It has been horrendously long since I last posted. My family and I have spent the last several weeks traipsing around 5 countries. Internet connection has been spotty, and inspiration non-existent. Jet lag zapped my brain a month ago, and I still haven't shaken off the 9 hour, then 8 hour, then 3 hour time difference. I hope this story still makes sense and I haven't written complete gibberish.

Undisclosed Location

Unknown Time

Brian Vogler rushed forward to the cot pushed in the corner the moment they'd thrown him back into their cell. Oh, please god, no!, was his first thought as he saw the young woman trembling lightly on the cot, with her back to him, legs drawn up to her chest.

He reached out with a shaking hand, but hovered just above her right arm, afraid of her reaction to any touch. "Cassie?" he whispered instead. He saw the trembling pause, then she shifted away from the wall, to run slightly towards him.

Brian held back a gasp at the blood covering her face and the bruises forming underneath. The neck of her light blue shirt looked like it had been stretched forcefully; he glanced down and saw that there were defensive wounds all over her arms and hands.

Her eyes were swollen with tears, but when he looked deeper into them, they were still clear… and angry. He allowed his hand to make contact with the tip of her chin, and asked the question he was afraid of knowing the answer to. "Did he…?"

Cassie looked away, then shook her head minutely. Brian almost sobbed in relief. The whole time they'd been interrogating him, he'd taken their abuse stoically, knowing that whatever they did to him couldn't as bad as what was happening to Cassie in the other room. He'd seen the naked lust on Ricky's face, and he'd known without a doubt what the bastard had in mind the moment he had Cassie alone.

By some miracle Cassie had been able to fight him off, judging by her appearance. It wasn't the time to ask for details, but he knew that he would have to ask her at some point. Whatever had occurred, it hadn't been pretty given the battering she'd taken, but it had spared her the horrors of Ricky's desires - if perhaps only temporarily.

He got up from his crouch, grimacing as his ribs protested from the recent beating, and made his way to the small windowless bathroom they'd been provided. He grabbed the hand towel off the railing, soaked it in the lukewarm water from the hot tap, then wrung it out in the basin. When he returned to the main room he saw that Cassie still hadn't moved and was staring blankly up at the low ceiling.

Brian cautiously approached her, making as much sound as possible. "Cassie?" he called out softly. "I'm going to clean your face, ok?" When she didn't respond, he waited for a few seconds, then brought the edge of the towel towards her face, then gently began dabbing at the streaks of blood covering her cheeks and chin.

She didn't protest, so he meticulously cleaned her wounds as much as possible. By the time he was done, the previously white towel was smeared with crimson. He patted her softly on the shoulder, then got up again to get rinse out the evidence of her abuse.

There was no mirror in the bathroom, which was probably a good thing. He didn't want to see the damage they had inflicted on his face. He lifted up his dress shirt, his tie long gone, to check the bruising on his ribs and abdomen. He sighed in relief when he saw that it wasn't as bad as he felt. The two of them would need to keep their strength up if they had any hope of escaping. Seeing what Ricky had done to Cassie made him determined to get him and the innocent young woman away from their captors.

50 Miles East of Vyborg, Russia

2130 Zulu (0130 MSK)

From the map General O'Neill had provided, Paul knew that there was a good chance that if he drifted too far off course from his planned LZ he would have a very wet and cold hike to the RV point - if he even made out of the freezing water, which was far from certain.

Freshwater lakes dotted the region, alternating with miles upon miles of forest land. The isolation of the terrain worked very well for concealment, but as the target for a night drop with only NVGs and his GPS for assistance it wasn't ideal territory for someone who hadn't done a jump in recent memory.

He lucked out and managed to land just over fifteen klicks north of the RV point, deliberately well clear of a lake and a thick grouping of trees.

He detached himself from the cords tethering him to his chute, then gathered the nylon material together in order to dispose of any evidence of his landing. An empty fox hole - if it hadn't been empty, he would have had to terminate the occupant - suited this purpose nicely. Bracken and dead leaves from the forest floor aided him in camouflaging in the chute's hidey hole.

Satisfied with his work, he checked his watch. Sunrise wasn't until oh-seven-hundred hours. He figured he could have made the hike in less than four hours in ideal conditions, but would have to account for a slower pace due to the rough terrain, the need to box around lakes and the darkness. The NVGs would help with the latter, as long as their batteries lasted.

He'd set his GPS with the target co-ordinates back on the plane, so he merely had to find his current location on his physical map and plot the first leg of his course to avoid the obstacles marked there. He set off on a southerly bearing at a scout's pace.

Five klicks and two course changes into the hike, Paul's thoughts began to wander to keep his mind off the punishing pace he'd set himself. While the ground was fairly flat, it was slippery with patches of ice. His lungs already burned from the cold, his balaclava moist where his mouth and nose drew in the frigid air.

He'd tried so hard not to think at all, to focus only on the mission. This wasn't a problem as long as he was carrying out orders and jumping out of cargo planes. Now that he only had a single task, it was far more difficult to keep his mind out of dangerous territory.

Paul stumbled as a memory of Cassie came into his thoughts.

The way she smiled, the way she laughed, the way she taunted him in her sing-song voice that merely endeared her to him even more. He felt phantom brushes of her lips against his own, the sweet taste of her tongue lingering on his palate long after their drawn out kisses had ended. The feel of her breath against his neck as she sat on his lap with her head tucked on his shoulders…

Pain exploded as it bloomed suddenly and overwhelmingly as it spread through his veins like ice. Tears prickled at his eyes, his throat tightening at the combination of fear and worry that threatened to keele him over.

Teal'c's soft, mournful monotone echoed inside his head. "Your intended Sim'ka has been taken…"

He'd studied enough Goa'uld to know what the word meant. A denial had been on the tip of his tongue, but one look from Teal'c's saddened countenance had killed the words before they could form.

He'd banished any thoughts pertaining to her because he'd known that this would happen. He'd be forced finally to analyze his growing feelings for her, and admit some truths he'd been unwilling to let his heart even contemplate.

Ever since Emmett and Ilse's death, he'd built up walls to stop himself from caring for anyone else. He'd lost a brother, a best friend, a little sister, and his unborn nephew that fateful day. Emmett had confided the wonderful news to him only days before. His own family hadn't even known.

He'd tried so hard not to get close. Convinced himself that what he had with Cassie was mere friendship, and later on, mutual attraction. It was hard not to like her, then after he'd stopped denying himself, it was hard not to want her.

But what he was feeling as he marched through a frozen Russian forest was far from simple like or lust. It so much more, so much deeper, and, god, it felt just like when he had lost Emmett and Ilse.

Teal'c was right.

He was so fucked.

Daniel trudged miserably through the darkened forest, cursing himself internally in different languages for agreeing to Jack's insane plan. Yes, let's jump out of a perfectly good plane in pitch black conditions into frozen tundra, and oh yeah, mind the lakes and trees while you're landing. Better yet, avoid the bogs!

At least a lake would have been clean. He'd plummeted into a mire filled with god knew what. From the smell alone, he figured he wasn't the first living creature to have fallen in, but was probably one of the very few that actually got out thanks to his parachute that had snagged on the branches of several trees.

He'd had to pull himself out of the bog using the ropes attached to the nylon chute. His muscles had protested with every pull, but he'd made it. Teal'c's punishing workouts had paid off, and he silently thanked the former First Prime for his insistence that Daniel develop a far more dense musculature.

Collapsing at the edge of the muddied pit, he'd eventually forced himself to get up, roughly tug the chute from the trees, then use a heavy branch to sink the whole thing into the bog. That task accomplished, he'd scraped off as much of the mud and debris as possible and salvaged the rest of his equipment from the forest floor. The night vision goggles had mercifully survived, and his waterproof cold weather gear had stayed dry through his ordeal.

The cold was now hardening the mud that had collected in the nooks and crannies of his outer clothing, and he felt utterly dejected at the thought of a seven mile hike. There was nothing to distract him, no ancient ruins at the end of his miserable walk, no teammates to cheer him on, no Jack O'Neill to annoy and complain to.

Apart from his linguistic skills, he had no idea why Jack had even chosen him for the mission. He had no other specialist ability to offer unless they needed some artefact that needed translating. The most obvious thing was that he and Jack had been on SG-1 together, and he'd wanted someone familiar backing him up. The other thing of course, was Daniel's familiarity with the Goa'uld. He'd questioned enough of them that he had a better grasp of what motivated the creatures, and knew how to extract information without resorting to Jack's brand of violence. Although, knowing how Jack felt about the host, he figured Jack wouldn't mind at all extracting information the hard way.

The simplest solution was to just ask Jack directly, but getting the man to volunteer anything was an exercise in futility. He would only say something once he was ready to, and when it suited his purpose.

Daniel checked his watch again, then sighed in relief when he realized he still had over four hours to make the hike. He was certain he was going to be the last one there though. He'd never had to go solo on a mission before, always having had an experienced soldier as backup off-world. He usually just told them where he wanted to go, and they led him to it. All the technology he was currently carrying was actually useless in an alien environment with no GPS satellites conveniently in geosynchronous orbit constantly relaying his position. They just had Sam whose job it was to know what type of planet they were on, and how to use their technology to navigate it.

As he tripped his way along another mile, he fervently wished Sam had been able to come along. At least then she'd be in charge, and he could absentmindedly follow along, and if they were late Jack would make his snarky remarks at her instead of him.

Using the tilting motion of his canopy along with his GPS, Jack was able to direct his descent as close as possible to the RV point, all the while avoiding both trees and large bodies of water. He hit the ground running, though managed to get a few scrapes on his exposed skin when he broke through naked branches still devoid of leaves.

Finding a place to stash his used parachute proved problematic, so he decided to drag it through the forest until he could find a suitable hidey hole for it and his gear that was now surplus to requirements.

After a quarter mile of slow, cumbersome pulling and heaving, a fallen hollowed-out tree became his salvation. Jack stuffed his chute in using a tree branch to push it deeper into the trunk, then added mud and dead leaves as a cork to conceal any trace of the canopy and ropes.

Satisfied with his work, he checked his watch, then his GPS to verify his location. Without preamble, the General started a fast trot through the forest, for once not needing to disguise his physical prowess. He leaped, dodged fallen trunks and fox holes, making quick progress through the rough terrain. His breath remained steady, his heartbeat extraordinary low for a human despite his harried pace.

All the while, his mind was comfortably blank. It felt like he'd entered an meditative state as he flew to his destination. He'd always been able to do this in the past. Thinking too much made a soldier a liability, and it was his ability to shuck out all emotions, all worries, and focus solely on the mission that had made him such an excellent operative.

Nothing ever came for free, of course. He would suffer through it later. Once out of the combat zone, he would have terrible nightmares once he actually found sleep from the insomnia. He was a complete bear around everyone, and there were times while still married to Sara, that she'd threaten to leave him if he didn't snap out of his self-imposed silence. That was why he'd decided to leave Spec Ops when Charlie came along. He didn't want his son to ever see him in that state.

This is the last time, he promised himself. No matter how understanding Sam was, he wouldn't do this to her. She was his last chance, and he wasn't going to screw it up like he did the first time. Nothing in the world was worth sacrificing what they had. Someone else would have to take up that mantle, it would no longer be him.

The RV point came into view an hour later and he slowed as he approached it. It was a derelict hunting shack, the walls leaning in a precarious angle and no longer even pretending to be perpendicular to the ground. A battered-looking Land Rover was parked on the muddy driveway, a small red glow from a burning cigarette the only indication that someone was within.

He decided to hang back until he could verify with Orlov that this was Sergey. Without further intel, which Orlov was frustratingly sketchy about, there was no way he was exposing himself unless he knew for certain he was dealing with a friendly.

Much later, the sound of a branch snapping clued him in that he was no longer alone in the woods. He crouched lower to the ground and kept his NVG trained on the area where he'd heard the footsteps. A figure eventually emerged, none too careful about being seen or heard. It was Orlov, confidently striding past the trees as if it were the middle of the day and he was in a stroll in town. Cocky bastard.

Orlov headed straight for the Land Rover. The driver got out and the two exchanged pats on the back. The young man handed Orlov a smoke, and the Colonel happily lit up with a satisfied drag.

Jack shook his head in disbelief. He abandoned his hiding place, no longer bothering with stealth. Orlov's casual banter with the driver convinced him that the younger man was on their side.

"Ah, you made it, comrade!" Orlov greeted him with open arms, then inquired, "I hope I was loud enough?"

He nodded shortly. "Who's your friend?" He stared pointedly at the man whom he assumed was Sergey.

Orlov grabbed the younger man's shoulder. "Captain Sergey Ustinov," he pointed at Jack. "General Jack O'Neill."

"It is an honor, General O'Neill," Sergey eagerly shook Jack's hand. "My uncle," he canted his head at Orlov, "has told me much about you." Jack raised his eyebrow at that revelation.

"Bozhe moi!" Orlov exclaimed. "Forgive him, O'Neill, he is young and impetuous. Sergey Dimitrievitch has yet to learn how to keep his mouth shut."

Sergey looked chagrined at the slight admonishment from his uncle. "I apologize, uncle. It is just that, as a child, I never imagined that I would actually meet the General in person."

"Now you have. Damned disappointing, da?" Orlov chortled at his own joke.

It wasn't long until Paul emerged from the woods. Jack made the introductions, then instructed the Colonel to get some shut-eye in the car. The mission had barely begun, and he needed his men to be at their best when the real action started.

Another hour passed before a bedraggled Daniel walked out of the woods. He aimed a sour look at Jack, but was quickly pacified when Jack silently handed him a thermos full of black coffee that Sergey had the forethought to bring.

With the team intact, Sergey drove them out of the forest, towards the Baltic seaside town of Vyborg where Orlov had a safe house. Despite the infusion of caffeine, Daniel had fallen right to sleep along with Paul. Jack wondered whether Sergey had fortified the coffee with something a little stronger to keep the chill out.

Jack had primed himself for the upcoming mission. Sleep was the last thing on his mind. He couldn't let his guard down even just for a moment, there was too much at stake, and if he were entirely honest he didn't trust anyone outside of the SGC with his life. Orlov may been an ally, but he was still Russian, and in the end would do what was best for him and his country. It was Jack's job to look after the SGC's interest and that of America, and any alignment of interest between Jack and Orlov would not be permanent.

Orlov's safe house was a glorified hunting shack. It was an open plan room with a queen-sized bed pushed against one wall, an oval table by the grimy window surrounded by four wooden chairs, a large deep wash basin opposite the window that served as the center point of a rudimentary kitchen. It was mercifully free of trophies mounted on the walls, even decorative ones. Orlov's prey weren't the sort you mounted on walls. They were the type you held state funerals for.

Under the fur rugs by the fireplace was what held Jack's interest. Concealed under a trapdoor was a staircase leading down to a small room that served as a mini armory. Inside, modern weapons volleyed for space with older Russian AK-47s, Makarov pistols, and Kalashnikovs that had seen better days. There was even what looked like a Moisin-Nagant which had probably last been used in the service of the Tsar.

Jack's light lit up when he spotted a much newer weapon amongst Orlov's collection. "This is nice," he said picking up the MP7.

"Yes!" Orlov nodded enthusiastically. "The German's answer to the Belgian PDW." The Colonel reached under the table and produced two more of the same model. "I hear you are quite fond of FN Herstal's version."

Jack tested the heft and weight of the Heckler and Koch design. "This is good," he said with admiration. "Our defense procurement guys are clearly slower than yours."

Orlov grinned. "Da, da, but this is my personal stash. I have friends in Germany. As do you," he said knowingly. Weapons weren't difficult to procure when you knew the right people, which both of them did. The only difference was that Orlov had no hesitation in calling in his markers.

"You done down there?" Daniel stuck his head down from up the staircase.

Jack held up the MP7. "You all right with this?"

Daniel raised his eyebrows. "Do I have a choice?"

Jack spread his arms to indicate the walls mounted with weapons.

"That one's good," Daniel quickly agreed. His head disappeared, leaving Orlov and Jack alone.

"Was it necessary to bring so many men?" Orlov finally ventured to ask. He was not used to playing with others.

"It was necessary to bring these two men," Jack clarified.

Orlov heard the finality in his tone, and backed off immediately. Mikalov had sent him to a job, and part of the instruction had been to make sure O'Neill got what he needed to complete the mission. Antagonizing someone of O'Neill's character was never a wise course.

They gathered all the ammunition and webbing they needed from the concealed basement, and headed back up to brief Jack's team.

"Sergei has learned that General Kiselev has taken your Mister Kinsey here," he pointed at an area on a map, "to Kasimovo Airbase thirty kilometers north of ."

"What sort of security are we looking at?" Paul asked over Orlov's shoulder.

"He has chosen his most loyal men," Orlov replied. Then grinned. "It is a good thing that loyalty alone does not get you good vodka. We have a man inside. He has provided us with security movements and the exact location of where Kinsey is being held," he began folding the map. "We go tonight."

Jack stood looking out the window. He'd studied the large-scale maps covering their neighborhood during the drive over, and he'd seen the location of the airbase. It was exposed, with very few buildings. Mostly abandoned, but defensible due to its open location. They wouldn't be able to go in by vehicle without being seen. They would need to head off the moment the sun set, and go in under the cover of darkness by foot.

His mind was already going over who would do what, and where they would be situated. He knew he had to be the one that went in, but Daniel and Paul weren't equipped to do this sort of infiltration. They would act as backup if things went to hell, which was always a possibility.

Sergey, he was told, was an able marksman, trained by his uncle presumably. Orlov had been a sniper in the old days, just as Jack had been, and would not have put his confidence in the boy if he wasn't any good. He would cover them from an elevated position.

Orlov would have to come with him. As much as he hated having to bring someone into the that he didn't fully trust, the Russian knew more about his country's facilities than Jack did. He was also a damned good interrogator, if memory served.

"We will head over to the rendezvous point now," Orlov continued. "Whatever happens to the mission, all of us will go there. The house will have several vehicles ready to use, as well as identities Sergey has acquired for all of you, along with fresh weapons and cash. If the push comes to the shove, use those items wisely. They will have to last you until you're over the Russian border."

Daniel shot a worried look at Jack. "Is that going to be necessary?"

Jack returned his stare with unwavering look. "It's a contingency plan. Pretty standard."

"Yeah, yeah," Daniel muttered. "It seems to be in your previous line of work… Or is that actually current line of work?" he said pointedly.

"Doctor Jackson!" Paul reprimanded Daniel. The insinuation was totally out of line. While not everyone at the SGC was privy to the General's records - almost all were not - they all trusted him as a leader, they all knew he was a good man, and an outstanding officer. Whatever he may have done in the past, had no bearing to what he did in his present command.

"Look, I'm sorry." Daniel apologized. "It's just that all this international brotherhood of cloak and dagger is freaking me out. I feel like I've suddenly woken up to another Jack O'Neill. One who speaks multiple languages and apparently isn't as clueless about International politics as he'd made us to believe… It's discombobulating."

Paul sighed. Jack continued to stare out the window. Orlov had sensed the tension in the room, and had joined Sergey outside for a smoke.

"You didn't really believe the General was as ignorant as he pretends to be, did you?" Paul finally said. He had a slight advantage over Daniel, despite the archaeologist being O'Neill's closest friend. He had access to classified records on SGC personnel. It had been part of his job at the Pentagon as a liaison officer, then more so as General Hammond's advisor at HWS.

"Of course not!" Daniel denied immediately. "But you weren't exactly forthcoming about your past, were you Jack?"

"Most of the General's work up until the Abydos mission was highly classified," Paul defended O'Neill. "He'd be revealing top secret information to a civilian if he did. And after all, forthcoming has never been the General's middle name."

Daniel ignored Paul's argument, and came up to Jack's side. "I just want to know that the man I consider my best friend wasn't just some façade to cover up some special military agent that I'm only finding out about now…" Daniel went for the jugular. "Hell, does Sam even know?"

That got Jack's attention, and he levelled his bestfriend with a cold, dark, look. "Don't bring Carter into this."

"Then answer my question!" Daniel hissed back.

"Fer crying out loud…" Jack said under his breath, annoyance clear on his face. "Daniel," he said in a far more even tone that he was actually feeling. "Unlike you, I don't let my job define who I am. I don't live for this sort of thing, it is a necessary duty I carry out my country. If it appears as if I have to conceal a part of myself to others to complete it, then so be it. It's a far smaller sacrifice than what others out there have made and will make. I won't apologize for my actions done in service of my country, so don't expect me to."

With that, Jack walked out of the house, leaving Daniel and Paul alone.

"You shouldn't have done that," Paul told Daniel after Jack had closed the door. "He has enough pressure on him as it is," he said, giving him a frustrated look.

"I know," Daniel conceded. He glanced behind him, then took a seat on an armchair beside

the windows. "I just feel like he's played us all this time, like I never really knew him."

"General O'Neill is a complex man. I doubt anyone will ever really know him. He was married to his wife for over ten years, and she knew very little of what he did, or what he was capable of." Paul joined Daniel and took a seat on an nearby ottoman, continuing with his explanations.

"She accepted it because she understood what it meant to be married to someone in Special Operations. Only other operatives will really ever know that part of him, but they won't know the kind of husband and father he was, because he'd have hidden that part of himself from them. You've got the best of both worlds, that you got to see the Jack O'Neill who was no longer an operative, but still a soldier who was able to be your friend. We all compartmentalize, Daniel, it's a matter of survival in our kind of work. You've just got to accept that the General can only share so much of himself without breaking an oath he's made to his country. Don't burden him with a choice between his honor, and being your friend."

With that, Paul joined Orlov and Sergey outside to give Daniel a few minutes to think things over.

Cassie recognized the trembling for what it was. She was still suffering from secondary effects of neurogenic shock. Despite the thick blankets Brian had covered her with, she still felt cold and shaky inside and out.

She still hadn't said a word to Brian. It was too difficult to verbalize what had occurred even in her own mind. All she could recall was overwhelming fear and anger at her helplessness. The disgust she felt as Ricky violently pawed at her, and the pain he inflicted when she dared to fight against his advances. The first impact of his fist, her lip splitting, and the taste of copper inside her mouth.

Her vision had tunneled at the second hit, then… Cold fury. Utter fury and the refusal to succumb. She'd done something, but her mind refused to process it. The heavy weight on her had vanished and Ricky's repugnant smell had faded away.

When she'd regained her senses, there was brief chaos around her as Ricky was picked up unconscious several feet from her, slumped against the wall. The men had looked at her with confusion and some with slight admiration. They hadn't said a word and quickly disappeared through the door dragging Ricky between them.

Her body had felt drained as if she'd sprinted for hours. Sweat stung the scratches and cuts she'd sustained through her struggle with Ricky, her hair hanging limply, soaked with perspiration.

Brian had done his best to wash off the blood and sweat, but she still felt sticky under her clothes and a shower seemed too much of an effort for her exhausted mind and body. A bath would be even better, back at her house, in her own bathroom surrounded by her collection of soaps, candles, and body washes. She wished vehemently that she were back there right at that moment, safe and warm, surrounded by scented water.

She wanted the lingering scent of that asshole Ricky off of her. She wanted to be clean, wanted for the whole thing to be just a drawn out nightmare she could wake up from.

She wanted her mom to be there, bearing hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. Janet made it just right. Her mom knew exactly what to say when she felt sick, or miserable, or just unhappy with life. Cassie missed her terribly and knew that her mom was probably frantic by now.

She probably already called her friends in Florida and knew that she wasn't where she'd said she would be.

Was Janet talking to the police this very moment? Maybe to that annoying cop that wouldn't leave Sam alone? She knew her mind was rambling, but she couldn't stop the mental diarrhea.

Most of all, she wondered if Paul knew that she was missing. Had he had any idea that she'd been on her way to surprise him in DC? She hoped not. She didn't want him to think that being at Sam's and getting kidnapped was in anyway his fault. He was self-effacing that way, the silly man. He might not love her, but he did care about her, and she knew he would take her death badly.

No! Don't think like that!

They were going to make it out of this. Brian had a family, his kids and wife needed him. She had her mom, SG-1 and Paul. They would expect her to fight, and she wasn't going to let them down. They never gave up and she knew she was made of the same stuff.

You didn't survive genocide, the slaughter of your entire family, your whole world, only to lie down and die. Somehow she'd fought off Ricky. She had decided that she and Brian were going to get away. Now she just had to concentrate on the how.

It was supposed to be far lengthier, but I didn't want to delay posting any longer, so I cut the action scenes to next chapter. Let me know what you all think of this one while I jump over to writing my other fic, Getting Over Carter to give the readers of that fic some reprieve. I'm sure some feedback will push me along to write both quickly ;-)