III

The horse watched the dark house from her spot between the high fir trees across the clearing. The man was gone. Cautiously, she stepped out from the tree line and walked to the cabin, her nostrils taking in every scent. Nobody was here.

Would he be back? Did someone take him away like they had taken her away from her mother... The man had been gone before, but never for long.

She stepped around the man's home and approached the lake to drink.

The "truck" which was owned by him was gone. Had he gone where the others went? She listened to the voices of the night as she drank. The air was cooler now and the wind made the trees sing. She didn't need the man to survive. He was not part of the world her ancestors once lived in. Deep inside she knew the world had been different for her kind once, a long time ago. They had been free then and never feared the two legged who now were everywhere.

No, she didn't need the man.

But he wasn't like those other two legged who forced her to carry them or stay behind a fence.

So she would miss him.

"Son of a bitch," O'Neill snapped as he spun around to face Samuels who seemed to search for a hole to disappear in.

They were standing in General Landry's office, which had once been his own. New pictures and different medals were hanging at the walls. But Jack had felt the burden of command surrounding him the moment he'd walked through the door. Only it wasn't his command anymore, something he was grateful for.

"Jack," Landry sighed. "He didn't want to get you here by force. So sue him."

"He told me that kid was threatening Earth!"

"That kid is a mystery and we were told you would be able to help," Landry explained.

"I'm so outta here," Jack bitched. They had made him come back twice. He had a right to retire for good at least once. If there was no Earth threatening situation he would go straight home and let somebody else handle this one. The world had to function without him. Period. Who was he? Captain James T. Kirk, who had to die before he finally could give the universe's fate into other hands? No way, friends and neighbors. Jack O'Neill was going back to his cabin and his fish, ASAP.

"He's in the infirmary. He's probably barely elven years old and he is dying," Landry said flatly.

Fuck. The man knew how to play dirty.

Carolyn Lam briefed him as Jack reluctantly followed her to the kid's room.

"He doesn't eat, doesn't talk. He accepts water and he's using the toilet in his bathroom. But other than that... he's unresponsive. The only thing he actually does is skimming through some of the books. But I'm not sure he can read. Most of the time he appears passive, unless he's fighting us. For some reason he's scared of sleep, I think. He's keeping himself awake by starting to wander around when he gets tired. He runs in circles until he just collapses from the exhaustion. Or he is sitting on his bed, rocking. At other times he just sits at the table or lies on his back, staring at nothing. We tried to give him meds so he can sleep, but he refuses to take them. When he sleeps, because he can't stay awake any longer, he often wakes up crying after a few hours. But he won't let anyone near him to comfort him. If he doesn't start eating soon, we'll have a serious problem," Doctor Lam explained as they stared into the room through the window at the door.

O'Neill's eyes skimmed over the skinny small figure on the bed.

"We had him on an IV for three days, but he ripped the needle out. Twice. I also managed to get a blood sample and it shows he's human. He's very weak. Other than that his problems seem to be more of a mental nature – so far. If he continues to refuse nourishment of any kind, his body will start to fail step by step. I have to admit, though, that he's in amazingly good shape for a child that didn't eat in over a week, minus the few days we managed to nourish him over the IV at least part time. We tried to restrain him, but he's so traumatized. He fought like a wildcat and when we managed to tie him to the gurney his heart rate almost took double speed and his blood pressure went so high, I had to leave him be. He doesn't respond to tranquillizer well. They make him sick." She took a deep breath. "I don't want to torture this child even more than somebody else obviously has. Not if there is any chance you'll get through to him. So you are our only hope here."

O'Neill nodded. "Open up," he ordered. He had heard everything he needed to know in the briefing. Lam was only repeating what she had reported earlier already.

He didn't need to hear any more of this.

He had a hunch. A crazy, totally illogical, but strong hunch.

He only wanted to be sure.

Getting his own heartbeat under control to appear calm and unfazed, he stepped into the small room with the table and bed.

There were books and toys, stuffed animals and Lego.

When the door closed behind Jack, the boy turned his back on him, curling up like a ball.

Jack stopped by the entrance, well aware they were being watched. He didn't want to scare the kid. According to Lam's report he was panicking easily and got scared by fast movements and loud noises.

He tried clearing his throat which got no reaction at all from the little human. "Hey," he offered quietly. "Mind if I... come a little closer?"

There was a little movement as the small shoulders tensed for a moment, then nothing.

Was that good or bad?

He carefully crossed the room until he was standing next to the shelf with books. Mainly picture books and comics since nobody knew if he was capable of reading or if he just looked at the pictures. Jack picked a comic and flipped through the pages. "Ah, Asterix. Did you read that? I had a friend once who used to say Asterix is the one comic a cultured person can read without being branded as a barbarian by other cultured persons. So it appeals to children as well as educated adults. I like Obelix and that tiny little dog..."

Of course there was no answer, so Jack continued. "...Idelix was his name. I'm bad on names, ya know. Could be Idolix too... no, wait... Idlemix... nah..." He turned to the bed where the boy still had his back on him. "Doesn't work that way, huh? You're not buying the bad on names thing, right? Okay. "

He put the book back on the shelf and picked up a stuffed animal instead. It was a horse on stubby little legs. Jack thoughtfully brushed his thumb over the tousled black mane.

Maybe...

Placing the horse back on the shelf, he carefully walked along the wall as far away from the bed as possible. He reached the corner of the room and squatted down in it, sitting on the concrete floor with his legs pulled up. His knees were going to hate him for that later, but he didn't care. He could see the kid's front now. The boy was hugging himself and part of his face was covered by a mop of long blond hair. Jack didn't try any attempt at eye contact. He focused on a spot above the bed instead. Somebody had put a picture of a meadow with colorful wild flowers on the wall to give the room a friendly atmosphere.

"There're meadows like this where I live," Jack told the kid casually, keeping his voice low. "You should come and see them. You'd like coming to the cabin. There's a lake, too. I like fishing. My grandpa taught me."

From the corner of his eyes Jack thought he saw the grip of the skinny arms around the body loosen a bit. So he rambled on. About the forest, the cabin, the annoying flight to Colorado, the bad food they had served him... It was what he used to do with the horse when she had been standing there, trembling and injured, her coat damp and slick with sweat and blood. He'd talked to her until she stopped playing with her ears and got used to his voice...

"... you could use a bath, kiddo. And a haircut. Or at least a hair wash. Didn't they tell you to shower? And what about food? Oh, yeah, I know. Nobody wants that infirmary grub. Tell ya what? I'll go and get you some chocolate. Friend of mine loved that stuff. It's sweet and sticky, but he got off on it like nothin'. Only thing you could make him even happier with was coffee. And not that commissary broth. Crap, no. Had to be some fancy gourmet stuff. From Arabia if possible."

He paused as he felt the boy's eyes linger on him through the strands of matted hair. Jack forced himself not to look back at him. Not yet. He let his own eyes wander across the room, the shelves and table, the toys and books. He could see Lam and Landry behind the observation window now, watching them with concerned faces.

He got an idea.

Very slowly he rose to his feet and went back to the table. The kid's eyes were following his every move now. Jack could feel it in the back of his neck. He picked up a crayon and a piece of paper.

When the horse had started to pay attention to Jack instead of being scared to death by his presence, he had walked back into the house to get a cloth and a bucket with warm water and a bottle of disinfectant to clean the wounds. When he'd been back, she had fled, but stopped after a few steps and returned when he had started the talking again. Once she had felt secure he'd turned his back on her and placed the bowl with the water on the ground, soaking the cloth in it. He knew horses were curious despite their shy nature. She must have heard the splashing of the water, a sound that was familiar. So she'd approached him slowly, one step after another until he had felt her warm breath on his neck...

Jack drew a quick picture and folded the paper in half. They had told him the kid was probably aware of his surroundings even though he seemed not to react to anything than his own basic needs of water and sleep or using the toilet. Or looking at the books occasionally. It wasn't much, but it was something, he guessed.

There was somebody in there. Hidden.

Jack went back to his corner and sat down again, playing with the paper sheet in his callused hands. "You're not very chatty, huh? I was on a planet once... again I can't remember the name, but who cares. They're all called P3X-Y-something... at least they were in my days... anyway, those kids didn't talk. Actually they didn't do anything. The adults sucked out all the knowledge from them once they reached a certain age. Sucked their brains out and left them empty like living dolls. I made friends with a little girl about as old as you're now. She was smarter than Carter... did I tell you 'bout Carter? Well…"

There was a twitch and with a quick glance Jack saw the kid was curling up again, burrowing into himself. O-kay. No talking about Carter? He took a deep breath as he went on telling him about Merrin and how she had learned to color and how they'd finally changed the lives of the vacant children. By the time he ended, the kid had uncurled again and gazed at him. Jack held up the paper. "You wanna see what I've drawn for you? All you have to do is nod or blink once for yes. Taking it would be even better. But I guess you're not going to do that, right?"

Making eye contact for the first time, Jack looked at the pale face, framed by that wild uncombed hair. He was met by eyes as blue as the sky over Minnesota on a cloudless winter day. Those eyes didn't lock on Jack's for longer than a split second. They narrowed and then the boy ducked his head and the self hug tightened again.

Those eyes seemed to be almost as empty as a pond without fish. If there was anything in there, it was fear. They seemed to look right through him, yet they also seemed to look right into him.

Yet. in the split second their eyes met, Jack saw what he needed to see.

Quietly, he put the paper down on the cold naked floor and got to his feet, knees creaking.

"I'll be back, kid," he promised.

When he entered the room a few hours later, the boy was lying on the bed, the piece of paper clutched in his hands. He was cradling it to his chest like a treasure. Lam had told Jack he had not let go of it ever since he had picked it up.

O'Neill sat down in the same spot he had before. He told the kid what he'd had for lunch, how the apple pie didn't seem to be as good as it used to be. That Siler still had this big wrench and that Walter was still working miracles everywhere. "You know, that friend of mine and me - we always made bets on Walter forgetting or mixing up the Chevrons one day. He must be bored to death about this Chevron one opened, Chevron two opened, Chevron three... and so on..."

There was no sound coming from the boy on the bed. But he was still holding the paper sheet instead of hugging himself. Blue eyes gazed at the ceiling with no obvious focus. There was no spark of recognition, no sign he was actually listening to the guy in the corner.

Another day passed before Jack decided to try something new. He wasn't sure whether it was too early or not. That horse had given him more clues than this kid here. When she had come to see what he'd been doing with the water, he had shown her the cloth. She had danced around him for a while whenever he had held it out to her, but finally the curiosity had won over the fear and she had sniffed it, then mouthed it. She had been hungry, too, so she accepted the apple he had brought with him as a bribe. When he'd started to rub the warm wet cloth along her neck, she had startled and ran away.

He had gone to bed after a while and the next morning she'd been back drinking the water from the bucket. He had tried again and again she ran, but not far. Later that day she had finally let him clean the wounds. She had been exhausted and weak so there hadn't been much strength in her for more fighting or running anyway.

So taking it slow had been first priority. Jack had experiences with horses. His mother's dad used to have a horse ranch and when Jack had been a boy he'd spent parts of his summers there, helping in the stables and riding the horses. When the old man died the ranch had been sold and Jack never had the opportunity to go back there. He had missed it for a long time.

He pulled out the chocolate bar and put it on the floor at the same spot he had left the picture before.

"I'll leave it here. It's good. You should try it."

In the early morning hours or late night hours, General Jack O'Neill, retired - or maybe not - was sitting in the commissary, picking an imaginary hair out of his coffee mug. Daniel had been right. This wasn't coffee. It was not even a poor excuse for it. It was dark water at best.

He rubbed a hand over his tired face. What the heck was he doing here? That kid needed help. A psych doc. Lam had told him he didn't eat the chocolate bar, didn't even look at it. They had put the IV line back into his arm. Needed three men to hold him down. Had given him a shot with something to calm him. Two hours later the boy had started to heave and rolled on the bed with cramps. Drugs didn't go well with him. Then he had pulled out the cannula again. "His arms are punctured and bruised already. If he keeps doing that we won't find a place to stick it in again," Lam had said.

Crap. Jack had almost yelled at her because they didn't wake him so he could sit at the kid's side through that. But Lam had just given him a stern look and said he, too, needed sleep.

Glaring into his coffee, he suddenly realized he was getting angry. That wasn't right. He shouldn't be mad at the boy. It wasn't his fault. God knew what they had done to him, whoever "they" were. He was scared and traumatized. Yet, Jack was angry for a whole lot of reasons. No, he realized suddenly. He wasn't angry with the kid. He could only blame himself and that's what he was doing right now. Because somehow all of this was his fault. He slammed the coffee mug down on the table.

"Colonel."

He blinked. All tables around him were empty. And the light was dim, except for the glowing of course. Oh, here we go again. Only this time it wasn't Oma who was standing at Jack's table, surrounded by the soft white light.

And the glowy one chuckled. "Oh, it's general now, isn't it?"

"Retired," he muttered.

"Yes. So I hear," she said.

"Does everyone who dies around here get glowy now?" Jack asked irritated.

She shrugged. "Not happy to see me, Jack?"

He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. "Yes. Of course. Sorry..."

"I don't have much time. You have to get him out of here. Do not leave him again, you hear me? And don't tell them who he is. If you do that they'll want to keep him. Right now they think he's just a human child, somehow connected with the Ascended, standing under some sort of protection maybe." She got right to the point.

"They call him Luke," Jack snorted. "Because he came through the gate. Something to do with Skywalker."

She chuckled.

He sighed. "They won't let me take him. He's a very sick little boy. He needs medical care. You of all people should know the procedure."

The glow slowly faded as she took her human form and sat down across him.

Jack blinked a few times. He had seen Daniel doing it, but it was still kinda creepy. "Do you stop by to see Cassie from time to time? She misses you." After a pause he added. "We all do."

"You know I'm breaking the rules by just sitting here talking to you," she whispered. Jack knew if she could she'd probably cry. "I miss her, too. So much."

"Yeah," he replied. "Sorry. It's good to see ya, Doc." After another pause he asked, "Why didn't they figure it out yet? Shouldn't his blood results give them a clue about who he is?"

She shook her head. "He's protected. They won't find out. Call Hammond. He'll help. And when the time is right, Jack," she reached out a hand and put it on his. He didn't feel more than a feather light touch on his skin, but the hairs on his arm rose. It wasn't a bad feeling though. Like a small energy impulse slowly surging through his hand, "stop being a hermit. Call Sam."

He shook his head. "She's better off without me. She's... having that weird idea about us. It's not working."

"She's also your friend. And things change. She changed."

"So you are keeping an eye on us?" Jack couldn't help but smile.

"Cassie and Sam," she corrected, a sad smile crossing her face in return. "From time to time. Now I have to go."

Her hand was gone and she started to get glowy again.

"Wait," Jack called out before she could vanish. "I'll call Hammond - and that's it?"

There was a breeze covering his face and for a moment he was sure she'd just kissed his forehead. "Good bye, Jack O'Neill. Tell him I love him. Tell him to live."

Later, Jack was sitting with the boy again, the chocolate bar still untouched on the floor.

He had re-taken his place in the corner. After a while he stood and walked over to the bed. The kid was sitting cross legged on it, staring at the wall, the now crumpled paper still in one hand.

When he didn't flinch or leave the bed, Jack carefully sat down on the edge.

"Hey, you wanna hear about Daniel Jackson? He was my best buddy and the biggest pain in the neck you'd ever met. Half of the time I wanted to kick his butt and the other half of the time I wanted to lock him away so he wouldn't get into trouble. He was damn special, too. Opened the gate. You know, that thingy you came through? It's called the chaapa... something... yeah, well, I know you won't correct me if I said Chapadai. You're still real quiet. Daniel was never quiet. At least not when he got on a roll about rocks... and gods of Ancient cultures or one new civilization we found. Didn't talk about himself much though. But if you got him started on any subject he was interested in, he'd never shut up. Try to watch a hockey game with that guy - it's a pain. You'd have to give him a book to read to stop him from complaining about how boring it is, yadda. That guy had no sense for a good game on a Friday night."

Jack paused and plucked at the bed sheets. There were dry blood spots from where the boy had pulled the cannula out yesterday. Apparently they hadn't dared to change the bedding yet, only the blankets and the pillow looked clean. "He was one helluva guy, too. Wandered off all the time and had a skull of iron. He never followed my lead well. But he saved our sixes countless times. And he died on me more than once. He could speak... twenty three languages, I think. And a few alien ones. Could talk his head off and made friends with every creature on every planet. He never thought they could be evil until we were locked away or shot at. And even then he tried to negotiate... at least that's how he used to be." Jack stopped talking because he didn't know how to go on. Daniel had changed. Somewhere down the line the wide eyed innocence and the wonder over the infinite possibilities in this universe had worn off a bit. Daniel had become military. Part of him did.

Jack had forced him to become military. At least up to a point it had been his constant nagging and his forceful determination to train Daniel well so he was able to defend himself better.

There was a bitter taste in Jack's mouth and a lump blocking his throat. Thinking of Daniel hurt. He had tried to stop thinking about him some time ago. But he couldn't.

"I miss him," he admitted softly. "I miss his voice." He'd never allowed himself to tell anyone how much he missed Daniel. Not even himself. But here and now, the time seemed to be right.

When he looked up there was a single tear rolling down the kid's cheek.