Warriors, Pink Cakes and Little Gray Butts by Cjay

Previously in Part Three 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:

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

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

And now, on to...

FOUR: Every Paradise Has a Serpent

Brilliance expanded into a multitude of colors, searing his eyes, utterly destroying vision. Within a heartbeat, grating metal exploded. Sharp needles penetrated every inch of vulnerable flesh unprotected by his body armor, robbing him of breath. The blast's concussion came next, assaulting Rowdy's ears with a shrill high-pitched whine that expanded into overwhelming silence. Ensnared, his body continued to writhe in pain for a never-ending millisecond and then, quite suddenly, his synapses surrendered to oblivion.

***

"...something must be terribly wrong for them to snatch Daniel like..." Sam trailed off self-consciously. 'Oh boy, not again...' Closing her eyes, against the sea of light, the kidnapped Colonel Carter indulged in a silent prayer of hope. 'Lord, let it be the Asgard.'

Ever fascinated by human reaction, Jorgen noted the female's defensive body stance with insensate detachment. According to the Supreme Commander, this being possessed a most impressive capacity to both comprehend and adapt to any given situation. "Greetings, Colonel Carter."

Recognizing the puppet-like warble of an Asgard, Sam squinted past the cloudy spots obscuring her vision. "Commander Thor?"

"Is presently occupied and awaiting your sage counsel in the assembly room." Jorgen responded dispassionately. "But first, are you quite well? You're not experiencing any distress or negative response due to our mode of transport?"

'Negative effect?' General O'Neill's snort echoed sarcastically in her brain. 'Nah, we mere humans love it when a "vastly superior race" plucks us from terra firma, perverts our flesh into light particles and launches us into the unknown. Yep, makes for a grand start to any day.' Biting the inside of her lip, Sam smothered a snicker.

Taking a quick inventory, she fell into step alongside the pint-sized extraterrestrial. "Other than a brief bit of visual disturbance, I'm not aware of any untoward effect."

"Excellent." The slighter figure responded with a small nod of his large misshaped gray head. "Unfortunately, your colleague, Colonel Mitchell appears to have had a most disagreeable reaction."

Sam's mouth went dry. Mitchell was here too? "Is he...?"

"Injured?" Sensing the tall human's discomfort, Jorgen attempted to offer encouragement. "I assure you he is physically unharmed. However, his emotional response to our present situation gives me pause."

"Presumably, the colonel has been deeply affected by our impromptu retrieval." Jorgen expanded coolly. "I refer specifically to his rather extraordinary use of language."

"Extraordinary?" Sam echoed unhappily.

"Outrageous would be more to the point."

"I'm not sure I understand." Sam exhaled slowly, hoping to dispel the large knot in her stomach.

"While his outward appearance seems tranquil enough, one might venture to say, your Colonel Mitchell may have outdistanced O'Neill's rather remarkable command of human expletives."

Ushering Colonel Carter ahead of himself with a hint of a bow, the nude little creature continued, "He reports that he is in fact, 'madder than a hatter."' Cocking his head to one side, Jorgen glanced upward. "Most astounding, I was not aware those who fashioned headgear on your world had a tendency toward insanity."

"They don't." Resisting the urge to laugh, Sam missed a step. "The colonel employed a rather archaic colloquialism referring to a children's tale. In other words, he is extremely angry."

Studying her intently, Jorgen nodded slowly. "I see...another phrase or figure of speech, such as O'Neill's similar assertion that those entrusted with the forwarding of written communications on your world are often moved to violence."

"Yes." Sam agreed stoically.

"Most intriguing." The alien's enormous almond-shaped eyes blinked lazily. His thin-lipped mouth seemed to quirk with undisguised self-satisfaction. "I have been avidly studying your race for some time now, and I find both your Colonel Mitchell, and O'Neill's command of phraseology most colorful."

"Colorful?" Sam coughed lightly. "Yes, indeed they are that."

"I imagine continual discourse with two such vivid individuals must be a most rewarding experience for a scientist, Colonel Cater."

Unexpectedly, Cameron Mitchell's charismatic Southern drawl, corrupted by fury, reverberated along the corridor, punctuating the little alien's vast understatement. "Well pardon my candor, but I don't give a rat's ass!"

"More than you'll ever know, Jorgen," Sam's eyes twinkled lightly. "More than you'll ever know."

***

"I repeat, I don't give a rat's ass, you're 'Highness'..." Mitchell snarled, "Who the hell gave you the right to highjack me and abandon both, my co-pilot and craft!"

Moving swiftly through the open entryway and into a vast chamber filled almost to capacity with an assortment of naked, gray-hued Asgard, Sam was relieved to see Daniel Jackson.

Offering Sam an imploring glance, the generally cool-headed archeologist moved to position himself strategically between an overtly angry Cam Mitchell and one visibly incensed diminutive alien.

"Mitchell you're not helping." Daniel asserted with undisguised frustration. "Look Astrid, Colonel Mitchell is right, we don't leave our people behind. Besides, we may need the X-303."

"I agree with Dr. Jackson..." Thor's tenor began earnestly.

"Ah, excuse me." Sam interrupted lightly. "What's going on?"

Thor glided to her side. "Welcome, Samantha Carter, it is good to see you." Inserting his small, smooth, four-fingered hand into Sam's, he gently pulled her forward.

Following in his wake, Sam repeated her question.

"Apparently, our little gray pal here, the esteemed High Councilor Astrid..." Jerking his thumb with obvious disdain, Cameron indicated the petite Asgard standing just beyond Daniel. "...came to the intoxicated, and might I add - reckless, conclusion that our diplomatic emissaries were no longer welcome. So naturally, she jettisoned General O'Neill and Teal'c into the void."

Turning her small back on Mitchell, Astrid exhaled impatiently. "As I've repeatedly explained to both Dr. Jackson and your most unreasonable teammate, I did not transport either O'Neill, or the Jaffa, into the vast emptiness of deep space."

"Ha!" Mitchell snorted. "And where exactly did you transport them?"

Directing her sloe-eyed gaze at her feet, Astrid responded tightly. "I'm not sure."

"Ha! She can't remember! Clearly, the esteemed High Councilor believes scattering our lowly human molecules to the four winds anytime she feels the urge is just fine." Cameron snapped triumphantly. "Don't try to deny it! Drunk or sober, my presence here is undeniable proof of your egocentric arrogance! For the love of God Astrid, you zapped me right outta the X-303 cockpit and left my co-pilot adrift!"

"Hardly adrift..." Astrid protested.

"He might as well be..." Cameron rounded angrily. "Major Mortensen has had exactly one hour of flight time in that craft. On top of that, General O'Neill entrusted him to my care."

Swearing under his breath, Cam ran one hand through his short hair. "Look, I am through playing around here; I demand you beam him up now!"

"O'Neill entrusted this major to your care, Colonel Mitchell?" Thor inquired with quiet intensity.

"Yes, he did." Cameron answered tersely. "And, as you well know Thor, nothing O'Neill ever does is as simple as it seems."

"No, indeed not." Thor responded fondly, ignoring Astrid's harrumph. "We must never underrate O'Neill's rare ability to appear simple."

Releasing Samantha's hand, Thor adopted a regal stance. "Jorgen, transport both the X-303, and the young major, onto the ship."

***

Meanwhile: Lost and unarmed on some unknown planet - slash moon - our fearless hero Jack O'Neill lays broken and battered awaiting aid, while his trusty companion, the mighty Jaffa, Teal'c, scouts the unfamiliar terrain...

O'Neill shifted his head, careful not to upset the various gooey poultices applied to his injured anatomy. Despite long years of practice, he was finding it difficult to ignore the screaming pain of his broken right knee. The vision in his uncovered right eye kept blurring in and out. Consciousness was becoming ever more fleeting. He needed to focus on something besides the vaulted crystal ceiling above.

Adjusting his aching shoulders, Jack burrowed into the material beneath him a bit more. Something hard and knobby was poking the base of his skull demanding attention. "Crap." Reaching gingerly behind his head, Jack slowly wormed the offending article out of one of the pockets of his dress uniform jacket. The feel of worn wood against his callused palm, was like a balm for his soul. Running his crooked thumb over the object's surface, he clutched the hard double-disk to his chest, releasing a long sigh. "Ah, that's better."

'Okay O'Neill, you've gotta focus. Let's see now, Pedro Flores patented his Yo-Yo in 1928... Donald F. Duncan bought the rights during the depression of the 1930's... by the late 1960's the majority of Yo-Yo's were made of plastic, making wooden models a true expert's dream... Charlie used to love his small collection. I'll bet he's dazzling a few of those archangels up there beyond the pearly gates. Ya-sure-ya-betcha... when it came to spinning the old double-disks there wasn't a trick that boy couldn't master. Yeppers, he sure did make me proud.'

Closing his good eye, Jack conjured a picture of Charlie's face the day he first mastered 'around the world'... it was a great memory. Somewhere off in the distance a deep voice chided him to stay awake...but somehow, Jack just didn't want to anymore. Slowly, awareness dimmed and he surrendered to sleep.

***

Teal'c moved with panther-like grace through the tall grass, his eyes darting to-and-fro, avidly weighing their newfound surroundings. Taken at face value this world seemed benign enough; else he would not have risked leaving his stricken warrior-brother's side. Then again, instinct and experience bred caution, giving rise to an innate need to verify such a naive assumption.

Suddenly, a dark undulating form slithered along his peripheral vision. Distracted Teal'c lost his footing. As he descended into the shadows, O'Neill's oft repeated remark echoed ironically inside his skull. 'Every paradise had its' serpents.'

***

Lightening flickered inside the obsidian depths. Odd trilling voices whispered, echoing in the darkness; they teased and pulled, demanding attention.

"Loki, please tell me you've not been remiss."

"Indeed not."

"What then accounts for his lack of consciousness?"

"I have no explanation, Supreme Commander."

"Has Major Mortensen suffered an injury?"

"Nothing...current."

"Must you be so cryptic, Loki." Thor bit off, expelling a long-suffering sigh. 'I concede O'Neill's ongoing allegation regarding our race's penchant for obscurity'

"According to the readings, the human has sustained no recent physical trauma. However, our scans do reveal extensive evidence of previous damage both neurological and muscular-skeletal in nature."

"How recent?"

"It is difficult to be precise..." Loki began thoughtfully, "...these humans all heal at differing rates."

"Indulge me."

"Perhaps, within the past six to twelve lunar rotations."

"Why then does the young major remain in such a state?"

"I am at a loss, Supreme Commander. We can do nothing more than allow the medical pod to enhance his body's innate healing abilities."

"I understand, Loki. However, I fear Colonel Mitchell will be most unsatisfied."

Mitchell... the name echoed within in the blackness, both familiar and strange. Mitch? Captain Mitch Logan? No! Mitch was gone... his body vaporized. Nothing left of his mischievous grin, but shrapnel and misshaped chunks of white and pink pulp.

'God!' He had to get to the others... they were pinned down... no way was he leaving them behind to suffer the same fate as Logan... Rowdy pushed the helicopter pilot's lifeless remains aside, grabbed the stick and powered her up. Taking the Black Hawk in low, he launched the last of the craft's missiles, effectively obliterating the enemy... but not before taking a hit.

The craft wobbled briefly, her joystick frozen. Out of control the chopper fell lifelessly out of the sky, plummeting silently toward the desert floor...seconds later, the world exploded. Bits of grit filled his mouth, coupled with the metallic taste of blood - drowning him in a sea of sand.

Panic seized sanity. Letting go, Rowdy sought oblivion's welcome embrace.

***

"Not exactly the condition we expected to find him in is it?" Mitchell bit off tersely.

"No, it is most certainly not." Thor concurred remorsefully.

Sniffing sharply, Mitchell's eyebrows arched skyward. "So?"

"We are unable to justify this aberration, Colonel Mitchell." Loki's shrill response revealed his trepidation. "We are hopeful that with time..."

"With time...!" Mitchell's tanned countenance flushed red.

Thor forcefully cleared his throat. "There has been no transporter malfunction here, Colonel Mitchell. The major's body has been reintegrated just as it was found."

"Which means...?" Colonel Samantha Carter coaxed.

"His present state is not a direct result of our technology." Thor confirmed flatly.

"On a positive note; your ship appears to be fully functional." Loki interjected brightly.

"Well, la-dee-da!" Mitchell snorted.

"I don't think sarcasm is going to help us here, Mitchell." Daniel Jackson interrupted.

"Loki, I believe your presence is required elsewhere." Thor advised sternly.

Squelching the urge to strangle the tactless scientist's retreating form, Cam rounded on his teammate. "What now, Jackson?"

"Hmm?" Daniel responded distractedly. Rubbing his chin, he circled the motionless man encased within the Asgard healing pod.

Exchanging a knowing look with Mitchell, Sam cleared her throat. "Daniel?"

"What? Oh, sorry." Pulled from his reverie, Jackson adjusted his spectacles. "Mortensen appears to be in some form of deep sleep."

"A conclusion our sensors confirm." Thor interjected. "And yet, we've been unable to rouse him."

Reaching out, Daniel shook the unresponsive man's forearm "I'm wondering if this... stupor is the result of a flashback of some kind."

Noting Sam's questioning gaze Daniel shrugged sheepishly. "When Mitchell told me Jack asked him to 'look after the major' I got curious. So naturally, I decided to make use of my rather lofty security clearance."

"It's amazing what comes naturally to one after years of associating with General Jack O'Neill."

Choosing to ignore Sam's wry commentary, he continued, "I read Major Ronan, a.k.a Rowdy, Mortensen's dossier. And well, you know how Jack likes to editorialize his past with cryptic responses about having been around the block a time or two? Suffice it to say, the major has a great deal in common with his new commanding officer."

Catching on, Sam Carter drew alongside the reflective archeologist. "So, you're thinking post-traumatic stress disorder?"

"That's an interesting hypothesis, Dr. Jackson." Thor intoned.

"And, one hell of a stretch don't you think?" Cam questioned, with a squint.

"Why?" Daniel tossed back calmly. "Mortensen wouldn't be the first combat veteran to experience something like this."

"Okay..." Mitchell granted reluctantly, "Let's say I buy this theory of yours... I would've expected him to be... ya know... combative or even squirrelly... not catatonic."

Puffing his cheeks, Cam crossed his arms over his chest. "And, if this is the result of the past, why here and now? What set him off?"

"Well," Daniel began, "We all react to overwhelming stress differently."

Mitchell's look remained skeptical, but Daniel was just getting warmed up. "I mean look at it from Mortensen's perspective; you're flying an unfamiliar aircraft when suddenly it's engulfed by some kind of 'alien' light... a light so brilliant that it effectively blinds you. Add to that..."

"It snatched me right out of my seat, taking me God knows where, leaving him, alone and abandoned, in the vast emptiness of space." Mitchell chipped in dramatically.

"An event like that would scare the living crap out of most people." Daniel's animated eyebrows danced fervently, "According to his file, Mortensen's helicopter was shot down. It crashed and exploded, literally burying him under a ton of smoldering debris... pretty traumatic if you ask me."

"You believe his mind is seeking refuge from our transport beam?" Thor queried with intrigue.

"For all intents and purposes, yes."

"It took hours for the rescue team to dig the major free." Daniel expanded ardently, "According to the medic's report, Mortensen's entire spine was shattered, he was horribly burned and..."

"Comatose." Cam supplied curtly.

"Basically." Daniel confirmed.

"That's a big leap there, Jackson."

"If that's true, then maybe all we need to do is communicate that he's safe." Sam Carter, put forth with a shrug.

"Okay." Cam Mitchell agreed warily. "That sounds deceptively simple. So, what do we do?"

"What would O'Neill do?" Thor asked quietly.

"Eat cake?" Sam supplied wistfully.

"After the cake." Thor responded dryly.

"All things considered, Jack would try the most direct route." Leaning over Mortensen's still form, Daniel whispered, "It's okay to wake up now Ronan, you're safe here."

The quiescent major's face remained impassive, his body still.

"That won't do, Jackson. Do ya think the general would be so dainty about it?" Taking a deep breath, Mitchell bellowed, "It's 0500 airman, haul your lazy arse up and out of the sack!"

Rowdy's eyelids fluttered briefly, but he slept on.

"Well, that was productive." Mitchell harrumphed, flatly.

"If I may be so bold, Colonel Mitchell; perhaps, this man's loyalty may be the key." Plucking a small colorful wooden disk from a nearby console, Thor glided over to the medical pod. "We found this on his person. I believe it is one of O'Neill's favorites."

Grasping the sleeping man's limp palm, the little Asgard gently pressed against his unyielding flesh, enfolding the object inside Rowdy's still fingers.

"General O'Neill has need of you, Major Mortensen." The Asgard Supreme Commander informed him regally. "The time for dreaming is at an end. You must get up!"

Mortensen's limp fingers enclosed the Yo-Yo firmly. Inhaling deeply, he abruptly woke up. Catching sight of the naked Asgard, he yelped, "General?!"

"Greetings, Major Mortensen, I am Thor, a close personal friend of your General O'Neill."

Gulping, Rowdy clutched the double-disk to his chest and slowly looked around. Spying Colonel Mitchell standing alongside the bizarre little alien, his face lit up briefly. "Colonel, where is the general?" Struggling against the confining medical pod, he attempted to sit upright.

"I fear that O'Neill's whereabouts are somewhat of a mystery at present, Major." Thor responded sadly.

"Crap." Rowdy replied flatly. "Get me out of this thing!"

***

"Get me the hell out of this thing, will ya Teal'c?" Jarred awake, Jack rapidly came to the bleary conclusion, he'd been imprisoned. As he swayed rhythmically from side to side, the vaulted green tinged crystal ceiling sparkling dizzily above seemed to taunt him. Suspended between two large poles, his entire body was uncomfortably encased inside some kind of enormous, pungent, and disgustingly slimy, wet leaves. Only his right uninjured eye, nose, mouth and chin protruded beyond the bizarre chrysalis, making movement impossible.

"Please, you must be still, my lord, I beg you." A child-like voice pleaded from somewhere near his right ear.

"Be still my ass! Put me down!" Momentum, coupled with Jack's inability to move, and a sudden rush of adrenaline, was making his head aching spin, dammit. He felt like he was going to hurl!

"Perhaps we should halt and explain the situation to Lord Onall, Boudicca." The voice suggested deferentially.

"Yes, bodacious... explain." Jack demanded, enunciating each word forcefully. "But first, I suggest you unzip this giant snow pea!"

Apparently, whoever had incarcerated him recognized authority when they heard it, because his swaying abruptly ceased. As he was gently lowered toward the ground, a familiar cherubic face came into view.

Jack squinted upward. Swallowing his nausea, he smirked grimly. "So, Sonny Jim, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sonny Jim?" Leaning over O'Neill's prone form, the cherub's round face reflected his confusion. "Ah, you seek to test me." The little one assumed, with a quick smile. "It is I, your servant, Hubbard of the Ynis Prydain."

"Okay..." Jack muttered unhappily. This was so not his day. "And I'm..."

"You are my champion and savior, the Lord of Aurora, he who has tamed the darkness and befriended her protector, the legendary Onall."

"Savior huh? See, I am a bit fuzzy on a couple things here. Must be the blow to my noggin. If you're my servant, then why am I in custody? And, just exactly who is this protector of the night."

"Custody?" The diminutive warrior echoed the unknown word. "I do not understand."

"Lord Onall believes we have taken him prisoner." A deep feminine voice informed Hubbard waspishly. "Cease your mindless prattle young one and stand aside."

The voice expanded, as a tiny wizened woman's face seemed to float into Jack's line of vision. "We are not your captors, Lord Onall."

Bending forward, the diminutive crone carefully loosened the snug wrappings confining his upper torso. "I'm called Boudicca, the Sage. I have secured your damaged body inside the Dhrupad plant's fronds to promote its healing."

"While I appreciate your intentions, I prefer to be unfettered." Jack informed her not unkindly.

"As you command." Sighing, Boudicca continued to remove the most constricting layers of foliage. "However, I insist that the inner most fronds remain against your flesh."

As the gigantic leaves were slowly peeled from his body, cold air assaulted his skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Jack realized, that save for those last remaining bits of vegetation, he was naked. Hugging the gooey mass slathered over the vicinity of his privates closer, he agreed, "Sounds like a plan to me."

Smiling over his modesty, the healer thrust his trusty Yo-Yo into his right hand and sat back on her haunches. "You are not the first youngster I've tended, Onall."

"I'm sure." Jack coughed. Striving to regain his equilibrium, he put on his best command face. "Now then you mentioned a 'protector of darkness'..."

"Your brother, Tymon was not at your side when we reached you." Hubbard piped up. "We thought perhaps he'd gone seeking more of the Albion root. We've sent out warriors to find him and lead him to our village."

"You couldn't wait for him to return?" Jack asked quietly, fighting a shiver. Suddenly, he was feeling less than 'Peachy.'

Noting his reaction, the sage removed her thick cloak and draped it over him. "We could not. Even now your flesh fights a fever within. I have indulged you long enough."

Fighting a wave of drowsiness, Jack protested petulantly. "Now wait just one cotton picking..."

"Enough, My Lord." Waving imperiously, she instructed half dozen Lilliputian men to take up O'Neill's litter once more. Placing her hand on his feverish brow, she crooned, "Rest assured your wellbeing is my utmost concern."

He was about to protest more loudly, but the little woman's hand felt deliciously cool and strangely comforting. And, almost before he knew it, Jack fell deeply into sleep.

FIVE