Same disclaimer (I own nothing except the DVDs) and warnings (copious author's notes; "adult language;" and angst ahoy, grab your tissues!) still apply.

[Just FYI: I will be re-uploading chapters 8-11 in the next day or two for typos and a couple of small technical details. Nothing that effects the story will be changed, so no need to re-read if you get a notification for them. And holy moly were there typos in those chapters. I apologize. I'm surprised you guys are still reading!]

AN: Once again, thanks for the well wishes and words of encouragement, folks. This month has been mostly awesome, especially when compared to March. Things are no longer going apocalyptically wrong, anyway. The best news of all: my grandmother's stroke has been classified as "transient eschimic" which means the brain damage wasn't permanent (thank goodness). Also, in case anyone was worried, the cat who passed away was not the legendary Jackson (as heard of in my author's notes) but was the cat I'd had since I was a young girl. "Zane Grey" was 19, and elderly. His death was sad, yes, but was also entirely expected (if not overdue, the poor thing!).

And speaking of Jackson the Cat (I swear he was named that when I got him), I think he's still mad at me for moving the table that was once next to our back door. It had to go. You see, he'd been standing on it to acquire enough leverage to open the door. You'd think he would use the open door to escape, but noooo, my freakin' weird cat instead decided to let a stray from the neighborhood inside our house for a party. He's certainly one-of-a-kind.

I hope you enjoy chapter twelve. It's a long one. The only earlier break I found was an incredibly cruel one, so I just kept going…

--

Previously:

Taking a breath and holding it momentarily, Jack closed his eyes as his finger squeezed the trigger.

The retort was loud in the small space, and he was turning away by the time the recoil of the weapon even registered against his shoulder. His mind knew what he would see if he were to look a the body, but he couldn't bring himself to witness the gore that would be left behind by the high-velocity shot to the head.

As often as Jack had taken human lives, he avoided seeing the aftermath if he didn't have to. The crumpled form of the former Goa'uld queen visible in his peripheral vision told him everything he needed to know.

Pressing himself to the wall behind the door, his muscles trembling from the exertion, Jack waited for the guards to rush into the room. Predictably, they failed to clear the space behind them and two more headshots had him eliminating the only possible witnesses to his presence.

Clearing the hallway and finding it empty, Jack ghosted out into the building.

He had to find Sam.

--

The concrete floor was cold against Sam's cheek and she braced herself for another blow, eyes squinting against her dizziness in the dim room. Her fingertips pressed painfully against the hard surface, she waited, trying not to expel the meager contents of her stomach.

The attack ended as quickly as it had begun -- Sam only realized she was safe from further incident when she heard the heavy door close, the lock clicking loudly behind the Jaffa as they left the room. There was no sign of Seth. Breathing heavily through her mouth because her swollen nose wasn't allowing passage for anything other than blood, Sam shifted her weight onto her forearms, lifted her head from the floor, and began to take stock of her injuries.

Her ribs hurt when she moved, but not when she breathed, and she knew from previous experience they were likely to be free of serious damage. Sam set her lips in a tight line, and a deliberate burst of air through her nose expelled a viscous blood clot onto the floor. The memory of the sound of crunching cartilage along with the vision of a Jaffa fist impacting the center of her face came back to Sam; bright stars had danced behind her eyes. She winced at the recollection. The nose was most definitely broken.

Wiping the blood from her face with the back of a wrist and panting heavily, Sam turned over onto her back and took a moment to breathe deeply, trying to diffuse the leftover adrenaline in her body. Her hands shook from the overdose of endorphins in her system and the vertigo wasn't helping with her sense of disorientation.

Sam attempted to sit … the floor swayed beneath her, her vision whiting out and she did her best not to strike her head as she collapsed back to the floor. Letting out a huff of air, Samantha tried not to compare her current situation to that of Jack, taking an injury survey of her limbs instead. She couldn't think of him now, not without losing control of her rapidly multiplying fear.

Sam first wiggled one foot, then the other, finding both legs in working order, though one knee protested keenly at the movement. (She doubted she'd be able to bear weight on it for days.)

She could no longer ignore her shattered right hand. Lifting the offending digits in front of her face in the dim light, Sam could see the knuckles already swelling in a grotesque way. Flexing the fingers experimentally, Samantha cringed while making a tentative fist. Her knuckles creaked excruciatingly in protest, and her middle finger remained stubbornly extended. That middle digit also wandered crookedly in the distance between its second and third knuckle. Definitely broken.

Sam sighed, guilt flooding through her with the ache from her injuries. She had completely and utterly lost control at the vision of Hathor moving in toward Jack, swinging wildly at her captors in an attempt at a diversion. It had taken a moment for the Jaffa to react to her sudden rebellion, and her fists had met flesh solidly, repeatedly, effectively -- for as little as it helped Jack. She'd been tackled to the floor before long and Sam was now paying the price for the impulsive mêlée. She wondered how far she could get in an escape with an out of order hand.

The middle finger of that hand still raised, Sam gestured profanely at the solidly-closed door before allowing her arm to flop to the ground beside her in the darkness. Her vertigo was slowly transforming into exhaustion, and from her position on the floor as the dizziness continued to subside, Sam examined her surroundings for clues as to where she was and how to escape.

She was underground, Sam knew that much. They'd come down at least two narrow flights of stairs, two well-built Jaffa dragging her between them, and a third knocking at her with his fists whenever her resistance became too much for the pair to bear. The last half of her involuntary trip through Seth's compound was indistinct. She'd taken more than one solid hit to the head in her struggles.

Each and every time Sam had managed a glance back between blows, there had been Seth, stalking wickedly behind them, his dark eyes narrowed at her in anger, his long hair loose and in a state of uncharacteristic disarray.

She sighed and ran her uninjured left hand across her purpling forehead in frustration, closing her eyes against the sight of the small and featureless cell. Her fingers came away from her hairline sticky with blood. The bleeding from the strike to her forehead had stopped, although the area at which she'd been punched was still quite numb to the touch.

At the end of their journey to the out-of-the-way cell, Seth had drawn himself up to his full height, and was preparing to enter the cell with Sam when he had reeled as if struck, pressing a hand to the concrete wall to keep himself upright. As he'd recovered his balance, the Goa'uld had simply gestured dazedly to the Jaffa to toss Samantha inside, and they had obeyed, while exchanging concerned glances at the sudden weakness shown by their god.

Collapsed in a heap in the center of the room, Sam had expected more blows and demands for information, perhaps another round with Seth and the ribbon device, but to her surprise and relief … no one had come inside.

Sam wondered where Seth was now. She could only hope he was nowhere near Jack.

Her breathing quickened at the thought of Jack alone with the queen Goa'uld. Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, Sam tried to shove away the images of the disoriented Jack she'd met long ago at Stargate Command, the Jack who had been overcome by an inexplicable adoration of Hathor, Jack with a disdainful pat at her shoulder as he tried to convince Sam of her own irrationality -- himself already under Hathor's supernatural control.

Hathor's power over the men on base had nearly allowed the Goa'uld to take over the entire military complex. It had only been the quick thinking of the women in taking advantage of the unnaturally libidinous airmen that had saved the people of Cheyenne Mountain -- and Earth -- from certain domination.

Lying on the floor, though discouraged by how horribly wrong her mission had gone this time, Sam swallowed back her emotion and stubbornly refused to be disheartened. SG1 had wriggled out of tighter spots in the past and she had hold on to the hope that she could somehow rectify this situation before the Goa'uld could gain a foothold on Earth.

Hands still pressed tightly to her eyes, Sam worked to banish her concern for Jack from her mind. It had been years since she'd had to practice this kind of quiet detachment when it came to her feelings for the man, and she'd forgotten just how difficult it could be. Her smashed right hand was proof positive to Sam of her inability to function properly in a militaristic situation complicated by love and affection.

The crushing weight of her worry was incredibly tangible and Sam felt the physical weight of it lift as she purposefully pressed her love and adoration for Jack O'Neill to the deepest and most hidden parts of her heart. She would carry her affection for him there, where it would be safe, where it wouldn't interfere with her ability to be the warrior Sam knew she had become after years at war with the despicable Goa'uld.

Breathing deeply, Sam pulled her military training to the forefront, remembering all that made her a colonel in the United States Air Force, disregarding the non-life she'd been living for the past few months. Her lips moved silently as Samantha brought forth the words that would give her strength. I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country and planet free. I will trust in my god, my people, and in the United States of America.

The cold of the concrete began to seep into Samantha's bones, and she shuffled carefully onto her side, curling up into herself to get away from the chill. Tucking the rough-spun robes around herself, she shut her eyes against the silent room, a room so dark her closing eyelids scarcely dimmed the view at all.

Sam tried to rest her body while working through the situation with her brain, but found exhaustion was threatening to overcome. Clenching her injured fist once more, Sam latched onto the pain, using it as a bright spot on which to focus her mind, maintaining her consciousness and readying herself for whatever the long night might bring.

How long she lay there, Samantha was not sure. Just as she'd decided she had been locked away and forgotten, she heard the rattle of the heavy lock being unfastened. As the door flew open, Sam was forced to throw an arm across her eyes against the assaulting brightness from the well-lit hallway.

Silhouetted against the brightness was a single Jaffa. He commanded Sam to stand.

"Noc," she answered quietly in his own language, not bothering to move from her spot on the floor. She told him no, knowing all the while it would make no difference if he truly wanted her to rise.

He barked out the command once more, and stepped into the room, his broad form filling the doorway, the pain stick in his hand menacing and dark against the starkness of the electric lights.

--

Dawn was breaking behind the shuttered windows, and Jack ran an exhausted hand over his face in frustration.

His search of the building had gone slowly, and Jack was coming to the reluctant conclusion that Seth may have somehow removed Sam from the building entirely. He'd searched it from one end to the other; they seemed to have simply vanished.

Jack rubbed determinedly at a stubborn cramp in his thigh. He'd long ago emptied the canteen of water he'd carried, and thirsted for more. The blood loss from which Jack had suffered left behind an insatiable need for water and his muscles were beginning to cramp from the dehydration.

Pulling his cap from his head and pocketing it, Jack absently ran a thumb along the bicep of his left arm for the umpteenth time. He was having trouble absorbing the fact that the horrific injury had been healed. In one moment, his recollection of the injury seemed foggy and dreamlike, in the next, the memory of the injuries he'd sustained would flood back, wild and intense, and Jack would find himself biting back a unexpectedly emotional response to the whole situation.

As his life had flowed away, Jack had been drawn toward that ledge from which he knew there would have been no coming back. He'd felt that instinctual urge to just let go, to release himself from the land of the living, his heartbeat stuttering and struggling all the while -- it just waiting for an excuse to halt altogether. Jack O'Neill had been so incredibly close to death, and was unwillingly reminded of the only other time in his life he'd experienced so much pain and downright, absolute despair.

Jack had certain memories branded upon his mind from those four wretched months he'd spent in the prison in Iraq. His helicopter battered and smashed until it landed with an absolute lack of grace in the middle of the Anbar province, he had had to watch from its tangled wreckage as the escorting duo of Pave Hawk helos had disappeared over the horizon, taking the surviving members of his team back to safety and civilization. Clicking the radio madly, the smell of fuel and hydraulic fluid acrid in his nose, he'd selfishly tried to let them know he hadn't perished in the crash. As he passed the minutes waiting in the heat and smoke, Jack had felt a mixture of relief and remorse as he came to the realization that he'd been left for dead in that stinking, god-forsaken Iraqi desert.

The foreign soldiers who operated the underground prison compound had eventually captured and imprisoned Lt. Colonel O'Neill and Jack had been introduced to methods of pain and degradation not even the most creative of his Spec Ops instructors could have imagined.

Jack had become intimately familiar with the way electricity worked in the human body, how much strain his muscles could undergo before collapse, how much pain could be inflicted before he lost consciousness, how long he could stay blissfully unconscious before sputtering back to life to avoid drowning and just how much complete and utter humiliation he could take before crying out. Jack had come to know himself and his physical and emotional limits better than anyone would ever want to. Better than any person should ever have to.

Swallowing against the remembrance and ducking quickly into yet another shadowed doorway in his final sweep of Seth's compound, Jack sincerely hoped he never would have the chance to test his limits so thoroughly again. And then his stomach clenched at the thought of Sam possibly being subjected to the same trials in an unknown locale, nearby but out of reach.

As Jack leaned stealthily against the door, invisible in the dim light, his luck finally held out. A familiar harsh voice barked out, "Jaffa! Kel shak!" He watched as Seth came around the corner into his line of sight, Jack not daring to breathe lest he be discovered.

His jaw involuntarily clenched at the sound of the Goa'uld voice. The last time Jack had heard it was hours earlier as he'd lay dying on the floor, the inhuman cadence of the speech mocking as the creature had used Jack's imminent death in an attempt to manipulate Sam into cooperation.

Jack's finger twitched at the trigger-guard of his weapon, itching for the opportunity to fire. He'd love nothing more than to take the creature out here and now, but Jack knew he first needed to pinpoint Sam's location.

Two of the henchmen -- Jaffa, Jack realized they were called -- came to attention in front of their leader, bowing their heads in obeisance. The leader of the duo took a small step forward, murmuring lowly to Seth, and the Goa'uld, visibly incensed, backhanded the man across the face.

The Jaffa took the blow stoically, remaining motionless before his leader.

Jack almost missed the words uttered by Seth as the Goa'uld then strode by, his Jaffa trailing two steps behind. "Bring her to me. I will deal with her myself."

Wincing as the Goa'uld's eyes flashed in anger, Jack breathed a slow sigh of relief when the three enemies had moved through a far away doorway. Stepping out in to the morning light, Jack O'Neill placed his steps carefully, silently, listening to the echoing footsteps ahead of him in the quiet compound, the footsteps leading away into the darker central corridors of the building.

He tightened his grip on the AR-15 in his hands, supporting it one-handed while his left hand went to his hip once more, checking to be sure his secondary sidearm was still in position. Jack swept the sights of his assault rifle across each doorway he passed, but came across none of the acolytes he knew should be occupying the many bedrooms. Maybe Sam's diversionary fire had done its job of emptying the building, after all. It had been put out quickly, but Jack still vividly remembered the shouts and the smoke, the running feet. He was relieved not to have to decide whether to execute civilians in order to get to the cult's leader, Seth.

The enemy footsteps slowed as they reached the darker central portion of the building, and Jack's careful ear picked out the sound of a single pair of booted feet moving down a previously hidden side-passageway to his left.

As Jack waited, so did the other presences in the hallway ahead. In the dim light, Jack could make out no movement visually, but he could hear the quiet shuffling of a leather-clad individual pacing and the occasional impatient shuffle of his waiting companion.

The silence was otherwise only broken by the sound of Jack's heart beating and the highest-pitched of whines that always tinged the edge of silent situations for him -- the side effect of decades of being too close to gunfire and explosions.

So in his stillness it was he who heard Sam's protests long before the pacing enemies.

A muffled shout, the stomp of a booted foot. Jack could hear her being compelled to come closer, and Seth finally stopped his pacing. Jack could now make out a faint sillhouette in the darkness. Seth waited. Silently. Expectantly.

The pair of Jaffa escorting Sam emerged from the hallway, bright light streaming out of the now-open doorway, her body limp between them. Jack tasted blood in his mouth and vaguely realized he'd had to bite down on his own tongue to keep himself still and silent in the face of the vision before him. Just as the duo attempted to dump Sam on the floor at Seth's feet, Samantha's legs came under her in an amazing show of strength.

Jack watched her straighten and stand in the face of the Goa'uld, jaw set, eyes bright amongst the bruises decorating her face.

Taking a half-step forward in horror at what happened next, Jack could only watch.

The smug Jaffa at Sam's right shoulder gave her a sidelong glance and jabbed at her ribs with a metal wand, and immediately Sam's body went rigid, her back arching, her head jolting backward to turn her face to the sky. An unearthly yellow light left Sam's mouth along with her hoarse scream as she dropped heavily to her knees.

"Kneel, ha'taaka," he said, sneering. The Jaffa was reaching for Sam with the wand again but halted as Seth leveled a malevolent glare in the warrior's direction. He bowed his head reverently before the Goa'uld and lowered the device. "She is yours, Lord Seth," he added, deferentially.

Seth's eyes did not drop an inch from his examination of his second-in-command. "Have the charges been set?" he demanded.

A nod of the Jaffa's head confirmed that it was so, and Jack felt his heart's beat ratchet up a notch at the revelation. Sam didn't react at all to the news of the building being rigged to explode; she remained on her knees at Seth's feet, breathing heavily, eyes unfocused and glassy from the unconcealed continuing pain.

Seth sent his Jaffa on ahead of him with a commanding tilt of his head. Grabbing Sam by the collar of her shirt, he began to walk, pulling the woman alongside him. Samantha's body unfolded and she fell solidly onto one hip, hands grasping weakly at Seth's forearm as he began to drag her along beside him on the highly polished floor.

Feeling the anger coiling in his guts, Jack took a few calming breaths as he trailed invisibly along behind the pair, willing Sam to have strength with his presence.

In the distance, Jack heard the strange metallic whine of the transportation rings activating once, and then again. He now realized where Seth was going. Silent steps instantly became a quiet jog as Jack O'Neill moved to catch up.

The morning sunlight was bright as the trio rounded the corner, Sam and Seth seemingly still unaware of the silent shadow following behind.

Just as Jack moved in for a final lunge to press his weapon against Goa'uld flesh, planning to pull the trigger and destroy this vile creature once and for all … Seth turned to face Jack, moving backward faster than was humanly possible, dragging Sam along with him to the center of the room, keeping her between himself and Jack's weapon.

Golden hand raised in Jack's direction, Seth lowered his gaze to the woman caught beneath his arm. Jack froze, mid-step, weapon raised but afraid for Samantha's well-being. The look in Seth's eyes was homicidal, lids low over darkened eyes.

Shielding his body with Sam's, the Goa'uld addressed Jack. "Who are you?"

"Jack O'Neill, you inept piece of shit," he said, leveling a glare at Seth over the sights of his weapon. "We met earlier?" Without a reaction from Seth, Jack continued. "I killed your bitch queen."

A flicker of uncertainty swept briefly across the Goa'uld's face and shifted his grip on Sam's throat. Jack chanced a well-aimed shot, only to feel a jolt of frustration as Seth's personal shield flared brightly into existence, deflecting the bullet away from his vulnerable host's body. "God damn it!" he muttered between clenched teeth. Raising his head from sighting the weapon, he met Seth's eyes and spoke forcefully. "This is between you and me, so let her go."

A chilling smile formed on Seth's lips, and he shifted his hold on Samantha once more as he raised his chin defiantly. Seth pulled her up against his chest, left hand still outstretched toward Jack, his right forearm pressed firmly across Sam's throat. She struggled against his grip, but it was futile. Jack felt his breath coming short as the Goa'uld's grasp tightened around her.

Sam's mouth gaped momentarily as the panic flickered across her features when she could no longer draw breath. Jack was proud to see the determination visible there immediately after. Her body tensed for a fight, and Jack circled the pair, looking for an opening, preparing to lunge forward in attack.

Her first few kicks had gone unnoticed, and Sam was fighting frantically now, throwing kicks with her legs and throws of her elbows that could have dislocated human kneecaps and broken human ribs, but still Seth stood, motionless, his lips curled back over his teeth in that mockery of a smile.

As Jack rushed forward, Seth suddenly tightened his hold on Samantha's neck, and Jack felt regret rip through him as her body stilled, her face contorting in a silent articulation of complete and utter pain.

The Goa'uld tossed her at Jack and took two steps backward, activating the transportation device in the process.

The rings ascended to surround Seth, the metallic buzzing a harsh counterpoint to the rushing of blood in Jack's ears as he reached to catch Sam as she fell impossibly fast toward the floor. As Seth vanished before them, Jack grabbed for Sam's clothing, steadying her in his grasp. He settled her down on the floor at his feet, cradling her head in one hand, his other hand cupping her injured throat.

"Jeez … Sam," he murmured, feeling frantically for a pulse.

The heartbeat Jack found at her neck was thready and weak, fluttering dangerously fast under the pads of his fingertips. Jack brought his eyes to meet Sam's bright blue ones, already so wide to the ceiling in fear. Cupping her throat with his hand, he patted at the bruised flesh there, pressing, then pulling, trying to do something -- anything -- to press together the crushed windpipe so soft, shattered and utterly destroyed. Sam couldn't breathe and the rapid swelling would only add to the finality of the injury. Jack had seen it a dozen times over the years, but never on someone who had warmed his heart so thoroughly.

He felt Sam's hand clutching tightly at his wrist and her eyes searched his, desperately, almost angrily. Jack pulled her closer, cradling Sam's body in the crook of his arm, settling himself onto his knees as he crouched, vulnerably, in the middle of the expansive room, giving of himself, wishing there was something he could do to ease the pain.

Her mouth opened several times as Jack gazed into her expressive face, but Sam wasn't able to move any air to speak. She mouthed the same syllable repeatedly in dismay, her eyes blinking, full of tears. Sam was saying either, "No," or, "Go." Or perhaps both, Jack realized.

"It's okay," he whispered. Whether for her sake or his, he wasn't sure.

He pressed a thumb to Samantha's lips and held her tighter, tucking her head under his chin, rocking gently where he knelt, offering her his strength while simultaneously willing her to just let go.

Mere seconds passed before he felt her body arch in his arms, and Jack pulled her close, leaning in, pulling her forehead gently against his neck and holding her firmly in place in the macabre embrace.

Sam's body trembled violently, shaking in Jack's arms before she eventually relaxed, releasing her grip on Jack's arm. He felt her body go slack, the pulse at her neck faltered momentarily under his fingers, beat twice more, and then finally … all was still.

As Sam's body let go of life, the only sound in the room was the steady beat of Jack's pulse in his ears, and he let out a hissing breath to obscure the sound of it, lest it continue to ridicule him in the silence.

Jack felt the tension in his own body rising. His throat tightened, his eyes burned, and with a gasp, Jack pulled Sam powerfully close. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, and as he pressed his forehead to Sam's, he squeezed his eyes closed against the tears that threatened to spill.

Kneeling there in the middle of Seth's ornate throne room, Jack held Samantha's lifeless body tight and let go of a shaky breath, allowing the memory of Sam's words from before to roll over him.

"I am going on the assumption that Seth has in his possession a sarcophagus. … The recently dead can be revived if placed within the sarcophagus in time."

Scooping Sam's limp form up in his arms, Jack pulled himself to his feet and set off across the silent compound at a run, not bothering to muffle his steps. He'd only seen one item in his search of the building that even came close to resembling a sarcophagus, and he wanted to get Sam into it now.

Holding her tight as he ran, he turned off the part of his mind observing just how dead she felt. No breath, no pulse. It was disconcerting and he refused to think about it, focusing instead on remembering each twist of the corridor that would bring them to the right room.

Skidding around the final corner and into the atrium, Jack narrowed his eyes against the bright sunlight shining insensibly in through the many panes of glass, focusing instead on the shiny golden machine positioned at the center of the chamber. He dared to hope the device would do what Sam had described, because the fact that the body in his arms was now lifeless refused to compute. Sam would live, he assured himself.

The idea that she might not was unspeakable.

As Jack approached, his steps slowed, his motions full of reverence for the implicit power of the sarcophagus.

Lifting Sam's body high, her dangling bare feet clearing the golden edge, he leaned far in to settle Sam gently within the white, coffin-like interior. Not a coffin, Jack chided himself silently, before brushing his fingers tenderly across one pale cheek. Standing back, Jack watched as the machine activated, a neon white light bathing Sam's battered face before finally being snuffed out as the box came to a lumbering, rumbling close.

Settling himself back against one wall, Jack felt his composure threaten to come ripping apart. Sliding down the smooth plastered surface, his hands began to shake, and Jack settled his weapon across his knees to wait, knitting his hands together on top of it in order to still them. His eyes never once left the sarcophagus.

Jack tried not to contemplate the spiritual significance of this act, the fact that he was quite literally bringing another human being back to life. He wondered what was happening to her soul, if her human essence was perhaps waiting patiently somewhere nearby for her body to be bound back together in life -- or if this meant there was no human soul.

After what felt to Jack like an hour but was most likely only a matter of a few restless minutes, Jack heard the machine's mechanisms grind to life once more. Pulling himself to his feet and wiping his palms on the front of his thighs, Jack approached the sarcophagus.

There in the middle of the room, a soft white light split the room, widening, exposing Samantha to the sunlight once again. She was still and pale, her face free of the bruises and blood that had previously marred it.

Jack waited expectantly, and within seconds, Sam was blinking against the naked sunlight on her face. Without further conscious thought, Jack was bowing low across the opening to pull her into his arms, mumbling thanks to the gods -- false or not -- who had wrought this wondrous neon sarcophagus box. He had brought Sam back.

She would live.

--

Jack pulled back from Sam and she searched his face with her eyes. He was pale and sweaty, with dark circles under his eyes. And she, Sam realized, was in a sarcophagus. She had no sense of how much time had passed. One moment she'd been in Jack's arms, unable to breathe and dying, and the next, she'd been in Jack's arms, alive and well. She decided to set aside the experience to examine later.

Sam's fingers and toes were still tingling, and she drew in a deep, calming breath as Jack helped her from the sarcophagus, herself sparing the device one last lingering glance as she regained her balance.

Sam met Jack's eyes earnestly, absorbing the rawness in his regard. His eyes darted across her face in wonder. Brushing a hand across his clammy forehead, she quickly sorted through all that had transpired before. "Jack," she asked. "How much time do we have?"

Jack shrugged. "Don't know. Minutes, I'd guess." He then gestured to a dark metallic ball resting ominously in the corner of the room. "Can you read that?"

Sam's eyes widened as they followed his gaze to the display on the Goa'uld-built bomb. It was counting down.

"We have to get out of here," she urged. Pulling at Jack's shirtsleeve, Sam gestured to the wide expanse of glass before them.

Jack's eyes lit up in comprehension, and he shook off Sam's grasp, lifting up one of the tall, decorative urns that flanked the sarcophagus, tossing it through the nearest window in one smooth motion.

The panes shattered, and Sam and Jack were running for the window before the shards had finished raining down upon the shiny tiled floor, crashing loudly in the silence.

And thus, with a final reassuring glance at each others faces, they dove for safety, Jack lifting Sam by the waist, pulling her to him to keep her bare feet away from the worst of the glass. Landing heavily in the dirt on the other side, they ran, not knowing how long it would be before the entire building came down behind them.

--

What do you think so far? You can press that little review button down below to let me know! I really appreciate those of you who keep coming back and reviewing again and again (it is so fun to see who is following from chapter to chapter). Also, to those of you who just reviewed for the first time, thank you! I love seeing all that feedback! Can't wait to see what you think of this chapter.