IN RETROSPECT

“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” - Nelson Mandela, ‘A Long Walk to Freedom’

* * * * *

Much to the chagrin of Jack O’Neill, it really wasn’t Daniel Jackson’s fault.  Not this time.  This time, he had no one but himself to blame.

* * * * *

“Tell him, Carter.”

“Sorry, Daniel, but I’m going to have to side with the Colonel on this one.”

“Oh, come on, Sam.”

Looking slightly offended, Jack glanced back at his second in command.  “You’re apologizing for taking my side?”  He shook his head and then, without slowing down, pulled off his cap and wiped sweat from his forehead.  “Damn, it must be a hundred degrees out here.”

“So, you don’t think I could take it?” Daniel glanced at Sam as he spoke.

Her eyes hidden behind her dark sunglasses, Sam smiled at him.  “It’s not a matter of what I think.  It’s what I know.  You’d end up with serious brain damage.”

“Well,” Daniel smirked at the back of Jack’s head, “that explains a lot.”

Without turning, Jack lifted a hand and flipped Daniel the finger.

Daniel smiled and, ignoring the insult, looked back at Teal’c.  “You got an opinion on this?”

“I do not, Daniel Jackson.”

Daniel watched Jack, who was walking approximately ten feet ahead of them.  The man had started the conversation, talking about G forces and bragging about how he was a member of the exclusive 9G Club.  When Daniel had commented that it didn’t sound like a big deal, Jack had laughed.  However, despite his nasty tone, Daniel knew that Jack wasn’t really offended.  It was merely an act - a performance for the team’s benefit; a classic O’Neill diversionary tactic meant to help pass the time.  Daniel smiled to himself.  Let it not be said that he stood in the way of Jack’s little diversions.  “Well, I think you’re both full of crap.  What do you say, when we get back, I prove you wrong?”

Jack glanced back over his shoulder and shot Daniel a brief, crooked grin.  “Sure, that’ll happen.  Just give me a few minutes to rustle up a Tomcat or a B-2 Bomber.  Better yet . . . Carter, we’ll strap him in a Raptor.”

Sam snorted softly.

“What’s a Raptor?” Daniel adjusted his pack and squinted.  In the distance, he thought he saw the structure they’d been looking for.

“Your tax dollars at work,” Jack mumbled.

“It’s an F/A-22 fighter jet.”  At Daniel’s blank stare, Sam added, “Just picture the X-302 without the interstellar capabilities and inertial dampeners.”

Daniel looked away.  Oh, yeah, that cleared things right up.

“Teal’c.”  Jack had stopped.  His quiet voice silenced his team and brought the Jaffa striding up from behind them.

Daniel watched as the two warriors surveyed their surroundings.  They stood like sturdy, weathered sentinels in the breech between him and Sam, and any possible danger.  In an odd moment of clarity, Daniel realized that he was probably safer off-world in the company of Jack and Teal’c than he was alone in his own living room.

“What do you think, T?”

Teal’c took a moment to carefully study the large, weed-ridden, mostly-dead garden area that surrounded the small building.  “It appears to be uninhabited.  However, I believe it would be wise to circle the structure before entering.”

Jack looked at the building, carefully eyed the area around it, and then glanced back at Daniel and Sam before agreeing.  “Yeah, okay.  You take left.  I’ll go right.  Carter, Daniel, wait here and keep your eyes open.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the two warriors moved off, Daniel realized that at some point he’d automatically released the safety catch on his weapon.  He wasn’t sure what that said about him, nor was he sure that he liked it.  But things had changed.  He’d changed, ever since his ‘descent’ to human form.  At first, his memory still hazy and unpredictable, he hadn’t known whether he was changed or not, but as his mind had cleared, he’d noticed definite differences in himself.  For one thing, as evidenced by the current circumstances, he’d become more aggressive.  He was also a lot less naive and much more skilled in the art of deception.  But perhaps most disturbing, he’d lost his sweet tooth.

Standing next to Sam, scanning the horizon as Jack and Teal’c disappeared in the shadows behind the structure, Daniel once again pondered the full extent of his transformation.  Acquaintances and co-workers were still commenting to him about how physically buffed he was compared to before his ‘sabbatical.’  Daniel knew that he was; he could feel the change in himself without needing to verify it in a mirror or by looking at old photographs.  He felt more powerful, tighter, more . . . aware.  This heightened awareness vaguely reminded him of how he’d felt when he’d been thrown into the body of Machello, except this time there was an energy throbbing through his corporeal form that had never, ever been there before, and he was beginning to think the effect was permanent.  Lately, he found himself watching Jack and Teal’c, studying how the men moved - comfortably and with a grace and speed that defied their size and age - and he wondered if this was how they felt inside.  After a lot of thought, Daniel had come to the conclusion that the physical form he had assumed upon his return was nothing more than a reflection of internal mutations - not vice versa.

Other things, events since his descension, had brought about more changes.  For instance, Janet.  Daniel frowned and turned his back to Sam, studying the barren terrain across which they had hiked for the last nine hours.  Janet’s death was still fresh and raw, a wound that refused to fully heal and which threatened to fester at the strangest times.  Daniel was saddled with doubt.  He knew the uselessness of ‘what ifs.’  They served no purpose.  Still . . . he couldn’t help but think that if Jack had been there instead of him, Janet would be alive today.  Jack would never have laid down his weapon to pick up the camera.  Jack would have seen the enemy preparing to fire and would have shot first or, failing that, would have thrown himself between Janet and death.

“Daniel, you okay?”

He looked at Sam, who nodded towards the building where Jack stood, waving them forward.  Smiling, Daniel once again shifted the weight of the pack on his back.  “Yeah.  Sure.”

They began walking towards the building that Daniel was fairly certain was a temple.

“Sam, what’s going on at the SGC?”

She glanced at him, then away.  “I . . . I’m not sure.”  They were halfway to their destination before she spoke again.  “Why?”

“Just something Jack said.”

“What?”

Daniel smiled.  “Oh, you know Jack, something cryptic.  This morning in the locker room, he mentioned that I should try not to bother him too much with all my chatter and that I should promise not to touch anything because this might be SG-1's last hoorah.”

“He actually said that?”

Sam sounded shocked, which surprised Daniel.  He had assumed that being military, she would know what was going on.  He saw her study their CO, who was kicking at an Ionic-style column like he was checking the tires on his truck.

“You don’t think the Colonel’s leaving, do you?”

He shrugged.  “Seems to me like he would have mentioned it.”

“Daniel, we’re talking about Colonel O’Neill here.”

“Oh.  Right.  Still, I don’t think he’d do something that drastic without talking to us first.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing:  something’s going on.”

Daniel nodded.  “Jack, stop it!  This temple has been here for thousands of years and you’re single-handedly going to destroy it before I even get a chance to take a look inside.”

Aiming what was meant to be an evil glare at Daniel, Jack gave the column a final, defiant kick before stepping aside.  “I know I’ve said this before, but why is it always a religious thing with you?  Did you ever stop and think that maybe this was a brothel?  Or an all-night convenience store?”

Daniel frowned, but inside he felt an almost overwhelming surge of warmth for this man who was his boss, his protector, his friend, and the constant thorn in his side.  Hiding his smile from Jack, Daniel ran a hand over one of the columns on the front of the temple, comforted by the thought that no matter how things changed, Jack O’Neill remained Jack O’Neill.

* * * * *

Jack sat on the floor just inside the open doorway of Daniel’s temple.  Outside, he caught periodic glimpses of Carter and Teal’c patrolling the general vicinity.  Across the darkening expanse of the room, Daniel had been reading the same wall for the last hour and a half.  Bored and tired of pacing, Jack had sat down, unsnapping his P90 and leaning back with a sigh.

“Daniel?”

“Just a little while longer, Jack.  I’ve almost got it.”

“Of course, you do,” he mumbled to himself.  It was the fifth time in the last hour that Daniel had said those very words.  In a daze, he stared at Daniel’s back as the man worked.  After all these years, after all the things that Daniel had seen, how could he become so absorbed, so fascinated, with a bunch of writing on a wall?  Didn’t he ever get tired of reading everyone’s take on how the world was formed and how the gods came into power?  On the whole, Jack tuned out the vast majority of the things Daniel said, taking away only a bare synopsis of the stark facts.  Even then, he managed to be bored by it, let alone if he had to spend hours deciphering it in the first place.

As he watched, Daniel scooted to the left, running a calloused finger over glyphs that covered an entire wall.  God, if he touched something again. . . .

“Yeah.  Okay.  Then. . . .” Daniel mumbled to himself, his fingers busily brushing the raised, alien letters.

Jack smiled and sighed, turning his head to glance out at the bleak landscape.  The sun was lowering in the sky, casting a purplish, almost Earth-like quality to the sand dunes as the sun went down.  The garden that was dead in the harsh light of day could have been alive in the dim light of an alien dusk.  He reached for his radio.

“Carter?”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“Major, start setting up camp.  Teal’c, give her a hand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, O’Neill.”

He should have issued the order an hour ago.  He glanced back at Daniel, who was still intent on his work.  He had pulled a large book from his pack and was tracing the wall with one finger and a page of the book with another.  Should Jack stop him?  Remind him that he wasn’t supposed to touch anything?  Would this be the last chance Jack would have to remind his errant archeologist of the unwritten ‘lookee but no touchee’ Jack O’Neill code of conduct?

God.  Jack rubbed his eyes.  He’d been distracted all day, now he was turning maudlin?  What was next?  So what if Hammond was talking about accepting an assignment in Washington?  So what if Kinsey was wielding more power and sporting a bigger asshole than ever before?  So what?  They had Daniel back.  Jonas was settled on his home world.  SG-1 was together.  Yeah, George was hinting of promotions and asking Jack to think about trading in his BDU’s for dress blues.  So what?  Change was good, right?

Jack shifted, grunting softly at the ache in his stiff knees and in his weary back muscles.  Yeah, right.  Change was good.  Aging bad - change good.  Fraiser was going to give him hell if he came back from this mission with the slightest-

He felt the impact like a punch in the gut.

Doc was gone.  Another one lost to the enemy.  One that should never have been out there in the first place.  His stomach roiling, Jack forced himself onto his feet.

“Daniel, how many times do I have to tell you to keep your hands off the damn-”

“Jack, I’ve got it!”

Even as he spoke, even as Jack hefted his P90 and crossed the cold, stone floor to stand behind him, the wall on which Daniel had been concentrating slid away, disappearing into a deep crack in the outer wall with the loud grating noise of stone on stone.

“What the hell. . . .”  Jack reflexively took a single step back and tightened his grip on his weapon.

As Daniel struggled to his feet, the two men gaped at the vastness of the room suddenly revealed to them.  It wasn’t deep, less than fifteen feet of floor space lay between the spot where the wall had been and the back of the room.  But it was tall, taller than the inside of the temple itself, and wide, extending well beyond the perimeters of the room in which they stood.

Jack stepped across the threshold and stared up at the back wall.  It was at least four stories high and a hundred feet wide.  The entire wall was divided into tiles approximately two feet square.  Frowning, he stepped closer and examined one of the squares without touching it.  There was a handle in the middle of each tile.

“Daniel?”  Jack was vaguely aware that Daniel had stepped forward and was squinting at the tiny writing carved beneath the handle.  “What is this place?”

“Oh my God.  I was wrong.”

Jack flinched and brought up the barrel of the rifle.  “What do you mean?  What?”

Finally, Daniel looked at him.  “It’s not a temple.  It’s a mausoleum.”

Jack opened his mouth to say ‘what,’ but nothing came out.  He glanced up again, noting for the first time that most of the squares had necklace thingies hanging from the handles.  Glancing at Daniel, he reached up to the nearest square and tentatively touched the dangling pendant.  It resembled a coin with strange writing on it.  A hole had been drilled in the edge of the coin, and it had been threaded onto a silver chain which was looped around the handle.  He felt Daniel step up behind him, reading over his shoulder.

“Kwee . . . kwee-la . . . something.”

“What’s that?”

“I think it’s a name,” Daniel answered, but he sounded unsure.

“Really?  Kwee-la?  What kind of name is that?”

“It’s an alien name, Jack.”

“So what, this is a dogtag?”

“Well,” Daniel snickered softly, “yeah.  I guess.”

Jack studied the pendant closely.  “Looks like a number, too.  Serial number?”

“Um,” Daniel grasped one of the handles, “maybe.”

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I . . .,” but before he’d finished answering, he’d pulled on the handle.

Shouting at him, Jack grabbed Daniel and shoved him away from the drawer, which slid open with a pneumatic hiss.  Daniel hit the floor hard and Jack landed on top of him, forcing a grunt of air past Daniel’s lips.  Breathless, they lay there, anticipating a disaster that didn’t happen.  Finally, Jack groaned and eased himself up onto his knees.

“How many times do I have to tell you . . . don’t do that.”

“Sorry.”  The two men stood, peeking at the open drawer without moving closer.  “But it’s okay.  Nothing happened.”

Jack made a face at him.  “Uh, yeah, unless these people died of the bubonic plague or something.  In which case, we won’t know anything happened until after we infect everyone we come in contact with.  Oh, yeah, and die.”

“Well, I doubt that will happen.  There’d be warnings posted or something.”

Jack nodded sagely.  “Oh, really?  You mean, in this temple?”

“Okay.  So I made a little mistake.  It’s not a temple.”

“Well,” Jack shook his head and stepped up to the drawer, “too late now.  What’s done is done.”  He stared into the stone receptacle.  “Uh, Daniel.”

“What?”

“Your dead guy looks . . . well, I don’t mean to sound cold and unfeeling, but he looks . . . well, cold and unfeeling.”

Daniel stepped up beside Jack.  “Why do you say . . . oh.  What the. . . .”

“Temple.  Mausoleum.  Want to take another stab at it?  I hear third time is a charm.”

The men stared down at what looked like a small, cylindrical computer.  The outside consisted of a polished steel-like substance, and small wires emerged from one end and disappeared into small outlets at the back and sides of the drawer.  Large, flashing, blue lights formed a ring around the center of the housing.

“I think we’ve found Carter’s homeland.”  At Daniel’s questioning stare, Jack smiled rather proudly.  “Well, it obviously has her brains and if I’m not mistaken, it has her eyes as well.”

Daniel shook his head.  “I don’t understand, Jack.  I was sure this was a mausoleum.”

“Yeah, well, at least he didn’t die from the plague.”

“Maybe it was a computer virus,” Daniel dead-panned.

Jack laughed dryly.  “Yeah.  Probably the green worm thingy.”  He glanced around at the fading light.  “Okay.  Let’s wrap this up for the night.  We’ll let Carter check this out maZana.  Maybe she can,” he waved towards the open drawer, “you know, do an autopsy on Microchip Man here.  Figure out if there’s anything of value.”

Looking confused, Daniel shoved the drawer closed.  “Sure.”

* * * * *

Jack was laying on his back, a cup of coffee resting on his chest.  As Carter and Daniel quietly discussed the possibilities awaiting them inside the ancient building, Jack studied the stars.  It was a cool evening, but not cold, and the sky overhead was clear and bright; perfect for star-gazing.  Too bad he didn’t have his new telescope.  Just last month he’d gotten a deal on an Orion Atlas Reflector.  The thing weighed roughly sixty pounds and had been a royal pain in the ass to haul onto the roof, but man-oh-man, what a sweet ride.

“Do you recognize anything, O’Neill.”  Teal’c eased himself down beside his commanding officer.

Jack yawned and wrapped a hand around the warm mug balanced on his chest.  “It’s hard to say.”  He studied the stars a moment, then pointed.  “Do you see that odd shaped formation?  The one that looks kind of like Picasso’s version of a skinny cow?”

Teal’c followed the pointing finger, studying the night sky.  “I do not.”

“Okay.  Let’s find something easier.”  Jack lay there a few moments, patiently searching the darkness.  He used to do this all the time for Sara and later, for Charlie.  The first time Jack had taken his boy star-gazing, Charlie was nine weeks old and had been far more interested in trying to feed at his father’s chest than he’d been in looking at the sky.  The last time had been when Charlie was ten, going on twenty.  Jack could still see him stretched out on his back in the grass, his striped t-shirt and his eyes like his mother’s luminescent in the reflection of the stars overhead.  Just home after five months away on a mission, Jack had watched his son watch the sky and had listened as Charlie patiently explained how he was going to manage becoming an astronaut without having to do his math homework.

‘Why do I need math anyway?  I just want to do stuff like you.  You know, the cool stuff.’

Jack had cringed at the thought of his child following in his footsteps.  ‘You will,’ he’d assured his boy.

‘Dad, sometimes, I think I’ll never grow up.’  Charlie had turned his head and stared over at Jack, his expression serious.  ‘It’s taking forever.’

Studying the changes that five months had made in Charlie’s face, Jack had smiled.

Less than eight days later, Charlie had been dead.

Clearing his throat, Jack pushed back the memories of his son and pointed skyward again.  “How about there, Teal’c?  Do you see those four stars?  They form a little square.  Just a little to the left of and beneath that really bright star.”

Teal’c gazed upward.  It was a full minute before he replied, “Yes.  I see it.”

“Well, if I’m right, that little square is a constellation called Corvus, or the Crow.  And that large constellation above it is Virgo.  The bright star on the bottom edge of Virgo there is called Spica.  Spica is one of the brightest stars in the sky, T.  The fourteenth brightest, I think.  I’m pretty sure anyway.”

“How do you remember all that, Jack?”

He smiled over at Daniel.  Jack had been studying astronomy since his eleventh birthday, when he’d gotten his first telescope from his Granddad.  “Practice, Daniel.  Lots of practice.”

“So which one’s Earth, Colonel?”

“You can’t see it from here, Carter.  It’s on the other side of the galaxy.  Literally.”

“You can tell that just by looking?” Daniel poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down on the other side of Jack, opposite Teal’c and away from the firelight.

“Yeah.  Everything is backwards.”

“Really?”  Carter moved over and stretched out at his, Teal’c’s and Daniel’s feet.  “So where’s Canis Major?  That’s the only one I know for sure.”

“And you’re in the Air Force?  Sam, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

In response to Daniel’s comment, Carter kicked his legs as Jack quietly studied the sky.

“Over there.”  He pointed to the western sky.  “Sirius, or the Dog Star.  It’s the brightest star in the sky, our sun excluded, of course.”

Daniel sipped his coffee.  “Once when I was on a dig in Egypt, Sarah and I spent the entire night outside on the ground watching a meteor shower.  It was pretty cool.”

“Meteor showers on Chulak were rare and were considered to be omens of great significance.”

“That’s common in a lot of cultures, Teal’c.  We have records of meteor showers from China and Europe going back over twenty-five hundred years.  In our own culture, the Native Americans kept detailed records of them.  Some of the records covered a span of fifty years.”

“Wow,” Carter sounded impressed, “I didn’t know that.”

“You mean I finally found something you didn’t know?  Did you hear that, Jack?  Jack?”

The only response was soft, deep, steady breathing.

“Well, Daniel,” Carter whispered, “I always knew your little lectures were good for something.”

No one moved or spoke for nearly five minutes.  Jack dozed as his teammates quietly stared up at the sky, thinking of the familiar world that lay on the far side of the galaxy.  It was weird how with all four of them here, home didn’t seem that distant.  Finally, Teal’c rose and gently removed the cup of cool coffee from its precarious perch on Jack’s lean chest.

“I shall take first watch, Major Carter.”

“Thanks, Teal’c.  I’ll take second.”

“Third.”  Daniel yawned then looked over at the grey-haired man sleeping beside him.  “Last watch, Jack,” he announced, and wondered if it would be.

* * * * *

“I don’t know.  Maybe we should go with this one.”

“Daniel, we can only carry one.  We have to decide.”

Carter and Daniel had examined at least two dozen of the hundreds of computers stored in the rows of drawers.  As Jack watched, Carter closed one drawer and pulled open another.  Daniel studied one of the tags which dangled from one of the handles.  Between the two of them, they had finally decided that the pendants were markers or identification tags of some kind.  Well, d’uh.  Jack could have told them that over breakfast.

Already weary of their exuberance, he rubbed his eyes and bit his lip.  Something else had obviously escaped his techno-geeks’ combined powers of observation: their commanding officer was nearing the end of his patience and had set the ten minute timer - Jack glanced at his watch - eight minutes ago.

Daniel glanced over at Carter.  “What if the names and numbers are indicative of software?”

Carter looked up from her study of the latest in a long line of apparently identical computers.  “You mean, program identifiers?”  Her eyes roamed over the vast number of drawers as she seemed to consider Daniel’s suggestion.  “Maybe.”

Jack heard Teal’c sigh deeply.  Teal’c never sighed.  Okay, one minute left on the clock, but enough was enough.

“That’s it.”  He strode across the room and laid a hand on one of the drawers.

“Colonel?”

“Jack?”

“You’ve been trying to choose between curtains number one and two for over four hours.”  Daniel and Carter looked at each other, then at Jack, as if shocked at his audacity.  “Let’s make a deal.  I’m thinking of a number between one and five.”

“Sir?”

Jack shook his head and yelled over towards the door just outside of which Teal’c stood guard, “Teal’c, give me a number between one and five!”

“Three.”

“Thank you.”  He removed his hand from the front of the small cubicle on which it was resting and began counting, three drawers over and three drawers down.

“Jack, what are you doing?”

“Here you go, kids.”  Grabbing the handle, Jack yanked open the drawer.  “Merry Christmas!  Teal’c, get that stretcher in here.”

“Colonel, you can’t just-”

“What?  I can’t just what?  Make a decision?”

“But it could be . . . well, anything.  How do we know which-”

“We don’t, Major.  We never will.  So we do the next best thing: we make a decision and we stick with it.”

Carter opened her mouth to argue but decided against it.  “Yes, sir.”

As Teal’c arrived with the stretcher he had jury-rigged, Jack stepped back out of the way.  “Load her up, kids, we need to get a move on.”

“Here, Jack.”  Daniel tossed him the chain and pendant from the front of the drawer.  “Hang onto this.  It might be important.”

Carter began disconnecting the small computer from its housing as Jack wandered over to the open doorway, studying the small coin in the light of midday.  Listening to his team grunting and groaning as they loaded the computer onto the stretcher, Jack turned the coin over in his palm.  He supposed Daniel would know what it said, but it looked like gobblety-gook to him.  Hen scratches.

“Colonel,” Carter’s voice was strained, “can you give us a hand?”

Jack turned to find his teammates struggling to balance the computer on the stretcher.  Without a second thought, he slipped the chain around his neck, let the pendant settle next to his dogtags, and rushed to grab one end of the stretcher.

* * * * *

With dusk looming, they were still over three hours from the Gate.  The four of them had been pairing up, taking turns at hauling the stretcher.  Jack and Carter, and Daniel and Teal’c.  The computer core, while no bigger than a two gallon jug, had to weigh close to 90 pounds.  It wasn’t heavy enough to prevent the task of manually hauling it to the Gate, but it was enough to make the trip miserable and awkward and slow.

Jack was exhausted and sore, and with the possible exception of Teal’c, he was sure his teammates felt the same.  Covering his team’s six, he watched Daniel and Teal’c struggle their way up the side of a small sand dune, following in Carter’s wake.  Daniel was sweating profusely and both men were grunting softly under the strain.

“Okay, guys, I’m calling it.  As soon as we find a level spot, we’re stopping for the night.”

Daniel was gasping for breath.  “No arguments . . . from me.”

Carter looked back over her shoulder.  “There’s a place just ahead, Colonel.”

Daniel, who was holding onto the rear of the stretcher, stumbled slightly and Jack reached out a steadying hand to the younger man’s elbow.  “Easy there, big fella.”

“I’ve . . . got it. . . . Thanks.”

As they reached the flat area that Carter had indicated, Jack stepped up beside the stretcher, looking around at the general area.  The sound of Daniel’s heavy breathing was loud in a place where the only things that thrived were fallowness and silence.

“This looks good.  Why don’t you guys put Roscoe down and take a breather.  Carter and I’ll get camp set up.”

“Roscoe?”  Despite the effort, Daniel laughed softly and bent to lower his end of the stretcher.  The slight movement caught Teal’c off-guard and his grip on the stretcher slipped.

Jack saw it happen in slow motion.  The stretcher dipped to the left, towards him, and he instantly realized that the computer they’d been toting and sweating over for the past eight hours was going to hit hard.  He dove, reaching out with both hands to cradle the heavy machine and break its fall.

As soon as he touched it, he knew it hadn’t been one of his smarter moves.  The cool, smooth feel of the metal was immediately followed by a deep, fierce burning sensation.  Bright, blinding light flashed in his eyes and a tremendous force impacted his chest, encasing his torso in an agonizing band of heat.

“Colonel!”

His shoulder hit the sand hard and he actually heard the air being driven from his lungs more than he felt it.

“O’Neill!”

He rolled onto his back, his vision fading.  Daniel’s pale face loomed over him.

“Jack?  Answer me!  Jack!”

“Dan-”

* * * * *

“. . . but I don’t want to.  I want to go with Mamo Teerny.  She said I could.”

“Neesha, no arguments.  Dahdee said no.  You can’t go.  Not this time.”

“But-”

Dimly aware of the strange voices, Jack stared down at a plate of food.  What the-

He dropped the fork that was in his hand and shoved back from the table, knocking over the chair in which he was sitting and falling back against the wall.

“Kian!”  A young woman jumped up from the opposite side of the table and rushed towards him as he slid to the floor in a boneless heap.  “Kian, what’s wrong?”

“Stay back!”  His heart racing, Jack held out a warning hand.

Ignoring his protest, she knelt beside him, reaching for him.  “Are you all right?”

He fumbled for his weapon . . . any weapon, but he was unarmed.  “No!  Get away!”

The woman gasped and froze.  “What is it?”

Jack looked over at the table.  A dark-haired boy of about five years old gaped at him, a spoonful of something poised halfway between his plate and his mouth.  “Who are you?”  Confused and frightened, Jack looked back at the woman.  “Where am I?”

“Kian,” she smiled, forced a soft laugh, “don’t joke.  This isn’t funny.”

Jack was panting, his heart thrumming dangerously fast in his chest.  “Who the hell are you?  What have you done with my team?”

The woman’s face grew serious.

“Dahdee?”  The little boy lowered his spoon.

The woman bit her bottom lip then, not taking her eyes off of Jack, she spoke to the boy.  “Neesha, run next door.  Fetch Pawdric.  Tell him to come straight away.”  As the little boy clambered off his chair and as Jack tried to melt into the wall, the woman finally glanced at the child.  “And stay there, Neesha.  Don’t return until I send for you.”

“Yes, Mahmee,” the boy cried out as he ran from the room.

The woman turned back to Jack.  “Don’t worry, Kian.  All will be well, I promise you.”

Jack strained to hear her voice as the room began to spin and darken.

* * * * *

He awoke to the sound of hushed voices - a man’s and a woman’s.  He was laying on his back on something soft.  Slowly, experimentally, he moved his legs, groaning at the resulting ache in his head.

“Pawdric, he is waking,” the woman quietly announced.

Jack opened his eyes.  He was in a dimly lit room, the only source of light being a small lamp with a thin piece of fabric draped over it to soften the glare.  The woman from earlier was sitting beside him, one hand gently brushing his forehead and the other resting familiarly on his hip.  At her words, a man came into view, leaning over the bed and looking down at him.  Jack knew he should be worried but, instead, he felt oddly removed from everything, danger included.  It took a moment for him to realize that he had probably been drugged.

The man smiled.  “How are you feeling?”

Jack licked his lips.  “Who are you?”

His smile firmly in place, the man glanced over at the woman, then back at Jack.  “It is I, Pawdric.  Don’t tell me you have forgotten, old friend.  It is because you owe me a week’s wages, yes?”  When Jack didn’t answer, the man continued, “If I promise to forego the debt, will you remember me then?”

Jack swallowed.  “My head hurts.”

“Yes.”  The man grew serious.  “But the drugs will help.  Kian, you should have told me the pain had returned.  Perhaps we could have stopped-”

“Who’s Kian?”

The woman wiped at her eyes.  Jack looked at her, surprised to find that she was silently crying.

“You were here . . . before.  Who are you?”

“Kian . . .”

The man called Pawdric reached over and gently rested a hand on the woman’s arm.  She stopped and looked at him, then tucked a long strand of auburn hair behind one ear and forced a tight smile in Jack’s direction.

“I am Aylish.  I am your wife.”

Despite the drugs and the migraine, Jack was stunned.  She didn’t look crazy.  In fact, she looked quite normal, and was even pretty with her dark hair, green eyes and pale complexion.  Jack tried to sit up, but Pawdric easily held him down.

“No, my friend, don’t try to get up.”

“I’m not your friend.”  Jack weakly struggled.  “I don’t know what you did, but take me back to my team.  Now.  I,” he gasped and dropped back onto the bed, feeling drained, “I need to see them.”

“Stop it!”  The woman was crying again.  “There is no ‘team.’  You are my husband and you are ill.”

“No.”  He pushed her away, battling sleep and the drugs in his system.  “No.  My name is Jack.  Colonel Jack O’Neill.  I don’t know you.”

“Kian, calm down.  Aylish is right.  You were injured in a fall two days ago.  You have been unwell.”  The man held up his hands as if to prove that he meant no harm.  “Please.  Calm down.

Panting, Jack blinked up at them and slowly shook his head.  “O’Neill, Jonathon J., Colonel, United States Air Force.  Serial number 66-789-7876-324.”

The woman sobbed and Jack squeezed his eyes closed.

“O’Neill, Jonathon J., Colonel . . . .”

* * * * *

“Are you feeling better?”

Jack opened his eyes.  The man, Pawdric, was sitting in a chair beside his bed.  Jack looked around the darkened room.  They were alone.

“I sent Aylish to bed.  She was exhausted.”

Groaning softly, Jack pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  Pawdric tensed but otherwise made no move to help him.

“Where am I?”  His mouth was dry and his voice ragged.  Tentatively, Jack accepted the glass of water that the stranger held out to him.

“You are in your home.”  At Jack’s blank look, Pawdric continued.  “In the village of Ultan, in the Northwestern Province of BenMhir.”

Jack drained the glass and set it on the table by the bed, pressing a hand to his temple.

“Your head still hurts?”

He frowned, then glanced up at the man who claimed to be his friend.  “I don’t understand what happened.  I was with my team and we-”

“Your team?”

“Yeah,” he started to nod, then stopped as the pain swelled.  “Yeah, Carter and Daniel and Teal’c.  We were . . . we were,” but his memory failed him at the crucial moment.  “We were on some planet and we were hauling something home.  It was heavy.  I remember that.”

“Kian, you were dreaming.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It is your name.  What else should I call you?”

“My name is Jack.”

Pawdric smiled slightly in response.

“I’m telling you the truth.  I’m Jack O’Neill.  I’m an officer in the United States Air Force.”

Pawdric raised an eyebrow in a gesture that reminded Jack of Teal’c.  “What is this ‘Force’?”

“It’s a military organization.  One of the armed services.”

Pawdric chuckled softly.  “Military?  You?”

“What?  What’s so funny?”

Pawdric stood up and walked across the room, digging in a small case and returning with something in his hand.  “You are a doctor.  Like me.  You detest anything to do with the Administration and have certainly never been a part of the military.”

“A doctor?”  Jack scrubbed his hands through his hair, then rested his head in his hands.  It felt like his brain was trying to beat its way out of his skull and he was nauseated.  “Trust me.  I’m no doctor.”  He felt a tap on his shoulder.  When he looked up, Pawdric was holding out something to him.  Jack took it, turned it over in his hand.

“Kian, what is that?”

Jack glanced at the slightly overweight man, then returned the piece of equipment to him.  “It’s a sphygmomanometer.”

Pawdric grinned.  “Is that what all soldiers call it?”  Pawdric set aside the blood pressure gauge and offered another piece of equipment in its place.  “And this?”

“A stethoscope.  Everyone knows that.”  Jack frowned.  How had he known what the blood pressure thingy was called?

“Read the inscription.”

Squinting, Jack held the stethoscope closer to the lamp.  “To Kian, from Aylish.  Forever.”  He tossed the stethoscope back to Pawdric.  “So.  That means nothing.”

Pawdric dropped the stethoscope onto the bed and leaned close.  He reached for Jack’s shirt, then stopped, requesting permission with his eyes before proceeding.  Jack looked down, watching as Pawdric unbuttoned his shirt.  For the first time, he realized that he wasn’t wearing his BDU’s.  Instead, he was dressed in a soft, muslin-like cloth.  Dark brown pants and a light blue shirt, and he was barefoot.  Pawdric reached inside Jack’s shirt and pulled out a chain.

Now they were getting somewhere.  “My dogtags.”  When Pawdric grunted, Jack looked up at him.  “They’re just used to verify my identity.  All service people wear them.”

Pawdric smiled.  “Yes, but they’re called markers and they’re issued to everyone, not just the military.  To civilians, to women and children.”  When Jack didn’t respond, Pawdric held up the chain for him to look at.

Feeling a slight chill, Jack took the chain from Pawdric’s grasp and stared at the small, engraved coin.  “Kian Shosaf Shay,” he read.  The name was followed by a number.

“Now do you believe me?”

Jack looked over at the man who had demonstrated nothing but kindness and patience.  He dropped the chain and instead, clutched at the bedding as if he could hang onto a world that he sensed was slipping away.  “No,” he said harshly.  “I don’t.”

* * * * *

Jack opened his eyes.  He was laying on the bed on his right side, facing an open doorway.  Natural light was streaming down the hallway outside the room, and from somewhere in the house, he could hear the soft laughter of a young child.  If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that it was Charlie.  Charlie, and not some stranger’s child.  Some stranger’s wife.

The spell broken, he opened his eyes and eased himself into a sitting position.  His head felt better.  He was still shaky and weak, but the pounding had settled into something manageable.  He glanced around the room and saw a door leading to what he hoped was a bathroom.  Barefoot, he made his way across the room like a blind man, one hand trailing along the wall to maintain his balance.

The bathroom was familiar, yet different.  The fixtures were utilitarian, and the only decoration was a row of plants on a small shelf.  There was no shower, only a large tub made of hammered metal.  He would have liked a quick rinse to wipe away the remnants of the drugged stupor, but he didn’t want to take the time to draw a bath.  He used the toilet, washed his face and hands in the sink, and rinsed out his mouth.  The soap smelled funny and the water left a slightly bitter aftertaste.  Frowning, he looked up at his reflection in the small mirror over the sink.

God, he looked like death warmed over.  But, at least he looked like himself - the same spiky, grey hair, and brown eyes.  Although . . . he could use a shave, and he seemed to have developed some serious dark circles under his eyes.

“Shit.”

He straightened, fighting off a wave of dizziness at the sudden movement, then wandered out of the bedroom and down the hallway.  He had to figure out what had happened, where he was.  He had to find his team.  And his clothes.

The little boy was sitting on the floor beside the dining room table playing with a skinny pup.  The animal growled and grabbed the boy’s pant leg in his teeth and began to tug.  The child burst out in infectious laughter and despite the circumstances, Jack found himself smiling.  The youngster was nearly pulled over by the tiny dog and when he fell back on an elbow, he spied Jack.

“Dahdee!”  Prying the dog off of his pants, the boy struggled to his feet and launched himself towards Jack, throwing stubby arms around Jack’s thighs.  “Are you better?  Mahmee said you were sick and that I should let you sleep, even though you promised to take me to the fair before midday.  Can I go with Mamo Teerny instead?  Can I, please?”

Jack stared down at the boy, not touching him.  It was amazing how the child resembled Charlie when he was that age.  The mouth and the eyes were nearly identical.  Only this boy’s coloring was off - he had darker skin and his hair was a dark shade of brown.

The woman had entered the room and was watching them.  “Neesha, leave Dahdee alone.  He’s not well.”

The boy looked at her.  “Yes, he is.”  Neesha glanced back up at Jack, still tightly clinging to his legs.  “Aren’t you?  So, can I go?  There will be jesters and Daithi saw a magic show with birds and everything.”

Jack smiled at the woman.  “Does he always talk this much?”

She gave him a bittersweet smile and nodded.  “Neesha, take Fayl outside before he makes another mess for me to clean.”

“But, Mah-”

“Neesha!”

Mumbling to himself, the child released his grip on Jack and picked up the wiggling pup, disappearing into the other room.

“Cute kid.”

She winced as if he’d struck her, and belatedly Jack realized why.  “You still do not remember,” she whispered.

He cleared his throat.  He did remember.  He remembered Carter and Daniel and Teal’c, but he didn’t remember this place or these people.  “Listen . . . Aylish, right?”  She nodded.  “I should go.  If you’ll just fetch my clothes. . . .”

“What?”  Her already fair skin paled further and she moved closer.  “Kian, you can’t go.”

Jack sighed.  “I don’t belong here.”  She was standing so close that he could smell something sweet on her breath and could see her trembling.  “I have to find my people.”

“But this is your home and we are your people.”

“Ma’am, please.  I understand that-”

Like the boy had earlier, she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck.  “No!  Kian, you’re not well.”  Pulling back, she clutched his face in both hands, crying and planting light, chaste kisses on his mouth.  “Please.  Don’t leave us.”

Jack grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands from him.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m not who you think I am.”

She was openly sobbing now, and Jack held her as her knees gave way.  Outside, he could hear the pup yipping and the boy laughing.  His own head spinning, overcome with weakness, Jack lowered her to the floor and knelt beside her.

“I’m sorry.”

She clung to him.  “What will we do if you leave us?  What will I tell Neesha?  Kian, he’s just a child.”

She pressed her face into his chest, clinging to his shirt.  Jack held her.  He felt sorry for her, but he didn’t know what to do.  He had to get home.  He had to find the Stargate.  He had to locate his team.

“Kian, what if Pawdric goes with you?”

“What?”

“If you insist on searching for these . . . these people, let Pawdric help you.  Please.  Look at yourself.  You can hardly walk from one room to the other and you are confused, hurt.  You cannot go out alone.  And when you don’t . . . if you don’t find what you’re seeking, he can see you home.”

Lowering his forehead to rest on her soft hair, Jack sighed.  She was right about one thing:  he wasn’t well.  He was beginning to shake nearly as much as she was.  Besides, this Pawdric guy had seemed on the up and up.  So did Aylish, for that matter.  Maybe they could help him find the others.  Otherwise, he had no idea where to even begin looking.

Sensing his hesitation, Aylish pulled away from him, studying his face.  “Kian, please.  For me and for Neesha.”

Jack stared into vibrant green eyes.  Finally, he nodded.  “Okay.  Yeah.”

* * * * *

“Roscoe?”  Daniel laughed softly and started to lower his end of the stretcher.  Too late, he realized that Teal’c’s grip on the stretcher was slipping.

Jack reacted before anyone else had a chance to fully realize what was happening. Releasing his one-handed grip on his P90, he fell forward, reaching out with both hands to cradle and protect the computer housing that they’d so carefully disconnected and hauled for eight hours across the arid landscape.

From his vantage point, Daniel saw a flash of light as Jack’s hands made contact with the polished metal and he heard the man grunt softly.

“Colonel!”

As Sam rushed towards him, Jack hit the sand hard, the impact forcing the air from hi