Written for a drabble tree, so this is deliberately short, although I would love to expand on it.
When He Gets There
"This time," Mitchell swears aloud as he stumbles through the forest away from the river, "this was not my fault." He blinks up at the suns to tell the time. Two hours to dusk, but both his leg and his radio are busted, and the stargate is at least fifteen miles away.
He limps slowly on, occasionally repeating a distress call into his radio, despite knowing the thing is broken. The titanium pin in his leg throbs with every step, and Mitchell worries he did serious damage, but he can't afford to stop. He hasn't seen a sign of his team or SG-8 since he woke up on the river bank. His clothes are wet, but his pack is gone, and the air has a chill that will only increase as the suns descend.
When he gets to the gate, he thinks, his team will be there waiting, worried. When he arrives, they will warm him with dry clothes and a soft blanket, and together, they'll walk back through the gate. When he sees the stargate, he won't have to worry about them anymore. He can jibe at Vala for causing a fight with known pacifists and roll his eyes as her denials are accompanied by wide-eyed (but feigned) innocence. He can pretend to listen to Sam's explanations of how they won the battle, and nod along as Daniel regales him with the tale of how he restored peace. He'll return Teal'c's silent nod, all that's required between the two to express both concern for each other and assurance that they are all right, that everyone made it out of this safely.
When he gets there.