I wasn't going to make it.

I suppose we were a mile from the Stargate and safety when I realized the inevitable. The jig was up. My luck had run out. I'd had it. Adios, Jack man. You are toast.

You know, every mission I've ever gone on that went south, the ones that went really, really spectacularly bad, didn't start out bad. No premonitions of trouble, no inklings of disaster, no bad vibes. Missions like that little radar station recon in Iraq; that HALO jump over the Iran-Iraq border; the trip to East Germany where John was killed; that gate trip that almost ended with O'Neill the icicle in Antarctica. This one.

We were running from the natives, the Sorgi. I'm not sure why, after a couple of peaceful hours, they suddenly decided they didn't like us. I mean, there we were in the middle of a very nice banquet of some sort of quite tastey roast pig-like thing, when I simply refused to stand up and participate in their nice little ceremony. Sorry, but being a Colonel doesn't mean I have to be the one who marries the king's daughter, even to seal a treaty with a newly discovered race.

Daniel should have warned me. Or maybe I shouldn't have blurted out, "excuse me, marry her?" in just that tone of voice. I guess they took it as an insult, because things sure got ugly in a hurry.

<><><><><>

It had all started really well. Peaceful and ordinary, with the usual Monday morning briefing with General Hammond......

I was standing in front of the window, the big bullet proof glass window that looked down on the Stargate from the briefing room, sipping a cup of really strong Air Force twice brewed coffee, and thinking I was going to have to spend an extra hour in the gym to work off that Danish I'd just had for breakfast.

"Good morning people," said my favorite bald-headed CO from Texas as he breezed into the room. So okay, he's the only CO I have, from Texas or elsewhere. I turned away from the window and took a seat at the table with the rest of my team, Carter, Daniel and Teal'c.

"So what do we have?" he wanted to know.

"Not much..." I started to say.

"A possible..." piped up Carter.

"An exciting..." started Daniel.

I raised an eyebrow, looking across at Teal'c, who only nodded a millimeter or so in my direction. No help there. I love it when my team's in total agreement on something.

"One at a time, people," ordered Hammond. "Colonel?"

I nodded at Carter. "It's your show, Major."

"Sirs, the UAV tapes from yesterday from PXG-764 turned up something interesting."

"PXG-764?" asked the General.

"You remember, Sir," I explained. "The planet we rejected last week as being entirely too boring to waste any more time on," I said, looking pointedly at Carter.

Smiling, she continued, "Sir, I just decided to try one more UAV flight. Daniel kept insisting that ring of stones we saw couldn't have been something natural, and he was right." Daniel beamed. I shot him a glare. Teal'c, well, Teal'c was just being Teal'c, ignoring the rest of us. "Instead of using fuel circling, I sent the UAV on a straight line flight over the stone circle, and to the limits of it's flight capabilities. About six miles west of the stone ring, this happened..."

Carter, who loves playing with all those fancy high tech doodads, dimmed the lights and activated the tape machine. I watched the UAV video show footage of trees, rocks and stones, and then, something went whipping past the little plane, and then several more somethings buzzed under, around and into the UAV. Carter slowed the speed on the tape.

I sat up straighter. "What was that? Arrows?"

"Yes, Sir." said Carter with a satisfied smile.

"Yes!" said Daniel excitedly. "I told you there had to be a civilization on that planet, someone who moved those stones from their natural position."

"Okay. So you were right." I turned back to Carter. "So, who are these people, and where are they?"

She hit the controller switch and the tape ran further, showing a clearing and a group of men carrying bows they pointing up at the UAV. Another flight of arrows whipped past the little flying machine.

Daniel was suddenly standing two feet from the viewscreen. "Run that back, Sam." She did. He watched. "Well, they look to be medieval at the most, based on their clothing and weapons. And their buildings. The civilization doesn't appear to be too advanced...."

"At least the bits we can see," I interjected, attempting as always to be the voice of caution.

"And see, here, another stone ring, much smaller, but the same design," Carter pointed out.

"Design? A circle is a circle."

Carter had stopped the tape. "See, here, Sir, this stone, the dark one? Then there's three light ones and another dark one; the pattern keeps repeating. And one large, double stone here, like the fancy chair at the head of the table."

"So what, this is King Arthur and his knights of the round circle?"

"It was the round table, Jack..."

I shrugged, same difference, still round.

"...and it could be a council ring, a meeting place..."

"A sewing circle?" I whispered. Hammond threw me a dirty look, but then, he knows I'm incorrigible.

"...a ceremonial or religious site, anything." Daniel finished enthusiastically.

Carter hit the play button again. "And then there's this, Sirs, this appears to be something entirely different." In the center of the village was one very large stone, covered with inscriptions.

"Dr Jackson?"

"I had just a few minutes to study this image this morning, General. But you see, here here and here," he was pointing at the screen. "The inscriptions appear to be related to the language of the Ancients, that we found on both Ernest's planet and on that other planet, the one where Jack got their knowledge downloaded into his brain."

"Not those guys again," I muttered.

Hammond was staring at the video image. "So I take it you would like a closer look at what it says on that stone, Dr. Jackson?"

"Yes, Sir. I would," he said with as big a grin as I'd seen on his face in months.

"Colonel O'Neill?" the General turned to me.

"Oh it looks like a wonderful place to visit, Sir."

"Okay, then. SG-1, at 0800 tomorrow, you'll be going to PXG-764."

<><><><><>

I spent the rest of the day reviewing Carter's tapes one more time, and taking a good look at those natives and their weapons. I also reviewed all the planetary data. I'm no scientist, that's for sure, but I've learned enough to understand what readings on gravity, temperature ranges, atmospheric composition, sunlight and other key information mean to the ability of me and my team to function on a world. It's my job to see that we'll get back safely, and it's one I take seriously.

After that, I put together our field packs. With all the planets we've visited, between us and the other SG teams, we've developed a basic planetary visit field kit with peripherals based on the type of planet we're visiting, depending on the climate, the people and/or animals or lack thereof; type of mission; expected length of stay; and other variables. Since SG-1 is a first contact, first mission field team, we pack more weapons and fewer scientific gizmos plus more survival gear and fewer comforts.

Finally, I got caught up on a bit of the mountain of paperwork littering my desk. I swear that stuff seems to mulitiply like rabbits every time I look away. The last part of my day I spent in the gym, two hours with Teal'c showing him my Muhammad Ali moves. He still doesn't get the idea of boxing as fun, to him, fighting is fighting, workouts are workouts, and fun is, well, whatever it is, it isn't boxing.

<><><><><>

At 0800 the next morning, SG-1 was assembled in the gateroom. General Hammond, as usual, was there to see us off. "Good luck, SG-1," he said as the wormhole formed.

"Thank you, Sir. We'll bring you back some souvenirs, " I answered with a salute, and stepped through the wormhole and into what would become a heap of trouble.

Emerging onto the stone platform of PXG-764's Stargate, there was nothing amiss, or unusual. Trees, stones, and a group of people kneeling. Seeing no weapons, I relaxed a bit as the rest of my team came through okay.

"Daniel, you're on," I said, pointing to the people who were now standing and staring at us, inviting him to open the dance.

"Greetings, we're peaceful explorers from Earth."

"Welcome, travelers," said a very official looking man. The leader, I figured, since he was wearing the fanciest clothes and doing the talking. "Welcome to our world, travelers from the Circle of Thunder. We are the Sorgi."

"Thank you," said Daniel, and introduced the rest of us. That boy has a gift of gab, I'll give him that. Inside ten minutes, he was talking to the Sorgi like they were his long lost best friends. "Jack, King Perhan here has invited us to his village. To study the inscription."

"Has he had any other recent visitors through the, ah, Circle of Thunder?" I asked.

"There are only old tales, from his grandfather's time, of iron warriors carrying thunder weapons..."

Ah hah, I thought, armored Jaffa with staff weapons...

"but none have come since."

"Teal'c?"

"Sometimes, the goa'uld leave worlds alone for generations." he reminded me, "if there is nothing they need from the planet, or it's people. They may even have been abandoned, or forgotten, by the System Lords."

Or not, I thought, ever the optimist. But since there weren't any Goa'uld in evidence, and things looked on the up and up, why not go visit the neighbors, huh? "Okay, then, let's go see your rock, Daniel."

We hiked for the village, stopping first at the stone circle, where Daniel did a quick look and pronounced, "no writings here."

Six miles further, and we had arrived at the village.

The Sorgi, it seemed, liked visitors. They announced a grand festival in our honor, starting with a feast that evening. Daniel and Sam were all wrapped up in photographing, measuring, studying and arguing about the stone. Me, hey, after my little adventure with the Ancients, I wasn't even planning on getting within ten feet of the damn thing. I warned them too. Don't think they listened, but... I wandered around the square, through the clearing in the middle of the village. I could heard the women chattering as they worked over the cooking pots, heating something that smelled awfully good. A creature resembling an earth pig was slow roasting, whole, over a fire pit.

Daniel was talking again to several of the Sorgi, then came to find me. "Ah, Jack, you might want to relax and maybe take a nap before we eat."

"A nap?"

"Yes. Rodan just explained to me that this welcoming festival doesn't start until the middle of the night, when the first moon rises, and then it goes on for a whole day, sometimes more. It seems it's more than just eating and drinking, it's a bit of a test of stamina. We've got six hours until they start."

"Oh." I considered for a moment. "Okay, they've assigned us a hut, I think we should all get together, each of us try to rest, we'll stand two hour watches."

"But Jack, I haven't had time to study the inscriptions...."

"The inscriptions will still be there after the party."

<><><><><>

We each got four hours rest. Teal'c stood first watch, I took the second, which left Carter take the third, and I gave in and let Daniel spend an extra two hours looking at his precious rock.

So we were all pretty well rested, and ready, I thought, for the grand feast, as we headed to the center of the village and the small stone ring. As honored guests, the four of us were invited to join the Ring of Honor, as they called it, sitting around the roaring fire at the center of the ceremonial ring. I had the King Person on the right and a big warrior named Jamar on my left. He seemed to be watching me very carefully, so I minded my manners and kept my elbows off the table. (Mother O'Neill did teach her sons manners, even if we didn't use them very often.) Daniel was on the other side of the king, in the other seat of honor while Carter and Teal'c were just across the ring from us.

Things started out just fine, even the food was pretty darn good. The drinks were well, potent was the only word to describe them, and I was careful to sip mine and eat plenty in between. It wouldn't take much of that stuff to make a man lose his head, I thought, and I was glad to see the others were also being cautious. Good.

Hours passed, and the sun came up, and the partying went on. I let Daniel do most of the talking and Carter was asking questions, too. So mostly I was just watching and observing, enjoying the food, and thinking maybe I actually could last through 24 hours of this (I hadn't pulled an all night party since, well, since I'd been in that bar in Bangkok back in..... never mind, Jack) when I made a little bitty mistake.

Daniel and the king were talking about an alliance. "Yes, our people enjoy traveling through the ring, and we visit many worlds. We enjoy making friends."

Lay it on thick, Daniel, why don't you? I thought.

"You would like to form an alliance wth the Sorgi?" King Perhaps suggested.

Daniel looked at me. I nodded. What could it hurt? Stupid, Jack, stupid.

"Yes, we have formed alliances with many races throughout the galaxy. We would be honored to be allies of the Sorgi."

King Perdition's eyes lighted up. He clapped his hands, and the women returned to the circle. The King waved his arms. "These are my wives," he said, indicating a dozen women. "And these are my daughters," he pointed out about a dozen more.

"They are all very beautiful," said Daniel, diplomatically. Yup, he was laying it on thick tonight, I thought.

"So which one will your leader," said King Purdue, nodding toward me, "which one will the O'Neill marry?"

I nearly choked on my roast pork. "Did you say marry?"

Daniel shot me a glance that quite obviously meant shut up. I didn't need to be told twice. "Ah, it is not customary for our leaders to marry as part of the alliances we make," he answered quietly.

"Well, it is customary among the Sorgi." I could hear a touch of anger in King Perchance's voice. "You do not desire one of the daughter's of the Sorgi?"

"I ah, I'm just not the marrying kind," I said softly.

"You do not wish the hand of the king's daughter?" said Jamar. There was definitely a lot of anger in his voice.

"Now I didn't say that. I just really wouldn't make a very good husband. You know, with all this traveling around to other planets, I'm not home much. And when I am home, well, I make a mess of the place. I hog all the covers. And I snore. Loudly, quite loudly." Well, that sounded lame, Jack. I could see Daniel was cringing. Why didn't I just shut up and let him talk?

"Do you insult the women of our people?" said the warrior beside me as he rose threateningly to his feet.

"No." I said. "No insult. Just..."

"King Perhan, perhaps we should discuss this privately, later, when we can better explain our traditions and customs...." Daniel was as always trying to be reasonable.

"No, we discuss it now, travelers," said the king, looking angrily from me to Daniel. "Your leader O'Neill must choose."

"Oh, I couldn't do that. Pick one, and disappoint the others?" I shook my head.

"What he means is that it would be unfair to select only one," Daniel said.

"You must. Choose one. Now." The king's voice had gotten much, much louder.

"Oh for crying out loud. Look, I'm not marrying anybody." Out of the corner of my eye I did notice Carter and Teal'c had backed away from the angry circle of warriors, and were working there way around behind Daniel and me. Good job, kids, I thought. Use your heads. I was also backing away from the circle, one eye on Daniel, one eye on that Jammer fella that I didn't trust at all. The Sorgi were on their feet, every warrior's face looking angry and tense.

"Then I shall pick for you." And the king snapped his fingers at the daughter standing on the end of the line.

I won't say she was unattractive. Maybe not among the Sorgi, at least. But you know, I've always sort of preferred to pick my own wives. "Excuse me. Marry her?"

All hell broke lose.

Someone grabbed for me, and I spun, throwing the man over my shoulder. Carter fired a half a dozen warning shots above the crowd, and Teal'c triggered his staff weapon at their feet. The Sorgi stopped, but stood their ground, glaring at us. The place was deathly quiet. Uh oh.

It was plain the Sorgi, were, um, not very happy with me. Us.

"Go," I ordered.

<><><><><>

Being outnumbered about 84 to four, we ran. They chased.

I might have made it to the Stargate, if it hadn't been for that tree limb. It was quite an ordinary tree limb, a common enough thing, not even very big, and only a foot or so above the ground. It looked just like the branches from the trees in my own back yard back home. Except, of course, that this particular tree branch was right across the trail from the Sorgi's village to the Stargate. Carter jumped it in stride, Daniel put a foot up on it and hurdled it, and Teal'c hardly seemed to notice it as he raced over it. I leaped over it and landed off-balance on my right leg and felt something in my knee bend sickeningly in a direction human knees were never intended to bend. I crashed to the ground, my MP-5 flying off into the brush.

I didn't have time to look for it. I got up, staggered, fell, with the pain shooting through my leg. Damn Damn Damn, my knee, I knew I should have listened to Doc Fraiser and let her fix my knee, but it was too late now.

Now I only had time to run.

I clenched my teeth so tight my jaw ached, but I got up on my feet and started running, limping and running, gasping for air, gasping with the pain.

Run Jack. Run for your life.

The other members of SG-1 were 20 or 30 yards ahead of me now. That was okay. Someone needs to get to the gate first, get it open, and send the iris signal.

I can still make it.

Maybe.

Except there was a little bend in the trail, and I had to push off on my right leg to make the turn. It gave way beneath me, tumbling me to the ground. I got up, barely able to put any weight on it at all.

I tried to run, and knew the awful truth.

I wasn't going to make it to the gate, not with the Sorgi gaining on me with every stride. I looked up and saw the others, approaching the gate now, and saw Teal'c stop to look back at me.

"O'Neill!" shouted the Jaffa.

"Go!" I yelled, stopped and turned, drawing my handgun and emptying the clip at my pursuers. They dived into the brush, so it gained me a little time, but nowhere near enough. I turned, and ran again, a shambling, stumbling run.

My team was at the gate, I could see Daniel dialing and Carter beside him with her fingers poised over the GDO. Teal'c was running back toward me.

"No!" I saw the arrow take Teal'c in the chest, burying itself deep. He staggered and went down. Then Daniel was helping him, pulling him to his feet and up the steps. Carter's fingers were flying on the GDO.

I got up and ran once more, a glimmer of hope flitting through my mind. If I timed this right, maybe I *could* make it yet.

Wrong again, Jack, because just then my luck ran out. An arrow whipped past my ear and I dodged, tried to zigzag, but my knee wasn't up to it. The leg gave way again, and I fell, hit the ground rolling, scrambled back to my feet to try to run once more. I saw Daniel push Teal'c through the gate. Why didn't he go through with him? Or Carter? What were they doing, standing there, not going home, not going through to safety?

They were coming back for me. "No. Go back!" There wasn't time, they shouldn't....

At that moment, the tough material of my vest saved my life, I suppose. It slowed the arrow enough that the razor sharp point of the arrow cut through the vest, sliced open the skin on my back, and was deflected sideways by a rib, leaving the projectile stuck through the edge of my ribcage.

As I fell, I heard the wormhole shut down. Carter and Daniel were still standing by the DHD, staring at me.

"Get out of here!" I hollered.

As I lay on the ground on my stomach, the Sorgi surrounding me, I got a last glimpse of my two teammates running for the safety of the woods. Then I could see only booted feet because there was a ring of at least a dozen warriors blocking any further view.

I looked up at them and smiled. "Uh, hi guys."

Something hit me in the head and the world went black.

<><><><><<>

"Teal'c will be okay, his symbiote will heal him, and he's back at the SGC," said Major Samantha Carter, trying to find something to be optimistic about.

"I know," Daniel Jackson answered quietly.

"He'll tell them what happened and General Hammond will send a rescue...." Carter continued.

"Not when he opens the gate and sees that," said Daniel, pointing.

From their perch on a ledge in the forest, Carter could see the gate, nearly half a mile away. With her binoculars, she was watching the activity around the gate.

"What can you see?" Daniel wanted to know.

"I can't tell much. They're still working at something by the gate..."

"And Jack?" he was almost afraid to ask.

Carter swung the binoculars, focused on the still body lying at the foot of the ramp. "I still haven't seen the Colonel move," she said worriedly, biting her lip.

"Sam they wouldn't have tied him up, if he was dead. Would they?"

She smiled. "No, Daniel."

Jackson could see something happening down at the gate. "What are they doing?"

"It's a post, they've put up a post at the foot of the ramp."

<><><><>

I woke in a world of hurt. Been here, done this before, but that doesn't make it any easier. My knee ached, my head pounded and my side throbbed, pain flaring with every breath. What would you expect, with an arrow sticking out of your ribs, huh Jack?

There was more bad news. My wrists were tied behind my back, so I definitely wasn't in the custody of the good guys. Damn.

I opened my eyes, just a slit, trying to see without giving away that I was awake. The Sorgi were busily working at something over by the gate. Good. As long as they were busy working on something other than me, it was okay.

It didn't last of course. After a couple minutes, I saw boots walking toward me.

"He awake?" asked a voice above my head.

"No," said another voice.

"I think he's faking," and the boot kicked me.

I sucked in a breath, gasping with pain.

"He's awake," said the voice, sounding pleased. Another kick. "Get up."

I really did try. I pulled my knees up, sat back on my haunches, tried to push myself to my feet with my good leg, but I couldn't get any further. So someone grabbed me, yanked me to my feet, and half dragged, half pushed me to the post they had erected near the gate. My hands were quickly untied from behind me, pulled up over my head and fastened tightly to the post.

"Want me to hang around a while, do ya?"

The warrior leader, my good friend Jamar, did not look amused. He simply reached over and grabbed the end of the arrow sticking out from my ribs and yanked. I very nearly passed out it hurt so bad but I forced myself to keep my feet under me and look him in the eye.

Not again, I thought, not another sadistic bastard who thought he could prove he was tough by picking on me. Well, he'd made a bad choice. See, I have this personality flaw-- when someone pushes me, I push back. When someone tries to make me do something, I do the opposite. Must be the Irish in me. We're a perverse race, we Irish.

So he yanked on that arrow again and I ground my teeth to keep from yelling. Shit, that hurt. I could feel a warm gush of fresh blood rolling down my side as I fought against the pain, trying to draw a breath.

Jamar knew how to do this, I'll give him that. I obviously wasn't the first victim of his sadism, oh no, because he waited until I had started to recover before he made his next move.

"You know, my king told me to show you Sorgi hospitality, the kind we show to those who insult us. He said I could use every skill and every tool at my disposal, to show you what kind of people we are, when we are angry." He ran his hands along the arrow sticking out of my back. "You do want this thing out, don't you?" he asked with a sick little grin, and pulled on the arrow once more.

I moaned, sagging, my knees gone weak, only the chains holding me up against the post. After a moment, I pulled myself shakily erect. "Those who can, do; those who can't torture."

I guess he didn't like that line, either. He slapped me across the face, hard. I spit blood, and stared back.

He was waving my knife around, in front of my face, and with his other hand, showed me the GDO he'd taken off my wrist. "Show me how to use this."

"Can't. Sorry. You have to be more than a primitive moron with an IQ of 50."

I think I confused him with that statement. Sounded good, until he hit me across the face with the hilt of my knife. My head spun, and I hugged that post to stay upright. He'd opened up a cut on my forehead, and blood was running into my left eye. I made a quick reassessment: IQ 45.

Angry now, he tossed the GDO on the ground. "You Earthmen, you think you are superior, with your fancy toys." He jerked on the arrow again. Oh, yup, that hurt, but I kept my face as still as I could. Jamar was right in my face. "Tell your friends to give themselves up. I know they're out there watching. Tell them," and he twisted the arrow in my side.

Don't make a sound, Jack, I ordered myself. That's what he wants. Don't let him win. He can't beat you if you don't let him.

"Ah, Earthman, come come. You are smarter than this." He fingered the arrow, where the feathered end stuck out of my back. "Such a primitive weapon, yes, but effective, very effective, don't you think?" and he used the hilt of the knife to tap on the arrow, shoving the tip through the skin on my ribcage. The point was now sticking out around the side of my chest, between the lacings of my vest.

"Bastard," I hissed through clenched teeth.

"Now man of Earth, the subject is not my lineage, but the surrender of your friends." He tapped the end of the arrow again, pushing the tip completely through the skin. More blood trickled down the front of my chest. "Tell your friends to give themselves up."

"No way Jose." I said. "Ain't gonna do it." My answer turned into a gasp of pain as the warrior leaned in against the arrow, pushing on the projectile. I could feel the shaft sliding through my flesh, cutting, ripping, tearing, starting fresh rivulets of blood cascading down my back and chest.

Just then, I heard the gate activate. Eveyone around me went still and quiet.

Matter kawooshed out of the Stargate, stilled, and settled into the familiar rippling surface of the ring. Then I saw the little red light on the MALP come on and the camera eye on the device began to move.

"Open the gate."

Nearly two hours ago the gate had opened with SG-1's code and for long moments nothing happened. Then Teal'c had stumbled through the ring, barely conscious, an arrow embedded in his chest. I waited, impatiently, but no one else had followed, and then the wormhole winked out. I stood stunned at the foot of the ramp. What had happened to the rest of SG-1?

Teal'c had only been able to mumble a few words to Janet, before sinking into the Jaffa's healing state of Kel' noreem. "The Sorgi turned on us. O'Neill was captured. The others were behind me. I do not know why they did not follow."

O'Neill, captured, by the natives, and the fate of Major Carter and Dr. Jackson unknown.

Two long silent hours, while I debated over opening the gate, the problem being of course, that if it's opened from Earth, the team offworld can't use it. What if they were trying to get home while we were dialing out to them? Patience, George, patience, I told myself, for 120 long minutes.

Finally, I could wait no longer. The MALP was still on PXG-764. "Open the gate, Lieutenant. Let's take a look." I stared at the gate as the computers dialed, the rings spun, the chevrons locked, and the wormhole formed. "Activate the MALP cameras."

"Yes, Sir," answered Lt. Simmons.

As the MALP camera panned across the scene in front of the gate, I saw several dozen natives in primitive leather armor. "Oh my Lord," I whispered. There was a post in front of the gate, and a form chained to it. It was Colonel O'Neill, hanging by his arms, blood on his face, an arrow angled through his ribcage. A large warrior turned to stare at the camera, smiled, and reached over to O'Neill. What he did, over the next couple of minutes, turned every face in the control room pure white, mine included, before the Colonel, having uttered nothing but a couple of sarcastic comments, went limp.

There was stunned silence in the control room as everyone turned to me.

I knew all about Jack O'Neill and Iraq and torture. I knew what the man had gone through, I knew he was as tough as they come. It was no accident I had drawn him out of retirement for this project. I knew he had all the training and all the experience and all the skills any man could have, to endure this, but it turned my stomach to helplessly watch it happen.

"Get me the senior officer of every SG-team that's on the base. In the briefing room. Five minutes ago," I ordered, and headed for my office.

Jamar smiled for the camera and I knew whatever was coming next wasn't going to be pleasant. It never is. Torturers, always the same. Love to play to an audience, show their superiority, show that they're tougher than their victims. Of course, I'm nobody's victim. Never have been, never will be. Sometimes the other guy thinks he's in control, but he's not, not around me. I don't let him and I won't let him. Whatever he does, it won't change me. I'm Jack O'Neill, and I may not understand interstellar physics like Carter or speak 23 languages like Daniel, but I am good at one thing-- being absolutely, blindly, bullheaded stubborn. It's my finest trait.

I think I actually smiled. Jamar didn't like that. He turned to the camera, gave my friends a grin, hefted my knife and stuck it about an inch into my thigh. Slowly, he proceeded to carve a very big, very red and very ugly letter J into my right thigh.

It took every ounce of willpower I had to keep that grin pasted on my face, though yeah, I probably had gone a shade paler than usual, but there wasn't much I could do about that. "Gonna have to try harder than that, Jarjar."

Enraged, he simply grasped the arrow and tugged it through my side. When the darkness rushed at me, I welcomed it, and passed out. See, make him mad enough, he'll make a mistake.

I'm not sure how long I was unconscious, a couple hours I suppose, judging by how far the sun had sunk toward the west. When I finally woke up, I was hanging like dead weight off my arms, moaning. Somehow, I managed to get my feet under me, stand upright, and get my weight off my arms, leaning my cheek in against the post I was tied to. That alleviated the pain in my raw wrists, my trembling arms and aching shoulders but the movement started a whole new hurt in my side and my leg didn't feel so wonderful either.

Damn.

My movements also drew the attention of the Sorgi. "So nice of you to wake up and rejoin us, Earthman," said my buddy Jamar.

"I was raised to be polite," I muttered.

"Polite would be inviting your friends down to join us."

"I don't think so. No."

"Invite them."

"Ah, that's still a no."

Jamar was standing beside me, holding the bloody arrow in his hand, caressing the razor sharp point with the tip of his finger. He drew blood, licked it off the end of his finger. "Still sharp. Hmm." He grasped my right arm, where it was tied above my head, and used the point to slice through the fabric of my shirt over the bicep, cutting deep enough to draw blood. I tried to flinch away, but he held my arm tightly. "So sorry," he said with a malicious grin. "Didn't mean to do that."

"Liar." I breathed. Stupid thing to do, Jack, insult the man who's torturing you.

His face turned dark, but he said nothing, just took the arrow and ground the tip into my arm.

Oh damn that hurt.

"Tell them to come out."

"Come out come out wherever you are," I mumbled.

"That's not what I meant, Earthman, and you know it." He leaned his weight on the arrow, slowly driving the point deeper into the flesh of my arm. My knees buckled at the excruciating pain.

"Tell them to give up."

I was gasping for air, I couldn't have said a thing even if I'd wanted to.

He waited. No one will ever say that Jamar wasn't patient.

Once I could breathe again he leaned in and said, "Tell them."

I drew as deep a breath as I could, which wasn't much under the circumstances, and yelled," Kids, if you can hear me, listen up." I paused for more breath. "This is an order, campers." Another pause, and I tried to shout the words in a rush, get as much out as I could before he stopped me. "Don't give up no matter what he does to me. Don't...."

That bastard knew how to inflict pain. A fist slammed into the wound in my ribs and I passed out.

<><><><>

Daniel turned away, sinking to the ground, covering his eyes with his hands, trying to erase the vision of what he'd just seen. He'd not wanted to watch but he couldn't help himself, had stared down helplessly as the native warrior had....

"That son of a bitch, that sorry son of a bitch, that, that, that," Carter was muttering under her breath, over and over again. "he, he just...."

"Why didn't Jack, I don't know, yell, holler, tell him something?"

"I'm sure he told the guy, something, Daniel," said Sam grimly.

"Yeah, probably some sarcastic remark that just got him hit harder. That would be Jack." Daniel uncovered his face, looked at the Major. "Sam, we've got to do something."

"What?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should give ourselves up."

"The Colonel just told us not to, Daniel. You heard him. He took a lot of punishment to be sure we got that message."

"I know but can't we do something? That guy will kill him."

"No, he'll inflict as much damage and pain as he can. But he'll be careful not to kill him. Jamar is smart enough to know a dead hostage is useless. And the General knows what's happening. I saw the MALP move when the gate opened. We'll find a way."

Daniel shut his eyes, trying to block out the picture he'd just seen of what was being done to his friend. "Look, maybe if I give myself up..."

"So then they'd have two hostages. What good would that do?"

"Jamar could only hammer on one of us at a time."

"The Colonel wouldn't want that, and you know it, Daniel."

"You mean he's doing this to protect us?"

"Of course. He's done it before, attracting all the attention to himself..."

"Taking our punishment... Because he thinks he can take it better than we can."

"He's a survivor, Daniel. He's good at taking care of himself."

Right. Jack, taking care of himself and the rest of us, no matter what the situation. Like volunteering to take Hathor's goa'uld. Not one of your finer moments, Daniel, he told himself, standing by and letting Hathor..... He shivered. Daniel closed his eyes again, remembering a few quiet lines of conversation, back at Hadanti.

Typical Jack, he'd never explained, and most likely never would, Daniel assumed.

He couldn't argue with Sam, even though he wanted to. "Can't we try to rescue him? We've got guns, and they've only got bows and arrows."

"And knives and swords. All they need is for one man to get to the Colonel, hold a knife at his throat, and we'd have to surrender," she said in her best military logic. She'd thought of the same thing, wanted to do something, anything, to help him, to not have to watch helplessly while that S.O.B. toyed with her CO. "Look, if there's no response from Earth by dark, we'll do something." Under her breath she added, "I don't know what, but something. I'll think of something."

<><><><><><>

We were gathered in the briefing room, Major Feretti's SG-2, Colonel Makepeace's SG-3 Marines, and ten volunteers from other SG teams. "What do we know about these natives on PXG-764, people?"

Capt. Willis from SG-2 reported, "I've reviewed the pre-mission data, General. The MALP and UAV tapes showed the natives as possibly descended from ancient Turks. They are warlike, but have primitive weapons, no firearms."

"Just knives, swords, and arrows?" I muttered.

"Ah, yes sir."

"So, in full riot gear, vests, helmets, shields, we should be able to overpower them?"

"Yes sir. Our gear and armament are far more advanced. However..."

"I am aware that they have at least one hostage, possibly three, although we saw no sign of Major Carter or Doctor Jackson." I turned to my Chief Medical Officer. "Dr. Fraiser, what is Teal'c's condition? And has he been able to give us any more information?"

"Teal'c is still in the meditative healing state, Kel' noreem," answered Dr. Janet Fraiser. "I expect him to make a full recovery, thanks to his Goa'uld larvae. However, he has only been able to say a few words. As he remembers it, Major Carter and Dr. Jackson were already at the gate, and Teal'c started back for Colonel O'Neill, who had sustained a leg injury and was having trouble keeping up as they fled from the Sorgi's village. That's when Teal'c was wounded, and Dr. Jackson helped him through the gate. He saw the Colonel captured, but the other two were still free as he went through the gate."

"So why didn't those two come back, huh?" asked Col. Makepeace, of no one in particular. "That's what you get from letting non-military types and women on front line teams," he said contemptuously.

Ferretti, who knew O'Neill's hard and fast rule better than anyone else in this room, glared at the Marine. "Because no one gets left behind," he snapped.

"Gentlemen! The guestion, at the moment, is not why we still have three of our people on that planet, but how we are going to get them back." I turned back to Willis. "How long until it gets dark on that world, Captain?"

"It appears to be early afternoon there now. About six hours until sunset, as far as we've been able to determine, Sir.

"Okay then, we go after dark."

"But Sir, Colonel O'Neill...." piped up Ferretti.

"Major, I know Colonel O'Neill is hurt and in trouble, but he knows we will be coming for him. He'll hang on. People, I understand it's difficult to stand by and watch this, but we have to wait. It's likely we'll be walking into a trap. Those warriors will be waiting. And primitive or not, they'll be spoiling for a fight."

As the others filed out to prepare for the mission, Dr. Frasier approached me. "General Hammond, I'd like to volunteer to go with you."

"Doctor, I know you want to help the Colonel, but this is a hit and run mission. We don't intend to be on that planet more than a few minutes."

"A few minutes may mean life and death to a badly injured man, Sir."

"We'll take a field medic..."

"Not good enough, Sir." The doctor looked down a moment, then up into my eyes. "While we know he's been wounded and," she hesitated, "and more, General, we don't know what might have happened when he was captured. He may have additional injuries we don't know even about. And having to wait. Sir, in my opinion, every minute counts. I need to be there."

I looked at her a moment, nodded. "Okay, Dr. Fraiser, you come through with us."

As she started to leave, Fraiser hesitated and turned back to me one more time. "And General, getting him back here alive may not be the end of it." I could see she was choosing her words carefully. "You and I, we know more about Colonel O'Neill's history than anyone else here at the SGC, things he's never told anyone, not even Daniel, close as they are. I've read all the medical reports, I know what has been done to him in the past. And I know the Colonel is as strong of a human being as I have ever met. But I also know we all have our limits, and I am concerned that he is very nearly reaching his. Sir."

"What are your concerns here Doctor, aside from the strictly medical?"

"In the long run, worst case, Sir? Full blown PTSD, maybe flashbacks, nightmares, insomnia. At the least it will dredge up some pretty ugly memories that he keeps pretty well hidden from everyone, including himself. Handling this carefully from the start is important. And the sooner we get him out of this situation, the better, Sir."

I could do nothing but nod.

As the afternoon wore on, I drifted in and out of awareness. I desperately wanted a drink, a place to lie down, even one of those mindnumbing painkillers I usually hated. Sweat was running down my face, not just from the heat as I stood tied to that post in the broiling sun, but from the fever I knew was starting. And, of course, there was that little matter of blood leaking out of me in about, oh, gee three, four places.

Every once in a while, one of those natives walked over and harassed me-- a little verbal abuse, a bump, a tug on the chains, a friendly tap against the arrow in my bicep. Torturers-- never an original thought, thank God.

I remembered the gate opening, wondering if General Hammond was going to send a rescue. Soon, General, you better do it soon, I thought, because I could feel myself slipping, weakening. It's a feeling I recognized, one I knew far too well. Each time the gate closed, I stifled my disappointment, understanding what the General was doing, but hoping he didn't wait too long.

Suddenly a face was looming in front of me. My pal Jamar was back and he was drinking noisily from a jug of water. I couldn't stop myself as I licked my dry lips, but I did manage to bite back the words. I don't think I managed to keep the look of longing off my face, though, because right then I would have given anything for a drink of that water. I could all but taste it, the cool feel of it washing down my throat. Whoa, Jack, don't start hallucinating.

"Want some?" Jamar asked.

I'm no fool, didn't bite at that question, said nothing, closed my eyes.

He stepped closer, took the jug and poured the water inches from my face. I lunged forward, managed to get some of the liquid on my face, and licked it off my lips, mere drops. I didn't think it helped, I thought it made my thirst worse, actually, that tiny, tiny taste of water.

My heavy eyes slid closed, it seemed to take more and more effort to keep them open. Hurry, General, I don't know how long I can last, because I can still feel the blood trickling down my side. How many quarts in the human body? Hmm. Not enough, to hang here, bleeding, forever.

The hated voice was back. "We've got your friends, you know." I opened my eyes.

No, I don't know. I didn't believe him, wouldn't believe him. He'd say anything. "If you've got them, show me. Prove it," I rasped.

Jamar laughed. "I don't have to prove anything to you, man from Earth. Except that I am your keeper. I own you." And he twisted the arrow.

Oh shit. The darkness was roaring back. As the black wave washed over me, I knew he was wrong. Nobody but Jack O'Neill owns Jack O'Neill, not even on my worst day.

<><><><><>

Daniel didn't want to watch, but he couldn't stop. If he watched, maybe he could see something, discover something that could help Jack. But all he'd been able to do was watch helplessly as Jamar worked on Jack like, like, Daniel didn't have a word for it. In any language.

He'd also seen the Stargate open several times, each time expecting a rescue, anticipating the arrival of troops, expecting the Marines to come charging through to the rescue, but no one came and after a couple of minutes, the wormhole would close again.

After the third gate opening and closing, Daniel dropped the field glasses, and began pacing in frustration. "Where are they Sam? Why haven't they come for him? What are they waiting for? Can't they see what's happening?"

Major Carter didn't have any comforting answers. "I don't know Daniel, but the General must have a plan. We have to trust him."

"Trust him? While that maniac is carving up Jack like a Christmas turkey? Oh God, Sam, he was grinning while Jamar did it."

"Well, you know the Colonel's always been..."

"What, crazy? Stubborn?" Daniel stopped, stared at the major. "That's not human, to just, just..."

"He was in covert ops, Daniel, I'd expect the Colonel knows a few things about situations like this, about control and resistance. The military doesn't just send us out there. Anytime you're in combat, Daniel, you get training, just in case you fall into enemy hands."

"Training to do that?" Daniel asked incredulous.

"Well, not exactly, but in ways to survive."

Daniel sank down to the ground, buried his face in his hands, muttering. "How did I ever get involved with the military, huh? I'm an archeologist. A linguist. A man who lives for words. So what am I doing out here with people who could stand by and do nothing while my friend is tortured?"

"Daniel..." Carter was holding out the binoculars to him.

"No. No more. I can't watch."

I've got 16 of the SGC's finest lined up at the base of the gateramp, ready for the rescue mission, volunteers all. There's plenty of risk in this. Sure, we've got superior firepower and protective gear too. But Colonel O'Neill doesn't, and neither does Dr. Jackson nor Major Carter, either.

I'd had them opening the Stargate at irregular intervals over the past six hours, letting anywhere from 10 to 45 minutes elapse between each activation. I was hoping that would allow the natives to become used to the phenomena, become less suspicious and less wary, before we went through. I didn't want this to end up in a standoff, with one of them holding a gun to the Colonel's head, okay, they didn't have guns, then a knife to O'Neill's throat.

We'd turned on the MALP camera with every wormhole activation, and each time the scene was the same-- the Sorgi warriors crowding around the gate; O'Neill unconscious, or dead, shackled to the post; and no sign of the missing members of SG-1. I wasn't sure whether I was relieved about that last bit or not, but at least they weren't being tortured--- don't go there, George. Don't think about what they may have done to O'Neill.

Dr. Fraiser says he's alive. She studied the MALP tapes carefully, a look of horror escaping her otherwise professional demeanor, but she's assured me that as of our last gate check, he was still breathing.

Sixteen good men in front of me, Dr. Fraiser beside me, looking even tinier than usual in field armor. Once again we activated the wormhole, and the MALP. It had gone dark on the planet. In the distance there was a fire, and I could see men huddled around it, some sitting up, some appearing to be asleep. There were at least three guards around the gate, and they turned to watch curiously, but did nothing. Ahh, just that gate thing acting strangely again.

O'Neill still hung limply from the post but I did see him stir. "Dr. Fraiser?"

"Yes I see. He's conscious." Her tight smile relaxed a little, a good sign.

"Okay, SG-2, SG-3, and reserves, let's go!"

Sixteen brave men, one brave doctor and a foolhardy general charged through the gate.

I've done this gate travel thing a couple of times before and I can tell you I've never enjoyed it much, the disorientation and the sense of cold. I staggered as I hit the ramp on that alien world. The air was filled with yelling, shouting and shooting. Just as planned, the Marines swept down the ramp, past O'Neill, charging through to the camp and surrounding the fire. Meanwhile Ferretti's team was charged with getting to the Colonel, forming a protective ring around him to shield him. Captain Lewis wielded the bolt cutters, freeing O'Neill as Fraiser hurried to his side.

I must be delirious, because I thought I just saw Makepeace and Ferretti and a bunch of familiar SGC faces come through the gate. Then I saw General Hammond and Dr. Fraiser and I knew I was losing my mind.

Until Ferretti was there, touching my arm, telling me to hold on, it would be okay, and someone was cutting the chains that held me.

Freed, I sank bonelessly to the ground, gentle hands catching me, and Dr. Fraiser really was there. "Colonel?"

"Howdy, Doc. Glad you could come," I said, coughed heavily. "Fun place, this."

"I'm sure it is, Colonel."

"Teal'c, the big guy, he's okay?" I mumbled.

"Yes, Sir, Colonel, he's fine."

"Good," I said, feeling very lightheaded, knowing I wasn't fine. "Did anybody think to bring some water?"

I could see Ferretti grabbing for his canteen. Doc took it from him, held it to my lips. "Easy. Just a sip Colonel." She pulled it away much too soon, her face had that bedside manner look, the one that meant that I wasn't going to like what she was going to tell me next. "I'm sorry, Sir, I can't let you have any more just now. I know you're thirsty but..."

I'd been through this before. "I know the drill Doc. 'Sss okay." Not really, but what else was I going to say?

Doc checked my pulse and pulled a stethoscope from her pocket, listening intently to my heart and breathing. Ah, Doc, she always comes prepared, I thought. Then she was looking at my arm, the caked blood there on my sleeve around the shaft of the arrow, my thigh where blood was still leaking from Jamar's cuts, and my ribs where there was a good deal of blood soaking both the side and back of my shirt. Quickly I heard her say, "General?"

Hammond was immediately there, looking down at me. "Colonel?"

"Yup, it's me, Sir," I said, forcing my eyes open again, licking my lips. "Carter, Daniel, they're out there...."

"We'll find them, Colonel. Don't worry." His eyes shifted from my face. "Doctor?"

"From a quick exam, he's got two arrow wounds, ribcage and right arm; several deep nasty cuts on his right thigh; a likely concussion, he's in need of transfusions and rehydration, and that's just for starters. I need to get him back, stat."

"Lewis," I heard Hammond order. "Dial up for home. You three, help Dr. Fraiser get the Colonel through the gate."

"I don't need a stretcher," I protested weakly, as they lifted me onto one. "Hmmm."

"Sorry, Colonel, I know that hurt." said Doc's gentle voice. "But you know with a head wound I have to assess you further before I can give you anything for the pain," I nodded, I've been through this part before, too "so hold on just a couple more minutes and we'll get you back to the infirmary."

"Okay, Doc," I whispered, too exhausted to protest.

I heard the wormhole open and the code acknowledged. Dr. Fraiser was once again looming above me. "Colonel, here we go.."

I tried to raise my shoulders off the stretcher, barely managed to move my head. "Wait, Doc, I need to talk to the General. Please."

I saw her wave at a soldier, and in a moment Hammond was back at my side, his hand on my shoulder. "What do you need Jack?"

"You won't come back without them, Sir, Daniel and Carter?"

"Of course not, son."

"Your word, Sir," my voice was barely a whisper.

"My word, Colonel." And then he was waving at the men carrying me, and the stretcher was being lifted up and carried through the gate.

I spend a lot of time grousing about being in the infirmary, and God knows I can't wait to get out of there once I'm in there, but I'll let you in on a little secret-- once in a while, I actually do appreciate the place. Like right then, when I was hurting. There was a crowd waiting at the foot of the gate, a blur of faces I dimly saw as I was carried in, rushed down the hallway to the infirmary and transferred to a bed.

Okay I thought, time to let go now Jack. You've done all you could, now it's time to let Doc do her job, you're in good hands. There was comfort in the darkness this time, because I knew help was at hand.

O'Neill was a hell of a mess. Again. Blood loss, infection, dehydration, probable concussion, and I hadn't even bothered looking at his swollen knee. That was the least of my worries. I needed to get him stabilized before I did anything else. As we hurried down the hallway, I started barking orders at my staff. Yes, before I'd left I'd made sure we were set up to treat him, knowing he'd be my first patient back through the gate-- so we had the blood for transfusions, fluids, and antibiotics standing by. My staff had been through this rapid assessment and treatment routine before, like a well-honed ER team. We'd have done the Colonel's favorite TV show proud, I thought.

Three hours later we wheeled him out of the OR and back to the infirmary. Daniel and Sam were waiting, General Hammond too.

"How's Colonel O'Neill?" asked the General, without preamble.

I smiled grimly. "He's come through the surgery well, Sir, considering his overall poor condition going in. We stopped the bleeding and repaired the damage from both arrow wounds and the cuts on his leg. We have him on antibiotic therapy for the infection. His blood pressure is still a little low but we're giving him fluids and it's stabilizing. He'll sleep for several hours after the surgery, but it went well. Now we just need to wait and see," I said, exchanging a grim smile with our CO.

<><><><><>

Two hours later, I heard someone walk into the infirmary. It was an exhausted looking Daniel, carrying his ever present cup of coffee. "Teal'c is resting, so I came to check on Jack," he explained.

"The Colonel's still asleep, Daniel, and I don't imagine he'll wake until morning, at least. Why don't you get some rest?"

"I couldn't," he said. So we walked down to O'Neill's bed, looking in on the unconscious Colonel. The monitors sounded their steady, reassuring tones, his breathing still sounded rough, but better than it had a couple of hours ago. "He's improving, Daniel."

He stood quietly, looking down at his friend, seeing the bruised and cut face, the bandages wrapped around O'Neill's bloodied wrists, and knowing there were more bandages on his arm, thigh and chest. "I was watching, Janet, when that guy was doing this, torturing him."

"It would have been very painful, what they did." I could see the hurt on Daniel's face.

"I wanted to help..."

"I know. It's hard to see someone in pain, and be able to do nothing."

Daniel looked down. "Can I sit with him for a while?"

"Of course, Daniel. Sam was here earlier, and the General just left, but he hasn't been conscious since he got out of surgery. I don't expect him to wake for quite a while yet, but it always seems to comfort a patient, to have someone nearby."

"I know."

I thought about all the times this close-knit team had been here for each other, knew it helped the well as much as the injured, to be together, at times like these. I patted Jackson's arm. "I'll be in my office. Come get more coffee if you need it, huh?"

"Thanks, Doc."

I pulled up a chair beside Jack's bed and sat watching for hours, my thoughts drifting, remembering all the times we have spent together, long nights around campfires out there in the universe, long nights in here, watching over one another. Janet was in and out, checking him, adjusting the meds and IVs, fussing over him and worrying over me, too, I think. She's like that. I just wish she could be more reassuring about how Jack is doing. She hasn't said he'll be okay, just that he's doing well. Not the same thing, not at all, in Dr. Fraiser's vocabulary.

Jack O'Neill is my friend, my best friend, though I can't explain what it was that made that happen. He was such a very different man so long ago when I first met him. I didn't much like him then, actually, well, to tell the truth I was afraid of him, or at least intimidated by him, a man I thought was so cold and hard and uncaring, typical stiff-necked military. It took me a while to see that he wasn't that way at all, that he was just so deeply hurt he had shut himself off from everyone. Maybe I saw a bit of a kindred spirit, in that grave, sad visage? I'd been there myself, a time or two, alone and hurt and scared. He just hid it better.

But in the end I had come to know that Jack was much more human than he let on, more compassionate and caring than I ever would have thought back when I first met him. He just buried his emotions so deep sometimes I thought he wasn't even aware of them. And that sarcasm, I learned it was just a defense mechanism to cover up the real Jack O'Neill.

Not to say that I don't find him demanding, irritating, maddening, and all too often absolutely downright annoying, which sometimes I do believe he does on purpose, I must admit. Yet despite everything, our friendship has weathered changes, disappointments, hard times, difficult decisions, arguments and disagreements and the totally opposite points of view we often take on everything from what planets we should visit to what to have for breakfast.

I'd always wondered what it would be like to have a big brother. Jack O'Neill had shown me.

I looked at the battered form on the bed and wondered what made this man tick. I still didn't know, after nearly four years. I haven't begun to figure out the real Jack O'Neill, because every time I've thought I understood him, he's done something else that surprised me.

So how did he do what he did today? Why did he do that? Why talk back when he knew the punishment that would follow? How could he stand there, silently letting that madman inflict more and more damage, more and more pain? Where had he learned to control his emotions, his reactions, to that extent? How could he? How could anyone?

"Why do you always make things so hard on yourself, Jack?" I stood, stretching, wrapped my arms around my chest, regretting all I hadn't done to help him today. "I'm sorry I couldn't help, Jack, really sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Danny boy," a barely audible voice whispered softly from the bed, surprising me, as brown eyes opened slowly. He was silent for a moment, and then, closing his eyes again, he finished very, very quietly. "I knew you were out there, you and Carter. You helped me hold on."

"But we didn't do anything," I protested. "We should have done something."

"You did. You followed my orders," Jack said, eyes still closed, and so tired he was almost slurring the words.

"Right, orders to stand by and watch them torture you. Some help we were."

The brown eyes opened once more. "You were there. That was enough. Selfish of me."

"Selfish?"

The eyes were closed again, the words so soft I could barely make them out. "Hard to watch, when you can't help. Harder than letting them do what they want to you. After a while, you just don't feel it anymore. You find something to focus on, to hang on to, and let everything else just disappear. Don't feel much, that way." The despair in his voice made me shiver. Then he forced his eyes open again, for only a moment, before they drifted shut once more. It was like he didn't have the energy to both talk and keep his eyes open. "I knew you and Carter were there and I wasn't alone. Not like, not like that other time..."

"Other time?"

But Jack wasn't saying, asleep or just not answering, I didn't know. Whichever, he left me hanging once more, dropping clues about his past, but not explaining. Saying things I didn't understand, doing things I didn't understand, but never revealing anything of himself. I'd told Sam once, a long time ago, that Jack didn't tell you much until you got to know him. I was wrong. Even when he was your best friend, even when you'd shared life and death dangers over and over, shared shattering losses and glorious victories, he kept his real self concealed within himself. I've never met a more private man, nor a more puzzling one.

"Jack, I wish you'd explain yourself." I told him softly, knowing I wouldn't get an answer. I was glad he was back asleep. He needed the rest. So did I, actually, but I had a bad feeling that it wasn't going to be easy, letting go of what I'd seen today, and getting a good night's sleep after what had happened on this mission. Not for me, and not for him.

<><><><><>

I was right, of course.

Jack made his usual quick recovery, and in only a couple of days was hinting about going home, then bugging people about going home and by the fourth day was demanding he be allowed to go home.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it wasn't too difficult, since I walked into the infirmary and into the middle of a shouting match between a very frustrated Jack O'Neill and an angry and adament Dr. Janet Fraiser. You wouldn't think it would be a fair fight, Jack being a foot taller, and outranking her. But Doc has dealt with him before.

"Colonel," I heard her say, "you are not leaving this infirmary. You are not well enough to go home."

"Why? I can't sleep, eat really bad food and take my pills at home? Huh? What are you doing here that I can't do for myself at home?" And then his voice suddenly got much quieter, and there was anger in it. "You're watching me. You think I need you and your nurses to protect me from myself? That's it, isn't it?"

"Colonel. Please. What you've been through, you need to deal with it.."

"It's been dealt with," he said stubbornly.

"With all due respect, Colonel, no it's not. Ignoring this won't change it. Torture leaves scars inside and out."

"Oh, and you think I don't know that?"

"I know that you know that, Colonel. I also know you haven't dealt with it. You haven't talked to me or Dr. MacKenzie..."

Jack snorted. "Who says I have to talk about it to deal with it? Huh?"

Janet sighed. "Colonel O'Neill, you can ignore the subject all day, but when you can barely manage to sleep at night, and the rare times you do sleep end in nightmares, your subconscious is telling you something. Colonel, I am worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm fine."

She laughed. "Right. How many times have I heard that answer? You are an expert, Sir, at covering up what you're feeling, physical or otherwise. It's unhealthy, Colonel.."

"I've been told that before. And survived."

"Colonel, we can help you..."

"There's some help I can do without, Doctor," he said coldly, then his voice softened. "Doc, come on, let me deal with this in my own way. Let me go home. My own bed. A room with a view. Hockey on TV. I can't stand these four blank walls and nurses in here pestering me every half hour and nothing to do," he finished plaintively.

Silence from Fraiser, then, softly. "This is against my better judgement, Colonel, but frankly, it's about to the point where I send you home or have my entire nursing staff call in sick with the Colonel O'Neill flu. Look, find someone who can stay with you, and I'll let you go home."

"Doc, I don't need..."

"Sir, that's final. Not home alone."

I waited a couple of moments, then walked in to his room. "Uh, hi Jack, Janet."

She looked hard at me. I think she realized I must have heard at least part of the conversation. "Daniel, I've agreed to let the Colonel go home if he has someone to stay with him."

I saw Jack grin beneath the colorful bruises on his face. "And here's just the man for the job."

"Uh, sure," I said.

"Tomorrow then," said Doc.

Jack frowned. "Tomorrow? But Doc..."

"Colonel. Tomorrow. As long as all your test results come back okay, you can go home tomorrow."

He raised his fists into the air. "Yesss."

Janet glared at me. What had I gotten myself into?

<><><><><>

I followed Dr. Fraiser into her office. "Janet?"

"I probably shouldn't be sending him home but I don't know what else to do with him," she said, frustration in her voice. "Physically, he's making a textbook recovery. His wounds are healing nicely, the infection is cleared up, he just needs to complete the course of antibiotics, eat decently, sleep enough, not overdue things. That's simple."

"So what is it you're so worried about?"

Janet motioned me to a chair, I sat, as she settled herself behind her desk, played with the stack of reports and I realized she was deciding what, or how much she could tell me. Finally, she looked up at me. "The mental effects of torture can be worse than the physical and certainly last longer. Of course, he's been..." she suddenly stopped herself.

"You know, I wish you'd stop dropping bits and pieces of his past and just tell me. It would help."

"I can't."

"And he won't." I threw my hands in the air in frustration, got out of the chair, paced in the cramped office. "So how do I help him?" I asked finally, turning back to her.

"I don't know, Daniel," she admitted.

"Oh that's great." I stood silent a moment. "Can you at least tell me what I should be worrying about?"

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Nightmares. Flashbacks at the worst."

"To the Sorgi."

"And maybe more."

Another cryptic answer. I was getting very, very tired of them. "Do you mean to the time he spent in prison? So what happened, where, before, that no one will talk about?" She looked up again, mutely. "I know, I know, doctor patient privilege and you can't tell me. So, what, I take him home and wait for him to fall apart?" No, I thought, Jack wouldn't fall apart. Explode, maybe, implode, more likely.

"No. Get him to talk if you can."

"As if that's likely to happen." Sarcasm. I was already beginning to sound like Jack.

"If he'll talk to anyone, he'll talk to you."

"And if not?"

"He's proven to be pretty good at helping himself. Let him, if he can. If not, call me, 24 hours a day, here or at home."

"That's real reassuring," I said.

"Daniel, I wish I had answers, for his sake, But there are none. Each of us reacts differently to trauma and stress. Each of us has a different level of tolerance, a different breaking point." She paused. "I can tell you what his temperature should be, his blood pressure and his heart rate. But his emotional state? Everyone's different. Just be there for him, Daniel. Sometimes, that's all a person needs."

Jack's words of four days ago came back to me. "You were there, that was enough."

I hoped it would be enough, again.

<><><><><>

Things went well to start with. No major catastrophes the first 24 hours, although Jack slept through most of it. He kept saying he was fine, but he kept falling asleep. Janet reassured me that was natural, he hadn't slept well in the infirmary, he was still on quite a few medications, and just the trip home would wear him out. By the second day he was beginning to act more like himself, relaxing in a deck chair while I mowed his lawn, giving me orders on the proper military way to cut the grass. As if I didn't know how. Well, actually, since I'd never owned my own lawn...

After supper, he settled down on the couch to watch a hockey game. Once he fell asleep, I turned down the lights and switched the TV to the Discovery Channel, soon finding myself wanting to laugh over a special on the building of the pyramids. Oh, if only they knew what I knew. If only I could tell them....

I was just wondering if I should wake Jack up to put him to bed when the nightmare started. He was mumbling something, a word, a name, "Atta."

Who or what was Atta, I wondered? No one I knew. "Jack?" I asked softly. "Jack?"

"Noooo," it was the most bloodcurdling yell I could imagine hearing from Jack O'Neill. He was thrashing like he was fighting someone and I should have known better than to get that close. But I was worried he'd pull out his stitches or do himself some other harm, and I wasn't thinking about what he could do to me. So I walked over to the couch to shake his shoulder and he hit me, hard, knocking me over the coffee table and clean across the room. I hit the wall so hard my ears rang. As I picked myself up off the floor, he shouted again, sat bolt upright and woke up.

His face was white, he was gasping for air, shaking, sweating and staring. Slowly, his eyes drifted around the room and came to rest on my face. "Daniel?"

"Yeah, it's me." I said lamely. Intelligent answer, for a linguist, yes?

He raised a hand shakily to his face, wiped across his eyes, saw the overturned coffee table and the look on my face. "I, uh, had a nightmare, huh?"

I nodded. "Oh yeah. A whopper."

He just nodded, swung his legs to the floor, dropped his head into his hands, slowly getting his breathing back under control.

"You okay?" I asked. Another brilliant comment, Daniel, I told myself.

"Hmm."

I got up, got him a glass of water and a couple of the sleeping pills Janet had sent along. He shook his head at the pills, but took the glass in shaky hands and gulped the water down.

After a moment, my need to know getting the better of my good sense, I asked softly, "Who was Atta?"

His head jerked up like someone had slapped his face.

"That's what you said. In your nightmare. You called out the name Atta."

O'Neill said nothing. He climbed to his feet, slowly, then limped over to the big picture window, staring out at the darkness. "Full moon tonight," he said.

I wasn't going to let him change the subject. It was get him to talk about it now, or let my questions go forever unanswered. "Jack, who or what was Atta?"

He turned, mutely, shook his head. "I can't tell you," he said so very, very quietly I could barely make out his words.

"He or it has something to do with Iraq. Right? Prison? Being left behind? Frank Cromwell?"

His voice turned angry. "Who told you that? Fraiser?"

"No. No one. I just put two and two together. It's what I'm good at, you know, solving riddles."

"And since when has my life been a riddle for you to solve for your amusement?"

"That's not what I meant, Jack, you know..."

"Drop it Daniel."

"You can tell me about it."

"Ah, so Doc's been talking to you, too, has she?"

I shrugged. "She's worried. I'm worried."

"Don't be."

"Can't help it."

He shrugged, winced.

"Talking will help." I suggested.

"You, maybe."

"You, too."

"I don't think so."

"What, don't you trust me?"

Quietly, he said, "I trust you with my life, Daniel."

Ah, Jack, you always know how to comfort someone else, and never yourself. "Then talk to me."

"No."

God, the man is stubborn. "Why not?"

"No!" he shouted.

"Jack..."

Angrily he asked, "what part of no don't you understand, huh? The answer is no."

"So you don't trust me."

Jack looked at me tiredly. "It's not about trust. Or friendship." He looked away. "I will not put anyone through that, to tell it, or hear it."

"Someone else, or yourself?"

He shot me a dark look. "You don't want to hear it. Believe me. And I sure as hell don't want to talk about it."

"You need to..."

"What, now you're Dr. Daniel Jackson, shrink?"

"I thought friend was enough."

Jack turned away again, back to the window and the night. "What do you want to know? That it was ugly? What do you think? My CO left me behind, left me for the enemy. The Iraqis spent four months trying to break me. I didn't let them. What they did, it makes the tactics of that sorry little Sorgi SOB look like child's play."

He went silent again. "There are some things worse than dying, Daniel. Watching your friends leave without you. Watching someone you are responsible for, someone innocent, be punished for your mistakes. Outliving your own kid."

"Jack, I...."

He turned a bleak face to me. "I'm not some superman. I'm just," he swung his arm, "I'm just Jack O'Neill, too stubborn to give up."

"What I saw on PXG-764, that was more than stubborn."

"Okay, then too stupid to know when to shut up. Or quit."

Silence.

"Jack..."

"I don't want your pity..."

"I wasn't offering any."

"Good."

"Jack..."

"Leave it."

"I won't."

"Then get the hell out of my house," he said, tiredly, not angry anymore.

"Sorry, can't do that. I promised Doc."

"Then I'm going up to bed," and he started toward the stairs.

"Well then be that way, Jack. Use your friends. Make us stand by and watch while some primitive Marquis de Sade wannabe practices his torturing skills on you, and then walk away, because all of a sudden friendship doesn't suit your needs. Okay, maybe you don't need to talk about it Jack, but I do." I paused, because he'd stopped and seemed to be listening. "I saw, I watched and I can't forget. You said it yourself, watching is harder. So if you have all the answers on coping, give me a few because I need them."

He turned back toward me, hobbling across the room, back to the window, not looking at me. "I don't have any answers." More silence, as he stared again out the window, his face shadowed. And then in the quietest voice imaginable, he went on. "When you've had every bit of humanity stripped away, Daniel, when there is nothing left but the will to survive, they take that too. And when that's gone, all that's left is your soul, and your honor. You can give up everything else, and still be a man, except for that. That's what separates us from them, from the animals. Your soul and your honor."

"I don't understand."

He turned back to me. "Good. I hope you never have to." He sat back down on the couch, carefully, favoring his side, and I knew the pain pills were wearing off and he was hurting. "You just remember, what they do to your body, that's just temporary, so long as you hold on to your soul."

"So they taught you that, where, in black ops training?"

"No, a guy with no name in Iraq taught me that," he said with a shiver.

Silence. He was on the couch, head thrown back, eyes closed. I thought he would say no more, but after a couple of moments, he added, "you are as strong as you think you are. You can survive what you believe you can survive. You can endure what you have to endure, for the sake of others." He said it like it was a mantra, like something he had recited to himself a thousand times, and I was suddenly sure he had.

After a moment, he stood up and limped once more toward the stairs. "This time, I really am going up to bed, Daniel," and I could hear the weariness in his voice.

"Need some help?"

He stopped, looked at me, and surprised me when he nodded, "yeah." When I walked over to him, he draped his arm over my shoulder and leaned on me as we went up the stairs.

<><><><><>

He'd still left most of my questions unanswered, but that was Jack. Still closed mouthed. Still private. Still his own man. But I understood him a little better, well enough to know that he didn't want me to understand, because there was a terrible price for learning that much about yourself, one he didn't want to see paid by the people he cared about.