O'Neill Interrupted – an interlude - Part 1
Jack O'Neill sat on the ground, his back against the rough hewn bench. One hand was holding a water bottle and the other a large, blackened piece of meat still attached to the bone. His toes curled, burying themselves into the soft soil beneath his feet.
"I don't mind telling you, Harry, but I'm feeling pretty damn pleased with myself right now." He brought the bone up to his mouth and gnawed at it, the juices running freely down his chin. "Who'd have thought you'd be right for once – breaking the habit of a lifetime, eh Harry."
He wiped at his face with the back of his hand then rubbed the now greasy appendage down his trouser leg.
"That trap idea of yours was good in principle, except that the grenade was a bit of an overkill. Pointy sticks worked much better, just like I thought they would. Damn thing put up a hell of a fight. Still, I got it in the end and voila – piggy sandwich." He stared ruefully at the bone. "Well, not sandwich I guess. God, what I wouldn't give for a slice of bread right now. And a beer – a beer would be nice."
Jack took a drink from the bottle and carefully replaced the cap.
"I figured I'd try drying the leftovers. That way it should last for a while, or at least until I find another source of meat – if there is one. Maybe Mister Piggy was stuck here like us, eh Harry. Maybe I shouldn't have killed him. Could have been an interesting ménage a' trios. On second thoughts – ewww – so don't want to go there. Well, gotta go check the fishing lines, see if there's anything left in that lake. Not that I'm annoyed or anything, Harry, but that was a moronic thing to do."
He stood carefully, keeping his right leg as stiff as possible, but was unable to hold back a low groan.
"I'll admit one thing – you sure got me good. The infection is getting worse. Why the hell didn't you pack more antibiotics if you thought you were going offworld forever? And while I'm asking, would it have hurt to include some MRE's?"
Jack sucked the end of the bone, getting as much of the marrow out as possible before throwing it as far as he could across the field. He rubbed his hands once again on his trousers. The effort it had taken to dig the pit, sharpen numerous stakes, and use himself as bait to run the wild boar into the trap had been worth it, but only just. Skinning, gutting and butchering the animal had been exhausting work and he was totally wiped. He sighed – it wasn’t time to rest. There was still far too much work to do if he wanted to survive until rescue came.
"Well, Harry – nice chatting with you. Same time tomorrow, okay?"
He bent, straightening the makeshift cross on the mound of bare earth, stood and began his slow limp to the lake.
**********
"Sam!"
Jack sat blot upright, adrenaline pulsing through his veins.
The dream had been so vivid. Carter wreathed in sparkling light, suspended, twisting and in obvious pain. He had watched, the feeling of helplessness overwhelming, as she seemed to melt right before his eyes until all that was left was a puddle of water.
He wiped a shaking hand over his face.
Maybe the effects of the psychedelic lettuce hadn't worn off yet.
**********
"I found some paper in your stuff today, Harry. Okay, I admit, it wasn't just paper. A book. A nice thick book. You sure had your priorities right. Get in some quality reading. Forget about eating." Jack eased himself down until he was lying in the soft grass. "I thought I'd start a journal. Doesn't look like anyone's coming to find us anytime soon." He folded his hands across his chest and stared up at the planet dominating the sky. "I can hazard a pretty good guess where we are. Would have thought Carter could have worked it out by now. Must be some logical explanation…" He sighed and twisted over to prop himself up on an elbow and look down at the grave. "Anyway, I'm going to make sure they know what happened to us if they do come. Someone might care."
It was twelve days since Maybourne had died of his wound, despite Jack's best efforts to save him, and most of that time had been taken up with digging the grave, finding food and just basic survival, something made harder by the fact he had been injured as well.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead and grimaced at the greasy mark he left on his filthy BDU's when he rubbed his hand on them. The bandage around his thigh was stiff with dried blood he could no longer wash out.
"But before I start my career as a writer I'm going to take a swim and do some laundry. At least your shirts fit. I'll just have to go with the Robinson Crusoe look in trousers."
He pushed up then sunk back down again, his arms trembling.
"Then again, maybe I'll visit with you a bit longer."
**********
"Okay, I admit it – I'm not a journal writing sort of guy. I tried, Harry, I did. Wrote a couple of sentences down the pages of 'Ulysses'. Described how you were a rat bastard. Then I sort of ran out of steam. And while we're on the subject of rat bastards, why in God's name would you pick that book? I don't know anyone who's gotten past the first chapter, and that includes the people studying it at college."
Jack didn't sit. Instead he leaned crookedly on the thick stick he was using as a make-shift crutch.
"I have another confession to make, Harry. I'm not feeling too good at all. And I'm lonely, Harry. There are only so many conversations you can hold with a dead man, especially when he refuses to answer. It's ironic to think my punishment for killing you is to have no one to talk to. You do know I didn't mean to kill you, don't ya, Harry? I know I said I was thinking of it, but I did tell you it was a joke. My aim was off – probably something to do with the fact I was lopsided after you practically blew my leg apart."
He turned and pointed across the grass, changing the subject. "Did you see I put a roof on the new hut I had to move to after you blew up my last one? I used some of that cloth that's hanging around. Wasn’t easy climbing up to secure it, you know. Would have been much easier with two of us, but you always did go to extremes to get out of work, didn’t you, Harry. The cloth is pretty rotten, wouldn't keep much rain out, but so far it hasn't rained so it doesn't matter. Having said that, it'll probably hail later today just so I don't get too cocky. Anyway, look, I may not be able to visit you for a bit. I think I'll rest up a while. Now, don't worry about me, I promise I won't forget you. Okay?"
**********
"See, Harry – told you I'd be back, all better, and with a great scar to show for it. I ended up cutting the poison out. I know you're squeamish so I won't go into details about the yellowy-green, thick, oozing pus, or the revolting smell. Got a pretty big hole in my leg now. Look, I can push my finger right into it. Gross, isn't it?"
Jack stared ruefully at the gruesome scar.
"Well, can't stop. Places to do, people to be. Talk to you soon, okay?"
**********
"Bored, Harry, bored. I've decided there's no point in hanging around here waiting for rescue. I've done the vegetable garden thing, and I've just about fished out the lake. I think I was right about the pig – no luck finding another one. I've mapped and checked out all the ruined buildings in the area as well, and can I just mention that I haven't found a decent bar or restaurant in the lot. I doubt you would have enjoyed it here, Harry."
Jack paused, a confused look crossing his face for a moment. He looked around as if to check his surroundings, before continuing. "I really thought I'd lost it last night. I know this is going to sound stupid, but I woke up, in of all places, a fire station. Everyone was there, Teal'c, Carter, Jonas – even Bra'tac. The old man was sitting there, laughing at me, giving me that knowing look he has that so pisses me off. They were around a table, eating hamburgers – all except Bra'tac, he wasn't looking too hot. Looked sort of pale and sick. Then T got up, took a step towards me, and I saw he had Junior in his hands. He was holding the snake out as if he wanted me to take it. I turned and ran as if the devil was after me." He gave a rueful laugh. "Stupid, eh? Dreaming about hamburgers I can understand, but Junior?"
"Anyway - it's been over five months and I think they would have come if they were going to. So, now I'm properly back on my feet again, I'm off to explore a bit further. Thought I'd try and make it over the mountains – see if there's anything worth seeing. Maybe there was something you missed in the brochure on this place. But I'll come back, Harry. Promise. Now, don't go anywhere, ya hear?"
**********
Trek - Day One.
Decided I'd give this journal thing another go. That way I can read it to Harry when I get back and he won't have missed out on anything. Don't know about the title though. Sounds a bit science fictiony. I'm not exactly trekking here. My leg isn't up to much and I doubt it ever will be again. The infection almost killed me. I told Harry I'd go over the mountains, but I changed my mind. There's a nice level walk along the valley, with lots of grass and pretty yellow flowers. I don't even mind the trees as long as they aren't growing on slopes. I'll see how far I can get today. It won't be far, but hopefully the exercise will get a bit of movement back into my leg and I'll do better tomorrow.
Trek - Day Two.
So far all I've succeeded in doing is boring myself stupid. Maybe the mountains would have been better, seeing as I stopped appreciating meadows after the third one. There's plenty of water and the food I packed is lasting well. I should have enough for about fifteen days then I'll head home unless I find something else to eat. Home! Now that is sad. Only been on this piece of rock for a few months and already I'm calling it home.
Trek - Day Five.
Nothing but grass, flowers and trees. Trees unfortunately have roots for me to fall over. I can’t seem to lift my foot high enough to avoid the smallest of obstacles. This trip wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. Should have stayed with Maybourne.
Slow Trek - Day Ten.
I really don't know why I'm bothering writing anything – there's nothing to say and it's just a waste of paper.
Trek - Day Thirteen.
I've given myself another day or so. The weather is holding and I managed to trap some rabbit thingies so I have a fresh supply of meat. The valley is slopping upwards now and although I'm finding it harder to walk, it means I may get to higher ground without needing to climb. My leg is feeling a little better, but it still can't really hold my weight and the crutch is getting a bit worn. I should keep an eye out for a suitable branch.
Trek - Day Seventeen.
Finally something worth writing and to think I have my bum leg to blame for it. I was going up this hill and saw a clump of bushes with some branches that looked to be perfect for a new crutch. I pulled at a particularly good one and it suddenly came loose. Fell forward and almost broke my nose on this nifty little space ship hidden under the foliage. I'm grinning like a fool here. It will be dark soon and I've decided to wait until morning to check it out, no point in breaking my good leg falling over myself in the dark. Maybe it's my ticket out of here. Roll on daylight.
Why the Hell Did I Bother Trek - Day Eighteen.
Can't get the fucking door open.
Day Nineteen
Kicking it doesn't help. Wish I had one of Maybourne's grenades. Running out of food.
Day Twenty
If I can't get into it today I'll have to head back. Not feeling good. Leg hurts like hell. Hot water and dried pork for breakfast.
**********
Jack stared down at the words he had written and sighed. It all seemed so pointless. Three days of prodding, poking, pushing and ultimately, kicking, had failed to make a dent in the ship's hatch, let alone open it.
He never had been the type to write a journal – he knew that. Report writing was something he only did because he had to, and a diary was just a glorified report. The most boring book on Earth, or any other planet, would have been better suited for toilet paper rather than his inane scribbling. Looking at them now, he could hardly read what he'd written anyway.
He rubbed his hand across his eyes. He very much doubted that he had more than a few days left before the renewed infection in his wound would stop him from going anywhere. He couldn't count the number of times he had fallen over on his travels and kicking the door like that hadn't helped either. The barely healed wound had reopened when he fell over a rock just before he found the spaceship. He had been monumentally stupid not to delay his explorations until his leg had properly healed. He admitted to himself that he had been so sick of sitting around doing nothing that he had pushed himself before he was ready. Well, the consequences of that action were now obvious. He sighed again, deeply. He wouldn't get back to the ruined settlement even if he set out immediately. Probably should have stayed there. At least he'd had Maybourne for company.
The question was – what to do now? Should he try and go on, in the hope of finding something else, or should he turn around and at least try to make it back? As he saw it, there were two other options – sit here and give up, or keep trying to open the hatch.
He took another sip of hot water, wishing for anything to flavour it. Maybe he should stick some dried pork in it – might give it some taste.
There really wasn't an option. The only scenario with any possibility of a positive outcome was to get into this damn ship.
No way would he give up.
He knew his team and the others back at the SGC wouldn't have forgotten him, even after all this time, and he was damned if they were going to find nothing but his skeleton when they did arrive.
Nope.
He closed the book with a determined snap and stood, reeling a little before he got his balance. The few steps to the craft had him panting, but once there he stood straighter and began a methodical investigation of the hull for any sign of an opening mechanism.
By noon, he had managed to pull the rest of the overgrown vines and bushes from the surface of the somewhat boxy shaped ship and sat back to take a breather. The temperature was the same pleasant one that seemed the norm for the planet and even the breeze wasn't too cold. In fact, so far, this place was the paradise Harry had said he'd discovered – at least if you didn't eat the lettuce. Nice weather, pretty scenery, good water supply, abundant game if you were sound enough in body to catch it. Yep – not a bad choice for retirement.
It was just a pity his permanent retirement seemed to be coming sooner than he thought it would.
He gave himself thirty minutes, struggling to swallow down some food, then started his search again – this time back at the hatch. Even though he'd been over it with a fine-toothed comb, there wasn't anywhere else to look and it was the most logical place for a mechanism.
It was pure luck that he finally found it. He'd felt a little dizzy and put his hand out to steady himself. Next thing he knew he was pitching forward, into the open door, his face kissing the dusty metal floor.
"Oooph!"
He lay there, wondering where he'd get the energy to stand from. It was the excitement of finally having succeeded that got him upright, albeit gingerly. Dust motes filled the air and he was grateful he was so close to the still wide open hatch as the stale air filled his lungs.
He reeled towards the opening. Several deep, chest-aching coughs later he was standing in the doorway breathing in great gulps of fresh air, his leg throbbing where he had hit it against something on his way out. But even though he was barely able to think, he still had the presence of mind to keep half his body in the entrance, using himself as a doorstop. There was no way he was going to let it shut again.
After the coughs subsided he looked around, and seeing no other solution, shrugged the pack from his back and placed it carefully in the doorway. Once that was done, he stepped out of the craft, on to the ramp that now lead down to the ground. A few agonised limps later and he was back with his feet buried in the discarded undergrowth. As quickly as he could, he hurried to grab a few of the larger branches and prop them into the aperture, taking his pack from the floor as he did so.
Then he stepped back and waited, the pack dangling from his right hand.
Ten minutes passed by Jack's watch before he re-entered the craft. The thick dust had settled somewhat – enough to be able to make out the various instrument panels and crew seating and for the stale air to have dissipated. He shuffled forward, careful not to catch his crutch on the edge of anything, not wanting to get up close and personal with the floor again.
He unslung his P-90 and put it and his pack on the floor, kneeling awkwardly to open the pack and rummage through it. Finding what he was looking for, he took out one of Harry's t-shirts, ripped it into several pieces, and dampened one with water from his bottle. It didn't take long to clear a portion of the panel at the front of the craft and soon instruments Jack took to be flight controls were exposed to the fresh air for the first time in heaven knew how long.
Nothing was recognisable.
In his disappointment he forgot where he was and slumped into the left hand seat. The cloud of dust that rose was thick and cloying and it was several minutes before it settled and he stopped coughing again long enough to be able to see anything. The feel of soft cushioning against his backside was heaven after so long sitting on logs, rocks or the hard ground and he shut his eyes, trying to imagine himself back in civilisation – back on Earth with his friends and teammates.
For the first time in weeks he let himself wonder what was happening at the SGC, what they were doing, and why they hadn't found him yet.
A sudden, overwhelming feeling of despair and loneliness rose up from where he had relentlessly kept it prisoner.
He hadn't meant to kill Harry. It wasn't the first time Jack had killed a man, far from it, but Harry was someone he had shared a meal with, discussed things with, joked and argued with. Despite Harry's faults, he had actually liked the bastard.
Shit.
And he'd killed him.
It hadn't been Harry's fault. It was that damned lettuce. If only Harry had listened when Jack tried to explain. There should have been something else Jack could have done – trapped him or something. He hadn't meant to kill him. If only someone had rescued them, with proper treatment Harry would probably have survived.
But they didn't, Harry hadn't, and now Jack was totally, utterly, and completely alone.
He folded his arms onto the console, laid his head on them, and for the first time in over seven years, wept.
**********
"Crap!"
Jack's voice sounded loud in the silence.
He pushed himself off the surprisingly soft surface of the instrument panel and wiped a hand across his eyes, leaving his face streaked with dirt.
"Enough of this. Damned fool. Find a way off this hunk of rock and all you can do it feel sorry for yourself. Pull yourself together." He continued to mutter to himself, the sound of his own voice comforting after so long without contact with other people. "Maybe the ship's damaged, but you don't know how badly, so just get your act together and work something out." He thought for a second. "Come on, Jack, what would Carter do? Think."
He stood and looked around. "Doesn’t look damaged. Maybe it didn't crash here. Maybe it landed." He continued to think out loud. "Try everything. Can't hurt. Be systematic."
He turned back to the front console, deciding it was a logical place to start, and began pressing every surface. It had worked for the hatch, so perhaps it would here as well.
It was almost night before the first sign he was on the right track appeared. Pressing both his hands on the somewhat squashy controls on each side of the left hand seat, he felt a slight tingling run through his palms and up his arms. For a moment there was the hum of machinery and the glow of lights from various spots in the ship then it died, the hum fading down to nothing. The lights flickered off and the small space felt even darker than it had just a few minutes before.
Pressing down in the same spot again didn't work. Nothing happened – the ship stayed dead. It was becoming too dark to see anything clearly, so Jack decided to rest and try again in the morning. Picking up his equipment, he limped out of the dim interior, feeling a little more optimistic. Maybe the next day would see him getting the craft up and running.
He lit a large fire, the flames chasing away the shadows that pressed in on him, ate a meagre meal, and settled down for the night, tossing a little as an unaccustomed heat surrounded him.
**********
Jack writhed on ground, almost sobbing as he fought against the terrible images that consumed him. Jonas lay dead on an operating table, his brain cut open, and in the same room, forgotten in a corner, was the smouldering remains of Sam's corpse. Both lay with their eyes open, staring at him as if in accusation.
His legs twitched as if he was running and as the fever ate at him.
**********
It was well into the morning when Jack woke, his head throbbing in tune with his leg. He rolled over, biting back a cry of pain, and pulled the ragged cloth of his trousers away from his thigh. The wound was red and inflamed, with lines of obvious infection running from its centre.
He lay back again, his eyes closed, willing himself to get up – to do something. What, he didn't know, but it wasn't in his nature to just lie there, especially when the possible solution was right next to him. He needed to get the ship working.
Jack got to his feet slowly through a process of small movements; each one wrested from an uncooperative body, and moved carefully towards the craft. He shuffled like an old man, keeping his bad leg as protected as possible from jarring. It seemed like hours before he made it up the ramp and back into the craft's interior.
He stared at the instruments lining the sides for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do, but his thoughts tumbled in chaotic waves through his mind – the alien ship, the SGC, trees, his cabin, the lake at the village, all images that flashed past with the speed of a lightning strike. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't think straight. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt twice as large as it should.
He needed a drink.
Where was the water?
He had left it outside. He should go get it. Get a drink.
**********
Jack woke to the sounds of the forest at night. He was bitterly cold, yet he could feel sweat on his face, and in a moment of clarity he knew he was in serious trouble. He sat up, peering around, unable to recognise his surroundings. He was without his weapon, and his pack was nowhere in sight. Thick trees obscured his view, but he was obviously nowhere near the space ship. Somehow he seemed to have descended the slopes and made it back to the valley floor, but where he was in relation to anything he had no idea.
He looked up, trying to see the night sky. After so many months on the planet he was familiar with the stars and could use them to at least give him an idea of direction. He could only groan in frustration when all he saw were branches obstructing the view. What little he could discern was almost covered in clouds.
He gave a rueful laugh. Looked like rain at last.
So, here he was – totally lost and with a high probability of dying. Seemed par for the course.
And he was so damned thirsty.
He needed to get back to Harry. He had promised Harry he would return. A promise was a promise.
**********
If it hadn't been for the small stream he literally stumbled into, Jack would have died out there in the wilderness, luck—such as it was—was with him. The sudden freezing cold bath woke him from his fevered meanderings for long enough to get him up and moving again, albeit in the opposite direction to the village.
He wandered for almost another day, barely able to move one minute, hurrying through the dense bushes the next, delirium cushioning the effects of his injury. His leg was grossly swollen now, but there was nothing he could do about it, even if he had realised the perilous position he was in.
As the hours passed he became more and more desperate to reach what he had come to think of as home. He began to mutter to himself, trying to hold conversations with the teammates now walking along with him. Teal'c was always on point, looking back only occasionally, without speaking, Daniel walked beside him, not touching even to prevent Jack from stumbling, and Carter had his six, but seemed to be lagging further behind with every passing minute. No matter how hard he tried, Jack couldn't get a response from them to anything he said. He had gone from joking, to ordering, to shouting without any reaction, and it was frankly beginning to piss him off. It was as if they didn't care about him. At this rate he might as well not be there.
He decided to ignore them.
He tripped more often as the hours passed and it was after one such fall, while he lay spread-eagled on the ground, he realised darkness had crept up on him without his noticing. He twisted slightly, just enough to look for his silent companions.
Teal'c and Carter were setting up tents. Jonas was standing looking rather forlorn, watching them. Of Daniel there was no sign.
Jack called out hoarsely. "Hey, guys. Could you give me a hand?" He waited, fully expecting them to come hurrying over once they saw he was sick, but they carried on with their tasks without even turning.
"They can't hear you, Jack. They aren't really there. But you know that, don't you."
Jack frowned, seeing Jonas turn and look at him but not make any move to approach. "Of course they're there." He waved a hand angrily towards his teammates. "They'll be over in a minute."
Daniel squatted down and stared intently into Jack's face, his expression serious. "There's just you, Jack. You have to do it yourself."
"You're here, and if you're here, then they must be too." Jack knew the logic of his statement wasn't sound, but he was quite pleased with his argument none the less. "They wouldn't have left me."
"Not deliberately, no." Daniel shook his head, the light glowing behind him allowing Jack to see the sadness in his eyes. "They tried, they really did. You have to remember that."
"Then why didn't they come? Why didn't they?" Jack attempted to keep his voice unemotional, but knew he hadn't succeeded. The hurt in his words was plain even to his own ears.
"Sam never worked out you were on the moon. Kinsey tried to have her brought up on charges of negligence."
"What! Why?"
"Maybourne took her by surprise. She let him escape and you were lost because of it."
"That's crap. It wasn't Carter's fault."
Daniel shook his head at Jack's exclamation of protest. "That's what happened, Jack. I know it wasn't fair, but it's done now. Sam was suspended, pending an investigation. By the time it was all over and the charges were dropped the tape showing the moon had been archived and forgotten." He paused as Jack's attention wandered back to the campsite. Teal'c was on watch now, Carter and Jonas sitting beside the fire, cradling coffee mugs and talking. "Jack! They aren't there. Believe me. You're on your own."
As Daniel spoke Jonas wavered out of sight. Jack turned back to his friend and glared.
"Stop that!"
"It isn't me, Jack."
Jack caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over just in time to see Carter and the tent vanish as if by magic.
He shouted as he began to push himself up. "T, wait!"
For a second it looked like Teal'c had heard him. The Jaffa paused in his slow pacing of the camp perimeter and glanced over, but his eyes flickered, without stopping, across the spot where Jack was lying.
And then he too was gone.
Jack slumped back, his head thumping on the ground, and put a hand over his eyes, unable to bear the thought of being alone again.
"Come on – get up. You can't stay here."
"Why?"
"Because it's going to rain."
"You're an all-powerful, glowy weather forecaster now? Way to go – talk about putting those super powers to good use."
Daniel stood, crossing his arms and glaring down at where Jack lay on the ground. "Get up."
Jack shook his head stubbornly. "No, don't want to."
"You have to. You'll die if you stay here all night."
"Gonna' die anyway."
"You aren't going to die." Daniel raised both hands in a gesture of exasperation. "Not if I can help it." He tapped his foot impatiently.
"I thought you weren't meant to interfere?" Jack didn't give him a chance to answer, continuing on, "So why now? Why care now? You didn't help before."
Crouching beside him again, Daniel spoke softly, "I explained. I couldn't use my powers to rescue you. But it worked out in the end, didn't it?"
"Worked out!" Jack gave a cynical laugh. "Sure – in the end. My end. Over and over and over." He laughed again, this time louder. "All worked out. Yep. Not a problem. Ba'al and I agreed to disagree and we parted best of friends. Easy." He lifted his arm and glared. "Thanks for the help, Daniel. Now piss off."
Daniel rocked back on his heels as if struck. There were several minutes of silence with each man staring at the other before he spoke again. "I know you don't want to hear this, Jack, but you have to get up. Just try."
"Why? I asked you that before. Why?" The words were spat out. "Give me a reason."
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"It's not allowed."
Jack shut his eyes again. "Then go away." When he opened them again, Daniel was gone.
***********
The rain had just started when Jack stood up, groaning at his own inability to just lie there and die as he had intended. Maybe if there hadn't been an annoying drip running down his cheek and into the soil beneath him he would have managed it, but there was a certain indignity to dying in a puddle of mud.
He threw a furious glare at the direction he assumed Daniel was watching from and imagined him smirking in a very unascended fashion.
It wasn't five minutes before the ruins came into view. Of course, Daniel couldn't have told him how close to shelter he had been – no. It would have contravened his glowy employment contract, had him drummed out of the Union of Intergalactic Ascended Know-it-alls. Jack sniggered at the thought as he reeled through the entrance of some large crumbling stone building. He didn't bother looking around – he couldn't have cared less if there had been a convention of Goa'uld System Lords going on inside.
He stumbled into the warm darkness.
And fell down.
**********
The steady drumming of rain on the roof finally roused Jack from his stupor. He blinked several times, remembering his conversation with Daniel with a half embarrassed surprise. Hallucinating dead teammates whilst on the brink of death was something he seemed to be making a habit of.
He sighed deeply. Even putting up with Daniel's smug Ascendedness was better than being alone. Thinking back on the conversation Jack was slightly annoyed Daniel hadn't seen fit to offer him the same deal as last time. Maybe you didn't get a second chance to ascend. He smiled cynically. Must be a once in a lifetime offer.
His head was clear, the fever he realised was the reason for his present predicament appearing to have abated for the time being. But he was experienced enough in these matters to know it was only a matter of time before it came back, worse than ever.
He'd had another weird-ass dream, a particularly strange one of Daniel looking like Friar Tuck. He had been with Jonas, Carter, and for some reason, Dixon. It had all passed in a blur, with just flashes of scenes - the pyramid on Abydos, Jaffa, and brief moments of battle, like a video tape on fast forward.
But there was one thing Jack did remember clearly. Just before he woke up, Jack had felt a soul-searing grief.
He titled his head sideways, wincing at the stiffness in his neck, and looked around.
The door he must have entered by was on his left. Through it he glimpsed dripping bushes and not much else. He twisted around and found the other side of the room opposite the door even less exciting – all he saw was a featureless wall.
At least he was dry.
He raised himself on his elbows to look straight ahead and gave a loud and heartfelt curse.
"Well, crap!"
The third wall was only four feet from his muddy toes. And there, sticking out from said wall was one of those Ancient head sucky thingies.
"Daniel!" Jack gave as loud a shout as he was capable of – not very loud, he knew, but he hoped his tone would convey what volume did not.
He was not amused.
"Don't you try and tell me you have nothing to do with this!"
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the point of view, his oh so clever glow boy friend refused to answer.
Jack flopped back down, wishing he had a pillow to rest his head on and gave serious thought to his situation.
The ship was probably of Furling or Ancient origin or something, given that this was, from what Maybourne had told him, an alien utopia set up by the Furlings amongst others. There was that whole superior races thing they had going – Nox, Asgard, Furlings, and Ancients. He'd take bets one of them was responsible for the craft, and he couldn't see it being Asgard or Nox – not their style. The ship didn't look too broken – just a little weathered. All he needed was to work out how to turn it on.
Ancient or Furling ship.
Ancient headsucky thingy.
Even in his current state of somewhat less than sound mind Jack could see where this was leading.
Hell, the damn thing wasn't even trying to hide behind a panel. It stuck out and virtually waved a hello at him.
He weighed the cons against the obvious pros. His leg would still be infected. He would go totally wacko within a few days. He would die unless he got the download removed. All of the above were a given. But there was at least a possibility of finding help if he got the ship working.
The question was – was he bloody-minded enough to not go along with the very obvious solution that had been handed to him on a plate?
Shit – he knew the answer to that.
Nope.
Jack rolled, put his hands on the floor and did a creditable push-up, managing to rise to his knees on the first attempt. He didn't bother trying to stand; sure his leg wouldn't hold him. Instead he shuffled forward on his knees until he reached the wall, and then, grasping an edge of the rather flowery looking protuberance that surrounded the device, he pulled himself up until his face was level with its center.
He stared into the hole. A chill ran up his spine and leaving him feeling like a kid playing hide and seek and waiting to be found.
"Well, come on. . . "
He didn't have time to complete the sentence. Big metal claws reached out and grabbed his head, gripping him tightly and pressing into the back of his neck. Even though he had expected it, Jack couldn't help struggling, pulling himself fruitlessly backwards. As lights exploded against his eyeballs the fleeting thought passed through his mind that he had completely forgotten how much the damn thing hurt!
************
Stiff. Sore. Hurting.
And feeling very sorry for himself.
What a wonderful idea that was.
How many hours he had been unconscious Jack had no idea, but if the pain in his body was anything to go by it was probably many, many, many, many. . .
Oy!
Oddly enough, his head felt clearer than it had in a while – almost as if the fever had gone. Which was strange, as an inspection of his leg showed it to be worse than ever. He put a hand on the wound, feeling the heat emanating from it, and sighed. It looked like nothing much had changed except he had added a pounding headache to his long list of woes. A wave of tiredness washed over him, and he shut his eyes, gritting his teeth and willing it to leave. There wasn't much time left and he wasn't going to spend it sitting here. He was going to find the ship again, see if he could get it going, and fly it back to Harry. He was damned if he was going to die alone.
He pushed himself over to rest his back against the wall near the door, and looked out at the steady rain. Trees were nothing but vague shapes looming out of the mist that rose from the sodden ground. The leaves of the nearby bushes glistened with moisture, making them appear an almost glossy black.
It wasn't sensible to leave shelter yet, despite his desire to get moving. He would have to wait until the rain eased.
Jack straightened his back and pressed in into the cold stone wall, shutting his eyes again, and listened to the drip of water. The hypnotic noise drummed in time with the movement of his right hand as he rhythmically kneaded his leg, his long fingers flexing in the flesh around the wound. Then his hands stopped moved, just resting lightly on the overheated skin.
It was several minutes before Jack came back to himself, his eyes losing their unfocused look. He shook his head slightly, as if waking from an unexpected nap, and looked down at his leg.
He wasn't surprised at what he saw. One part of his brain – the part that had taken over as he rested – was expecting it. He stared at his healed leg, his complacence mingling strangely in his mind with just a little awe. He turned his head, cocking it a little to the side, and watched as the rain stopped.
**********
It took Jack less than an hour to make his way unerringly back to the spacecraft. His discarded crutch lay to one side of the door, along with his pack and P-90, and he stooped to pick them up before he pressed his palm to the access panel. There was a dull whirling noise and the hatch opened, narrow beams of sunlight illuminating the interior. Jack stepped inside and with a wave of his hand on the controls activated the lights. A trail of buzzes and flashes followed his progress across the metal floor as he headed to the front of the craft, the ship coming alive around him.
A puff of dust rose from the soft fabric of the pilot's seat as his weight settled on it. Jack pushed a button and the shutters retracted from the front window letting in even more daylight. Dust motes floated upwards as sun shone, lighting up the whole craft.
Jack shut his eyes, concentrating on what he needed to know and what he needed to do. Various readouts flashed across screens as systems long dead came back to life, the ship's own internal checklist beginning the minor repairs needed after so long inactive.
Several hours passed with Jack motionless except for the occasional wince of pain. Once and only once did he move – to reach a hand up and rub the bridge of his nose, before stilling again.
It finally happened without fanfare, without the loud hum of engines or the sound of metal straining. It happened effortlessly, and in silence.
The craft rose from the forest floor, hovered above the trees for a moment, then spun to face the opposite direction, and was off.
**********
Jack stepped through the stargate onto the Alpha site, fully expecting to have several weapons pointed at him. He half raised his hands in surrender before putting them down and reaching for the P-90 slung around his neck.
Walking forward cautiously, he scanned his surroundings. Everything he could see had an air of disuse about it, as if the buildings had been long abandoned. Here and there pieces of equipment lay discarded, but the overall impression was one of an orderly exit.
He pushed open the door to what had been the main command center, hoping for some clue as to what had happened. He was disappointed – the interior was completely bare, without even a scrap of paper on the floor.
Disappointment left a bitter taste in the Colonel's mouth. The trip to the planet that started the whole fiasco had been short. He had known it was stupid to expect an SGC presence still to be on the site, but he had been optimistic nonetheless. Finding nothing there, he left the Ancient spaceship concealed near the gate and dialed the Alpha site, hoping for a quick stop-over before being escorted with all due pomp and circumstance, home to Earth.
This desolate place wasn't what he expected at all.
What had happened to cause the SGC, Tok'ra and free Jaffa to pull out? Deciding to check some of the other buildings, Jack took two steps towards the open door, before dropping and crouching behind the meagre protection offered by the flimsy metal walls.
'What the f…!' Jack didn't bother completing the thought. The one glimpse he caught of the huge, black armoured monster heading straight for him was enough to tell him this wasn't someone he wanted to get up close and personal with. The thing was at least seven foot tall and looked like it could take Teal'c in a fight with one arm tied behind its back.
Jack cautiously peered around the corner of the door frame, just in time to see the creature extend its right arm outwards. A beam of light shot towards him and the hut exploded.
**********
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