Warriors, Pink Cakes and Little Gray Butts by Cjay

Previously in Part Two of Warriors, Pink Cakes and Lil' Gray butts; another stirring chapter in the continuing adventures of that delectable hard candy confection, with the soft chewy center, Jack O'Neill:

THREE: True to Center

The radiance of the Asgard transport beam faded, replaced by a scintillating emerald green glow. Blinking rapidly, General Jack O'Neill released the breath he'd been holding. Assuming a deceptively relaxed air, he pivoted slowly, allowing all of his senses to take in the new situation.

Bemoaning his lack of a weapon or protective eyewear, O'Neill willed the black dots from his spotty vision. Flanked by tropical jungle, he stood waist deep in vegetation that smelled like geraniums, and whose fronds inexplicably seemed to move aside when his questing fingers reached out to sample their texture.

His sharp eyes were unable to discern any form of skyline, only a presumably endless expanse of softly illuminated and oddly reflective crystalline rock. Despite the absence of a sun the air around him was still and muggy. Off in the distance he could hear the muted, but distinct sound of fast moving water. Judging by the echoing property of that sound, the florescent quality of the light, and the loamy smells assailing his nostrils, he was in some form of vast vegetation filled cavern.

Apparently the intoxicated Asgard high councilor hadn't deposited him in the frigid airless vacuum of space. So, just where had the pint-sized tyrant banished him? And where was Teal'c?

Suddenly, a childlike silhouette haloed by the weird lighting and clad in varying shades of a tropical rain forest, stood almost directly before him. Intrigued, Jack took a tentative step forward.

"O'Neill..." Teal'c's voice began on his right.

Startled, the cherub's Cupid's-bow mouth rounded in alarm, his button bright eyes registered abject terror. The tiny fellow stumbled backward, desperate to distance himself from the towering Jaffa. Unfortunately, his progress took him to the very edge of a craggy outcropping, where, arms flailing, he stopped short as he fought to keep his balance.

Reacting instinctively, O'Neill rushed forward and made a grab for the child's closefitting multihued jacket. But, just as his sturdy fingers entwined themselves in the soft material, the little creature lost his battle with gravity.

Refusing to capitulate, Jack pulled the small body closer. Soft ringlets of golden hair tickled his chin reminding him of another long-lost curly-headed lad. For perhaps a millisecond, the twosome hung suspended precariously on the brink. And then, unsettled by the child's surprisingly solid mass, coupled with Jack's momentum, the pair plummeted helplessly over the lip of the rocky expanse toward the yawning fissure below.

***

Mortensen adjusted the last of the fastenings on his borrowed silver zero gravity suit, slipped O'Neill's talisman into the left sleeve for safety and pulled on his gloves. The flight suit fit like a second skin and left nothing to the imagination. Grabbing his borrowed helmet, Rowdy strode resolutely toward the hanger where Colonel Mitchell was busy supervising the X-303's preflight prep.

"Ain't she a beauty, Major?" Colonel Cameron Mitchell inquired smugly.

"Yes, Sir. She sure is." Rowdy concurred politely.

"It's a damned good thing General O'Neill is just about your height. Otherwise I doubt they've been able to find a suit to fit you." Mitchell informed him wryly, looking him over with a squint. "You'll do. Hop on into the rear, Major."

Nodding silently, Rowdy climbed aboard the X-303 and slid gingerly into the second seat. Whilst learning that he was wearing O'Neill's suit bolstered his confidence, the cockpit's tight confines caused him to break out in a cold sweat.

Running a possessive hand over the bird's glossy metal belly, Mitchell pretended not to notice the major's thinly disguised distress. "Ready to rock-and-roll, Mortensen?"

Swallowing hard, Rowdy offered what he hoped was a jaunty smile. "Well sir, I was hoping for a smooth as silk kind of flight..."

"Well then, I'm your huckleberry." Climbing into the first seat, Cam adjusted his flight-helmet.

As the engine roared to life, Rowdy licked a few errant beads of sweat from his upper lip and braced his sensitive vertebrae for takeoff.

Giving the ground crew a thumbs-up, Mitchell closed the canopy and taxied out onto the runway.

Rising rapidly, the sleek craft created an almost perpendicular arch, breaking through the clouds and heading out towards Earth's stratosphere. Running a critical eye over the control panel's many gauges; Cam began a soft litany of the craft's exceptional dynamics.

Impressed, Rowdy forgot his discomfort. Soaking the knowledge up like a sponge, he asked question after question, steadily increasing his appreciation of the machine's distinctive properties.

Cameron found the major's interest both reassuring and oddly entertaining. Sharing his love of flight with another enthusiast always gave him a bit of a high. "Judging by your astute questioning, Major you're no stranger to piloting an aircraft."

"Well, it's been a while." Rowdy admitted quietly. When it came to aerodynamics, he'd always been a quick study. But, he hadn't flown an aircraft since he'd been injured.

"Hell, Mortensen just because you're a shade rusty that don't mean you've had your wings clipped." Mitchell informed him sagely. "You just need to get back in the game that's all."

"If you say so, Colonel..." Rowdy began skeptically.

"I... do." Mitchell informed him between yawns. "What's say you take over while I grab some shut-eye?" Confident O'Neill would approve of his tactics; Cam brusquely relinquished the controls, shrewdly circumventing the major's reply.

Feeling the craft wobble loosely, Rowdy hastily grasped the flight-stick with his left hand. 'Holy shit!' Ignoring the sweat trickling down his temples, he checked the gyrocompass and leveled her out. Then, patting the Yo-Yo secreted in his left sleeve, he released the breath he'd been holding, allowing the bliss of flight to banish any lingering trepidation.

As the bird's flight steadied, Cam sighed softly and closed his eyes, gradually drifting into slumber.

***

Still clutching the child's body to his chest, Jack felt a viselike grip grasp both his ankles halting his headlong freefall into the gaping chasm below. Unfortunately, the force of two entwined bodies' downward progress drove his unprotected face and vulnerable knees into the solid wall of the cliff face with a loud crack.

"O'Neill!" Teal'c's concern laced voice beckoned, "Are you with me?" Pulling his knees beneath him the mighty Jaffa strained every fiber of muscle in his massive frame, slowly dragging the double burden skyward.

Tasting the metallic tang of blood, O'Neill ignored the skyrockets exploding in his brain and locked his elbows, striving to retain consciousness. A whimper, followed by small hands wrapping themselves around his neck, helped him focus – he had to save the kid. "Uh huh... not sure for how long though..." His voice sounded drunk even to him. "Can you haul us up, T?"

"Indeed, I am endeavoring to do so." Teal'c's voice echoed distantly.

Each jarring movement upwards increased O'Neill's discomfort. Taking another deep steadying breath, Jack swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Helpless to cushion his unprotected face, he silently endured additional snags and scraps against the uneven surface of the rough wall. 'Crap! Shaving was gonna be hell in the morning!'

As blackness threatened to descend, he felt Teal'c's meaty fist release one of his ankles and wrap around his belt, finally dragging him over the lip of the crag.

Gulping air, Teal'c cradled his battered warrior-brother against his chest.

"S' kid okay?" Jack mumbled clinging to consciousness.

Gently disentangling O'Neill's strong arms from the whimpering child, Teal'c ran a quick hand over the small body. "The young one appears to be uninjured."

"Sweet..." Jack acknowledged gratefully with a woozy wave of his hand.

Dismissing the youngster, Teal'c turned his attention to the battered man beside him. Partially obscured by a steady trickle of dark blood, O'Neill's habitual steady gaze appeared unfocused. "I fear you have not been as fortunate, my brother."

"No worries... just a little pooped... nothing a bit of a rest won't cure... he's just a frightened kid... needs looking after... try not to look so scary and don't forget to smile... wake me in ten okay, T-man?" Trusting in the prudent Jaffa, Jack gave in, allowing darkness her cloying embrace.

***

Had he heard correctly, or had terror addle his wits? The silver one's genuine concern and selfless interference bolstered Hubbard's lagging courage. Unfurling his small body, he cautiously opened his eyes.

Tipping his substantial head in a brief bow, the fearsome dark warrior, who'd risen so suddenly from the forest, offered a brief grimace - or was it a smile?

"Do not fear." It said. Ripping a scrap of dark cloth from its oddly fitting tunic, the black giant pressed it firmly against the bloody temple of Hubbard's motionless pale-skinned rescuer.

Puzzled, Hubbard took the massive beings' measure. If the altruistic silver giant was the legendary Onall, perhaps the ebony colossus was the mythical Tymon? If so, then it was his people's sacred duty to offer both fealty and aid. Jumping up, the diminutive cherub hastened into the dense foliage.

***

Teal'c did not attempt to impede the small one's departure; it would seem his smile of assurance had been lacking. O'Neill would not be pleased. Pressing the cloth more firmly against his brother-of-the-soul's head, the venerable veteran acknowledged a moment of disquiet.

Remembering the many lessons he'd gleaned from observing the late healer, Janet Fraiser, Teal'c focused on examining his warrior-brother's injuries looking for any underlying structural damage. Despite the rather alarming amount of bloody drainage, O'Neill's self-professed 'thick skull' seemed to be intact. However, judging by the odd angle at which it lay, his long-limbed friend's vulnerable right knee had taken the brunt of his fall. Once he regained consciousness, O'Neill would be in considerable pain. Muttering a string of colorful Tau'ri expletives, Teal'c set about carefully coaxing the dislocated right knee back into its proper alignment.

***

As Hubbard suspected the flora he sought was nearby. Reaching into his tunic he retrieved his dagger. Quickly prying several of the thick plants from the earth, he rushed to a nearby stream and plunged his find beneath the surface. Scooping a generous handful of the streambed's sandy bottom into his hand, he used it to scrub the protective first layer from each plant's bulbous base. Leaving the denuded roots to soak in the shallows, he filled his drinking flask with crystalline water. Then clutching the dripping greenery to his chest, he scurried back to the pair of giants.

The black behemoth did not hinder him as he knelt alongside the still form of his rescuer. Taking a generous bite of plant root, Hubbard chewed enthusiastically. Summoning his courage, he dared to peep tentatively upward, seeking the dark one's permission.

Arching one thick brow, the massive one's head dipped briefly signifying acceptance. Fascination overcame Hubbard's anxiety as the golden disk imbedded in the creature's ebony forehead shimmered and winked in the green glow.

A soft moan dispelled his trance. Gently moving the dark one's hands aside, Hubbard removed the scrap of bloody linen covering much of the silver one's face.

Tearing a fresh strip from his tunic, Hubbard doused it with fluid from his flask and began the task of cleaning the more grievous of the facial wounds. Most of the injuries would benefit from a simple cleansing with the healing waters. However, a long uneven laceration running along the silver one's left temple would require more.

Spitting a good portion of the wad he'd been masticating onto his palms, Hubbard added more water. Kneading the mass, he flattened it between his chubby hands; and then, packed the long rent with the pulpy material, covering the gelatinous mass with one of the plant's moist leaves.

Next, he attended a deep gash beneath the right knee of the creature he assumed was Onall. Resting his sensitive fingers over the boney joint, he paused. There was much damaged here. Cocking his golden head thoughtfully, he ran slow hands over Onall's lengthy frame. Compassion filled him as he sensed older more abiding injuries; injuries that echoed great torment barely healed.

Rinsing his mouth, he addressed the towering dark giant. "I have done all I can. I fear I am as yet too young," he added with a whisper. The fine ringlets covering his childish pate trembled as he shook it. Wiping his hands against his trouser legs, Hubbard rose to his full height of three feet and bowed reverently. "If you would permit me, Tymon, I shall summon one whose healing ability far surpasses that of my own."

"Tymon?" The dark one echoed quietly, arching a majestic brow. "Young one, it is not my custom to accept aid from those whose names are unknown to me."

Flushing, Hubbard realized he'd been rude. "Forgive me for addressing you so, my lord. I heard your warrior-brother, the Onall... he spoke your name... I meant no offense." Touching his forelock in salute, he continued, "I am Hubbard of the Ynis Prydain."

"You've treated my brother most gently, and I am grateful." The dark one replied regally, inclining his stately head. "Tell me Hubbard, will your elders not be cross with you for consorting with unknown warriors?"

"Nay, my Lord Tymon. Once they learn who you are, they will herald me as a hero!" Biting his lip, Hubbard averted his eyes shamefully. "That is until they learn that it was my cowardice that led to the Onall's grave condition."

"I see." Tymon nodded thoughtfully, his slightly slanted eyes blinked lazily. "However, I do not believe my brother 'Onall' will hold you responsible."

Hubbard looked up eagerly. "Truly?"

"Indeed." Lord Tymon confirmed. "How far distant is this healer?"

"Perhaps a league, no more..." Hubbard shoved the flask into the giant's hand. "You must keep the leaves of the Albion root moist... Have no fear, my lord... I am the swiftest runner in the village!" With that he broke into a run, rapidly heading southward.

***

Setting the ancient text he'd been studying aside, Dr. Daniel Jackson grabbed his empty coffee cup and headed toward the mess hall. He'd forgotten his watch again and the artificial light here deep within the bowels of the mountain made it difficult to distinguish day from night. That, coupled with the fact that the hallways seemed virtually deserted, alerted the clever scholar to the fact that it must be very late; and made his need for caffeine all the more urgent.

After Janet's death, Jack O'Neill, always a bit of a mother hen when it came to his team, often barged into his lab at any given hour and demanded he get some 'shut eye'. However, now that Jack was at the Pentagon and the Ori situation had become a priority, Daniel habitually went several days with only an hour or two of true rest. Oh, occasionally Sam Carter would notice the dark circles under his eyes and shoot him a look. But, her sleeping habits were as dismal as his. And, as for Teal'c, of late the big man had been much too preoccupied to notice.

Daniel's weary footsteps echoed softly within the empty corridor increasing his lassitude. Sighing heavily, he pushed the door to the mess open. Shuffling toward the ever-brewing coffee urn, he spotted the lone figure of Sergeant Siler sitting at one of the tables wolfishly devouring a donut. "Jelly or cream filled?"

Licking remnants of confectionary powder from his lips, Siler grinned, returning Jackson's nod. "One of each, Sir."

Blinding white light encompassed Daniel's body suffocating his response. Within seconds the radiance faded, leaving him dazzled and alone standing on the gleaming black deck of an Asgard spaceship, with his empty coffee cup dangling from his fingers.

"Greeting, Dr. Jackson. I am Jorgen." A disembodied voice began with the signature lack of inflection typical of the Asgard. "Please accept our profound apologies for not greeting you in person, we are... ah, somewhat indisposed. However, if you would be good enough to follow the ship's directions, you will find us."

As promised, the lights in the room where Daniel stood winked out. Seconds later the corridor beyond lit up brightly.

Well, Daniel contemplated dryly following the path of light, it wasn't their traditional method of greeting, but then nothing about the Asgard could ever be categorized as customary. "Think nothing of it Jorgen; I've become accustomed to being plucked without notice from my planet like a sack of potatoes."

"Apparently O'Neill is not the only cynic among this race." Another disembodied voice intoned petulantly.

"Silence, Astrid." A collective longsuffering sigh crackled above Jackson's head. "As I said, we do apologize."

"Accepted." Daniel responded affably, stifling a yawn. "Sorry, I haven't had my coffee yet." Now that the adrenaline rush of transport was fading, he desperately needed a jolt of caffeine.

"Are we keeping you awake Doctor?" The petulant voice demanded with a rude snort.

"Contain yourself Astrid!" Jorgen's voice thundered. "We now understand the restorative properties of the nectar your people create from the crushed remains of the coffee bean. I believe you will find the brew waiting at the end of your short journey most agreeable, Dr. Jackson."

Daniel's eyebrows connected with his unkempt hairline. "Really?" Rounding a quick turn, he almost tripped with pleasure. The unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee seemed to flood the corridor, bathing him in its richness. Following his nose, he moved rapidly along, the lights becoming a secondary source of guidance as he sought nirvana.

Within minutes, he entered a large dimly lit room. It was filled with a good number of Asgard each sitting or lying on bench-like platforms in varying poses of distress. Even more surprising than their obvious state of misery, they were each sipping deep brown liquid from tall, slender transparent cylinders.

Catching sight of him, Thor's familiar form rose unsteadily from a small group seated nearby. "Ah, Dr. Jackson, you'll find a cauldron behind that panel to your right. Please, help yourself."

Somewhat mystified, Daniel waved a hand over the panel the little Asgard indicated and filled his cup from the container inside. Taking a quick sip of rich black coffee, he swirled it in his mouth for a moment savoring its bitterness.

Turning abruptly, he bumped into Thor, sloshing a portion of the brew on his jacket.

Something was definitely wrong here.

"What's going on, Thor?" Pulling the wet fabric from his body before it could soak the tee shirt beneath, Daniel lowered his voice. "I thought Jack and Teal'c were supposed to be aboard negotiating with the high council?"

"Indeed, up until mere hours ago they were. Unfortunately, I fear O'Neill's 'unique' method of persuasion led to an unforeseen consequence..." Thor's large almond-shaped eyes glistened with moisture. "Regrettably; both he and Teal'c have been... temporarily... misplaced."

"Misplaced," Daniel echoed, trying to contain his consternation. "Exactly what do you mean?"

"Misplaced, mislaid, omitted, gone astray," Thor replied mimicking Jack O'Neill's flippant style. "...In short, we've lost them."

***

Jack's essence drifted in a tranquil ebony expanse of nothingness. Gradually, distant sounds of moaning penetrated the silence. Someone was in trouble, their palpable suffering beckoned to his soul. Letting go of the emptiness, he pushed his way up, slowly penetrating the darkness, embracing an ever expanding twilight. Awareness hit him like a freight train. Searing torment chased away any last remnants of peace. Inhaling sharply, he deduced the source of the moaning. 'Crap! It hurt to move!'

"You must lay still, O'Neill."

Teal'c's sonorous voice grated, intensifying the pounding behind Jack's temples. "Jeez, T," he whispered tightly, squeezing his eyelids shut. "Tone it down will ya?"

Long years of practice had taught him to concentrate on taking slow steadying breaths. Finding control, Jack took inventory. Something wet and mushy was covering his left eye, some kinda Jaffa dressing he supposed. Besides a headache from hell, his right knee pulsed with agonizing regularity and the knuckles of his left hand were on fire. Flexing his arms, he winced. Okay, his left wrist hurt like the dickens too. Other than his head, hands, face, wrist and the age-old trauma of his right knee, he seemed to be in relatively good condition.

Cracking his right eyelid carefully, Jack gazed fuzzily at the green-tinged vault of sparkling crystal above. He was lying in tall grass, the smell of geraniums was overpowering. Fractured events fell into place. He remembered.

Gingerly rotating his head to the left, Jack centered on Teal'c's stoic features. "How bad?"

"Unknown." Teal'c responded concisely, falling easily into their familiar form of shorthand.

Closing his good eye, Jack snorted. "And?"

Shifting, Teal'c gently pressed the flask Hubbard had left behind against O'Neill's lips. "You've been unconscious for more than an hour."

Jack let the cool water slide soothingly against the back of his parched throat. Pushing the flask away, he lay back, fingering the soggy dressing covering the left side of his face. "Jaffa medicine?"

"The small one applied some form of herbal poultice. He seemed most concerned." Removing the topmost leaf, Teal'c once again drenched it with fluid. Then, reseated it over the glistening mass of pulp covering O'Neill's left forehead and temple. "He has gone to his village to seek additional aid."

"Okay, I'll take that as a positive." Jack responded with his usual optimistic panache. "Any idea just where it is that little gray-skinned termagant zapped us?"

"None." Teal'c's lips compressed with distaste. "It would appear our situation is problematic at present."

"Ya think?" Jack muttered, quietly. "Well then, let's review: we're inside some sort of massive cave - slash structure, on an unknown planet - slash moon. I'm in no shape to reconnoiter. And, here's the cherry on the top, for the moment at least we've got no weapons or supplies."

"I am not concerned." Teal'c replied, employing his own brand of drollery. Wetting several more Albion root fronds, he replaced the drying mass covering O'Neill's battered knee.

"Nor am I." Jack concurred, amazed at the superfine comfort a mass of soggy wet leaves seemed to instill in his abused flesh. "But, just in case, suppose you take a look around."

"I am loath to leave you in your present condition." Setting the flask aside, Teal'c adjusted the balled up material beneath O'Neill's head.

"No offense T, but you're the most unattractive nurse I've ever had." Nestling his head deeper into the rather bulky material of his dress blue jacket, Jack waved him off. "Ya know I'm a big boy now. And, while I appreciate your concern... I can take care of myself."

"Of that I have no doubt, O'Neill." Teal'c responded archly.

"Peachy... So, feel free to run along and explore... secure the perimeter... see if ya can figure out where the heck we are. I promise I'll just lie around, and enjoy the oh so unbelievably divine sensations that being encased in cold gooey vegetation can bring."

***

"Major Freund, have Colonel Carter report to my office proto!" General Landry huffed. Replacing the phone's receiver, his watery blue eyes speared Siler. "Now then, Sergeant you're sure it was Asgard technology?"

"As sure as I can be, General." Siler nodded grimly, wishing for the umpteenth time General O'Neill was still the base commander. It wasn't that Landry was such a bad sort, even if he did seem to relish barking orders, it was just... well, nothing ever seemed to really surprise O'Neill. And, given the current situation, Siler would've preferred O'Neill's unabashed laidback style.

"I was under the impression that Jack O'Neill was the Asgards' usual target." Landry continued irritably. "Or are they in the habit of snatching just anyone?"

"No, Sir." Sam Carter answered, moving briskly through the open office door. "Transporting personnel without prior notice is uncharacteristic of the Asgard."

"I take it Freund briefed you on the situation." Landry responded dryly. "What's your estimation of this 'atypical' behavior then, Carter? Is Dr. Jackson in any danger?"

"I doubt it, Sir." Sam bit her lip. "The last time General O'Neill was unexpectedly taken Thor needed his help... something must be terribly wrong for them to..."

Colonel Carter's next words were lost in a sudden intense flash of light that engulfed her slender frame. Shielding his eyes, Landry uttered an indecorous string of cusswords. Reacting instinctively, he reached over the desk, making a grab for the fading colonel.

Once the flash dissipated, his blurry eyes focused on Siler's troubled frown. Harrumphing, he released the sergeant's uniform, with a self-depreciating smirk. "I assume the good doctor's exit was similar?"

Noting Siler's mute nod of ascent, he waved an impatient hand. "Never mind, let's you and I get our butts down to the control room and see about establishing communications with our little gray allies."

***

Ignoring Colonel Mitchell's light snore, Rowdy piloted the X-303 beyond dusk into the opulence of night. Cruising at this altitude, the stars seemed closer and the universe formidable. He had to admit it; despite his dislike of the close confines, flying this craft was a thrill.

Suddenly, the darkness was replaced by the opaque intensity of white light. Blinded, he groped for the autopilot and flipped the switch. "Mitchell!"

FOUR