The Candlestick Chronicles by Cjay

Chapter Fourteen: Cry Havoc!

Major Kearney severed the connection and grimly pocketed his cell phone, sparing his driver a perturbed look. "Apparently, Major Davis isn't thrilled with our little 'expedition,' Eisley."

"I don't suppose any of us will lose any sleep over our decision to volunteer for this mission, sir." Running his tongue over his slightly protruding bottom lip, Eisley shrugged. "I mean, we all want a crack at the scum-sucking-son-of... that is, General O'Neill sure as heck would've understood."

Dismissing future consequences, Kearney's hard mouth curved into an untroubled smile, "Understood, my Aunt Fanny! The general would've been the first one geared up."

As the Jeep rocked precariously over a large rut in the road, he glanced over his shoulder. "How much further, Emerson?"

Seated behind the driver, Technical Sergeant Henry Emerson, his eyes glued to the laptop tucked between his knees, mopped an errant bead of sweat out of his deep blue eyes with the back of one hand. "It's difficult to triangulate precisely, sir. Something seems to be jamming the GPS signal..."

"Jamming?" Kearney's freckled brow creased with doubt. "I thought this tracking device of yours was state of the art?"

"It is, sir." Looking up, Emerson nodded. "Which means someone nearby is using some very sophisticated equipment to interfere, creating a kind-of dead zone." Emerson returned his attention to the computer screen, running his brilliant fingers blithely over the keyboard. "The good news is I can use the zone's circumference to guesstimate the epicenter and approximate its location."

Pleased with the airman's ingenuity, Kearney sucked his teeth. They'd catch up to Colonel Carter and her little task force yet! "Do it."

***

Setting his pen aside, Damien Wellington straightened up; his sixth sense alerting him that something was amiss. Cocking his head to one side, he listened for Arturo's quiet tread.

Other than the sound of the shower running somewhere above stairs and the ticking of his desk clock the house was silent. It was unlike his dedicated houseman to delay returning to his side. Considering Jefferson's advanced state of inebriation, perhaps he'd remained to safeguard the irritating man's safety whilst in the bath, however, Damien doubted it. No, something was definitely off.

Reaching into his desk, he retrieved his weapon of choice, a small thirty-eight-caliber pistol. He favored it, not only because it had been his very first weapon, but also because it was so easily hidden from unsuspecting eyes. Pushing his office chair back, the Marquis unfolded his thin frame and advanced stealthily to the open door, cursing the old oak flooring when it squeaked softly under his feet.

Halfway to the first floor landing, Ben froze on the stairs. Switching the deceased Arturo's gun to his left hand, he pulled his lethally efficient blade out of his boot once more; eyes alight with anticipation, prepared to strike.

Leaning outward, unable to clearly see the stairwell, Wellington coldly scanned the hallway finding it deserted. Proficient in the game of cat-and-mouse, he advanced forward slightly, hoping to encourage any aggressor to engage him while still in a position of relative cover.

Equally cunning, Ben grinned, enjoying the game and slid back into the shadows.

The big clock in the hallway, always a minute fast, chimed the hour. Wellington inhaled sharply and swiftly made his way into the hall, his body flush with the wall, eyes directed upward to the stairway.

Nothing moved. The clock continued to chime. Wellington's cold gray eyes flickered over the corridor. Moving to the landing, his muscles tensed as he lifted his left foot to mount the stairs.

Still partially concealed by shadow, Ben launched his blade. As the dagger propelled forward it briefly reflected the sunlight streaming through a small stained glass window above, alerting the evil Marquis.

Reacting instinctively, Wellington fired into the shadows, just as Ben's knife struck him. Clutching the blade protruding from his right breast with his left hand, the iniquitous Marquis screamed, overcome. He'd often inflicted pain, relishing his captive's torment, but rarely had the craven sadist endured it. Despite his momentary incapacitation, he squinted into the dim recesses of the upper landing and raised his gun with his shaking right hand, preparing to fire.

Gloating, Ben stepped forward intending to end the foul Marquis' miserable existence. His finger tensed, squeezing the pistol's trigger; an explosion rocked the house. Thrown off balance, his shot went wide.

As Jefferson stumbled into the light, Wellington quickly fired, deftly riding the trembling floorboards beneath his feet.

Searing pain blossomed inside his skull, knocking Ben backward. Staggering, he fell.

Panting with pain, as well as victory, Wellington turned and hurried away.

***

The force of the blast not only shook the old farmhouse to its foundation, it crumbled the entire south wall of the structure; filling the cellar room, where Hailey and Sassy squatted behind their makeshift fortification, with a thick cloud of debris.

Uncovering her head with a cough, Sassy blinked against the haze created by unsettled dust particles and blazing morning light. "Well, that was certainly loud."

Stifling a laugh, Hailey assisted the older woman to her feet. "As Teal'c would say, 'Indeed.'"

"Come on Sass; let's get the hell out of here!" Latching onto Sassy's hand, Jennifer wiped her burning eyes on the sleeve of her battered blouse.

Pushing past their barricade, the two waded through bits of rubble. Admiring the gaping opening created by their little bomb.

Hailey climbed what was left of the ascending stairwell. Once she reached the top stair, she carefully popped her head up over the edge and scanned the area. Spying a pair of long legs coming around the corner of the house, she cursed her lack of a weapon.

Looking up, Sassy noted the fleeting quiver of trepidation pass over Jennifer's dust covered face. Surmising that one of the odious Marquis' henchmen must be approaching, she ran back into the wreckage searching for the sturdy galvanized bucket she'd noted earlier.

Retreating, Jennifer prepared to engage in hand-to-hand combat. She'd be damned before she gave up without a fight! Pulling her petite body behind a pile of shattered timber, she wiped her sweaty palms on her filthy trousers. Then crouching down, she picked up a fractured length of lumber.

Soft, hesitant footfalls preceded the pair of leg's rapid descent.

Holding her breath Jennifer allowed their pursuer to descend several feet and then used the wood to trip him. As the man plummeted down the remaining steps, Sassy set her teeth and cracked him on the head with the bucket.

Finished, the man fell senseless to the floor.

"Nice job, Sass!" Jennifer praised the senior quietly. Dropping the wood, she relieved their unconscious assailant of his handgun.

Breathless, Sassy patted her trusty pail and whispered. "Do you think he was alone?"

Jennifer shook her head. "Tie him up, Sass. I'll check." Glancing upward, she listened intently and rested her finger on the handgun's trigger, climbing the steps once more.

Using the man's belt, Sassy looped it around his wrists eyeing the stiff knot she'd fashioned dubiously. Unlacing his boots, she tied his laces together, hoping if he did awaken and tried to rise, he'd trip. Searching his pockets she found a rather nasty switchblade. Jamming it into her pocket, she turned him over to stuff a rag into his slack mouth and gasped. "Oh no!" Quickly unbinding her victim, she tucked the rag beneath his head, and ran to alert Jennifer.

***

Circling an enormous grouping of lilacs and an overgrown gaudy-pink hydrangea bush, Malcolm Barrett hefted his pistol, making for the front entrance of the once stately Victorian. Staggering footsteps advancing against the floorboards of the wide porch caused him to halt in mid-stride. Drawing back, he used the lush bushes as a shield, hunkered down and waited.

A tall thin man, his hand clutched to his bloodstained chest, fingers splayed around a knife's protruding handle, entered Malcolm's line of vision. Clearly in desperate straits, the man rested unsteadily against one of the porch rails, his eyes darting furtively about. Guessing that this then was the illustrious bastard who'd perpetrated O'Neill's demise, Barrett inhaled with satisfaction and prepared to intercept him.

Wellington sniffed the air savoring the heady scent of his wild and fecund garden. There was something soothing about nature's perfume, something that calmed his chaotic mind and lessened the searing pain in his breast, if he were to die, what better setting than this?

The irony of his thoughts drew Damien up short. It had been a lifetime since he'd waxed so poetic, a lifetime catering to distorted needs and perverse desires, fueled by his desolate soul. And, it was that selfsame infinite capacity for inflicting anguish that renewed his waning vigor now.

He'd been deceived. Clearly the O'Connor woman was in league with Jefferson. They'd invaded his carefully disguised idyllic fortress. Need spurned him onward; adrenalin surged though his weakened flesh. And, just as he craved the scent of fear-induced sweat, he hungered for revenge. Grinning manically, he descended the steps.oo

Colonel Samantha Carter maneuvered into position behind the farmhouse, just shy of the rundown shed. Checking her wristwatch she noted the time and covered her ears with both hands, anticipating the signal.

As the echo of the prearranged explosion faded, she watched with keen interest as two men stationed within the small structure threw back the door and exited. Heavily armed, they moved with rapid speed toward the south side of the house.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam pushed up with her elbows, rising from her prone position with fluid grace and gave chase, her P-90 cocked and ready for action.

Unfortunately, the man trailing behind hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. Shouting a warning, he pivoted and opened fire.

Sam returned fire, bullets whizzing past her ear, she dropped to the ground once more, cradling her weapon.

The man's body jerked back, his arms flying skyward. Collapsing, his stunningly attractive face looked surprised, as a small blossom of blood appeared in the center of his forehead.

Hearing his compatriot's startled cry, the second man spun to one side and snapped off a round of fire. Taking shelter behind a large birdbath, he targeted his assailant's blonde head, peppering her vulnerable position with gunfire.

Sam felt a sharp sting in her left shoulder and returned fire, striking the birdbath and sending shards of white concrete spewing into the air. Rolling to her right, she continued to nail her enemy's position.

As the birdbath shattered, the man shifted, taking a bullet to the stomach. Clutching his wound with both hands, he dropped to his knees, gasping with pain. Angrily refusing to capitulate gracefully, he plucked a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin with his teeth. Guessing the rolling woman's trajectory, he tossed the projectile her way. Then, grinning with macabre satisfaction, gave in to death.

Something landed near Sam's legs. Sparing the object a quick look, she recognized her danger and attempted to roll the opposite way.

Sadly, despite her quick reaction, Sam was unable to fully escape the force of the small bomb's ensuing detonation. As her world shattered into fragments of brilliant light and pain, Sam wondered if Jack would meet her on the other side.

***

Heading for the rapid pop of gunfire, Jack O'Neill took point. Using hand signals he directed his small band to split into three and surround the area.

Jon chose to shadow his 'uncle' Jack, while Daniel and Teal'c moved off to their left. Nodding for Prost and his little dog to follow him, Draymak veered off O'Neill's right.

Jon and Jack were less than twenty yards from the sounds of gunfire when the second explosion rent the air. Dirt and bits of turf flew skyward, raining down on their heads. Tumbling to the earth, the pair covered up, waiting for the dark rain to stop.

The smoke had barely cleared before both O'Neill's jumped rapidly to their feet and continued to advance. Rounding what remained of the shed their dirt clouded eyes spotted a half-buried figure and halted abruptly. Their linked psyches experienced a shared feeling of sick dread. Resolute, the duo moved forward.

Gulping, Jack recognized a bloody hank of blonde hair crowning the grenade's victim. "Carter!" Dropping on both knees, he desperately began scooping dirt away from her face.

Jon's heart seemed to freeze in his chest. Swallowing back the bile that threatened to choke him, he hovered near Jack's side, weapon extended, eyes alert. 'Is she... gone?' His mind begged otherwise. Somehow saying the words aloud seemed more horrifying than not knowing.

Pressing an urgent hand to Sam's bloodstained throat, Jack waited and prayed.

***

The man he assumed was the Marquis stepped gingerly out onto the home's front walkway heading away from Barrett's position; sunlight danced over the muzzle of his pistol.

Rising Malcolm trained his weapon on the back of the man's balding pate. "Stop right there, Wellington."

Damien's shoulders straightened with obvious surprise. Grimacing, he did as he was bidden and turned slowly. Narrowing his eyes, he studied his vaguely familiar foe. "Do I know you?"

"It's possible." The sound of nearby gunfire pierced the air as Malcolm eyed the Marquis dispassionately. "Drop the gun."

Retaining his pistol, Damien smiled thinly; his brow rose in resignation. "I suppose there is no possibility that you might be persuaded to..."

"None." Malcolm snapped coldly. "I'm all too aware of you loathsome predilection for torturing those close to you and your innate duplicity, Marquis."

"Ah, you mistake me, sir." Wellington countered mildly his face unperturbed. Flinching slightly, he dropped his eyes. "I will concede that on occasion I've catered to my associates unfortunate... shall we call them, masochistic appetites, but only to please them. So many of the weak-minded seem to find solace in the entrancing arms of pain."

A loud bang, followed by the unexpected sight of Dr. Jackson and Teal'c crashing through a small stand of trees interrupted their repartee.

Distracted, Malcolm glanced toward the pair for a split second. Making his move, the Marquis shot him point-blank and ran to the rear of the house.

The thirty-eight-caliber bullet struck Barrett's chest knocking him to the ground.

***

Thanks to General O'Neill's exacting method of training, Thompson and Hauser silently dispatched the two men hiding in the barn with unparalleled efficiency. Gunfire, followed shortly by another explosion aided their hunt. Snapping their respective blades back into their sheaths, the capable airmen quit the confines of the barn and moved on toward the house.

Hauser was the first to spot Hailey, as she cautiously climbed up out of the ruined foundation of the house. Gaining Thompson's attention with a hiss, he whistled.

Hailey's head came up sharply, her dirty face grim. Nodding her recognition, she motioned them to join her in the hole and then disappeared back inside.

Mystified, Thompson descended the stairs partially, remaining on guard near the entry, while Hauser ventured deeper into what was left of the cellar.

***

At first Jack's calloused fingers, resting lightly atop the artery in Carter's smooth neck, were unable to detect a thing. 'Dammit, O'Neill, try again!' Jon's voice echoed in his head urgently. Terrified, Jack pressed deeper.

A weak erratic thrill pulsed tenaciously against his fingers.

Overwhelmed, Jack closed his eyes. Two minds released a sigh of infinite gratitude, each tumultuously relieved and frightened at the same time.

Jack reached for the radio tucked into the left breast pocket of his Omega vest, clicking the channel open with his thumb. "Draymak, do you read?"

Jon took a minute to verify that the two bodies lying nearby weren't a threat and then headed back to help Jack uncover Carter's injured body.

The radio crackled. A deep voice responded. "This is Draymak..."

"Eagle down!" Frightened, Jack masked his trepidation with impatience. "Get Prost over here on the double!"

"Roger that, sir. On our way" Draymak's disembodied voice responded grimly.

***

Their paths diverging, Teal'c left Daniel Jackson behind as he took off after Special Agent Malcolm Barrett's attacker.

Daniel knelt beside the downed special agent, his forehead wrinkled with concern. There were no telltale signs of a wound staining Barrett's clothing. "Barrett, can you hear me?"

Inhaling sharply, Malcolm's eyelids fluttered and then opened to reveal a pair of unfocused pupils. Taking another deep breath, he focused on Jackson and nodded.

Coughing, Malcolm ripped open his shirt revealing the bulletproof vest beneath. Running a hand over his aching chest, he fingered the small-flattened projectile imbedded there. Realization flooded his face as he stood up. "Wellington's getting away..."

"I doubt it." Offering Barrett a helping hand, Daniel smiled grimly. "Teal'c is tracking him."

Finding his lost handgun in the deep grass, Malcolm offered Jackson a skeptical look. "Don't you think we should back him up?"

"Nope." Knowing Teal'c he'd prefer to exercise his own brand of justice alone. Crossing his arms over his chest, Daniel shook his head. "I think we should look for Hailey and Mrs. O'Connor. That explosion was..."

"Planned," Barrett interjected, rubbing his sore chest. Man, getting shot sure packed a wallop! "It was our signal to move in."

"Ours, as in yours and Sam's?" Daniel asked harshly, disapproval marring his brow. "I'm surprised at you Barrett; I thought you special agent types practiced more prudence."

"Save it, Jackson. I've read your files; remember?" Malcolm snorted, tilting his head to one side. "Look, let's find Mrs. O'Connor and the lieutenant, we can argue the merits of this operation later."

"Got any idea where the two are?" Daniel subsided coolly. Squinting, he pursed his lips.

"Affirmative." Adjusting his clothing, Malcolm grimaced and moved off.

***

Ripping a portion of her blouse free, Sassy climbed over the scattered debris making her way to the cracked sink she'd noted earlier. The taps were rusty, but with some little effort she managed to elicit a trickle of cold water from the ancient pipes and drench the scrap of linen.

Returning to her victim's side, she pressed the cool cloth against the lump forming on the side of his head, gently patting his cheek. "Forgive me Ned I thought you were one of Wellington's villains."

Still fighting his stupor, Drew's lips twitched. 'Villain? What the... She thought he, the NID Dudley Do-Right, was Snidely Whiplash?' Feeling like he'd just slammed into oncoming traffic without his bike helmet, Ned swallowed back the nausea that threatened to make him hurl.

Realizing his need, Sassy gently eased his head into her lap, mopping his brow. "Take some deeps breaths dear, and think lovely thoughts."

***

Airman Hauser followed Lieutenant Hailey into the dim recesses of the destroyed cellar. At first, he was unable to see more than the residual spots one endures coming indoors from the bright sunlight while their pupils dilate to accommodate the lack of illumination. A soft moan near his feet stopped him cold. "I'm glad to see you're intact lieutenant, but where is Mrs..."

"I'm fine Philip, never fear." Sassy's voice informed him jauntily. "Unfortunately, Ned needs your assistance... He's... a bit worse for wear."

Finally able to focus, Hauser's eyes widened as he took in the tableau sprawled out at his feet.

Special Agent Drew, his semi-conscious head nestled in Mrs. O'Connor's seated lap, moaned softly. Kneeling beside them, Hailey was busy lacing Drew's boots. Glancing up, she noted Hauser's gaping mouth. "Don't just stand there airman, help me get his man up!"

"Ma'am!" Hauser snapped, bending to lend a hand.

Together, he and the lieutenant assisted the still vaguely senseless agent to his feet.

A sudden shaft of sunlight cascaded over the lieutenant's burnished head, drawing the airman's attention. Beneath its fine coating of dust, Hailey's face appeared strained and pale. "Lieutenant, maybe you should take point and let Thompson help with Drew here."

Jennifer's drawn face flushed with irate denial. Despite her body's liberal supply of adrenalin, and the dextrose solution Sassy had so thoughtfully provided, Hailey was still fighting the effects of the drugs she'd been given and her meager reserves were waning fast.

'It doesn't matter whose right, Lieutenant.' General O'Neill's voice seemed to echo in her head. Razor sharp grief threatened to rob Jennifer of her last vestiges of stamina.

Emulating the general's example, she used her anguish to fuel her rage experiencing a surge of renewed vigor. Biting back a retort, she relieved Thompson of his P-90, motioning for him to lend Hauser a hand.

Keeping a sharp eye, Hailey climbed the steps. Running a steady hand over her clammy neck, she ducked into the daylight.

***

Flinching with each pop of gunfire, Kris paced the gravel road cursing like a sailor and bemoaning the general's orders to stay put. Okay, so technically she was a nurse, that didn't mean she was any less of a warrior! Fingering the radio Draymak had the foresight to add to his automobile's mini-arsenal, she itched to make contact, but ingrained military discipline stayed her tense fingers. Running a hand through her hair, she kicked the bumper of Draymak's Jeep and screamed with frustration.

Following the distant sounds of battle, Eisley was the first to spot Captain Martin. Accelerating, he maneuvered the vehicle alongside her parked Jeep and braked, sending the gravel beneath their wheels flying.

As the two military Jeeps screeched to a halt, Kris recognized Major Kearney and straightened up. "Major Kearney!" Kris saluted her face tense.

"Captain." Kearny acknowledged curtly, jumping from the Jeep. "What the hell is going on, Martin? I thought you were back at the base..."

Grimacing, Kris licked her lips and fingered the small sidearm tucked in her jeans. "I was ordered to stay here and wait..."

The pop of gunfire ended abruptly with the sound of a grenade's detonation. Cringing, Kris yanked her sidearm free and released the safety.

Turning his head toward the blast, the major's blue eyes searched the sky, noting a cloud of smoke billowing on their flank. "Did Colonel Carter give you that order, Captain?" Kearney tossed over his shoulder, motioning his team to fan out and head for the tree line. Pulling an extra vest from the Jeep, he tossed it to the captain and made to follow his men.

"Not exactly, sir." Catching the vest, Kris avoided his gaze, slipped it on and followed his lead.

Breaking into a lope, he spared her a quizzical glance. Both their radios clicked. Depressing the receiver, the major was stunned to hear the late General Jack O'Neill's very distinctive voice report via code that a colonel was injured. Then shortly demand someone named Draymak bring Prost to the downed officer's aid. Speculating that the injured officer was Colonel Carter, Kearney swallowed his questions and picked up the pace.oo

Jack and Jon carefully dug Carter's body from the shallow crater. Her head and torso were covered with a thin coating of loose soil and sod, mixed with a staggering amount of fresh blood.

Sam's face was torn and oozing. A gory bullet hole in her exposed shoulder bled rhythmically, despite the thick mud encrusting it.

Pulling a bulky field dressing from his Omega vest, Jack pressed it firmly against the hideous wound, tying it tightly around her armpit. Terrified, he checked her pulse once more, sighing with relief when his slippery fingers located the faint thrill. Ripping open Sam's vest, he gratefully noted her body armor. "That a girl, Sam..."

Urgently, using both his hands to free Sam's leg, Jon silently recited the Lord's Prayer. Moving an exceptionally large chunk of turf, he gasped.

The explosion's resulting shrapnel had reduced Sam's lower left leg to a bloody mass of torn flesh, exposing the main artery. Uncovered, the wounded vessel spewed its life sustaining fluid skyward with every desperate beat of her heart.

"Crap, this is bad Jack, very bad!" Pulling off his belt, Jon wrapped it around her slender thigh and pulled tight, creating a tourniquet.

Jack clicked his radio. "Draymak, Prost, where the hell are you?"

Draymak's breathless voice responded. "Sorry General... we've..." Gunfire interrupted the transmission, and then static filled the air.

Sucking in a strangled breath, Jack instinctively used their unique psychic conduit to connect with his duplicate. 'We've gotta do something right now or we're gonna lose her!'

They were fresh out of options. Carter's life was worth the risk of exposing their talents.

Jon silently concurred. Laying both his hands on Sam's shattered leg, he closed his eyes.

Jack rested his shaking right hand directly over the ugly pulsating wound in Sam's shoulder. Placing his left against her faintly beating heart, he denied his fear, emptied his mind and allowed the power within him to swell, adding its strength to that of his clone.

Blocking out his surroundings, Jon linked his mind with Jack's, retreating to that place within their collective consciousness where they'd hidden the Ancients' knowledge.

***

Coming up out of a shallow ravine, over a rise, Kearney, Martin and the major's six-man team hunkered down. Approximately fifty yards ahead, two men and what appeared to be a dog, sprawled out in the deep grass, behind a short woodpile, near the southwest corner of the farm's main house.

Pulling a small spyglass from his vest, Kearney surveyed the scene. A sniper, his rifle protruding from the window of an old-fashioned outhouse, had the pair pinned down.

Recognizing the trapped men, Kris clutched the major's sleeve. "That's Colonel Draymak and Dr. Jeff Prost."

"One of them has taken a hit." Kearney whispered tersely, passing her the spyglass. Pointing at the sniper, he inclined his head.

Already in position, Eisley returned the nod. Closing his left eye, he peered through his weapon sight and waited.

Kris trained the glass on the ensnared men. Jeff, Mischief's tiny body scrunched protectively against him, was lying on his side behind the pile of kindling. Furiously pressing a field dressing against a motionless Draymak's left shoulder with one hand, he attempted to return fire with the other. Clenching her fists, Kris licked the sweat from her upper lip and ground her teeth.

As the sniper leaned forward to take another shot, his head appeared fleetingly within the small crescent-shaped window. Eisley squeezed off two shots in rapid succession, striking the assailant's temple. The man's head jerked back and he disappeared from view.

***

The crack of gunfire halted Hailey's progress. Hanging back within the shattered remains of the storm cellar opening, she scanned the landscape. Catching sight of Daniel, accompanied by one of the men who'd escorted Sassy to the general's funeral, she moved forward into the sunlight.

Hustling to her side Daniel grinned, eyes crinkling. "Good to see you in one piece, Lieutenant."

Two airmen assisted a rather wobbly Ned Drew to the surface, followed closely by the welcome sight of Mrs. Sassy O'Connor's spirited countenance. Throwing her arms wide, the lady pulled the stunned archeologist close and hugged the stuffing out of him. "Look whose talking!"

Desperately attempting to inhale a strangled breath, Daniel gasped. "Gah! Ah... Sass, I can't breathe!"

"What the hell happened to you, Drew?" Barrett snapped, arching a brow.

Sassy released Danny, eyes flashing. Spinning on her heel, she wagged her index finger. "Malcolm, I will not tolerate that tone. After all, Jennifer and I had no way of knowing it was Ned we were bashing on the head."

Barrett's eyebrows shot upward. Biting his lower lip, he stifled a laugh. Humiliated, Ned's face flushed scarlet. Closing his eyes, he fought another bout of nausea.

Turning toward the echoing sounds of gunfire, Jennifer interrupted. "Where is Colonel Carter?" Seven worried pairs of eyes shifted her way. Flaring her nostrils, Jennifer nodded curtly. "Right. Might I suggest we adjourn to the battlefield and back her up?"

Sassy took Ned's arm, relieving the two airmen of their burden. Waving her hand dismissively, she ordered. "You go on ahead and assist Samantha. I'll look after Ned." Watching them swiftly move off, she led Drew to a small bench nearby; then, brandishing her firearm, stood guard.

***

Jaffa discipline and training aided Teal'c as he tracked the man who'd attacked Special Agent Malcolm Barrett. His prey was both determined and visibly unsteady. Thus, Teal'c bided his time and trailed his quarry, confident that prolonging the hunt would be beneficial.

Damien Wellington snaked along the northwest edge of the main yard, using the deep grass and unruly shrubbery as cover. Still supporting the knife that had cleaved the main muscle of his chest, he ignored the blood seeping between his outspread fingers saturating his shirt, elation negating his pain. He'd made it to the rear of the large Victorian unchallenged. While his men dealt with the inept intruders he would make his way to his hidden vehicle and escape.

His soaring confidence took an unexpected beating when he encountered the inert bodies of two of his men crumpled lifeless and staring, amongst the unkempt remains of a once tidy garden. Falling to his knees, the quivering Marquis used the back of his gun hand to mop the trickle of sweat that stung his bleary eyes and robbed them of focus.

The recent welcome tune of intermittent gunfire faded away, replaced by ominous silence. Uncertainty left Damien breathless and giddy.

Suddenly the pain in his chest increased, his muscles trembled with fatigue. Stumbling to his feet, he advanced several more yards, fighting the vertigo and darkness that threatened to overtake him. Someone, or something, stirred along the outer vestiges of his peripheral vision. Pivoting, his dim eyes alighted on two blurry, yet strangely familiar forms.

Could it be? Was he hallucinating? Not one, but two O'Neills knelt over the body of a woman, their eyes closed, weapons neglected; exposed and unaware. Triumphant glee suffused Wellington's weakened flesh, leaving him giddy with anticipation. Raising his pistol, he trained it on the reckless pair, grinning sardonically.

Teal'c's keen eyes noted the uncommon presence of the vulnerable O'Neills moments before his prey. Recognizing the injured body to be that of Colonel Carter, his carefully banked need for revenge flared. Consequently, as the man lifted his weapon, Teal'c nimbly closed the gap between them, silently snapping the man's neck with his skillful hands.

Tossing the carcass aside, Teal'c advanced, hovering protectively over the threesome. Lost in concentration, neither O'Neill acknowledged his arrival. Refusing to look directly at the carnage that had once been a woman he admired, the sage Jaffa denied his urge to offer assistance. Scanning the area for further peril, he remained on the alert and waited.

O'Neill's weathered face appeared untroubled; Jon's restful and innocent. Slowly a faint light coalesced beneath their ministering hands. Spreading outward, the glow flittered over Colonel Carter's broken form. Pulsing upward the light engulfed all three completely.

Raising a hand to protect his dazzled eyes, Teal'c held his breath, heartened. Time stood still. A restless breeze ruffled a small majestic copse of nearby trees. Slowly the gentle wind became a mighty gale, tearing at the Jaffa's uniform, stinging his eyes with small bits of debris. The glow increased in intensity obliterating his vision. Then, suddenly the storm ceased. The light faded. Silence reigned.

Both O'Neills remained immobile, their expressions tranquil. Teal'c remained watchful.

Slowly, Jon opened his eyes hungrily scanning Carter's legs. The sight of her mended flesh creased his unlined face with joy. 'Hot damn, Jack! Open your eyes!'

Jack's deep-set eyelids fluttered. His tongue slid nervously over his lower lip. 'Don't rush me, will ya?' Clenching his jaw, he cracked his left lid allowing his narrow vision to caress Carter's upper body.

Sam's face and uniform remained mud-covered, bloody and disheveled, but her injuries were gone. Jack's eyes burned with hot tears. Speechless, he swallowed hard, gently fingering her unmarred cheek.

Jon's gaze skittered upward. Locking eyes with Teal'c, he shrugged, offering a lopsided smile. "Hey T... been there long?"

"Indeed I have, Jon O'Neill." Lifting his chin, Teal'c blinked back the moisture that suddenly clouded his dedicated vision, his lush lips curving upward with an answering smile.

***

Ignoring the major's cautious order, Kris ran full-tilt down the embankment and collapsed beside Prost. Gently pushing his bloodstained hands aside, she took over the task of applying pressure to the colonel's wound, muttering an oath. "Hell, Jeff."

Preoccupied with Draymak's condition, Jeff wiped absently at a thin rivulet of blood above his left eyebrow and offered her a distracted smile of welcome. "We need more field dressings... the colonel's lost a good deal of blood." Glancing sideways, his anxious eyes addressed her armed escort. "Colonel Carter is lying out there somewhere wounded."

"We'll find her, Doc." Kearney barked. Squinting at the unknown doctor, he huffed. "Emerson! Assist the captain." Lightly smacking Kris's shoulder, he motioned for his team to continue on. "As soon as we've secured the area you owe me one hell of an explanation, Martin."

While the major and the rest of the team moved off to secure the perimeter and search for Colonel Carter, Emerson dropped to his knees ripping open his field pack. "How long has he been down?"

"Not sure... I lost track... fighting off the bad guys... " Prost stammered, shaking his head. Crouching alongside him, Mischief whimpered sympathetically.

Using her elbow to continue applying direct pressure to the wound, Kris pulled an intravenous set-up from Emerson's medical field pack and began priming the tubing. "Contact the SGC and get a medical chopper in the air, Sergeant."

"Understood." Hitting the speed dial on his cell, he propped it between his shoulder and chin, pulling a portable oxygen set-up from his pack. "Command, this is Emerson, eagle down, I repeat, eagle down. Request medical evacuation, STAT!"

***

Standing by, anticipating just such a call, Sergeant Walter Davis shifted into overdrive. Taking a few moments to ascertain their needs and whereabouts, he alerted Dr. Carson's medical crew; then bustled off to update the temporary base commander, Major Paul Davis.

***

A familiar drab blur of uniforms brought Hailey up short. Kneeling, she signaled the men behind her to find cover, and took a chance. "This is Lieutenant Hailey, United States Air Force, stand fast and identify yourself."

"Lower your weapon, Hailey. It's Major Kearney." The major's voice responded in an amused tone.

Jennifer's tense shoulders relaxed. Rising, she lowered her P-90. "Understood, sir." The major and five of his security men rapidly overtook her little bands' position.

Taking in the sight of his two errant airmen, Jackson and the special agent, Kearny frowned. "Where are Mrs. O'Connor and Colonel Carter?"

"Mrs. O'Connor is safe." Barrett replied in a steely tone. "Afraid we lost track of the colonel."

Kearney's lips thinned. "And just where would Teal'c be, Jackson?"

Owl eyed, Daniel shrugged.

"I see." Kearney bit out, his eyes flashing. "Okay people, spread out and find them."

***

General O'Neill's voice calling her name penetrated the velvety darkness, demanding compliance. Struggling, Sam cracked open her deep blue eyes, fighting the bright sun's glare. Just as she'd hoped, Jack's handsome face greeted her. Reaching up, she traced his sensual lower lip with a muddy finger. "So then, I guess heaven isn't a myth."

Jack's heart turned over. Slipping into his familiar disguise, he snorted, wagging his eyebrows with a crooked grin. "Well Carter, that all depends on your definition of heaven."

"Anyplace you are is paradise, Jack." Smiling, she settled back in his arms. Drained and confused, she closed her weary eyes giving in to the balm of deep sleep.

***

Moving toward the remains of what looked like a shed; Jennifer was the first to spot Jon O'Neill, hands covered with drying blood, supporting his P-90. Thinking the crimson gore was his; she rushed forward and clutched his arm. "Jon, where were you hit?"

Jon's grimy face spit with a wide grin. "I'm fine, Jennifer, no worries." Noting Major Kearney and his contingent trailing closely behind the lieutenant, he sobered, blocking their way. "Hold up, Major. There's something you should all know before going any further."

"Just what would that be, kid?" Narrowing his eyes, Kearney looked the lad over. Jon appeared to be uninjured and intact. So then, exactly whose blood was spattered liberally over his fatigues and hands? Sucking in a breath, he demanded, "Have you seen Colonel Carter?"

"We have indeed, Major Kearney." Teal'c's booming voice sounded directly behind Jon's position.

"Colonel Carter is suffering the effects of a blow to her head." The big Jaffa stepped gingerly from behind the shed, cradling the unconscious officer in his massive arms.

Daniel rushed to the big man's side. Swallowing hard, he ran concerned hands over the multiple rents and bloodstained holes in Sam's uniform. There were no correlating wounds; exchanging a knowing look with Teal'c, he cast a grateful smile Jon's way.

Kearney's tense face relaxed slightly. "So whose blood..."

"Ah, yeah... about that... it's like this..." Shifting his shoulders uncomfortably, Jon's brows rose and fell. "The general... that is... my uncle Jack..."

"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated." O'Neill quipped stepping forward from the shadow of the shed.

Glancing distastefully at his own blood-covered countenance, he shrugged, sighing dramatically. "Taking out the bad guys can be so very messy, don't ya think?"

The collective group remained silent, astonished by his miraculous appearance, mouths agape, eyes wide.

Hailey was the first to recover. Never a slouch in the brains department, she searched Jon's face, finding the truth. Dropping her hands, she stepped back, her expression inscrutable. "Yes, sir, General, very messy." She agreed coolly.

Squaring her shoulders, Jennifer stared blankly ahead. "May I suggest that I impart the glad tidings to Mrs. O'Connor, General? The shock might be a bit much for a woman her age."

Jack's bushy eyebrows climbed, furrowing his brow. Coughing slightly, he acquiesced. "Handle it, Lieutenant."

"Sir." Hailey saluted formally and then took off, heading back to the place they'd left Sassy and Drew.

'Crap!' Kicking a stone with his boot, Jon released an inaudible sigh of frustration and watched her leave.

'What the hell are you waiting for kid, an engraved invitation?' Jack's mind prodded. 'Look, for better or worse you've been given a second chance – don't waste it!'

'More than likely she'll kick me in the ass.' Jon's psyche snorted. 'Ah well, nothing ventured...' Smiling wryly, he straightened his spine and trailed after her.

"Has anybody seen Jefferson?" Barrett's eyes wandered over the company thoughtfully.

"Jefferson?" Kearney thundered, eyes flashing. "You mean to tell me that besides these two," He paused, piercing Hauser and Thompson with his glare, "Ben Jefferson was involved in this screwed up affair?"

Hauser and Thompson shifted restlessly, exchanging a nervous look. "Yes, sir." They piped up as one.

"Involved?" Barrett bit out. "He instigated it. Jefferson located Hailey and alerted the colonel. The fact is he concocted the whole thing."

A rapid aerial chopping noise heralded the approach of the medical helicopter.

Jack's head whipped around. "Who?" He squinted quizzically.

Understanding the terse inquiry, Kearney reported promptly. "A Colonel Draymak, sir. He and a Dr. Prost were pinned down by sniper fire... he took one to the shoulder... Captain Martin and Sergeant Emerson, are assisting Prost with him now, General."

"Understood." Jack nodded satisfied. "Teal'c, get Carter to the chopper," O'Neill ordered, waving a dismissive hand. Tossing his head toward the major, he continued, "Kearney, fan out, find Jefferson and secure the area."

Jack snagged the back of the retreating Jackson's jacket. "Hold up a minute Daniel."

Casting a regretful look toward Teal'c's retreating form, Daniel halted and fell into step beside his friend. Turning, his animated face settled into a cordial mask of benign interest. Crossing his arms, he arched a brow. "Hey, Jack... what's new?"

Sauntering along, Jack shrugged. "Oh the usual, smarmy bad guys, intrigue... I got banged up a bit..." His voice climbed an octave.

"Yeah, about that, Jack..." Rubbing his chin, Daniel cast him a sidelong stare. "You want to explain how it is you were dead one minute and tip-top the next... I mean, we buried you Jack, had a funeral and everything..."

"Really?" Jack asked mildly, evading the question. "Who gave the eulogy?"

Inhaling, Daniel held his breath for a second and then released a sigh of resignation. "You're not gonna tell me, are you Jack?"

"Tell you what, Danny?" Jack responded, assuming his most effective method of diversion – an air of complete density.

Smiling fondly, Daniel cast his eyes skyward. "Never mind, Jack. It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back." Jack admitted quietly, patting Daniel's shoulder lightly.

***

Carson and his team assumed Draymak's care with the fluidity of a classical ballet. Jeff, refusing to fully relinquish his responsibility, brushed aside Kris's attempt to attend to his injuries. Requesting Emerson remand custody of Mischief to O'Neill, he climbed aboard the chopper. Carson, content with Captain Martin's ready acceptance and the man's dedication to his patient, tolerated Prost's presence without comment.

However the sight of Colonel Carter lying limply in Teal'c's gentle embrace, her uniform in bloody tatters, pallid flesh contrasting glaringly with his ebony bulk, gave him pause.

Teal'c, noting the telltale signs of dread flash over Carson's carefully impassive face, shook his head, lips twitching upward slightly. Shouting to be heard over the helicopter's engine, the Jaffa was succinct, as he transferred the colonel into the awaiting arms of one of the medics. "A blow to the head... Colonel Carter regained consciousness briefly..."

Lifting his chin, Carson acknowledged the information. The two seasoned fighters exchanged an eloquent gaze, each respecting the battles the other shouldered willingly.

Concentrating on the voice buzzing in his headset, one of the crewmen nodded. Yelling, he advised, "Tell Major Kearney a second medical chopper is two clicks out... we're airborne in thirty seconds..."

"I shall." Ducking, Teal'c rejoined the cleanup efforts.

***

Creeping stealthily along the dim hallway of the oversized farmhouse, Barrett's searching gaze alighted on an uneven trail of bright red droplets. Tossing a meaningful look Thompson's way, he inclined his head indicating the bloody pattern.

Thompson, with Hauser minding his six, nodded grimly and mounted the stairs. Using the gory breadcrumbs as their guide, moving silently upward, they located its conclusion - a small crimson puddle near the top of the stairs.

Squatting, Barrett fingered one of the drops at the base of the steps. Detecting a set of blood-tinged boot prints, he tracked them along the Persian carpet and out the door, wondering if they belonged to Wellington.

Thompson and Hauser continued searching, checking each room for a hidden enemy, or signs of life. Drawn by the sounds of running water their first stop was the bath. Revolted by their find, they exchanged a look.

Two bodies, thrown haphazardly into the deep tub, presented a gruesome illustration of their killer's skill and lack of compunction. The pair increased their vigilance, moving rapidly throughout the second floor, finding it empty. Meanwhile, Barrett's continued exploration of the first floor was proving to be equally fruitless.

A muffled creak of the floorboards alerted the wary agent. Spinning, he quickly dropped his weapon, recognizing Thompson's shocked face. "Do you have a death wish, airman?"

Wide-eyed, Thompson squeaked. "Sorry, sir. Other than a couple of stiffs, the upstairs is clean."

"Jefferson?" Barrett inquired sliding his handgun into its holster.

"No sign of him." Hauser replied joining them. Thumbing his radio, the airman connected with the major. "Sir, Hauser here. The house is secure, has anyone located Jefferson?"

"Negative, Hauser." Kearney responded flatly.

"I suspect he's long gone, gentlemen." Malcolm's mouth twisted with distaste. "And, I highly doubt his real name was Ben Jefferson."

***

Overhearing the major's exchange with Hauser, Jack waylaid Kearney, requesting a full report. Although his connection to Jon left him cognizant of many of the events of the past several days, there were still quite a few pieces of the puzzle still missing. Verification of Jefferson's true motives and identity now reigned supreme among them.

Your typical base commander would feel more than a measure of disquiet over that little tidbit alone; however, General Jack O'Neill, ex-special operative, had rarely been accused of being ordinary.

Once he heard the major out, O'Neill planned to debrief each and every person involved in this whole convoluted escapade, hoping their unique perspectives would neatly fill in the blanks.

Grateful as he was to have the general back, Kearney was all too aware that his information was sketchy at best. Nevertheless, he dutifully imparted all he knew.

Resting atop an old tree stump, stroking the sheltie's glossy fur, O'Neill kept an eye peeled on the clean up efforts around them, offering little commentary. However, details of the sniper's demise prompted a snide, "Nothing like a crapshoot, eh Kearny?" and a ready smirk.

"Yes, sir. Good one, General." The major grinned. "You might even say he crapped out."

"Yep, he was shit out of luck!" Jack snorted lightly, finding release in their shared brand of inane humor. Sighting Sassy's lively approach, he grew pensive.

***

Throughout most of Kearney's litany, Jack's peripheral consciousness remained in touch with his counterpart. Therefore, he was privy to Jon's contrite confession to the two women that it had been his idea to fake Jack's death. While Hailey's first response was silent simmering anger, Sassy's was far more benevolent.

In point of fact, the sagacious and magnanimous senior sanctioned Jon's actions. Hugging the startled stripling, ardently bussing his cheek, she whispered in his ear, "It was a good plan, Jon. Knowing your uncle's penchant for keeping secrets, I should have expected as much. Has he ever told you just how we met?"

Holding him at arms length, her doting eyes noted the sparkle of confirming laughter in his. Smiling, Sassy wiped an errant tear from her dirt-streaked cheek. "I see that he has, you're every bit the rapscallion he is aren't you!"

Jon's answering grin reflected both respect and admiration. "Yes, ma'am, I guess I am." Gazing over Sassy's head, catching sight of Jennifer's rigid stance, his grin dissipated. "I wish everyone had your vision, Sass."

"Give her time, son." Sassy advised affectionately. "Now, I'm off to find that rascally uncle of yours." Casting a quick smile of encouragement Jennifer's way, she bustled off.

Clearing his throat, Jon squared his shoulders. 'Ah, Jack...'

'Got ya, kid. Good luck.' Beating a hasty retreat, Jack severed his unique connection to Jon. Allowing his duplicate to privately confront Hailey's anger gave him an almost fatherly sense of achievement.

Once Thor altered Jon's body making it possible for his clone to survive, he had distanced himself in order to maintain his sanity. Wondering at his lack of foresight, Jack realized that he'd underestimated the kid's, well actually his own, exceptional ability to adapt. After all he'd spent most of his career wearing the flexible mask of stealth and command. Still, the kid's seamless transition made him feel strangely proud and just a tad envious.

As for Jon and Hailey's burgeoning attraction, well it freaked him out a bit. Frankly, the concept was rather hinky. However, it really wasn't up to him. Well okay, on some level it was, but on this matter at least, Jack planned to use his reliable old safety net – a façade of complete ignorance.

***

Seeing Jonathan perched on an old log, stroking a small pup, his face grinning boyishly, Sassy's heart filled with unabashed jubilation. And for a moment, she just stood still, drinking him in.

The second his face sobered registering her presence, Sassy's need to touch him and make sure he was truly whole, herded her forward.

Jack stood up; his sable eyes alight with regret and affectionate concern. "Are you all right, Sass?"

Wordlessly clasping his tall sinewy body to her ample bosom, Sassy held on tight. Trembling uncontrollably, she refused to cry, knowing her sobs would cause his carefully shielded heart pain.

Feeling inadequate and awkward, Jack exchanged a look with the major and stroked her hair. "It's okay Sass, everything's okay."

Refusing to release him fully, Sassy stepped back. "Almost everything." Looking up into his rugged and much beloved face, she smirked. "There's still an unresolved matter I'd like to discuss with you, Jonathan."

"Only one?" Jack chuckled, relieved.

"Ah, excuse me, General." Kearney cleared his throat.

"Oh dear, I've interrupted." Relinquishing her hold, Sassy moved aside.

Flushing, Kearney stammered. "Not at all ma'am... I... sorry Mrs. O'Connor, I was just..."

Waving a dismissive hand, Sassy refused his apology. "Nonsense! My concern can wait. Jonathan, we'll chat later." Pivoting spryly, she strode off.

Outranked, Jack agreed. "Ma'am, yes ma'am!" Sitting back down on the stump, eyes twinkling paradoxically, he drew the little dog still waiting patiently at his feet, into his lap. "You were saying, Major?"

Epilogue

Camped impatiently beside Sam's bed, Daniel set aside the folder marked classified, removed his eyeglasses and stretched. It had been two very eventful days since he and the others had gone on their rescue mission. How much longer could she sleep?

According to Dr. Brightman, Sam's head injury was minor. However, the battered condition of the colonel's uniform and unexplained anemia led the good doctor to suspect that the grenade had done quite a bit more damage.

Unable to find any additional wounds, Brightman wisely restrained her questing zeal. Mutely instilling three units of whole blood into Colonel Carter's veins, she reported that given some rest Sam should be fine. Yet, while Ned Drew was discharged, Prost returned to civilian life and Draymak steadily recuperated, Sam slept on.

"Maybe you should get some rest, Jackson." Carson muttered, pulling the colonel's chart from its holder at the end of the bed, he scanned the corpsman's last entry. "Her vitals are normal... it would appear that she's just sleeping."

"I don't understand it, how long can one person sleep?" Sighing, Daniel slipped his spectacles into his pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why doesn't she wake up?"

"Maybe she isn't aware that she can." Carson shrugged. "Have you tried calling her name?"

"Huh?" Perplexed, Daniel's mouth gaped.

Shaking his head, Kit bent his tall frame and whispered. "Time to wake up, Colonel."

Sam's eyelids fluttered slightly, but still she slept.

Encouraged, Daniel gave it a try. "Sam, for the love of God, will you please wake up?" He shouted.

Sam's eyes popped open. "Jeez, Daniel, where's the fire?" She demanded blearily. Realization exploded in her head, eliciting a smile. "Hey, I'm not dead."

"Nope." Daniel grinned exchanging a bemused look with Dr. Carson. "You're one-hundred percent."

"And, if you'll excuse me, I have a couple of real patients who need my attention." Snapping the colonel's chart shut, Carson left the pair alone.

"What happened... Daniel, is Hailey... was Sassy able... wait a minute... there was a grenade... I was blown up..." Looking him over, Sam noted the absence of injury. "And you were shot!"

"Would you believe I heal fast?" Daniel ventured, pursing his lips.

Rubbing a hand over her unruly hair, Sam refused to be patronized. "What the heck is going on, Daniel Jackson?"

Hoping to lighten the mood, Daniel employed a very O'Neill-like approach. "Okay, okay... First or 'A'... both Sassy and Hailey are fine. Two or 'B', the grenade blast gave you a nasty knock to the head."

Holding his left hand up, he dramatically folded one finger at a time, ticking each item off. "Three or..."

"Stop it." Sam eyes filled with unshed tears.

Biting her trembling lower lip, she stifled a sob. "He was there... I was dead and... hell, I guess it was all a dream... Daniel, I saw Jack."

"Yes, Sam you did." Daniel told her kindly. Smiling gently, he elaborated. "Sam, we all did. Jack is fine."

Searching his face, Sam's eyes lit with hope. "Jack, I mean, General O'Neill is alive?"

"Alive and currently reaming the head of the CIA's ass." Picking up the discarded folder, Daniel pulled his chair closer.

Flipping the file open, he laid it in her lap. "Do you want the edited version or would you prefer to read it yourself?"

"I prefer the unvarnished truth." Sniffing, she closed the folder, offering him an expectant look of chagrin. "Spit it out Daniel... I'm not in the mood."

Handing her a glass of water, Daniel took a deep breath. "Okay, then..." Over the course of the next half hour, he filled her in on the file's contents.

Daniel started his saga with Jon's plot to protect Jack, interweaving it with the culmination of events at the Marquis' hideout.

Sam's face registered varying emotions, but throughout the litany she remained mute attempting to listen and digest the fact that Jack was safe.

It turned out that the man they'd known as Ben Jefferson had simply vanished. However, he'd evidently forwarded a thick packet of information. Labeled urgent, delivered by special messenger service and addressed cryptically to 'the late General J. O'Neill,' the contents underlined the fact that Jefferson had access to sensitive information.

Apparently, GEOM was a pseudonym for a company involved in the study of geometric progression, as in DNA code. One of their directors had gotten wind of the O'Neills' unique abilities, presumably from Kinsey or his people, and decided to exploit them. That director had been mysteriously found dead in his office mere hours after Jefferson disappeared.

According to the coroner: the man, Miles Pendleton, had been brutally dispatched, his carotid artery severed by a serrated blade, one consistent with those issued to military personnel.

The information Jefferson provided caused more than a ripple effect, as did the unwelcome interference of the CIA, which had nearly cost Jon his life. As a result, the entire SGC security protocol was being overhauled.

Postulating that he was finished, Daniel paused.

"And just where is the duplicitous miniature O'Neill now?" Throwing back the linens covering her legs, Sam's stormy eyes flashed. "Seeing as how he is not my commanding officer, I'm gonna throttle him!"

"Whoa, settle down, Sam he's gone." Daniel informed her quietly. "And I have to admit, his actions were sound."

"Gone?" Sam echoed dubiously, her anger unappeased. "His actions were sound? Are you out of your mind! For God's sake, we buried the general! We held a funeral! When I think of the pain it caused... the entire base was in mourning and what about poor Sassy..."

"She took him with her." Daniel interjected silencing her tirade.

Watching Sam's face melt with confusion, he continued, "Sassy insisted that a boy of Jon's years needed more supervision than a general in Jack's position was capable of giving, wisely pointing out the danger he'd endured as a result. And, Jack conceded that granting her custody of his 'nephew' seemed like a perfect answer. In fact, both O'Neills found the idea sound."

"Jon left with Sassy this morning." Folding his arms smugly behind his head, Daniel grinned. "You've got to admit Sam, it's a nifty alternative to protective custody, after all, despite his... ah, history, legally Jon is still just a kid. Besides, I think he was tired of being so alone."

Sam's mouth gaped. That an O'Neill would allow himself to be remanded into the care of an elderly woman seemed, well, hell it was science fiction!

"Oh, I almost forgot." Fishing in his pocket, Daniel pulled out a crumpled envelope.

"Jon left you a note." Passing it to her he stood up and moved the chair back against the wall. "I'm gonna head to the mess and get you something to eat, I'll bet you're hungry."

It was addressed simply to Carter, in an all too familiar hand. Ripping it open, Sam scanned its contents.

Dear Sam;

About now I'm sure you want to wring my neck, but after you've cooled off I think you'll see things my way.

Hurting any of you was the last thing I wanted. However, it was imperative that we catch the scum-sucking bastard who hurt Jack, threatened my life and frankly, disrupted my oh so very tranquil sojourn into adolescent academia.

In the end we accomplished that goal. I expect you will understand and forgive Teal'c's willing involvement... Jaffa revenge and all that. As for Sass, well she needs me.

I leave Jack in your capable care. Remember he's not as tough as he seems. Don't let that dense façade he hides behind bamboozle you.

See ya around, Carter.

Jon

Sam folded the short missive. The memory of waking up in the bright sunlight, seeing Jack's expressive face, believing she'd died and gone to heaven, flooded her mind. Jon was right about one thing, Jack O'Neill was not as tough as he seemed.

Tucking the note into the breast pocket of her scrub top, she settled back against the pillows, lost in contemplation. Maybe now that this latest series of duplicitous machinations had been resolved, it was time she planned a little intrigue of her own. Yep, why the hell not?

The End

Index