Baal on the Rebound by dinkydow

Chapter Three

Jack leaned back on the headboard, his hands cupped around the back of his head. According to his best estimates, as best as he could do without a watch, it had been over an hour since he'd awakened. Thus far, the only company he'd had was the sentry outside his door and the ubiquitous all-seeing camera in the corner. The sentry had ignored him, despite his best efforts to attract his attention - the camera had not - ignored him that is.

He sighed and grimaced with distaste. There was more than one way to catch a fish. Jack did not like to be ignored, and any fish could be caught with enough patience and the right bait. He'd have to dig around in his can of worms.

He needed a plausible excuse, one that wasn't terribly cliche - one that might work. That automatically ruled out the idea of the 'I'm sick and gonna die any second' routine. Ditto for the 'I'm so hungry, please feed me at once'. Plus, with the surveillance from the camera, he needed to find a way out of his cell - the right bait for his hook.

A warning tingle from his crotch gave him his answer - the 'I gotta pee' ploy it is, he thought with satisfaction. An added plus was that it was the truth; he really needed to pee. In fact, his nether regions felt unusually sore, as if something or someone had been messing around with his equipment.

He flexed his abdominal muscles - his plumbing felt sore and itchy, like someone had used a roto-roter on Jack Junior. Yep, there was no doubt about it; he'd been messed with. From the feel of it, he'd recently been installed with a catheter - without his permission.

Sure, they'd taken it out, there is no way he would have missed seeing a rubber tube hanging out his wanger when he got dressed - but who the hell had been handling him like that - And why? Crap!

So much for the romantic weekend that he'd planned with Sam. Whoever had installed that catheter would have some explaining to do, not only to him, but to Sam too. And woe be it to anyone who messed with her plans for him - and his equipment. Just the thought of their plans seemed to inspire Jack Junior - unfortunately, the twinge of pleasure turned into pain and he flinched.

Yeah, he knew Sam wanted him for more than just sex, and he liked to cuddle as much as the next guy if they were being honest with themselves. But, since he was being honest about his feelings, he thought she was so hot, and still couldn't believe she would want to be seen with an old over-the-hill codger like him. Just thinking about her in her class A's gave him a woody.

Ow! Think about something else, Jack. Hockey, yeah, that was a safe subject. All that frozen ice - or water. Water? Crap, this wasn't working.

Not only did he need to piss, he was extremely pissed. Someone would pay! He winced in the manner of someone who has one and only one thought in mind.

Jack rose and walked gingerly to the camera. "Hey in there, I gotta piss like a race horse."

He looked around, nothing had changed, and it was time to clarify his needs. "Have pity on an old man with an aging prostate, will ya? I mean it, unless you get me to the can in a hurry, someone's gonna be cleaning it up off the floor, because I gotta go . . . NOW."

Jack cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. "What do you want me to do, raise my hand for permission? My eyeballs are floating and my spit is turning yellow. In other words, I gotta see a man about a dog, water the begonias, pee, whiz, go wee-wee, drain my lizard, choke my chicken, write my name in the snow, squeeze my monkey, tinkle, and do a number one!"

He cocked his head. "What part of this don't you understand?" Then he threw his hands up in exasperation.

Whoever was monitoring the camera must have gotten his point, because the sentry turned to the window. "Stay where you are, sir. Your escort is on its way."

Jack thinned his lips and crossed his arms across his chest in censure. "For crying out loud, I've done this on my own since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, son. I don't need no friggin' escort to go to the can, just point me in the right direction."

"Sorry, sir. Those are my orders."

"You don't sound like you're sorry," he muttered.

The guard said nothing, probably because Jack was right.

By now, his need had grown so he paced the floor, waiting. He hated waiting - always had. The sound of boots outside the door drew his attention like a Goa'uld to Liberace's garage sale.

Jack shifted from one foot to the other, as the door was unlocked. A grimace of urgency crossed his face as he stuck his hands in his pockets and squirmed. That's it, open the door, little fishy. Come to papa, he thought with grim determination. They'd never know what hit 'em - until it was too late.

***

George Hammond adjusted his seat belt and looked out the window at the rapidly receding lights of the White House. He'd boarded the Marine helicopter soon after his interview with the Commander-in-Chief ended but had been told little about his intended destination. Only that it was one of the more secure underground facilities and that he would meet with Jack O'Neill there.

As the past head of Home World Security, he'd been privy to all those hidey-holes for the VIP's and upper echelons - or so he thought. Chances were good he didn't know about this one though.

The meeting had ended on a note of urgency when they'd been informed that Jack had awakened sooner than expected. He hadn't' really been surprised about that given their history together. The man who used to be his 2IC had demonstrated unusual powers of recuperation time after time while at the SGC and the fact that the President hadn't known about that meant that someone wasn't doing their research.

If George were head of that top-secret facility, heads would roll. But that was not an option, he was retired and planned to stay that way. He owed that to his family - God knows he had neglected them while he was on active duty and now that he had the chance to rectify that wrong, he intended to do it.

His cell phone rang in his jacket pocket; he lifted it out and showed it to the flight crew. After they nodded, he put it to his ear.

"Hammond."

"Sir? It's Sam, I mean it's Colonel Carter," she stammered.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to call you on your private line, sir." She paused as if uncertain what to say.

"Go ahead, Samantha," he coaxed.

"I didn't know who else to call, sir. It's Jack. I haven't heard from him and I was wondering . . ." Her words trailed off.

"You don't know where he is?" George sighed.

"No, sir. He always calls me every night and he didn't last night. Since then, I've been leaving messages at his office, but I'm not sure if he's getting them." Her voice trembled, and then firmed. "It's not for me, sir. It . . . it's for Cassie, she's worried and I don't know what to tell her."

"I'll see what I can do, Sam." He smiled. "Is there anything I should tell him if I see him?"

For a moment, there was a hesitant pause. "Just tell him I - we miss him, sir."

"If I see him, I'll do that."

"Thanks, sir."

"No problem."

He clicked the phone shut and replaced it in his jacket. His face creased with a grin. One of the good things that had come of Jack's promotion had been the budding relationship between two of the best officers he'd ever had the honor to command. He'd known about the feelings they'd felt for each other all those years, and had the utmost respect for the professional way they'd handled it. The way he figured it, those two were meant for each other and he'd love to dance at their wedding someday.

Of course, he saw right through Samantha's clumsy attempts to conceal her feelings, but then she'd always been more comfortable around equations and a computer than in a social setting, so he wasn't really surprised about her reaction. Still, she shouldn't have to worry. Someone should have had the courtesy, and balls, to tell her where Jack was - and security be damned. After all, it wasn't as if this country didn't owe both her and Jack for all the times they'd put their lives on hold and on the line for their country.

His face sobered as he considered the task ahead of him. He'd have to be both the former commander as well as the friend he'd come to be to the enigmatic Jack O'Neill. He just hoped to God that the situation hadn't already spiraled out of control by the time he got there.

George looked out the window and noted dawn was on its way, painting the sky a brilliant orange-red. The light shaded the landscape below them in reds and dark shadows and gave him a feeling of apprehension in the pit of his stomach. He just hoped it wasn't an omen of things to come.

Half an hour later, he'd ridden an elevator down into the top-secret facility where he was supposed to meet Jack - and hoped to restore some kind of order to the people whose lives had been so summarily disrupted. The SF who accompanied him on the way down had already updated him on Jack's reaction to his unexpected vacation.

When told that an escort of two had been summoned to escort Jack to the nearest latrine, George had smothered a smile. Knowing O'Neill as he did, he could predict what would happen next. From the calm demeanor of the escort, they didn't have a clue as to whom they were dealing with. George considered enlightening them, but then decided against it. They'd learn soon enough - after Jack had taught them a thing or two.

If he timed it right, he'd arrive just in time for the mop-up. He muttered a silent prayer "God, look out for fools, Irishmen and their friends, amen."

He heard Jack before he saw him and it was clear that Jack was not a happy camper, to borrow a phrase. No surprise there. That seemed to be going around lately.

As for Hammond's escort, the man's smug self-assurance had drained away, leaving behind a look of worry and uncertainty. Chances were good he didn't relish looking the fool in front of a general, even if he was retired.

Hammond schooled his face to the 'I'm in command here, so listen up people'. It was one that O'Neill had responded to well in the past and it was his sincere hope that the situation hadn't deteriorated to the point where it would be ignored. His escort seemed to recognize the look from the way his Adam's apple bobbed nervously above his dark T-shirt that peeked from the top of his BDU shirt.

"Follow me, sir."

This old Texan still had command presence, even dressed in a civilian suit, he thought. No matter how he was dressed, he was still 'Hammond of Texas'.

***

Once he stopped yelling himself hoarse, Jack heard his former CO. Of course, the fact that his face was pressed into the floor and a whole squad of goons was sitting on him might have had something to do with the tone of Hammond's voice.

He would've loved to stand around and chat with his former CO, but with his mouth sucking dust off the floor, that would have to wait. From the tone of George's voice, things were about to get interesting. He'd heard that tone before and still had the scars on his backside to prove it. With nothing better to do, he relaxed and listened to the show.

"What in blue blazes is going on here?" Hammond barked.

"He tried to escape, sir."

"Does that give you an excuse to mistreat him? Let him up, I'll take it from here."

"With all due respect, sir . . ."

"Son, I may not have stars on my collar anymore, but I still outrank you. Stand down, people."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"And if any of that blood is his . . ."

Hammond was magnificent. He never raised his voice, if anything it became softer, like the soft warning growl from a panther - just before it ripped out your throat. It worked too - Jack could feel it in the bodies holding him down - they were nervous and taut as they climbed off him with awkward disjointed movements.

He waited till all of them were gone before he moved - first an arm, then a leg. So far everything checked out. Then he raised his head and pushed himself up, using the wall to stand. There was complete silence, even the men around him stood quietly.

When O'Neill looked up, the first thing I saw was Hammond's face, he looked worried, but Jack thought he'd never looked so beautiful. "Fancy meeting you here, sir." He tried his best boyish grin.

"Dismissed, men," Hammond ordered.

Behind him, Jack heard the guards leave.

"Man, am I glad to see you!" He took a step forward and winced when his leg buckled from a cramp - the downside of being on the bottom of a pile.

"Easy, Jack," he held out his arm for support. "I've got you."

"That you have, sir." Jack took his offer and leaned on the offered arm. "Thanks."

"You've got blood on your shirt."

"Don't think it's mine, sir," he smirked. "They only sent two guys for an escort and I'm pretty sure it belongs to them."

"I'm not surprised, son." He paused. "You wanna go someplace and talk?"

"Ya think?" Jack looked down as his anger resurfaced. With an effort he tamped down the lid. "Just don't lie to me, sir, I couldn't take that - not from you."

"That's a deal. I think I passed a room where we can sit a spell. You look like you could use it." George returned Jack's grin.

Despite his outward welcome, Jack held onto his doubts about the altruism of his rescuer. He just hoped his former CO hadn't turned on him as memories of his earlier nightmare returned. Hammond didn't act like a Snake and certainly didn't dress like one - but he wasn't ready to trust him - not yet.

"Sure, as long as we stop at the nearest head first." Jack looked sheepish. "I jumped them before I could do my business."

Both men laughed as some of the tension drained away. "I think this should fill the bill then," said Hammond as he waved at the bathroom door. "I'll be waiting outside."

Jack walked stiffly to the door and pushed it open, then stopped. "No guard to watch me pee?"

"Do you need one, son?" George's face was bland, but his eyes flashed with annoyance.

"Who, me? Nah, don't think so." Jack smirked. "I'll let you know how things come out."

"You do that."

The door whuffed closed behind him as Jack approached the urinals with trepidation. He had to go; there was no question about that. The pressure was on, but whether the previously installed catheter would interfere with that was the big question. He knew from past experience how tender his plumbing would be.

He was right, it hurt - burned - but he got the job done. And he hadn't yelled, though his lip was a bit sore from where he'd bitten down.

One job down, another to go; he wanted to believe that the man waiting for him outside was his friend - someone he could depend on - but too much had happened lately to shatter that trust.

He was tempted to stay where he was, surrounded by pristine tiles and white porcelain fixtures - a sterile room that was safer than the world outside. Deep down though, he knew he couldn't. He had to get some answers and the only way he could do that was to tackle it head on - with Hammond.

As he went through the ritual of washing his hands, he studied the face that looked back at him in the mirror. His eyes were shadowed and underlined with dark circles that spoke of fatigue. His suntanned face showed the wear and tear of thirty years of service to his country. Faint scars hinted of trials and conflicts - though only a privileged few knew the story behind them. Blood spattered his face, hands, and uniform. His stars and nametag were dotted with crimson; a stain he feared wouldn't wash away.

As he watched, hypnotized, the red-stained water contaminated the white sink and then swirled down the drain. He filled his hands with water, and then scrubbed his face to wipe away the dried blood that seemed to reach down to his soul. It wasn't his blood - it was someone else's - someone who was supposed to be on the same side as him - so why did it feel like someone had changed the rules while he wasn't looking - like he'd been betrayed?

One thing was certain; he wouldn't get any answers if he holed up in the head - besides, that just wasn't his style. General Hammond had said he would answer his questions - for now that was all he had left. He didn't have to trust him - he couldn't do that yet, but he could listen to him - see what he had to say. After that, he could decide what he would do with the intel he had.

Once his decision was made, it was easier to face whatever waited for him outside that door. Jack took a deep breath and thinned his lips. The man staring back at him looked deadly and determined with cold dead eyes. His armor firmly in place, he wiped his hands and turned to leave the restroom.

True to his word, Hammond was waiting in the hall and waved him forward. He nodded but kept silent as he followed him down the hall.

George opened a door that led into a room with a long conference table and chairs. "I think this will do."

Wordless, Jack followed him in and sat opposite him across the table, his eyes hard and arms folded across his chest. Still, he said nothing, just hiked an eyebrow.

Hammond sighed. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

Jack didn't answer.

Hammond leaned forward. "Look, I know you're pissed - hell, in your shoes I would be too."

O'Neill cocked his head.

"Okay, if you're not going to say anything, I might as well start at the beginning. I was called to the President's Office this morning, Jack. When I got there they told me you'd been placed in protective custody because they had it on good authority that Baal was on Earth."

Jack sat forward. "Baal's here?"

"Yes, apparently, Thor himself told The President about that one."

"So, why am I here? I'd think they'd want some help catching that Dirt Baal."

"That's the problem, Jack. They feel you're too valuable to risk."

"You're kidding." Jack's mouth hung open in disbelief. "Right?"

"No, I'm not. And neither is The President."

"But - why?"

George's voice softened. "The combination of your experience and the abilities you have to operate Ancient technology make you an irreplaceable resource." He paused. "You've been declared a National Treasure, Jack. As such they can do whatever it takes to ensure your protection."

Jack drummed his fingers on the tabletop as his eyes flitted from the man in front of him to the camera in the upper corner of the room. "So this gives them the right to kidnap my ass from my office and stick rubber tubes up my dick - and God know where else? Not to mention that Carter is probably sick with worry by now." He gulped air to calm himself.

"They seem to believe so, and they're making the rules now." George leaned forward. "As for Samantha, she called me this morning and you're right, she is worried about you and asked me to pass along her message that Cassie is worried too."

"Sam . . . I mean Carter called you?" Jack's voice trembled.

"Yes, she did."

Jack sighed and then sat straight in his chair. "So, I'm stuck here? Wherever here is?"

"I'm afraid so - listen, I don't like this anymore than you do. I just figured you'd rather hear it from me than some stranger."

"General, with all due respect, you have no fricking idea how much I hate this right now - being locked up like a prize bull when I could be out there doing something about that Snakehead. So thanks, but no thanks."

George's voice rose with anger. "For your information, the threat against you is very real. When they picked you up, they caught several of Baal's goons just down the hall from your office. It's no accident that he picked this planet to hide out on. He has a bone to pick with you and will stop at nothing to finish what he started."

"Not if I get him first." Jack's chin jutted out.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," answered George with finality. "It's not up to me."

No longer able to sit still, Jack got up to pace. "So, this is it? I stay caged up while the world goes on without me?" He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned to face his companion. "For how long, sir? How long?"

George slumped. "I don't know."

Jack placed his hands flat on the table and leaned to look at Hammond, his face twisted with fury. "So this is the thanks I get for putting my life on the line for my country, not to mention my whole fricking world - a gilded cage and stars on my collar?" He pulled the rank off his shirt and threw them on the table. "Well, they can take these stars and ram them up their asses for all I care."

He stood, stiff as a ramrod. "I quit. If you want me, you can send me a note via carrier pigeon to my cabin and I might answer it - in a month or so."

"That won't change what you are. Listen to me, you earned those stars, they weren't just given to you. I wouldn't have stood for that. You can still do your job - it'll have to be from here though - for now."

"And if I don't want to?" Jack turned away and wiped his face. "I've got a pond of fish I've been neglecting, you know."

"It would drive you nuts in a week, and you know it."

"I'd find a way to deal with it." He walked back to the table and sat. "And what about Carter? Is she supposed to put her life on hold - again? Things were just getting good between us, sir."

"I'll see what I can do, Jack. Of necessity we have to limit the number of people who know where you are."

Jack's shoulders slumped. "Is there anyway they can zap that Ancient crap out of me? Maybe Thor could do it?"

"No, Thor was worried about you too - after all he informed President Hayes. From what I hear, Thor offered to put you up on one of his ships until the coast was clear."

"Yeah, I figured as much," Jack said softly as he traced boxes on the tabletop.

"What about Grayson, will she still be my secretary and watchdog?"

"I believe so. You're still Chief of Homeworld Security, your office location just changed."

"Not to mention my living arrangements." Jack smiled wistfully. "Living like this - it's almost like old times back at Cheyenne Mountain." He looked up. "Could you let Carter know that I'm okay?"

"I'll do my best, Jack." He handed the stars back. "You might want to put these back on, your resignation was disapproved."

"On one condition."

"I can't promise you anything, Jack. You should know that."

"I wanna talk to Sam."

"I'll see to the arrangements myself."

"Then show me my office. If we've got snakes, we'll need an exterminator." Jack picked up the stars and pinned them back on his collar. "And I know just the man for the job."

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