New Ficlet: The Offering by Diana

Title:The Offering
Author:Diana (February 2005)
Email:shrap45@yahoo.com
Status: Complete
Category: Whumping, Angst, Action/Adventure
Pairings: None
Spoilers: S1, ‘Tin Man’, ‘Singularity; S4, ‘Double Jeopardy
Season: Late 6/early 7
CONTENT LEVEL: 13+/18+
Content Warnings: Violence, Torture, Language
Summary: Jack is in trouble on a hostile planet, but a child might be able
to help him.
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
File Size: 124kb
Archive: Jackfic
Author’s Note: This fic started life as a one part ficlet, inspired by watching a
staging of the English composer Michael Tippett’s ‘A Child of
Our Time’, where loaves of bread were hanging above the
stage. Very strange the things that inspire one’s muse!
Anyhow, the story grew and grew, and this is the result. It’s the first time, I’ve put detailed medical details into a fic, so I hope they make sense!

My legs are bound together by tight leather straps, which are tied to the post in the centre of the cage. The old blood circulation to the feet isn’t doing too good, and the tootsies are becoming bluer every day.

My hands aren’t faring much better either. The straps binding them dig into my skin more and more every time I move. Numb fingers? More like totally deadened stalks.

Still, I’m obviously the hottest attraction for miles around, as the people in the settlement just keep coming and looking at me.

They gawp at me, shout at me, spit at me, soak me with water when someone complains about the smell.

***

They were accepting of us at first.

A peaceful, peasant people it seemed, but when that idiot Mercer, from SG-10, lost his cool, and shot at a man running toward him. All hell broke loose.

As we weren’t too far from the Gate, I managed to get everyone back to the SGC.

However, I felt I had to stay.

To explain.

To apologise for what had happened - young soldier, nervousness – all that, although I’d sure be reading the riot act to him back on base!

Fortunately the shot wasn’t fatal. It had just grazed the man.

However, Mercer’s actions were obviously enough to mark us out as dangerous and violent.

The mob surrounded me before I had the chance to explain, stripped me of my weapons, my jacket and boots, bound my hands and dragged me to the cage.

***

They’ve ignored all my pleas to take me to their leader, so I don’t know what the heck they might have in store for me. Still, I should just be grateful they haven’t gotten out the ol’ thumbscrews … or worse … yet.

Maybe they’re waiting for a leader to come from another town, maybe …

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of squelching footsteps on the muddy ground. OK, more viewers for the ‘Jack O’Neill Show’. Gee, I’m probably top of the ratings at the moment. Can I get an award perhaps?

A boy approaches.

He’s carrying some bread.

He holds out his arm and offers the bread to me.

Is it a trick?

Is it a bribe?

Is it a gift?

Could it be drugged?

Could it be poisoned?

Will he be punished if I don’t accept it?

Will he be punished if I do accept it?

His eyes look puzzled at my hesitancy.

He comes closer, then closer still.

Is he being watched?

Are my reactions being tested?

Perhaps they think I’ll attack him, and then they’ll have more ammunition to punish me?

I’m hungry … so hungry, but I don’t move.

I don’t want to frighten the kid.

Retreat, Jack. That’s the best strategy, so I move slowly to the back of the cage, away from where he is standing.

He jumps when I begin to move, but relaxes as he sees I’m not coming towards him.

He moves forward instead.

He’s a little hesitant, but eventually he drops the bread into the cage and moves back again.

I move forward … cautiously. I still don’t want to alarm the him.

I struggle to pick up the bread with my inert hands.

The boy looks like he wants to help, but he keeps his distance.

Eventually, I manage to grasp it.

I so needed this food, and I figured if they wanted to kill me, they’d make a real big show of it, make sure everyone would see, so it was now, or never to find out if it was OK.

I bit into it.

God, it was good. So very good. Tasty, so tasty. My first solid food in days.

I then realised that this was the simple, kind, honest offering of a child. A child who had seen I was in need.

Jeez, your work has made you far too cynical, Jack. How could I have thought otherwise?

I looked up and smiled at him.

He smiled. The warmth and happiness that lit up his face so reminded me of Charlie.

Simple humanity was not dead.

***

A woman had spotted the boy.

She shouted at him.

Presumably it was his Mom.

Maybe she was alarmed, worried that I might attack him if he came close to the cage.

She rushed up to him.

She carried on shouting at him in an aggressive, high-pitched tone.

She started hitting him.

OK. Fine. Sure. She might be mad at him, but that was no excuse to hit him.

It was senseless punishment in reward for a gentle kindness.

It was even more senseless punishment after her panicked state implied she was worried about his safety.

Simple humanity was not dead, but the adults of this race seemed immune to that fact.

I rushed, or rather, hopped quickly to the side of the cage and yelled at her to stop.

I probably looked a bit like Charlton Heston in ‘Planet of the Apes’, and all I succeeded in doing was alarming her even more.

She grabbed the boy, and almost swept him off his feet, as she rushed back to the main part of the settlement.

***

Before I knew it, the lynch mob had arrived, and before I had the chance to say, “Ay, Caramba!” the cage door burst open and five tall and burly heavies clambered in.

This was so not looking good.

I tried desperately to hold onto the bread, but it was torn from my grasp, and flung into the mud.

They used rough-edged sticks to push me backwards and the wood splintered over my arms and chest.

Next they tore into my t-shirt, tearing it off me like vultures ravenous for flesh. Its ragged remains were trampled into the mud, and my chest was exposed, ready for, but not wanting the next assault.

Being bound, there was little I could do to resist, and anyhow I was weak and tired from the lack of food.

Bare knuckles are bad enough, but add in the sticks and the mud, and the waste in the mud … well you get the messy picture.

They forced me to my knees. Kicks and punches reigned down on my chest. Then they pushed me face down into the mud and started on my back. Geez, they nearly suffocated me, as all I could do was breathe in the filth under my body, but somehow I sensed they weren’t out to kill me. I was just being taught a lesson they hoped I wouldn’t forget.

Finally, they wanted to leave their calling cards on my face, so it was “heave ho, up we go”, and they pulled me back up to a standing position to face them eye to eye.

One blow of a stick caused a nasty gash down the side of my face, but they obviously felt the ‘personal’ touch was, well more ‘personal’, and as one of them held my head fast in his grip, one fist after another of the others slammed into my face.

The assault had gone on for about fifteen minutes, before they’d had enough and flung me down onto the ground.

I had ended up as a kaleidoscope of colors, covered in the red of my blood, the black, blue and violet of my bruises, and the brown and black of the mud.

I was just about able to open my eyes and peer through the bloody, swollen mess that passed for my eyelids.

At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks.

The boy was standing outside the cage again.

Had he slipped away again, and come to try and help me.

Don’t be so stupid, Jack. He wouldn’t come here with those brutes still around.

God. The realisation dawned.

No, no, no.

His mother had brought him back, and made him witness this vicious violence.

Was this how they taught kids a lesson?

My anger at how he was being treated had grown ten fold.

If only I could protect him.

He had tears streaming down his cheeks.

Tears of pain for the smacking he had received?

Tears of pain, or pity, for what he had witnessed?

I knew I looked terrible, probably frightening, but I tried to smile, to reassure him I was OK. However, it was even more crooked than normal, as judging by the pain, I think my cheekbone had been broken.

The mob cut me free from the post.

They replaced the leather restraints round my ankles with shackles and chains. I suspected they realised, rightly, that I would try to escape at the first opportunity. They were obviously going to make that as unlikely a possibility as Baal waking me up, wishing me a “Good Day” and giving me a cup of coffee.

More leather bindings were added to those already round my wrists, and the bindings were attached to a small piece of wood, so that they could be turned and tightened at the whim of my captors. Geez, there was already hardly any circulation in my hands. Were they just trying to stop it completely? Hey, in some civilisations (Huh, there’s a misnomer!), crimes are punishable by having the perpetrator’s hands severed. Perhaps they were just going to amputate my hands by attrition, leaving them bound until they were so dark blue, swollen and infected, they’d be as good as dead, and so before gangrene set in, they’d be able to just chop ‘em off, and watch me bleed to death.

Was that going to be my fate, or did they have more fun in store for me instead?

They pushed me out of the cage.

I tried to shield myself from the boy, so that he was protected from seeing the full extent of my wounds.

However, he again slipped away from his mother’s grasp, and came and stood in front of me.

God, this boy damn well had spirit and courage to defy his mother so many times, knowing she might hit him again.

He stared.

He examined me from top to toe.

I could sense his pity, yet I pitied him more.

He still had his humanity, but for how long?

Would it just be brutalised out of him?

A fierce yank on my bindings stalled my thoughts.

What was going to happen now?

***

The burly guys started to shove little (well I was little compared to them) ol’ coughing and spluttering me down the hill towards the settlement.

I hoped to God the boy was not going to follow. Who knew what fate had in store for me, but as I thought before, this was *so* not looking good, and he shouldn’t be witness to any more violence.

I was just about able to keep my footing, but hey, it’s no picnic trying to walk with a heavy chain between your legs, and as I was dragged through what looked like the main street, my wrist bindings acted like a tourniquet, tightening and tightening with every twist and turn of my wrists.

No one was around.

Had everyone been ordered to stay indoors?

Where were the adults to gawp at the prisoner?

Perhaps they were just immune to violence, and letting the boy witness such cruelty was just training for adulthood. Knock any humanity out of them at an early age!

I was just grateful, no-one, least of all other children, was around to see my battered, although, as yet, not completely broken body.

We arrived at a large round hut in the centre of the settlement. It seemed like some sort of meeting hall. They shoved me inside like some common criminal. Obviously, there was going to be no standing on ceremony for me.

Perhaps I was going to be put on trial?

Perhaps I could at last explain what had happened?

So far these people hadn’t listened to any of my pleas to see their leaders, my apologies for what had happened, or my protestations trying to convince them that we were a friendly people and just wanted to help them.

Sure, we had done wrong by opening fire, but it was a mistake. A stupid, silly mistake by a junior officer; one that should never have happened, but at least the consequences weren’t as tragic as they might have been. Mercer would be dealt with, and we could show these people he did regret his actions, but I somehow doubted they would want to know.

I guessed the hut was big enough to hold a couple of hundred people, so yep, it could well be a forum for a trial.

There was a large blazing wood fire in the centre of the space.

Good. At least I was now indoors, and could get some warmth at last.

Hey, perhaps they’d finally condescend to give me some food as well!

No point having a trial if your prisoner keeps fainting from starvation. Now is there?

Famous last words, Jack.

I was wrong … so wrong … so very, very wrong.

***

A metal ring, about a foot in diameter, hung over the fire. The ring was attached to a series of pulleys. The tallest guy, who’d I nicknamed Squeezy, as a result of the constant pressure of his hands on my arms, went over to some levers at the side of the hut.

He pulled them, and the ring was manoeuvred across the ceiling, and then lowered down.

The awful realisation of what they were about to do struck home.

They were going to hang me above the fire.

Sure Jack, you like to snuggle up beside a good campfire up at the cabin, but this was ridiculous!

Someone had obviously decided to up the intensity of my “treatment”.

I scuffled with my captors, but I was too exhausted to resist for long.

My wrists were tied to the ring, meaning if I wanted to avoid my full weight being taken on my wrists, I had to try and grab hold of its sides. However, my bindings had made my hands stiff, numb and virtually immobile, so it was nigh on impossible for me to maintain a grip.

They ratcheted the ring up, my feet left the ground, and I was inched over, until I was suspended over the fire. The metal chains linking my ankles dangled into the fire. The chains would conduct the heat of course, and the soles of my feet were bound to get burnt too. Roasted “foot and ankle” was obviously going to be the first delicacy on offer.

Were they cannibals, who were just going to cook and eat me?

Their cruelty was such, that was a distinct possibility.

‘Hey, you do know O’Neill pie just ain’t as tasty as it’s cracked up to be.’

It was about the only jibe I could manage, as I was so weak from the beating, and the lack of food, and it didn’t look like I’d be getting any water for quite some time to come. Heck, it was more likely someone would pour hot basting fat over me, to help me taste more delicious.

Perhaps I was the slow roast?

Smoked, kippered Jack wasn’t gonna be good news either!

I tried to convince myself this was not what fate had in store.

Surely, they would have killed me a long time ago if they had wanted to eat me? Anyway, from what I had seen of this society so far, it *was* far more likely that this was torture rather than cooking. Well, I just had to convince myself of that, otherwise the game’s up, the chips are down … No, Jack, stay away from the food clichés don’t ya think?

How long were they going to leave me like this?

Would I just suffocate from the smoke?

Were they gradually going to lower me into the fire, until I burnt to death?

Was I an offering to their Gods?

Why did they remain silent and unheeding to my pleas?

***

Hours passed.

I don’t know how many.

If I survived this, I knew it was going to be a while before I’d walk again.

I had heard the flesh on my feet crackle and crack with the heat.

I had felt the heat sear into my sinews.

What little food I had eaten in the cage, I’d now thrown up. That beating sure didn’t do my stomach any good.

I had cursed, as I had no control over my bodily functions.

Thank God, the smell of the fire masked the stench of my body.

The blood from my wounds had trickled down over my body like a small mountain spring, acting like a flavouring for ‘stewed O’Neill’.

My ankles throbbed with the agony of the scorching manacles.

If my wrists weren’t so tightly bound, I think I would have already fallen into the fire, as my arms were now stretched beyond their limit.

I was close to wanting to plead with them to cut me down, to just let me fall into the fire and perish.

However, no-one had stayed to watch.

They had left me to suffer alone.

I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. It was good in that no-one could witness this cruel spectacle, or hear my cries of pain, but bad in that I couldn’t plead my case. Not that I’d think they’d listen of course.

Very occasionally, two old men had come in to stoke the fire.

They were silent, mechanical in their task. It was like I wasn’t here at all.

***

More hours passed.

My body swung gently from side to side, like the branches of a tree in the breeze.

I drifted in and out of consciousness.

I saw a figure through the haze of my cloudy eyesight, and the fog of the smoke.

Was it a dream?

No.

It was reality.

I could see several figures.

OK, this must be it, Judgement Day at last.

Ya know everyone looks so small from up here.

No, it can’t be.

They’re all children … damn children.

Jesus! At that moment, I prayed that Thor could beam me away, to spare these kids the sight in front of them.

How could anyone let kids be witness to this kind of torture?

My soul froze at the thought of the cruelty inflicted on them.

I could then see that there were some adults at the back of the crowd, but they didn’t appear to be forcing the children to watch. They all seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. God, what kind of a society was this?

Suddenly, my body started to sway more violently.

Was I being lowered down to meet my end at last?

Was I being lowered down to stand trial?

In some ways the first option seemed much more preferable, believe me! Just get my fate over and done with.

I didn’t realise what was happening at first.

Then it hit me … literally.

Rocks … rocks … and more rocks.

These kids were throwing them at me.

It was like some sick variation of a circus coconut shy, although in this case the target could not fall off. He just remained a sitting duck.

They were smiling, laughing. It *was* a game to them.

In the unlikely event I survived this onslaught, I’d recommend we should never come back to this planet.

These people were beyond help.

Then I saw them.

The mother and the boy.

She was pushing him forwards.

He had a rock in his hand.

He threw it.

It hit me square in the stomach.

I couldn’t believe he had changed and become as cruel as the rest.

However, he wasn’t smiling or laughing. He had tears in his eyes.

He was being pushed.

That woman (I couldn’t call her a Mom anymore) was forcing him.

He was the only one here doing this against his will.

Was he being taught a lesson for trying to help me?

I didn’t know if he could see my face clearly through its blood-stained surface and the smoke of the fire, but I tried to look at him and indicate to him it was OK, that I knew he didn’t want to do this.

He was about Charlie’s age. God, if my kid had ever been made to do something like this … see horrific sights like this …

My eyes wept too.

Why was he being treated like this? I hadn’t harmed the boy?

Why was he being treated like this? The boy hadn’t harmed me?

It was senseless punishment for a gentle kindness … for showing humanity.

***

Even more hours passed.

Surely by now, the base should have sent a team through to rescue me?

I hadn’t exactly seen any massive firepower on this planet, and there weren’t any Gould around?

Heck, in my head, I could hear Teal’c’s voice, insisting that my team should come back for me.

However, perhaps the General thought we *had* killed someone here, and that there’d be an ambush waiting for anyone who came through the Gate. Perhaps there was an ambush? Perhaps they’d sent a UAV through, and decided a rescue wasn’t possible …yet, but “yet” had to be “soon”.

I was now immune to the pain of the burning around my ankles, and that was *so* not a good sign.

I was so de-hydrated … I knew it wouldn’t be long before …

I was fading … fast.

My head hung down limply.

I stared into the pyre beneath me – an inferno of red, orange and blue sparks, crackling, fracturing wood, and smelly, suffocating smoke. Was this going to be the last sight I ever saw?

I felt a hard jolt against my side.

Couldn’t they just let up on the pounding with stones? It was so getting old!

I looked to my side.

It was the boy.

He was back, but this time on his own.

Had he turned against me now?

No. He had tears in his eyes again. He still felt pity.

He remained a beacon of humanity amidst all the violence surrounding him.

He had just been trying to catch my attention.

‘Go’, I croaked, ‘It’s dangerous.’

He just stayed and stared.

Perhaps he didn’t understand me?

I said, ‘Go’ again, and tried to indicate towards the door.

He still stayed and stared.

I didn’t like to think about using a child, but maybe he could help me. He was obviously crafty enough to slip away from his family. Maybe he could get to the Gate un-noticed?

Did I have the right to use him? To put him in danger?

I didn’t have a choice. He was my only chance of getting out of here alive.

‘Stargate … Chappai’ai … Annulus … Big round thingy?’

I pointed a weary finger upwards, indicating the ring imprisoning me.

The boy drew the shape of a circle.

Yes, by George, he’s got it!

‘Anello.’

The first word I had heard him speak.

Yey, he *has* got it. So they speaka the Italiano here it seems!

‘My friends will come to take me home.’

Heck, that’s no good. He won’t understand me. Oh well, here goes with the rusty Italian.

‘Mio amici venire. Tornare a casa.’

No, rephrase that Jack. He might think I’m telling him to go home!

‘Go to the Anello. Tell my friends where I am! … Erm …Andare ai anello. Dire mio amici dov’e sta.’

I knew I could trust him.

I knew he wouldn’t betray me.

He ran out.

I just hoped he’d understood my mangled words, and was on the way to the Gate.

I knew my friends wouldn’t leave me behind, but would they arrive in time?

***

The flames were licking ever higher.

The sparks were jumping around me like the fireflies over the water up at my cabin.

Water. Hold that thought, Jack. I really need water. Couldn’t there just be a little ol’ monsoon to douse this fire and quench my thirst?

My skin was black …

They were slicing layers of it away …

Revealing the tender, meatier flesh below …

Some was already on the plates …

My fat was sizzling …

My flesh was peeling away …

My blood was dripping into the bowl below …

***

A jolt on my arm.

Geez.

What?

I’m still in one piece.

It had been a dream.

Well, kinda.

I *was* still hanging above the fire, being slowly cooked to death on this ‘we don’t talk to you at any costs planet’, but at least I hadn’t yet actually been diced and sliced.

However, I was now only occasionally drifting into consciousness. The rest of the time, it was dreams, or rather, nightmares … delirium even.

I didn’t know now how long I’d been strung up … a day … two days, perhaps … other than it was too long. Floating off to nothingness was so not a good sign, as it meant my body was starting to shut down. If I did stay up here much longer, my flesh *was* gonna be melting.

Rescue … what happened to rescue?

Where the hell were my team-mates?

The knock on my shoulder?

Was it them?

I looked down.

No, but the boy was back.

He’d thrown a stone to wake me up. Wasn’t I covered in enough bruises already? However, I knew he meant well, and it seemed to be the only way to catch my attention.

He was shaking his head from side to side.

This didn’t look like good news.

‘Anello? Mei amici?’

I hoped he’d understand.

He shook his head again.

He looked worried, scared even.

Great. Just peachy. No-one had turned up yet.

Time was really running out.

‘Boy .. err … ragazzo … what’s your name? I’ve gotta call you something! Il suo nome?’

He remained silent.

Although he communicated all his feelings through his looks and actions, it was really creepy that he wouldn’t speak to me. ‘Anello’ had been the only word he had uttered.

Well, at least he *was* back, but he was on his own. Had he understood me? Had he gone to the gate? Perhaps he’d just gone home, and was just back here for another visit? Heck, perhaps my team have been here all the time, but haven’t been able to find me?

***

The smoke had penetrated deep into my lungs. My breathing was very shallow, and I was beginning to cough every time I tried to speak. The coughing aggravated the pain in my cheek and the discomfort in my body.

My feet? I just didn’t know about them. I couldn’t feel them any more. Perhaps the circulation *had* stopped and the next thing *was* for them to be cut off and served as a delicacy in their own right. Roast ankles, with toes as a side order, geez, that would have to be one hell of a smelly dish!

Maybe they were just going to skewer me, and let my nicely heated internal juices flavour their own home-cooked stew.

I heard a commotion behind me.

I was too weak to try and turn my body around so see what was happening.

This must be it.

They’re ready.

Supper time.

‘Sir!’

Carter? Could it really be Carter, or was this another of my dreams?

‘O’Neill!’

OK. That sounded like Teal’c. More wishful thinking!

‘Jack!’

Right. That was Daniel. I *am* hallunicating now. He’s dead … ascended … whatever. I must be close to death if he’s turned up again. No, Daniel! I still don’t want to ascend, even though I’m kinda already on a higher plane of existence strung up here.’

‘SIR!’

It was louder this time.

Through the haze of the smoke-filled room, I *could* see shapes that looked like Carter and Teal'c, and that last shout sounded like Griff. I waited. No more shouts of ‘Jack’, ergo no Daniel. Kinda good as at least it meant I *was* in reality, be it a horrible one, and that I wasn’t going mad.

I didn’t like to think what I looked like, but it seemed they still recognised me.

I had to let them know I was still alive … just about!

‘Get me down <cough>, will ya? This new fangled idea <cough> for an all-over tan <cough> has just gone too far.’

Teal’c operated the pulleys, cut me down, gently laid me on my side, and took great care to avoid my feet touching the ground. He left my bindings in place. A sensible decision, as since they were pressurising my wounds, releasing them bindings could stimulate the blood flow, lead to too much loss of fluid, and then it would be bye, bye, Colonel, and death from blood loss. A jacket was placed round my shoulders, and water was sprinkled over my face before I was propped up slightly and allowed a small drink. Too much at once and I’d start vomiting, which I so didn’t want to do.

‘Hey <cough> <cough>, what kept you?’

‘Oh, this and that, Sir.’

‘I said <cough> <cough>, what kept you?’

‘Well, Sir, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you.’

‘Try me!’

‘There was a gate malfunction, Sir. It was caused by … erm … routine maintenance.’

‘Routine main … <cough> … maintenance?’

‘Er … yes, Sir. Siler’s wrench got caught in the wrong place, and it caused a crack in the interlocking bearings.’

‘Did it now? <cough> Don’t make me laugh! <cough> <cough> It hurts. I hope <cough> he wasn’t hurt?’

‘Yes, Sir, er … I mean No, Sir. It needed a super-strength repair. I had to figure out how to melt a naquada alloy, so that it was malleable enough to be molded into place.’

‘Yeah, meanwhile <cough> <cough> I was melting to pieces here! Couldn't ya just have replaced the batteries?’

‘Sir, we came as soon as we could.’

‘I know, Carter. <cough>. I know.’

‘How <cough> did you know I was here?’

‘The boy, Sir.’

‘But?’

‘But what, Sir?’

‘He didn’t <cough> <cough> see you?’

‘Sir? How do you know?’

‘He’s helped <cough> <cough> <cough> me. I sent him to the gate. <cough> Told him … <cough> to watch for you. He came back. <cough> He didn’t see you.’

‘We saw him, Sir. Teal’c spotted him running away soon after we came through the gate. He must have been frightened by what he saw. We figured he must be running back to a village, so we followed him. We saw him come in here, and, as no-one else was around, we thought there must be a village gathering going on, and that he was coming to warn people we had arrived.’

‘It could <cough> have been a trap you know?’

‘We had to take the chance, O’Neill.’

‘Well, I’m glad <cough> <cough> <cough> you did.’

As I gasped to get the sentences out, I realised my speech was beginning to get as fast as Daniel’s.

‘Reynolds is holding the Gate, Sir.’

‘What all by himself <cough> <cough>?’

‘No, Sir?’

‘It’s a joke, Carter.’

‘Sir, this is no time to joke. I thought you didn’t want to laugh. You don’t sound so good. We need to get you to the Infirmary as soon as possible.’

‘I don’t think <cough> I look so good either. <cough> Just get us outta here. I’ll walk <cough> if I have to.’

‘Sir, you can’t. Your feet!’

‘I will carry you, O’Neill.’

‘Thanks <cough> <cough> <cough>, Teal’c, but it’ll slow you down.’

‘O’Neill! I must order you to obey. You do not have the strength to walk. Your feet …’

He didn’t like to say what they looked like, but I knew my feet wouldn’t get me two steps. He was right. He’d have to carry me. I just wanted off this planet asap.

‘OK, Teal’c <cough> <cough>. Fine, but if you have to <cough>, you put me down <cough>, and just drag me along <cough> the ground,’ I could see the concerned glances pass between Carter and Teal’c, but I knew if we were discovered, this would be a very difficult escape, ‘If it comes to it <cough> … leave me … <cough> and just get the hell <cough> outta Dodge.’

‘Sir?’

‘Just do it, Car <cough> ter.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘The boy?’

‘He’s coming with us.’

‘Sir?’

‘No questions. <cough> He’s coming with us.’

‘But, Sir?’

‘We’re not leaving him behind. He’ll be <cough> punished <cough> if he stays here.’

‘Sir, we can’t …’

‘Why can’t we?’

‘Just …’

‘No excuses, Carter. He’s coming. Get *him* through the Gate <cough> <cough> before me.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

As far as I could make out, the boy had just been standing to one side watching what had been happening. He had obviously understood that I was being helped, and that these weren’t just some marauding bandits from another tribe trying to steal me as their prize.

‘Andiamo.’

‘Sir?’

‘I’m talking to <cough> the boy.’

Even if he didn’t realise he had led my team here, I had to thank him for his help. His presence during my ordeal had kept my spirits alive. Given me hope. Just as thinking about returning to Charlie and Sara had given me hope in Iraq.

Now I had to make him understand he needed to come with us.

Would he want to?

Was it fair of me to make that decision for him?

No, I *had* to do it. I’d already seen the cruelty to which he’d been subjected, and if *I* escaped, maybe he’d be the next person on the dinner menu. There was no way I could allow that to happen.

‘Andiamo. <cough> <cough> Questa mia amici … <cough> Grazie per aiuto … Errr … Tu venir with us … err …con noi?’

I just hoped if he didn’t understand the words, he’d understand my gestures.

He stared at me, looking puzzled at first, but then he nodded his head, smiled that smile again, walked over to me and gently placed his hand on mine. Thank God. He knew we were trying to help him.

Teal’c lifted me up, and over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. I wonder where he learnt that, I pondered?

We were ready for the dash of our lives.

***

The cold night air was like the balm of a cold shower on a hot Summer’s night.

However, I knew if I couldn’t get back through the Gate quickly, I wasn’t gonna be around to have any more cold showers.

No-one was around.

It was really eerie.

The villagers must have known the gate had been activated. SG-1 had met no resistance on coming through the gate, but there must have been look-outs, keeping watch for the arrival of some kind of rescue party for me.

Where the heck is everyone?

Right on cue, that question was soon answered.

Out of the stillness and quiet, came the shrill, high-pitched shrieks of the mob.

A baying, merciless mob throwing stones.

This could be deadly.

‘Protect <cough> … project the boy.’

Griff started defensive firing with zats. We didn’t want to kill anyone, just keep them at bay, but if they kept coming, we’d have to use the P90s, and someone was gonna get hurt.

Suddenly, I crashed to the ground.

Teal’c had been hit.

‘Do not be concerned, O’Neill. I am merely winded.’

Concerned. I gotta be concerned. He was my chariot outta here, but with resistance like this, I wasn’t sure we were gonna make it.

‘Teal’c … Take <cough> the boy … Go …

***

‘We will not leave anyone behind, O’Neill.’

Teal’c stood up, and swept me up again into his strong, secure hold.

‘Carter, grab the boy!’

‘Sir?’

‘Just do it!’

Carter did as I ordered and shielded the boy from the onslaught of rocks. It didn’t look like his people cared about injuring him. Well, he’d helped me, so that probably meant they just viewed him as a traitor.

Griff continued to do a great job with the zat, and also fired some shots into the air from his P-90.

The noise and force of that sound did startle the villagers. After our mishap of the accidental shooting when we had first come through the gate, they obviously *were* afraid that this weapon could do them harm … big harm. It looked to be our ticket out of here.

‘Carry on <cough> firing’, I tried to shout, but it came out more as a weak, croaky moan. However, Griff got the message, Carter did too. If we could just keep them at bay long enough, we’d get close enough to the gate for Reynolds to put down covering fire.

Several hundred yards to go at least.

All I could see was the undulating, yet uniformly muddy brown ground passing below me. Slung over someone’s shoulder and travelling upside down is just not all that it’s cracked up to be.

Huh, Jack! How comes you always say the wrong thing!

A stone had hit me on the upper back. Any higher, and I would have heard the almighty crack of my head against the missile. Fortunately *this* stone had just been a painful thump, rather than the cause of more broken bones, but it sure wasn’t gonna do my back any good.

We must be nearing the gate.

‘Owww.’

‘O’Neill?’

‘Don’t worry <cough> <cough>, Teal’c. <cough> Just ke <cough>ep going.’

That one was nearer my head. I sure didn’t want them to be third time lucky, strike the bulls-eye, and win the jackpot.

I knew Carter must be making swifter progress up ahead of us, so at least the boy would be safe, even if I were caught again. I would order Teal’c to drop me and save himself if I had to.

Griff was doing a great job of watching our six, but the assault was coming from so many angles, he couldn’t keep every stone at bay.

A fireball suddenly erupted to the right.

We must be within striking distance of the gate.

Reynolds must have seen us coming.

His firepower would keep the villagers at bay.

It had to.

Another blast.

At last! I could hear Reynolds shouting.

My last memories of the planet were the vehement, shrieks of the mob; the dull thuds of their stones on the ground; my pleasure that I was no longer gourmet dish of the day, and, above all, the satisfaction that the boy would be safe.

We *were* gonna make it. *All* of us.

***

The soft scuffing of boots on muddy ground turned into the cacophony of clattering feet on metal.

In my head, I was writing the memo that said going through a worm-hole upside down was so not a good idea. I was sure I was gonna throw up any minute, but I managed to splutter out a few words.

‘Hey, <cough> <cough> we made it.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Infirmary, stat.’

The last words I heard before I went out cold.

***

Beep … beep … beep.

Rustle … rustle … rustle.

Click … click … click.

Chat … chat … chat.

Who said the Infirmary was a peaceful, pain-free place to rest?

The smell of antiseptic invades my nose.

The moans and groans of other patients invade my ears.

Now we have the stab … stab … stab routine.

‘Hey! <cough>. Leave some blood <cough> behind will ya?’

I never did like the old needle and phial routine. It spooked me even more after that little incident with our doubles – white, creamy gunk for blood – oy! At least mine still looked red … dark, rich, magenta red in fact.

‘Looks <cough> <cough> <cough> healthy enough to me. Can’t ya <cough> <cough> just leave me alone?’

I was trying to impress with my best pleading voice.

‘No, Sir. We need to test it. Find out what’s going on inside, and then once we’ve started treatment, we’ll need to take more blood, to see if the treatment is working.’

‘What … you … <cough> <cough> <cough> … testing?’

‘Sir? Are you OK?’

‘Fine! <cough> <cough> <cough>’

‘Well, tests will include your full blood count, hormone levels, thyroid activity …’

‘OK … enough <cough> already.’

In the end, Jack had to be sedated. He had protested in the strongest possible terms, and that was not a pretty sight or sound, but he needed to rest, and Janet knew he wouldn’t do so without a little medical help.

***

General Hammond entered the Infirmary.

‘Doctor. What are we dealing with here? I need a briefing on the Colonel’s condition.’

‘Yes, Sir. I think he’s been lucky.’ Lucky didn’t cover it Hammond thought. O’Neill had more lives than the proverbial cat. ‘He’s escaped lightly on the broken bone count … for once. He has a fractured cheek bone, and badly bruised ribs, but otherwise the cuts and bruises on his torso are not serious. He’s running a high temperature as a result of his wounds becoming infected, but again, that’s treatable. I’m more worried about his wrists, ankles and feet. He may need skin grafts. His wrists are carrying deeply incised, bloody wounds, and his feet, especially the soles of his feet are badly burnt. There is some dead tissue there that will need excising. Thankfully, his feet weren’t directly in the fire, so we have second rather than third degree burns. The risk of infection is lower, but on the other hand, he has not received immediate treatment. He’s not going to be up and walking about for some time. Internally, he’s suffering severe symptoms of smoke inhalation causing difficulty in breathing, and that is coupled with the effects of dehydration and starvation. He’s going to take quite a while to recover, and we don’t yet know if there’ll be any permanent damage, but he’ll live.’

‘Hey, <cough> I’m glad <cough> to hear it <cough>. I was beginning to worry I was a goner there for a moment, Doc!’

Hammond realised it was going to be at least a few days before he could talk to his Second in Command about the child. He didn’t want to do it, but he knew protocol demanded he had to, and he knew the Colonel wasn’t going to like it.

‘You just rest and recover, Colonel, and then we need to talk.’

‘Yes, Sir. Thank You, Sir.’

He stared intently as the General left. He knew his Judgement Day was coming, and the scales were not weighted in his favor.

***

Jack spent over two weeks in the infirmary.

The smoke inhalation was even worse than Janet had initially thought. Although Jack’s face had been hanging at least nine feet above the fire, he’d been in the claustrophobic atmosphere for several days, and pretty much been inhaling nothing but smoke the whole time.

His lung collapsed, and he needed a chest drain to help re-inflate it.

He had a couple of seizures, needing oxygen to help him breathe, and once the crisis had passed a bronchoscopy to check that there was no lasting damage.

The dehydration and starvation made him lethargic and anaemic, and he was producing very little urine.

His high temperature turned into a full-blown fever, the effects of the infections from the burns made worse by the lack of food nutrients in his body.

The intravenous feeding gradually restored his chemical balance, provided the nourishment he needed, and his fever finally broke after three days.

Once Jack was conscious and compus mentus again, he quickly went stir crazy. He needed to get out of the Infirmary. It felt like the cage and the fire – just another prison. He couldn’t move, couldn’t escape and he *so* wanted out.

‘Hey, Doc. Have you swallowed a medical text book? I seem to have everything wrong with me! Can’t I just get outta here?’

‘Sir. Will you please put down your chart’, Janet said in a very exasperated tone. A sick O’Neill was actually far easier to treat than a recovering O’Neill, but it was a good sign that he was beginning to be such ‘a pain in the a**’, as he would put it. ‘Sir, I know you’re beginning to feel better, but there’s still a long way to go before you’re fully recovered. Your feet will ooze, blister, swell, and be very painful. You’ll need plenty of pain relief, Sir.’

‘Well, I’ve had burns on my feet before, and I managed without pain relief, then. I’ll survive.’

‘Sir, a simple injection will help.’

‘You know I hate those things.’

‘Sir, this may not be the best expression to use, but I’m going to put my foot down. Your feet will take time to recover. I can’t discharge you yet, and even when I do, you’ll still need to stay off your feet for quite a while, and you’ll need looking after. No hiking, and definitely no skiing. Promise?’

‘Promise, Doc.’

Janet hoped she’d won the first of what would likely be many battles she’d have to face during the Colonel’s recovery.

***

Throughout Jack’s treatment, the boy had refused to leave his side.

Janet had made up a bed for him next to the Colonel. She’d made sure the boy hadn’t seen the worst of the Colonel’s symptoms and treatment, and, by screening off the area, protected the boy from being frightened by anything else he might see in the Infirmary. However, she sensed the boy felt safe and happy just being near the Colonel, even if he couldn’t always see him.

She’d tried to speak to the boy. The Colonel had said he seemed to understand Italian. She knew a few words of that language, and had tried to communicate, but he still hadn’t said anything. He was probably intimidated by his surroundings, and she was a stranger.

‘Hey, there’, Jack had said when he’d first realised he was being watched. He smiled at the boy, and continued, ‘I’m OK … you OK? Err … Tutto bene?’

The boy nodded his head.

Jack knew he had done the right thing. The boy was safe, happy, and now would have some kind of future. What kind of future, who with, indeed, on which planet even, he didn’t know, but anything was better than leaving him on that planet, to be treated … God, he didn’t like to think what might have happened to the boy had he left him behind.

***

The orderly pushed Jack’s wheelchair into Hammond’s office.

‘Sorry, Sir, I can’t stand! The knees, the feet, you know …’

‘That’s fine, Colonel. Dismissed, Sergeant.’

Mmmm. He was calling me Colonel, rather than Jack, or Son. Things were not looking good.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m OK, Sir. I just won’t be going in for the Bonspiel any time soon, although maybe I could do some tobogganing in this?’

‘Fine.’

He seemed distracted, preoccupied. He wasn’t listening to my jokes. Although come to think of it, he never listened to my jokes! Of course, I knew what was troubling him.

‘Sir …’

‘Colonel. I know you’ve endured a great deal over the last couple of weeks, but this can’t wait any longer. You abducted that boy! You violated every procedure we have in place for off-world contact … You …’

My emotions got the better of me, and I interrupted him in mid-flow.

‘No, *SIR*, I *didn’t* abduct him. He wanted to come with me. He came willingly. I rescued him.’

Hammond knew from the acerbic sound of the Colonel’s voice and the forcefulness of his delivery, just how passionately he felt, but illegal action could not be condoned.

‘How do you know he wanted to come with you?’

‘He told me.’

‘He can’t speak, Colonel.’

‘Yes, he can. He can speak with his body. I repeat, he told me he wanted to come.’

‘How do you know he understood what you were asking him?’

‘I just did.’

Jack was becoming more and more frustrated and angry. He knew his butt was on the line, but this conversation was going no-where.

‘Who are you to decide his future?’

‘Well I’m a concerned father’. Jack had already blurted out the words, before he realised what he had said.

Hammond stared back. Jack thought there was almost the sign of a sympathetic eye and slight smile from the General.

‘Sorry … Sir. I mean I felt like a father. He was being ill-treated. He helped me. He would be punished once we left. I had to get him away.’

‘You’ve taken him away from his family, his friends, his culture. How do you defend that?’

‘I don’t defend it, Sir. I doubt he had any friends, his family didn’t care, and I wouldn’t want any kid to be brought up in that culture. I only wish I could have saved the others. I’ve given him the chance to have family and friends who *will* care. Sir, you can’t send him back there. Just lock the damn planet out of the dialling computer!’

‘Colonel, that’s enough!’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Jack, I’ll *have* to discipline you for this. Normally I’d have to suspend you from duty, and have you up on charges … ’

He’d switched to ‘Jack’. Maybe things were looking up?

‘I know, Sir, but …’

‘ No need to ‘but’, Jack. In this case, I’ll make it a minor misdemeanour of insubordination. No-one need know the full details. Whilst you were unconscious, we had a message from the planet. We’re barred from ever going there again, and they say we can keep the boy. Apparently he was a nuisance of which they are glad to be rid.’

Jack tried hard not to let his anger boil over.

How could anyone want to lose a child?

How could anyone be glad to lose a child?

How could anyone treat a child in that way?

Jack stared at Hammond, and realised just why he respected his commanding officer so much. Beneath the tough, Texan exterior was the generous, warm heart of a grandfather, and Jack knew Hammond had been just as appalled as he was at how the boy had been treated by his own kind. An unspoken understanding passed between them, that Jack’s actions in this incident would not be discussed again.

‘Dismiss.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

***

‘Sir?’

‘Doc. Can’t you just leave me alone? You said I could go home in a few days.’

‘Yes, Sir, but this *is* important. Whilst you were …’

‘ … out of it, in la-la land, dreaming of jello, Marge, Homer and Mary St …’

‘Sir?’

‘Sorry, Doc.’

‘Whilst you were unconscious, Sir, we did tests on the boy. Checked that he’s healthy …’

‘ … that there was no naquadah bomb in his chest.’ Although Jack knew the boy didn’t pose any kind of threat, they always had to go through the routine of assuming they might have been tricked.

‘Yes, Sir. Had you wondered why he doesn’t speak?’

‘He *has* spoken. Well, OK, just the once. He’s shy. He doesn’t understand English, but I already told you he seems to understand Italian, well, my version of Italian at any rate. Give him a chance.’

‘Sir, I know why he doesn’t speak.’

‘Well?’

‘He’s profoundly deaf.’

He was deaf. He was ‘different’. That’s why he hadn’t fitted in. That’s why no-one had cared for him. In that culture, he was probably unwanted, probably just a lowly slave, there to be abused and degraded. That’s why he’d helped me. He hadn’t been corrupted by their morals. He hadn’t been, and couldn’t be indoctrinated. He couldn’t hear them. He’d just observed. He knew what they did was wrong.

It was then I understood why he was so crafty and wily. He'd had to develop other skills to overcome his hearing loss. It was easy for him to sneak away from his parents. They just didn’t care.

Perhaps he didn’t have any parents? They could have been killed for bringing ‘tainted offspring’ into the community, and he *was* just a slave to the woman I had assumed to be his Mom. Whatever, their callous attitude to him had ultimately helped him gain his freedom.

***

Jack maneuvered his wheel-chair so that he was facing the boy.

‘What’s your name? Il suo nome?’

He seemed to understand the question, but didn’t respond.

‘Io son Jack.’

‘Jaaak.’

‘Yep. You’ve got it! Il suo nome?’

‘Jaaak.’

‘No. You haven’t got it. Io son Jack. Il suo nome?’

‘Jaaak.’

Then I realised. *He* wanted to be called Jack. Yeah, he was kinda like me - stubborn, disobeying authority, prepared to take risks and not worry about the consequences …

‘Jaaak, it is then. Hey, I’ve got some down time coming to me. I have to recover from my injuries. How about you come up to my cabin and we can go fishing? I’m not sure if my wrists and hands are strong enough to do it on my own yet, so I’m gonna need some help.’

He tilted his head to one side and looked at me in quizzical fashion. I’d got carried away. I just found it so easy to talk to him. I’d forgotten he probably wasn’t understanding one single word I was saying. Heck, I was beginning to realise I’d really have to brush up on my Italian if I was going to be able to communicate with him properly. The boy might not speak, but he was obviously intelligent, and even if he couldn’t hear everything properly, I knew he did understand words and their meaning. The only problem was that it just had to be in Italian. Oi. Casa … errm … Capanna. Io son pescatore. Andara a pesca.’

‘Si.’

He smiled that smile again, the one that so reminded me of Charlie.

Yeah, this kid deserved his happiness. Sure, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep him, but he could come visit, and just as I had done so many years ago with Charlie, I hoped ‘Jaaak’ would always enjoy coming fishing with me.

***

Jack spent several more weeks recuperating at home.

Little Jack visited as much as he could.

Big Jack taught him words in English by telling him stories, and using gestures and signs to help him understand. He’d shown him chess, hockey (just on the TV, but a trip to a game would soon be on the cards), pictures of planets (the telescope would have to wait until he could climb up onto the roof again). Jack felt like he had a new lease of life. Sure, there were sad moments. He recalled doing all of this with Charlie. He showed Little Jack Charlie’s picture, and tried to make him understand that he knew what it was to be a parent, that he understood what it felt like to suffer a huge loss in your life. If Little Jack’s parents had been killed, Jack wouldn’t put it past that culture to do it in front of the boy. Maybe, in time, he’d learn more of Little Jack’s history, but, for now, he just wanted to give him back his childhood.

***

The big day had arrived. Big Jack was going to show Little Jack the real world, the world he really loved … the natural world … the beauty of the landscape … the peace of the countryside, and best of all … fishing!

Everything was packed. Teal’c and Carter had helped with that, and Frasier and Carter would be following, and staying near the cabin, just in case any help were needed.

Mrs Dobbs, the neighbour from across the road, had also helped in the packing. Little Jack was explained away as an orphaned kid on an exchange holiday arranged by an Italian military base. Mrs Dobbs had observed the sparkle in the Colonel’s eyes and the way his face lit up with joy whenever the boy had visited. She’d always wondered why a man who loved children so dearly never saw his son. He was always so kind to all the kids in the neighbourhood.

She knew he was divorced. He’d told her that much, but most parents make ‘arrangements’ for the kids. His house was full of Charlie’s pictures, but only of him as a kid. Where were the teen vacations, the High School graduation pics? She didn’t like to pry, but one day had plucked up courage to ask. Jack just said his military life had made things difficult, and he’d lost touch. Something about his wistful manner and the depth of feeling as he spoke of his son indicated otherwise. However, she respected his privacy. If he did want to tell her, he would … one day.

Anyway, the big truck was filled to the brim with luggage and provisions, and one limping, battered Colonel, and one silent, happy child set off together to Jack's cabin on their ‘big and excellent adventure’, as Jack joked as they departed.

Yep, this was sure going to be one really great vacation.