'Play the bugle, play the taps and
Make your mothers proud.
Raise your rifles to the sky, boys,
Fire that volley loud.'
"Charlie Boy" ~ The Lumineers
Guts.
What was it about humans and guts?
Gut feelings. Gut reactions. Gut instincts. Teal'c glanced away from the road to his own stomach. His guts had housed a parasite. Now it lay empty. It didn't feel anything unless someone struck it.
"Gut feeling means we're doing this on a hunch," said Cam, reading his expression. "Didn't O'Neill ever use that expression during missions?"
Teal'c parked the SUV and stared up at a bubble gum pink house. Cats roamed on a flowery lawn.
"I didn't understand it then either," said the Jaffa.
"Ha-ha." Cam opened his side door. Teal'c came around and unfolded the wheelchair for him. "Now you're just messing with me. Sarcasm suits you."
Teal'c's lips quirked up a little. Cam eased himself into the chair and thanked God for fresh air while his back popped a satisfying percussion.
After days combing through IOA personnel files, they'd found only one suspicious agent: a strange leave of absence request two years ago, which, when the man didn't come back, resulted in employment termination.
One Lowell Ackman—same name as the psychiatrist file—had requested time to study. It was timed perfectly with the failed mission two years ago, and had happened after.
What really threw off Teal'c and Cam was that Lowell really did take a sabbatical to study.
Why change careers on a dime?
Pictures were impossible to find. Lowell's file and ID had been wiped from the IOA system. Even his university card had no photo on it.
So they'd driven out to Ackman's only surviving relative to crack the mystery, to see what was up with this strange, former IOA agent.
Teal'c carried Cam, wheelchair and all, to the top of the wrap around porch. Cats purred and rubbed their legs. A grey tabby settled in Cam's lap.
A short, ginger haired woman answered the doorbell. "Can I help you?"
Cam showed his Air Force badge and Teal'c could only hope the woman didn't notice it was expired.
"Oh no," she said. "What has my son gotten himself into this time?"
"Er…" Cam caught Teal'c's eye. "Nothing, Mrs. Ackman. We were just wondering if you had any photos of Lowell."
"I wish I could help you more. I only have younger photos. After his brother died he…well, work became his life."
"When did his brother—?"
"Look at my deplorable manners!" Mrs. Ackman's hands went to her cheeks, cutting Cam off. She seemed more fazed by her faux pas than Cam, a supposed active Air Force colonel, being in a wheelchair. "Come in, come in!"
With those words, Teal'c and Cam found themselves inside a floral living room and seated on a velvety chesterfield.
Or…next to the chesterfield, in Cam's case.
Mrs. Ackman bumbled around the kitchen and another cat joined the tabby on Cam.
Both men glanced around the room. Mrs. Ackman hadn't lied: there wasn't a single photo of her surviving son after sixteen years old.
Teal'c glanced at one of a boy in braces on Christmas morning, all smiles. He was standing next to a tall, dark eyed teen, presumably Lowell's brother.
"Maybe my gut is wrong," Cam said. A cat meowed at his admission.
Teal'c raised a brow. "Mine was always wrong."
"Very funny."
"Indeed."
"Don't sass me."
"O'Neill taught me this as well."
"Jerk."
Teal'c opened his mouth for a retort but Mrs. Ackman bustled in, her cheeks freshly rouged. She carried a tray of molasses cookies in one hand and a teapot in the other.
"Lemon tea?"
"Sure," said Cam.
"I like to dunk my cookies in it," said Mrs. Ackman. Cam mirrored her indulgent smile and Teal'c found himself softening. He hadn't realized he was on alert.
For a while there was only the munching of cookies and the sip of cups. Both cats had gone to sleep on Cam's thighs, one's paw twitching in its sleep.
Teal'c marveled that he was millions of miles from Chulak but domestic peace looked identical between them. It warmed something in his chest.
His gut, perhaps.
"Mrs. Ackman," said Cam, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He was careful not to wake the cats. "What exactly does your son do?"
"I've never been allowed to know his work. Something top secret or government, all that cloak and dagger hooey. But he worked in pharmacology for a while, I can tell you that much. It's what he went to school for."
Cam frowned. "I understand that you didn't know before. But I meant what does he do now? Didn't he change careers?"
For the first time, Mrs. Ackman's bright face dropped. She sighed. "Lowell's older brother died sixteen years ago. The government, the Air Force, none of them would tell us anything. We never even got his body back! Lowell was just a teen. Devastated, he thought helping people's health would keep his brother's legacy alive. He only sank deeper into bitterness."
She paused to dab her eyes. "Two years ago he suddenly insisted on doing software engineering with the Air Force. I assumed it was part of the grieving process…"
Cam, who'd gone white faced for most of this, finally found his voice. "Your son worked for the Air Force?"
"Sure," said Mrs. Ackman. Her brow furrowed. "Lowell does now too."
Cam and Teal'c exchanged alarmed glances. Pieces slotted together to a chorus of mental klaxons.
Sixteen years ago…never got his body back…
"Do you…do you have a photo of your son?" asked Cam. His voice was breathy with revelation.
"I just told you," said Mrs. Ackman. "He's never around and I haven't gotten a decent picture since he was a teen."
"Not Lowell." Teal'c leaned forward. "Your eldest son."
He startled when Cam's wheelchair lurched forward. The man's eyes were glued to a picture on the mantle, of a young man in a green boonie. He reached out, bringing it close to his face.
"No," he whispered. "It can't be…"
"That's my oldest boy—"
"Reilly," Cam finished. "Reilly Ackman."
"Why…yes," said Mrs. Ackman. "How did you know that?"
"I do not understand," said Teal'c. The name was unfamiliar to him.
Something else on the mantle was, though. Under a picture of Lowell had been scrawled a name in permanent marker.
"Why does it say Steel?" asked Cam. His voice was as tight as Teal'c's fists.
"Oh, Steel is Lowell's middle name. I named him that after his father. Steel, my husband, died when Lowell was just an infant. My boy insists on being called Steel sometimes."
"Mrs. Ackman, what is your maiden name?" Teal'c asked. He already knew the answer.
She blinked between them, perplexed. "I don't see why it matters, but it's Hughes."
All along, Teal'c marveled. Steel Hughes has been planning this all along.
Cam was already on his cell phone. "Walter, I need Sam. Now. It's about Hughes—"
He swore. "They what?!"
"Colonel Mitchell?" Teal'c set a hand on the man's arm and found him trembling.
"We're too late," Cam said. "Steel just left base with Sam."
"Good idea, bringing the crutches," said Sam.
Night had just fallen so she had to squint to see Hughes and his shrug.
"I'd prefer a stretcher, considering the kind of injuries we might find on Dr. Jackson, but with this uneven terrain…"
Sam nodded. "Dropping him would be a huge possibility."
Hughes made a sound of affirmation but his eyes were on the 'gate they'd just stepped through. It evaporated, reflecting off Hughes' oak eyes.
"It feels weird going through your first time, huh?" Sam offered.
Hughes canted his head.
"Doesn't it ever get strange?" His soft voice was barely audible over the squeak of their packs. "Knowing you can't tell anyone about it?"
Sam blinked at him. "All the time, Steel. Grocery shopping is the worst, having all these people around you who think the moon landing is fake and yet you've traveled to other planets."
He shook his head.
Sam tapped his shoulder. "Come on. Stay low."
SG-4 set up behind them.
"Secure the 'gate," Sam ordered Colonel Klaus. "We should only be a minute, a get in, get out mission. Be ready to dial."
Klaus waved his hand in a circle to alert his men. "Copy that, Colonel."
Running in a crouch, Sam and Hughes raced through the underbrush, around trees and stumps. They'd each brought infrared binoculars. However, Sam didn't need them at all—she pointed ahead to the orange sphere of a small bonfire.
Hughes nodded that he'd seen it too.
Bold of them, Sam thought, setting up less than a half kilometer from the 'gate.
Three men were visible to the naked eye where they ate freeze dried rations and muttered darkly. Some wore splints. Black eyes and bloody noses adorned their faces. One's nose was clearly broken.
Sam's brow dipped. Daniel didn't do all this damage by himself, did he?
The answer to her bafflement lay five feet from the fire, in the haunted shadows of a willow tree. Sam's breath caught.
Jack.
He sat against the trunk.
It was a testament to Jack's deteriorating health that the men hadn't even bothered to tie him up. His cracked and dry lips oozed painful sores. He shivered, surprisingly awake, yet his glazed eyes couldn't seem to fix on anything.
They certainly didn't fix on the other man sprawled an arm's length from him.
Blood seeped from a bullet swipe in Daniel's thigh and another on his bound hands. He was out cold. A chunk of his hair, on the side, had been scalped clean off, probably in the struggle.
Hughes must have seen their condition too, because his body rigidified.
Sam's blood boiled. Stark was the sight: Daniel and Jack were within contact distance and neither knew it. To keep them apart seemed a cosmic crime.
It was a cosmic crime.
"I'll take care of the men," Sam whispered, barely a breath and still shaking with rage. "You get to Jack and Daniel. Start triage while I head our black tops team off before they can retaliate."
Hughes nodded.
As Sam moved into position, she took a moment to heed a prickle in her gut. The three men lounged without fear or guard post. They hadn't even blindfolded their prisoners. The whole thing was laisse faire.
Assured.
Sam brought her zat gun to eye level. Slipping behind a tree, she took out all three men in the span of a breath. They never knew what hit them.
Just like that.
While Hughes expertly sutured the bullet wound, cutting a hole out of Daniel's pants, Sam knelt and cupped Jack's face. Her thumb lowered his eyelid.
His eyes barely reacted to the sudden fire light. He looked even worse up close, each pulse beat slow and uneven.
Hesitant, almost as if his heart was giving up the fight.
"Sir?" Sam tapped his cheek. "Sir…Jack?"
Jack responded to the use of his name. He narrowed his eyes. "Who's there?"
Sam swallowed. She'd been warned by Carolyn about the drug's attack on O'Neill's primary senses. Even now it was making its way to his vital organs.
"I am, sir. It's Sam."
"Carter?" Jack glanced around. It was maddening. "I can't…gotta find…"
"We're taking you home," Sam soothed. "Whatever you're searching for, it's over."
Jack suddenly stiffened, from his fingernails down to his ankles. "No. Ackman."
"Ackman?" Sam drew back. "Like the psychiatr—"
Jack had seen it first.
Sam twisted around, following the general's eyes, and came face-to-face with the loaded end of a Glock.
Gone was the bashful intern.
Hughes stood unflinching.
If someone asked Sam fifty years from now what was the most chilling sight she'd ever seen, she would answer Steel Hughes' flinty gaze when it came to rest upon her face in concert with the gun's barrel.
There wasn't an ounce of hope left in that face. He had that false calm of desperation, the inability to get attached that came across as confidence.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked softly. "Put the gun down, Hughes."
"I'm sorry, Colonel. This isn't about you. It never was."
Sam tried to make sense of this twist.
"My fight isn't with you," said Steel. He kicked the zat out of her hand and it skittered towards the fire. "I just needed you to bring me here. Please give me your remote DHD."
Sam's brows pulled low, a storm cloud over the horizon of her anguished gaze. "Then who is your grievance with? Jack?"
Hughes shook his head. "Please give me the DHD."
"No."
Steel aimed the gun at Daniel's head.
Sam was surprised to feel tears sting her eyes. "You sent us to that planet, two years ago. You drugged General O'Neill."
Even more surprising were the tears that spilled over Steel's eyes. "No one else was supposed to get hurt. I'm sorry about how Vala died, and Colonel Mitchell lost his legs."
His gun lowered.
At first Sam felt a stirring of optimism. Maybe he was coming around!
Then she heard a grunt behind her and cursed herself for not binding the three men.
"Say goodbye to your friends," Hughes whispered.
The last thing Sam saw before a jolt knocked her to the ground was Jack, eyes still searching.
