SUVAT
The night was still and damp. The rain from earlier in the evening, though no longer falling, was still responsible for the damp in the air that lay like a blanket over everything. He had only been out there for a few minutes and already his jacket was coated in a fine mist, that has condensed to make the material heavy. Cal turned slowly, looking around at the deserted alley and seeing nothing of use to him. A figure emerged out of the shadows of one of the far corners, a tight smile graced his face, making the concern and fear that resided in his eyes more obvious.
'He is as young an immortal as I believed' Cal thought 'A young one who knows he faces his death' He smiled, the grin going wider as he watched the man in front of him glance quickly at the surrounding area. "I am Cal and I challenge you"
"I know, I don't want to fight you" A quiet voice that brought a laugh to his lips when it made its way to him.
"You don't have to fight" Cal said, feeling the tension easing from him as he realised how simple this would be, "Just die"
He drew his sword then, light glinting off the metal blade from the dim emission of the nearby street lamp, an into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. When his sight returned it was to see the other man, sword clasped tightly in both hands, eyes flirting from one dark recess of the street to another.
"I am Cal and I challenge you, state your name"
He watched with anticipation as the other immortal accepted they would be fighting that night, moving the sword into one hand, freeing the other to run over his face, wiping off the sweat that had gathered there, before raising his sword and stepping forward.
Swords clashed, causing sharp sounds to reverberate across the alley. First blood had been drawn before Cal realised that his question had never been answered, and though the wound in the other immortals side was deep, and by the grimace on his face, painful, it didn't appear to be slowing him down any, and his speed with the broadsword he wielded was something Cal had seriously underestimated. First Blood may go to him, but it was looking more and more likely that victory would go the other way.
He continued to fight though, blow after strike, after thrust, and with each stroke of his sword he felt it. Power, Old Power. Flickers of blue flame that licked across his opponents skin, healing even deep wounds quickly, much quicker than Cal had ever seen before, and then he knew I was over. This was no young immortal, had he known that from the start, the end may have been different, but he had been so confident, so sure that victory was his, that he had demanded to know the name of he who he would slaughter, and now he knew that the exhausting display he had performed to scare the child he believed himself to be facing, would result in his death.
A sharp pain in is chest signified the beginning of the end. He dropped sharply to his knees as the sword was removed form his torso, his hands automatically coming up to clutch at the penetrating wound, blood flowing over his fingers, his own sword falling from their grip.
"Who are you?" He gasped, bubbles of blood accompanying his words and staining his lips red.
The reply he received was a sentence he himself had said more times than he could recall.
"There can be only one."
Three minutes later and it was Cal's opponent who knelt gasping and trembling on the alley floor. The smell of ozone was heavy in the air, mingling with the scent rising form the newly disturbed trash cans, all products of the quickening that had torn through the area and was currently attempting the same within the confines of his body. It hurt, they always hurt, but some settled faster than others, the sensations of another under your skin leaving moments after the storm stopped, but not this one. This quickening, like the man who owned it, was stubborn, fighting till the end, sending electrical charges running across his skin, causing twitches in his muscles some strong enough to be visibly apparent, and intense pain that bloomed randomly across his body and could be sharp enough to send his to his knees.
Using his sword as leverage Methos rose to his feet, wiping the blade clean on the clothes of the decapitated corpse in front of him, before sheathing it in the confines of his coat and staggering across to the far corner form which he came. His duffel bag was where he left it, undisturbed by the quickening, but one corner wet from the damp floor on which it lay. He pushed his coat from his shoulders, the heavy material muffling the sword so the only sound was a dull thud as it hit the ground. His sweater was next, the white material stained with blood, both his and his opponents, and had a deep slash across the abdomen that ensured the garment was headed for the trash whether the blood could be washed out or not. He wiped ineffectually across his chest, smearing the blood that covered it rather than removing it, the woollen sweater painful against his hypersensitive skin. A moment later, and no cleaner, that too fell to the floor. He dressed in a grey Henley that he pulled from his bag, glad that the material was smoother than that which he had been wearing, but still unable to stop the his of pain that escaped as he stretched over used muscles and scrapped raw skin when he pulled the shirt on.
When he was dressed he left the alley, bloody sweater hidden in the depths of his bag, coat wrapped tightly around him, the dark material hiding the fluids that stained it.
He walked as fast as he could, his tired body still wracked by tremors, slowing his pace from his usual loping stride, but he still moved quickly, knowing it was imperative he wasn't in the area for much longer. He knew that Cal's watcher was somewhere at the end of the alley, he hoped that no evidence of who he was had been gathered, otherwise the explaining he would have to do to his former employees would be a lot harder. Although no longer a member of the Watcher Organisation being found out as an immortal would not go down well, he just had to prove that he came into his immortality after he joined the Watchers, not the thousands of years before that was reality, and maybe they would let him live.
He walked on quickly, soon it wouldn't just be the field Watcher he had to avoid, the retrieval and cleanup squad would be arriving soon, the body removed the area cleared, all evidence of the watchers and the fight gone so that no police involvement would be required. And if he was still in the area his cover would be well and truly blown, and with his current situation and relationships the safety and anonymity of Pierson was something he welcomed.
He turned out of the alley and onto the main street, moving quickly past the shop fronts, keeping in as many shadows as he could, while his black jeans and coat were doing a good job of concealing the blood he was covered in he saw no point in tempting fate. After 20 minutes, his muscles screaming and his step had slowed to shuffling gait, he could finally see the neon sign of the establishment he had been heading to when Cal had challenged him.
Methos had planned to meet MacLeod there, Joe's presence hopefully a calming influence on the meeting, but by now he was definitely late and he was unsure if the Scot would still be there, he hoped that he was, although he didn't want the meeting to happen, unsure as he was of his standing with his friend, he knew that it needed to occur, but mainly because if MacLeod wasn't in the bar then the presence he felt had a high probability of being a hostile immortal as the late time meant the bar was closed and so the immortal couldn't be a customer, and he really didn't want another fight now. He knew he should leave, turn, go and survive, but he couldn't leave Joe in that possibly fatal situation, despite all his protests to the contrary he had grown attached to his friends, properly and strongly attached for the first time in a long time, and although his survival instincts were screaming at him to run, another internal voice, quieter, but more intense for that, was telling him not to desert his friends.
He shuffled forwards, his hand dropping from its position wrapped around his stomach , to hover over the hilt of his sword. His left hand reached forwards, the wood of the door rough under his fingers. He paused for one moment, listening, hearing nothing, before pushing the door open and back, making sure , by its undisturbed arc, that nobody was behind it, and stepping into the building.
It wasn't MacLeod, he could tell that from the now intensified presence, this identification technique a new occurrence and probably, he decided, connected to the events in Bordeaux.
He pushed those thoughts from his mind, focusing on adjusting his sight to the hazy light that filled the bar. Glancing quickly about his eyes locked with the immortal standing by the bar and as recognition filtered over both faces he took two final exhausted steps and collapsed forward into the nearest booth.
"Ad..Me…Adam?" The young man finally settled on using the alias, as he moved between the tables, covering the distance between the bar and the form slumped in his seat within a few seconds. "Adam, what happened?"
"Hi Rich" The voice was quiet, but the exhaustion and pain was evident to the young American. "Didn't know you were back in town, have I missed MacLeod?"
"Mac..he just went for pizza, are you okay?"
His concern was waved away as Methos pulled himself further into the seat, turning slightly to lean against the wall, his head lolling sideways to rest against the arm he had propped on the table.
With one last look at the pale man, his closed eyes making the dark bruises beneath them starkly obvious, Richie turned and walked into the back of the bar.
Joe Dawson was working at the computer, his hands moving steadily over the keys, searching out information on the latest head-hunter in the area so that he would have something to report when his assignment returned with the food. Normally he wouldn't use the database to provide information, but this immortal was involving mortals in his challenges and that just couldn't be allowed to continue.
He looked up as Richie entered the room, his years as a watcher had strengthened his observation skills so he didn't miss the slightly paler complexion and worried eyes.
"Richie?" he asked, that one word carrying a thousand questions.
Richie gestured back the way he'd came and as the Watcher rose and followed him out into the bar he heard him reply, "Adam's here, he doesn't look good"
Joe sighed, not surprised by the young mans statement, he had a few phone conversations and had seen Adam a few days earlier and he knew his friend didn't look well, not strange considering the events of a few weeks previously. The whole Kronos incident had opened up too many memories for the immortal and Joe was fairly sure that the time Adam spent with the reunited Horsemen hadn't been all that pleasant as well.
He walked across the deserted room, heading towards the only occupant, he could immediately see that the tired and haunted face he had seen at their last meeting now looked five times worse, and that combined with the exhausted slump to his friends body, the pain in his eyes and the nervous agitated movement of his fingers as he plucked at his Henley, all made Joe think of one thing.
"You've taken a quickening"
He watched as Adams head snapped up, his eyes flashing open, his breathing erratic, and realised with a shock that his friend had only noticed his presence when he had spoken.
"Yeah, a bloody head-hunter," Adam rasped, "a very active head-hunter"
And with that said his head dropped back onto his arm, eyes fluttering for a few seconds before deciding that a half-mast position was all they could manage. Dawson placed his hand on his friends shoulder, giving a quick squeeze of sympathy and feeling the tense twitching and minuscule shudders of the muscles beneath the skin, realised that Adam was in far worse shape than his appearance showed.
That was when the presence hit.
Joe of course couldn't feel the presence, but the synchronised shift in positions by both immortals in the room, though barely more than a lifting of his head from Adam, was more than enough warning for him.
Richie turned towards the door, taking a step nearer to the occupied booth.
"Don't worry I got this one" he stated as his eyes took in the exhausted frame and remembered how he had been in no condition for a fight after he had taken a quickening. Adam shook his head and Richie opened his mouth to argue when he heard to words that gained both his and Joe's complete attention.
"It's Mac."
*****
A distant rumble of thunder could be heard rolling across the terrain. The ears of the small rabbit-like creatures that sat in the long grass twitched, and as one they disappeared down the hillside. The sound of the stems swishing back into position behind them was loud in the silence that had ascended.
There was nothing unusual in this quiet, the calm before the storm, as the animals in the area sort out shelter from the rain that the thunder signified was on its way. Nothing unusual except for the cloudless blue sky that stretched the miles to the horizon where a large circle could be seen silhouetted against the sky.
The ground came up to meet him as he stumbled, rolled and rose to a crouch, gun at the ready. Seeing no threat to his team he stood, shaking his head to remove the dust that had settled in his hair. The sound of thunder came again as he turned in time to see the shimmering water within the giant circle disappear and hear the female member of the team state that the gate was deactivated, a statement he felt deserved only one answer;
"Ya think"
Two hours later and Colonel Jack O'Neill was easing himself to the floor, his pack resting beside him, his back against a section of the temple that the rest of his team were exploring. He'd already walked the perimeter of the ruins, set up a small camp area and put some water on to boil for the MRE's, now he relaxed slightly, not all the way, Jack was fairly certain he would never relax completely when off planet, but enough to loose some of the tension that had been gathering as they had hiked to the site, happy with the knowledge that his team were safe.
Teal'c he knew would be keeping an eye and ear open for danger, and in about 15 minutes would come out and offer to walk the perimeter, knowing somehow without ever being told that Jack would have risen and done that himself moments later. It was one of the many ways that the Jaffa provided silent support, and in some ways O'Neill thought of Teal'c as his 2Ic more than Carter. Though that was unfair to the blonde Captain, he could see her now, knelt by an outside wall, tools in hand as she collected soil and vegetation samples to take back to command, but her weapon always nearby, and as he watched he saw her head come up and scan the area, as he knew she would do periodically, checking that nothing had breached the area. No, O'Neill knew that Carter was a good Captain and he was glad she was on his squad, but even with her obvious military bearing there would always be something about her that screamed scientist, and Jack knew that that could override the Airforce in her any day.
Teal'c approached then, a nod given in agreement and thanks and the large man was on his way, checking the area hadn't been compromised as Jack had expected. Watching the Jaffa walk away, the sunlight that filtered through the clouds overhead glinting off the dark skin and metal tattoo, he realised that he didn't think of the man as his second, he thought of him as a warrior, a comrade, a team member, but he knew that the relief he felt with Teal'c on his team was due to being able to rely on his response and expertise. He was the only member of the team who was solely a warrior, trained in the art of war, though not familiar with the airforce regulations, one of the reasons Carter was more suitable for her job than him, and that meant jack didn't have to worry about him so much. Not that he didn't worry, every time they stepped through the gate he worried about them all, would the natives of this planet be hostile, would they cause problems for the outsiders, and Teal'c, for ever marked as Jaffa, warrior and sometimes enemy, often became the focus for that hostility. So even Teal'c's warrior status wasn't enough to bury all his more unusual fears, with two academics, one warrior, and one airforce, squeezed into the three people under his command, what he needed was someone who was plain airforce, black ops trained in preference, what he needed was someone like Kowalsky. But Kowalsky was dead along with so many others, killed in those early missions before they knew what they were facing, before they could turn their training and adjust their skills slightly to fight the Goa'uld properly.
O'Neill sighed, pushing himself to his feet, glancing once around the area before heading into the temple, leaving his pack in it's place by the fire but bringing his weapon, the weight of the P90 against his side a comfort.
The air was cooler inside the temple, though they had been described as ruins they were mostly intact, the roof and walls blocking out the strong sun and making the change in temperature obvious as he stepped inside. He leant against the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dark and he could make out Daniel, bent over some inscriptions, books and notepads scattered across the surrounding floor. Jack smile at the picture, and at the man who glanced up, smiled himself, before returning to his work. Dr Jackson in his element, O'Neill thought. Daniel, the other scientist on the team, this time without any form of military training to help him, but still a good man, a good friend, and someone Jack was glad to have on his team, not just for the linguistic and archaeological skills he brought, but for his passion and his humanity.
All in all, Jack thought as he turned in the doorway, seeing Carter packing away her samples, Teal'c tending to the fire and the food, and back to Daniel, who was picking up his books and heading towards him, he was lucky in the team selection for SG-1, they were all good people who he'd trust to watch his back, and they all let him lead in his slightly unconventional style.
He took a few steps forward then, taking a pile of books from Daniel, and cracking the usual bad joke about the "rocks" that had his friend so fascinated, as they walked over towards the fire and the rest of his team.
The night was still and damp. The rain from earlier in the evening, though no longer falling, was still responsible for the damp in the air that lay like a blanket over everything. He had only been out there for a few minutes and already his jacket was coated in a fine mist, that has condensed to make the material heavy. Cal turned slowly, looking around at the deserted alley and seeing nothing of use to him. A figure emerged out of the shadows of one of the far corners, a tight smile graced his face, making the concern and fear that resided in his eyes more obvious.
'He is as young an immortal as I believed' Cal thought 'A young one who knows he faces his death' He smiled, the grin going wider as he watched the man in front of him glance quickly at the surrounding area. "I am Cal and I challenge you"
"I know, I don't want to fight you" A quiet voice that brought a laugh to his lips when it made its way to him.
"You don't have to fight" Cal said, feeling the tension easing from him as he realised how simple this would be, "Just die"
He drew his sword then, light glinting off the metal blade from the dim emission of the nearby street lamp, an into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. When his sight returned it was to see the other man, sword clasped tightly in both hands, eyes flirting from one dark recess of the street to another.
"I am Cal and I challenge you, state your name"
He watched with anticipation as the other immortal accepted they would be fighting that night, moving the sword into one hand, freeing the other to run over his face, wiping off the sweat that had gathered there, before raising his sword and stepping forward.
Swords clashed, causing sharp sounds to reverberate across the alley. First blood had been drawn before Cal realised that his question had never been answered, and though the wound in the other immortals side was deep, and by the grimace on his face, painful, it didn't appear to be slowing him down any, and his speed with the broadsword he wielded was something Cal had seriously underestimated. First Blood may go to him, but it was looking more and more likely that victory would go the other way.
He continued to fight though, blow after strike, after thrust, and with each stroke of his sword he felt it. Power, Old Power. Flickers of blue flame that licked across his opponents skin, healing even deep wounds quickly, much quicker than Cal had ever seen before, and then he knew I was over. This was no young immortal, had he known that from the start, the end may have been different, but he had been so confident, so sure that victory was his, that he had demanded to know the name of he who he would slaughter, and now he knew that the exhausting display he had performed to scare the child he believed himself to be facing, would result in his death.
A sharp pain in is chest signified the beginning of the end. He dropped sharply to his knees as the sword was removed form his torso, his hands automatically coming up to clutch at the penetrating wound, blood flowing over his fingers, his own sword falling from their grip.
"Who are you?" He gasped, bubbles of blood accompanying his words and staining his lips red.
The reply he received was a sentence he himself had said more times than he could recall.
"There can be only one."
Three minutes later and it was Cal's opponent who knelt gasping and trembling on the alley floor. The smell of ozone was heavy in the air, mingling with the scent rising form the newly disturbed trash cans, all products of the quickening that had torn through the area and was currently attempting the same within the confines of his body. It hurt, they always hurt, but some settled faster than others, the sensations of another under your skin leaving moments after the storm stopped, but not this one. This quickening, like the man who owned it, was stubborn, fighting till the end, sending electrical charges running across his skin, causing twitches in his muscles some strong enough to be visibly apparent, and intense pain that bloomed randomly across his body and could be sharp enough to send his to his knees.
Using his sword as leverage Methos rose to his feet, wiping the blade clean on the clothes of the decapitated corpse in front of him, before sheathing it in the confines of his coat and staggering across to the far corner form which he came. His duffel bag was where he left it, undisturbed by the quickening, but one corner wet from the damp floor on which it lay. He pushed his coat from his shoulders, the heavy material muffling the sword so the only sound was a dull thud as it hit the ground. His sweater was next, the white material stained with blood, both his and his opponents, and had a deep slash across the abdomen that ensured the garment was headed for the trash whether the blood could be washed out or not. He wiped ineffectually across his chest, smearing the blood that covered it rather than removing it, the woollen sweater painful against his hypersensitive skin. A moment later, and no cleaner, that too fell to the floor. He dressed in a grey Henley that he pulled from his bag, glad that the material was smoother than that which he had been wearing, but still unable to stop the his of pain that escaped as he stretched over used muscles and scrapped raw skin when he pulled the shirt on.
When he was dressed he left the alley, bloody sweater hidden in the depths of his bag, coat wrapped tightly around him, the dark material hiding the fluids that stained it.
He walked as fast as he could, his tired body still wracked by tremors, slowing his pace from his usual loping stride, but he still moved quickly, knowing it was imperative he wasn't in the area for much longer. He knew that Cal's watcher was somewhere at the end of the alley, he hoped that no evidence of who he was had been gathered, otherwise the explaining he would have to do to his former employees would be a lot harder. Although no longer a member of the Watcher Organisation being found out as an immortal would not go down well, he just had to prove that he came into his immortality after he joined the Watchers, not the thousands of years before that was reality, and maybe they would let him live.
He walked on quickly, soon it wouldn't just be the field Watcher he had to avoid, the retrieval and cleanup squad would be arriving soon, the body removed the area cleared, all evidence of the watchers and the fight gone so that no police involvement would be required. And if he was still in the area his cover would be well and truly blown, and with his current situation and relationships the safety and anonymity of Pierson was something he welcomed.
He turned out of the alley and onto the main street, moving quickly past the shop fronts, keeping in as many shadows as he could, while his black jeans and coat were doing a good job of concealing the blood he was covered in he saw no point in tempting fate. After 20 minutes, his muscles screaming and his step had slowed to shuffling gait, he could finally see the neon sign of the establishment he had been heading to when Cal had challenged him.
Methos had planned to meet MacLeod there, Joe's presence hopefully a calming influence on the meeting, but by now he was definitely late and he was unsure if the Scot would still be there, he hoped that he was, although he didn't want the meeting to happen, unsure as he was of his standing with his friend, he knew that it needed to occur, but mainly because if MacLeod wasn't in the bar then the presence he felt had a high probability of being a hostile immortal as the late time meant the bar was closed and so the immortal couldn't be a customer, and he really didn't want another fight now. He knew he should leave, turn, go and survive, but he couldn't leave Joe in that possibly fatal situation, despite all his protests to the contrary he had grown attached to his friends, properly and strongly attached for the first time in a long time, and although his survival instincts were screaming at him to run, another internal voice, quieter, but more intense for that, was telling him not to desert his friends.
He shuffled forwards, his hand dropping from its position wrapped around his stomach , to hover over the hilt of his sword. His left hand reached forwards, the wood of the door rough under his fingers. He paused for one moment, listening, hearing nothing, before pushing the door open and back, making sure , by its undisturbed arc, that nobody was behind it, and stepping into the building.
It wasn't MacLeod, he could tell that from the now intensified presence, this identification technique a new occurrence and probably, he decided, connected to the events in Bordeaux.
He pushed those thoughts from his mind, focusing on adjusting his sight to the hazy light that filled the bar. Glancing quickly about his eyes locked with the immortal standing by the bar and as recognition filtered over both faces he took two final exhausted steps and collapsed forward into the nearest booth.
"Ad..Me…Adam?" The young man finally settled on using the alias, as he moved between the tables, covering the distance between the bar and the form slumped in his seat within a few seconds. "Adam, what happened?"
"Hi Rich" The voice was quiet, but the exhaustion and pain was evident to the young American. "Didn't know you were back in town, have I missed MacLeod?"
"Mac..he just went for pizza, are you okay?"
His concern was waved away as Methos pulled himself further into the seat, turning slightly to lean against the wall, his head lolling sideways to rest against the arm he had propped on the table.
With one last look at the pale man, his closed eyes making the dark bruises beneath them starkly obvious, Richie turned and walked into the back of the bar.
Joe Dawson was working at the computer, his hands moving steadily over the keys, searching out information on the latest head-hunter in the area so that he would have something to report when his assignment returned with the food. Normally he wouldn't use the database to provide information, but this immortal was involving mortals in his challenges and that just couldn't be allowed to continue.
He looked up as Richie entered the room, his years as a watcher had strengthened his observation skills so he didn't miss the slightly paler complexion and worried eyes.
"Richie?" he asked, that one word carrying a thousand questions.
Richie gestured back the way he'd came and as the Watcher rose and followed him out into the bar he heard him reply, "Adam's here, he doesn't look good"
Joe sighed, not surprised by the young mans statement, he had a few phone conversations and had seen Adam a few days earlier and he knew his friend didn't look well, not strange considering the events of a few weeks previously. The whole Kronos incident had opened up too many memories for the immortal and Joe was fairly sure that the time Adam spent with the reunited Horsemen hadn't been all that pleasant as well.
He walked across the deserted room, heading towards the only occupant, he could immediately see that the tired and haunted face he had seen at their last meeting now looked five times worse, and that combined with the exhausted slump to his friends body, the pain in his eyes and the nervous agitated movement of his fingers as he plucked at his Henley, all made Joe think of one thing.
"You've taken a quickening"
He watched as Adams head snapped up, his eyes flashing open, his breathing erratic, and realised with a shock that his friend had only noticed his presence when he had spoken.
"Yeah, a bloody head-hunter," Adam rasped, "a very active head-hunter"
And with that said his head dropped back onto his arm, eyes fluttering for a few seconds before deciding that a half-mast position was all they could manage. Dawson placed his hand on his friends shoulder, giving a quick squeeze of sympathy and feeling the tense twitching and minuscule shudders of the muscles beneath the skin, realised that Adam was in far worse shape than his appearance showed.
That was when the presence hit.
Joe of course couldn't feel the presence, but the synchronised shift in positions by both immortals in the room, though barely more than a lifting of his head from Adam, was more than enough warning for him.
Richie turned towards the door, taking a step nearer to the occupied booth.
"Don't worry I got this one" he stated as his eyes took in the exhausted frame and remembered how he had been in no condition for a fight after he had taken a quickening. Adam shook his head and Richie opened his mouth to argue when he heard to words that gained both his and Joe's complete attention.
"It's Mac."
*****
A distant rumble of thunder could be heard rolling across the terrain. The ears of the small rabbit-like creatures that sat in the long grass twitched, and as one they disappeared down the hillside. The sound of the stems swishing back into position behind them was loud in the silence that had ascended.
There was nothing unusual in this quiet, the calm before the storm, as the animals in the area sort out shelter from the rain that the thunder signified was on its way. Nothing unusual except for the cloudless blue sky that stretched the miles to the horizon where a large circle could be seen silhouetted against the sky.
The ground came up to meet him as he stumbled, rolled and rose to a crouch, gun at the ready. Seeing no threat to his team he stood, shaking his head to remove the dust that had settled in his hair. The sound of thunder came again as he turned in time to see the shimmering water within the giant circle disappear and hear the female member of the team state that the gate was deactivated, a statement he felt deserved only one answer;
"Ya think"
Two hours later and Colonel Jack O'Neill was easing himself to the floor, his pack resting beside him, his back against a section of the temple that the rest of his team were exploring. He'd already walked the perimeter of the ruins, set up a small camp area and put some water on to boil for the MRE's, now he relaxed slightly, not all the way, Jack was fairly certain he would never relax completely when off planet, but enough to loose some of the tension that had been gathering as they had hiked to the site, happy with the knowledge that his team were safe.
Teal'c he knew would be keeping an eye and ear open for danger, and in about 15 minutes would come out and offer to walk the perimeter, knowing somehow without ever being told that Jack would have risen and done that himself moments later. It was one of the many ways that the Jaffa provided silent support, and in some ways O'Neill thought of Teal'c as his 2Ic more than Carter. Though that was unfair to the blonde Captain, he could see her now, knelt by an outside wall, tools in hand as she collected soil and vegetation samples to take back to command, but her weapon always nearby, and as he watched he saw her head come up and scan the area, as he knew she would do periodically, checking that nothing had breached the area. No, O'Neill knew that Carter was a good Captain and he was glad she was on his squad, but even with her obvious military bearing there would always be something about her that screamed scientist, and Jack knew that that could override the Airforce in her any day.
Teal'c approached then, a nod given in agreement and thanks and the large man was on his way, checking the area hadn't been compromised as Jack had expected. Watching the Jaffa walk away, the sunlight that filtered through the clouds overhead glinting off the dark skin and metal tattoo, he realised that he didn't think of the man as his second, he thought of him as a warrior, a comrade, a team member, but he knew that the relief he felt with Teal'c on his team was due to being able to rely on his response and expertise. He was the only member of the team who was solely a warrior, trained in the art of war, though not familiar with the airforce regulations, one of the reasons Carter was more suitable for her job than him, and that meant jack didn't have to worry about him so much. Not that he didn't worry, every time they stepped through the gate he worried about them all, would the natives of this planet be hostile, would they cause problems for the outsiders, and Teal'c, for ever marked as Jaffa, warrior and sometimes enemy, often became the focus for that hostility. So even Teal'c's warrior status wasn't enough to bury all his more unusual fears, with two academics, one warrior, and one airforce, squeezed into the three people under his command, what he needed was someone who was plain airforce, black ops trained in preference, what he needed was someone like Kowalsky. But Kowalsky was dead along with so many others, killed in those early missions before they knew what they were facing, before they could turn their training and adjust their skills slightly to fight the Goa'uld properly.
O'Neill sighed, pushing himself to his feet, glancing once around the area before heading into the temple, leaving his pack in it's place by the fire but bringing his weapon, the weight of the P90 against his side a comfort.
The air was cooler inside the temple, though they had been described as ruins they were mostly intact, the roof and walls blocking out the strong sun and making the change in temperature obvious as he stepped inside. He leant against the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dark and he could make out Daniel, bent over some inscriptions, books and notepads scattered across the surrounding floor. Jack smile at the picture, and at the man who glanced up, smiled himself, before returning to his work. Dr Jackson in his element, O'Neill thought. Daniel, the other scientist on the team, this time without any form of military training to help him, but still a good man, a good friend, and someone Jack was glad to have on his team, not just for the linguistic and archaeological skills he brought, but for his passion and his humanity.
All in all, Jack thought as he turned in the doorway, seeing Carter packing away her samples, Teal'c tending to the fire and the food, and back to Daniel, who was picking up his books and heading towards him, he was lucky in the team selection for SG-1, they were all good people who he'd trust to watch his back, and they all let him lead in his slightly unconventional style.
He took a few steps forward then, taking a pile of books from Daniel, and cracking the usual bad joke about the "rocks" that had his friend so fascinated, as they walked over towards the fire and the rest of his team.