"There is no need to be so dramatic, General. Just leave whatever weapons you stole from my man where you are, come out with your hands up, and no harm will come to her," Malcolm said into his radio reasonably.

"Don't do it Jack!" she yelled out. "Get out of here."

"Be quiet," he snapped. With the hand still gripping her arm he shoved her down. Unprepared she went tumbling to the ground knocking and fell hard onto one of her shoulders which screamed in protest as she tried to shift her weight off of it. She shook her pounding head and looked up at Malcolm, silhouetted against the sun, who was now gripping his pistol in both hands and pointing it at her head.

Jack was watching through the scope as Barrett almost carelessly pushed Sam down and away and watched her crumple to the ground. He could see the look of pain that crossed her face. He felt the world go red and he felt his blood boil at the instant fury that engulfed him. There was yelling and it might have been him. He wanted to throw the rifle, run into the clearing and rip the other man limb from limb for hurting her. He would bury his fist into his face over and over and over.

He seized control back by his fingertips, before it completely deserted him.

He focused back through the scope and saw that Barrett had the pistol pointed at Sam's head now as she lay still in a heap on the ground. Sam, think of Sam, he told himself as he sucked in a breath. If he simply ran out there there was a good chance that Barrett would kill her, and he couldn't live with that.

Malcolm looked at the gun in his hand and he looked at her. "Sam?" he asked uncertainly, a flicker of warmth flashed in his hard cold eyes.

"Malcolm," she said urgently. "Malcolm it's me, Sam. I know you're still in there somewhere. You don't have to do this. Fight it!"

His hands trembled for a second on the grip of the pistol and he twisted his head to the side.

Jack's voice was yelling out of the radio. "Barrett! Barrett!"

"Malcolm, remember, we're friends. The Trust are lying. You don't work for them," Sam tried again.

Confusion and pain were etched in his features. "I don't," he whispered. "I can't."

"You can, you can walk away. Just us go, help us and we'll all walk away together."

His hands shook harder and he rubbed his face frantically, still pointing the gun at Sam. "No, no!" he said his voice tight.

"Just drop the gun Malcolm," she said, forcing her voice to remain calm.

"Stop!" he yelled, and Sam wasn't sure if he was talking to her, or to whatever battle was raging inside his mind. His finger tightened on the trigger.

"Malcolm don't do this!" she tried one more time.

There was a sound from the forest, he swung the gun wide, frantically peering into the trees.

"What are you planning, O'Neill?" he shouted out. "If you care about her don't try anything." He was sweeping the gun back and forth and Sam couldn't help but think something in his mind had finally snapped.

He swept it towards her again, yelling "O'Neill!" He took a step backwards, stumbled, his hand flew up and the sound of a shot echoed in the clearing.

Once before a shot had shattered Jack's life into a thousand pieces. It was also the last time he could remember being completely and utterly terrified. It seized him now, the dread, the needing to know but at the same time wanting desperately not to know. Because what if it had happened again? What if he had lost the one person who now meant more to him than anyone else? The one who he had spent the last six years thinking and dreaming about. The one for whom he'd rather die than lose.

He couldn't tell what was going on. He could see Sam talking, and then Barret had started waving his pistol around, towards the forest, then inches from Sam's head. Jack heard the agent yelling. He couldn't just shoot him, as much as he wanted to. Not with Sam's life in the line of fire. He would just walk out there but he had no guarantee that Sam would be okay if he did.

Barret had stepped in front of Sam, and Jack heard the gun go off. Then everything was black and he hadn't even realized it was because he had squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He forced them open. He had to know. Malcolm had somehow ended up on the ground and there was Sam, still partially upright, but even at this distance he could see the blood beginning to pool under her leg. Relief slammed into him, almost knocking the air out of his lungs filled with a return of the fury, even greater than before. While last time it had burned white hot, this time it was cold and deliberate. The desire to rip the other man apart was still there, but while before it would have been a reaction, this time it would be revenge.

Sam heard the sound, but it took her mind a long moment to catch up to the fact that she was the one who had been shot. Malcolm had shot her. A second later her brain registered the pain that was shooting fire up her leg and she gasped out loud.

She was able to twist her head enough to see the blossom of blood that was quickly soaking through her jeans halfway up her thigh. Instinct wanted to carry her hands to put pressure on it to stem the flow but they were still firmly zip tied behind her back.

Her head was swimming and she gritted her teeth trying to fight for her hold on consciousness. The pain throbbed with every breath she took. She shut her eyes, took several shallow breaths and tried to keep the world from sliding out underneath her.

She heard Jack's voice over the radio. It had fallen out of Malcolm's pocket and was now lying on the ground a foot from her legs. His voice was muffled but she could still make it out. "You shouldn't have done that. I told you not to hurt her." She had expected him to yell and rage, but his voice was deadly calm, and sharp as a dagger. It was enough to send a chill up her spine.

"Jack," she whispered.