let me fill you in on what we have so far."

That had been over an hour ago. Starting from the location where Jack's pulverized cell phone was found, Teal'c wove his way down from the lip of the roadway, finding many a broken branch and torn turf to indicate O'Neill's path of descent.

Jon and Teal'c made slow progress. The incline, and the fact that rain had washed away a good portion of the mountain's loose dirt changing the appearance of the rugged terrain, hindered the Jaffa's normal tracking prowess. Still, where knowledge failed him instinct filled in the blanks.

Teal'c stopped short; Jon, busy looking to one side and then the other, bumped into his sturdy back. "Whatcha got T'?"

Teal'c leaned down and ran questing fingers over the base of a large pine tree. Straightening, he displayed bloody mud stained digits. "O'Neill lay here. I fear that he is gravely injured."

Jon squatted down. Despite the deluge of rain during the night, an impressively large quantity of blood mixed with muddy water continued to seep lazily into the earth. Closing his eyes, he said a quick Hail Mary.

Peering around the big tree trunk, Jon searched for any further sign of Jack's passing this way. "If I were the one injured, confused and unsure of pursuit, I'd make for the deepest cover I could find."

It was a safe bet Jack had done the same. "We need to take it nice and easy from here T'. Jack will be very dangerous in his present condition and most likely not expecting our company."

***

Cold, he was so very cold. Something wet and slimy covered his face, robbing him of breath. Attempting to clear the offensive covering away proved to be too difficult, Jack's arms felt like lead. The effort cost him; moaning he submerged into the depths once more.

***

Cocking his head to one side, Jon froze. He knew that sound, had heard it countless times before, albeit up close and personal. Tapping the big Jaffa on the shoulder, he spun around to his left and peered into the deep underbrush.

Teal'c followed suit, using a large stick to gently probe beneath the dense trees. His efforts stirred leaves heavy with mud and the recent rain, spattering his already moist boots and trousers.

Impatient, Jon dropped to his knees and crawled under the low-hanging pine boughs, his movements dislodging more water from the trees; undaunted, he sifted through the debris with his hands, making slow progress forward and deeper into the morass. The dead leaves and pine needles would make a perfect den in which to hide away from pursuit, it was just the kind of place an injured Jack would chose as cover; Jon knew they'd find him here somewhere.

Thrusting a long arm forward underneath a particularly low hanging branch, Jon's hand made contact with a boot. "Teal'c!"

Frantic, Jon burrowed through the very same debris Jack used to hide himself away. Scooping wet leaves away from Jack's body, he exposed his counterpart, muttering an Our Father.

Jack's clothing was soaked and frigid, his skin, once Jon was able to reach his face, icy.

Jack made no sound, a fact, which added to Jon's desperate effort to uncover him. "Teal'c, hand me a flashlight willya? It's as dark as pitch under here."

Teal'c, pushing the offending branches of the huge pine tree out of his way, knelt beside the younger man, flashlight at the ready. O'Neill did not look well; his face usually so animated, was still and ashen.

Placing a finger lightly against his friend's jugular, Teal'c sought a pulse. "His lifeblood still surges through his veins, however, not with its usual vigor."

Pulling his sweatshirt over his head, Jon wrapped it around Jack's upper torso; his hands came away bloodied. 'Crap!'

"He needs Janet..." Catching himself, Jon remembered that their trustworthy friend was dead and buried another event which he'd been unable to share. 'Damn!'

Busy removing his own outer garment and tucking it around O'Neill's legs, Teal'c empathized with Jon's unspoken pain. "Dr. Brightman is both competent and efficient young O'Neill. We must stay our course if we are to succeed in capturing those who would ensnare you."

As he brushed a few remaining wet leaves away from Jack's lifeless face, Jon nodded. "Right... then I suggest you go find a body bag and I'll stay here with Jack."

Reaching into the backpack he'd snagged from the major's jeep, Teal'c pulled out a rolled up black bag. "The fewer allowed contact with O'Neill's remains..."

"The less likely we are to be found out." Jon finished for him.

Parting Jack's shirt and jacket, he carefully wedged his wadded-up tee shirt against the area seeping blood, there was no time and too little light to examine the wound. "We need to move him gently T', he's in bad shape..."

Unrolling the repellant length of thick plastic, Teal'c unzipped the zipper and laid the bag next to the general's body. "Indeed. Once we have placed him within, I shall carry him back to the roadway." He would entrust his brother of the soul to no other.

Given that he had dragged himself here, it was unlikely that Jack had sustained any serious neck trauma; still the unknown extend of his injuries indicated caution. Together they log rolled Jack into the bag, carefully protecting his neck, zipping the bag up and over his chin; encasing his limp body inside.

Teal'c removed his radio from his vest pocket and keyed the switch. "Major Kearney, this is Teal'c. We have located General O'Neill."

Teal'c's radio crackled to life. "Roger that Teal'c. What is the general's condition?"

Instilling as much dignity as he thought befitting into his tone, Teal'c answered succinctly. "General O'Neill is dead."

On to Chapter Five