So this ficlet is an orphan. Since I really need to be preparing for tomorrow's exam, I am instead browsing through one of my older files and I just can't remember where I was going with this.

Into the Deep Blue

"Do you smell... cotton candy?" O'Neill asked suddenly, sniffing the air suspiciously. Walter obediently started sniffing like he needed a hanky whilst Major Carter just politely eyeballed her CO.

There was a rush of air followed by a soft thump as one of the technicians in the room abruptly collapsed. Everyone tried to turn at the noise but found themselves inexplicably collapsing also. Walter slumped down over the control panel, the machine making a loud and painful beeping noise in his ear as his cheek depressed a few keys.

O'Neil managed to stagger a step towards the all-alarm button on the wall before he too collapsed, falling awkwardly on his arm and grunting from both the impact and pain.

Just at the edge of his vision, O'Neill could make out one of the room's BM guard, his eyes moving jerkily, but not panicked. So, whatever drug they'd been exposed to, it wasn't intended to knock them out, just put them down. Or maybe kill them slowly, but he was kinda hoping for option one.

In the low noise that came from a dozen machines humming and a dozen people breathing placidly, he could make out a set of footsteps. Light, most likely belonging to a woman. They moved quickly, but cautiously, a sort of stop-start motion that implied whoever it was was checking around doorways and corners carefully.

A scuff accompanied a pair of worn sneakers walking past his face. O'Neil tried to make his body attack and was disgruntled when it just continued to lie there inhaling dust.

Didn't anyone vacuum this place? Seriously. He didn't want to think about what kind of off-world dust he was snorting.

He tried to follow the person, eyes straining as he forced them to the edge of their range. His vision was a little out of focus and the pain meant he had to keep glancing away before looking back, but he could see enough to make out the surprising fact that their intruder was no woman.

It was a kid.

A very scruffy, skinny kid.

If they'd been hacked into and taken over by one goddamn internet-loving 'Y generation' punk, he was gonna resign. Again. But this time, for good.

Slender hands plucked tentatively, at Walter's clothing. After a momentary hesitation the kid seemed to find a good angle and slipped one hand under the senior technician's arm and the other over his shoulder before yanking backwards to pull him off the console and onto the floor.

To his credit, the kid was obviously trying his best to be gentle and was careful to lower the tech's head to the concrete floor slowly – but frankly, Jack was just sure the man was grateful to be hauled off the damned computer's damned speaker.

The teenager dithered a bit over the controls, further cementing the belief in Jack's mind that this was some kind of juvenile 'did it cause I could' security breach and not the more common 'did it so I could kill people/enslave people/escape from people' variety they usually saw.

He seemed to find what he was looking for in the PA mike and experimented briefly with it to figure out how it worked.

Ok, maybe his Y-generation-punk theory was looking a little pale now.

"Uh.. hello." The kid said awkwardly, British accent clear to hear. "Please don't be frightened. I'm not here to hurt anyone.. and, uh, the paralysis you're experiencing is very temporary. It'll wear off soon, I promise. Try not to panic or anything, though. I, uh, guess you could consider this an opportunity to take a bit of a break."

The kid sounded young and self-conscious as his voice rung out through the complex. He hesitated for a long moment before switching the mike off, then started stepping over to people and briefly scrutinising them for something.

O'Neill could only make out one of Carter's legs from here, but as the kid bent over her he silently willed her to lash out like she had at him so many damn times. C'mon, Carter. He encouraged silently. Kick that kid's ass.

Carter didn't feel like it, he guessed, because the kid was able to leave unscathed.

Then suddenly there were hands on his jacket, tugging it, one hand burrowing underneath it and his shirt to grip his dog tags and pull them out.

"Finally." The kid whispered, apparently relieved about something. Jack was busy griping internally about why mysterious trespassers couldn't ever be breaking in to abduct someone other than him. Like, well, Walter, for example. That guy could use the change in pace.

Pale hands attached to thin, delicate wrists bunched themselves in his jacket and lifted. Jack's head fell back limply, treated to the sight of the kid's stick-thin body straining to lug his dead weight around.

Jack was dragged the final distance to the wall, his back propped against it. The kid ducked down in front of him, kneeling over one of his legs.

He had very green eyes, Jack couldn't help but notice, even as he committed everything to memory. I mean, there was 'He had green eyes, sir' and then there was 'He had green eyes, sir, like freaking kryptonite or something. I'm talking green.'

He also had a thin face with very fine stress lines around his eyes and lips. Jet black hair struck out in all directions and a very fine, pale pink scar struck down above his left eye in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Why thank you, mysterious interloper, for having such a handily distinguishable mark. He thought, half amused by the whole thing. On the SGC scale of bad-news, this kid barely rated a 0.5 – just below the canteen running out of brownies. He was just.. too obviously a non-professional. He was obviously aiming to get his little mission done without hurting anyone. He was.. was..

Ah, hell, he was just too damned cute to be any bigger a threat.

"I'm about to do a very, very bad thing." The kid told him directly.

Or not.

"I just want you to know" the kid continued, hurried but almost painfully earnest "that I'm really very sorry. It's just.. I don't have many other options." Pinched lips twisted slightly in a bitter smile. "Well, not any that don't end in me dead or worse, anyway."

Cold hands touched his cheeks, then lifted his head as they slid back and into his hair. The kid leaned in close, his right knee uncomfortably near to Jack's crotch. Jack felt a flicker of alarm as the kid got right up close to his face. Was he going to..?!

Unreal green eyes met his and the rest of the world fell away. He was cognizant only of the fingers gripping his skull, the eyes boring into him, his own heart thudding rapidly in his chest.

Then the world exploded, every memory he has screaming around the two of them like a hurricane, the fingers pressing into his skull were biting now, burning.

Then it was over and the sudden cessation was like an all-brain slap.

His eyes were watering, but he could still see that the kid seemed to feel the same, reeling back from him and falling on his ass, bright red dripping from his nose as he groaned in pain.

Good. He thought viciously. Serves you right That's what happens when you go digging into people's heads.

As though hearing the thought – hell, maybe he did – The kid shook his head and choked out another apology, this one accompanied by a spatter of blood on the floor. Then he was getting clumsily to his feet, weaving strongly. He leant against the wall for a moment before pushing off and staggering to the main control board which he almost fell on.

He looked in worse shape than Jack himself, the Colonel couldn't help but notice – a little indignantly. People who went barging through other people's memories shouldn't have the audacity to be more adversely affected by the experience than their victims!

The kid made another choked noise – partly of pain, but mostly of airways being obstructed by blood. The blood bit was proven when another spray of red – a little bigger this time – misted on to the control panel, which the teen started shakily operating with the expertise of.. well..

A USAF Colonel who made it a point to know his critical systems, even if he'd deny it on his deathbed.
Freakin' mind-readers.

The Stargate whirled to life and automated klaxons – the minor, quieter kind – started up in the gate-room and hallways outside it. They sounded louder when there were no running feet, barked orders or gunfire.

The kid weaved his way towards the exit, somehow managing to trip over the Colonel's outstretched legs, falling to the ground hard enough to make even him cringe on the inside. That had gotta sting.

His pinky twitched, the paralysis just as temporary as the kid had promised. For a moment he thought the kid had managed to knock himself out and this would all be over soon, threat level remaining well below 'no brownies'. But, of course, he wasn't that lucky. The kid levered himself up on shaking arms, blood looking to be coming from his ears too, and okay that was actually worrying him a bit. He could admit that kids were kind of his weakness, even mind-reading ones with the annoying inclination to neutralize his entire base.

Panting for air, the kid clawed his way upright, wavered in the doorway and then disappeared into the hall. He listened to his footsteps moving further away and kept working on that pinky-twitching, aiming for the rest of his body within the next, oh, twenty seconds would be good.

Teal'c shook his head as he made his way from the armory to the gate room. He'd heard the announcement and therefore had some idea as to the state of the rest of the base, but the drug had taken even his symbiote an unreasonably long time to counter. It may have been a continual feed, but even now that he had mobility back, it was clumsy and uncoordinated. He was heading into a possibly lethal situation, without backup, without even his own strength at prime efficiency.

Hence, the armory. He had a zit'na'kel holstered in both side pockets and a staff weapon he was using more to aid his balance than as a likely weapon. Of course, if it came to a firefight he'd be steadier with the two-handed weapon than one smaller zit'na'kel.

He heard the active-gate klaxons alarm and picked up the pace, finding the door to the gate room open and a hunched figure leaning on the ramp railing as he made his escape.

A single glance was all it took to see every other man in the room down. The enemy was only meters away from escape.

His limbs shook. He made a choice.

He lifted the staff.

Harry saw it before he felt it. A bolt of light as thick as his arm rocketing out of his stomach. Out of a hole in his stomach. A hole that was smoking.

He fell to one knee, dimly registering that something had just punched him from behind, something that made a searing, zipping sound.

His last hope glowed ethereally before him, taunting him with its nearness. He hit the grating at the same time as the pain hit him, wrenching a strangled cry from whatever his lungs had left. Merlin, he could feel his insides sizzling, the stench of burnt meat filling his nostrils. Unbidden, a dozen other memories – of pain, of loss, of fear – crowded into his mind. Not one of them was his.

He gasped for air, the sound long and harsh. How long had he not been breathing? Footsteps made the ground underneath him vibrate and his right hand flexed weakly, trying to trigger the release for his secret – and only – weapon.

A strong, large hand wrapped over his shoulder and pulled, just as another found the hole in his side and pushed.

He screamed. It might not be a crucio, but right then he couldn't differentiate the two in his mind. It hurt.

Someone was saying something, someone who was gripping his shoulder tight and pressing against his wound so hard he wanted to die rather than feel it a second longer. Someone who had already shaken the drug he'd fed into the air. Or maybe they all had by now.

Whimpering softly, blinking away tears of shock and pain, he lashed out. The hand on his shoulder shifted with lightning reflexes to catch his own, but it didn't matter. Skin contact was all he needed.

The vial in his hand broke on impact, the potion within bubbling furiously as it expanded on contact with air. The person holding him down shuddered and collapsed to the side.

Harry dug his teeth viciously into his lower lip and forced himself to keep moving – to crawl – into the beckoning blue before him.

Even if he died on the other side.. it was better than staying here. Even than dying here.

If he could just make it 'off world'... then his own world wouldn't burn.

{}

End

Yeah. So what little I remember was this:

Somehow, for some reason, Harry and Clone!Jack were prisoners together. Of who? No idea. But something was done to Harry in an attempt to do something else - probably connected with Ancient stuff, considering Clone!Jak's presence - and which had the side effect of burning the magic out of him.

There was something about what was done to him making him something like the little bomb inside a nuclear bomb - he was the start of a chain reaction waiting to happen, one that would decimate the world.

He got from Clone!Jack (either through accidental mind reading or advice.. probably the latter) that he could go to the SGC for help/evacuation off-world but not wanting to risk being held for questioning (and whatever happening that caused him to go nova) he went with the 'feed potions into the air supply' route instead, once he and Clone!Jack escaped.

I don't know where the clone is during all this. I kinda feel that he wasn't in favour of the 'drug everyone and go for broke' strategy.

Anyway, Harry could do the mind-reading thing a bit (discovered by accident) but he's untrained and very new and frankly just not good enough to only take what he meant to take - operative instructions for the Stargate. So, when he tried it from the guy whose mind he was familiar with (best chance of not driving them both insane) and went for it, he got a complete memory dump instead.

Unfortunately for Harry, the colonel's mind still holds the Ancient .zip file (in this story, the Asgard simply re-compressed it, since Jack had amazingly been capable of using it even as it overloaded his brain), which Harry's mind was NOT prepared for, hence the bleeding and staggering.

I can't remember why they didn't just run after him and pick his dying body up - but there was a reason!
And Clone!Jack had had something done to him too? I think because he was made with the same .zip file in his head, as he was rapidly aged it had settled better and their captors had cracked it causing another, slower, unspooling? Something. I dunno.

I hoped you enjoyed this little snippet anyway. If someone has been hugely inspired and wants to write more, go ahead! Just drop me a line so I can read it, yeah?