To Protect and To Serve

by Punny GEM

Part of a leader's job is to protect his team, but leaders, even Jack, are only human...

The first thing he saw as they led him into the room was the naked man strapped down on one of two tables in the middle of it. Frightened eyes met his, and Jack decided this was far enough. He tried to stop, to get out of the room, but they would have none of it.

They manhandled him past the fire pit to the center of the room, 'helped' him out of his clothing, and strapped him down next to the other man.

Not good. Sooo not good.

His escorts backed away to line the walls; apparently whatever was going to happen was going to have an audience. Nothing did happen for a few minutes, the room silent save for the ragged breathing of his companion as the man squirmed under the tight bonds. Jack didn't try to escape - what was the point with a half dozen guys waiting to grab you?

The door opened again to admit two people, carrying boxes. His companion reacted strongly, crying out and struggling violently against his restraints. "Oh, Buddy," Jack thought, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Jack held still and glared defiantly at their captors. In his experience, guards, interrogators, and goa'ulds all went for the guy who gave the best reaction.

This pair approached dispassionately. The one with the small box sat between the restrained men, just beyond their heads. Jack felt something on the back of his neck.

God! Not a goa'uld! No! He shook his head from side to side to try to keep it away. A hand clomped down over one cheek, forcing the other against the table and holding him still. He felt the touch on his neck again and something took hold.

It wasn't a goa'uld, thank goodness. It didn't hurt, but it did limit how much he could move his head, even after the hand was removed from his face. These guys were certainly thorough about restraining their captives. Jack tried hard not to think about why they felt it necessary.

The second person set his box down near their feet and bent over it.

He rose with a saw-like object in his hands and faced the two men restrained before him.

"Shit!" Jack gasped, abruptly deciding that 'Buddy' had been right to keep trying to escape, and so what if there were people watching. He'd rather face the whole group hand-to-hand than lay here like so much lumber before the carpenter.

"Hey, now, you don't need that! Can't we talk about this first?" His efforts to communicate - not that he actually understood their language, but he wasn't past trying anything to avoid being sawed in half by some alien magician-wannabe - were drowned out by Buddy's panicked screams. He didn't have to know the language to understand that the man was begging for mercy.

The man behind them said something that sounded like a question. Jack had no idea what was being said, or even who he was asking. Buddy shook his head vigorously. Apparently he didn't want to answer the question.

Saw-boy ignored it all. He surveyed the bound men, and glanced at his partner behind their heads. With a brief nod, he knelt down and raised the saw. Jack and Buddy both yelled then. A single elongated syllable in two languages, the demand to stop clear without words.

Saw-boy turned toward Buddy and Jack felt a flush of relief.

It was short-lived.

Saw-boy set to work cutting through the leg, just above the knee. Jack felt the saw enter, sharp teeth sending unbelievable pain through him. The original wave was quickly overshadowed by the next, and the next, as the saw dug into flesh and nerve endings already raw and exposed. No! Not my leg! No! No…

At first, the sheer horror drowned even the intense physical pain. They were cutting off his leg. Cutting off his leg. And there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't talk them out of it, or stall them by offering bogus information. They wouldn't understand him if he tried. They hadn't even tried to make him say or do anything first - they simply took him from his cell and started cutting off his leg.

Cutting off his leg. Cutting off his ---

He arched his back as the saw hit bone, the jar of the metal yet another crescendo of pain. No room for thought now; his whole world compressed until there was nothing but the pain, a single point of horrendous hurt. His body contorted, fighting vainly against the restraints. A sparkling red and black mist swirled before his screwed-shut eyes. The saw jerked back and forth roughly as it tore through the bone. Interminable minutes passed in agony as the saw jerked his leg from side to side until, with a final hideous snap, the bone gave completely.

He thought he'd pass out then. Wanted to pass out. Tried to pass out. His brain remained stubbornly conscious. Even his body betrayed him, automatically catching its breath, trying to recover. Saw-boy paused, too, perhaps needing a break from his work, perhaps waiting to ensure his captive could fully appreciate every second of his efforts. All too soon, it started again.

The remainder of his leg squished and slid obscenely as unsupported muscles were cut, then there was a weird light feeling as the pulling stopped and not even the weight of his lower leg pulled on his thigh. He could feel the unanchored flesh curl grotesquely upward, his thigh muscles contracting away from the continued agony transmitted by the exposed nerve endings, their very movement intensifying the sensations.

Saw-boy stepped away, lugging the disembodied leg. He tossed it into the fire and removed a large poker-like object from the flames. Expressionlessly, he approached and used the flat end of it to cauterize the wound. Jack screamed at the touch of the flaming hot object on raw nerves. A brief eternity was consumed in flames and agony and disbelief until the poker was removed.

…..

They sat on the floor of their cell, not looking at one another. Daniel scraped the floor with his boot, the rhythmic activity providing both a distraction and a cover for what sounds found their way from the room down the hall.

Teal'c suddenly stiffened as if in realization, then charged the cell door in a rage. "O'Neill!" he shouted. "O'Neill!" He threw himself at the door repeatedly, determined to break it down. The force of the big man's attack rattled the door and shook the bars all around the cell.

A guard came running, skidding to a halt at the raw fury before him. He yelled at Teal'c, but the Jaffa ignored him, continuing to bellow at the top of his lungs and try to force his way through the gate.

"Teal'c!" Daniel cried, pulling at his arm. "Stop! The guards are here."

"O'Neill!"

"Teal'c! Why?" Carter asked. Teal'c didn't go stir crazy. There had to be more to this. He knew something they didn't.

"We must save O'Neill! Now!" he told her. "O'Neill!"

Good enough for her. She threw her weight into the attack on the door. "Colonel!" she shouted, certain, at least of the purpose of the noise - he wanted Jack to know they were coming for him. To help him hold on till they arrived.

After a brief pause, Daniel joined forces as well and all three lunged repeatedly at the gate, screaming their missing teammate's name like a battle cry.

The guards grabbed Carter as she lunged against the bars. Two pinned her, and a third held a knife to her throat. The guard roared something in his native language to get the men's attention.

Daniel backed down at once, stepping away and putting his hands down. Teal'c stopped and appeared to consider - consider! she thought in disbelief - before he, too backed away.

The guards glared warning at them before shoving Carter away from the bars.

Teal'c glared at them intently, memorizing their faces. "Give me but one chance and you will die for this," he promised silently.

When they were alone, Daniel asked the question. "Why, Teal'c? "

Teal'c just looked at him.

"Why now? What did you hear?"

He still didn't answer.

Carter decided to support Teal'c. "We'll do it again after the colonel's back. Try to keep them from taking any of us."

"I do not believe we will see O'Neill alive again." His voice did not quiver, but he stared straight ahead, unable to look at them.

"Teal'c! What did you hear?" Daniel demanded again.

"Nothing."

"Teal'c," Carter said. "You know something. Tell us." No more blind support for her teammate; she had to know why he thought the colonel was dead.

He looked at them silently. "Should I believe you needed to think about whether to let them kill me?" she demanded.

He started at that. "I did not mean… It is not a reflection upon your value as a warrior or a friend… I just… To choose…"

"What, Teal'c?" she prompted.

"You must have heard something." Daniel repeated a third time.

"I did not."

Daniel gave him an exasperated look.

"Do you not smell it!" the words burst out in a rush, as if he could not bear to have them in his mouth.

They sniffed. Someone was barbecuing. Dinner? They gave a combined gasp as they realized what he was implying. "No! No, Teal'c, it could be anything. An animal, it has to be an animal. They're cooking food."

"Can you not smell the difference between chicken and beef on the grill?"

"Well, of course, but - oh my god…" she trailed off as she realized that Teal'c recognized the smell of human on the Barbie.

"It's… er… not that unusual in some cultures," Daniel offered, thinking of offering Teal'c justification rather than the locals.

"Shut up, Daniel!" Carter snapped. Teammate or not, if he said 'I'm just saying', she was going to beat him senseless.

…..

Jack heard his own raw gasping, his traumatized mind following the rhythm of it as it gradually slowed from hysterical to merely shocked. As it quieted, he heard, or thought he heard, his team calling to him from somewhere far away, accompanied by some sort of bells. Angels, calling him to heaven? Can't be; SG-1 were no angels, himself least of all. He must be losing his mind as well as his body - no sooner had he had the thought than the sounds stopped. He looked around, desperate to find something to focus on to bring him back to sanity. He met the eyes of his companion and they stared at one another in mute horror before a new voice took both their attention.

Jack realized that the person behind them was speaking again and wondered if he had been all along. If the other man had finally answered the questions. Or if this was just a pause before moving on to another body part. But why me? Why the hell should this guy care if they hack me to pieces? Am I just the threat? See what we'll do to you if you don't cooperate…

Buddy shook his head miserably, and tears trickled down his cheek. Saw-boy was watching, awaiting another signal from his partner. A brief nod, and Saw boy bent down again. Jack closed his eyes and took a ragged breath. Buddy was clearly not telling them what they wanted to hear. What now?

Jack felt Saw-boy doing something with the stump -- oh god, the stump! -- of his leg and felt a wave of sickness wash over him. What was he going to do? Hop back to the gate? Ask Janet to sew his sawed off, burnt up leg back on? Assuming they got out of here at all…

A single sob echoed in the now quiet room as his companion apparently fainted. You picked a fine time for that, Buddy. Why couldn't you have done that at the beginning? Why couldn't I?

Whatever Saw-boy was doing down there with the stump - his breath caught again at the very thought of having a stump instead of a leg - was easing the pain. Giving him a break since Buddy wasn't awake to see him suffer? His leg - stump, he reminded himself, you can't pretend this one away or hide it from your team - his stump no longer hurt, leaving the rest of his body free to complain. He was trembling with shock and the echoes of pain, and every muscle he had left ached from straining.

A long thin object slid into view above the tables. Jack held his breath, wondering what this thing might be about to do. With a hiss, it abruptly began raining warm liquid. He screwed his eyes tight shut, but could do little more to protect himself.

Despite his best efforts, some made its way into his mouth, and he discovered that the liquid was merely water. He relaxed a bit, and felt the alien sprinkler move down his body. There was an eerie tingling feeling as it hit the end of his stump, and then the worse feeling of nothing at all on that side as the remaining shin and foot were rinsed. The object blew them both dry on the return trip from ankle to head.

The thing on his neck went away, followed by the restraints. No need to restrain a one-legged man, Jack thought bitterly. They dressed him, one item at a time, as they released his limbs. They examined his original clothes, replacing the heavily damaged items with native ones.

The audience members came and looked at him, as if expecting something. Like what, guys? Jack thought angrily. Wanna dance?

They lifted him up and made as if to stand him on his feet - foot, he corrected himself. Only one now. Save a ton on socks, he thought, half hysterically.

They released him and he started to fall, reflexively taking a half step to catch his balance.

He was standing. Standing. How the hell…?

He bent to confirm with his eyes and hands that he had two legs under him. His right leg had a complicated dressing on the lower thigh, but immediately below that was a knee. And a shin, ankle, and foot! He looked in confusion at Buddy, who lay still, his right leg ending abruptly in a matching bandage.

Was this the explanation for mutilating a stranger? So they could question a prisoner indefinitely with no chance of his passing out or dying? Even give him time, like now, to feel the consequences? In the end, when he inevitably broke, they could restore his body and just dispose of the stranger. How long could

Buddy, could anyone, withstand such interrogation?

Saw-boy waved dismissively, and his escort returned him to his team's cell.

….

His teammates rose quickly when he was returned. There was no need to be neutral this time, the guards were well aware of how concerned they were about their friend. He seemed ok on first glance, dressed now in a pale blue native outfit with some sort of elaborate white decoration on one leg.

Jack walked shakily in, half supported by the guards, seeming to test his right leg with each step. They released him, and he sagged into his friends' arms. He all but collapsed to the ground, hands going to his right leg and sliding along it. Assuring himself that it was still there. The dressing/decoration proved as complex as it looked, resisting his efforts to undo it.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

He kept his eyes on his leg, kept rubbing it, as he nodded. His teammates surrounded him worriedly and he leaned against the wall, pulling his legs in and circling them with his arms.

"Are you hurt?"

Jack raised his head to look at Daniel briefly, brown eyes huge and dazed. He nodded, then shook his head slowly and looked back down at his knees.

"Is it your leg?" Carter asked, noting that his fingers kept moving along it.

"I think so."

Carter exchanged a look with Teal'c and Daniel over their commander's head. I think so? What kind of answer was that?

"He's in shock," Carter decided. "That's why he's so shaky, and confused." They sat beside him, sharing their body warmth. It was all they had to offer in the bare cell. Finally, Jack slept, head resting on his knees.

They woke when the door creaked open. Jack startled up, was halfway to his feet before reaching down and confirming that he had feet to stand on. They were there; a lovely matching pair.

''Don't let them take anyone!" Jack ordered, half-crouching, ready to fight. His teammates took defensive positions as well. They earned a speculative look from the guard before a tray of bread and fruit was deposited and they were alone again.

Daniel retrieved the food.

"Are you well, O'Neill?" Teal'c asked, inspecting his friend yet again for damage. Whatever had been done seemed to have left only the minor wounds of restraint.

Jack nodded, sliding back down to a sitting position and absently running his hand down his right leg again. He kept at it, eating his share of breakfast with his left hand. They focused on the deep red fruits, as their juice was the only liquid they'd been given.

Some of it squirted from Carter's fruit when she bit into it, splattering on the colonel's leg. He gasped at the sight of the red liquid on the white dressing, dropping his own fruit and grabbing his leg. No! They can't take it back! He held his lower leg, wiping frantically at the red stain.

"Sorry, sir," she hastily apologized and helped to rub at it.

Juice, Jack. It's just juice. Get a grip. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself from the fright of seeing blood-red liquid suddenly appear on that leg. "It's ok, Carter."

She bit her lip and looked at him as if she'd dumped lab acid on him.

Her wide eyed, emotional expression was too much like Buddy's after... Get a grip, Jack! Take a break, let things settle. He wobbled to his feet and headed to the corner where what passed for the privy waited. "Oh, for crying out loud!"

"Sir?"

"Nothing." He wasn't about to tell his team that the natives had put his underwear on backward. The incongruous silliness of it did help to move his thoughts back to less traumatic items. He did what he needed to do and returned to his place by the wall.

He smiled faintly, and raised his fruit to Carter in a mock toast. She responded to the feeble attempt at humor, raising her fruit in turn. Its overly-cheerful ruby color seemed to mock him, as did the juice sliding down its bite-roughened skin like a drop of the blood it resembled.

His friends decided to wait till they were done with the food before asking about what had happened.

Apparently, the guards were waiting for the same thing. As soon as they were finished, the door opened again.

All four of them stood up. Jack waved them back and they moved to the rear of the cell, leaving the tray where it was, hoping that was all the guards had returned for.

The guard looked at the captives lining the wall, clearly ready to fight. He gestured to someone outside the door. Several more guards entered, obviously intending to avoid or cut short any hostilities by sheer numbers. They would take what they came for.

Jack tensed, hands curled in defensive position, not intending to go peacefully.

The original guard pointed at Daniel this time.

So, not time to give back the leg yet. Well, no one else was donating today if he could help it. SG-1 already gave at the office. Jack moved in front of Daniel. Maybe if they couldn't get past him, they couldn't start any new interrogations.

The guards gaped. Recovering themselves, they made to move around him. Sam and Teal'c took up positions on either side of Jack, all three forming a barrier between the guards and Daniel. The guards exchanged a look. Shrugged, and reached for Teal'c instead. Jack again moved in front, Carter at his side.

The guards looked at Jack, then at each other, then back at Jack, clearly disbelieving what they were seeing. Tentatively, they pointed at Jack, then at the door.

Jack felt a sick wave of fear. It wasn't one to a customer, after all. They could use him again, and would if he walked out that door.

Teal'c, Daniel, and Carter moved to protect Jack.

The guards had had enough. They were not going to play musical prisoners all morning. They grabbed Daniel's arm, pulling him away from Carter and Teal'c.

The scuffle was short; superior forces pinning the as-yet unwanted Carter and Teal'c.

They turned to find Jack standing by the door. His face was expressionless; he would have looked calm were it not for his pallor and a faint trembling.

The guards paused. He couldn't possibly mean to fight them, they had enough manpower to control all four of their captives. One pointed to Jack, then toward the door.

Swallowing hard, Jack took a reluctant step in the indicated direction. You can do this, he told himself. You have to do this. You're the leader. Plus, you may already be compromised from before. You can't let them take your team. It's for the team, for the team, for the team. He played the litany over and over in his head, trying to take strength from it.

"Sir, you can't!"

"O'Neill, let me - "

"Jack, no!"

He looked at his team, emotions flickering over his face. He loved them, all the more so right now for trying to stop him. He knew any one of them would die for him. He could do no less for them.

"I can't let you do it," he told them. He took the final step out the door, and was followed by the guards.

His friends rushed to the bars, reaching out for him. God, how he wanted to be in there with them! Safely behind bars, away from tables and saws and knives.

Not safe, he reminded himself. Helpless, waiting their own turns with the butcher. His belly clenched, a cold hard lump materializing in his gut. In contrast, his heart pounded frantically. He tried to focus on his breathing, the walls, anything but what he might be about to lose.

No! His mind screamed. I can't! I can't!

The fear welled up, an unstoppable tide. Panic, really. Don't let it be real. Don't let it be me. He struggled to act calm. To take it. To be strong. All the while screaming inside. I can't! I can't! I can't!

Shaking their heads in disbelief, the astonished guards led him away.

Again, there was someone already restrained in the torture chamber, on the further table. A new pair of terrified eyes met his.

He stopped, unable to make himself walk all the way over there.

More confused looks from the guards. One made as if to take Jack back. He eagerly took the first relieved step away before pulling his arm from the guard's grip. The man watched him, only slightly less puzzled than Jack himself. Last time they callously used his body against his obvious objection; why were they giving him any choice now? What was different this time? Jack reminded himself that it didn't matter what changed on their side; the important difference was that he knew this place was bad, and it was his duty as leader to protect his team from it as long as possible. He took a halting step toward the other hapless prisoner.

The man watched him with disbelief, and something like gratitude, as he made his slow way over.

Gratitude? Jack wondered. Oh, god, what if this one talked? What if they didn't give me back the leg this time?

The hope on Buddy Two's face did not bode well for Jack O'Neill's health.

He stopped again, very near the table now. Would they still let him go back? He couldn't do this. He couldn't. No one could blame him if…an image of his team, each with only one leg, flashed before his eyes. Even if they somehow didn't blame him, how could he ever face them, knowing they lost their legs because of his cowardice? He allowed himself to be stripped and restrained as before, trying for but not managing a glimpse of his right leg in the process.

The same pair came in, this time with smaller items. Apparently, Saw-boy was branching out into general butchery, reverently lifting a long knife from its berth. The questioning voice from behind their heads was met by an ominous silence from Buddy Two. Another unanswered question, then a quiet command. Jack felt Buddy Two tense beside him and dared to hope that Butcher-boy would go directly to the other table this time. The question came again from behind their heads; after a moment's hesitation Buddy Two squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Jack felt the agony as his abdomen was ripped open and Butcher-boy rooted around before selecting the choicest sausage. Again, it ended with body parts in the fire and a final flaming torment of the gaping wound.

Like his predecessor, Buddy Two persevered and took the wounds instead of talking.

He had to hand it to the locals -- they were a tough bunch. Almost anyone would have talked under this kind of interrogation. He shuddered to see the complex white windings now decorating his belly as well as his leg.

They weren't even all the way back to the cell when a messenger hurried up to speak to the guards. The exchange was brief, fast words, rising voices and hand gestures communicating excitement if not details. In a sudden silence, they looked at Jack and pointed back to the torture chamber. He took an involuntary step away, and they started him back toward the cell with more speed than before. In a hurry to interrogate the next lucky player, he supposed.

He stopped. Closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Despite longing for cell-sweet-cell, he couldn't do this to his team. Could not send any one of them out there to go through that. He turned back to the torture chamber.

For the third time, there was someone else already in the room.

On Jack's side.

This one already looked far the worse for wear, his face, upper torso and arm a bloody ruin.

Jack took an involuntary step backward at the horror before him, and the guards let him. He had an open path in either direction; they weren't going to force him. He wished they would, it would be easier than doing it himself. He felt the pounding in his chest and rather hoped he'd have a nice quiet heart attack before they started. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And another. He could do this.

No he couldn't! The moment he opened his eyes, he took another instinctive step back. He couldn't do this. Uh-uh. No way, no how. Gave at the office. Find someone else. Teal'c. Teal'c would do it to save him. No, the Jaffa's physical prowess was too integral to his self-worth. He'd never survive such mutilation emotionally, even if he made it physically. Daniel? Could he look into those trusting eyes and send him off to this? Carter. Carter would understand. She put her value in her brain far more than her brawn. She could still be, and believe herself to be, valuable after…

No! He couldn't do that to her, to any of them. Especially not this time. Both of the other times, the man on this side had ended up with the reality of the mutilation. There would be no last-minute reprieve this time, no miraculous healing. How could he have even considered sending one of his teammates here?

Another wincing glance at Buddy Three and he could believe he'd considered anything that might get him the hell out of here. He didn't allow himself the excuse. Instead, he used his anger at his thoughts drive him the last few feet to the table. Thankfully, they took over and restrained him there.

Had this man talked? Was Jack here to be a donor of the body parts they had ruined in the process of persuading him? Jack's breath was coming in short gasps, almost panting, as he got a closer look at Buddy Three. It hurt just to look at him.

No! No, no, no! He realized he was saying it aloud and didn't care. That was going to be him in a little while; half a face, half a body, little disgusting bits hanging off…

As he turned his head to vomit, the cold thing was put on his neck and he felt a surge of pain in his upper body. The vision in one eye went black and the cheek on that side suddenly dented into his mouth. Beside him, the other man slumped in relief.

This was it. He was sure. This man must have earned his reward.

On not.

The interrogators started talking to Buddy Three, questions and statements in the same moderate tones as before. Like before, they then calmly set about increasing the pain. And they were thorough about it, being sure to visit every agonizing inch at least once, and paying special attention to the cheek and eye. A few times he approached blessed unconsciousness, only to have them pause until he was fully aware once more.

Buddy Three started to talk, ominously agreeable with the interrogators, and Jack was sure he was doomed. Half his body gone, sacrificed in payment for whatever intel Buddy Three had guarded.

Buddy Three abruptly changed his tone, arguing with them and shaking his head violently back and forth.

Go, Buddy, Go! Jack encouraged silently, hardly daring to hope that Buddy's resolve had returned. Don't tell 'em anything! Hold out!

He rallied for a little while before passing out. Shortly after Buddy Three fainted, the pain started to ease. Jack ended up intact once again, and Buddy Three looked worse than ever. He wondered what he himself looked like this time. In addition to the wrappings on his right leg, left arm, and torso, they had painted something on his face.

'X' marks the spot. Spots. Lots and lots of spots. What would happen when they ran out of spots?

Maybe they could see the hysteria rising. Or maybe he was babbling aloud. For whatever reason, they let him rest this time before returning him to the cell. It wasn't long. But it was enough semi-coherent time for him to make his plans.

He wasn't coming back to this room. And neither was his team.

Even if they died trying.

He wobbled slowly along between the guards, wanting them to think him still helpless. He waited quietly as they unlocked the cell door.

Then he attacked. ''Get them!" he yelled to his team. ''No surrender!" He used every dirty trick he knew to disable the guards, catching Carter's startled glance even thru the melee as he brutally maimed one. Teal'c, accepting that this was battle to the death, quickly took out his share of guards, pleased that he was able to fulfill his earlier promise to two of them. They ran for the gate with surprisingly little pursuit.

"Daniel, dial us up! Teal'c, watch our six! Carter," this was said somewhat more quietly. He gestured her to come near.

She leaned in, expecting some comment about the ruthlessness of his attack on the guards.

"If anything...happens...on the other side. No heroic measures." If the alien technology didn't hold past this planet he'd be in bad shape. He wasn't sure he wanted to go on - or even could survive - without all the parts they had swapped.

"Sir?" She reached out a hand, looking him up and down for wounds. They'd all suffered some damage in the fight, but she hadn't realized he was injured so badly. He didn't look any worse off than the rest of them.

"Just promise. No heroic measures."

She looked at him, her eyes wide with concern. "Yes, sir."

The gate whooshed open. "Daniel," he waved the man through. Teal'c backed toward them and Jack waved him through. "Carter."

"Not without you, sir," she held his arm.

Did she think he was planning to stay in this hell-hole and take revenge? He gently pulled her hand away. Before she could object, he switched sides with her and put her hand on his other arm.

The one he was sure would still be intact on the other side.

He ignored her surprise at the gesture, unable either to explain or forego the tiny bit of comfort. A blank expression settled itself on his face, belied only by the tenseness of his jaw. He took a deep breath and stepped through with Carter.

He felt a wave of sickness wash over him as the pain struck. Leg, belly, arm, face… It was excruciating. With nothing but a stunned major to support one side, he crashed to the ramp.

He had one glimpse of his left hand, covered in slimy redness and disgusting gobbets, and felt another wave of nausea before everything went black.

"MEDIC!" Sam yelled as her co collapsed.

A medic ran up the ramp to them. "What happened?" she demanded of Carter even as she began swabbing at the colonel to find the underlying trauma. Not believing what she saw, her actions became more frantic. She demanded and received more gauze, and some details from Carter.

"We don't know. They took him away twice. He said… he said… no heroic measures."

The medic glanced up, eyes widening. She wished one of the doctors would get the hell up here and take over. This was more than she wanted to handle. Her prayer was answered as Dr Fraser swept into the room.

The doctor took one look, ordered him on a backboard and then a gurney. "Sam?"

"No heroic measures, Janet."

Like the medic before her, the doctor's eyes widened.

"He made me promise."

The doctor nodded once and followed the gurney out.

The doctor angrily snatched the tape of SG-1's arrival from the hapless lieutenant and stalked away to view it. She was not happy with what she was finding. Not at all.

"Colonel?"

He heard the voice, but he didn't want to wake up. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He remembered that horrendous moment on the ramp, the pain, the shock of it. And now the realization that his career was over. That he'd be lucky to be able to even live independently.

"Colonel, I know you're in there. It's time to wake up."

No, not yet. Let me have a little more denial time. Nothing even hurt at the moment. Thanks, no doubt, to Janet's lovely drugs.

"Colonel, I'm not going to go away."

Reluctantly, he cracked his eye open. The right one. The only one now, he reminded himself.

Janet was leaning over him, smiling. He twitched the right side of his mouth up in half-hearted response, and her expression faltered a bit. "How are you feeling?" she asked with forced cheer, reaching down for something.

He shot up in shock and she jumped back, releasing his left wrist.

His left wrist. Smooth and unbandaged. He turned quickly, pulling his legs up and grabbing the right one. It was there. He kicked the sheet off to be sure. Still there. He slid both hands - even the beautiful, five-fingered left one - down it to prove to them what his eyes said. Eyes. He reached up and felt his face. Stubbly, but shaped the same way as always. No dented cheeks. Two eyes. He closed the right one and looked at himself with the left. Still there. In color, even. He pulled his gown down and looked at his chest and belly. Felt them. Still there.

Janet was standing back, watching him warily. "Colonel?"

He looked over at her, a relieved smile forming. "Doc! How…" Face and body language suddenly became threatening as his mind supplied the most likely 'how' this miracle came about. "Where's my team! You didn't let them go back there!"

"Colonel, we "

"Where is my team!" He was getting out of the bed, prepared to go looking for them.

"I am here, O'Neill."

"Teal'c! Thank god. Where are the others?"

"Getting lunch. I have dispatched a messenger to retrieve them." He had been in the process of asking an orderly to fetch the scientists when O'Neill had demanded his team the first time.

"You didn't go back there? Did anyone go back there?"

"We did not."

He allowed them to ease him back into the bed.

Sam and Daniel flew into the room, half running, half shoved by the orderly. They crashed into the wall and each other, tangling back up again as they both turned frantically back toward the bed.

"Here they are, sir!" the orderly said, panting himself.

Teal'c inclined his head and the orderly hurried out.

Sam and Daniel stood in the middle of the room, confused. They weren't the only ones.

"T, when you said you 'dispatched' a messenger…" Jack began, humor returning along with his teammates.

"I did give him incentive to complete his task quickly."

"He did." Daniel brushed some jello off his sleeve. "He chased us out of the cafeteria and practically threw us down the stairs. We thought you must be… How are you, Jack?"

"Present and accounted for. But how? Why did they give it all back?"

"Give what back?"

"Everything. My leg. Arm, face, guts. I felt it all go when we came through the gate. I saw my arm…" He looked down at his left arm again, touched it with his right. Just checking.

"It was vomit, Colonel. That's what you saw on your arm. You vomited just as you came through the gate. Bread and some sort of red fruit."

"But I felt…"

"You certainly felt something, Colonel. Your readings were off the chart, as if you were in extreme pain."

"As if?"

She smiled tightly. "I just meant that we couldn't find a physical cause for it." She told him about the medic finding nothing. His exam in the infirmary finding nothing. Her tests finding nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Not a clue. Not even on the security tapes of their arrival. "We were hoping you could tell us what happened."

"How should I know?"

"You knew something was going to happen, Colonel. You told Major Carter not to use heroic measures."

"I wasn't sure all of me… all of this body… would come through the gate."

"All of 'this' body?"

"It's not all original equipment anymore." He was sitting up now, legs bent, left hand absently holding his right leg, right hand protectively touching both.

"What did they do to you?"

"They interrogate prisoners in pairs. One gets a question, the other gets the…incentive. If they don't like the answers, then the..results…go to the first guy. I was the second guy. None of the first guys talked."

"I don't understand."

"The wounds, the pain. It all goes to the first guy if they don't like his answers."

"They can transfer a wound between two people?"

"I saw it, Doc. I experienced it."

"What kind of wounds, exactly?"

He hesitated.

"I'd like to know, Colonel. So that I can re-check the areas."

He nodded. Stole a look at his team, watching with concerned eyes. He couldn't watch them watch him. He closed his eyes. "Left cheekbone broken. Left arm, shoulder, and chest messed up. Knife wounds here," he rubbed his belly. "Right leg and left eye…shouldn't be there at all."

There was total silence in the room. He finally looked up. Daniel was hugging himself and looking sick. Carter had a neutral expression - learning from the co, no doubt - but the huge eyes were still a giveaway as to her emotions. Teal'c seemed poised to go back and exact revenge.

"Colonel, that's not possible."

"I was there, doc."

"Are you sure about all this? It couldn't be a hallucination from some drug?"

"They sawed off my leg, doc. You remember that sort of thing."

"And they burned it, didn't they, sir?"

He stared. "How did you know?" God, please don't tell him his team had watched the whole thing.

Carter bit her lip. "We…smelled it burning." She looked up at him. "We tried to get to you, but we couldn't."

He looked at her, suddenly making a connection. "You called me, didn't you?"

"You heard?"

He felt as pleased as his team looked. He hadn't lost his mind after all. He looked at them all fondly. "I heard you. It helped."

Doctor Fraser looked on as the four shared the moment and the real healing began. Clearly not a hallucination, then, if all four shared it. Sound as well as scent. The three explained that the 'bells' the colonel heard with their voices were the bars rattling. She herself had witnessed his initial right-side-only responses as he woke, had planned orders to rule out a stroke.

Apparently there was another fearsome new alien technology to add to the list of known horrors in the galaxy. One that hiccupped when its victim passed through the wormhole.

"Why have you removed this address?" The Tok'ra was curious. Their quarterly data exchanges were usually routine. "Did they refuse to share their technology?"

"Our team was taken captive and tortured. They barely escaped with their lives," the general explained.

"On Kenna? But they - oh. General, I think this may have been a terrible misunderstanding."

"Sawing my leg off was no misunderstanding!" Jack growled.

"Your..." The Tok'ra stared at him, then dropped his head to signal that the host was taking control. He rose and went toward the human. "Colonel, may I?"

"May you what?" He poised to defend himself.

"I would like to look at your neck."

"There is no Goa'uld in Colonel O'Neill," the general informed him.

"True," the Tok'ra agreed, "but the back of the neck is a convenient access point for more than just Goa'uld."

"What do you mean?"

"Colonel, if I may?"

He allowed the Tok'ra to look at his neck. "By all the gods!" The Tok'ra exclaimed. "Three!" He leapt away. He stopped and his head dipped but did not rise.

The general summoned Dr Fraser and a security team to the room. Before the doctor could do more than note the Tok'ra's trembling, his head rose. The security team adjusted their weapons, ready for anything.

"My apologies." The voice was in the dual tones of the symbiote. "My host is quite distressed. I am attempting to calm him. He thought he was over the experience... but three..." His eyes lost focus again as he communicated with his host.

"Three what?" The colonel demanded defensively, hand moving to the nape of his neck.

"Three times. It is unheard of."

"Explain," the general prompted.

"On Kenna, they do not use medicinal plants. One merely...endures." He looked at the colonel speculatively. "When they perform surgery, however, there is a device that transfers feeling from the patient to a healthy person, so that the patient is able to keep still. Both individuals are restrained, to control any unexpected movements."

He took a deep breath. "We were captured and made to serve." He paused again, speaking to his host. "You must face the memories." Looking back at the humans, he continued, "At least we understood what was happening. It was still traumatic, for both of us. I could not even dull the pain for him, since the device requires feedback from the nervous system. We felt it all as.." Another pause, another internal conversation. "Very well. They need not hear the details." He turned his attention outward again. "Colonel O'Neill was the...anesthesia.. For at least three such surgeries."

"What kind of surgeries?" the doctor demanded.

"At least one amputation, it would seem. For the rest, I wouldn't know," the Tok'ra said. "It is generally reserved for the most serious cases."

Everyone looked at Jack. He strode out of the room without a word.

"Please give him some time," the Tok'ra suggested. "If my host is any measure, he is quite…unsettled…at the moment. Hopefully, the knowledge that at least it was not mere sadism will soothe him."

"You're sure about this? The device transfers only the pain?"

"Yes. It uses the electrical nature of the human nervous system."

"Then why did he collapse when he came through the gate?"

"I do not know. Perhaps he did not allow for enough time to elapse before traveling?"

"Time?"

"Yes. The device leaves a small wound, from the skin to the nervous system. Gate travel while the wound was still raw would stimulate the same nerves the surgical device did. It would feel as if the operation were occurring all over again."

Jack closed the door to his office and sprawled on the couch, one arm over his eyes. Let the security camera think he was taking a nap. He had to think this through.

Surgery.

His 'Buddies' had been having surgery?

That would explain why he ended up physically intact each time. And Buddy Two's gratitude. Buddy Three could have had some sort of accident. That would explain the messenger, and Buddy Three's condition when they started. But why had he freaked out at the end? Because they were going to turn the device off?

If three times was unheard of, that could be why the guards forced him the first time but would have let him refuse the others, and why they were grossed out by his actions.

But Buddy One had been awake, and none too glad to be there. Had screamed, and struggled, and begged. They had been asking him something, and Buddy kept shaking his head. That didn't sound like surgery. It sounded like interrogation. Very rough interrogation.

His 'nap' was interrupted by a tap on the door. He ignored it, but it wouldn't go away. He sighed and sat up. "Come."

The Tok'ra entered. "I have to leave soon. I asked them if I could speak with you." The voice was human.

"What about?"

He cocked his head. "About our experiences on Kenna."

"Dr McKenzie's office is on level 6."

"They said you would not want to talk." He sighed. "Just let me say this, then: It helps me to change my perspective to think of it as an honorable thing."

"Kidnapping people and making them feel pain is honorable?"

"No. But taking the pain to help another is."

"It doesn't take any honor to be dragged into a room and tied down!" Jack rose and stalked across the office, needing to move. Feeling two legs under him didn't hurt, either. Literally.

The Tok'ra considered. "It was different for you than for us. You did not understand what was happening."

"I still don't."

"We have explained…"

Jack turned to face the man/snake. "I don't buy it. The guy, the first one, he didn't want any 'surgery.' He screamed and begged. They kept asking him something, and he kept shaking his head. Sound like 'surgery' to you?"

"This first one. It was the amputation, was it not?"

"So? The other guys didn't exactly get off easy."

The Tok'ra swallowed, but refrained from asking what did happen to the others. "There are those who would prefer to die than to have a large part of their body taken from them."

That stung. He'd had a few thoughts like that himself when he thought he'd lost all those parts.

"I merely suggest that it is possible that this first person did need the procedure, even if he did not want it." He paused. "It is also possible that we are wrong entirely. They told us that people…served…only once. That on rare occasions, a person would do it again to save a loved one. But only if he offered." Another pause. "Why three times, colonel? They should have taken another after you."

Jack didn't respond.

The Tok'ra already knew the answer. "You are correct. What you did was not honorable."

Jack just stared at him.

"I will not try to put a name to it. But perhaps you should. It may help change your perspective if you consider the experience in light of why you did what you did rather than what was done to you."