Chapter Three: Not Pudding

A/N: Thank you for all of your wonderful patience and even more wonderful responses! It's what keeps me going! I'm all moved in (except for the aesthetic stuff), so the only things in the way of posting are school and work. But, hey, who actually needs those?

Enjoy!

Jack tapped his fingers against the keyboard anxiously, not even noticing the gibberish he was typing into the computer. SG-3 had been gone for over an hour and they hadn't called back yet, which meant they hadn't found his colonel yet. "Where are they?" Jack growled for the tenth time. Walter glanced up, but had long ago learned that the general was talking to himself and not expecting a reply. "Where the hell are they?"

Walter turned back to his terminal, chewing on his lower lip, worry flashing across his face. He knew the odds of them actually finding Sam—knew that everyone else on base knew too…except for General O'Neill. But he also knew O'Neill would never give up on one of his people, especially not Colonel Carter.

The sergeant jumped as the Stargate began to whir, the klaxons blaring as someone dialed in. He glanced at the general and saw the man go still, sitting ramrod straight, military mask trying to cover genuine fear. "SG-3's IDC, sir."

"Open the lid." A ghost of his wry self came through.

After a moment, the screens lining the control room illuminated, showing the pixilated face of Colonel Reynolds. "Sergeant, do you read?" His voice was cutting in and out, but it wasn't terrible.

"Reading you, sir." Walter responded, looking at the screen closest to him. The colonel looked…off.

"Is General O'Neill present?"

"I am." Jack had resumed his tapping again, this time on his thighs. "Carter?"

Reynolds seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second, but then the screen jumped and Jack figured the signal was just bad. "We found her, sir." Jack felt like he was going to cry and lose his lunch at the same time. He sat there for a moment, staring at the grainy picture of SG-3's leader, and thought that he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Well done, Reynolds. Bring her home." Jack patted himself on the back at how even he managed to keep his tone. And that he hadn't started jumping up and down.

"We can't yet, sir." Reynolds' voice was quiet and he glanced over his shoulder.

"Med team?" Jack understood the worry on the other man's face. Carter had been out there for a long time—she was probably in need of medical attention and a new set of BDU's before they could make the trek through the gate.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Reynolds looked like he was about to say something else, but shut his mouth, clenching his jaw.

"I'll go find Daniel and Teal'c. We'll come through with the med team. ETA ten minutes, colonel." Jack slapped his hand on the table and stood up, practically bouncing as he left the control room.

Walter watched until the retreating form of the general had disappeared. Then he turned back to the screen and Reynolds' anxious face. "General?"

"He's gone, colonel." Walter checked behind him once more, just to be sure.

"Sergeant, under no circumstances are SG-1 and General O'Neill to come through, do you understand me?" Reynolds' eyes were dark and he stared hard into the MALP's camera.

"I can't exactly stop him." Walter swallowed hard at the thought.

"Sergeant, that is an order."

Walter bit the inside of his cheek and winced when he tasted blood. "I'll do what I can, sir. SGC out."

…..

"What do you mean, SG-1 can't leave?" Jack looked from Doctor Frasier to Walter as he secured his hat on his head.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't think Teal'c or Daniel should be going anywhere just yet." Janet tightened the straps on her med pack and looked up at the general.

"But you cleared them."

"To go home. Not for duty. This situation has been trying on them both physically and emotionally." Janet signaled to her team and they signaled back, they were ready to go. Janet tried to school her features as best she could, but she couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't actually going to need any life-saving equipment.

"Fine." Jack looked up into the control room and signaled for the technician to start dialing. "That doesn't mean I can't go."

Walter flinched internally. He actually hadn't had anything to do with Frasier putting her foot down on SG-1 leaving and he'd been hoping the general would choose to stay as well. No such luck. Not that he'd actually believed the general would back down.

Janet glanced at the sergeant before shaking her head. "I guess not, sir."

"Then let's go." Jack raised his eyebrows, letting just the right amount of annoyance creep into his tone. After the hours he'd spent wondering and waiting and thinking all sorts of court martialable things….they'd found her.

They'd found Carter.

…..

Everything was going in slow motion; the ocean crashed mutely against the rocks and though he felt the wind, it wasn't making a sound. Instead, there was an increasing whine in his ears, filling his mind with static and cotton. Why did he feel like he was moving through pudding? He looked down at his boots—nope, no pudding.

But there was mud. And mud kind of looked like pudding. Pudding with crushed up Oreos.

Jack shook his head and looked back up as Reynolds ran towards him, his mouth moving. Jack frowned, he still couldn't hear anything. The pudding-mud sucked at Jack's boots as he took a few steps forward. He began to open his mouth to ask Reynolds what was going on—for some reason he couldn't remember what he was doing here. The air was getting too thick—like a clear liquid plastic was slowly filling the world. Jack briefly wondered how he was breathing.

Without warning, Reynolds was suddenly too close, his forearms pressing against Jack's chest, shouting something at the people who were all gathered several feet in front of Jack. The general looked at the colonel's forearm and felt the pressure of his vest as Reynolds pushed hard against him. Why was there so much pressure?

Then Jack realized he was pushing against the younger man with all his strength, the toes of his boots making deep grooves in the pudding.

'No, not pudding. Mud.'

"Sir! General, please!" Reynolds shoved hard against him, both of their boots skidding on the soggy ground.

"Goddammit, Reynolds! Move!" The viciousness in Jack's tone surprised even him. He was suddenly very tired, exhausted even. 'But why?' The group of people all kneeling on the ground made Jack nauseous and he had the sudden, fleeting feeling he'd already seen what they were all gathered around. But he couldn't remember.

"General, don't do this!" But the man's protests fell on deaf ears as Jack grabbed the man's arm and shoulder and shoved—hard. Reynolds stumbled backwards and Jack pushed past, running towards something he couldn't remember.

Something he could never forget.

"Stop him!" Reynolds called to someone in the group. "Stop him!"

"Sir-!" He heard Janet's strained voice, her pain confusing him. Her small hands landed on his back, but Jack ignored her.

A flash of blonde hair caught his eye. Blonde hair poking out from a white plastic sheet. Jack reached for the edge of the sheet, fingers trembling, his mind trying desperately to put up a wall, to create a defense. To put together what the hell was going on.

But he already knew. As his fingers brushed the cold plastic, he realized he already knew exactly what had happened.

"For god's sake, somebody stop him!" Reynolds yelled as he ran towards them.

But it was too late. Jack ripped the plastic away and felt his stomach rise up his throat and into his mouth. Everyone around him was shouting, people pulling at him, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Torn, soaked BDU's.

Jack felt someone strong grab his shoulder, but he swung his opposite hand as hard as he could and he felt the hand drop away, someone crying out in pain.

Grey, sightless eyes.

Someone was crying; deep gut-wrenching dry sobs that burned through Jack's body, anger and annoyance radiating through to his fingers. Wait…was he the one crying?

Bruised and bloated skin.

He was being dragged bodily away, his chest burning as his lungs refused to fill with air.

Dull blonde hair streaked with pudding.

'No,' Jack reminded himself. 'Not pudding. Mud.'

TBC

A/N: Hate me yet?