Shattered Souls
Sequel to Reflections of the Soul
Disclaimer: not mine, wish they were, and all that jazz.
Summary: The members of SG-1 start to notice the differences in their CO.
Rating: R for language and some sexual content.
Author's Note: there is a minor bit of slash in here, so you've been warned.
One
Col. Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill was having a very bad day. First, he'd woken up at two a.m. in the god forsaken morning, thanks to a particularly nasty nightmare. Then his reflection had started berating him for not dealing with his emotional issues; for not talking to Dr. Mackenzie, the shrink, or at least a member of his team; and then the son of a bitch had started bitching at him for not going after Carter. Apparently schizophrenic alternate personalities did not understand the chain of command, and why you didn't start romantic relations with your 2IC. Jack had resolved to make sure he held the other in check around Sam. The last thing he needed was to have the bastard pop out when they were alone. He'd already shown up in O'Malley's, when the team had gone for their traditional post-mission pig out.
It had been two weeks since his return from the wilderness. Almost a month and a half since the disastrous mission which had triggered the chain of events which had led to his hightailing it off to the wilderness. About a month since the alternates had started popping up.
Out in the wilderness it hadn't mattered. There was no one around to hear him talking to himself. Back among the living, it was a different story. There had to be a way, short of shrinks and drugs, to get his own damned psyche back under control.
'Don't bet on it.'
'We're not going anywhere.'
'You still need us, Jack, we're stuck here 'till that changes.'
He didn't like what that last one said. It rang too true. He didn't like to think that he might actually need all of the psycho's hiding out in his subconscious.
"Good morning, Colonel O'Neill," the guard at the second sign-in greeted him. Jack did a double take. The last thing he remembered was getting into his, recovered, truck. If the others were planning on sticking around for a while, he was going to have to plan to get re-acquainted with the old habits.
"Morning corporal," he replied, signing his name and continuing on towards his office. If he had to be up at the ass-crack of dawn, then by god he might as well work on diminishing the piles, that's right, plural, of paperwork waiting for him on his desk. He silently wondered if there was a secretary hiding somewhere in the back of his head.
'Don't bet on it.'
'We hate paperwork as much as you do.'
'Yeah, but you don't have to do it,' he retorted, silently. He was getting better at keeping his internal dialogues, well, internal.
* * *
Daniel Jackson was, of course, in his office. He wasn't exactly bright and early, though, he'd never left. SG-6 had brought back some rather interesting artifacts, not to mention twenty hours of footage, and fifty pages of notes and observations. Predictably he'd dug in, acquiring a large cup of black coffee from the commissary, and begun his translations.
Jack had stopped by on his way out, berating the archaeologist for working 'too hard, too much, too long.' Daniel had shrugged him off and muttered 'goodbye, Jack.' The colonel had left muttering about 'workaholic spacemonkies.' The spacemonkey had been surprised to find that he'd missed the nick-name.
Daniel still didn't understand what had happened to his friend. Jack had come back from that mission, different. But then, how could a person be not different after being nailed to a cross and god only knows what else. Still, he'd taken off without so much as a word. That wasn't like the Jack O'Neill he knew. Not the taking off part, that was pretty typical. Jack didn't like to deal with his feelings publicly. No. It was the not a word part that was so unusual. Jack was a responsible person, not to mention a military man. In the past, when he'd taken off, he'd always left word, and instructions on how to contact him should the need arise.
Daniel shook his head, running a hand through his short hair. Jack O'Neill was a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, and sealed in a conundrum. Every time he thought that he'd figured his friend out, the older man would go and do something that was completely and totally out of the norm.
Take O'Malley's. Jack had been, comparatively, normal when they went in. But half-way through the meal, everything had changed. It was as if someone had flipped a switch somewhere. He'd stopped joking, instead listening attentively to the conversation about 'boring rocks' without so much as a 'boring rock' comment. Not only that, but his entire demeanor had shifted. Even his face had looked slightly, off. Daniel hadn't been the only one to notice the change.
After they had separated for the night, Carter had called him at his apartment. They'd had an hour long discussion on the change in their Colonel.
'He's been acting strange ever since he got back,' Carter said.
'Well, he has suffered a lot of, stress, lately,' he'd replied.
'You know what I mean, Daniel,' she'd said, testily. 'Usually after something like, that, the Colonel would be bouncing around, proving to anyone who would listen that he was running at one hundred and ten percent.'
'Yeah, I know. Jack being quiet and withdrawn is creepy.'
'Being quiet and attentive at a meal is downright frightening!'
'Yeah.'
They'd decided to keep their collective eyes on the man. Teal'c had been roped into the 'conspiracy' the next day. It hadn't been that difficult. He too had noticed the change in the Colonel. Hell, even Hammond had noticed that something was off. He'd pulled Daniel aside and asked him if he knew why Jack was acting so weird. Daniel had answered honestly. He didn't have a clue.
The weirdness the General had been referring to had been Jack's behavior at the pre-mission briefing. Jack had arrived late, as usual, collapsed into his seat, and proceeded to start fidgeting with a paper-clip. Daniel, and everyone else, he was sure, had assumed that he wasn't listening to the speech he'd been giving about the ruins they would be exploring. G29-309 was a quiet, non-threatening little planet, which had already been scouted by SG-3. It was empty and harmless. Hammond had figured that Jack's first mission should be an easy one.
The briefing had gone as expected, except that halfway through Jack had sat up, opened his eyes, and informed him, very politely, that he was reading the alien script wrong. It was meant to be read right to left, bottom to top. After some investigation, Daniel had proven Jack's statement correct. However, trying to talk to him about it was futile, he'd just reply that he didn't remember saying anything of the kind, and that maybe he'd dozed off and spoken in his sleep.
With another sigh, Daniel pushed away from his 'rocks' and headed for the commissary. He was out of coffee, and he needed caffeine.
* * *
Major Sam Carter walked out of her office and headed straight for the commissary. She was famished. She'd spent the night on base, grabbing a two hour nap around three, to work on the new generator SG-5 had 'procured' from a Goa'uld base. It was really fascinating, and she was fairly certain that she'd finally figured out how it worked. So now, breakfast, or what passed for breakfast. There was a reason that army food was the but of so many jokes.
* * *
Teal'c awoke from his Kel-no-reem feeling calm and refreshed. Ready to face yet another day, inside the mountain. Perhaps the team would be assigned a mission. Probably not. Both MajorCarter and DanielJackson were involved in rather 'interesting' work. That left him, bored. Not that he would inform anyone of that fact. Perhaps he would go to the gym, later, and work on honing his fighting skills.
Standing, he extinguished the candles and headed for the commissary. He required sustenance. Perhaps he would be in luck, and ColonelO'Neill would insist on 'dragging' him off to experience some strange new Tau'ri custom. He had quite enjoyed the last one. What had O'Neill called it? Racing.
Thinking of his friend brought feelings of concern. The Colonel had been acting, strangely, ever since his return from the wilderness. When questioned by the other two members of the team, the man had replied, irritatedly, that he'd 'needed some time alone to find myself.' Teal'c had refrained from questioning the man. He had, however, shared his concerns over his strange behavior with his teammates.
The Jaffa made sure that his face was expressionless, as usual, before stepping into the hall. Something was troubling O'Neill, and he would eventually discover what. Of that he had no doubt.
* * *
Jack managed to get through about half of his paperwork, don't ask him how, before he noticed that his stomach was attempting to get his attention. He'd neglected eating before he'd left home because he hadn't been hungry, and the thought of eating before six a.m. had caused his stomach to roll uncomfortably. It was now after six, and he was hungry. With an annoyed sigh, he pushed away from his desk. He would go to the commissary and grab a bite to eat. Something fast, maybe some fruit or something. Definitely not fruit loops.
Two:
Daniel had been surprised to find Sam in the commissary, hungrily going through about a pound of bacon and eggs. She motioned him over and, after procuring a large cup of coffee, he joined her.
"Morning, Sam," he said, sitting down across from her.
"Morning," she replied. "How's your translation going?" she asked. He smiled.
"Really well, actually. Although, there's this one section that I can't for the life of me figure out. I was thinking of asking the Colonel to take a crack at it."
"Take a crack at what?" Teal'c asked, seating himself beside the archaeologist and placing his tray, filled with fruit, cereal, eggs, and bacon, in front of him.
"The translation I'm working on," Daniel replied, taking a sip of his coffee. Ahh, caffeine.
"Please tell me that that's not your whole breakfast," Sam said with a sigh. Daniel smiled.
"Why not!" he asked with mock indignation.
"It is an inadequate source of nutrition," Teal'c replied from beside him.
"It is not," Daniel replied. "It has all the important food groups."
"Oh, really," one of Sam's eyebrows arched up as she took a bite of her eggs.
"Yes, sugar, caffeine, and cream."
"I do not believe that those are food groups, DanielJackson," Teal'c informed him.
"Au contraire, they are the only ones which matter," Daniel shot back.
"Spoken like a true addict," Sam put in, swallowing her eggs.
"Ugh!" Daniel exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender.
"Why would O'Neill be able to assist you with a translation?" Teal'c queried, returning to the original topic.
"I was just referring to his statement at the briefing," Daniel answered. Understanding dawned in the Jaffa's mind.
"May I assume that his statement was then correct?" he asked.
"Yeah, and then some," Daniel answered.
"Speak of the devil," Sam warned quietly, both Daniel and Teal'c looked over their shoulders, following her line of sight. Jack had just entered the commissary, and was heading for the line.
"Sir," Carter called out when he passed their table, apparently not seeing them. He froze in place for a moment, then turned and smiled.
"Carter?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Care to join us, Jack?" Daniel answered for the Major. Jack stood there for another minute, apparently thinking his proposal over, then dropped his tray onto the table, beside Sam's. Daniel noted silently that the older man had a banana, coffee, and a bowl of oatmeal on his tray. He wasn't the only one who noticed.
"I was unaware that you liked banana's, O'Neill," Teal'c commented, voicing, in so many words, what all three were thinking. Jack glanced down at his tray, then back up at his team, shrugging. Truth be told, Jack O'Neill HATED banana's, but then, it hadn't been Jack who'd picked it out. It still wasn't Jack.
"Learn something new every day," he replied, picking the fruit up and peeling it. His team watched silently as he broke it into small pieces and dropped them into his bowl, stirring them in.
"So, Jack, you're here early," Daniel commented as the Colonel took a bite of his oatmeal.
"Paperwork," he replied, after swallowing.
"You hate paperwork, sir," Carter pointed out.
"It is difficult to believe that you arrived early to take care of paperwork, O'Neill," Teal'c put in.
Jack chewed another bite of oatmeal and bananas thoughtfully. He didn't know what to do about this. With a shrug, he grabbed the other and threw him back into control. Jack paused in chewing. He tasted banana, he hated banana. Why did he have banana in his mouth? He forced himself to swallow it, yuck!
'What the hell is going on?!' he demanded silently, glancing around the table and taking a sip of coffee in order to stall.
'They want to know why you are here early,' the other informed him.
'Paperwork,' he replied.
'They don't believe that you'd come in early just to do paperwork.'
'Damn.'
He cleared his throat, setting his coffee down and only barely managing to keep the grimace off of his face. There was too much sugar and not enough cream in it. "General Hammond, requested, that I get to work on some of it," he finally replied. It wasn't a lie, either.
Daniel wasn't buying it, but he remained silent. If Jack didn't want to tell them, then he wouldn't. Teal'c didn't believe the explanation either, but he too remained quiet. His Tau'ri friend would tell them if he wished. He silently sighed, if O'Neill was doing paperwork, then he would most probably not have time for anything else. Carter didn't buy it. But he was her CO, and she wasn't going to question him. Really, she wasn't. Not verbally, at least.
Jack could tell that they weren't buying it, but he was saved from trying to come up with a more convincing, while still acceptable, answer by the ringing of the alarm. "Unscheduled off-world activation," the computer informed the SGC.
The members of SG-1 dropped their meal, and their conversation, and headed for the gate room, along with most of the others in the commissary at the early hour. Jack arrived in the Gate room just as SG-9 stumbled out of the wormhole, followed by several energy bolts.
"Close the iris," Hammond commanded as soon as the last member was through. The med-teams moved in, several of the soldiers were wounded. "What the hell happened, Major!" Hammond demanded of Major Deveroux, the CO.
"Jaffa, General sir. Hundreds of 'em. They ambushed us."
* * *
Jack was sitting at his desk, staring morosely at the piles of finished paperwork. Somehow he'd managed to get it all done, in one day. Less than one day, actually. Now he had to figure out a plausible explanation as to how he'd managed a feat he'd publicly proclaimed impossible. Finishing all of the paperwork on his desk. Damn. Maybe he could write it off to a flashback from the virus in those arm-band thingies. Yeah, that could work. And Jaffa would start dancing the sugar plum fairy in pink tutus.
"Colonel," Jack looked up, startled out of his musings. It was a corporal, standing at attention in his doorway.
"Yes?" he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"The General would like to see you in the briefing room, sir."
"Damn!" Jack muttered, flying out of his chair and past the airman. He'd totally forgotten about the briefing. Shit. Shit. Shit.
He stumbled into the room just before the General sent yet another corporal in search of him. "Colonel O'Neill, so nice of you to join us," the older man observed as Jack collapsed into a seat next to Daniel. "Care to tell us what vital emergency kept you from arriving at this briefing on time?"
"Paperwork," O'Neill informed his CO. "Sir." One of the general's non- existent eyebrows shot up.
"Really?" he said. "Then may I assume that all of your, late, paperwork will be turned in before the end of your shift."
"Yes, sir. You may assume that, sir," Jack replied. His face calm and still. Daniel watched his friend, waiting for the expected addendum, 'but you'd have a hell of a long wait, sir.' It didn't come. Glancing around the table, the archaeologist noticed that he wasn't the only one to make the observation.
"Major Carter," the General said, turning his attention to Sam. "You may begin the briefing."
"Yes, sir," the Major said with a nod of her blonde head. She stood, activating the monitor at the end of the room. Several images flashed onto the screen, along with their pertinent data. Daniel saw ruins, lots of them. It looked like the UAV had never gotten beyond the confines of whatever ancient city lay around the stargate.
"Well, at least there aren't any trees," Jack muttered under his breath, earning him four stares, mixed with relieved half-smiles. He was starting to sound like the old Jack O'Neill.
"Sirs, P3W-722 appears to be deserted. In spite of extensive building there appears to be no life, whatsoever. As you can see from the images, this city is, fairly large, and very advanced. The UAV was unable to reach its edge before being forced to return," Carter began the briefing.
Jack tuned her out. No life meant few threats. He kept one ear open for any keywords which might be of interest to him, and started doodling on the piece of paper in front of him.
"SG-1, you have a go. Prepare to ship out at 0700 tomorrow morning," Hammond informed them. Jack shook himself out of his self-imposed half hypnotized state and stood.
"Well, campers, you heard the General. Remember to pack your toothbrushes," Jack said to his team, clapping his hands and smiling. Then he turned and left. He was tired. He had paperwork to deliver. He had supply lists to check. He wanted to go to sleep.
Behind him, Daniel was staring at the piece of paper on which the older man had been 'Doodling.' "Something wrong, Daniel?" Sam asked, coming up behind him and staring down at the paper over his shoulder. "Is that what I think that is?" she asked, after a moment of stunned silence.
"Yeah, I think it is," Daniel answered, still staring at the paper. Teal'c watched his friends and teammates curiously, then looked down at the object of their scrutiny.
"It does indeed appear similar to the writing which was discovered on P3W- 722," the Jaffa informed them.
"What does it say?" Sam asked, still staring at the paper.
"I'm not sure, I mean I've only had an hour to go over the images. But, I think that he just translated, and transcribed, the entire briefing," Daniel answered.
"Someone needs to talk to him," Sam finally spoke the words they were all thinking. The two men nodded their agreement.
"Before or after the mission?" Daniel asked. Sam thought about that for a minute.
"During," she finally answered. When Daniel looked at her questioningly she added, "if there is something going on, I want the time we have for the mission to figure out what to do about it."
"Yeah," Daniel answered. He didn't voice his own silent fear, that perhaps more had been done to O'Neill than torture, that perhaps some undetectable alien device was at that moment doing something to his friend. If Sam had thought of it she would never have suggested waiting until they were on the mission.
Three:
Jack was back at the mountain bright and early. Waaaaaay before their 0700 departure time. The base was still relatively quiet. He was hiding in his office. The door locked behind him. He had no paperwork to take care of. He'd done all of the pre-mission shit he could. He'd checked, double checked, then triple checked every piece of equipment that they would be taking with them. Right down to Carter's boots.
He hadn't been able to sleep. Or rather, he had slept, then woken up. The others had been at it, again. Dredging up memories that he neither wanted, nor needed. The first go around the only way he'd been able to deal had been to lock it all up. Shove all of those nasty bits and pieces into the darkest corner of his mind, and forget. Of course, according to all the psychology books he'd flipped through since his return, that was probably why the others existed. He'd refused to deal with it, so his subconscious had gone behind his back and summoned up some whipping boys to take the damage.
He was sitting in the dark. Not looking at anything. Not thinking. Nothing. This was getting to be too much for him. He honestly didn't know if he could take it. His body was going off and doing things he hadn't told it to do. Like get a banana for breakfast. So far, it had been relatively harmless. So far. There was no telling what could happen out in the field. There was no telling what he might say. What he might do. For god's sake, he could end up hurting one of his team, one of his kids. If he could slit a man's throat, all those years ago, without a thought, there was no telling what he, or rather the others, might do.
With a sigh, he flicked on his desk lamp and stared down at the letter he'd written out. It was a request for indefinite personal leave, on the basis of 'unspecified medical reasons' which he felt made him unfit for duty. He'd added a post-script stating his recommendation of Carter as interim team leader. He'd added a post-post-script relating his hope that he would be ready for duty as soon as possible, and a number at which they could reach him if an absolute emergency came up.
* * *
Daniel never made it to the locker room to change into his BDU's. As soon as he walked on base, he was informed that the General wanted to see Carter, Teal'c, and himself in his office. By the time he arrived, both of the others were already standing at ease in front of the man's desk. For his part, Hammond was seated behind his desk, looking tired and worn out.
"What's going on?" the archaeologist questioned as he walked into the room. No one answered. Instead, Hammond held out a piece of paper. Daniel took it, and read it over.
General Hammond,
I know that this is unexpected, however, I believe it to be necessary. As of 0320 this morning, I am requesting indefinite medical leave. The basis being a, number, of personal medical problems, which I hope to have resolved shortly.
Colonel Jonathan O'Neill, USAF
P.S.
Major Carter has shown herself to be a fine officer. I recommend she be given interim command of SG-1 in my absence.
PPS
If there is reason to contact me, I may be reached through this messaging service: 555-555-2345
Daniel folded the letter, after re-reading it, twice, and handed it back to the General. Jack had disappeared. Again. 'But this time he left a note,' he thought, hopefully. This time he hadn't just, disappeared. Of course, this raised a bit of a problem. No one was going to be discussing the Colonel's behavioral differences with him if he wasn't here.
"Uh, General?" Daniel started.
"Yes, Dr. Jackson?"
"I don't know whether you've noticed, or not, but Jack has been acting slightly-"
"Off," the General cut him off. "Yes, I had noticed. Frankly, I'd hoped that the mission to P3W-722 would give the four of you a chance to work through whatever problems he may be facing."
Daniel glanced at his two teammates. Carter looked startled. Teal'c looked, Teal'c-ish. "Sir," Carter began.
Hammond cut her off. "Major Carter, as interim Commander of SG-1, I am hereby ordering you and your team to locate Col. O'Neill, and to assist him in any way possible." Sam, Daniel, and Teal'c, stared at the General in silence for several minutes. Then Sam nodded.
"Yes, sir."
Hammond nodded back. "Dismissed."
"Well, where do we start?" Daniel asked Sam as they crossed the base parking lot.
* * *
Jay O'Connor, an Australian with short blonde hair, starting to go gray, stood on the balcony of his apartment and watched as the crowded market below him ebbed and flowed with life. Those who knew this strange foreigner, with his precise pronunciation of their language, and consistent wearing of mirrored sunglasses, even in the dark of night, were few, and wary.
Jay had disappeared over a decade before, simply vanished into the night. His friends had chalked it up to his eccentric character, and the nature of his work. Jay was a thief, one of the best. He'd stolen priceless works of art, and deadly national secrets. The man was one of the best, and he was always on the lookout for a new opportunity.
The people who had known him had simply assumed that he had found a new endeavor. Or was dodging the law, yet again. Even so, the rent payments on his apartment continued, delivered by messenger once monthly, along with a little extra for the landlord, an elderly man whose many sons had died in uncounted wars. Jay was ruthless when it came to his enemies, and generous when it came to his friends. So, when he reappeared after a twelve year disappearance, he was met with no questions, and much drinking.
Jay looked down at the street and sipped his coffee. He listened, bemused, as one vendor attempted to con a poor tourist into paying twice as much as she should. The vendor chattered on in rapid-fire French, the tourist attempted to keep up, with many English explicatives thrown in. Jay knew the vendor, Jean-Paul, the old man spoke English as well as the Australian spoke French.
Four:
Sam ran a tired hand through her blonde hair. She was tired. All three of them were tired. They'd been searching for Jack for almost two weeks now. She'd started by tracing the contact number. She'd spent the next three days untangling a net of relays and recorded messages. The only thing she'd been able to narrow down was the fact that, wherever Jack was, he wasn't on the American continent. Nope. Not north, central, or south America.
"Goddammit," she muttered. Then she started typing again. Part of her knew that, if the colonel didn't want to be found, there was very little likelihood of his being found. The other part of her, though, was desperate to find her CO, and friend. She missed him. And she had not missed the many signs of trouble. The many differences. She just wanted to help him.
* * *
"Yeah, okay, thank you Pierre," Daniel spoke into the phone, then hung up. Teal'c watched him stoically.
"Were you successful, DanielJackson?" the big Jaffa questioned. Daniel shrugged.
"No way to tell yet, Teal'c," he answered. Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "I've contacted everyone I know on the European and African continents. If anyone finds someone fitting his description, they'll get in touch with me," the archaeologist sighed. "But there's no way to know if there's even anything for us to find."
"Would it not be prudent to probe ColonelO'Neill's past, DanielJackson?" Teal'c asked.
"Why?"
"Perhaps he has returned to some part of his former life. Did he not do much 'under-cover' work for your government?"
"Y'know, Teal'c, you may have something there, I'll talk to Hammond about getting his mission files. It might be, tricky, though."
" 'Tricky,' ?"
"Yeah, most of Jack's former missions are classified."
One of Teal'c's eyebrows shot up. "Indeed."
* * *
Jay tossed in his sleep, throwing the covers off of the bed and onto the floor. He dreamed of horror and death. Pain and fury and a rage so unquenchable that it scared even him. It felt like a half dozen hammers were at work on his skull. Inside his skull. Threatening to come out and overwhelm him. With one final convulsion, he forced himself awake, and away from the images which had assaulted him in his sleep. He ran a tired hand over his face, then through his hair. This was the fifth night in a row that he'd been woken by the nightmares.
He didn't understand where they came from. These horrible images of death and destruction and blood. Perhaps from his past. He didn't know or care. Jay was a happy amnesiac. He didn't remember anything before his arrival in France, and he didn't want to remember. As for the last twelve years, during which he had apparently disappeared from the face of the earth. He did not know, which meant that he, in all probability, did not want to know, and he let it rest at that. Unfortunately, his dreams were not as willing to let go of the past as he was.
He paced the small apartment, past the balcony window, closed against the cold night air. Back and forth, back and forth. Jay didn't know what to do, so he decided to do the one thing that he was very, very, good at. He decided to go and, liberate, something. The only question was, what? With a sigh, he sat down on the only chair in the apartment, a hard wooden kitchen chair, seated in front of an old card table.
He'd heard rumors of a heroin dealer, working somewhere in his neighborhood. Perhaps he could liberate the cretin of his merchandise, keeping it out of the hands of children, and getting himself a nice little stash in the meantime. Yeah, that sounded good. He was running out, anyways. Of both cash and smack. With a wry smile, Jay stood and dressed, checking the clip of his berretta, then shoving it into his jeans, at the small of his back.
Jay whistled a mindless tune as he strolled out of his door and down the hallway. The night, or rather morning, was looking up.
* * *
Hammond stared at Major Carter, standing at attention in front of his desk. Waiting for his answer to her request. The major had just asked him for access to Col. O'Neill's personal records, the Top-secret, classified, records. He had to admit, her logic was sound. If Jack wanted to go to ground, then it made sense that he might turn to his old contacts. Perhaps even reactivate an old identity. It certainly all but guaranteed him his privacy.
The General did not know what to do. The only reason that he knew about Jack's past missions was because he'd, basically, bribed a pentagon official to get them. Even then, there were parts of the man's past that he couldn't get his hands on. He glanced back at the major, still standing at attention.
"I'll, see what I can do, Major Carter," he finally replied. She smiled, looking a little relieved.
"Thank you, sir." He sent her on her way, then sat in contemplation a bit longer. After a good hour more of thought, General Hammond picked up his phone and dialed the number of an old friend. He had some favors to call in.
* * *
Jay lay on the floor of his apartment. High and loving every minute of it. This was the life. No pain. No disturbing memories. Just him, and the other him, standing in the corner watching him. Jay shook his head, then looked again. The hallucination continued to glare at him.
"What do you want?" the thief finally asked, looking up at his mirror image from the floor. The other him just shook his head.
"You are really pathetic, you know that?" the other asked, then went on without waiting for an answer. "Why he had to go and pick you is beyond me. Goddamned addict. The last time he had to spend three months in rehab, sick as a dog, and he didn't have a clue as to why he was there."
"What the hell are you talkin' about, mate?" Jay asked, craning his head around on the floor. He didn't think that he was enjoying this trip. The other just threw his hands into the air and shook his head.
"If only the little sonofabitch would come out and deal with his goddamned problems!" the other muttered. "But, no, he had to go and hide. And of all the ones he could have picked he went and chose you!" the other pointed an accusing finger at him. Jay just stared at it, dazedly. "Urgh!" the other exclaimed, then disappeared.
* * *
"I've got it!" Daniel exclaimed, walking into Sam's office brandishing what looked like an internet printout. Teal'c followed silently behind, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Got what?" Sam asked tiredly, she'd only gotten a couple hours of sleep, which was probably more than the archaeologist had gotten, she reflected. Daniel presented the papers to her with a flourish. Sam stared at the first one for several minutes, dumbfounded. It was a photocopy of a picture, black and white and grainy, but unmistakable. There was the Colonel, leaning against a much spray-painted brick wall, dressed in black jeans and a tailored black leather trench coat. There was something different about him. About his stance, the way he carried himself, that shouted out at her, even in a picture. His eyes were hidden behind what looked suspiciously like a pair of designer shades.
"Turn the page," Daniel suggested. Sam closed her mouth and did so. The second page was a printout of an e-mail.
From PierreTheroux@anthropology.net To DanielJackson@anthropology.net Response Lookout
Daniel, I think I've found him. He is going by the name Jay O'Connor, and staying at the following address. I would advise that you get to your friend soon, Daniel, the man is acting somewhat irrationally. He acts nothing like this Colonel you have told me about. I wish you the best of luck. -Pierre
Sam continued to read. The short note was followed by a street address. "How did you do this?" she asked Daniel. The archaeologist just shrugged.
"Persistence, and a lot of favors. The information you got from Hammond helped narrow it down a bit."
"Jay O'Connor," Sam muttered, turning to her desk and the piles of papers on it. After a minute of searching, she came back out, holding aloft a brown file folder. "I knew I'd seen that name before," she muttered, then flipped it open. She glanced over the contents, her face getting paler by the second. After a minute, she wordlessly handed it to Daniel. The archaeologist flipped the folder open, and stared down at the contents. Teal'c read over his shoulder.
Operation Nightcrawler
Objective(s): to obtain insider knowledge of the French heroine trade to arrest and detain all known leaders of the LeMonte drug cartel to identify, arrest, and detain any public officials involved with the LeMonte cartel
Field Operative: Jack O'Neill
Cover: Jay O'Connor, Australian national, high-profile thief. Contacts with various members of arms trade. Heroine addict.
Status: all objectives achieved, mission rated a success.
Post Mission Report: O'Neill was admitted to a military hospital facility to undergo drug re- hab. After three months, he was released with a clean bill of health.
Psychologist's Report: Jack O'Neill has suffered significantly from eight months of deep cover. Once returned to the states, O'Neill retained the habits, accent, and mannerisms of his cover, Jay O'Connor. He refused to acknowledge any past at all for four weeks. It was only with the help of hypnotic regression and aggressive psycho-therapy that he was able to return to his 'original personality.' Suggest follow-up treatment.
Daniel read down the information, pausing over the, long, list of drugs which they had used on his friend. Behind him, Teal'c remained as stoic as ever, though the man was disturbed by this information.
"I'll get us on the next flight for France," Sam said, already holding the phone receiver and in the midst of dialing.
"I'll start packing," Daniel replied, handing the file to Teal'c distractedly, then walking out of the room. All three friends were in shock, and each dealt with it differently.
Once in his own office, Daniel shut and locked the door behind him. He paced the crowded space for what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes. Jack was an addict. Forget that, Jack was forced to become an addict as part of his 'cover.' Because his government had ordered him to. He'd been forced to go through re-hab, and 'therapy,' because his government had told him to. Daniel knew all about the drugs therapists used, having been on the receiving end himself.
Suddenly, Daniel was seized with understanding. Why Jack had been so upset with Mackinsey for doping him up. Why he'd visited, even when it must have hurt. And ultimately, why he'd let the shrink have him in the first place. Jack O'Neill had been there and done that, and knew that it wasn't pretty. But, he'd thought it was necessary.
Daniel collapsed onto the floor, back against the wall, arms wrapped around his chest, and cried. He cried for his friend. For the pain Jack must have been in for him to return to that lifestyle. For the pain he'd endured. For everything.
Five:
Teal'c, Daniel, and Sam stood across the street from a four story rat trap. That was the only description that Sam could come up with. They'd arrived in France a little over five hours ago. After getting there they'd checked into a hotel, rented a car, and started looking for the address where Jack was supposed to be. Now that they'd found it, though, none of them had the foggiest clue of what to do.
"We could knock," Daniel suggested. Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Or, not." No one knew how to approach the situation. None of them were psychologists, they had no idea what was going on in Jack's head. They only knew that the man needed help, and that they were his only hope of getting it.
"Perhaps one of us should attempt to make contact," Teal'c suggested.
"Yeah, but, how?" both Daniel and Sam asked at the same moment. The big Jaffa shrugged.
Daniel ran his hand through his hair, for the thousandth time since this whole thing had started, a month ago. On the flight over he'd gone over the file. The whole file. All of the reports and observations. Every psych evaluation. All of it. There had been a lot to go through.
Jack had posed as a high-scale thief, who had a heavy heroin addiction. For eight months he had lived Jay O'Connor's life. And, according to the psych reports, he'd done it very well, and extremely easily. Too easily, for someone of sound mind. The reports didn't come out and state it, but the doctors had hedged around the fact. They thought that he had mpd. Multiple personality disorder.
It certainly explained a few things. Like how he'd been able to go on all of those deep cover missions, and why he'd been so effective. It also explained his recent behavior. According to the reports and evaluations, Jack had returned to normal, and stayed there. But he hadn't been treated as an mpd case, he hadn't received the proper treatment. Daniel was betting that the other personalities, the 'alternates' hadn't disappeared, or been reabsorbed. Rather, Jack had simply been able to force them into the background, keeping them under mental lock and key. The amount of self control that would have required boggled Daniel's mind. He honestly didn't understand how his friend had been able to do it. Not only do it, but to continue in that fashion, for well on 15 years!
Sam watched Daniel closely, he appeared to be thinking, which was good. Maybe he could come up with an idea, because she sure as hell couldn't. When his eyes brightened, she knew he'd come up with something, and she waited impatiently for him to spit it out.
"Guys," he finally said. "I think I have a plan."
* * *
Jay flopped into his favorite booth with catlike grace. A moment later the waitress brought him his usual, scotch and a tofu salad. Jay was a vegetarian, he could shoot a man in cold blood, but he couldn't stand the idea of eating an animal. Yuck! He sipped his scotch, keeping one eye one the rest of the restaurant, and the other on the three Americans sitting at the table in the corner. One of them, the blonde, had caught his eye. Apparently he'd caught theirs as well, because they kept sneaking covert glances at him. Jay wasn't much of a one for yanks, didn't particularly like them. But this one was a looker, no doubt, and he'd be willing to change his mind, if given the right incentive.
He was about halfway through his salad, and well through his second scotch, when one of the Yankees got up and walked over to his booth. It was the woman, and she was swaying her hips provocatively. Jay could appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the female form, especially this one. She stopped at his table.
"That seat taken?" she asked, then slipped into the booth uninvited. Jay smirked behind his drink. He didn't know what it was about him, but the ladies couldn't seem to stay away.
"Nah, help yeself," he answered, after she'd seated herself, not bothering to hide his accent. He could get rid of it if he wanted to, but it was too much bother. She was watching him, carefully. It was kinda weird, really. The way she watched him made him think that maybe he should know who she was.
"So, what're you doing in a place like this, all alone?" she asked, settling into the seat. Jay shrugged.
"Ah tha moment I'm eatin' me salad," he replied. She glanced down at his dinner, a confused look passing over her features.
"Is that tofu?" she asked incredulously.
"Yup, luv," he said, then took a bite. "Vegetarian, don't'cha'know."
"Vegetarian?" she asked, her voice coming out a bit higher.
"Y'okay, luv, ye seem a bit miffed." She shook her head, then smiled at him.
"I was just wondering if you might like some company, tonight," she said, her voice dropping lower, and getting a sultry edge. Jay chuckled, then shook his head. The woman just stared at him, eyes wide.
Jay finally got himself under control, banishing the laughter. "Sorry, luv," he said, finishing off his third drink.
"What was that about?" she demanded. She sounded a bit miffed, Jay noticed. He shrugged.
"It's just that ye're not me type, is all luv," he answered, motioning the waitress for his check. "If ye know what I mean." Jay paid, then stood and walked out of the restaurant, shaking his head to himself. Why was it that women were always chasin' the ones they couldn't get?
* * *
"Well, what happened?" Daniel asked as Sam came back and collapsed into her chair. A look that was a mixture of shock, bemusement, and maybe a tad bit of sorrow, on her face. She shook her head.
"I think he's gay," she finally said, then picked up her drink and chugged the whole thing down.
"Urgh!" Daniel said, sitting back. "There goes the plan!"
"On the contrary, DanielJackson, your plan may still prove effective," Teal'c said from his seat across from the archaeologist.
"How?" Daniel questioned. Sam answered.
"He was definitely interested in someone at this table, Daniel, and since we now know that it wasn't me, and I'm betting that big beefy black guys aren't his type, that leaves-"
"Great," the archaeologist cut her off. "Okay, gimme the needle."
* * *
Jay was pleasantly buzzed on the scotch. It wasn't smack, but then nothing was. Besides, he could shoot up as soon as he got back, now that he'd satisfied that hallucination by going and eating something. Damned thing had been on his case ever since it'd shown up. It'd tried to tell him to stop shooting up, but he wasn't having any of that. However, when it came to things like making him eat, the bugger seemed to have some sort of weird telekinetic control over his body, because it started doing things without him giving it orders.
He unlocked the door and stumbled into his apartment. Pity that boy hadn't been the one to come over for a chat. They could have had some fun. Oh, well, bygones. He pulled his stash out from under a loose floorboard and prepared for his fix. He was interrupted by a knocking on his door.
"Go away!" he shouted irately at the closed door.
"I was under the impression that you might like some company," a voice called through the wood. American. Hmmm. Jay shoved the stuff under the bed, then walked to the door and opened it. The boy was leaning against the doorframe, looking even better up close and personal than he had from across the room. Jay shook his head, slightly. He hadn't shot up yet, it was a bit early for the hallucinations.
"You gonna invite me in?" the kid asked, glancing over Jay's shoulder and into his apartment. Jay opened the door and gestured him inside. "I'm Daniel, by the way," the kid said as he brushed past him and into the small room. He glanced around, his features hard to read. It looked like a mixture of shock, pain, and a bit of amusement. Maybe the kid's a late- comer, Jay thought to himself, and shrugged off the weird feelings.
The kid, Daniel, was wearing a pair of well fitting slacks, a white sweater, and a leather jacket. Jay was wondering what he looked like without the clothes. His thoughts obviously must have been reflected on his face, because Daniel moved in and kissed him. First tentative, then passionate. Jay was just starting to get over the shock and kiss back when he felt a sharp stab on his back, just over his shoulder. Then the world was enveloped in darkness.
* * *
Daniel was barely able to keep his friend from crashing to the floor. As it was, they both ended up down there anyways. With a sigh, Daniel pushed himself up and looked around the small one room apartment. It was a slum. No doubt about it.
He bent over to check on Jack, he should be out, Janet had given them a pretty powerful sedative, but it never hurt to check. Something under the bed caught his eye, a cardboard shoebox without the lid. Daniel walked over and pulled it out, setting the box on the card table. He hadn't needed to look to know what was in it, but he looked anyway. Until that moment, the fact that his friend was an addict hadn't sunk in. It finally did.
Daniel ran a hand through his hair, then bent over his friend, pushing up his sleeve. No marks. He let the sleeve fall back down, and pulled Jay's shirt up over his stomach. There they were. A neat little row of track marks. With a sigh, the archaeologist sat on the floor beside his friend, staring down at the older man.
It was weird. He looked like Jack. But he didn't dress like him. He didn't talk like him. And he didn't act like him. This was a completely different person, and Daniel could see the difference in him, even when he was unconscious. Then there was the whole bit about him being gay. Daniel didn't really have a problem with that. He didn't even really have a problem with the fact that the man was obviously attracted to him.
The part he was having trouble with, was the knowledge that Jack would never have done that, even if he himself were gay. The man placed to much value on his team and his friendships. Jack O'Neill would be horrified with himself if he started any sort of intimate relationship with any member of his team. Whether they were male or female. He would view it as taking advantage of his position, as some sort of breach of their friendship. Jack O'Neill held few things as holy as the bond of friendship.
Daniel pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, intending to call Sam and tell her and Teal'c to get up here and help him. Their plan was to keep him sedated and load him onto a military plane at 0500. By the time the drugs wore off Jack, or rather 'Jay,' would be back in the states. In a hospital. Ready to start treatment.
He didn't so much as get to hit the ON button. Something hit him on the back of the head, and he joined his friend in the pit of unconsciousness.
* * *
When Sam and Teal'c barged through the door at 0330, having grown tired of waiting, all they found was an empty apartment. A trashed empty apartment. "What the hell?" Sam muttered, wishing she'd been allowed to carry her firearm on foreign soil. The two members of SG-1 searched the entire apartment, but found no sign of either Daniel or Jack.
With a sigh that was more fear than annoyance, Major Carter picked up the phone and dialed Cheyenne Mountain. The General was not going to be pleased. To say the least.
* * *
"You WHAT!"
"We lost them, sir."
"Both of them?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, what are you waiting for, Major. Find them!"
"Yes, sir."
Six:
The first thing that Jay noticed, was that his hands and feet were tied. The second thing he noticed was that he was leaning up against someone else. His brain took a minute to connect the face with the memory. It was the American. By all accounts, the kid was unconscious. There was a bit of blood showing in his hair. That was funny, because Jay didn't remember a fight. The last thing he remembered was kissing the kid.
*He's awake,* someone said in French. Jay finally took the time to take a look at his surroundings. They were against a wall, in what looked like a basement. There were no windows. Only one, closed and presumably locked, door, with a guard standing in front of it. And one bare light bulb, swinging from the ceiling. He presumed that the one who'd spoken had been the guard on the door. Large, beefy, leather clad man. Oh-boy.
*What the hell is going on!* Jay demanded of the guard. The man glared down at him.
*That is for my employer to tell you,* he replied. Jay longed to bash the larger man's face in. He said a quick prayer that he'd get the chance.
*Well, then, where the fuck is your employer!* he demanded.
*He will be here soon enough,* the guard replied, then unlocked the door, walked out, and locked it behind him. Jay started tugging on his bonds. All of his moving around woke up his companion.
"What's going on?" the American, Daniel, asked groggily.
"Well, we seem to have run into a mite bit o' trouble," Jay replied, still tugging on his ropes. They were starting to give.
"What kind of trouble," the kid asked, blinking and looking around the room.
"The kind tha' might end up gettin' a couple'a buggers dead, that what kind," Jay answered, pulling his hands free and going to work on his ankles.
"Why?" the kid asked as he undid his ropes. Jay shrugged.
"I'm still working on the 'who' at the moment, boy-o," he helped him to stand. "Take it easy, I think ye've got a concussion."
"Oh, really?" Daniel asked as the floor and ceiling switched places.
"Def'natly," Jay answered, then went to the door. He chuckled to himself as he got a look at the lock. Should be easy work. Unfortunately, as he got to work on the mechanism, the guard on the outside opened the door, and walked into the room. He looked down at Jay, smiled, then backhanded him across the face. Jay hit the wall.
*My employer would like to see you now,* the lug said in French, then bent over and picked the addict up, easily setting him on his feet. He pulled a berretta out and waved it casually at the two men. "No tricks, you walk," he said in English, to make sure the yank could understand.
The 'yank' could understand French perfectly well, but he chose to keep that bit of information to himself.
* * *
Sam and Teal'c turned Jay's neighborhood upside down looking for their friends. But neither spoke the language. They were strangers, and Jay didn't exactly go out of his way to socialize. The first clue they got came around noon. A vendor from the market, speaking surprisingly good English, informed the two of them that he'd seen three men in dark clothes walk into the building around one, the time they'd sent Daniel, and come out a few minutes later with two unconscious men.
When asked to describe the men, the man shook his head, and muttered something about 'not enough light.' He did, however, have the license plate. Which he gave to them for a bargain rate of two hundred American. Sam got on the line to Hammond, hoping to get some strings pulled with the French police.
* * *
"Ow," Daniel muttered as he was shoved through a doorway and into a room, Jay in front of him. The older man was looking confused, but not as confused as Daniel. The archaeologist saw recognition dawn in Jay's eyes. Daniel followed the line of his sight, and his eyes came to rest on a weasily looking guy with dirty blond hair, slicked back, and an ill-fitting suit.
*O'Connor, what a pleasant surprise,* the man said. His voice matched his appearance. Greasy and ill-fitting.
*I don't think I'd call it that, Gregory,* Jay replied in French. Daniel managed not to do a double-take. Barely. *What do you want, scum ball?*
*Your head on my den wall, I should think would suffice.*
Jay snorted. *Not gonna happen.*
The weasel, Gregory, chuckled. *What makes you think that you have any say in the matter,* he asked, holding up a syringe. *For this you would sell your own mother,* he continued, carefully watching Jay's reaction.
Jay reacted like an addict who wanted a hit. He stared at the syringe and licked his lips. In the back of his mind a civil war was going on.
'Get your ass out there, the sonofabitch is gonna get us killed!'
'You go.'
'It's your goddamned body.'
'Yours too.'
'This is ridiculous. You have got to start dealing with the world, kid.'
'Yeah? Make me.'
Gregory was holding the needle out to Jay, moving it back and forth. The addict's eyes diligently followed it. *What do you want?* he asked, his voice soft and breaking. Gregory now turned to stare at Daniel. The archaeologist had a bad feeling.
*How about a little fun with you and your American friend?* he asked, looking back at Jay. The only problem was that it was no longer Jay. The Other was standing up straight, arms crossed over his chest, head to the side, staring amusedly at the drug dealer. Gregory didn't appear to notice the change. Daniel couldn't have missed it. *Well, Jay, what do you say?*
The Other shifted his head to the other side and continued regarding the man in front of him. He disliked junkies. He disliked drugs. He especially disliked drug dealers. God must like him an awful lot, because he'd just dropped a dealer in his lap. He even still had a pulse. The Other smiled, and Daniel started backing away.
Once, back on the streets all of those years ago, a dealer had approached Charlie and him. Wanting to know if they wanted to buy. The Other had answered for both of them, no. The dealer hadn't backed off, and over the course of the next several days he and his friends had followed and harassed the two runaways. The harassment had culminated in a five against one fight, which he had lost. Once he was on the ground they'd shoved a needle full of heroin into him, then sat back and watched the show. They'd expected an insta-addict. They'd gotten a very pissed off Other.
Apparently Gregory wasn't totally daft, because a glimmer of fear had started at the edges of his eyes. Too little too late. The Other struck out with skills won from a lifetime of battles. He was done in three minutes. Gregory and the two guards lay on the floor, unconscious or dead, Daniel wasn't sure. He was betting on dead. Daniel was backed against the wall, watching this new personality carefully.
"Let's go, Danny-boy," the Other said, bending down and pulling a gun off of one of the unconscious guards. Daniel just stared. It looked like Jack. Talked like Jack. Moved like Jack. He still had the distinct impression that this was not Jack.
"Who are you?" he asked, still against the wall. The Other stared at him, one eyebrow arching up. Except for the slight difference of him being a sociopath there were very few differences between him and Jack. Even Charlie hadn't been able to tell the difference. Even Sarah hadn't been able to tell the difference. Here this guy knew there was a difference after just a couple of minutes. Interesting. The Other filed that bit of information away then met the man's eyes.
"I'm someone who just wants to help," the Other answered his question. Miracle of miracles. The kid looked like he actually believed him.
"Where's Jack?" he asked as they stepped out of the building and onto a back street. The Other chuckled. "What's so funny."
"Nothing at all, Spacemonkey, that's why I'm laughing," he clapped his hands. "Now, where are you three kiddies holed up?"
"Le Gatte Noir," Daniel answered. "How do you know that all three of us are here?"
"I saw ya, Danny, you three didn't exactly make a secret of your movements, now did ya?" the Other asked, Daniel shrugged. "I knew you all were coming as soon as the lovely Major arranged to get you on the plane," he informed Daniel, the archaeologist found this a bit disturbing.
"How did you know that?" he asked.
"What, you thought I'd disappear just because Jay was at the steering wheel?" he asked, then chuckled again.
"Well, yes, kind of. You want to turn here," Daniel pointed out, the Other walked right on past. "Or not," Daniel jogged to catch up to him. "Uh, where are we going?"
"Little cafe I know, nice, quiet, place. You and I have got to have ourselves a bit of a talk."
"Okay."
The cafe the Other took them to was open air next to a beautiful courtyard with a fountain shaped like Venus. Daniel couldn't spot a single tourist, and wondered how Jack, or whoever this was, could know about it. A waiter stepped up and wordlessly led them to a table, smiling at the Other. The Other smiled back, and the waiter left, presumably to get their order, even though they hadn't ordered anything.
"They seem to know you here," Daniel observed. The Other smiled and leaned back in his chair. Stretching. It was good to be free and killing people.
"Come over here," he said, gesturing Daniel over. Daniel came over. The Other began a very business-like inspection of the wound on his head. He would have put Janet to shame. He finished a couple of minutes before their coffee showed up. "You've got a hell of a bump, and a bit of a cut, but you shouldn't even need stitches," he informed his patient, then thanked the waiter as he brought them their order. Daniel took a sip, and was delighted to find strong black coffee. He glanced at the Other, who was sipping his own coffee and carefully watching him. It was very creepy.
"What?" Daniel finally asked. "You said we needed to talk."
The Other sighed, then began. "You're here, you've met Jay, and me, and you didn't seem that surprised, disturbed but not surprised, so you knew on the way over what was wrong, didn't you?"
"Yes," Daniel answered. This was weird, yup, definately.
"Well, you didn't learn it from any one report, or psych profile. The Air force is very careful about stuff like that," he took a sip of his own coffee, and a small smile crept across his face. "When we get back, one of two things will happen. A) they'll sweep this under the rug, ignore the fact that we're bonkers, and life will continue on as usual."
"What's B?" Daniel asked. The Other sat back, the smile disappearing.
"B would be them throwing us in a military mental ward and leaving us there till Kingdom come."
"What about C?" Daniel asked.
"What C?"
"We go home, you see Mackinsey, and you get healthy," Daniel answered. The Other laughed. The poor kid was delusional. Of course, maybe he didn't know. He'd never told anyone, that was for sure. Neither had Jack. All told, it was probably better for the kid to stay ignorant.
"Mackinsey is a military shrink, Danny-boy," the Other pointed out.
"If he thinks your healthy, he'll put you back on duty. The SGC needs Jack," Daniel replied. The Other chuckled. "What?"
"Everyone needs Jack," the Other echoed, then shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. "You honestly think Mackinsey would put us back on duty?" he asked after several minutes of silence. Daniel shrugged.
"If he didn't want to, I'm sure someone might apply a bit of pressure, as long as they were sure that you were well."
The Other contemplated this for several minutes. Someone, would obviously be Hammond. Jack was his second in command. Leader of the flag team. If they could get him back, he was sure that they would. There was only one tiny little problem. Jack didn't want to play. 'Oh, well,' the Other thought. 'We'll give it the old college try.'
"Come on, Danny," he said, standing up and leaving the bill and tip on the table. "I'm sure that the other kids are out of their minds with worry."
* * *
Sam and Teal'c were, in fact, out of their minds with worry. The license plate had led to a house. With three dead people in one of the rooms. They'd just gotten back to their rooms themselves when the door opened and in walked Daniel and Jack.
"DanielJackson, you are well," Teal'c commented stoically. Sam was a tad bit more emotional.
"Oh my god, you're both alright!" she hugged Daniel, then turned to the Other. She eyed him for a moment, then smiled. "Welcome back, Colonel." The Other smiled, and Daniel stared. As far as the archaeologist was concerned, whatever was different about this personality fairly screamed in neon letters. Apparently Sam couldn't tell the difference.
"O'Neill, it is good to see you my friend," Teal'c acknowledged the Colonel with a nod. The Other nodded back, then shot a look at Daniel. The archaeologist got the message. Can it, we'll talk again later. Daniel kept his mouth shut.
Seven:
When SG-1 returned to Cheyenne Mountain, they returned as three healthy individuals, and one catatonic one. On the flight back the Other had decided to implement his plan. Throw Jack into the water and force him to swim. Unfortunately, Jack didn't want to swim. Daniel had watched silently as the shift took place. Hopeful that his friend would emerge. The Other had taken him aside and presented him with his plan. Unfortunately, his plan failed horribly.
Jack was wheeled into the infirmary, where he waited silent and still as a statue, until he was wheeled out of the complex and into the military ambulance which would take him to the military mental hospital. Daniel Jackson never left his side.
In the back of Jack's mind, the Other watched silently. Waiting patiently. If Jack wanted to play statue, that was his prerogative, but the Other was not going to let it end up killing him. If the need arose he had every intention of popping back out and dealing with whatever problem had surfaced. Short of that, he had no plans. The Other had enjoyed the SGC, and the people there. He got to travel, keep a really big secret, and shoot people with really neat guns. What more could a little psychopath want?
He'd been more than content to watch from the background, as the others hibernated. Until that damned Sa-ren dude had decided that Jack's soul was shattered, and needed to be repaired. Apparently, in order for the soul to be repaired, the body had to live through every abuse ever heaped on it. So, the little sonofabitch had thrown them into some sort of hell hole, which had happily revisited every past injury on Jack, in order, one after the other after the other. Then he'd gone and healed all of the damage.
The Other didn't know if it had been part of the plan or not, but the process had let him out, and with him out all of the others woke up. Or, rather, Jack woke up all of the others. Amazing, how an alternate could be left in charge and build a life for himself. The Other chuckled to himself, in the back of his mind. Alternate maybe wasn't the proper word. He and Jack had existed in tandem for as long as either could remember. The psychopath and the smoke wall. Trying to figure out which of them had come first only resulted in migraines, so they'd stopped, quite a while ago.
Everyone needed Jack, they didn't need him. He was just the Other. He was just the one who used to come out and do the dirty jobs, until even that had proven to risky, so Jack had learned to do his own dirty business. To do his own killing. Because too many people were noticing that he seemed to be two different people. The last thing the Other had wanted was to be locked up in a padded room. He'd chosen prison over the psych ward before. Unfortunately, now he was faced with a problem. He sighed.
'Jack,' he said. 'You and I are gonna have to figure this out, somehow.' There was no answer. He hadn't expected one. Jack had done this before, after returning from that Iraqi hell. He'd stayed like this for months, because he hadn't known how to reconcile what had happened with the life he'd been separated from. Maybe this was the same thing. Maybe the kid just needed time. The Other could wait. It wasn't like he had anywhere to be going, anyways.
* * *
"Jack, it's me again. I want you to know that I'll be here. Whenever you need me. You take your time. I'm not going anywhere. Sam and Teal'c are planning on coming to visit you tomorrow. Just thought you might like to know."
Daniel sat next to his friend in his room. Jack had been placed in the catatonic ward, which was relatively low security. No one expected any of these patients to make a break for it. With a sigh, he opened his notes and got to work. He'd decided to take this opportunity to start digging through the mountains of paperwork he'd let back up. Sam was at the mountain, losing herself in research. Teal'c was going out with teams on missions. Everyone was dealing with their grief and shock in a different, and yet similar, way. They were burying it under work.
Jack sat in his wheelchair and stared out the window. He liked the view, grass, trees, and sky. Every once in a while a bird would fly by, or a dog would run across the grass. He knew that Daniel was next to him, sometimes the Space-monkey would talk to him. But he never demanded a response. Jack was confused, and scared. He didn't know how to adjust to the changes in his reality. His closest friends, his family, had discovered the deepest secret he kept. The secret he'd been keeping practically since birth. He knew that the Other was in the back of his mind, watching and waiting, as usual. He'd always been aware of him. He'd always been there. The others he'd created as they were needed. The Other was just another side of him. The side that would be labeled a psychopath, doped up, and thrown in a padded room.
So, he guessed that they hadn't discovered his deepest, darkest, secret yet. They didn't know that he and the Other were the same. That, in effect, there were no differences between them. They both played by the same amoral rules. He was just the result of a conscious effort to become socially acceptable. The effort to blend in. Jack let his attention go back to the window, he didn't like to think. Daniel was scribbling on his papers, the steady scratching noises were soothing. Jack let himself drift away.
In the back of his mind, the Other continued to watch, silently. Two sides of the same coin. Two different faces, but still the same. He shook his head, then started to whistle a mindless tune.
END
Author's note: don't hate me because one of Jack's alternates is gay. It was necessary for the mission. And, no, Daniel is not himself gay, he's just a caring and accepting guy. As for the Other, well, the third installment will be up soon, so you'll be able to make your own judgments about him. Reviews welcome, please try not to blast me too much. I have a fragile ego. :)
Sequel to Reflections of the Soul
Disclaimer: not mine, wish they were, and all that jazz.
Summary: The members of SG-1 start to notice the differences in their CO.
Rating: R for language and some sexual content.
Author's Note: there is a minor bit of slash in here, so you've been warned.
One
Col. Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill was having a very bad day. First, he'd woken up at two a.m. in the god forsaken morning, thanks to a particularly nasty nightmare. Then his reflection had started berating him for not dealing with his emotional issues; for not talking to Dr. Mackenzie, the shrink, or at least a member of his team; and then the son of a bitch had started bitching at him for not going after Carter. Apparently schizophrenic alternate personalities did not understand the chain of command, and why you didn't start romantic relations with your 2IC. Jack had resolved to make sure he held the other in check around Sam. The last thing he needed was to have the bastard pop out when they were alone. He'd already shown up in O'Malley's, when the team had gone for their traditional post-mission pig out.
It had been two weeks since his return from the wilderness. Almost a month and a half since the disastrous mission which had triggered the chain of events which had led to his hightailing it off to the wilderness. About a month since the alternates had started popping up.
Out in the wilderness it hadn't mattered. There was no one around to hear him talking to himself. Back among the living, it was a different story. There had to be a way, short of shrinks and drugs, to get his own damned psyche back under control.
'Don't bet on it.'
'We're not going anywhere.'
'You still need us, Jack, we're stuck here 'till that changes.'
He didn't like what that last one said. It rang too true. He didn't like to think that he might actually need all of the psycho's hiding out in his subconscious.
"Good morning, Colonel O'Neill," the guard at the second sign-in greeted him. Jack did a double take. The last thing he remembered was getting into his, recovered, truck. If the others were planning on sticking around for a while, he was going to have to plan to get re-acquainted with the old habits.
"Morning corporal," he replied, signing his name and continuing on towards his office. If he had to be up at the ass-crack of dawn, then by god he might as well work on diminishing the piles, that's right, plural, of paperwork waiting for him on his desk. He silently wondered if there was a secretary hiding somewhere in the back of his head.
'Don't bet on it.'
'We hate paperwork as much as you do.'
'Yeah, but you don't have to do it,' he retorted, silently. He was getting better at keeping his internal dialogues, well, internal.
* * *
Daniel Jackson was, of course, in his office. He wasn't exactly bright and early, though, he'd never left. SG-6 had brought back some rather interesting artifacts, not to mention twenty hours of footage, and fifty pages of notes and observations. Predictably he'd dug in, acquiring a large cup of black coffee from the commissary, and begun his translations.
Jack had stopped by on his way out, berating the archaeologist for working 'too hard, too much, too long.' Daniel had shrugged him off and muttered 'goodbye, Jack.' The colonel had left muttering about 'workaholic spacemonkies.' The spacemonkey had been surprised to find that he'd missed the nick-name.
Daniel still didn't understand what had happened to his friend. Jack had come back from that mission, different. But then, how could a person be not different after being nailed to a cross and god only knows what else. Still, he'd taken off without so much as a word. That wasn't like the Jack O'Neill he knew. Not the taking off part, that was pretty typical. Jack didn't like to deal with his feelings publicly. No. It was the not a word part that was so unusual. Jack was a responsible person, not to mention a military man. In the past, when he'd taken off, he'd always left word, and instructions on how to contact him should the need arise.
Daniel shook his head, running a hand through his short hair. Jack O'Neill was a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, and sealed in a conundrum. Every time he thought that he'd figured his friend out, the older man would go and do something that was completely and totally out of the norm.
Take O'Malley's. Jack had been, comparatively, normal when they went in. But half-way through the meal, everything had changed. It was as if someone had flipped a switch somewhere. He'd stopped joking, instead listening attentively to the conversation about 'boring rocks' without so much as a 'boring rock' comment. Not only that, but his entire demeanor had shifted. Even his face had looked slightly, off. Daniel hadn't been the only one to notice the change.
After they had separated for the night, Carter had called him at his apartment. They'd had an hour long discussion on the change in their Colonel.
'He's been acting strange ever since he got back,' Carter said.
'Well, he has suffered a lot of, stress, lately,' he'd replied.
'You know what I mean, Daniel,' she'd said, testily. 'Usually after something like, that, the Colonel would be bouncing around, proving to anyone who would listen that he was running at one hundred and ten percent.'
'Yeah, I know. Jack being quiet and withdrawn is creepy.'
'Being quiet and attentive at a meal is downright frightening!'
'Yeah.'
They'd decided to keep their collective eyes on the man. Teal'c had been roped into the 'conspiracy' the next day. It hadn't been that difficult. He too had noticed the change in the Colonel. Hell, even Hammond had noticed that something was off. He'd pulled Daniel aside and asked him if he knew why Jack was acting so weird. Daniel had answered honestly. He didn't have a clue.
The weirdness the General had been referring to had been Jack's behavior at the pre-mission briefing. Jack had arrived late, as usual, collapsed into his seat, and proceeded to start fidgeting with a paper-clip. Daniel, and everyone else, he was sure, had assumed that he wasn't listening to the speech he'd been giving about the ruins they would be exploring. G29-309 was a quiet, non-threatening little planet, which had already been scouted by SG-3. It was empty and harmless. Hammond had figured that Jack's first mission should be an easy one.
The briefing had gone as expected, except that halfway through Jack had sat up, opened his eyes, and informed him, very politely, that he was reading the alien script wrong. It was meant to be read right to left, bottom to top. After some investigation, Daniel had proven Jack's statement correct. However, trying to talk to him about it was futile, he'd just reply that he didn't remember saying anything of the kind, and that maybe he'd dozed off and spoken in his sleep.
With another sigh, Daniel pushed away from his 'rocks' and headed for the commissary. He was out of coffee, and he needed caffeine.
* * *
Major Sam Carter walked out of her office and headed straight for the commissary. She was famished. She'd spent the night on base, grabbing a two hour nap around three, to work on the new generator SG-5 had 'procured' from a Goa'uld base. It was really fascinating, and she was fairly certain that she'd finally figured out how it worked. So now, breakfast, or what passed for breakfast. There was a reason that army food was the but of so many jokes.
* * *
Teal'c awoke from his Kel-no-reem feeling calm and refreshed. Ready to face yet another day, inside the mountain. Perhaps the team would be assigned a mission. Probably not. Both MajorCarter and DanielJackson were involved in rather 'interesting' work. That left him, bored. Not that he would inform anyone of that fact. Perhaps he would go to the gym, later, and work on honing his fighting skills.
Standing, he extinguished the candles and headed for the commissary. He required sustenance. Perhaps he would be in luck, and ColonelO'Neill would insist on 'dragging' him off to experience some strange new Tau'ri custom. He had quite enjoyed the last one. What had O'Neill called it? Racing.
Thinking of his friend brought feelings of concern. The Colonel had been acting, strangely, ever since his return from the wilderness. When questioned by the other two members of the team, the man had replied, irritatedly, that he'd 'needed some time alone to find myself.' Teal'c had refrained from questioning the man. He had, however, shared his concerns over his strange behavior with his teammates.
The Jaffa made sure that his face was expressionless, as usual, before stepping into the hall. Something was troubling O'Neill, and he would eventually discover what. Of that he had no doubt.
* * *
Jack managed to get through about half of his paperwork, don't ask him how, before he noticed that his stomach was attempting to get his attention. He'd neglected eating before he'd left home because he hadn't been hungry, and the thought of eating before six a.m. had caused his stomach to roll uncomfortably. It was now after six, and he was hungry. With an annoyed sigh, he pushed away from his desk. He would go to the commissary and grab a bite to eat. Something fast, maybe some fruit or something. Definitely not fruit loops.
Two:
Daniel had been surprised to find Sam in the commissary, hungrily going through about a pound of bacon and eggs. She motioned him over and, after procuring a large cup of coffee, he joined her.
"Morning, Sam," he said, sitting down across from her.
"Morning," she replied. "How's your translation going?" she asked. He smiled.
"Really well, actually. Although, there's this one section that I can't for the life of me figure out. I was thinking of asking the Colonel to take a crack at it."
"Take a crack at what?" Teal'c asked, seating himself beside the archaeologist and placing his tray, filled with fruit, cereal, eggs, and bacon, in front of him.
"The translation I'm working on," Daniel replied, taking a sip of his coffee. Ahh, caffeine.
"Please tell me that that's not your whole breakfast," Sam said with a sigh. Daniel smiled.
"Why not!" he asked with mock indignation.
"It is an inadequate source of nutrition," Teal'c replied from beside him.
"It is not," Daniel replied. "It has all the important food groups."
"Oh, really," one of Sam's eyebrows arched up as she took a bite of her eggs.
"Yes, sugar, caffeine, and cream."
"I do not believe that those are food groups, DanielJackson," Teal'c informed him.
"Au contraire, they are the only ones which matter," Daniel shot back.
"Spoken like a true addict," Sam put in, swallowing her eggs.
"Ugh!" Daniel exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender.
"Why would O'Neill be able to assist you with a translation?" Teal'c queried, returning to the original topic.
"I was just referring to his statement at the briefing," Daniel answered. Understanding dawned in the Jaffa's mind.
"May I assume that his statement was then correct?" he asked.
"Yeah, and then some," Daniel answered.
"Speak of the devil," Sam warned quietly, both Daniel and Teal'c looked over their shoulders, following her line of sight. Jack had just entered the commissary, and was heading for the line.
"Sir," Carter called out when he passed their table, apparently not seeing them. He froze in place for a moment, then turned and smiled.
"Carter?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Care to join us, Jack?" Daniel answered for the Major. Jack stood there for another minute, apparently thinking his proposal over, then dropped his tray onto the table, beside Sam's. Daniel noted silently that the older man had a banana, coffee, and a bowl of oatmeal on his tray. He wasn't the only one who noticed.
"I was unaware that you liked banana's, O'Neill," Teal'c commented, voicing, in so many words, what all three were thinking. Jack glanced down at his tray, then back up at his team, shrugging. Truth be told, Jack O'Neill HATED banana's, but then, it hadn't been Jack who'd picked it out. It still wasn't Jack.
"Learn something new every day," he replied, picking the fruit up and peeling it. His team watched silently as he broke it into small pieces and dropped them into his bowl, stirring them in.
"So, Jack, you're here early," Daniel commented as the Colonel took a bite of his oatmeal.
"Paperwork," he replied, after swallowing.
"You hate paperwork, sir," Carter pointed out.
"It is difficult to believe that you arrived early to take care of paperwork, O'Neill," Teal'c put in.
Jack chewed another bite of oatmeal and bananas thoughtfully. He didn't know what to do about this. With a shrug, he grabbed the other and threw him back into control. Jack paused in chewing. He tasted banana, he hated banana. Why did he have banana in his mouth? He forced himself to swallow it, yuck!
'What the hell is going on?!' he demanded silently, glancing around the table and taking a sip of coffee in order to stall.
'They want to know why you are here early,' the other informed him.
'Paperwork,' he replied.
'They don't believe that you'd come in early just to do paperwork.'
'Damn.'
He cleared his throat, setting his coffee down and only barely managing to keep the grimace off of his face. There was too much sugar and not enough cream in it. "General Hammond, requested, that I get to work on some of it," he finally replied. It wasn't a lie, either.
Daniel wasn't buying it, but he remained silent. If Jack didn't want to tell them, then he wouldn't. Teal'c didn't believe the explanation either, but he too remained quiet. His Tau'ri friend would tell them if he wished. He silently sighed, if O'Neill was doing paperwork, then he would most probably not have time for anything else. Carter didn't buy it. But he was her CO, and she wasn't going to question him. Really, she wasn't. Not verbally, at least.
Jack could tell that they weren't buying it, but he was saved from trying to come up with a more convincing, while still acceptable, answer by the ringing of the alarm. "Unscheduled off-world activation," the computer informed the SGC.
The members of SG-1 dropped their meal, and their conversation, and headed for the gate room, along with most of the others in the commissary at the early hour. Jack arrived in the Gate room just as SG-9 stumbled out of the wormhole, followed by several energy bolts.
"Close the iris," Hammond commanded as soon as the last member was through. The med-teams moved in, several of the soldiers were wounded. "What the hell happened, Major!" Hammond demanded of Major Deveroux, the CO.
"Jaffa, General sir. Hundreds of 'em. They ambushed us."
* * *
Jack was sitting at his desk, staring morosely at the piles of finished paperwork. Somehow he'd managed to get it all done, in one day. Less than one day, actually. Now he had to figure out a plausible explanation as to how he'd managed a feat he'd publicly proclaimed impossible. Finishing all of the paperwork on his desk. Damn. Maybe he could write it off to a flashback from the virus in those arm-band thingies. Yeah, that could work. And Jaffa would start dancing the sugar plum fairy in pink tutus.
"Colonel," Jack looked up, startled out of his musings. It was a corporal, standing at attention in his doorway.
"Yes?" he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"The General would like to see you in the briefing room, sir."
"Damn!" Jack muttered, flying out of his chair and past the airman. He'd totally forgotten about the briefing. Shit. Shit. Shit.
He stumbled into the room just before the General sent yet another corporal in search of him. "Colonel O'Neill, so nice of you to join us," the older man observed as Jack collapsed into a seat next to Daniel. "Care to tell us what vital emergency kept you from arriving at this briefing on time?"
"Paperwork," O'Neill informed his CO. "Sir." One of the general's non- existent eyebrows shot up.
"Really?" he said. "Then may I assume that all of your, late, paperwork will be turned in before the end of your shift."
"Yes, sir. You may assume that, sir," Jack replied. His face calm and still. Daniel watched his friend, waiting for the expected addendum, 'but you'd have a hell of a long wait, sir.' It didn't come. Glancing around the table, the archaeologist noticed that he wasn't the only one to make the observation.
"Major Carter," the General said, turning his attention to Sam. "You may begin the briefing."
"Yes, sir," the Major said with a nod of her blonde head. She stood, activating the monitor at the end of the room. Several images flashed onto the screen, along with their pertinent data. Daniel saw ruins, lots of them. It looked like the UAV had never gotten beyond the confines of whatever ancient city lay around the stargate.
"Well, at least there aren't any trees," Jack muttered under his breath, earning him four stares, mixed with relieved half-smiles. He was starting to sound like the old Jack O'Neill.
"Sirs, P3W-722 appears to be deserted. In spite of extensive building there appears to be no life, whatsoever. As you can see from the images, this city is, fairly large, and very advanced. The UAV was unable to reach its edge before being forced to return," Carter began the briefing.
Jack tuned her out. No life meant few threats. He kept one ear open for any keywords which might be of interest to him, and started doodling on the piece of paper in front of him.
"SG-1, you have a go. Prepare to ship out at 0700 tomorrow morning," Hammond informed them. Jack shook himself out of his self-imposed half hypnotized state and stood.
"Well, campers, you heard the General. Remember to pack your toothbrushes," Jack said to his team, clapping his hands and smiling. Then he turned and left. He was tired. He had paperwork to deliver. He had supply lists to check. He wanted to go to sleep.
Behind him, Daniel was staring at the piece of paper on which the older man had been 'Doodling.' "Something wrong, Daniel?" Sam asked, coming up behind him and staring down at the paper over his shoulder. "Is that what I think that is?" she asked, after a moment of stunned silence.
"Yeah, I think it is," Daniel answered, still staring at the paper. Teal'c watched his friends and teammates curiously, then looked down at the object of their scrutiny.
"It does indeed appear similar to the writing which was discovered on P3W- 722," the Jaffa informed them.
"What does it say?" Sam asked, still staring at the paper.
"I'm not sure, I mean I've only had an hour to go over the images. But, I think that he just translated, and transcribed, the entire briefing," Daniel answered.
"Someone needs to talk to him," Sam finally spoke the words they were all thinking. The two men nodded their agreement.
"Before or after the mission?" Daniel asked. Sam thought about that for a minute.
"During," she finally answered. When Daniel looked at her questioningly she added, "if there is something going on, I want the time we have for the mission to figure out what to do about it."
"Yeah," Daniel answered. He didn't voice his own silent fear, that perhaps more had been done to O'Neill than torture, that perhaps some undetectable alien device was at that moment doing something to his friend. If Sam had thought of it she would never have suggested waiting until they were on the mission.
Three:
Jack was back at the mountain bright and early. Waaaaaay before their 0700 departure time. The base was still relatively quiet. He was hiding in his office. The door locked behind him. He had no paperwork to take care of. He'd done all of the pre-mission shit he could. He'd checked, double checked, then triple checked every piece of equipment that they would be taking with them. Right down to Carter's boots.
He hadn't been able to sleep. Or rather, he had slept, then woken up. The others had been at it, again. Dredging up memories that he neither wanted, nor needed. The first go around the only way he'd been able to deal had been to lock it all up. Shove all of those nasty bits and pieces into the darkest corner of his mind, and forget. Of course, according to all the psychology books he'd flipped through since his return, that was probably why the others existed. He'd refused to deal with it, so his subconscious had gone behind his back and summoned up some whipping boys to take the damage.
He was sitting in the dark. Not looking at anything. Not thinking. Nothing. This was getting to be too much for him. He honestly didn't know if he could take it. His body was going off and doing things he hadn't told it to do. Like get a banana for breakfast. So far, it had been relatively harmless. So far. There was no telling what could happen out in the field. There was no telling what he might say. What he might do. For god's sake, he could end up hurting one of his team, one of his kids. If he could slit a man's throat, all those years ago, without a thought, there was no telling what he, or rather the others, might do.
With a sigh, he flicked on his desk lamp and stared down at the letter he'd written out. It was a request for indefinite personal leave, on the basis of 'unspecified medical reasons' which he felt made him unfit for duty. He'd added a post-script stating his recommendation of Carter as interim team leader. He'd added a post-post-script relating his hope that he would be ready for duty as soon as possible, and a number at which they could reach him if an absolute emergency came up.
* * *
Daniel never made it to the locker room to change into his BDU's. As soon as he walked on base, he was informed that the General wanted to see Carter, Teal'c, and himself in his office. By the time he arrived, both of the others were already standing at ease in front of the man's desk. For his part, Hammond was seated behind his desk, looking tired and worn out.
"What's going on?" the archaeologist questioned as he walked into the room. No one answered. Instead, Hammond held out a piece of paper. Daniel took it, and read it over.
General Hammond,
I know that this is unexpected, however, I believe it to be necessary. As of 0320 this morning, I am requesting indefinite medical leave. The basis being a, number, of personal medical problems, which I hope to have resolved shortly.
Colonel Jonathan O'Neill, USAF
P.S.
Major Carter has shown herself to be a fine officer. I recommend she be given interim command of SG-1 in my absence.
PPS
If there is reason to contact me, I may be reached through this messaging service: 555-555-2345
Daniel folded the letter, after re-reading it, twice, and handed it back to the General. Jack had disappeared. Again. 'But this time he left a note,' he thought, hopefully. This time he hadn't just, disappeared. Of course, this raised a bit of a problem. No one was going to be discussing the Colonel's behavioral differences with him if he wasn't here.
"Uh, General?" Daniel started.
"Yes, Dr. Jackson?"
"I don't know whether you've noticed, or not, but Jack has been acting slightly-"
"Off," the General cut him off. "Yes, I had noticed. Frankly, I'd hoped that the mission to P3W-722 would give the four of you a chance to work through whatever problems he may be facing."
Daniel glanced at his two teammates. Carter looked startled. Teal'c looked, Teal'c-ish. "Sir," Carter began.
Hammond cut her off. "Major Carter, as interim Commander of SG-1, I am hereby ordering you and your team to locate Col. O'Neill, and to assist him in any way possible." Sam, Daniel, and Teal'c, stared at the General in silence for several minutes. Then Sam nodded.
"Yes, sir."
Hammond nodded back. "Dismissed."
"Well, where do we start?" Daniel asked Sam as they crossed the base parking lot.
* * *
Jay O'Connor, an Australian with short blonde hair, starting to go gray, stood on the balcony of his apartment and watched as the crowded market below him ebbed and flowed with life. Those who knew this strange foreigner, with his precise pronunciation of their language, and consistent wearing of mirrored sunglasses, even in the dark of night, were few, and wary.
Jay had disappeared over a decade before, simply vanished into the night. His friends had chalked it up to his eccentric character, and the nature of his work. Jay was a thief, one of the best. He'd stolen priceless works of art, and deadly national secrets. The man was one of the best, and he was always on the lookout for a new opportunity.
The people who had known him had simply assumed that he had found a new endeavor. Or was dodging the law, yet again. Even so, the rent payments on his apartment continued, delivered by messenger once monthly, along with a little extra for the landlord, an elderly man whose many sons had died in uncounted wars. Jay was ruthless when it came to his enemies, and generous when it came to his friends. So, when he reappeared after a twelve year disappearance, he was met with no questions, and much drinking.
Jay looked down at the street and sipped his coffee. He listened, bemused, as one vendor attempted to con a poor tourist into paying twice as much as she should. The vendor chattered on in rapid-fire French, the tourist attempted to keep up, with many English explicatives thrown in. Jay knew the vendor, Jean-Paul, the old man spoke English as well as the Australian spoke French.
Four:
Sam ran a tired hand through her blonde hair. She was tired. All three of them were tired. They'd been searching for Jack for almost two weeks now. She'd started by tracing the contact number. She'd spent the next three days untangling a net of relays and recorded messages. The only thing she'd been able to narrow down was the fact that, wherever Jack was, he wasn't on the American continent. Nope. Not north, central, or south America.
"Goddammit," she muttered. Then she started typing again. Part of her knew that, if the colonel didn't want to be found, there was very little likelihood of his being found. The other part of her, though, was desperate to find her CO, and friend. She missed him. And she had not missed the many signs of trouble. The many differences. She just wanted to help him.
* * *
"Yeah, okay, thank you Pierre," Daniel spoke into the phone, then hung up. Teal'c watched him stoically.
"Were you successful, DanielJackson?" the big Jaffa questioned. Daniel shrugged.
"No way to tell yet, Teal'c," he answered. Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "I've contacted everyone I know on the European and African continents. If anyone finds someone fitting his description, they'll get in touch with me," the archaeologist sighed. "But there's no way to know if there's even anything for us to find."
"Would it not be prudent to probe ColonelO'Neill's past, DanielJackson?" Teal'c asked.
"Why?"
"Perhaps he has returned to some part of his former life. Did he not do much 'under-cover' work for your government?"
"Y'know, Teal'c, you may have something there, I'll talk to Hammond about getting his mission files. It might be, tricky, though."
" 'Tricky,' ?"
"Yeah, most of Jack's former missions are classified."
One of Teal'c's eyebrows shot up. "Indeed."
* * *
Jay tossed in his sleep, throwing the covers off of the bed and onto the floor. He dreamed of horror and death. Pain and fury and a rage so unquenchable that it scared even him. It felt like a half dozen hammers were at work on his skull. Inside his skull. Threatening to come out and overwhelm him. With one final convulsion, he forced himself awake, and away from the images which had assaulted him in his sleep. He ran a tired hand over his face, then through his hair. This was the fifth night in a row that he'd been woken by the nightmares.
He didn't understand where they came from. These horrible images of death and destruction and blood. Perhaps from his past. He didn't know or care. Jay was a happy amnesiac. He didn't remember anything before his arrival in France, and he didn't want to remember. As for the last twelve years, during which he had apparently disappeared from the face of the earth. He did not know, which meant that he, in all probability, did not want to know, and he let it rest at that. Unfortunately, his dreams were not as willing to let go of the past as he was.
He paced the small apartment, past the balcony window, closed against the cold night air. Back and forth, back and forth. Jay didn't know what to do, so he decided to do the one thing that he was very, very, good at. He decided to go and, liberate, something. The only question was, what? With a sigh, he sat down on the only chair in the apartment, a hard wooden kitchen chair, seated in front of an old card table.
He'd heard rumors of a heroin dealer, working somewhere in his neighborhood. Perhaps he could liberate the cretin of his merchandise, keeping it out of the hands of children, and getting himself a nice little stash in the meantime. Yeah, that sounded good. He was running out, anyways. Of both cash and smack. With a wry smile, Jay stood and dressed, checking the clip of his berretta, then shoving it into his jeans, at the small of his back.
Jay whistled a mindless tune as he strolled out of his door and down the hallway. The night, or rather morning, was looking up.
* * *
Hammond stared at Major Carter, standing at attention in front of his desk. Waiting for his answer to her request. The major had just asked him for access to Col. O'Neill's personal records, the Top-secret, classified, records. He had to admit, her logic was sound. If Jack wanted to go to ground, then it made sense that he might turn to his old contacts. Perhaps even reactivate an old identity. It certainly all but guaranteed him his privacy.
The General did not know what to do. The only reason that he knew about Jack's past missions was because he'd, basically, bribed a pentagon official to get them. Even then, there were parts of the man's past that he couldn't get his hands on. He glanced back at the major, still standing at attention.
"I'll, see what I can do, Major Carter," he finally replied. She smiled, looking a little relieved.
"Thank you, sir." He sent her on her way, then sat in contemplation a bit longer. After a good hour more of thought, General Hammond picked up his phone and dialed the number of an old friend. He had some favors to call in.
* * *
Jay lay on the floor of his apartment. High and loving every minute of it. This was the life. No pain. No disturbing memories. Just him, and the other him, standing in the corner watching him. Jay shook his head, then looked again. The hallucination continued to glare at him.
"What do you want?" the thief finally asked, looking up at his mirror image from the floor. The other him just shook his head.
"You are really pathetic, you know that?" the other asked, then went on without waiting for an answer. "Why he had to go and pick you is beyond me. Goddamned addict. The last time he had to spend three months in rehab, sick as a dog, and he didn't have a clue as to why he was there."
"What the hell are you talkin' about, mate?" Jay asked, craning his head around on the floor. He didn't think that he was enjoying this trip. The other just threw his hands into the air and shook his head.
"If only the little sonofabitch would come out and deal with his goddamned problems!" the other muttered. "But, no, he had to go and hide. And of all the ones he could have picked he went and chose you!" the other pointed an accusing finger at him. Jay just stared at it, dazedly. "Urgh!" the other exclaimed, then disappeared.
* * *
"I've got it!" Daniel exclaimed, walking into Sam's office brandishing what looked like an internet printout. Teal'c followed silently behind, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Got what?" Sam asked tiredly, she'd only gotten a couple hours of sleep, which was probably more than the archaeologist had gotten, she reflected. Daniel presented the papers to her with a flourish. Sam stared at the first one for several minutes, dumbfounded. It was a photocopy of a picture, black and white and grainy, but unmistakable. There was the Colonel, leaning against a much spray-painted brick wall, dressed in black jeans and a tailored black leather trench coat. There was something different about him. About his stance, the way he carried himself, that shouted out at her, even in a picture. His eyes were hidden behind what looked suspiciously like a pair of designer shades.
"Turn the page," Daniel suggested. Sam closed her mouth and did so. The second page was a printout of an e-mail.
From PierreTheroux@anthropology.net To DanielJackson@anthropology.net Response Lookout
Daniel, I think I've found him. He is going by the name Jay O'Connor, and staying at the following address. I would advise that you get to your friend soon, Daniel, the man is acting somewhat irrationally. He acts nothing like this Colonel you have told me about. I wish you the best of luck. -Pierre
Sam continued to read. The short note was followed by a street address. "How did you do this?" she asked Daniel. The archaeologist just shrugged.
"Persistence, and a lot of favors. The information you got from Hammond helped narrow it down a bit."
"Jay O'Connor," Sam muttered, turning to her desk and the piles of papers on it. After a minute of searching, she came back out, holding aloft a brown file folder. "I knew I'd seen that name before," she muttered, then flipped it open. She glanced over the contents, her face getting paler by the second. After a minute, she wordlessly handed it to Daniel. The archaeologist flipped the folder open, and stared down at the contents. Teal'c read over his shoulder.
Operation Nightcrawler
Objective(s): to obtain insider knowledge of the French heroine trade to arrest and detain all known leaders of the LeMonte drug cartel to identify, arrest, and detain any public officials involved with the LeMonte cartel
Field Operative: Jack O'Neill
Cover: Jay O'Connor, Australian national, high-profile thief. Contacts with various members of arms trade. Heroine addict.
Status: all objectives achieved, mission rated a success.
Post Mission Report: O'Neill was admitted to a military hospital facility to undergo drug re- hab. After three months, he was released with a clean bill of health.
Psychologist's Report: Jack O'Neill has suffered significantly from eight months of deep cover. Once returned to the states, O'Neill retained the habits, accent, and mannerisms of his cover, Jay O'Connor. He refused to acknowledge any past at all for four weeks. It was only with the help of hypnotic regression and aggressive psycho-therapy that he was able to return to his 'original personality.' Suggest follow-up treatment.
Daniel read down the information, pausing over the, long, list of drugs which they had used on his friend. Behind him, Teal'c remained as stoic as ever, though the man was disturbed by this information.
"I'll get us on the next flight for France," Sam said, already holding the phone receiver and in the midst of dialing.
"I'll start packing," Daniel replied, handing the file to Teal'c distractedly, then walking out of the room. All three friends were in shock, and each dealt with it differently.
Once in his own office, Daniel shut and locked the door behind him. He paced the crowded space for what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes. Jack was an addict. Forget that, Jack was forced to become an addict as part of his 'cover.' Because his government had ordered him to. He'd been forced to go through re-hab, and 'therapy,' because his government had told him to. Daniel knew all about the drugs therapists used, having been on the receiving end himself.
Suddenly, Daniel was seized with understanding. Why Jack had been so upset with Mackinsey for doping him up. Why he'd visited, even when it must have hurt. And ultimately, why he'd let the shrink have him in the first place. Jack O'Neill had been there and done that, and knew that it wasn't pretty. But, he'd thought it was necessary.
Daniel collapsed onto the floor, back against the wall, arms wrapped around his chest, and cried. He cried for his friend. For the pain Jack must have been in for him to return to that lifestyle. For the pain he'd endured. For everything.
Five:
Teal'c, Daniel, and Sam stood across the street from a four story rat trap. That was the only description that Sam could come up with. They'd arrived in France a little over five hours ago. After getting there they'd checked into a hotel, rented a car, and started looking for the address where Jack was supposed to be. Now that they'd found it, though, none of them had the foggiest clue of what to do.
"We could knock," Daniel suggested. Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Or, not." No one knew how to approach the situation. None of them were psychologists, they had no idea what was going on in Jack's head. They only knew that the man needed help, and that they were his only hope of getting it.
"Perhaps one of us should attempt to make contact," Teal'c suggested.
"Yeah, but, how?" both Daniel and Sam asked at the same moment. The big Jaffa shrugged.
Daniel ran his hand through his hair, for the thousandth time since this whole thing had started, a month ago. On the flight over he'd gone over the file. The whole file. All of the reports and observations. Every psych evaluation. All of it. There had been a lot to go through.
Jack had posed as a high-scale thief, who had a heavy heroin addiction. For eight months he had lived Jay O'Connor's life. And, according to the psych reports, he'd done it very well, and extremely easily. Too easily, for someone of sound mind. The reports didn't come out and state it, but the doctors had hedged around the fact. They thought that he had mpd. Multiple personality disorder.
It certainly explained a few things. Like how he'd been able to go on all of those deep cover missions, and why he'd been so effective. It also explained his recent behavior. According to the reports and evaluations, Jack had returned to normal, and stayed there. But he hadn't been treated as an mpd case, he hadn't received the proper treatment. Daniel was betting that the other personalities, the 'alternates' hadn't disappeared, or been reabsorbed. Rather, Jack had simply been able to force them into the background, keeping them under mental lock and key. The amount of self control that would have required boggled Daniel's mind. He honestly didn't understand how his friend had been able to do it. Not only do it, but to continue in that fashion, for well on 15 years!
Sam watched Daniel closely, he appeared to be thinking, which was good. Maybe he could come up with an idea, because she sure as hell couldn't. When his eyes brightened, she knew he'd come up with something, and she waited impatiently for him to spit it out.
"Guys," he finally said. "I think I have a plan."
* * *
Jay flopped into his favorite booth with catlike grace. A moment later the waitress brought him his usual, scotch and a tofu salad. Jay was a vegetarian, he could shoot a man in cold blood, but he couldn't stand the idea of eating an animal. Yuck! He sipped his scotch, keeping one eye one the rest of the restaurant, and the other on the three Americans sitting at the table in the corner. One of them, the blonde, had caught his eye. Apparently he'd caught theirs as well, because they kept sneaking covert glances at him. Jay wasn't much of a one for yanks, didn't particularly like them. But this one was a looker, no doubt, and he'd be willing to change his mind, if given the right incentive.
He was about halfway through his salad, and well through his second scotch, when one of the Yankees got up and walked over to his booth. It was the woman, and she was swaying her hips provocatively. Jay could appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the female form, especially this one. She stopped at his table.
"That seat taken?" she asked, then slipped into the booth uninvited. Jay smirked behind his drink. He didn't know what it was about him, but the ladies couldn't seem to stay away.
"Nah, help yeself," he answered, after she'd seated herself, not bothering to hide his accent. He could get rid of it if he wanted to, but it was too much bother. She was watching him, carefully. It was kinda weird, really. The way she watched him made him think that maybe he should know who she was.
"So, what're you doing in a place like this, all alone?" she asked, settling into the seat. Jay shrugged.
"Ah tha moment I'm eatin' me salad," he replied. She glanced down at his dinner, a confused look passing over her features.
"Is that tofu?" she asked incredulously.
"Yup, luv," he said, then took a bite. "Vegetarian, don't'cha'know."
"Vegetarian?" she asked, her voice coming out a bit higher.
"Y'okay, luv, ye seem a bit miffed." She shook her head, then smiled at him.
"I was just wondering if you might like some company, tonight," she said, her voice dropping lower, and getting a sultry edge. Jay chuckled, then shook his head. The woman just stared at him, eyes wide.
Jay finally got himself under control, banishing the laughter. "Sorry, luv," he said, finishing off his third drink.
"What was that about?" she demanded. She sounded a bit miffed, Jay noticed. He shrugged.
"It's just that ye're not me type, is all luv," he answered, motioning the waitress for his check. "If ye know what I mean." Jay paid, then stood and walked out of the restaurant, shaking his head to himself. Why was it that women were always chasin' the ones they couldn't get?
* * *
"Well, what happened?" Daniel asked as Sam came back and collapsed into her chair. A look that was a mixture of shock, bemusement, and maybe a tad bit of sorrow, on her face. She shook her head.
"I think he's gay," she finally said, then picked up her drink and chugged the whole thing down.
"Urgh!" Daniel said, sitting back. "There goes the plan!"
"On the contrary, DanielJackson, your plan may still prove effective," Teal'c said from his seat across from the archaeologist.
"How?" Daniel questioned. Sam answered.
"He was definitely interested in someone at this table, Daniel, and since we now know that it wasn't me, and I'm betting that big beefy black guys aren't his type, that leaves-"
"Great," the archaeologist cut her off. "Okay, gimme the needle."
* * *
Jay was pleasantly buzzed on the scotch. It wasn't smack, but then nothing was. Besides, he could shoot up as soon as he got back, now that he'd satisfied that hallucination by going and eating something. Damned thing had been on his case ever since it'd shown up. It'd tried to tell him to stop shooting up, but he wasn't having any of that. However, when it came to things like making him eat, the bugger seemed to have some sort of weird telekinetic control over his body, because it started doing things without him giving it orders.
He unlocked the door and stumbled into his apartment. Pity that boy hadn't been the one to come over for a chat. They could have had some fun. Oh, well, bygones. He pulled his stash out from under a loose floorboard and prepared for his fix. He was interrupted by a knocking on his door.
"Go away!" he shouted irately at the closed door.
"I was under the impression that you might like some company," a voice called through the wood. American. Hmmm. Jay shoved the stuff under the bed, then walked to the door and opened it. The boy was leaning against the doorframe, looking even better up close and personal than he had from across the room. Jay shook his head, slightly. He hadn't shot up yet, it was a bit early for the hallucinations.
"You gonna invite me in?" the kid asked, glancing over Jay's shoulder and into his apartment. Jay opened the door and gestured him inside. "I'm Daniel, by the way," the kid said as he brushed past him and into the small room. He glanced around, his features hard to read. It looked like a mixture of shock, pain, and a bit of amusement. Maybe the kid's a late- comer, Jay thought to himself, and shrugged off the weird feelings.
The kid, Daniel, was wearing a pair of well fitting slacks, a white sweater, and a leather jacket. Jay was wondering what he looked like without the clothes. His thoughts obviously must have been reflected on his face, because Daniel moved in and kissed him. First tentative, then passionate. Jay was just starting to get over the shock and kiss back when he felt a sharp stab on his back, just over his shoulder. Then the world was enveloped in darkness.
* * *
Daniel was barely able to keep his friend from crashing to the floor. As it was, they both ended up down there anyways. With a sigh, Daniel pushed himself up and looked around the small one room apartment. It was a slum. No doubt about it.
He bent over to check on Jack, he should be out, Janet had given them a pretty powerful sedative, but it never hurt to check. Something under the bed caught his eye, a cardboard shoebox without the lid. Daniel walked over and pulled it out, setting the box on the card table. He hadn't needed to look to know what was in it, but he looked anyway. Until that moment, the fact that his friend was an addict hadn't sunk in. It finally did.
Daniel ran a hand through his hair, then bent over his friend, pushing up his sleeve. No marks. He let the sleeve fall back down, and pulled Jay's shirt up over his stomach. There they were. A neat little row of track marks. With a sigh, the archaeologist sat on the floor beside his friend, staring down at the older man.
It was weird. He looked like Jack. But he didn't dress like him. He didn't talk like him. And he didn't act like him. This was a completely different person, and Daniel could see the difference in him, even when he was unconscious. Then there was the whole bit about him being gay. Daniel didn't really have a problem with that. He didn't even really have a problem with the fact that the man was obviously attracted to him.
The part he was having trouble with, was the knowledge that Jack would never have done that, even if he himself were gay. The man placed to much value on his team and his friendships. Jack O'Neill would be horrified with himself if he started any sort of intimate relationship with any member of his team. Whether they were male or female. He would view it as taking advantage of his position, as some sort of breach of their friendship. Jack O'Neill held few things as holy as the bond of friendship.
Daniel pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, intending to call Sam and tell her and Teal'c to get up here and help him. Their plan was to keep him sedated and load him onto a military plane at 0500. By the time the drugs wore off Jack, or rather 'Jay,' would be back in the states. In a hospital. Ready to start treatment.
He didn't so much as get to hit the ON button. Something hit him on the back of the head, and he joined his friend in the pit of unconsciousness.
* * *
When Sam and Teal'c barged through the door at 0330, having grown tired of waiting, all they found was an empty apartment. A trashed empty apartment. "What the hell?" Sam muttered, wishing she'd been allowed to carry her firearm on foreign soil. The two members of SG-1 searched the entire apartment, but found no sign of either Daniel or Jack.
With a sigh that was more fear than annoyance, Major Carter picked up the phone and dialed Cheyenne Mountain. The General was not going to be pleased. To say the least.
* * *
"You WHAT!"
"We lost them, sir."
"Both of them?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, what are you waiting for, Major. Find them!"
"Yes, sir."
Six:
The first thing that Jay noticed, was that his hands and feet were tied. The second thing he noticed was that he was leaning up against someone else. His brain took a minute to connect the face with the memory. It was the American. By all accounts, the kid was unconscious. There was a bit of blood showing in his hair. That was funny, because Jay didn't remember a fight. The last thing he remembered was kissing the kid.
*He's awake,* someone said in French. Jay finally took the time to take a look at his surroundings. They were against a wall, in what looked like a basement. There were no windows. Only one, closed and presumably locked, door, with a guard standing in front of it. And one bare light bulb, swinging from the ceiling. He presumed that the one who'd spoken had been the guard on the door. Large, beefy, leather clad man. Oh-boy.
*What the hell is going on!* Jay demanded of the guard. The man glared down at him.
*That is for my employer to tell you,* he replied. Jay longed to bash the larger man's face in. He said a quick prayer that he'd get the chance.
*Well, then, where the fuck is your employer!* he demanded.
*He will be here soon enough,* the guard replied, then unlocked the door, walked out, and locked it behind him. Jay started tugging on his bonds. All of his moving around woke up his companion.
"What's going on?" the American, Daniel, asked groggily.
"Well, we seem to have run into a mite bit o' trouble," Jay replied, still tugging on his ropes. They were starting to give.
"What kind of trouble," the kid asked, blinking and looking around the room.
"The kind tha' might end up gettin' a couple'a buggers dead, that what kind," Jay answered, pulling his hands free and going to work on his ankles.
"Why?" the kid asked as he undid his ropes. Jay shrugged.
"I'm still working on the 'who' at the moment, boy-o," he helped him to stand. "Take it easy, I think ye've got a concussion."
"Oh, really?" Daniel asked as the floor and ceiling switched places.
"Def'natly," Jay answered, then went to the door. He chuckled to himself as he got a look at the lock. Should be easy work. Unfortunately, as he got to work on the mechanism, the guard on the outside opened the door, and walked into the room. He looked down at Jay, smiled, then backhanded him across the face. Jay hit the wall.
*My employer would like to see you now,* the lug said in French, then bent over and picked the addict up, easily setting him on his feet. He pulled a berretta out and waved it casually at the two men. "No tricks, you walk," he said in English, to make sure the yank could understand.
The 'yank' could understand French perfectly well, but he chose to keep that bit of information to himself.
* * *
Sam and Teal'c turned Jay's neighborhood upside down looking for their friends. But neither spoke the language. They were strangers, and Jay didn't exactly go out of his way to socialize. The first clue they got came around noon. A vendor from the market, speaking surprisingly good English, informed the two of them that he'd seen three men in dark clothes walk into the building around one, the time they'd sent Daniel, and come out a few minutes later with two unconscious men.
When asked to describe the men, the man shook his head, and muttered something about 'not enough light.' He did, however, have the license plate. Which he gave to them for a bargain rate of two hundred American. Sam got on the line to Hammond, hoping to get some strings pulled with the French police.
* * *
"Ow," Daniel muttered as he was shoved through a doorway and into a room, Jay in front of him. The older man was looking confused, but not as confused as Daniel. The archaeologist saw recognition dawn in Jay's eyes. Daniel followed the line of his sight, and his eyes came to rest on a weasily looking guy with dirty blond hair, slicked back, and an ill-fitting suit.
*O'Connor, what a pleasant surprise,* the man said. His voice matched his appearance. Greasy and ill-fitting.
*I don't think I'd call it that, Gregory,* Jay replied in French. Daniel managed not to do a double-take. Barely. *What do you want, scum ball?*
*Your head on my den wall, I should think would suffice.*
Jay snorted. *Not gonna happen.*
The weasel, Gregory, chuckled. *What makes you think that you have any say in the matter,* he asked, holding up a syringe. *For this you would sell your own mother,* he continued, carefully watching Jay's reaction.
Jay reacted like an addict who wanted a hit. He stared at the syringe and licked his lips. In the back of his mind a civil war was going on.
'Get your ass out there, the sonofabitch is gonna get us killed!'
'You go.'
'It's your goddamned body.'
'Yours too.'
'This is ridiculous. You have got to start dealing with the world, kid.'
'Yeah? Make me.'
Gregory was holding the needle out to Jay, moving it back and forth. The addict's eyes diligently followed it. *What do you want?* he asked, his voice soft and breaking. Gregory now turned to stare at Daniel. The archaeologist had a bad feeling.
*How about a little fun with you and your American friend?* he asked, looking back at Jay. The only problem was that it was no longer Jay. The Other was standing up straight, arms crossed over his chest, head to the side, staring amusedly at the drug dealer. Gregory didn't appear to notice the change. Daniel couldn't have missed it. *Well, Jay, what do you say?*
The Other shifted his head to the other side and continued regarding the man in front of him. He disliked junkies. He disliked drugs. He especially disliked drug dealers. God must like him an awful lot, because he'd just dropped a dealer in his lap. He even still had a pulse. The Other smiled, and Daniel started backing away.
Once, back on the streets all of those years ago, a dealer had approached Charlie and him. Wanting to know if they wanted to buy. The Other had answered for both of them, no. The dealer hadn't backed off, and over the course of the next several days he and his friends had followed and harassed the two runaways. The harassment had culminated in a five against one fight, which he had lost. Once he was on the ground they'd shoved a needle full of heroin into him, then sat back and watched the show. They'd expected an insta-addict. They'd gotten a very pissed off Other.
Apparently Gregory wasn't totally daft, because a glimmer of fear had started at the edges of his eyes. Too little too late. The Other struck out with skills won from a lifetime of battles. He was done in three minutes. Gregory and the two guards lay on the floor, unconscious or dead, Daniel wasn't sure. He was betting on dead. Daniel was backed against the wall, watching this new personality carefully.
"Let's go, Danny-boy," the Other said, bending down and pulling a gun off of one of the unconscious guards. Daniel just stared. It looked like Jack. Talked like Jack. Moved like Jack. He still had the distinct impression that this was not Jack.
"Who are you?" he asked, still against the wall. The Other stared at him, one eyebrow arching up. Except for the slight difference of him being a sociopath there were very few differences between him and Jack. Even Charlie hadn't been able to tell the difference. Even Sarah hadn't been able to tell the difference. Here this guy knew there was a difference after just a couple of minutes. Interesting. The Other filed that bit of information away then met the man's eyes.
"I'm someone who just wants to help," the Other answered his question. Miracle of miracles. The kid looked like he actually believed him.
"Where's Jack?" he asked as they stepped out of the building and onto a back street. The Other chuckled. "What's so funny."
"Nothing at all, Spacemonkey, that's why I'm laughing," he clapped his hands. "Now, where are you three kiddies holed up?"
"Le Gatte Noir," Daniel answered. "How do you know that all three of us are here?"
"I saw ya, Danny, you three didn't exactly make a secret of your movements, now did ya?" the Other asked, Daniel shrugged. "I knew you all were coming as soon as the lovely Major arranged to get you on the plane," he informed Daniel, the archaeologist found this a bit disturbing.
"How did you know that?" he asked.
"What, you thought I'd disappear just because Jay was at the steering wheel?" he asked, then chuckled again.
"Well, yes, kind of. You want to turn here," Daniel pointed out, the Other walked right on past. "Or not," Daniel jogged to catch up to him. "Uh, where are we going?"
"Little cafe I know, nice, quiet, place. You and I have got to have ourselves a bit of a talk."
"Okay."
The cafe the Other took them to was open air next to a beautiful courtyard with a fountain shaped like Venus. Daniel couldn't spot a single tourist, and wondered how Jack, or whoever this was, could know about it. A waiter stepped up and wordlessly led them to a table, smiling at the Other. The Other smiled back, and the waiter left, presumably to get their order, even though they hadn't ordered anything.
"They seem to know you here," Daniel observed. The Other smiled and leaned back in his chair. Stretching. It was good to be free and killing people.
"Come over here," he said, gesturing Daniel over. Daniel came over. The Other began a very business-like inspection of the wound on his head. He would have put Janet to shame. He finished a couple of minutes before their coffee showed up. "You've got a hell of a bump, and a bit of a cut, but you shouldn't even need stitches," he informed his patient, then thanked the waiter as he brought them their order. Daniel took a sip, and was delighted to find strong black coffee. He glanced at the Other, who was sipping his own coffee and carefully watching him. It was very creepy.
"What?" Daniel finally asked. "You said we needed to talk."
The Other sighed, then began. "You're here, you've met Jay, and me, and you didn't seem that surprised, disturbed but not surprised, so you knew on the way over what was wrong, didn't you?"
"Yes," Daniel answered. This was weird, yup, definately.
"Well, you didn't learn it from any one report, or psych profile. The Air force is very careful about stuff like that," he took a sip of his own coffee, and a small smile crept across his face. "When we get back, one of two things will happen. A) they'll sweep this under the rug, ignore the fact that we're bonkers, and life will continue on as usual."
"What's B?" Daniel asked. The Other sat back, the smile disappearing.
"B would be them throwing us in a military mental ward and leaving us there till Kingdom come."
"What about C?" Daniel asked.
"What C?"
"We go home, you see Mackinsey, and you get healthy," Daniel answered. The Other laughed. The poor kid was delusional. Of course, maybe he didn't know. He'd never told anyone, that was for sure. Neither had Jack. All told, it was probably better for the kid to stay ignorant.
"Mackinsey is a military shrink, Danny-boy," the Other pointed out.
"If he thinks your healthy, he'll put you back on duty. The SGC needs Jack," Daniel replied. The Other chuckled. "What?"
"Everyone needs Jack," the Other echoed, then shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. "You honestly think Mackinsey would put us back on duty?" he asked after several minutes of silence. Daniel shrugged.
"If he didn't want to, I'm sure someone might apply a bit of pressure, as long as they were sure that you were well."
The Other contemplated this for several minutes. Someone, would obviously be Hammond. Jack was his second in command. Leader of the flag team. If they could get him back, he was sure that they would. There was only one tiny little problem. Jack didn't want to play. 'Oh, well,' the Other thought. 'We'll give it the old college try.'
"Come on, Danny," he said, standing up and leaving the bill and tip on the table. "I'm sure that the other kids are out of their minds with worry."
* * *
Sam and Teal'c were, in fact, out of their minds with worry. The license plate had led to a house. With three dead people in one of the rooms. They'd just gotten back to their rooms themselves when the door opened and in walked Daniel and Jack.
"DanielJackson, you are well," Teal'c commented stoically. Sam was a tad bit more emotional.
"Oh my god, you're both alright!" she hugged Daniel, then turned to the Other. She eyed him for a moment, then smiled. "Welcome back, Colonel." The Other smiled, and Daniel stared. As far as the archaeologist was concerned, whatever was different about this personality fairly screamed in neon letters. Apparently Sam couldn't tell the difference.
"O'Neill, it is good to see you my friend," Teal'c acknowledged the Colonel with a nod. The Other nodded back, then shot a look at Daniel. The archaeologist got the message. Can it, we'll talk again later. Daniel kept his mouth shut.
Seven:
When SG-1 returned to Cheyenne Mountain, they returned as three healthy individuals, and one catatonic one. On the flight back the Other had decided to implement his plan. Throw Jack into the water and force him to swim. Unfortunately, Jack didn't want to swim. Daniel had watched silently as the shift took place. Hopeful that his friend would emerge. The Other had taken him aside and presented him with his plan. Unfortunately, his plan failed horribly.
Jack was wheeled into the infirmary, where he waited silent and still as a statue, until he was wheeled out of the complex and into the military ambulance which would take him to the military mental hospital. Daniel Jackson never left his side.
In the back of Jack's mind, the Other watched silently. Waiting patiently. If Jack wanted to play statue, that was his prerogative, but the Other was not going to let it end up killing him. If the need arose he had every intention of popping back out and dealing with whatever problem had surfaced. Short of that, he had no plans. The Other had enjoyed the SGC, and the people there. He got to travel, keep a really big secret, and shoot people with really neat guns. What more could a little psychopath want?
He'd been more than content to watch from the background, as the others hibernated. Until that damned Sa-ren dude had decided that Jack's soul was shattered, and needed to be repaired. Apparently, in order for the soul to be repaired, the body had to live through every abuse ever heaped on it. So, the little sonofabitch had thrown them into some sort of hell hole, which had happily revisited every past injury on Jack, in order, one after the other after the other. Then he'd gone and healed all of the damage.
The Other didn't know if it had been part of the plan or not, but the process had let him out, and with him out all of the others woke up. Or, rather, Jack woke up all of the others. Amazing, how an alternate could be left in charge and build a life for himself. The Other chuckled to himself, in the back of his mind. Alternate maybe wasn't the proper word. He and Jack had existed in tandem for as long as either could remember. The psychopath and the smoke wall. Trying to figure out which of them had come first only resulted in migraines, so they'd stopped, quite a while ago.
Everyone needed Jack, they didn't need him. He was just the Other. He was just the one who used to come out and do the dirty jobs, until even that had proven to risky, so Jack had learned to do his own dirty business. To do his own killing. Because too many people were noticing that he seemed to be two different people. The last thing the Other had wanted was to be locked up in a padded room. He'd chosen prison over the psych ward before. Unfortunately, now he was faced with a problem. He sighed.
'Jack,' he said. 'You and I are gonna have to figure this out, somehow.' There was no answer. He hadn't expected one. Jack had done this before, after returning from that Iraqi hell. He'd stayed like this for months, because he hadn't known how to reconcile what had happened with the life he'd been separated from. Maybe this was the same thing. Maybe the kid just needed time. The Other could wait. It wasn't like he had anywhere to be going, anyways.
* * *
"Jack, it's me again. I want you to know that I'll be here. Whenever you need me. You take your time. I'm not going anywhere. Sam and Teal'c are planning on coming to visit you tomorrow. Just thought you might like to know."
Daniel sat next to his friend in his room. Jack had been placed in the catatonic ward, which was relatively low security. No one expected any of these patients to make a break for it. With a sigh, he opened his notes and got to work. He'd decided to take this opportunity to start digging through the mountains of paperwork he'd let back up. Sam was at the mountain, losing herself in research. Teal'c was going out with teams on missions. Everyone was dealing with their grief and shock in a different, and yet similar, way. They were burying it under work.
Jack sat in his wheelchair and stared out the window. He liked the view, grass, trees, and sky. Every once in a while a bird would fly by, or a dog would run across the grass. He knew that Daniel was next to him, sometimes the Space-monkey would talk to him. But he never demanded a response. Jack was confused, and scared. He didn't know how to adjust to the changes in his reality. His closest friends, his family, had discovered the deepest secret he kept. The secret he'd been keeping practically since birth. He knew that the Other was in the back of his mind, watching and waiting, as usual. He'd always been aware of him. He'd always been there. The others he'd created as they were needed. The Other was just another side of him. The side that would be labeled a psychopath, doped up, and thrown in a padded room.
So, he guessed that they hadn't discovered his deepest, darkest, secret yet. They didn't know that he and the Other were the same. That, in effect, there were no differences between them. They both played by the same amoral rules. He was just the result of a conscious effort to become socially acceptable. The effort to blend in. Jack let his attention go back to the window, he didn't like to think. Daniel was scribbling on his papers, the steady scratching noises were soothing. Jack let himself drift away.
In the back of his mind, the Other continued to watch, silently. Two sides of the same coin. Two different faces, but still the same. He shook his head, then started to whistle a mindless tune.
END
Author's note: don't hate me because one of Jack's alternates is gay. It was necessary for the mission. And, no, Daniel is not himself gay, he's just a caring and accepting guy. As for the Other, well, the third installment will be up soon, so you'll be able to make your own judgments about him. Reviews welcome, please try not to blast me too much. I have a fragile ego. :)