Mayhem, Unpleasantness, and Other Forms of Torture, Part 2 - The Return

by Soles

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).

Mayhem, Unpleasantness, and Other Forms of Torture - Part 2 - The Return

By Soles

E-mail - soles@gamewood.net

Season - 6th, post-Meridian

Category - Action / Adventure, H/C, Angst

Rating - 13+, for some adult language

Spoilers - None

Pairing - slight S/J

Authors note - This is a stand-alone fiction, although I recommend reading "Mayhem, Unpleasantness, and Other Forms of Torture"; archived at Jackfic.com, to give you a more complete background. Also, a huge thank you to Lynette for doing a great beta on this piece. And remember, Feedback, always welcome - Soles

Disclaimer - I own nothing in the Stargate Universe. I wish I did, cause I think Jack is such a hottie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweat poured down Jack O'Neill's handsome, beleaguered face as the therapist pushed, pulled, flexed, and rotated his injured leg. Never mind the treadmill and that stair machine, the cooling pads and the warming pads, the ultrasonic treatment and the electrical stimulation yet to go. If he'd had his sidearm handy she would've been on the floor, stone cold dead, about fifteen minutes ago. Now, he was seriously thinking of strangling her with his sweat soaked towel.

He and his therapist had been at this three times a week, for three weeks now, and his patience was about three weeks gone. O'Neill grunted as a particularly painful twinge shrieked along damaged nerves and muscles fibers.

O'Neill was ready to return to work - even to the dreaded paperwork. Hell, he would've gotten out the old toothbrush for latrine duty, if it got him out of the house. The only thing that kept him returning for this torture was fitness for duty...and George S. Hammond.

He couldn't go back to work - jaunting through the Stargate, playing with the aliens - until he was one hundred percent. There was no leeway - especially not for a fifty-something colonel, whose talents were extremely valuable elsewhere.

The Air Force recognized talent, but it also recognized limitations.

General Hammond was up to his eyeballs in alligators, and the Indians were circling. A mixed clich for certain, but the truth nevertheless.

And Kinsey was breathing down Hammond's neck - hell, Kinsey was breathing down all their necks. Where was a handy air lock in the depths of space vacuum when you really needed one? Kinsey was also an asshole.

Everyone knew that. O'Neill grunted again, and the overly cheerful, baby-faced therapist's eyes seemed to open even wider in surprise.

"Am I hurting you, Colonel? I'm sorry if I am," she said, with a little pout of her frosted lips, "But we've got to really work those damaged muscles. The vastus lateralis, rectus femorus, and the adductor longus were all damaged, sir." The tingle of her manicured fingernail on his tender thigh almost un-nerved him as she pointed out the damaged muscles. "You wouldn't want to walk with a limp now, would you, sir?"

Damned kid was going to get more than she'd bargained for. He shook his head silently, no, that would never do. He'd been walking with the aide of a cane since his discharge from the hospital. And even though Carter said the 'babes' were attracted to a man with a cane, they didn't have to navigate with the damned thing. Or explain to overly interested neighbors, or disinterested, but curious strangers, or deal with the pity he'd seen in too many eyes. No, he most certainly did not want to walk with a limp.

"Okay, Colonel, let's get you on the stair machine for a few minutes and I'll leave you alone." The therapist took his arm, like he was a little kid, and led him to the strange stair-stepper that vaguely resembled a throne.

For a fleeting moment he visualized the haughty Apophis perched on the damned thing, with his hand device primed, its golden glow pointed at Blondie's forehead. SHE just happened to be down on her knees in agony.

Go, Skippy!

Bringing himself back to reality with a quick shake of his head, O'Neill decided that one condescending act was probably the one reason he hated physical therapists. They treated everyone like they were children...even though the therapist was years younger than him in comparison. But, he conceded, he hated himself even more for allowing her to do it.

O'Neill sat down on the hard seat and began "walking" up stairs, grunting from the exertion. Thank God he was sitting, because his thigh was already shaking from fatigue and sharp pains radiated up his thigh into his groin and hip with each step.

Inhale - lift up, exhale - push down, inhale - lift up, exhale - over and over until blonde beauty comes back to get you. His thoughts turned to something other than his present niggling problems.

He had to return to M43-778, the planet on which he'd been injured. That same little peaceful planet where Jaffa ideology clashed with Tau'ri technology, and innocent natives may have paid the tab. He needed to know if those simple people, who'd been such good, peace loving friends, were all right. He wanted, no...needed, to know if those folks were still alive, or if his team had been responsible for their deaths? The only way he was going to find out was to get this leg ready for duty, and go through the Stargate to see for himself.

He could still see the cherubic faces of the young children as they played his silly games - those golden young faces so eager to run, and play, and be children for a little while. He'd wanted to forego a return that last time, but Hammond in his infinite wisdom had refused, and SG-1 had run smack dab into a swarm of Jaffa warriors. Were they still there, along with some sicko, snake-ass Goa'uld god? Had the locals routed the invaders? Or had they been removed from their homes and beaten down into unwilling slaves and/or hosts?

He was grateful for Hammond's decision now. If Carter, or Teal'c, or even Jonas, had been injured in his place, because he was bored, or his diplomatic skills were unequal to the task, he would've never forgiven himself. Sometimes the grand cosmic karma still had the power to surprise, amaze and delight him.

And, as soon as he regained control of this gimpy leg, strengthened it and stood on his own two feet again, he'd return to the natives of M43-778 - under his own steam and initiative. He had to know for sure, he had to return if only to lay his fears to rest. "For a full assessment of the situation" was the official reason, but those small faces were the impetus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THREE WEEKS LATER -------

"Well, Colonel, I see no reason why we can't put you on limited duty. Lieutenant Amberson reports you've made excellent progress. Your thigh wound is well healed, and getting stronger by the minute, and she also says you've been a very good patient." Dr. Janet Fraiser looked up from her notes with a twinkle lighting her eyes. "She must have been thinking about the other Colonel O'Neil - the one you keep talking about, the O'Neil with only one 'L'."

O'Neill looked at Fraiser with a blank expression, and grunted in reply. He'd had more than enough of the little blonde therapist. But she'd done her job well and his thigh was proof of her excellent and consistent care and, not to mention, his damned hard work.

"So, when do you want to return to work, Sir?"

"Now, Doc. I'm more than ready now. My leg is great, only minor twinges - not even enough to worry about. Certainly not enough to keep me out of action."

Somberly, Fraiser looked at him for a moment, gauging his response. It was a little too quick for her liking, but she knew this patient did not respond well to a long enforced down time. He'd already been incapacitated for eight grueling weeks; besides, she could keep a closer eye on him here at the SGC, than at his home. She nodded, as if agreeing with his assessment, surprised he'd admitted to even those "minor twinges."

"Okay, Colonel. But what say we give it till Monday? You'll have three more days to rest, and come Monday, you can return to full duty."

"Doc, I love you. I won't even whine." He zipped his lips and threw away an imaginary key, almost vaulting off the examination table.

"--- Don't thank me yet, Sir. That will be full duty excluding 'gate' travel. We'll wait another week or two for that."

"Doooocc."

"You promised not to whine, Sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, Jack, it certainly is a pleasure having you back in harness. How's the leg?" Shaking O'Neill's hand like he was a long-lost best friend, General Hammond, was glad to welcome his 2IC back to the mountain. Aside from it having been a rough eight weeks while O'Neill was on convalescent leave; he'd missed him and his off-the-wall humor. Hammond fairly beamed at his second-in-command.

"I'm doing very well General. I'm ready and raring to get back to work. The leg is good." O'Neill stood at ease in front of his CO's desk. The General was perched on one corner of the desk, beaming at him with good humor.

"That's good to hear, good to hear." Hammond became silent for a moment, thinking back to O'Neill's arrival from M43-778 in Teal'c's bloody arms. "We, ah, you know we almost lost you on this last one, don't you son," he asked soberly? "Almost scared ME to death - I really don't want to have to train up a new 2nd."

"Sorry, Sir. I'll try to be more careful next time." O'Neill smiled. It was as close as the General would come to telling him he'd been missed. It was enough.

"See that you do, son, see that you do." Hammond looked closely at the officer in front of him. O'Neill had lost weight and dark smudges still underscored his eyes, but overall he looked healthy and healed. "Dr. Fraiser told me you were doing fine and felt rested. I guess being out of commission for eight weeks has some benefits."

"Yes, Sir." O'Neill laughed, just like he was meant to. "It does. Ah, General, before I go to my office and tackle the ton of paperwork I know is waiting for me, I have one request."

For a long moment Hammond eyed his subordinate; Heaven only knew what he'd be asking for after eight weeks away from this place.

"No rollerblading in the halls, and no beer in the water fountains, Jack. But other than that I'm open to almost anything within reason. What can I do for you?"

O'Neill grinned again. The old man was on a roll. And those were superior suggestions, which he'd like to see implemented even if he did say so himself, but not today.

"I'd like to return to M43-778, Sir," he replied in a rush, amazed he still remembered the planet designation. His memory wasn't all that amazing though, because he'd thought about those people every day since he'd regained consciousness. He cleared a suddenly constricted throat, "I, need, a full analysis of the situation, Sir."

Hammond remained silent, astounded his second wanted to return to a place he'd once dismissed as "boring beyond belief" and then later where he'd almost lost his life.

"I need to see if they're okay. I want to see if those kids are doing okay, Sir. I mean I really---really need to see for myself, General."

Hammond stared at his Second with steely blue eyes, trying, for long minutes, to gauge just what it was that O'Neill was 'not' saying.

"We've had no communication with 778 since you came back through, Colonel." O'Neill flinched as if struck, but the General continued. "And all our inquiries have gone unanswered, like nobody's home. I---don't know that I want to send a team into that situation." Hammond looked into O'Neill's eyes, holding them as if searching for other, less altruistic reasons. But, he should've known Jack would want to go back to check on the children he'd befriended. "I'll take your request under advisement, Colonel. After you've been cleared for gate travel, we'll discuss it again. Dismissed."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." O'Neill saluted his CO and made to leave the office. Hammond's words caught him in mid stride.

"Don't thank me yet, Jack. This may be one of those situations where you shouldn't know the outcome. But, I hope I'm wrong, son."

Understanding his general's meaning completely, O'Neill silently nodded and then turned and left the office.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, Carter, whatchadoing?"

Sam Carter's head whipped around from her microscope so fast she almost put out an eye. She grinned at the sight of her CO lounging against the doorframe. Damn, he looked good - rested, healed, confident, and he absolutely radiated good humor. His crisp uniform looked a little over-sized, but otherwise he looked as if he'd just returned from an Oceanside vacation.

"Colonel, sir!" The Major jumped up from her task to greet her superior officer. "It's good to see you, sir. Is this the first day back," she asked, as if she didn't already know. They shook hands rather formally, yet each savored the warmth of the others hand. It was a quick touch, but the heated tingle stayed long after.

"First day. Aside from the General, you're the first to see my ugly mug. Are you working on anything important? Want to get a cup of coffee - my treat?"

"It's nothing I can't get back to later, sir, and I'd love some coffee. In fact I don't think I've had breakfast yet this morning, so your timing is perfect."

"As always, Carter, as always," he wiggled his eyebrows comically, in classic O'Neill fashion. And seemed to want to say something else, but asked instead, "Have you seen the big guy? Or Jonas?" She shook her head; no, she hadn't seen either one of them this morning. "If we round them up we could make it a team celebration, whatdoyousay?"

"I'd like that, sir." They stood for a moment, again just gazing into each other's eyes. Given their history, both of them felt more than a little bit tongue-tied. But O'Neill wanted to say 'thank you' for all her help during his convalescence, and Sam wanted him to know that it had been her pleasure. Without any words being spoken a look of understanding passed between them, it wasn't enough but it was all they could afford.

He broke the contact first, and then stood back from the door to let her pass in front of him. He watched her back in appreciation as her slim form moved down the corridor.

"Sweet," he murmured, and then moved quickly to fall in beside her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

O'Neill fell back into the routine without a hitch. He'd been working diligently for several days now, making serious inroads into his stack of monotonous paperwork. The mountain of requisitions, messages, evaluations, purchase orders, etc., etc., etc. he'd found waiting for him, would have easily papered the public meeting rooms of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. But he'd known beforehand exactly what it would be like. Hadn't he practically begged the General to let him finish this pile instead of taking the mission to 778?

But that, and he was ashamed to admit it, had been a ploy to get out of returning to the peaceful, unassuming planet. Now, his greatest desire was to return to that place of former calm. He'd tried for the last few weeks to analyze exactly why he'd hated...no, not hate, hate was too strong a description. Dislike was better, less emotional. Why did he dislike 778?

It, he finally decided, came down to the fact that those lovely bright, exuberant children brought back too many memories. Too many memories he still, after all this time, couldn't deal with. He was jealous of those who ran, and played, and in general acted like normal children. And his jealousy burned like acid in a wound that, even to this day, was only partially scabbed over.

And after all this time, it still hurt.

O'Neill caught himself staring at his computer screen and shook his head, trying to clear away the confusion. He looked at his watch. Damn, he'd been sitting here for five hours. No wonder his eyes felt like they were full of sand, and his back ached like the very devil. He rose up from his chair to go splash water in his face and then go get a cup of coffee, but his weak thigh had other ideas.

Suddenly, O'Neill gasped in pain as, unprepared, he crashed into the furniture. His leg, stiff from sitting so long, buckled with a violent muscle spasm and gave out beneath him, pitching him headlong against a file cabinet. Going down he frantically grabbed at anything within reach, but to no benefit. His head smacked into the cabinet corner with a crunch. Sharp pain erupted from bruised bone, and a deep gash blossomed open. His stomach threatened to eject today's forgotten lunch, and a dark black cloud descended over him, quickly suffocating the light. His landing was spectacular as papers fluttered and scattered all around him. Bright red blood stained the carpet as he lay there, very still, bleeding profusely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Major Carter, has O'Neill communicated with you as of this late hour?" Teal'c asked, in an agitated voice, as he walked quietly into her lab. As agitated as Carter had ever heard coming from the gentle alien.

"No, he hasn't. I've not seen, or heard from him all afternoon. He said he was going to "go for the gold," she smiled, looking up from her laptop. "And get his stack of paperwork finished up today. He must still be at it, because he hasn't been by here. Why?"

"We had plans for the evening. O'Neill was to take me for an interrogation and inspection of my driving skills for the state of Colorado, but I have been unable to locate him. It is most unlike O'Neill to break his oath of promise." Teal'c looked up at the wall clock. "I believe the office of inspection and interrogation closes at 5pm. It is now fifteen minutes past that hour."

"He probably forgot the time. He might even be trying to hide from us. You know how cranky he gets when all that paper piles up on him."

"His hiding skills are unequal to those of a Jaffa, especially when his official duties require attention to this dreaded "paperwork." Teal'c solemnly replied.

Carter laughed. Her mental picture of Colonel O'Neill skulking in the hallways, leaving a trail of paperwork tickled her funny bone.

"Let's go check his office one more time. He likes to pretend he didn't hear the pounding on his door." She rolled her eyes, "--- As if a herd of elephant wouldn't disturb him."

Carter shutdown her laptop and closed it. It was time she headed home too. She grabbed her coat as Teal'c stepped out of the lab, and then locked her door and pulled it tightly shut.

"So, is Jonas getting his license too?" Carter asked, as they hurried down the corridor.

"Jonas Quinn has much to learn before achieving his beginner's status." Turning the corner, their voices were muffled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carter rattled the Colonel's office door. It was locked, yet the lights were on and could be seen shinning beneath the door. That alone suggested he might have stepped out, or had been called away.

"Did you check with security? He could have forgotten and left the mountain already ---"

"He would not have. I was to meet him on level 11, at the security checkpoint."

"Colonel, if you're in there this isn't funny. Teal'c has already missed out on his driver's test." A little guilt sometimes worked wonders. She rattled the door even harder. "Teal'c, call security, see if the Colonel has signed out. I'll call the General, he might have him sequestered in an important pow-wow."

Both moved in opposite directions down the corridors, searching for a wall phone. A few minutes later they were both back in front of O'Neill's office, both gloomier than before.

"Any luck, Teal'c?"

"None, Major Carter. Sergeant Brown had not seen O'Neill during his shift, and he has not signed out for the day."

"The General hasn't seen him since lunch. Said he'd call ---"

"Colonel O'Neill - please respond at 2226, Colonel O'Neill - please respond at 2226." An overhead announcement broke the charged silence.

Carter looked at Teal'c and grimaced.

"The General was concerned. If the Colonel doesn't respond in five minutes, security is on its way to open his office ---"

Teal'c didn't wait five seconds before his large, muscular bulk battered against the Colonel's door. The Government Issue lock could not long withstand a concentrated, concerned Jaffa's attack. The door buckled on the third try and Teal'c tumbled into the bright office space. Carter was close behind.

She gasped as her eyes fell on the object of their concern, lying quietly still, deathly pale, still bleeding profusely from a deep cut to his head. Carter quickly moved back into the corridor, looking for the red alarm button, while Teal'c checked his friend.

The sudden, loud, raucous alarm couldn't quite disguise the hammering of Teal'c's heart, pounding in his ears, as he placed a hand on O'Neill's neck. For a moment he felt nothing, but then remembering his emergency training, moved his work-roughened fingers a tiny millimeter and felt again for a pulse. A slow, but steady beat thrummed against his timid pressure. As a breathless Carter stumbled into the room, Teal'c turned toward her.

"Janet's on the way." She smiled gently, and quickly moved over to kneel beside the Colonel. Dragging a clean handkerchief from a deep BDU pocket, she pressed it onto the bleeding cut. "Wonder what happened?"

"I would not attempt to guess, but if I had, I would say that O'Neill's damaged leg gave up on him, and this is the result." He looked around the small space, which had been made even smaller by the Colonel's full length taking up the extra room, and papers spread to every corner.

"Gave out, Teal'c. You're probably right, it buckled and the rest is ---" she spread her arms wide to take in the entire paper covered room. "He's going to be pissed when he has to put all of those back in order."

"Indeed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Familiar sounds and smells greeted O'Neill's return to the land of the living. He groaned as the familiar gained a name and face. The Infirmary. He groaned, Son of a B.

"Colonel, you're in the infirmary. Can you open your eyes for me?" Doctor Fraiser's voice cut through the blinding headache like a knife into his brain. He groaned again.

"No Doc, I'd rather not." His speech was slurred, "Cause if I do, I know you're gonna' shine that miniature klieg light in 'em and I'm gonna' throw up all over you." He took a deep breath to calm the pitching and yawing of his stomach, but it didn't work. "And then the pain's gonna' bust my head wide open, and it'll just be a vicious circle, Doc."

"Ookaaay. Can you tell me what day it is?"

"Sure --- it's the day I bashed my head in on a file cabinet. Damned leg, damned muscle spasm--- and damned mountain of paper work ---"

Fraiser grinned at her assistant. At least he remembered what happened.

"Can you tell me your name, sir?"

"I can --- but I'm not going to. If I did I'd probably have to kill you," he grinned, at his own puckish humor.

"Humor me, sir. Can you tell me who the present President of the United States is?"

"Betcha' can't say that three times. Come on Doc, what is this? Twenty questions? Even an idiot knows the President is Bob Kinsey. A fine leader---even voted for him myself."

Fraiser's heart took a nosedive. She looked at her stunned nurse and then took a moment to collect her scattered thoughts.

"Uuh --- Colonel ---"

"Gotcha, Doc," he said, snorting merrily, his eyes still tightly closed.

"Uh huh. Well, you've just earned yourself free overnight accommodations here at Chez CMI, in case you haven't figured it out yet. Knocking yourself out for several hours will do it every time, sir. Although, I ought to put you in restraints after that bit about Kinsey - 'good leader' my Aunt Fanny. And until I get a look at those pupils, no pain medicine and nothing for your nausea."

"Aahww, come on, Doc. Just one aspirin."

"No can do, Sir. I'll just leave word with the duty nurse to call me when you get tired of your headache." Fraiser turned and walked away, smiling, her heels tap-tapping on the concrete floor. She had no intention of going far, but O'Neill didn't need to know that.

"Aahhwww, come on, Doc --- ggah, you don't play fair. Oh, all right," he finally shouted to the empty room, holding his pounding head. "Bring back your high beam, Doc, but if I barf all over you, it's your own fault."

He grinned when he once again heard her heels, returning this time, tapping out the cadence that was her signature. A light cloud of perfume preceded her as she walked back to his bed. 'A very nice fragrance, he mused; wonder how well it goes with puke?'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"No, Sir, I don't think his progress has been set back. I think it was just a muscle spasm, and unfortunately, until those thigh muscles have completely healed, which could be well over six months, he will have the cramping. Hopefully, he won't crash into a file cabinet each time, but you know the Colonel." Dr. Fraiser explained to General Hammond, with a smile. "His head laceration should heal without any problems, and although he has a slight concussion it shouldn't hold up progress. I WILL have to keep him in the infirmary overnight since he knocked himself unconscious, and is experiencing some dizziness."

The General nodded his head in understanding.

They were seated in her office, sharing a warm cup of fresh coffee. Fraiser was meeting with the General just after an impromptu shower. One of her patients, she explained as she finger combed her damp hair, had vomited rather explosively, and she happened to be in the strike zone.

Hammond couldn't quite hide his grin as he offered his condolence.

"Are you aware, Doctor Fraiser, that Colonel O'Neill wants to return to 'that' planet in the worst way?" Fraiser shook her head 'no', she hadn't known. "He says he wants to do a full assessment of the situation for himself. Personally, I think he wants to check on the children - I think that's the reason he didn't want to go back that last time. The children bring back too many memories, most of which he's never gotten a handle on."

The young physician looked into her CO's pale blue eyes, searching for direction.

"And you don't think he should go, right?"

"I don't know what to think, Doctor. We've been unable to reach the local people on any wavelength; they've been strangely silent. Or missing --- hell, they could've been kidnapped to other worlds, for all we know, and I won't send 'any' one of my teams into such an unknown situation ---"

"Colonel O'Neill might have a problem with that, Sir."

"Colonel O'Neill can have a problem with anything he damned well pleases, Doctor. But, as long as he's under my command, he follows my orders as given." The General paused, took a deep breath, and then smiled apologetically at his CMO. "Get him fixed up, Doctor. I'd rather Jack was up and kicking, fighting his own battles."

He drained his coffee and stood to leave. He couldn't stay up here all day; he had a base to run.

"Keep me up to date, Major." The General strode quickly from the small office. Fraiser distractedly watched him go.

Jack O'Neill could twist even General Hammond around his little finger - who was the general trying to kid?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The new key, which felt strangely awkward in his hand after all these years, unlocked the new door to his office - Way to go, Rocko. He was almost afraid to go back in. After four days of enforced leave, his paperwork molehill - the one that had taken two solid weeks to reduce from its mountainous proportions, was by now reaching the ceiling once again. That is,ifit wasn't still spread to every corner of his office space.

The door swung silently open on well-oiled hinges. He'd have to get that fixed - he'd grown attached to the little squeak the door made when someone walked in uninvited, or unannounced. It gave him an edge and a decided attitude. He flicked on the lights, which momentarily burned bright spots into his retinas, and walked further into the room. Setting aside his jacket, he glanced around the room, noting that the area was as clean as a whistle. The place was spotless, and the carpet had been shampooed. The disarray of papers in every corner of the room was gone, replaced by neat stacks of work, rigidly lined up on his worktable. Post-it notes of varying colors - a sure sign that Jonas had been here, caught his attention, leading him over to the neat stacks.

"Cool." His eyes gleamed in appreciation.

Maybe the clerical pool had sent someone...yeah, he grinned, as an incongruous picture of Teal'c with fairy wings, tossing fairy dust, flashed quickly through his mind; maybe the little fairies came in while you were out. As a matter of fact, Sam, Teal'c and Jonas had offered, during his short infirmary stay, to help clean up his paperwork. Sitting down in his chair, he was momentarily lost in retrospection. His team, he mused, was always there for him. He'd have to come up with something to show them his appreciation. At least now he could get beyond this office work and get back to the business of helping run this place, and then maybe, get off world again.

Pulling the first stack of papers close to him, O'Neill got down to the serious business of Air Force minutia. Reading each notation with care before signing his name, each brightly colored note was then wadded into a tight ball and finally fired across the room to its final destination, the wastebasket. Some scored a direct hit, some lost altitude along the way, and some never made it past the desk's edge.

"Oh, well," O'Neill sighed, eyed each one impassively, and continued working.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's not our problem, Colonel." General Hammond sounded angry, and probably was. But the cause of his anger was blithely unaware, or uninterested, in his own impending doom.

O'Neill had just come from a final check up with Dr. Fraiser and had received a glowing, clean bill of health. Except for healing muscles and ligaments, which could take well up to a year to finally heal and a livid black and blue bruise, only reluctantly yielding to yellow, which took up the left side of his face. The Colonel felt he was ready for missions off world - his "team's ready and raring to go, Sir." They were getting stale, out of synch, just waiting around inside the mountain, and needed a mission worthy of their "skills." Or so he told the General.

And then he'd proceeded to once again request a mission to M43-778.

"Colonel, you're beginning to sound like a broken record," the General said testily. "Why is it so important that we check up on these people? We've had to leave other indigenous groups behind and thought nothing of it. Why them? And why now?"

Hammond watched his 2IC's eyes move all around the room, resting on the mementos briefly and then moving on, as if searching for answers. But he knew O'Neill well enough to know he had the answer, it was the telling of it that was the hard part.

"And don't tell me, Jack, that it's to assess the situation --- cause that's a tired old horse that just won't run. If you're so set on SG-1 going back into an unknown situation, I want to know exactly where you're coming from. You need to be clear on this, no joking, no quibbles, and no run-around." The older man spoke with fire in his voice, and a chill in his eye.

Sometimes, hell, most times getting Jack O'Neill to open up with his true feelings took more than an act of Congress. But, one thing about the man, if in his mind it were a worthy effort, he wouldn't back down.

"I ---" O'Neill cleared a suddenly dry throat and stood ramrod stiff, "I need to make sure they're alive, Sir. I, me, I need to make sure that they're either alive and thriving, or dead and buried, Sir. I can't live knowing that our actions might have caused the slaughter of a whole village of simple people. I can't handle having the faces of those children in my nightmares." He took a shuddering breath. "I'm getting too old to just bury them in here." He tapped his heart, and grimaced.

"And I know it was just pure dumb luck that we met up with those Jaffa, shi---ah, stuff happens. But I need to know if the villagers ended up paying the price for our getting the hell out of there."

O'Neill thought for a minute, suddenly excited.

"General, Teal'c and I could go back alone. We'd leave Carter and Jonas here; we don't need a scientist--- or a --- scientist. Just get in, scope out the situation and then get back out again. Easy as one, two, three and no one would be the wiser."

Hammond looked at O'Neill for a long moment, that knowing 'don't-jack-me-off' glint in his eye.

"Let me just say, Colonel --- IF I allow you to proceed, and that's a mighty big if, all of SG-1 goes, or no one goes. I won't have you out there without back up, so if this is some grandstand play, I recommend you first consider your team. Do I make myself clear, Colonel?"

"Crystal, Sir."

"Then I'll take this under advisement. Report to the briefing room at," he looked at his watch, "Eleven hundred hours tomorrow. Come prepared with a plan, Colonel, a real one that shows me just why you have those eagles on your shoulders. I think I'll have given it enough thought by then. Dismissed."

O'Neill almost stumbled out of the general's office. It had been a long time since he'd been chastised so adroitly. But at least the old man was giving him a chance - that's all that counted. Now, for a mission plan, he had to find Teal'c, Jonas and Carter. Together they could hash out some ideas he had running through his brain, and then Carter could add her finesse.

He rubbed his hands together, almost as if to warm them and then went in search of SG-1.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The consensus had been final and unequivocal, making any order from the General unnecessary, even before all the posing and planning. If any of SG-1 went back to that moon, the team would go together.

"SG-1 in total, Sir."

"Undivided, Colonel O'Neill."

"A homogeneous fighting unit, as always, O'Neill."

A smart-ass reply had trembled on his lips, but looking into the face of each member of his team, O'Neill knew he couldn't voice it. Their faith and belief in him was sometimes all he had to bring them back home again, alive. Finally, unable to say anything for the lump lodged in his throat, O'Neill yielded the attention to General Hammond.

Hammond admonished, once they were on M43-778, to get in, check out the situation and get back out. Their window of opportunity was twenty-four hours. "Do not engage the enemy, if he's there get back home ASAP. Is that understood, Colonel O'Neill?"

O'Neill silently nodded.

"I think I need to hear it, Colonel." Hammond stated.

"Understood completely, Sir. SG-1 will go in, check the situation, and then get back out ASAP. We will not engage the enemy ---" a puckish glint of humor lit his dark eyes, "--- Uh, General, we CAN return fire if they start something, right?"

"Only," Hammond replied, with a hint of humor in his own eyes, for the first time during the briefing, "--- If they're first off the mark, Colonel. I wouldn't want my people accused of not defending themselves."

"There's that, Sir."

And then, an hour later, they'd shipped out under Hammonds watchful eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

O'Neill exited the Stargate on M43-778 as if banshees were hot on his tail. He almost tripped as he decanted from the wormhole after an uncommonly wild, speedy ride. Only fast footwork saved him, along with Teal'c, from an ignominious jumble of bodies and limbs. The first thing to catch O'Neill's attention, after disentangling with Teal'c, was the smell. It was unmistakable. Even after twelve weeks, it hung in the air. It was a sweet, cloying stench that filled the nostrils, and clouded the mind with grisly pictures of war, pestilence and death.

O'Neill and Teal'c took up a defensive stance on either side of the artifact until all members of the team were present and accounted for. Upon safe arrival Carter quickly okayed the DHD, which showed signs of outright destruction, while Jonas took O'Neill's place, and O'Neill moved to the MALP to report their successful, though record breaking, arrival.

"Twenty-four hours, Colonel," Hammond cautioned, at the end of their short conversation, his stern visage transmitting clearly on the MALP's LCD panel.

"Yes, Sir, General," O'Neill responded quickly, breaking the connection. He motioned for Carter to send the MALP back home, and then turned to once again survey the surrounding landscape. It hadn't changed much since his last visit. It was still green and serene, and nothing obvious or outrageous disturbed the calm quiet. Unless you considered a dead body, left lying there to molder and rot, neither outrageous nor obvious.

But the grounds of the immediate Stargate surroundings presented a picture less calm and serene. Aside from the DHD showing signs of serious destruction, with huge chunks of the outer rim littering the ground, staff weapon burns, in abundance, marked the scattered stone structures. The well cared for appearance that greeted SG-1 on their ill-fated prior visit was no more. In its place were pockmarks, and divots gouged out of the ground, ancient stone decorations were chipped and shattered, weeds grew where once there had been none and a general air of turmoil and catastrophe hung close.

Teal'c caught O'Neill's eye, and then motioned to the decaying remains of a Jaffa warrior. The gruesome sight was as undisturbed now as he'd been just after a second shot, so long ago, from Teal'c's 'Zat'. O'Neill signaled for Teal'c to take care of it.

Three shots of the 'Zat' removed the offensive lump. For the unknown warrior, Teal'c said a silent prayer that his soul had found its final rest and would not be trapped here forever.

"Let's move on out kids, just in case some less-than-friendly snake-ass heard the noise and decides to get nosy."

SG-1 moved quickly to the cover of the thick forest. Teal'c took point while O'Neill covered their six. The Stargate clearing was giving him a definite case of the heebie-jeebies, aside from remembering his own climactic and painful experience, which had very nearly been his last.

The sight of the decaying Jaffa warrior worried O'Neill. Even the Jaffa had strict death rituals, and for any group to have left one of their own to molder without the proper rituals was peculiar, to say the least. He was mighty afraid this was another clue to the whereabouts of the local people. If they were alive, surely they would've buried the dead. If they weren't alive and well, there would be quite a few more dead bodies left lying around. The thought sickened him in more ways than one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smell of death and a deathlike calm combined to raise the short hairs on the back of O'Neill's neck. And traveling through the lush, silent forest only added more weight to his fears. There should have been noises, of some sort - even the wind in the trees seemed to have been silenced by some unnatural force.

The short ten-mile hike to the main village should have been an easy two-hour jaunt, but, by sticking to the cover of the forest, another hour was added to their travel time. As 2IC, Major Carter surreptitiously watched her CO deal with his overwhelming worry. She knew the dead and unburied Jaffa only added fuel to his concern for his young friends. It had scared her as she moved past it to the DHD; something about dead bodies lying around always did. She could only imagine what they would find at the village, and then hoped her imagination was running away with her.

The quartet maintained a silence almost as eerie as that of their surroundings. O'Neill and Teal'c knew the lush greenery was an excellent cover, fitting the needs of friend or foe alike. Each team member remained constantly vigilant as new terrain rose and fell, twisted and turned, unfolding before him or her on a carpet of green. At no time did they travel the main, now weed-infested roadway, skirting it only by a distant hundred meters. Now clogged with weeds and overgrowth, it was so unlike the carefully manicured byway of before.

After an hour of hiking through thick brush and rough terrain, O'Neill called a rest break. Jonas flopped down on the ground in an ungainly heap, too hot and sweaty to move any further. Carter and Teal'c each found a shady spot undappled by the bright sun. O'Neill prowled the area, taking only time enough for a quick swig of warm water from his canteen, and a quick massage of his aching thigh.

"O'Neill, you must rest. Your agitation will not aid our journey, nor the villagers when we locate them." Teal'c spoke quietly.

"Yeah, I know, T," he responded, equally as quiet. "This place is giving me a serious case of the bejeebers." Rubbing his thigh again he continued, "Damned leg...was fine in the gym and on the treadmill, now it wants to cramp and ache like a rotten tooth."

Teal'c's eyebrow rose significantly. It was out of character for O'Neill to complain of discomfort. He didn't get a chance to reply as O'Neill called for them to get moving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smell of death and decay almost overcame SG-1 at the end of their three-hour march. The odor, which had seemed to follow them through the forest, was overpowering as the forest thinned out and then finally gave over to the large clearing at least half of the inhabitants of M43-778 had called home.

SG-1 stopped in their tracks. The enormity of the destruction was overwhelming, reaching as far as the eye could see.

The simple homes they remembered had been destroyed by fire and lay in solemn pitiful, blackened ruins. The large Meeting Hall, located in the center of the village, had completely burnt to the ground, while it's sturdy roof had caved in on top of the flaming ruins and then burned to ash.

The large building had been the center of life for this small village: government, cultural and religious events always took place within its walls. The village fathers had expressed much pride when showing it off to SG-1, explaining that it had only recently been rebuilt, improved and enlarged.

Another grisly scene greeted SG-1 as they cleared the forest cover, causing O'Neill to call for their HazMat gear. The heavy cover wouldn't protect them from the smell of death, but it would help make breathing a little bit easier.

Almost haphazardly positioned around the clearing, bodies of Jaffa warriors lay deathly still and silently undisturbed where each one had fallen. Apparently, not one of the Jaffa contingent had been interested, or left alive to tend to the final rituals, and no predators or scavengers had cleared away the remains. Teal'c and O'Neill moved slowly among the gruesome bodies, while Carter and Jonas searched elsewhere. What had killed the Jaffa? How had each man died? Had the villagers killed these men and then hidden away from the wrath, which was sure to follow, of some false God? If so, where were they? If not, where were they?

General Hammond might have been right, this WAS a situation O'Neill would've been better off not knowing the outcome. He gazed off into the distance, willing the survivors to come forward, hoping the children were somewhere safe and well cared for.

"Colonel O'Neill," Jonas called, "I think I know where we'll find those missing people."

O'Neill turned; despair clearly visible in his eyes, to see Jonas pointing to the large, blackened ruin. He walked slowly to the edge of the black area, silently surveying the destruction with Jonas.

"Why would they have surrounded an empty meeting hall, Colonel?" He pointed to the ring of dead Jaffa encircling the ruined building. "I don't think it was just to watch it burn, Sir."

O'Neill caught Teal'c's eye. Was hideous behavior such as this a possibility? Could these men have deliberately set fire to a room full of people? A large room full of quite a few people - women and children included?

Teal'c held O'Neill's eye in a steady, unblinking gaze and nodded. Yes, it was possible.

"Even your world has reports of such, O'Neill. As late as your second World War to end all Wars."

"These people weren't at war, Teal'c." He said in a low, whispery voice. "Why would they do this?"

"Look deep within yourself, O'Neill. You know the answer to your query."

O'Neill nodded again. Yes, if he looked deep enough and long enough he would find reasons for such inhumane actions. Man's inhumanity to his fellow man held top place on the list, followed closely by ignorance, and then a need to curry favor with the head man/head honcho/God/Goa'uld. It by no means excused them; it just explained some bad behaviors.

"Teal'c, take care of them," O'Neill instructed, and then watched his friend begin the task of 'Zatting' the remains out of existence. "Carter," he shouted, and then used hand signals to reiterate his instructions, "Help Teal'c take care of this. Jonas and I are going on a treasure hunt."

O'Neill, with Jonas close behind, stepped up onto the fragile ruin of the Meeting Hall. They were looking for remains, bone fragments not destroyed in the heat of the fire, ornaments worn by the victims, any solid evidence of the citizens of this peaceful little hamlet. If, as they suspected, all the citizens had been commandeered to this place it would be a veritable treasure trove of skeletal and other remains. He couldn't quite understand why it was so important to him to find some remnant of his lost friends, but, except for making sure they were indeed dead, it was very important. Yet, none of his team members were forensic scientists, and even Carter's affection for TV's CSI couldn't prepare her for this.

Soon, both O'Neill and Quinn were covered in ash. Their boots white and dusty, their hands were black and grimy from searching through piles of fragile soot. Quinn finally removed his HazMat gear because he was sweating bullets in the hot sun. O'Neill soon followed suit.

"Look in the corners, close to windows and doors, Jonas. Victims usually congregate where there's a hope of oxygen, or protection." O'Neill instructed.

"How do you know, Sir? You've never done this before, have you, Colonel?" Quinn was amazed. The Colonel was such a knowledgeable man, and on so many esoteric subjects.

"I read a lot..." the Colonel replied at last, looking decidedly guilty and uncomfortable, and everywhere but at Jonas. His eyes danced the classic O'Neill side-to-side shimmy. He didn't want to remember that little village he and Frank found, so long ago now, in the jungles of Guatemala. It still sent shivers down his spine.

They moved from one corner to the next, accompanied by the shriek of 'Zats' firing in the near distance. So far they'd found squat, no bone fragments, no small personal items, nothing to indicate that a whole bunch of people had perished here. O'Neill felt elated with even such a small glimmer of hope. So far it looked like the Jaffa had indeed set fire to this place just to see it burn - 'Bastards! But if they weren't here, where 'were' the villagers?'

"There's nothing here, Colonel." Jonas called, long minutes later, walking back across the damaged floor towards O'Neill. He was still deeply engrossed in his search, yet careful of each step on the fragile unstable timber.

Suddenly, the floor gave way under his feet, the dry fragile crackle of over-dried wood his only warning. With a surprised yelp, he plunged through the brittle floorboards, disappearing completely from sight.

"Jonas," O'Neill shouted, stunned as he watched his team member disappear through the floor. He jumped the short distance to grab Jonas, yet he wasn't quick enough to nab anything but empty air.

The Colonel's flying leap landed him almost on top of the hole Jonas made, but not close enough to latch onto the rapidly descending man. He inched closer, leaning carefully over the aperture and looked intently past the edge. O'Neill could see nothing in the dark, not even a hint of sunlight reflecting off Jonas' hair.

He could hear the sound of pounding footsteps in the distance coming closer, as Teal'c and Carter responded to his shout.

"Jonas, can you hear me? This is so not cool," he shouted down the hole, and then turned to warn his other team members to go slow and easy on the damaged floor. O'Neill had visions of both Teal'c and Carter crashing through brittle flooring just like Jonas. A bit irrational on his part, but a fear none-the-less.

"Teal'c, Carter, watch out! This whole floor could go at any minute. There's no telling how bad the damage is," he said, almost to himself. O'Neill watched as Carter, and then Teal'c, slowed to a walk and then stepped gingerly up onto the ruin. They hurried over to him.

O'Neill pulled a flashlight from his vest, turned back to the large opening and began inspecting it.

"What happened, Sir?" Carter asked quietly, as she arrived.

"O'Neill, what has occurred? Teal'c joined in dispassionately.

"Jonas fell through the floor. At first I thought it was a bad spot in an already damaged floor, but look Carter," he pointed the beam of light to the wooden supports under the structure. "What does that look like to you?"

He pointed his light beam to the aperture's opposite edge. Carter carefully moved over beside him to look where his flashlight pointed. Finally, she could see support structures under the floor, which were totally intact, only scorched by the intense heat. Heavy hand-hewn beams squared off the structure through which Jonas had fallen, while no cracked or splintered wood flooring girded the hole.

Carter pointed her beam further down into the opening.

" I believe you're right, Sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He finally pulled oxygen back into starving lungs, realizing as he did so that his head pounded in tempo with his heartbeat, and his ankle hurt like crazy. Jonas looked around the dark hole in which he found himself and wished the cavalry would come galloping over the hill, just like in Teal'c's western movies. The black darkness surrounded him so closely that he couldn't see anything, not even his own hand. Water dripped constantly somewhere; he could hear each drop as it fell. He could also faintly hear his name being called. Colonel O'Neill...that was Colonel O'Neill calling his name. Where was he? Had he fallen down the shaft too?

Surely not, or his voice wouldn't sound so distant - would it?

He had to let the Colonel know where he was, and that he was relatively safe. At least he thought he was safe.

His radio, where was his radio? Jonas searched his vest, but in such utter darkness finding his own chest seemed to be a problem. Finally, the radio was located, safely tucked in its pocket. He breathed a sigh of relief and then using the Braille method, toggled the switch. It remained ominously quiet. No electronic chirp announced its activation and no frizz of static filled the airwaves. That was not good.

If Jonas Quinn had been a profane man he would have railed profanely at his predicament. But he wasn't. And even though they were still on shaky ground, he knew Colonel O'Neill would not rest until all of his "kids" had been returned safely to the SG-1 fold. But, he also couldn't just sit here waiting for help to arrive; he needed to do something too.

He heard another voice calling his name. This time it was Major Carter. Jonas looked up and around, trying to get his bearing in the stygian darkness. Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or could he see a faint spot of light over his left shoulder? Rather safe than sorry - an Earth expression Teal'c had taught him. Jonas painfully pulled himself upright and headed toward the faint light.

And then almost fell down again as the injured ankle took his full weight. Flailing like a pinwheel, he struggled to find support and stay upright. His grasping, flailing fingers fleetingly brushed the cold moist stone of the underground wall, which he grabbed onto for dear life. Cold sweat ran down the length of his spine leaving an itchy trail, which he refused to acknowledge. Putting all of his weight on the uninjured limb and dragging the other foot, Jonas inched his way toward the light.

Never let it be said that Jonas Quinn didn't know how to pull his own weight!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I believe you're right, Sir," Carter agreed, as her light slowly wandered around the sub-flooring. "There, and there, can you see it? Some kind of hinge arrangement consistent with a trap door would be my theory. The logs didn't burn because the fire wasn't hot enough for long enough, but the updraft from below fed this area until it was just a matter of time before it fell away on its own. Jonas was just the lucky one to walk across it.

O'Neill, Carter and Teal'c focused their flashlights down the dark hole, which appeared to be manmade.

"My thoughts exactly, Carter." He loved it when his oh-so-smart 2IC agreed with him.

"Could it be some type of sewer system, Major Carter?" Teal'c asked quietly, not quite understanding why someone would build a hole in the floor only to cover it up again.

"It could've been, T," the Colonel responded, instead of Major Carter. "But, the smell from a sewer system would be a dead give away, worse than what we found out there." He threw a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to where the dead men had lain.

"Plus, this hole is way too big for a sewer line. It looks large enough for even a big man to pass down. I think Jonas inadvertently found the villager's prairie dog hole ---"

"What is this --- prairie dog, O'Neill, and what does it have to do with Jonas Quinn?" Teal'c gave O'Neill his most blank stare, waiting for enlightenment.

Carter giggled at Teal'c's question, as innocent as it was, and looked to O'Neill for further instruction. O'Neill cocked his head to one side, gave her his wide-eyed innocent "What" look and continued on, explaining the North American Prairie mammal to his friend.

"--- And their tunnels always have a back door, Teal'c, just in case a predator makes it through the front door," O'Neill concluded. "Now, how about we check on Jonas? Carter, you have the honors."

Carter grinned at him, and at Teal'c, and then leaned carefully over the hole and called for Jonas. She held her breath waiting for him to respond, hoping she would hear some small something - even a groan of pain was better than silence. Hearing nothing, Carter called again and then motioned for her teammates to shine their lights down into the deep hole. Maybe Jonas would see it. "If he sees it, Sir, he will at least know we're still here."

"That's a mighty deep hole. Even if he sees our light there's no way to get to him unless we send down a rope. And, if he's injured and can't get to the rope, we'll need to rappel down. "

"O'Neill, if this is indeed a prairie dog tunnel, might not your village friends be somewhere at the other end?" Teal'c was finally catching on to where O'Neill's theory was headed.

O'Neill smiled, his smile reaching his eyes for the first time since returning to this planet.

"A definite possibility, T, a very definite possibility."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"He's not answering his radio, Sir. Maybe he lost it in the dark, it could've been broken in the fall --- or he --- can't --- answer." Carter regretfully informed her CO. Carter had been trying to get Jonas on the radio; this was the fourth try in as many minutes.

"Shit," came the uncharacteristic reply from O'Neill. "Okay, Carter, break out the rope. We can't lollygag around this hole all day. Teal'c, when she gives you the rope, secure it over one of those big guys," he said, pointing to one of the massive supporting logs, "--- While I get ready. I'll go down first, then Carter, and then you. We'll belay from below when it's your turn, T."

Teal'c nodded his understanding, and as Carter unraveled the emergency rope, knelt at the opening again, scrutinizing the large logs for the best selection.

"Colonel O'Neill!" Jonas' voice came from a great distance. It sounded weak and tremulous.

All three heads turned and quickly peered past the rim of the man-made aperture.

"Colonel, can you hear me?"

"Yeah, Jonas," O'Neill shouted, down into the opening, "Hear you loud and clear. How's it going down there, everything okay?" He looked up, and back into the concerned gaze of both Carter and Teal'c and then shrugged.

"I have a headache and I think I sprained my ankle, but other than that I'm okay. I --- I'm in a tunnel or a cave, Sir, but it's too dark down here to know for sure. I would've reported in, but my radio broke in the fall and I can't find my flashlight."

"Oiy, he's as bad as Daniel ---" O'Neill murmured, almost to himself.

"Colonel ---" Carter quietly chided.

"Yeah, I know," he replied. "Stand easy, Jonas," O'Neill shouted back down to Quinn, "--- We're coming down to get you. Stand clear of the drop zone too, we wouldn't want a pile up at the bottom there."

O'Neill shuffled back from the hole, and then sitting on his haunches directed Carter further over to the side, as Teal'c tested the rope slung over the heavy beam. The Colonel pulled full-fingered gloves out of his pack - he'd been caught rappelling once without protection, it had been one very painful experience, one that he never wanted to repeat. Donning the gloves he shuffled back into position, and straddled the open shaft.

"Wish me luck," he said, looking straight at his 2IC.

"Good Luck, O'Neill," Teal'c responded, while a giggling Carter kept out of the way.

"Thanks Teal'c," O'Neill grinned, catching a humorous glint in Teal'c's eye. He grabbed the rope in a firm grip and then launched himself through the opening. Teal'c held on for dear life, easing up on the rope and then holding it taunt as needed. O'Neill's weight was negligible, and the strain of holding the rope for his friend minimal, but Teal'c's muscles bulged with effort none-the-less.

And then suddenly with a shout of victory the rope went slack.

"I believe it is your turn, Major Carter."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God, that was fun! Way better than Space Mountain ----

O'Neill's free flight ended abruptly in a claustrophobic darkness, lit only by the weak spot of sunlight shining down from the tiny hole above and his flashlight. His strong thighs soaked up the impact of the sudden stop, with scarcely a twinge in his bad knee. The flashlight bobbled brightly against his chest, throwing bizarre dancing shadows all around him in the velvet blackness. But as he took a second to catch his breath, a hand on his arm almost made him jump out of his skin. Only quick, well-trained reflexes stayed any outward show.

"Jonas, it's never good to scare your CO when you're being rescued. It tends to make us grumpy, if not downright defensive. I could've snapped your arm without a second thought," O'Neill drawled, his heart still pounding from the adrenalin rush.

The hand was abruptly removed.

"Sorry, Colonel. I guess being down in this black hole just got to me. I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life," Jonas replied apologetically.

O'Neill's eyebrows danced quickly in understanding and his only reply was a grunt.

"Are you okay?" He asked, abruptly changing the subject, "We lost you there for a bit. How's the head? Carter will want to check you over when she comes down, so just be prepared to grin and bare it." O'Neill's eyebrows wiggled again, with innuendo. "Stand back, Carter's up, or down next."

Jonas hurriedly limped out of the way, as O'Neill toggled his radio.

"Carter, it's your turn---for the sweetest little ride of your life. Just remember to keep your hands inside the car at all times and no standing."

"Yes, Sir," came the electric response.

Waiting for his people, he completed a swift three-sixty of the surrounding area, sweeping the beam in every direction, even up, but the blackness up there swallowed the meager light whole. Jonas' eyes followed the light as it searched out what he had been unable to see.

It was a cave...it was a tunnel. In reality, it was more than just a tunnel, but less than a cave. A cavunnel O'Neill grinned to himself as the friction whir of fabric sliding on rope, and then the solid thump of Government Issue boots on stone, alerted him to Carter's presence.

"Hey, Carter," he greeted, "Glad you could drop by." He waited a brief second for her groan, which she supplied on cue, and then continued. "First, let's have Teal'c join the party, then after we find a safe defensible spot where we can rest, Jonas here needs a quick look see. Head and ankle ----"

Once again activating the radio O'Neill instructed Teal'c to wrap the rope over the beam, letting one end fall down to his waiting hands. Both he and Carter would belay from below. The rope almost falling on his head, shortly thereafter, showed Teal'c's approval of the plan.

Soon, SG-1 was together again. The two men gathered up Jonas, letting him use them as crutches, moving further back into the dark safety of the tunnel. O'Neill wanted to be as far away from the very obvious entrance/exit in case any Jaffa happened to be around, and were hopping mad that their buddies had bought the farm.

Together they walked until O'Neill was satisfied that no band of marauding Jaffa could find them. The dark cave floor was littered with uneven bumps and bulges, cracks, rocks and other debris, making walking a chore. Every time O'Neill or Teal'c stumbled, or staggered, it caused Jonas a world of pain. Finally, when he decided they'd gone far enough not to be surprised by any human predators, they stopped to rest. Carter checked Jonas for broken bones and a head injury, while O'Neill and Teal'c reconnoitered O'Neill's cavunnel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"There is water nearby, O'Neill, I hear a constant drip. It could mean an underground spring, or that we are passing under or near a stream, or river. As we move further away from the entrance hole, the air is fresher; the air currents are livelier. I believe this is indeed your 'prairie dog tunnel'."

Teal'c knew his friend was grinning, even if he couldn't see it in the dark. He could feel the positive emotions rolling off O'Neill. He was glad that for once, the tide of favor had more than a fifty-fifty chance of being turned in the direction of the simple villagers. Especially against alien Jaffa warriors and false Gods.

He too remembered O'Neill playing with the children of this world, in an effort to subdue the boredom of guard duty. Simple games they had played, which included every child old enough to join in. While Major Carter sampled plants from this world's ancient pharmacopoeia, Jonas Quinn translated the language and talked to the elders, and Teal'c found tranquility guarding their footsteps, O'Neill was left with boredom and an itchy, overabundant need to move, to do something. He needed to do something more in line with his military calling, something other than just guarding the steps of his oblivious scientists.

It had started out as a juggling exhibition for one or two children, but soon a large audience watched - spellbound, and then it proceeded on to teaching even larger groups. Afterward, when O'Neill had them firmly in the palm of his hand, the games became more varied, as in stickball, skipping stones, baseball, and street hockey - alien style. The children had loved it, O'Neill had found some temporary measure of peace and the mission swiftly drew to a close.

And soon their time was up and SG-1 had to leave.

The two villages of M43-778 joined together in a festive send-off for SG-1. Traditional food, speeches, local brews, and more speeches filled the last evening of their mission. Everyone had a grand time and when the next morning sun rose, way too early, SG-1 left their new friends behind and returned home.

And that was the end, or so Colonel O'Neill and his team thought. Three weeks later the village Elders contacted General Hammond, requesting diplomatic amenities along with Colonel O'Neill's presence. O'Neill had not wanted to return to M43-778 and had tried long and hard to get out of going, offering up many reasons why he should not. He hadn't discussed his feelings for the children, although the General was very astute. But, Hammond was also adamant, O'Neill would return along with his team as requested, and had almost not made it back home alive.

"Hey, T, you're awfully quiet over there --- you are over there, right?" A beam of light quickly flashed in Teal'c's eyes and was then just as quickly removed.

"I am here O'Neill. I was contemplating the events of the last few weeks. I too am hopeful that we find our friend's safe and well. It is not often in our travels that we find a planet unspoiled by a Goa'uld's corruption."

"Yeah, I know. "

O'Neill and Teal'c continued walking, remaining silent as they navigated in the dark. Until finally, O'Neill turned to speak to his friend and realized he could make out his features much better now than before.

"Either I've been eating way too many carrots, which, by the way, I do not recall eating, or there's a light source coming from somewhere up ahead. Either way, I can see you a whole lot better now."

It was true. Now Teal'c could also make out more distinctly O'Neill's grinning face in the low light.

"Perhaps we are near the back door, O'Neill," he replied, looking intently ahead.

"Ookayyy, that's a good thing. Heads up from here on out; we don't know if we'll find friend or foe once we leave this tunnel. I'll check in with Carter, see how Jonas is, while you hold the fort. If any bad guys come this way let me know. Capiech?"

"Capiech, indeed, O'Neill," Teal'c replied, and moved closer to the tunnel opening.

O'Neill toggled his radio, smiling at his Jaffa friend, yet waiting impatiently for Carter to respond.

"Yes, sir?"

"Hey, Carter, how's it going? How's Jonas?" He asked quietly, in response to her quiet tone.

"Well, sir, I'm pretty sure he has a concussion and he definitely has a broken ankle ---"

"You didn't have to set it, did you?" He asked, interrupting her report. O'Neill still had nightmares when it came to a certain blonde officer and broken bones.

"Yes, sir, I did," she replied through gritted teeth, somewhat put out by the Colonel's continued pettiness. She had thought they'd put Antarctica behind them a long time ago. "I set the bone and I splinted it. And even though he might have a concussion I gave him morphine. I've been watching him very closely while he's resting." And then, very adroitly changing the subject, Carter asked, "What did you find, Colonel?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"That man," Carter sputtered, through tightly clinched teeth, as she ended her radio conversation with O'Neill.

"What's the matter, Major Carter?" A strained, somewhat sleepy voice spoke up beside her in the dark. Carter jumped at Jonas' unexpected intrusion in her thoughts.

"Nothing, Jonas, go back to sleep. I'm just trying to decide which method would be my best to kill my CO, and bury his body without anyone knowing." She grinned at the thought of O'Neill at her mercy, but her thoughts ran more to seduction than liquidation. "Son of a bit ---"

"---Maybe I could be of assistance, Major." Jonas spoke up again, "An intermediary perhaps?"

The pain in Jonas' ankle was dying down to a low, but steady burn, instead of the white-hot incandescent pain of before. The pain medicine performed wonders in removing the discomfort. He'd never had a broken bone before and was surprised at just how much it hurt. Although Major Carter explained it was probably his trying to walk on it that had caused the terrible discomfort. Now, he was resting per the Major orders, and never had such a warm, fuzzy disjointed glow stolen away his resolve so completely.

"No, but thanks for the offer. Meanwhile, you need to rest, because we have to be ready to move out when the Colonel gives the word, while I just sit here, thinking of all the little ways I can "take care" of the Colonel." She hugged her weapon close; mindful that it was the only 'action' she was likely to get for a while.

"Try not to be too hard on him," Jonas whispered, his words slurring sleepily.

Soon, his quiet snoring replaced the loud silence, and Carter remained watchful, while the darkness filled with her memories of the past weeks.

He'd almost bled to death. It was a miracle of miracles that O'Neill had made it home alive. During his recuperation, she'd been at his side for every healing step forward and every failing misstep back, and somewhere in between they'd reached an understanding.

They could be friends. Sam and Jack could be friends with all its attendant rights, privileges, and drawbacks. And if being 'just' a friend was all they could have for now, it would make what they wanted in the future that much more attainable ---and painful.

Carter shook her head; it was all so confusing and confounding. She sat back in the dark, waiting for the Colonel's call to action, keeping watch over Jonas until the call came.

"Rats."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

O'Neill finished his call to Carter with a grin on his face, he loved rattling her chain. Turning toward the entrance, he slowly moved to Teal'c's position, taking care not to stumble over the rock-strewn floor.

"Seen anything yet, T?"

"I am able to see several lodges from this angle, O'Neill. I have not yet seen any inhabitants. It appears very peaceful and quiet."

"Yeah, well---we know looks can be deceiving, right?"

"Indeed, my friend."

O'Neill looked out at the alien sky, so much like home that he felt a second of deja vu.

"Looks like the sun's about to set. What say we mosey down, take a look see, this time of day they shouldn't be expecting too many visitors." O'Neill kept his eye on the outside panorama. Calling Carter, he gave a quick report, reminded her to keep radio silence until she heard from him, unless her situation rapidly went south. He and Teal'c gathered their sparse belongings and left the tunnel's protection.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tunnel entrance was situated half way up a green grassy hill overlooking a village. An overgrowth of evergreen trees and huge, lichen covered boulders hid its narrow exit. The foothills were set in a lush valley surrounded by age-old mountains. The outside air was nippy, like a fresh autumn day in early November, but the setting sun with encroaching nightfall promised a chilly evening. O'Neill and Teal'c split up just outside the cave entrance. Separately, each man would make his way down the hill, hiding from sight in the abundant ground cover. The "plan" was to meet up again once they'd reached and surrounded their quarry.

Down the hill they skulked, and still no villagers could be seen walking the village streets or byways, but smoke rising from various chimneys told of their presence. Both men were headed for the largest house, where Jouma, the chief Elder, would of course live. O'Neill was anxious to see if Jouma was in residence, or some strange, glowy-eyed imposter. He was also worried about the chief and his little tribe. To O'Neill's way of thinking this tribe was too easy going to long withstand a Jaffa incursion; they were too unprepared for the violence and cruelty.

The last bit of sun disappeared behind the horizon by the time O'Neill reached the low built dwellings. Jouma's people built their homes down into the ground, for greater insulation against the cold winter and better cooling during the warm summer days. Their houses, or lodges, were fabricated of precisely fit logs, which were then filled in with cement made of river mud and dried cow dung, and covered over with anything from split logs to animal hides. The drying process seemed to spell the difference between a warm, cozy retreat and a dark, smelly enclosure. The log dwellings were positioned over eight foot deep circular pits. The larger in circumference the pit, the higher placed in tribal life was its owner. The largest of the previously burned out lodges had been no larger than O'Neill's living room, but Jouma and his family had called it home.

Keeping to the shadows, O'Neill moved from house to house, almost holding his breath as he moved. The bright new moon, just beginning its ascent, shed too much light over the landscape for O'Neill's peace of mind. His fits and starts resembled those of a cartoon character flitting from place to place, shadow to shadow, to avoid detection. His ears strained to catch other noises in the silence, but apart from his own breathing nothing stirred. Even the prevalent domestic animals seemed to have called it a night.

He suspected Teal'c was somewhere not too far from here, also in the shadows, waiting for a sign. They would maintain radio silence until he knew for sure that the Elder was in residence, but two blips on the radio was the signal for Teal'c to show himself. From his vantage point behind a small stand of fragrant conifers, O'Neill was able to really look at the village. One thing fairly screamed for further attention. This village was not new, nor hurriedly built; it was too well established and too well placed. The out buildings were strong and secure, and the various garden plots were plentiful and lush with an Indian summer's bounty.

O'Neill studied the moonlit landscape. He had a few more questions for Jouma, but time was wasting. Carter and Jonas were still up there in that cold cave, waiting for them - it was time to move out.

Looking to the left and right, and then with his weapon poised and ready, O'Neill sprinted to the front entrance of Jouma's lodge and on down several steps. Teal'c guarded the rear of the structure since Jouma's people had shown a most enlightened know-how for successful retreat. Teal'c was also ready in case the situation went deep south. O'Neill looked around again to see if anyone had taken notice of him and then tapped lightly, but firmly on the wooden panel. It was at that moment that one of those until-now-silent, domesticated animals decided it was time to check their guest's invitation and started a barking row that soon included every animal within a mile radius.

So much for stealth!

O'Neill's hand had risen to knock again, when the crude door was suddenly jerked open. Jouma's plain friendly countenance - backlit by the warm yellow glow coming from inside the large room, was wary. But he recognized O'Neill immediately and greeted the soldier with a big, toothy smile.

"Onee, it is good to see. Come, come," he beckoned, happily standing aside for O'Neill to enter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carter shivered in the chill. Sitting in a cold, dark cave was not on her list of things she most wanted to do, especially not with someone who was practically a stranger. She looked over at Jonas. He'd just settled back down after her last neuro check, and so far everything looked good. Now, she was getting antsy. Now she completely understood the Colonel's need for action, his need to move, to get going and keep moving.

She hated being left behind, pure and simple. But, she also realized that Jonas couldn't take care of himself, and the Colonel and Teal'c had their hands full just scouting out the terrain and the situation. If there was a Goa'uld here and more Jaffa warriors to boot, the Colonel didn't need the added responsibility of an injured teammate.

She checked her watch for the umpteenth time. Although since it was only a minute past the last time she'd checked she didn't expect to see any difference. She just needed to keep herself occupied. Settling further into the warmth of her sleeping bag, Carter resisted the urge to get up and pace. Jonas' snores should have made her drowsy, but they hadn't.

The low light from the fire threw weird, distorted shadows on the walls all around her. If she'd been the least bit on the nervous side, those shadows alone would've scared her to death. But having never had a nervous cell in her whole body, she was immune, although she was --- concerned --- for Teal'c and the Colonel. Carter checked her watch again, five more minutes and she'd be up to patrol their dark hideaway.

Finally, throwing off her warm cover, Carter got up to pace some more and then to make one more check before settling in for the night. It did no good to worry about something over which she had no control.

But, damn it, where were they?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It is tradition - after so many seasons," Jouma explained. "When the Jaffa arrive, we move to winter grounds." He went on further to explain, after offering O'Neill and Teal'c the hospitality of his home, "the brown bear does not invite in, nor give the badger his home."

"Well --- that's certainly understandable," O'Neill, while giving Teal'c a look that clearly stated he understood little of Jouma's analogy, replied.

Never did the Jaffa search or explore beyond the village after 'burning' the meeting hall. Meleo's "warning" of what had happened in the past, of how the village had been destroyed and then rebuilt as if by spirits saw to that. Meleo, the village medicine man, always painted a grim picture for the infrequent Jaffa, and was always first through the doomed doorway ahead of his people. Since there were no precious minerals or metals on Jouma's world worthy of any System Lord, at least as far as Jouma and his people were concerned, they were left alone, to die or thrive---until the next time.

"Why do they come to this world, and why did they not just leave, and take with them those of your people who were most attractive as hosts, or could be used as slaves?" Teal'c asked. "If there is nothing of value here, surely your children would attract their attention."

"Many moons ago the Jaffa took our children, and left our villages, our crops, burned and ravaged, and many of those who came before us were left dead or dying. But my fathers' fathers learned; as we had to learn, distrust all who come through the circle. My father's father was the first to use the tunnels for escape. As to why they chose to plague this world, I do not know. Meleo has many thought's on the subject --- you must speak to him yourself."

"So --- you're saying that the Jaffa return after so many years, and --- drink the water for their health, and what? It doesn't make sense," O'Neill stated. His temper was getting the best of him, especially with trying to make sense of Jouma's story as well as worrying about Carter and Jonas still stuck in that cold tunnel. "If there's nothing of value here and they "kill" everyone before they leave, why do they keep coming back? Why haven't they brought their own Chief-snake, glowy- eyed god? And what made you trust us, me and my team?"

Jouma looked at his children, playing quietly with the toys Onee had brought for each of them. He smiled and turned his gaze to his wife, contentedly rocking a sleepy infant who suckled at her breast.

"You are a father, you know a father's pain. I can see it in your eyes as you talk and play with our children. You are hard, Onee, as a warrior you must be, but the smile of a child softens your shell."

O'Neill was speechless, as his face glowed with heightened color. He turned from Jouma to Teal'c. Teal'c's head dropped in a graceful nod of accord. The room was silent for a moment.

"Yeah, well," O'Neill seemed at a loss, and then asked hurriedly, "Teal'c, do you understand any of this?"

"Indeed I do not, O'Neill." Teal'c thought for a long moment, "Unless, they were attempting the Kesh' Nassh' le' mere. It means 'death of a race.' As First Prime of Apophis, I too have sent warriors to perform the ritual, attempting to obliterate a race of people for the selfish gain of a false god." Teal'c looked uncomfortable, remembering and then telling the story of a time he was uneasy with. "But that was a fight to the death, not a lengthy, intermittent struggle."

"Or else, O'Neill, for selfish gain." He thought for several more minutes, the room silent except for the children's subdued giggles. "Selfish gain of the Jaffa, who would wish for a place to retire from duty, a haven with which to remove himself from the service of a false god. As the Free Jaffa movement gains momentum, it would not be improbable."

"So, ah, so how are you able ---" O'Neill looked around the small room, to where Jouma's children played quietly nearby, and lowered his voice. "How were you able to kill the Jaffa after you'd escaped?"

This story was sounding more and more incredible. He expected some sci-fi filmmaker to storm the door any minute, screaming, "cut."

"They go to sleep and never wake up," Jouma continued, in a calm almost emotionless manner. "A much kinder release than the one with which they condemned my people. The food left behind, and freely available for the taking, was tainted with poison. The Jaffa's symbiote is killed and soon after the vessel dies as well. With the coming of spring, we return to our former homes and burn any remains in a cleansing bonfire, and then rebuild."

"Seems a bit --- grim," O'Neill stated, watching Jouma's small children play with the toys from his pack.

He was disgusted at the retaliation that continued even until today, but understood it completely. These simple, easygoing folks had been forced into living an ongoing lie, just as heinous and just as deadly as any Jaffa, or grisly Goa'uld. Those golden young faces hid generations of premeditated murder.

O'Neill jumped up from his seat by the comfortable fire, he couldn't sit still any longer; he had to move. His disappointment was almost overwhelming. The General had been right; he shouldn't have come back looking for answers. But he'd never been one to hide from the hard truth.

Jouma and his tribe were not untouched by the Goa'uld's cruelty. But these people couldn't live like this. They shouldn't live like this any longer, it was insane; something had to be done. He had to think. O'Neill's long strides made short work of Jouma's home, restlessly pacing back and forth. Ruthlessly his hands scrubbed through his short hair as Teal'c looked on with concern.

Teal'c had seen his brother's behavior many times, on many fields of battle. The agitation of doing that, which was best for all concerned threatened to consume O'Neill at times like these. To help O'Neill he would remain quiet until his counsel was needed.

Jouma watched O'Neill's pacing form; worried for his tall friend, yet unable to understand what it was that drove him.

O'Neill abruptly stopped pacing at the side of Jouma's wife and her sleeping infant. He reached down and caressed the baby's soft cheek and silk-fine hair. He seemed lost in thought and no one broke the sudden silence. The infant grunted a quiet baby gurgle yet continued sleeping. Even the children, who'd been playing, watched the scene play out.

"Aren't you tired of doing that over and over?" O'Neill quietly asked, as he continued gazing at the sleeping infant. "Aren't you sick of teaching your children there's nothing ahead but death and murder? Wouldn't you rather do something to prevent all the misery and death?"

Jouma was caught off guard. His tribe had many cunning warriors who would fight to the death, as many had done before. Never had even they questioned their ways or customs.

"Bury your gate," O'Neill continued, looking to Teal'c for support, "They can't --- they won't come back. There's nothing here of interest for the Goa'uld and the Jaffa only want it for retirement property, so after a time they'll forget about you and your broken gate. But, your time is running out. One of these days they will come in force and stay, and maybe bring their false god and then you 'will' be enslaved. One of these days, unless you act, you're going to get caught."

Never had such a course been suggested. Never had any of his people thought of such a simple solution. Jouma's heart quickened with resolution.

"With staff weapons," Teal'c quietly spoke up, from his darkened corner of the small room, slowly detailing the deadly events to come. "They will line everyone up against your revered meeting hall and shoot. Your women, your children, and your elders; everyone will be killed; there will be no survivors."

"Don't take that chance," O'Neill pursued, in an emotion-graveled voice, "Bury the damned gate."

The ring was not a religious icon, and its only function brought death, despair and heartache. Jouma's heart beat with wild anticipation as he looked to his wife for support. Too many of his warrior's had perished defending the open portal. It could be done. It was so simple. And all this time the answer had been right in front of their faces.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fire lit torches combined with battery-powered lights making an eerie flickering path up the damp, grassy hillside. The full moon, now hanging low behind the elderly mountains, bathed the landscape in half-light while strangely deepening the shadows. Silence reigned, no one spoke and only harsh breathing from the exhausting climb broke the stillness.

The small group moved up the hill with stealthy precision, much as they'd done many times before, under the same conditions. Landmarks, familiar to only a few, guided their steps up the incline, and just as the moon slid behind the mountains their destination was met.

Fragrant evergreens loomed large and ominous, as the huge boulders stood silent, shielding their secrets from prying eyes. Leaving the remainder to stand guard, three men broke off from the group and slipped inside the slight opening in the granite face. Deliberate and careful steps over the interior's rough ground slowed their progress. Distorted shadows reached out, and surrounded them while the flickering torches attempted to penetrate the complete absence of light. The men remained silent, from weariness as much as for stealth, as they once again traversed the long dark tunnel.

Their journey to this point had been long, and fraught with surprises, many unpleasant. Each event, the grisly reminders at the 'gate' and in the village beyond, the all too apparent, horrific deaths of people who'd become friends, and then an injured comrade, had taken its toll on depleted energy. Now, they had reclaimed, if only for a short while, those friends who'd cheated death. Now too, they had returned to reclaim their teammates. There was one more job yet to be done and then it was time to head home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carter awoke with a jerk. She listened intently to her velvet black surroundings, hearing only the steady drip-drip of water in some distant area. Something had awakened her. Something had spoken to her subconscious and had sprung her from a well-deserved rest. She glanced over at the dark lump of Jonas beside her. He was asleep, his medicated slumbers punctuated only by an occasional moan of pain.

What had awakened her? The short hair at the back of her neck raised in recognition of---something. Had she really heard something, or was the dark silence getting to her? Had the constant drip of water, instead of relaxing and soothing her to sleep, finally driven her to imagine goblins in the dark?

Nu-unh! Wasn't going to happen!

Carter gently tapped Jonas, who jumped in response but turned toward her with a quiet groan.

"What's up, Major Carter?" He whispered, in the blackness.

"I'm not sure, Jonas. But something woke me up," she whispered in reply. "Grab your gear, let's scoot further back into this corner. We may have uninvited guests."

The agile major grabbed her equipment, and most of Quinn's, moving further back for safety. She'd found this spot much earlier while acting as a rear guard. Formed from the solid rock of the tunnel, the little anteroom had the advantage of an almost one hundred and eighty degree east and west line of sight down each passage. From this position it would be almost impossible for anyone to sneak up on them.

She flung her gear down in the new location and then returned to help Jonas, who was still struggling to get up.

She grinned - poor Jonas, he reminded her so much of Daniel in so many ways. The events of the last three months had done much to solidify his place on the team. Her grin dimmed, but he wasn't Daniel and she missed Daniel as if he'd died only yesterday.

She missed Daniel, and it still felt like part of her was gone, lost to some unexplained phenomena. The Colonel had finally, grudgingly accepted Jonas on SG-1, but even he sometimes forgot and called for Daniel's assistance. She sighed once more and then turned to the matter at hand.

Jonas proved to be almost no help in moving the short distance to the back wall. He could put little, if any, weight on his foot and the head injury made him dizzy and off balance. Carter swallowed a sigh of impatience and helped Jonas stand. She guided him the short distance to their new bivouac, spread out his bedroll and then finally eased him down. He seemed grateful to rest again.

"Go back to sleep, Jonas. We're secure here until the colonel returns. I was probably only hearing things and let it get the best of me. Do you need anything?" She felt stupid, now that they'd moved.

"No, nothing Major Carter. Why don't I stand guard for awhile, let you get some rest?" He asked, most sincerely, and it was very tempting, but his slurring words told a different story.

"Sounds good, but on second thought, I'd better check your pupils once more and then it's beddy-bye time for you," Carter responded, with a smile. She pulled out her flashlight and hunkered down beside him. The little ritual reminded her of the ongoing battle between the Colonel and Janet Fraiser, and her pocket penlight, every time she performed it. It always drove O'Neill nuts, unless he was unconscious at the time.

Jonas's pupil reflex seemed sluggish, especially on the left. She was afraid it was his injury and not the narcotic she'd given him. But all she could do now was get him back to the Infirmary and into Janet's care, which wasn't likely to happen very soon. Aside from SG-1 having to face a pissed off General officer when they returned home, Jonas could be facing a possible brain injury, which even Janet's bag of tricks couldn't fix.

Again she sent up a prayer for her teammates return.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they traversed the long dark tunnel, O'Neill thought about the young faces he'd forever remember. They'd been so eager to play with him, learn from him and discover new things. They 'had' been tainted by the Goa'uld presence, but now maybe there was hope for a better future. The children deserved a real future without Goa'uld 'gods', self-seeking Jaffa, or the cruel uncertainty of an open Stargate. Their parents deserved it too.

After untold centuries of murderous badgering, these people would finally find some peace. It all came down to the fact that not every Stargate was meant to continue as a free conduit; too many lives were at stake.

The General had been wrong; this was as happy an ending to this situation as he had 'any' right to expect. The worry and wondering would have driven him insane - especially since his life had been preserved at the cost of these people.

He didn't remember the tunnel being this long, but he'd had other matters on his mind that last time. O'Neill stumbled over a rough spot. Both Teal'c and Jouma made a grab for him, but he righted himself and walked on. The twinge of pain in his knee brought his attention back to the matter at hand - Carter and Jonas. It couldn't be much further.

He was anxious to leave M43-778. He was eager to leave the stench of death behind. His need to know more here about the state of his friends had been satisfied. He was satisfied they could take care of themselves once the gate was buried and sealed. Now, he wanted Jouma and his tribe to handle the matter as they saw fit. Now, he was impatient to gather his stalwart band and "get the hell out of Dodge."

Suddenly, the snick-snick of an automatic weapon taken off safety, cracked loudly through the dark stillness. All three men stopped in their tracks, waiting uneasily for the other shoe to drop. A sudden pinpoint of light timidly bounced off O'Neill's chest to his forehead. The P-90's battery powered light blinded them, but he was proud of Carter's quick response, or Jonas for that matter, although he highly doubted Jonas was well enough.

"Lucy --- I'm --- hoome," his singsong imitation rang out loudly in the stygian silence, but the deadly pinpoint of light remained stationary on his forehead. "Oh, for crying out loud, Carter. Either shoot me and put me out of my misery, or put that damned thing down. It's us ---Teal'c, tell her it's us."

"Indeed, Major Carter, it is O'Neill and I. Leader Jouma is here also." The total silence and lack of response was unnerving, even for Teal'c.

"You boys certainly took your own sweet time, sir." Carter spoke up, from some distance behind them.

"Jeeesus, Carter," O'Neill jumped as if shot, and whirled around at her reply. He couldn't see her clearly in the darkness, but he could see the weapon aimed squarely at him. "You scared the shit out of me, Carter, I just hope I've got a clean pair of pants to change into," he whined, and thought for another second, and then grinned.

"That was some diversion you had going there, Major."

Carter smiled, as praise it left a lot to be desired, but knowing the Colonel as well as she did, it was high praise indeed.

"I learned from the best, Sir," she responded. "Of course, you sounded like a herd of elephants coming down the tunnel. And someone's big feet stumbling over me in the dark weren't part of the plan. I'm going to have bruises."

"Yeah, well, sorryaboutthatCarter," he mumbled in a rush. "That's the price you pay as a strategist, Major." To change the subject he asked brightly, "Where's Jonas?"

She flipped the light switch on her P-90 and pointed it ahead of them. Bathed in the small spot of light was their fourth member, who had remained ensconced on his bedroll, still, aiming his weapon. It was plain he was unwell, but he'd had enough strength of purpose to assist Carter in her defensive maneuver. He grinned weakly at O'Neill and Teal'c.

"How's it going, sir," he asked, with a slight wave.

"You can put your weapon down now, Jonas. We're all friends here, and soon we'll be headed home. Jouma and his men are going to help us get you out of here and back to the 'gate'. Teal'c, get the fire going again. Carter, you had any supper? Jouma, how 'bout letting your men know it's safe to come on in - now that the threat of Carter blowing our heads off is over." He winked, and wiggled his eyebrows knowingly at his 2IC.

"Don't speak too soon, sir," she replied, with a 'shit eating' grin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

O'Neill and Jouma decided, with input from Carter and Teal'c, that traversing the tunnel system back to the summer camp would be the best plan, since it would be easier going for everyone concerned. Jouma's men could evac Jonas, who was unable to walk the distance and was, even now, sleeping off another dose of pain medication. His part in Major Carter's diversion had sorely tested his strength.

"Jouma, buddy, I don't mean to question your plan, but exactly how are we going to get out when we arrive at your little hole in the ceiling?" O'Neill quietly asked, once he'd cornered the tribal leader, who'd been helping get his men squared away. "We had to repel ---"

"Never fear, Onee," Jouma interrupted. "My people are now skilled tunnel builders, we have our ways," was the leader's enigmatic response.

"Which means you're not going to tell me, right?" O'Neill rubbed at his tired, red eyes. It had been an amazingly long day and they still had a long way to go to get back to the Stargate, and truth to tell, he was dog-tired.

"It would spoil your surprise, Onee," Jouma chuckled.

"When you're dealing with 'snakes', Jouma, you learn not to like surprises," O'Neill rejoined. Hell, his entire military career was based on dealing accurately with the surprises thrown at him. But, he was interested to see just what it was that Jouma was so inordinately pleased about.

"Colonel," Carter interrupted, with an apologetic glance at Jouma, "Jonas and I were able to catch forty before you returned. I'll take first watch; I'm good to go. I'm sure neither you nor Teal'c have slept since we started yesterday. And in a couple hours," she looked at her watch, the luminous numerals seemed to verify her words, "We'll be heading out again, sir."

Refusal was on the tip of his tongue, but the look in Carter's eyes said this was not the time to pull rank, nor play his macho male card. Beside which he was dead tired, his thigh was giving him hell for traipsing up and down all those hills, and stumbling over "obstacles" in the dark had his knee fired up and angry. Rest sounded good right now. And, Carter would probably freak when he agreed with her.

"Sounds good, Major, I'll just bunk down over there," he pointed to an empty spot not too distant from the fire, but far enough away not to scorch his butt. "Call me," he yawned, "If you need me."

His eyes widened and shifted, and his eyebrows did the O'Neill wiggle. It was louder than any barked order ever would be for her to call him if there was trouble - of any kind. Of course no one expected trouble, but it always paid to be prepared. Besides, leaving Carter speechless was always a plus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A light punch to his ribs and the aroma of hot coffee brought O'Neill out of a surprisingly restful sleep. It took only a second to remember where he was and with whom, and why they were here. A cup of the steaming brew was pushed in front of his nose as his stomach growled, remembering it had been a long time empty. He looked up to find Teal'c's steady gaze on him.

"Sustenance, O'Neill. We will leave soon." He placed the steaming beverage within O'Neill's reach, arose from his squat position; Teal'c never was one for useless chatter, and moved back over to the fire.

O'Neill quickly drank his coffee and chewed on a ration bar, while watching the goings on around him. Carter was helping Jonas prepare for travel, Jouma and his men were packing up their meager belongings and Teal'c watched over them all. Seemed like everyone was pretty anxious to get going. Finally, his breakfast over, O'Neill had to take care of a few things of his own - brush his teeth, get the sleep out of his eyes, and he had to pee like a racehorse. Where exactly were the facilities?

"Carter?"

"Turn left, turn left, can't miss it, sir," she replied, without looking up from Jonas' ankle.

"Right."

O'Neill rolled out of the sack, managing a graceful bedroll extraction, in spite of gimpy pins, and then strolled down the dark tunnel, turning left and then left again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trip back to the summer camp was just as long as before, just as convoluted, and no shortcuts crossed their path just because the locals were along for the walk. Jonas rode in style strapped to a homemade stretcher supported between two of Jouma's strongest young warriors. This trip the tunnels were lit almost as well as Grand Central Station by the hand-held fire-lit torches carried by Jouma's team.

No one seemed inclined to carry on a conversation during the long walk back. Here and there Jouma pointed out pictographs on the tunnel walls depicting previous flights to the winter camp. The gravity of their flight, and the death toll was staggering. No wonder Jouma's forefathers had resorted to the poison laced free lunches.

Finally, an air of excitement pervaded the native group as the tunnel opened into a larger cavern. A small square hole graced the cavern ceiling as warm sunlight streamed through, backlighting the dust motes stirred to life by their arrival. A faint odor of smoke pervaded the space. O'Neill looked around the cavern in an effort to find that special surprise Jouma had promised. All he saw were rough, plain and unadorned stonewalls, with 'Thank goodness', not a single tacky gold Goa'uld relic in sight. It took a minute to remember that the cavern ceiling was the Meeting Hall's strong wooden floor.

"So, Jouma, where's the big surprise," O'Neill asked, somewhat disappointed.

Jouma turned to O'Neill, grinning widely, and then he spoke to his men in their native language. The young warriors quickly swarmed over the cave, moving to the cave's periphery to deposit their torches in fissures in the rock and then took up specific positions at the wall. When everyone was in place they climbed up the wall using hand and foot holds where, to the naked eye, there was only rough granite.

"Holy buckets," O'Neill whispered, as he watched them climb, envious of their youthful agility.

"Holy Hannah," Carter, envious because she loved rock wall climbing, joined in.

"Tal'moc shal'kroc," Teal'c, envious of nothing, cursed softly.

When they reached the top handhold, each man worked to untie ropes, unseen but suspended from the cavern roof. As one the loosened ropes dropped to the ground, while tackle and pulley's clacked and rattled above. The men climbed down the wall, straining to maintain a secure hold on the rock, and then dismounted. Jouma and another man moved to the center, to manipulate one of the long ropes. He continued wearing his wide grin as slowly, slowly they brought a ladder down from the dark high roof.

"Well, I'll be," O'Neill, uttered. "And to think I was worried about you and your people.

'We are humbled by your concern, Onee," the leader responded. "And gratified that your concern is spread over us. We could ask for no better friends than SG-1 or the SGC."

"Now," O'Neill replied, with an index finger taking flight, "Now, you're embarrassing me --- us." To change the subject, O'Neill squinted up at the dark ceiling, "What other little surprises have you got stored away up there?"

"Only this," Jouma laughed in reply, a pure uninhibited belly laugh, the kind he hadn't felt like enjoying for a long, long time. Again he maneuvered the hefty rope. "Something to assist the old and infirm in fleeing from our unwanted guests."

Down from the ceiling came a stout, although crudely built chair with which to carry older natives, or the sick and injured, through the small opening to safety. It reminded O'Neill of a chair on 'the swings' at the Fair - in better times, long past, he and Sara rode them whenever they got the chance.

"Okay then," O'Neill clapped his hands together in anticipation, "Let's get this show on the road. Teal'c, help me with Jonas. Carter, grab his stuff. It's time to get the heck out of here!"

Several men grappled the ladder into position under the ceiling opening, and then climbed up and out, only to turn back and aid the travelers. Several others helped strap Jonas into the chair for lift off. Jonas, who had remained very quiet during the trip back, was even now unusually silent and withdrawn. Carter's concern for his head injury became increasingly more pronounced the closer they got to the Stargate and home.

"Jonas?" Carter spoke softly to him.

"M'okay, Major, jus' a little tired. Got a headache tryin' to split m'head open," he replied. The smile he gave her was only a ghost of his usual bright, cheery demeanor.

"I know, Jonas," she said sympathetically. "As soon as we get up top, I'll give you something for it and then you'll be in la-la land for the trip back to the gate." She gave him a smile of understanding, wishing she could do more. "Jouma's men have been vying for the honor of carrying your stretcher. So hang on tight, it won't be much longer till we're out of here."

She looked up to find both O'Neill and Teal'c standing close by, their concerned gaze fastened on Jonas. O'Neill stepped forward, where Jonas could see him, and hunkered down.

"Have you ever been to the fair, Jonas? No, then you'd better hang on for a sweet ride." With a twirl of his finger, O'Neill motioned for the men to begin pulling and stood.

Jonas made no reply as the chair rose swiftly and confidently up and up toward the ceiling. Upward it climbed, smoothly moving so as not to jerk the occupant. The men performed their task easily and effortlessly, uniformly pulling hand over hand, bringing Jonas ever closer to the ceiling hole. Finally hands, seemingly out of the blue, reached down to grab the chair and pulled it safely through.

As soon as Jonas disappeared through the aperture, O'Neill, Teal'c and Carter, with deep sighs of relief, were ushered carefully, and cautiously, up the steep ladder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THREE HOURS LATER --------

A hot, sweaty and exhausted SG-1 arrived, surrounded by their honor guard, safely back at the 'gate' clearing.

The Stargate shimmered brightly in the hot, noonday sun; a lazy breeze stirred the trees and dappled the shade with bits of sunlight as it cooled hot, and sweat covered faces. Everything appeared to be just as they'd left it, but they couldn't be certain, and even Jouma's young warriors were edgy and alert.

The ominous silent of their previous visit was gone now, relieved by the normal insect and animal sounds coming from the nearby foliage and the forest. Even the birds, after their strange absence, seemed to have returned to the area.

"Dial it up, Carter." O'Neill said, pulling his cap off and swiping at the moisture collecting under it. He gestured toward the fractured DHD and then signaled for Teal'c to stay with her while he remained with Jonas. As calm and peaceful as this clearing appeared now, he couldn't help remembering his and Teal'c's fight for survival. It still had the power to send cold chills down his spine. "Let the General know we're safe and sound, and headed home - mission accomplished. Let 'em know about Jonas."

Carter nodded, and with her escort in tow moved over to the DHD. After only a few seconds to orient herself, she began pressing the coordinates for home. Teal'c swept the area with a keen eye, vigilant for disgruntled Jaffa, or anything else that would hinder their departure.

Jouma's young men deposited Jonas' stretcher out of harm's way, standing guard over him, and watched as the energy plume spewed out of the activated gate.

"What are you going to do, Jouma?" O'Neill asked quietly, knowing his time was growing short. He knew it was futile to push, these people had to make up their own minds; they weren't children. But he 'had' to impress upon Jouma how important burying their gate was to their continued survival.

"We must attend to our neighbors, Onee, see to any survivors," Jouma, looking intently at the huge sun-lit ring, responded to O'Neill's question. "And then we must come to a decision." The leader took a deep breath, and turned to look at O'Neill with solemn eyes, "I will give them your words, and tell them of the great love you have for this world. We will sorely miss it, Onee."

O'Neill nodded, touched by Jouma's words.

"You'll let me know, one way or the other, right? I mean you wouldn't commit genocide without at least giving me a heads up, would you?"

"I know not this 'geenocid', Onee," Jouma responded, with a smile. "But I promise to bid you one last farewell, and I am sure the children will want to as well."

"Yeah, well," he started; now it was his turn to gaze at the sun-lit ring as if it were a lifeline. He didn't know what to say and, finally, was saved from any reply at all by a shout from Carter. He replaced the damp baseball cap on his head and turned.

"Colonel, we're ready," she said, almost reluctantly.

"SG-1, let's go home," he responded. "These folks have some important business they need to attend to."

O'Neill helped Jonas, with an assist from Jouma, to stand and then walk, his arms slung over their shoulders. Together they slowly walked to the gate, taking Jonas' weight onto their shoulders and off his injured ankle. At the first step Teal'c took Jouma's place and helped O'Neill maneuver Jonas up the steps. On the plateau O'Neill stopped and turned back for one more look at the place that had come to mean so much to him in so little time.

He didn't exactly understand why, and he really didn't know how he'd become wrapped up in this place. Maybe it 'was' because of Charlie. Maybe he did see his son in the children's playful antics. Or maybe all these intervening years had finally brought him some perspective. But, he knew one thing for sure; they'd given him back something that he'd lost a long time ago. Something even his hard heart couldn't survive without, no matter how much he wished to deny the fact.

They'd given him unconditional love, even for such a short time. And it meant a lot to a man who'd had so little of it.

"O'Neill, we must go," Teal'c's voice interrupted, seeming to come from afar.

He nodded and then looking up, caught Jouma's eye. The quick tilt of each man's head was his farewell, and finally together SG-1 stepped into the open wormhole and home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue --------

The locker room was empty now except for one sole occupant. O'Neill, his broad shoulders glistening from a combination of sweat and bubbling water, sat in the warmly comfortable hydrotherapy tank, basking in the churning whirlpool, easing his weary body's aches and pains. Debriefing was a long time over, General Hammond had been happy to have them home, relatively unscathed, even if they were six hours late. Jonas had been handed over to Doc Fraiser's very capable care, and now rested in the agreeable arms of Morpheus. And Carter and Teal'c had disappeared somewhere in search of real food.

He'd been sitting in the therapy tank for quite some time, mesmerized by the sloshing bubbles, just thinking of the people they'd left only a short time ago. Maybe he was getting old; but he couldn't remember a planet that had affected him more - not even the Enkarans scary plight. Granted, Jouma's people didn't have a spaceship directly over their heads turning their home into crispy space debris, but the immediacy of their situation was just as grave.

He rubbed dripping hands over his flushed, and equally wet face, trying to dispel his morbid thoughts. It was out of his hands now; he'd done all he could. He'd given Jouma the strategic information; he'd 'encouraged' him to do what was proper and prudent for his kindred. And now, all he could do was stand by and hope for the best.

As a strategist, he hated the waiting and uncertainty. It "always" sucked the big one.

Suddenly, above the noisy hum of the hydrotherapy tank, one slight noise caught his attention. He turned quickly toward the intrusion, faintly aggravated that his sidearm wasn't nearby.

Standing just inside the door was a familiar face, waiting for permission to come closer.

"Carter, what could I do for you," he asked calmly, as his heartbeat tore a hole in his chest. And with only a twitch of his eyebrows he continued smoothly, "You don't mind if I don't get up, do you?"

She shook her head and blushed, just as he'd expected, but came further into the space.

"Tough call, sir," she stated solemnly, not quite making eye contact.

"Yeah, well," he started, examining the pink, shriveled skin of his fingers, not even trying to deny he understood her statement. "If there's one thing I've learned in this man's Air Force, it's how to pick up my marbles and go home. Even when I don't want to, even when it's a terrible idea. And as I get older, I've also begun to recognize just "when" that right time is. It's a hard lesson, Major."

"You think Jouma can persuade his people to bury their gate, sir?"

"I'm betting on it, Carter. It's a liability now, a huge risk. But they don't use it, and never have. I guess they figure they have a big enough backyard to explore; they don't need to go see what the neighbors are up to." He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned back in the tub, and finally continued speaking when the silence became too heavy. "Jouma is a prudent leader and he knows the risks. Plus, he wants to give his children a different future."

O'Neill stopped; he was headed for no-man's land again.

"So," he continued, after the brief pause, "Did you and T get filled up? You didn't happen to leave anything edible for your poor old CO, did you?" He stomach chose that moment to growl, the slight noise drowned out by churning water.

Carter pulled a brown paper bag from behind her back.

"I brought you a sandwich, sir, but all they had was dried up roast beef." On cue he grimaced, and she continued, "So, I was thinking, I have some homemade stuff in the freezer that would taste pretty good with a bottle of red wine. And, I just happen to have a good one in my fridge that's been chilling way too long." Stunned by the invitation his brain ground to a screeching halt, for a moment he just looked at her. And then, she could almost see the gears grind slowly into action again; tiredly shaking his head he almost reneged without hearing the invitation.

"As a favor, sir." She said hurriedly, "It'll end up with freezer burn if I don't eat it, and there's too much for me to eat all alone ---"

"Carter, are you trying to tell me, that along with saving the galaxy on a regular basis you can cook too?"

"I dabble, sir. You know me," she grinned, her sapphire eyes twinkling, "I find something that intrigues me and I have to investigate. And---"she looked around for eavesdroppers, "It's my own little secret."

O'Neill's mouth formed a perfect 'O'.

"Besides I need a favor, sir."

"What," he asked, leery of her answer, "Kind of favor, Carter?"

She looked around the darkened locker room again, once again looking for spies, or interlopers.

"I need --- someone --- to rub aspercream on my bruises, sir. I got a couple of beauties when you tripped ---"

His eyebrows flew skyward.

"Where, Carter?"

"On my back, sir."

"No, no, I mean 'where' did you get them?"

"When you tripped over me in the tunnel, sir. Remember - 'the price of being a strategist', sir."

He thought back and nodded, still mystified but now feeling guilty as well.

"I can't reach them. And Janet ordered me to keep the cream on for a few more hours."

O'Neill smiled, that strange, secret little tilt of his lips, the one that sent her heartbeat into overdrive.

"Do --- friends," he asked slowly, so slowly it was almost seduction, "Let --- friends rub aspercream on said friends anatomy?"

"Yeah, I think so, sir," she said breathlessly.

"Then turn your back, Carter," he said in a rush, rising up out of the suddenly chilly water. "Let me get out of here, that's the best offer I've had all week."

The End 09-29-05

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Jackfic Archive Story

Mayhem, Unpleasantness, and Other Forms of Torture, Part 2 - The Return

by Soles