To Thine Own Self Be True

by Sashet

This is my take on what happened to Jack during his 4 months in Iraq. Be warned this story contains bad language and scenes of extreme violence, torture and rape. Don't say I didn't warn you. A million thanks to Dr D for living it with me. This one is fo

2. The Rescue

When I feel myself fading, I close my eyes and realize that my friends are my energy.
Anon

Jack looked up as the cell door swung open, two new Iraqis dressed in all black military fatigues entered his room.

"Kef Men Fadlek." (Stand Please)

The polite wording and the soft tone used made it more of a request than an order and was certainly not what Jack had become used to over the past few months.

Carefully he stood, trying to keep as much weight as he could off his bad leg and allowed himself to be led from his cell back into the dank, dark hallways and corridors that he had come to know so well.

He limped heavily, the sweat breaking on his forehead despite the chill of the prison. He had to stop every few steps to catch his breath and push away the pain from his leg. The guards never rushed him, waiting patiently until he was ready to go on and then falling back into step beside him. They never spoke, but that suited Jack, he needed all his energy and all his thoughts to keep putting one leg in front of the other.

They passed several other prisoners, all of whom looked at Jack with a sadness borne from the knowledge of what the men in black represented, Jack, lost in his own world, never noticed.

It was probably for the best.

Their destination was the shower block and Jack was glad to be finally allowed to stop, he gratefully accepted the chair thrust in his direction. As the pain in his leg decreased to a manageable level and his breathing returned to normal he began to wonder what this latest trip was all about. He had never been treated this way before, the food, the rest, the medical care maybe they all meant something. Maybe they meant that he might be on his way out of this nightmare.

He wanted to believe that, so he allowed himself to believe that until he saw the one sight that dashed those hopes onto the rocks of despair.

Kamil.

Kamil strode purposefully to the two black-clad guards and engaged them in a quiet conversation. Jack had no idea what was being said but Kamil was punctuating his conversation with a lot of grand gestures, which seemed to have the desired effect as eventually the two guards strode away, albeit a little reluctantly.

Jack and Kamil were now the only people in the shower block - not a situation that Jack relished. As Kamil came towards him he pushed himself upright in the chair, unconsciously dropping his cuffed hands in front of his groin. He hid his disgust and fear behind a mask of calm indifference.

"Hi Camille, how's tricks?" His voice was steady.

"Hello Jonathon, it is good to see you looking so well."

"Well you know the room service leaves a lot to be desired and there's not much of a view but apart from that.."

Jack left the sentence unfinished and gave Kamil a weak smile.

Kamil was beside him now and, despite his best efforts, Jack's body shuddered slightly when the all too familiar smells assaulted him again.

He had wanted to be strong, to show Kamil that he wasn't afraid of him, that he may have raped his body but he hadn't raped his mind. His body may have betrayed him but his mind was still strong, in fact, thanks to Kamil, it was stronger now than it had been for a long time. He drew in a deep breath, the air filled with the pungent aroma of cologne, spicy food and cigarettes.

"You know Camille, I should have told you this before. That cologne is SO seventies, and all those cigarettes, they'll kill you in the end. Unless I do first."

Jack kept his voice even, the threat sounded just a little hollow given his current predicament, but he said it anyway.

Kamil pushed Jack back against the chair by his shoulders, his face just inches from Jacks.

Jack squirmed uncomfortably, torn between using his hands to try and push Kamil away and leaving them to protect his most vulnerable areas. He decided just for now they were better off where they were. Kamil leant in even closer.

"I have come to say goodbye Jonathon, for I fear we will not see each other again."

"Gee, got somewhere else to be. Well don't let me keep you."

"I will miss you Jonathon, you were to have been my greatest triumph and now you are my greatest loss."

Before Jack could form a witty answer Kamil had sealed his lips over Jack's in a searing embrace. Jack, with his head pressed against the back of the chair, had nowhere to go as Kamil held his head in his hands and kissed him long and hard.

Jack was momentarily stunned and then, as he tried to react, lifting his hands from his lap to push Kamil away, the silence was shattered by a single gunshot and Jack found himself covered in what was left of Kamil's brains.

The lifeless body slumped towards him and he pushed it away watching with a strangely detached air as it fell to the ground, the cold unresponsive eyes holding him still with their piercing stare. Jack had seen men die before, hell he had even sent more than a few to their death himself, but this time it was like he wasn't really there, like he was watching it from afar.

The smells of death mingled with the smells of Kamil and his stomach churned threatening to return his last meal. He swallowed deeply, closing his eyes against the sight before him, pushing back his feelings of relief and regret.

"I'm sorry that I had to do that, but I had told him to leave you alone. What I say I mean."

Jack opened his eyes to see the owner of the quiet, cultivated voice. It was the gray-haired man with the steel-rimmed spectacles, he still held the smoking automatic pistol in his hand.

"Thank you." Jack's voice, calm and collected amid the scenes of horror and death.

The gray-haired man said nothing, without holstering the pistol he turned and walked away. Outside, another single gunshot rang out as he shot one of his lieutenants in the head.

The price for disobeying him was death.

The remaining Fedayeen guard took Jack to the showers took the splint off his knee and pushed him into the cold spray. Picking up the small scrap of soap, Jack set about the task of washing the death of Kamil, the stench of the prison and the grime of himself from his body. The jets of cold water were like needles against his skin, like millions of tiny shards of glass were being ground into his flesh. Jack grimaced as the jets pummeled his heavily scarred back, setting the nerve endings screaming.

The agony ended and this time Jack was thrown a small rough towel to dry himself with, not an easy task in handcuffs. The rough cloth on his skin sent further pain flaring through his body, especially when he touched his swollen, broken ribs. By the time he was dry he was sweating again and his knee was aching furiously.

The guards, now replenished in numbers, helped him back to the chair where this time his head as well as his beard was shaved. It was the same prisoner as before, and his hand still shook, leaving Jack not only with cuts on his face but also several deep gashes on his head.

They led Jack away to a part of the prison he had not seen before. It was soon to be a part he wished he had never seen.

The room was larger than all the others he had been kept in, it needed to be to accommodate all the gray-haired man's favored means of torture.

On the floor was a large square metal frame, in one corner was an industrial battery surrounded by wires and jump cables. Jack shuddered at the sight and swallowed hard, he knew what they were for.

Jack tried to resist the guards' attempts to push him to the floor, but they were ruthlessly efficient and highly trained. They clubbed him unconscious with ease.

They undid the handcuffs and, using nylon ropes tightly bound to his wrists and ankles, secured him to the four corners of the frame. He was splayed, spread-eagled, his limbs extended outward by the taut ropes. He was utterly defenseless and when he awoke and realized that, the gray-haired man would begin.

He expected that the realization of his defenselessness would begin the psychological game, a game that he was sure would end in Major O'Neill's confession and ultimately his death.

Jack woke slowly, not wanting to open his eyes, not wanting to know what horrors awaited him. He thought he might have been getting out of here, now he knew that was never going to happen.

The pain is his extended limbs forced him to open his eyes, a gray ceiling filled his vision, he turned his head slowly from side to side, the movement sending waves of nausea rolling in. He tried to swallow it down and was mostly successful, small amounts of vomit escaping his lips and falling onto his outstretched arm. The sound of his retching must have alerted the guards that he was awake as he heard footsteps and then he heard a cry of pain.

The cry of pain came from him as the guards, using a series of pulleys, lifted the frame from the floor. The tension of the nylon rope lifted Jack, his body weight supported by his tightly bound ankles and wrists.

He was in agony now, his limbs hyper-extended, his arms straining in their sockets, his knee felt like it was being pulled apart and his ribs burned with an intensity that he had never felt before. He felt more than heard the last of the stitches in his back rip apart under the tension, the warm trickles of blood seeping from them to drip onto the stone floor.

Shit... now I'm in trouble.

The gray-haired man in the steel-rimmed glasses appeared in his line of vision. When he spoke his English was perfect, with just the hint of a mid- Atlantic accent, like that found in so many people who have learnt their English from tapes and television.

"They tell me you haven't been co-operating."

"No? What's the matter – did I bleed on the wrong bit of floor?"

Jack was determined that, while he still could, he would fight and words were all he had left to fight with.

The gray-haired man seemed unimpressed – he had seen it all before. He had seen many, many men so full of defiance in the beginning, begging to die in the end. He was sure that this would be just one more.

He crossed to Jack and pulled a long bladed hunting knife from his belt, without words he made a small slice in Jack's right side and then repeated the action on his left. The skin and the fascia beneath immediately sheared, pulled apart by the tension of the ropes.

Jack screamed, the gray-haired man smiled, the guards lifted the frame another notch higher.

The torsion of the position made breathing extraordinarily difficult requiring a tremendous exertion for Jack to arch his chest and extend his diaphragm, made worse by his broken ribs. With every breath the tension on his straining limbs seemed to worsen, blood began to drip from his wrists were the nylon rope had broken the fragile tissue-thin skin.

The gray-haired man was speaking now, Jack struggled to hear his words, concentrating as he was on pushing away the pain and drawing another breath into his tortured lungs.

He didn't care what the man was saying, what he wanted, what he was asking. He wasn't going to tell him anything, ever.

With a great effort Jack recited his mantra.

"O'Neill Jonathon Major," a pause to draw another breath, "United States Air Force," another pause "66 789 7876 324."

By now Jack was gasping for breath as the pressure on his chest made every breath a battle, a battle he had to keep on fighting, a battle he had to keep on winning.

Blood ran freely from the cuts in his side, from his back and his wrists staining the floor beneath him with a river of crimson life.

The gray-haired man stood right in front of Jack, his face an impassive mask as he watched the man beneath him struggle not to cry out with the pain, struggle not to let the helplessness of his situation overwhelm him, struggle for every breath.

"Do you think you are a hero Major? A hero for your God, your country, your ideals? Let me tell you something, you are not a hero you are just a sad misguided man, a sacrificial puppet in a much bigger game. I will show you that you are nothing, nobody, just a dupe of the Imperialist aggressors who even now try to destroy our way of life. A way of life that is centuries old, older than anything you can ever imagine, it is as old as time itself. Many have tried to change us, to mould us to their ways but we have stood firm, we have resisted, Allah has held us in the care of his embrace and we have survived. You will not defeat us Major, you will not defeat me."

"You're full of shit." Jack growled, the lines of pain on his face deepening with the effort of talking.

"If you resist me Major, I can and I will ensure that nobody ever learns of it. Your bravery, your heroics, your pain will all have been for nothing. Look into my eyes Major and believe me when I tell you that I am the balance of judgement, do not be found wanting."

The dark pools of the gray-haired man's eyes gleamed behind his glasses as he stared intently at Jack. Jack thought that he could feel those eyes burrowing down through him into his soul, into his essence, into every fibre of his body. He thought that perhaps he was in the hands of some delusional madman but, as his eyes burnt through him, laying him bare, exposing who he was, he knew it was worse than that. He was sane, all too sane, too in control of his actions and their consequences.

Jack knew with a cold dread certainty that this man meant what he said, and that he would do whatever he felt necessary to get the answers, to get the desired result, to get his death. All Jack could do was to make it as hard as possible for him to reach his goals. He would cling to every breath and fight for every breath and treasure every breath until he no longer had a life to fight for.

The Fedayeen officer spoke once more, his voice low and calm, evil flowed in every word.

"I know you think you are a brave man, I know you have a high tolerance for pain and suffering. Perhaps you would like me to test how high, like an ... experiment? Or will you tell me what I want to know? Ask yourself that question."

Jack shuddered inwardly, his insides churning at the thoughts of what might be to come, somehow he fought down the rising panic, the feeling of pure cold fear, the realization of his own mortality. Fighting for each breath over the rising tide of agony spreading through his limbs, he fixed his gaze on his tormentor.

"Is talking me to death the torture or should we get down to business?"

The effort of forcing the words out left Jack gasping, his hyper-extended chest barley able to drag the air through his lungs. He felt like a great weight was pressing down on him, squeezing the life from him, whilst cruelly allowing him just enough respite to prolong the inevitable.

The gray-haired man smiled once more.

"I think you need time to think Major, to decide on the course of the rest of your life."

He was walking away from Jack as he spoke. Bound and suspended as he was, Jack couldn't move to watch him, he was just left to wonder as he heard the sounds of searching from somewhere behind his head.

The calm, calculating, evil voice continued, rising in tone just enough to compensate for the noise of his searching.

"Pain is not the same as torture. You will learn the difference between pain and torture Major."

He was back in front of Jack now, his arms behind him, holding something hiding something. He looked at Jack, his face expressionless.

"This is not torture, this is just pain."

With those words he produced a cattle prod from behind his back and activated it.

Jack's eyes widen in horror as the Fedayeen officer approached him, the cattle prod crackled in his hand. The knowledge of what was to come made Jack's flesh go cold and, despite the tight restraints, he shivered slightly. He found his mouth was suddenly dry as he fought down his rising dread.

Jack O'Neill Major United States Air Force Jack O'Neill Major United States Air Force

The thoughts did nothing to dim the panic, the fear and ultimately the excruciating agony as the cattle prod was held against his penis.

For just an instant Jack felt nothing, and then the agony spread from his groin, running wildly along his nerves and through his muscles. It spread like wildfire leaving no part of him untouched. Despite the tight hold of the ropes that bound him to the frame, he managed to rip more skin from his wrists and ankles as his body jerked with the pain. He had never felt anything like it, the pain was worse than anything Kamil had ever inflicted on him and he couldn't hold back the cry that spilled from his lips.

Even after the cattle prod was removed he could feel the decreasing jolts of energy setting his muscles quivering and making him gasp for breath. He had squeezed his eyes shut as if that would somehow make it all hurt a little bit less, of course it hadn't and when he opened his eyes it all started again.

The man in black, the crackle of electricity, the moment of nothing and then the mushrooming explosion of pure agony.

Oh God

Sara !

In Jack's mind she enveloped him in her arms at the precise moment the pain enveloped him.

Jack passed out without ever realizing that her name was on his lips as he did so.

The Fedayeen officer turned off the cattle prod, smiling as he did so, he now had something he could use to help him break the American.

Jack's slow return to consciousness was accompanied by what he was sure was popular US chart music and American voices. He was confused, the last thing he remembered was a crazy Iraqi with a cattle prod and pain like nothing he had ever experienced before, but now he could hear music and voices.

Had he been rescued?

Was he now somewhere safe, away from the questions and the pain?

Would he soon be going home?

The only way he was going to find the answers to the questions in his mind was to open his eyes and see what was happening.

So he did.

The sight that greeted him made him want to cry with joy and relief. Two young soldiers in the uniform of an army infantry unit stood just to one side of him. They were drinking beer and laughing over some private joke.

Jack felt detached, distant and estranged from his surroundings, like he was looking in through a frosted glass window. He chose not to remember or notice that, although his breathing was easier, he was still a prisoner, still bound, still naked and helpless in a dark underground cell. He didn't seem to care that while he had been unconscious a cannula had been inserted into the main vein of his arm and that even now a clear liquid was steadily being introduced to his system.

All he cared about was getting the attention of the two soldiers and getting a beer.

"Hey soldier." He called a little weakly. There was no response, the music kept on playing and the soldiers kept on talking.

"Hey, soldier, over here." This time louder. The soldiers looked up as if noticing Jack for the first time, they crossed to his side and threw half- hearted salutes before swigging once more on their beers.

"Hey Major how ya doin?" The soldier's accent and mannerisms were perfect.

They should be, he came from a small town in Middle America and had spent time in the US military before deciding to throw his lot in with those who paid the most and becoming a soldier of fortune.

"Me and my buddy here, we're just enjoy a beer, blowin' off a little steam. Ya know, celebrating the end of the war and all." He swigged again at his beer and his buddy nodding in agreement, slapped him on the back and downed the last of his drink.

"You want a beer Major, I'm sure I can find ya one round here somewhere."

Jack couldn't believe his eyes and ears, he blinked several times and looked around him as far as was possible. No signs of anything other than the two soldiers, some loud pop music and a crate of beer.

Feel strange Strong and yet weak Invulnerable and yet helpless Distant and yet here

What's happening to me?

One of the soldiers was right beside him now, an unopened beer in his hand.

"You are Major Jonathon O'Neill right? One of those flyboys out of Elgin – right?" He turned to his friend. "See I told you it was him, I knew he was a flyboy. That's 10 bucks you owe me!"

Jack's speech was beginning to slur as the drug being pushed into his arm took a stronger and stronger grip on his weakened and abused body.

"I'm O'Neill, but give me a beer and you can call me Jack."

He was now so drawn into the illusion before him that it became his reality.

He would have a couple of beers and then he would go home.

"OK Jack, I'll give you a beer if you tell me what you did in the war, if you tell me why you murdered innocent people, farmers, women, children. Why did you do it Jack... why?

In a darkened corner of the cell the Fedayeen officer looked up from the eyepiece of a tripod mounted video camera. The camera was trained on Jack and had been recording everything since he regained consciousness. The gray- haired man was certain that if Jack didn't confess to everything he wanted him to, didn't make the right statements then he would still have enough footage to 'manufacture' whatever he needed.

Jack was trying to convince the soldiers of his innocence, telling them over and over that he hadn't done the things that they were accusing him off. They just didn't seem to want to listen, asking him again and again what... why... where until he wasn't sure himself anymore.

His vision was becoming distorted and his speech was slurring badly, his mood seemed changeable, one minute he was glad to be helping his fellow soldiers, telling them whatever they wanted. The next he was paranoid and suspicious, telling them nothing. His respiration had become shallow and his face was flushed. To Jack it felt like he was drunk, although he never remembered getting the beer he kept asking for.

Wow – I'm smashed Shouldn't drink on an empty stomach

Sara will be mad at me when I get back

God - I feel so tired

Jack's thoughts and answers were becoming just a random jumble of words and phrases as the drug finally pushed his mind and body too far and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

"Thank you gentlemen." The Fedayeen officer approached the two soldiers of fortune, stopping to turn off the music as he did so. "I think that one more dose should do it, if you will come with me I'll tell you what I want to know."

The three left the cell, leaving the naked, helpless and now drugged man, alone but for the red recording light of the video camera.

Jack woke briefly, his head throbbed and he had a raging thirst. He was once more aware of the pain in his limbs, the aching in his leg and his chest. Once more he knew he was in hell. He didn't remember the soldiers and their questions and he certainly didn't remember anything he might have told them.

Pain, thirst, drugs, sleep.

The soldiers were back in place and the music was playing again as the gray- haired man hung a fresh bag of Phencyclidine behind Jack's head and squeezed the bag hard forcing the drug back into his body.

"Time to wake up our guest. You know what you have to do?"

They nodded and the Iraqi took a small syringe from his pocket. He plunged the needle directly into the heart muscle allowing the action of the organ to push the adrenaline quickly round Jack's body.

Within a few moments Jack's eyes suddenly shot open and the illusion began again.

The questions this time were about home, about America, about his family and his friends. They asked about his beliefs, his religion, his politics, his favorite football team, his favorite food.

As far as Jack knew he was just shooting the breeze with his buddies, talking about the same things that all guys talk about.

He told them about growing up in Minnesota, about going fishing, about Sara and Charlie and about his best buddy Frank. He told them God and he had an understanding in which they each left the other alone, he said he hated football but loved ice hockey and his favorite food was ice cream.

He told them he felt hot, that he was sweating and that he was having trouble breathing, they told him he was drunk. They told him they would look after him and take him home.

They asked him to denounce his President, his Commander-In-Chief, to say that the war against Saddam had been a terrible mistake and that they should have left well alone.

Jack wanted to agree with them, so he could get home, get back to Sara and Charlie to the NHL and ice cream but deep, deep down somewhere in his very core something was telling him that this was wrong, so very, very wrong.

The strange feelings of being there but not there, being strong and yet weak, being sane and yet insane returned. He couldn't remember the questions, couldn't remember the answers, couldn't remember seeing the soldiers before, couldn't remember who he was.

Can't tell you anything What...?

Don't know anything

Why...? Can't remember anything Who...?

"NO." His voice was slurred but the meaning was clear. "I won't do it, I won't say it. You can't make me. I'll kill you all!"

Jack's mood swung from defiant to scared, his voice from commanding to cracking, his body from strong to weak.

"Please don't... I'll say anything you want, just make it stop...Please."

He suddenly felt sick as the world around him started to spin wildly. His blood pressure, pulse and respiration all started to fall. He couldn't hold back the wave of nausea and with a loud groan he vomited, the smell making him heave and retch until there were nothing but dry coughs left.

Through blurred vision he saw the gray-haired man standing with the soldiers and his last conscious thought was that it had all been a trick, a trick that he had fallen for.

The Fedayeen officer knew that Jack's last realization had been that this reality he had tried to create was just a sham. He would have to try another way to get him to denounce his way of life, but that was all right he had plenty of other methods.

"My thanks again gentlemen, but now I think your work here is done. Let's get out of here, go to my quarters and conclude our business."

********

The gray-haired man returned some time later, he wasn't surprised to find that Jack was still unconscious. He took the now empty bag of PCP from behind him and replaced it with a fresh bag. This one contained a cocktail of drugs: naltrexone an opiate antagonist, dexmethylphenidate, atomoxetine and adrafinil all psycho stimulants. The combination was of his own making and he was sure that it would allow him to show Jack exactly what torture was all about.

He changed the tape in the video camera, there was no way he wanted to miss a single second of what was to follow, as he tortured, broke and finally killed his hapless, helpless, lost victim.

He summoned his lieutenants, they raised the frame supporting Jack, once again putting the strain back on his chest and lungs, then they wheeled the industrial battery closer and stood back waiting.

Everything was in place and with another shot of adrenaline directly into his heart muscle Jack was dragged back to a reality he never wanted.

Jack's return to consciousness was swift and unpleasant as the adrenaline hit his system forcing him awake with a moan of agony on his lips. He was tired and thirsty, he ached all over and once again he discovered that every breath was a battle against pain. He had a raging headache and seemed to have no memory of the time between the agony of the cattle prod and now.

"Ah, I see you are awake again. Now Jack, it is time we had a little chat."

Jack wondered how he knew to call him Jack, until now it had always been Major or Jonathon.

Did I tell him something?

Did I betray my country?

Did I betray myself? God.. why can't I remember?

Try as he might to force the memories nothing would come, there was just nothing, no images, no sounds, just a dark void of emptiness. He had no idea what if anything might have happened to him, what he might have said and done. The dark cloud of despair loomed large once more as he battled to remember something... anything.

"Now Jack, tell me what gives purpose to your life? Is it your uniform and all it stands for, is it your culture, is it the fact you believe you are free? No? Then maybe it is your wife and child, do they give meaning to your life Jack?

The dark cloud rolled closer with the sickening realization that he had given them what they wanted, he had given up his wife and son to be used against him. The two most sacred things in his life and he had sold them out, Jack felt guilty, ashamed and totally disgusted with himself.

"Fuck you" his voice was barely more than a whisper. "I'll tell you nothing."

"Jack, you have already told me everything, now ... well now this is just for fun."

Have I?

Jack locked eyes with the Iraqi, he thought he saw the briefest flicker of doubt in his eyes. Maybe his suspicion was right, he had told him something but not everything. Jack saw he had lied, he had won that battle but the war was far from over.

The gray-haired man cleaned his spectacles and replaced them, looking at Jack as if seeing him for the first time. Jack refused to look away and held his eyes, glad that the dread he felt inside wasn't visible.

"Look into my eyes Jack and tell me what I want."

"O'Neill. Jonathon. Major. United States Air Force. 66 789 7876 324."

"No Jack... tell me the purpose to your life."

"O'Neill. Jonathon. Major. United States Air Force. 66 789 7876 324."

Jack stubbornly forced the words out, past the pain in his limbs, the pain in his chest, the pain in his heart.

The gray-haired man walked to the battery and picked up a set of electrodes. Jack tried hard not to show his fear as the guards forced his mouth open and the electrodes were attached to his teeth.

The pain was incredible, it was as if a series of bombs were going off in Jack's head. His body jerked time and again against the restraints, which were now slick with his blood.

He could taste blood in his mouth where he had bitten himself in a futile attempt to stop the pain.

I can do this I have to do this Deal with it DEAL WITH IT !

The drugs were starting to work, intensifying every sensation and, with the second jolt of electricity, Jack's body once more jerked against the restraints as the cries of agony fell from his lips.

"You are alone now Jack. All alone. If you think you are a hero then you must act like a hero, you must rely on yourself for you have no one else. No one at all."

Another blast of electricity, another scream of agony, another tiny part of a man's soul ripped apart.

Even after the power was cut and the electrodes removed Jack's body twitched and shuddered from its effects. He could hardly breath through the pain, which he could feel in every cell, eating away at him, draining him, draining his Will.

"I told you Jack that I would show you the difference between pain and torture. I think now is a good time to begin."

Despite the pain he was in Jack summoned the strength to recite his mantra again - it gave him some comfort, some strength, even some hope. It gave him something to think about other than the pain and the fear.

"O'Neill. Jonathon. Major. United States Air Force. 66 789 7876 324."

"Now Jack, we already know who you are, or rather who you were. Now you are nothing, you have gone from hero to zero. Nobody cares anymore Jack, nobody will come to save you Jack, you can not even save yourself."

"They WILL come and then you'll be sorry." Jack hoped he sounded more defiant than he felt.

The gray-haired man was pacing back and forth in front of Jack, hands clasped behind his back as if giving some important speech. He acted as if Jack had never spoken.

"Do you know that pain is not the same as torture? Torture requires an element of human intention. The experience of torture, you see, requires not only the intention to inflict pain. It also requires that the subject of the torture recognizes that intention."

He was warming to his subject now and as he spoke he absently fiddled with the leads and wires attached to the nearby battery, finally settling on a string of small electrodes.

He passed them from hand to hand as he spoke, allowing Jack just glimpses of what was to come.

"You must recognize my intention to cause pain. To be very precise, and I am always very precise, you must recognize that I intend you to recognize that I intend to cause you pain. Would you say you and I have done this Jack?"

"What?" Jack tried to act dumb, in fact he knew exactly what his torturer meant and he was right, knowing that pain and torture were on the way just increased the expectations, increased the fear, increased Jack's feelings of helplessness.

The officer needed no words as he handed the string of electrodes to his aides.

With an unnecessary callousness one of the guards picked up a short metal pipe and drove it hard into Jacks' side. Another rib shattered and as Jack opened his mouth to scream they forced him to swallow the string of electrodes.

When the electrodes did their job it was as if Jack's insides were being ripped apart by a thousand pieces of glass.

To Jack the pain was so horrific that he couldn't even scream, in fact he couldn't make any sound at all. His body went into convulsions and he vomited, almost choking as he did so. His body failed him and he urinated and worse over his defenseless form.

His insides felt like one single horrible wound, he didn't know that he could stand pain like this. He prayed for unconsciousness but it never came.

Another shot, more convulsions, more vomit though now it was stained with blood. More pain than his body should have taken. Still the relief of unconsciousness eluded him, the drugs flowing through his veins made sure of that.

He tried to close his mind to the agony, to find comfort in thoughts of Sara and Charlie, but the pain drove them from his mind as he fought to think about just drawing another breath.

Then, mercifully it was over, the electrodes were removed causing him to choke and cough. The coughing racked his body, which still shuddered and twitched from the aftershocks, it left him with a raging thirst.

The gray-haired man looked at Jack, surprised to still see defiance behind the pain that reflected back from his brown eyes. He knew that he hadn't yet broken him, although many men before had begged to sign, to confess, to die after the torture Jack had been through.

Inwardly he was impressed, outwardly his face was an emotionless blank.

"Are you surprised how much pain you are capable of surviving? Are you wondering how your consciousness can even contain suffering of this magnitude?"

Jack stared silently back at him.

Jack O'Neill Major United States Air Force For my country For my family For myself ! I will not break I WILL NOT BREAK again?

His thoughts battled with the pain, giving him just a little more hope, just a little more strength, just a little more belief.

"The body is really no different than it was thousands of years ago, but now our evolving understanding of neurochemistry is really quite valuable. Ordinarily the body has the equivalent of a safety valve, when the pain reaches a certain level, unconsciousness occurs."

Smiling a smile that never quite reached his eyes he joked, "Do you know how much that used to, how would you Americans say, piss me off?"

"No? No matter. But now thanks to chemistry the whole game has changed. Have you wondered what is in the drip?"

Despite himself Jack reacted, turning his head slightly to watch the clear liquid running into his body. Even this simple movement sent shock waves of pain through him. Once more he set off coughing, this time it produced a trail of blood stained spit. His newly broken rib had splintered causing internal damage and bleeding and Jack was sure he could feel the sharp edge of the bone against his skin with every breath he took.

"It's a substance called Naltrexone, it's an opiate antagonist, it blocks the natural painkillers in your brain, so the limits of pain can be pushed past. Just think Jack, because of this drip you can experience levels of pain that the human body was never meant to know. What I like most about this Jack is that I don't know what the limit of your pain will be and all that stops me from finding out is my own level of patience. I think you will find Jack, that I am a very patient man."

"You also talk too much." Jack grumbled before the effort of speaking set him coughing and gasping for breath once more.

"Good, very good. Soon though you will yearn and beg for unconsciousness, but the drip also contains potent psycho stimulants – a combination of my own making, dexmethylphenidate, atomoxetine and adrafinil – which will keep you maximally alert indefinitely. You won't miss anything."

He smiled again as if pleased with himself. The end maybe drawing near but he fully intended to get every ounce of pleasure, every ounce of pride, every ounce of pain available.

"I know you think you've experienced agony beyond endurance, beyond comprehension. But I can increase it tenfold, a thousand fold! What you have experienced so far is nothing at all, compared to what lies ahead. Are you ready Jack, are you ready to suffer and die for what you believe in?"

Jack had had enough of listening to the man in black. If he was going to kill him then fine, but just get on with it.

The drugs were really beginning to work now, allowing Jack to feel everything, every breath, every beat of his heart, every drop of blood in his veins. It was like he could feel every cut, every bruise, every scar, every violation inflicted on him since that first day in Tarasha. The feelings overwhelmed him, causing him to look once more to the sanctuary of his mind.

Sara? Charlie?

They came to his call They came to his side

We're here they said We will always be here Just hang on We'll always be here

They were as he remembered – young and beautiful, happy and free, waiting, waiting for him to come home to them.

He couldn't fail them – could he?

"The purpose of my life is to rid the world of scum like you." Jack struggled over the pain to force the words out.

The gray-haired man just smiled and turned away as his guards, too well practiced in their actions, started unraveling the thin wires from the battery.

Using alligator clips they attached the wires to Jack's feet, his hands, the skin of his stomach, his ears and his nipples.

Oh God no This can't be happ...

The first jolt of electricity slammed into his body stopping his thoughts dead. His body lifted against the restraints tearing yet more skin from his ankles and wrists. The drugs amplified every sensation; it was as if he could feel the electricity in his veins, his muscles, even in his bones. The cry that came from his lips was like the wail of a dying animal.

Jack was so immersed in his own world of pain that he hardly registered the low rumbling and the slight tremor in the ground as somewhere high above him the liberation of his hell began.

Another bolt of electricity, another cry of pain.

Blood formed at the corners of Jack's mouth as he struggled for breath.

Then suddenly there was nothing, nothing but the silence of the room, the rasping breaths of a dying man and the low rumble of his salvation.

The gray-haired man and his guards, aware of the bombing going on above them, left quickly.

Jack was alone, alone with his pain. His body was still shaking slightly from the effects of the last bout of torture. His mind couldn't properly handle the sensations he was feeling, too much pain, too much confusion. He tried to take some deep breaths, thinking they would help him box the pain away, they didn't. The effort set him coughing again, his broken rib blazing like a fire in his side, blood seeping from his nose and mouth and the pain....

Boy the pain!

As suddenly as they had gone, his three antagonists were back again.

They moved the alligator clips.

This time as well as nipples, his gums, his nose, over his heart and his penis felt the biting sting of the clips.

They taped an electrode to each temple.

Jack knew what was coming, he had been there before.

His body was still reacting to the last onslaught and he was scared, really sacred, of what another attack would do to him.

He looked into the blank emotionless eyes of his captor and knew then that he was never going to get out of this hell alive. He was just the plaything of a delusional madman, who would torture him until he died.

As the next bolt of electricity lifted his helpless form and he felt every cell in his body erupting, tears formed in his eyes and Jack did what he prayed he would never do. He wept.

He felt guilty and humiliated, his body had failed him. He had put his faith in everything he had believed in, his skill, his training, his family and now that faith was finally destroyed.

He was broken.

He was lost.

He was destroyed by the pain and the humiliation.

He closed his eyes, the tears still falling from beneath the lids and for what he was sure was the last time looked for his sanctuary, his love, his hope.

In his head he saw Charlie and Sara, they were distant, fading memories and he knew that they could no longer save him , no longer help him, no longer give him the Will to live and the strength to fight.

I'm sorry I love you both... but I don't want you to see me like this This isn't me... not any more I failed myself No... worse than that, I failed you Forgive me please....please? I broke my promise I broke my word I failed I failed...

He turned from the images in his mind, walking away, alone, towards his destiny and his death.

I love you

His decision made, his destiny now firmly in his own hands, he opened his eyes and stared defiantly at the perpetrator of his living hell.

"Make me die.. there's nothing else you can make me do!"

The gray-haired man smiled obligingly.

"Akthar." (more)

For Jack every burst of electricity dragged him closer and closer to death, and now he welcomed that closeness. He had no way to turn back the relentless tide of pain and every attack drained his Will to fight.

He was lost.

Completely lost.

Death was his only escape and he willed it to come.

Above him in the clear desert sky, the US Air Force continued their attacks on the prison, now backed up by a large number of ground troops.

Jack, in his world of agony, knew nothing. His captors however, did. They knew that their time was running out, the guards at the prison walls would not be able to hold off a superior force for long.

For the Fedayeen officer it was decision time. Should he stay and finish his work, kill Jack and risk his own capture. Or should he turn tail and run, leaving the only person to ever defeat him still alive?

Well, barely alive.

One last time he turned on the battery and watched as Jack writhed under its cruel touch. Watched as he tried to scream and the pain stole his breath leaving him gasping. Watched as again his body failed him and he wept with the shame of what he was unable to stop. Urine and faeces stained his legs, blood and vomit his chest and arms. He left the charge running as he watched Jack slowly dying before his eyes, the hope and defiance he had seen was fading. Maybe he had not been defeated after all.

Another loud rumble from above and there was no time left. They had to go – now.

The gray-haired man turned off the battery and came close to Jack. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight and the smell. As he spoke his lieutenants raised the frame to a virtually upright position, effectively crucifying Jack. He wouldn't be able to force the breath into his lungs for much longer, he would die slowly, drowning in his own blood.

"I'm sorry I can't watch you die Jack but... well I've got to run. You have been, what's the word? Ah yes ... an interesting subject. Goodbye Jack, enjoy the rest of your death."

Then the three of them were gone, escaping from the cells and the prison just ahead of the advancing troops.

*********

You can not do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sanchez hurried out into the sunlight, crossing the central square of the prison and coming smartly to attention when he reached General Andrews. He waited for the General to acknowledge his salute and then, with his words tumbling out, he told the General about what he and Harriman had found.

"General Sir, We've found an American Sir, in the prison Sir."

The Generals' eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Slow down now Corporal, tell me exactly what you have found and where."

Sanchez took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts of what he had seen to the back of his mind.

"In the final sector Sir, just over there." He indicated to the door from which he had just come. "There were more cells, we found a prisoner in one of them. He's an American Sir, and he's been hurt pretty badly."

By now the General had been joined by several other ranking officers, one of whom held several sheets of computer printout. These contained information on the missing American and Allied personnel, both military and civilian.

"Does this American have a name Corporal?"

"Yes Sir, he says he is Major Jonathon O'Neill of the Air Force."

There was a few moments of silence whilst the officer consulted his computer printouts and then spoke in whispered tones to the General.

"Well done Corporal, our information tells us that Major O'Neill was reported as MIA after an ambush in the village of Tarasha over four months ago. I'll organize for an immediate medical evacuation and as for you Corporal, I think it is high time we got the Major home, don't you?"

"Yes Sir."

Sanchez saluted once more and left the coolness of the General's command post for the blazing heat of the prison yard. He crossed to where the rest of his unit were eating and relaxing, wishing above all else that he could just sit down and join them. Instead he found his pack and rummaged until he found his spare BDU pants.

"Hey Sanchez where've you been? We got done ages ago, didn't find anything worth squat though. Did you?"

Sanchez looked at the faces of his unit, many like him were just fresh- faced eager rookies.

He didn't think they needed to know about the horrors of Sijn al-Tarbout.

"No nothing really... gotta go, the Sergeant is waiting for me. I'll see you later."

Ignoring their strange looks he trotted back towards the cells.

In the General's entourage the calls were made to summon the choppers. There was a solemn air to the officers, they had seen the brutality that the Iraqis were capable of inflicting on their own, what they would have done to a Western prisoner didn't bare thinking about.

"Four months, poor bastard," one of the officers said quietly. There was a murmur of agreement and then a sad contemplative silence.

In the darkness below, Harriman and Jack waited in silence, Jack was too weak to talk and Harriman didn't know what to say. The only sound was the occasional moan from Jack as the pain swept over him in unending waves.

After Sanchez had left, Harriman had looked once more at the contents of the cell, the battery with its wires and clips, the empty stand which had held who knew what kind of drugs, the broken, battered body drifting at the edge of death.

"Bastards" he mumbled.

"Yes they were", was the quiet reply.

"Sorry Sir, didn't mean to disturb you." But Jack had once more drifted away into semi-consciousness.

Harriman took the opportunity to try and make Jack more comfortable. He took off his jacket and placed it under his head and then, using more dressings and some water, did his best to clean up the blood, vomit and other bodily waste. Occasionally Jack would be dragged back to the painful reality by a bought of coughing or by a spike of pain.

Whenever he opened his eyes Harriman was there, offering a soothing word or a precious sip of water. If this was just another trick then it was a damn good one.

Why now? Why me? What do they want from me? I have nothing left to give them Except my soul Except my honor Except.... Nothing!

A noise made Harriman look up, Sanchez had returned and was hovering by the broken remains of the door. It was as if he didn't want to cross the threshold of the cell, as if maybe by staying on the outside he could somehow make himself believe that what had seen in that cell had never been more than a twisted dream.

"Just a little longer Major, we're nearly there now."

Harriman rose from Jack's side and crossed the cell. Sanchez thrust the BDU's at him.

"They say he's been here for over four months." He whispered, casting a quick glance Jack. "Four months!"

Behind them Jack shuddered and moaned as once more the effects of the past few days made themselves known in every muscle, every fibre, every cell of his body.

"Ok Sanchez, I've got it from here." Harriman said taking the pants from his outstretched hand. "I want you to go and find Barlow and finish checking this sector."

Sanchez looked crestfallen; he had hoped that this would be the end for him, that he would never have to go back into the prison again. Another groan of pain, another moan of agony and without the need to look he knew he had to finish what he started.

How many others like Major Jonathon O'Neill were there behind the remaining locked doors?

Harriman was back at Jack's side, slowly rousing him, trying to get him awake and keep him awake.

"OK Major let's get you out of here and on your way home. You're going to have to help me though, do you think you can do that for me?"

Harriman waved the BDU's at Jack and he weakly nodded his understanding of what he was required to do. He just felt so tired, so very, very tired. If he could just close his eyes for another moment then everything would be fine, he would be fine, all the pain would stop and then....

No Not yet Not ready to die Am I?

Amid a long and protracted bought of cursing and swearing, from both men, they eventually got Jack into the BDU's. They hung loosely from him but they were better than nothing. The feel of the material against his skin felt to Jack like rough sandpaper. He had been so long without clothes and his skin was sore and sensitive from lack of food and water and from the constant beatings.

Getting 'dressed' had left him utterly drained, completely exhausted and gasping for breath. It was several minutes before he could bring his breathing under control and even think about what was still to come.

Walk Jack You need to get up and walk Now Jack Do it now Before it's too late

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Harriman put his arm out to Jack who seemed to think for a long moment before taking it. Using all of his willpower and most of his strength he did what he could to help himself up off the floor and to his feet. It took all he had and left him empty, drained and gasping once more for breath.

Coughing up blood as he fought to stay upright, he leant on the comforting solid form of Harriman until he could force down the pain in his ribs and his knee and stop the world from spinning.

Harriman draped one of Jack's arm's over his shoulder grimacing as the action made Jack's ribs flare and he heard him grunting back the agony. He put his own arm around Jack's waist, shocked by how thin he was, and supported him until he was ready.

I have to try For myself For them...?

Even in his thoughts he couldn't face Sara and Charlie, he had given them up and then turned his back on them. He had chosen death over his promise to live.

He wasn't ready for them now. He wasn't sure that he ever would be.

Slowly Jack took a step and then another, his knee hurt like hell, his chest burnt like fire.

The solid rock beside him never wavered and his strength became Jack's strength.

Stopping frequently for Jack to catch his breath or to let some new wave of pain pass they made their way from the place of death towards the daylight and salvation.

Eventually they were at the doorway, sunlight streaming in making both of them squint against its harsh glare. Jack hadn't dared believe that he would see the sun again before he died, he was sure the darkness of his cell would be his life and his death. Even if this was still some nightmarish trick he had seen the sun again, breathed fresh air again, felt alive again and that gave him hope and strength.

Gradually Jack's eyes became accustomed to the sunlight and he could see the full extent of what had become of the prison yard.

From the high walls a Stars And Stripes fluttered occasionally in the light desert breeze, groups of soldiers stood or sat around, talking, eating, relaxing. On the far side of the yard he saw what looked like a command tent, armed soldiers at the entrance and a steady stream of coming and goings through its tented flaps.

Slowly, through the pain, through the last remnants of the drugs, through his own nightmare Jack began to believe that this was not an illusion, not a trick.

This was real. He was saved. He had survived. He was free.

"Not a trick?" he stammered. "Real?" He looked once more at the groups of soldiers filling the yard.

"Jarheads!"

"Yes Sir we are. Saving your flyboy ass....Sir."

The two men smiled at each other before another crushing spasm of agony made Jack's whole body shake, his legs turned to jelly and only the strong arm of Harriman prevented him tumbling to the floor. Harriman held him firm until the shaking stopped then, wiping the fresh blood from Jack's face, he indicated to the command post.

"The General is waiting for us, when you're ready."

He took Jack's arm from around his shoulder and let go of his waist, keeping just a supporting hand in the small of his back.

He would give Jack the dignity of walking unaided as far as possible.

Jack knew what he was doing and why.

Why should this man care?

Because I don't?

Do I?

Word had got around the camp about a POW that had been found and as the two of them made their slow progress toward General Andrews the camp fell silent. The Marines looked on with sadness and with pride, he may have been a flyboy but he was still one of their own.

Jack never noticed the looks on the Marines faces, his world was narrowed down to just one thing.

Taking a step and then another and then another.

Fighting down the pain, believing that if his step wavered there would be a hand to help him, if he wanted to give up there would be a word to encourage him, if he wanted to die there would be a reason not to.

Finally they reached the General's tent, Jack closed his eyes and stood for a while gathering his breath and his thoughts. Harriman was behind him, supporting him without seeming to.

He opened his eyes and once more looked around the prison, the Flag still flew, the Marines still went about their business, the reality still seemed intact.

He noticed a large contingent of heavily armed Marines guarding a group of prisoners. The prisoners knelt on the sandy floor, their hands bound with plastic ties and Jack recognized several of the faces. He had seen them before in and around the prison, they were the perpetrators of his nightmare, guards and interrogators.

With this sudden realization he looked harder at the group, looking for the gray-haired man and his aides.

Hoping he would find him. Hoping he had been caught. Hoping for... retribution?

Where is he? Can't see him Oh God ....No He got away He got away.....

"God... no" he mumbled as the fear he suddenly felt inside made his limbs shake and his heart pound.

"You OK Major?" Harriman asked, taking a hold of his shaking arm.

"He got away.. oh God he got away." Jack was still mumbling, seemingly unaware of Harriman, unaware of the Marines, unaware of anything except the picture in his own mind.

The picture of a gray-haired man laughing as he sent Jack screaming to his death.

Jack was now gasping and panting for breath like a man who had just run a marathon. Harriman tried again, more forcefully this time.

"Major, are you OK Major? Come on now don't give up on me, just stay with me a little longer. Major? Major?"

Jack turned to the sound of the voice, his eyes were staring into the middle distance, focused on something only he could see.

Harriman persisted in talking to Jack, telling him time and again that he was nearly there, that home was just around the corner and that he was going to be all right. He held him firmly by the arms, supporting him until finally the shaking and shuddering in Jack's limbs subsided and the focus returned to his eyes.

"You with me now Sir?" he asked.

"I think so...thanks. Let's get this over with, I'm tired and I hurt."

As if to emphasize the point an unexpected flash of pain forced Jack to double over and once more the desert floor was stained with his blood.

Inside the tent the General and his senior officers had waited patiently, they had watched the slow progress of the two men across the yard. They had watched as Harriman supported, guided and cajoled the frail Airforce officer, never letting him give up until they were just outside the tent.

Now they rose from their seats and left the tent.

As Jack looked up wiping the blood from his mouth with his hand he saw the General and several other officers standing in the tent's entrance.

Instinct drilled into him from years of being in the military made him force himself upright, grateful for the still steady, solid form of Harriman behind him, and attempt a salute.

The movement jarred his ribs and as he spoke his voice betrayed his pain.

"Major Jonathon O'Neill, United States Air Force." He paused to fight back the rising nausea. "Sir."

The General and his officers returned his salute.

"Welcome back Major."

Beside Jack, Harriman could feel something wet and sticky, looking down he saw that the pressure bandages he had applied to Jack's side were soaked with blood.

Jack's skin was cool to his touch as shock began to set in. He guessed that it wouldn't be long before the exhaustion and pain overwhelmed him and he still had his promise to keep.

He had to get Jack beyond the prison walls before it was too late.

"Permission for the Major and I to leave the theatre of operation Sir?"

The General looked at the two men before him, the proud Marine and the man he was keeping alive.

"Permission granted, the choppers are waiting. God Speed Major."

Jack tried to thank the General, but his head was suddenly spinning, his limbs felt like lead and he was cold really, really cold.

He felt Harriman supporting him again, leading him from the tent, helping him cover the short distance to the gates of hell.

It might have only been a short distance to the prison gates but for Jack it was almost too far. He could no longer take more than a few steps before he had to stop and each stop lasted just a little longer than the one before.

His eyes were glazed from the effort of walking, of breathing, of holding the spectre of death away. He could no longer distinguish the pain in his side from the pain in his leg. Every inch of him hurt and with every slow shuffling step toward freedom it hurt a little more.

Too many more steps. Too much more pain.

One more step Jack One more

One more

At last the final step through the prison gates, another step and then one more. He could go no further.

He had done it!

He had been to hell and survived.

He had stared at sure and certain death and somehow he had walked away.

He had nothing more to prove and nothing more to give.

He turned to Harriman, his savior, the man who had cared when he was beyond caring, the man who had taken him from the darkness to the light, the man who had maybe done just enough to give him his life back.

"Thank you." He mumbled before the pain, the shock and the exhaustion finally pushed him too far and he collapsed unconscious.

Harriman caught him as he fell, lowering him to the ground as the medics arrived. He stepped aside letting them do their jobs, watching as, after the briefest examination, they put Jack onto a stretcher and hurried him to the waiting chopper.

He watched as the chopper rose into the clear desert sky and flew away. He wondered what would become of Major O'Neill, would he live or would he die? Deciding that tonight he would say a prayer for the Major, he turned back to the prison.

Way too old for this he thought... way too old!

*********

It is only the dead who do not return
Bertrand Barere de Vieuzac

Elgin Air Force Base Florida

1 week later

Sara O'Neill felt like she had counted every minute, every hour, every day since Jack had left. She knew she had counted every SECOND since they had told her he was missing. Knowing just how long he had been missing didn't help but it gave her life a focus and without that she would have been lost.

She still had hope, she needed that both for herself and for Charlie. On the darkest days and during the long and lonely nights she clung to her hope and somehow she got by.

Charlie kept her sane, she knew without him and his laughter the months since Jack had left would have seemed like an eternity.

It was the first dry day in over a week and Sara was replacing the battered yellow ribbons that hung forlornly from the porch. The sound of a heavy transport plane landing made her look up from her task. More troops returning home. Every time she heard a plane landing she wondered would this be the one that brought Jack back to her? Would he walk from that plane smiling in his devil-may-care way, as if the last few months had been nothing?

Would he be carried from that plane, in a coffin draped with the Flag?

She pushed that last thought from her mind.

Turning her attention once more to the ribbons she noticed the official Air Force car as it drew to a stop outside her house. The two young officers who had come all those months ago to tell her Jack was missing, were once more on her porch.

As she watched them approach her heart was suddenly in her mouth and her hands shook as she finally retied the last new ribbon.

Was this it? Was this the day her hope was finally crushed? Was this the day her life ended or the day it began again?

"Mrs O'Neill, we have some information about your husband. Could we step inside please?"

The officers' faces were impassive, over the past few months they had made this journey and told this tale way too many times.

Numbly, Sara led them into the house, offered them a seat and coffee. She was acting on autopilot, trapped between wanting to know and not wanting to know, she paced nervously and eventually she knew that she had no other option but to ask.

"Is my husband dead?"

There was a moments pause.

Oh my God He is dead

The young male officer had taken a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and, after quickly scanning its contents, he spoke.

"Mrs O'Neill, I have been authorized by the United States Air Force to tell you that during a combined Air Force and Marine Corps operation to liberate an Iraqi prison, Major Jonathon O'Neill was located. He is alive and is now in a military hospital where he is undergoing treatment for his injuries."

Jack was alive! He would be coming home!

He IS alive.

A million different emotions suddenly seemed to being vying for Sara's attention. She was happy he was alive. She was worried that he was hurt. She was delighted he had been found. She was scared for him and for her.

"Thank you, thank you so much." Her voice shook with emotion as she made her way to an empty chair and sat down. "You said he was in hospital. What's wrong with him?"

The thoughts of Jack maimed, or burnt, or blinded forced themselves into her mind. That for him would be worse than death, for her, well she didn't know...

The two officers glanced at each other, they had already decided that there was no need to tell Sara everything. No need to tell her that for the last four months her husband had been systematically and repeatedly, starved, beaten, drugged, tortured and raped.

"Major O'Neill had been held in the prison for several months and during that time he had suffered some injuries, the extent of which is not yet fully known. The hospitalization is just a precaution until we can fully assess his condition and then repatriate him to the United States."

This time Sara caught the brief glance between the two officers. She knew then that she wasn't getting the whole story, she also knew that maybe she never would.

She had discovered in the past few months that the Air Force only told you what they wanted you to know. She knew that if she pressed them for more details they would just stonewall her with regulations and red tape. For now she had to accept what they told her.

"Can I talk to him?"

"I'm sorry but just at the moment that is out of the question. The Major has still to complete his debriefing and until that has been done we can't allow him to talk to anybody else."

Why What's wrong with him? What do they need to know?

"Oh." The disappointment in her voice was obvious.

"As soon as we can we will let you speak to him, but you must realize that after such a long period of imprisonment the debriefing will take time. You may not be able to speak to him before he returns home. I'm sorry but there is nothing more we can do at the moment."

Sara felt like the wind had gone out of her sails. The initial elation she felt at being told that Jack was still alive was gone. Blown away by the growing certainty that she wasn't being told the whole truth about what had happened to Jack and what was still happening to him.

The two officers rose and excused themselves.

"We'll go now Mrs O'Neill, but as soon as we have any further news on your husband we will be in touch. You can of course call our office at any time and we will do what we can to assist you."

That's a crock!

"Thank you. Hopefully it won't be too long until I hear from you."

Sara's voice was laced with insincerity. From her previous experience with the Air Force she knew she would probably not hear another thing until Jack walked back through the door, telling her he couldn't talk about it.

She showed the officers out and when she turned back to the house, it seemed a little bit more like the home it once was. Jack may not be back yet but he was on his way.

In the living room she idly picked up a photo of them all at the beach. Frank had taken it last summer and they all looked happy and carefree as they played at the edge of the water. For some reason she always chose this picture to look at when she was at her lowest, it had never failed to make her smile. Sara knew that Jack loved this photo too, he loved the beach, he loved her and Charlie and now he was finally coming home.

She sat holding the photo to her chest and smiling to herself until the sound of Charlie returning from school broke her reverie.

"Hi Mom."

"Hi Sweetheart, did you have a good day at school?"

She put the photo down and motioned to Charlie to come and sit beside her.

"Come here Charlie, I've got some news about your Dad."

Charlie had long since stopped asking when his Dad was coming home, but Sara knew he still missed him. She had heard him crying in the night when he thought she couldn't hear and she heard him praying for him, asking God to look after him and her.

"Is he here Mom, is Dad here?"

His face had brightened and he was once more full of the infectious optimism of the young as he ran to Sara's side. As he settled beside her she took his hand in hers, holding it tightly.

"No Charlie, your Dad is not here, not yet, but he will be real soon. I promise."

"You said that before Mom and he never came home then."

Sara couldn't deny the truth in that statement. Time and again she had told Charlie that his Dad would soon be home, and time and again she had lied to him. He had every right not to believe her this time either.

"I know Sweetheart, I know. But this time it's different, this time I know for sure that your Dad is coming home. The Air Force people came today and told me."

She squeezed his hand, and smiled, willing him to believe her.

"When?" The childlike simplicity of the question seemed to signal Charlie's acceptance of her words.

"Soon Sweetheart real soon. Your Dad got hurt while he was away and once he's out of the hospital he'll be right home. Isn't that great news? What should we do for him? Should we have a big party when he gets home?"

Sara and Charlie fell into deep discussions about what they would all do when Jack got back. They made plans for parties and barbecues. They would go to ball games and hockey games and on trips to the beach. Life would be great and everything would be just as it was all those months ago.

What they couldn't know was that the man who would come back to them would be so very, very different from the man they watched leaving on that hot summer day, 5 months ago.

*********

We have to distrust each other. It's our only defense against betrayal
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Air Force Hospital Vandenberg Air Force Base California

For Jack, the last two weeks had passed in a haze of drugs and doctors, occasional stabs of pain and every now and then questions.

He had been flown from Sijn al-Tarbout to the allied military hospital in Kuwait. On route the medics in the chopper had given him a thorough examination and as a result he was rushed into the waiting operating theatre for emergency surgery to stop the internal bleeding.

His weakened condition made the surgery a dangerous option, but without it he would certainly have died, probably within hours. The surgeons were quick and efficient, finding and repairing his damaged spleen with the minimum of trauma to the rest of his body.

Their work done it would now be up to Jack to decide if he wanted to live or die, if he had the strength and the will left to battle one more set of demons, face up to one more set of trials and overcome them.

They would give him every chance, give him all the help they could but in the end there was only one man who could decide if Major Jonathon O'Neill lived or died and that was Major O'Neill himself.

They cleaned his wounds, stitching the gashes made by the hunting knife, braced his knee and put supporting bandages around his chest to help his broken ribs. They put him onto drips to help replenish his body fluids and others to fight infection and keep down the levels of pain. They kept him sedated as much as possible, letting his body begin the long and slow process of healing and recovery.

Jack never seemed to be able to quite wake up properly, he would hear voices quietly talking to him, about him, around him but they were never clear enough or loud enough. He tried to open his eyes but they always seemed to feel so heavy, he tried to speak but his voice failed him. Mostly the effort of trying to battle against the sedatives he was being given, was a battle he couldn't win and so he stopped trying.

If this was still some evil twisted trick at least it didn't hurt like before and to Jack that was everything.

No pain, no questions, no trick?

After about a week, the doctors in Kuwait decided that Jack was ready to be shipped back to the United States. They had stabilized his condition, fixed up the worst of his injuries and started the healing process, there was nothing more they could do here that couldn't be done as well, and in some cases better, back home.

Quietly one night they put Jack onto a military transport plane accompanied by a doctor and a nurse and he began his long journey home.

For the rest of the hospital staff, they were told to forget they had ever seen or heard of Major O'Neill and what had been done to him. It was to be as if he had never existed, ever.

The Air Force Hospital was one of the best and well used to dealing with the after effects of war, conflict and covert operations on both the bodies and minds of those who passed through its doors.

Jack O'Neill would be in good hands, hands that would heal his body, hands that would piece together his shattered life, hands that would save him – if he would let them.

Jack heard a voice, softly talking to him.

"Come on Major, let's see you open your eyes for me. Come on now I know you can, open your eyes for me Major."

He tried to open his eyes, they still seemed too heavy, and it was too hard to open them. Jack just wanted to leave them shut and drift back into wherever he had been. The place with no dreams and no pain. The voice wouldn't go away though, it kept telling him to open his eyes until eventually he had no choice but to do what the voice told him.

He blinked against the light, even though it was low and stared up into the eyes of an angel.

"Hi there! Glad you could join us, I've been waiting a long time to see what color your eyes were." The angel spoke and laughed as she reached out to check Jack's vitals.

"Where.." Jack tried to ask, but his voice was hoarse and rasping and he felt very, very thirsty.

"Don't try to talk just yet," the angel told him as she carefully spooned some ice chips into Jack's parched mouth. "You've been asleep for several days and it will take a little while for everything to start working properly again."

She put the ice chips down and returned to checking Jack's blood pressure and heart rate.

"I'm not really supposed to tell you anything but, what the heck. You're in the Air Force hospital at Vandenberg. You've been here now for 3 days, before that you were in The Gulf. Do you remember what happened to you?"

I remember. Betrayed. Captured. Tortured. Saved.

I remember.

"I'll go tell the doctor that you're awake. Don't you run off anywhere now." She laughed again as she turned and left the room, stopping briefly by the door to look at her patient. She watched as he looked around him, slowly turning his head to take in everything, watched as he realized that just for now at least he was safe.

Over the next few days a succession of doctors came and went. Doctors for his chest, doctors for his knee and doctors for his head. Jack soon decided that the psychiatrists and psychologists were the worst, they tried to get inside his head, to make him talk, to make him tell them how he felt and why.

Hell how did they think he felt?

He had been beaten and tortured. His mind and his body had been brutalized and raped. He had lost everything he believed in. He had been ready to give them what they wanted. He had wanted to die.

At the end he had felt nothing, nothing but the unending physical pain, the unending mental anguish.

And now....

He felt..... empty. Like he was no longer the man he had once been. He had let them take his body and his mind and he didn't know if he could ever get them back.

He told the doctors what he thought they wanted to hear, anything to help get him out of this place. He lied to them over how he felt, told them that as soon as he got out of there and back home he would be fine. They knew he wasn't telling them the truth but they couldn't prove it, soon they would have to let him go, let him get back to whatever would pass for a normal life in the shattered remains of the mind of Jack O'Neill.

Jack had just returned from another grueling session of physical therapy on his knee. The doctors had operated soon after his return from the Gulf to repair the worst of the damage, but further operations would almost certainly be necessary, in-between times he had to strengthen the knee and the supporting muscles with hard physical workouts.

One of the resident psychologists was waiting for him.

Great. Another session with the shrink. Why don't they just leave me alone? I'm fine... really I am. Aren't I?

He did his best to ignore the doctor as he limped heavily to the bed and sat down at its edge. He was tired and as usual after these sessions his knee and his leg ached badly. Almost as badly as they had done back in prison, when Kamil had smashed them with his baseball bat, when he had been forced to walk to his humiliation, when he had been stretched taughtly on the metal frame waiting for death.

Jack shuddered slightly as the physical pain once more gave way to the memories.

"You OK Jack?" asked the doctor after noticing the shake in Jack's limbs.

"What? Yea I'm fine, it's just those guys in physio, you know what they're like. I'm just tired that's all."

The doctor didn't miss the brief look of fear that passed across Jack's face, but he chose this time not to pursue the matter. Jack stilled his trembling limbs and swung himself up onto the bed.

"You have a visitor Jack."

"Oh?" Jack was curious. He had not seen anybody but authorized military medical personnel since he had woken that first day.

"Yea, are you up to seeing him Jack? I can tell him to go away if you'd rather wait until you are stronger."

Now Jack was really curious. It obviously wasn't Sara, and deep down he was glad. He wasn't ready to face her just yet, he still needed more time, a lot more time. Maybe it was his CO, come to check on him. That was probably it, his CO.

"No, I'm Ok, It will be good to see a new face instead of your ugly mugs for a change."

"Very funny Jack! Now, if you're sure?"

"Just get lost Doc and show in my mystery caller."

"OK Jack I'm going." The doctor laughed as he got up and made his way to the door. "You know you can't tell him about, well what happened to you out there."

Jack just nodded.

Why would I want to tell anybody what happened to me?

Some things are NOT meant to be shared.

With anyone. Ever.

A few moments passed and nobody came, Jack closed his eyes against the throbbing in his leg. But when he closed his eyes the memories were back, flashbacks to the times of pain, of horror, of torture. He couldn't make them go away, they haunted him until a sharp knock on the door made him open his eyes.

The figure that now stood just inside the doorway was that of the one person Jack never wanted to see.

Frank had stood for a minute or two at the door to Jack's room, his hand raised ready to knock. He looked at his friend, and was both saddened and shocked by what he saw. Jack was still gaunt, his clothes hung loosely from him, like they were a couple of sizes too big. He could still make out the fading bruises on his exposed arms and legs. His face was hollow, dark circles were evident around his eyes, a new scar slashed through his left eyebrow. As he watched Jack he noticed how the lines of pain came and went from his face as he fought with ... well whatever was going on his mind. Jack seemed smaller, like a frail old man battered by what life had thrown at him. As Frank watched he realized that Jack looked scared and scared was not a word he had ever associated with Jack O'Neill.

Having seen enough of his friend suffering he rapped loudly on the door and stepped inside.

"Hi Jack. How are you?"

"Frank." Jack's voice was tight as he forced the words out through gritted teeth. He could hardly believe that, just a few feet in front of him, was the one person in the whole world he held responsible for what had happened to him.

"Hey Buddy, glad to see you." Frank had moved inside the room now and was slowly making his way towards Jack.

"Do you know how difficult it's been for me to get to see you? I had to call in some pretty big favors just to get them to tell me where you were."

Jack just couldn't believe his eyes. There was Frank, bold as brass, large as life acting as if nothing had happened. He was behaving as if Jack had been in some sort of minor accident, not missing in action for over four months, being starved and beaten and worse for the sadistic pleasure of a couple of crazy men.

He forced himself upright on the bed and swung his legs back over the side. The pain flared back up his leg, jarring his ribs, which were still healing and making him grimace.

"Get out Frank. Just get the fuck out of my sight." Jack was on his feet now, his anger masking the pain in his leg.

"Hey Jack, come on now. I've pulled a lot of strings to see you, at least let me know you're OK before you throw me out."

"Don't come any closer Frank, or I swear I'll kill you. You fucking son-of- a-bitch Frank. YOU FUCKING SON-OF-A-BITCH."

Jack was rigid with anger and hatred, his abused body quivered with the emotions running through him. He hardly felt the pain in his leg any more, he just felt an uncontrollable rage, a burning desire to make Frank pay. To make him suffer like he had suffered, to make him bleed and scream and beg.

"Hey Jack, come on buddy. Just calm down now – I just wanted to see you, to make sure you were OK, to...."

"To ease your guilty conscience?"

"No Jack, well not... maybe. You know I had no choice Jack, don't you? You know I had to go. I had no choice buddy.. really I didn't."

Frank had started to move towards Jack as he spoke, hoping maybe that he could somehow pacify the angry man before him.

"Bastard!" Jack spat back at his 'friend'. "We made a deal Frank remember? We don't leave ANYONE behind."

Jack took a shaky step towards Frank, the adrenaline fuelling his anger was the only thing that kept him from collapsing where he stood.

"Anyone." Suddenly Jack's voice was quiet, hardly more than a whisper as a sudden unbidden wave of memories flooded his mind. Savagely he pushed the memories down, back into the box he tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to keep them in.

"Just let me explain Jack, I had..."

"Shut up Frank.. just shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear any more of your excuses not now, not ever. I just want you out of my life Frank; I never want to see you again. I trusted you Frank and you, you.."

Once more the memories sprang free from their box and once again they were all too real. Memories of pain, of torture, of humiliation. Memories of darkness, of the loss of love and the despair of man who no longer had a reason to live. They threatened to overwhelm him, to swallow him up and take him back to those dark, dangerous places. He closed his eyes, briefly, taking as deep a breath as his still healing ribs would allow, and when he opened them again he took the pain of those memories and turned it on Frank.

"You have no idea do you Frank?" Now Jack's voice was edged with disgust, hatred dripped heavy on every word.

"You can't imagine how I felt when I watched you leaving, or how I hoped and prayed that you would come back."

"Look Jack..." Frank started to interrupt him, he needed to explain what had happened and why he had done the things he had, but it seemed that Jack just didn't want to know.

"Don't Frank, please just don't tell me any more of your lies. I put my trust in you and you betrayed me. I put my life in your hands and you let me down. I have nothing more to say to you Frank. Just go, do what you are best at....leave."

The sound of raised voices had finally brought Jack's nurse and a burly orderly to his room, they saw the two men squaring up to each other.

"Is everything OK here?" The orderly asked as he stepped between the two officers.

Jack glared at Frank.

"Yes. Major Cromwell was just leaving, weren't you?"

"If that's how you feel Jack, then I'll go." He turned and started to walk away, then he stopped and, looking back over his shoulder, he said "For what it's worth Jack I'm sorry, I really am. Say hi to Sara and Charlie for me?" Then he was gone, striding away down the empty hospital corridor.

Jack felt like a door to a part of his life was closing, Frank had been his friend forever and with that one action he had destroyed everything and almost cost Jack his life. There would be no going back for them, no reconciliation, they were through as friends for good.

As Jack turned back to his bed the adrenaline and anger that had kept him on his feet, that had kept the pain at bay began to dissipate and he staggered, almost falling. The strong arms of the orderly caught him and helped him to the bed, by the time he got him settled again Jack was white with pain and his limbs were once more trembling.

His nurse took over, checking his vitals and preparing a dose of painkiller.

"Do you want to tell me what all that was about?"

"Not really."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"Not any more." Jack let his head fall back onto the pillows and closed his eyes.

The conversation was at an end.

******* Jack woke with a sudden start.

"Kef ...Mn Fadlek Balach No... Please Don't"

He was drenched in sweat and breathing hard, the bed was in complete disarray where he had been tossing and turning, lost in the powerful grip of his nightmares.

For just the moment of his waking he wasn't sure where he was, wasn't sure if the nightmare was reality... again.

The clean, quiet, sterile atmosphere of his hospital room was comforting, the familiar sights of the TV and a pile of unread magazines helped to bring him back.

Another night. Another nightmare.

They always followed the same pattern, he was back in Iraq, being tortured all over again. The pain was so real he was sure he could feel it even after he had woken up.

He hadn't told anybody about his nightmares – after all, they were nobody's business but his own.

He was getting closer to being allowed to go home and if he told them about his nightmares then he was certain they wouldn't let him go.

Going home.

Jack had managed to avoid really thinking about going home and what it meant until now. Today was his final session with the psychiatrists, if he could fool them one more time into thinking he was ok, that he had dealt with the emotional after effects of what had happened to him, then they would discharge him and send him back to Elgin. Passed fit for duty.

Going home.

To face a wife and son who he had given up to the enemy to be used against him. To face a family, who he had turned his back on, ready to take the easy way out, and die.

Would they know what he had done? Would they care? Would they understand why? Would they forgive him, when he couldn't forgive himself?

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the psychiatrist.

"Good morning Jack. How are you today?"

"I'm fine. Shall we?" He indicated to the empty chair at the side of his bed.

"OK Jack, tell me how you felt when you realized you weren't going to be rescued."

Betrayed by my friend.

"I was angry, but I used that to help me. I tried to find a way to escape, but it just wasn't possible."

"They questioned you?"

"Eventually – yes."

"What did you tell them."

"Nothing. Just the usual, name, rank serial number. Nothing more."

I think.

"What did they do when you refused to answer their questions."

What didn't they do? Do you want the whole list or just the highlights? But you know all this anyway – you've seen my file.

"They tried to ... shall we say persuade me to answer their questions. When I didn't they let me go back to my cell."

"How did you feel towards them, those who were 'persuading' you?"

WHAT! If I'd had the strength I would have killed them where they stood. But I didn't have the strength ... they made sure of that.

"They had a job to do and so did I. The code of conduct says that I must resist by all available means. That is what I did."

"So when they tied you down and raped you, were they just doing their job then?"

No the sick bastards just did that for fun.

And God it hurt. It still hurts... inside me.

"I guess they thought it would focus my mind on what they wanted. Didn't work though. I still didn't tell them anything."

"How do you feel about that ' incident' now Jack?"

"It's history. It's not something I think about any more. It's done, I'm over it, I've moved on and I think you should too."

Lies Jack. Nothing but a pack of lies.. and you know it.

That and everything else is eating you up.

There were a few more questions about the same old things, how did he feel then, how did he feel now. Then the big question.

"So how do you feel about finally going home Jack? Back to your wife and son. Are you ready to go home?"

Yes. No. God – I just don't know. Will they know what I did to them? Will they still want me if they do? I just don't know.

"Doctor, the one thought that kept me going through all my time in prison was that my wife and son would be waiting for me, expecting me to come home and I couldn't let them down. I have been ready to go home since the day I was captured. Now, are you going to let me out of this place or not?"

"Well, that's not just my decision alone Jack, you know that, but I shall be recommending your release at our next review meeting. I think you will be going home real soon now."

The doctor rose and, patting Jack on the shoulder, he turned and left. Jack let out a long breath.

Wow – that was hard work.

Must have convinced him though. Now all I have to do is convince Sara I'm ok. And myself......

*************

When a calamity has been suffered the first thing to be remembered is, how much has been escaped
Samuel Johnson

Sara O'Neill paced nervously about her living room, glancing furtively at the telephone, as if it were some malevolent being. She had finally been told that she would be allowed to speak to Jack, but now the time was almost upon her she suddenly found that she didn't know what to say.

She had lost count of the number of times over the last few months that she had played out this scene in her head, talking to Jack, telling him everything and nothing, being the strong and resourceful Air Force wife. When the reality struck she was like a lost child, frightened, alone, scared.

How will he be? What will I say? What does he expect from me?

The shrill ring of the phone stopped her thoughts and her pacing in mid- flight. There was no more time to wonder about what might be, the time was now.

Taking a steadying deep breath she crossed the room and, with a slightly shaky hand, picked up the phone.

"Hello."

Nothing.

Silence.

"Hello."

Then at last the voice she knew and loved.

"Hello Sara. How are you?"

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago that she had last heard Jack's voice. Then he was telling her he would be home in no time and she shouldn't worry about him. Now he sounded, well like Jack but not like Jack. His voice was different, a little guarded maybe?

"Oh God Jack.. is it really you?"

"Yea it's me. Did you miss me then?" Jack's attempt at humor didn't quite work.

"Yes, oh God yes, more than you could know Jack. Charlie missed you too, we both did."

In the Air Force hospital Jack swallowed hard as the mention of Charlie brought his raw emotions welling up to the surface again.

Charlie. My son. My life.

"Is he OK?.... Are you OK?"

"We're fine Jack. We're BOTH fine, we just want you home Jack. When will you be home?"

Emotion cracked through her voice and silent tears fell as she listened to the sound of her husband's voice.

Real, alive, coming home.

"I'll be back on Friday Sara, can you believe that I'll finally be back on Friday?"

Jack's voice too betrayed his emotions, emotions that he hadn't expected to feel.

"Will you come and meet me?"

"Try and keep me away." She tried to laugh, to lighten the atmosphere that seemed to have descended on the conversation.

"Sara..." A pause.

"Yes Jack."

"Please don't bring Charlie with you."

"Why Jack? He's dying to see his Dad again, you know what kids are like."

Why Jack? Why don't you want to see your own son? Is it because you would rather have died than live out your life with him?

"You know the Air Force Sara; it will probably turn into some sort of media circus. The place will be swarming with top brass all trying to take the credit for something. He's just too young to understand all that sort of stuff. I'll see him later, at home when it is just us. Ok?"

"If you're sure Jack, you know he'll be disappointed not to be there."

"Please Sara, just do this.. for me."

The sound of Jack's voice almost pleading with her, made Sara's tears fall harder. She had never heard him sound like that before, she never wanted to again.

It wasn't the voice of the Jack O'Neill she knew, the strong, confident, devil-may-care loving husband and father but the voice of a scared, hurt, lonely man.

What did they do to you Jack?

"Don't worry Jack, I'll keep him away until later. Now tell me how are you? Do you need anything?"

"No I'm fine, honestly. I just need to get out of here this place is driving me nuts! I just want to come home and get back on with my life, with our life, all of us."

Lies Jack. Not the first. Not the last. Lies.

"I've got to go Sara. I'll see you on Friday."

"I love you Jack."

Sara got no reply other than the sound of the phone.

Across the country, in a hospital bed a man still more scared, more troubled, more broken than he showed stared at the phone in his hand as he hung up. Why could he not tell his wife that he loved her too? Had he lost so much of himself in that desert hell that he didn't know if he could ever love her again?

Damn them. Bastards! Damn them.

********

Friday was a beautiful sunny day, not unlike the day that Jack had left. Sara was finally ready, having been through almost every outfit in her wardrobe at least twice, trying to find just the right thing to wear. Eventually she had settled on the same dress she had worn that day, it somehow seemed appropriate.

She had had a difficult time explaining to Charlie why he couldn't come with her. He wanted to see his Dad. Now.

Eventually after tantrums, tears and finally bribes she had managed to convince Charlie that it would be better for him to wait at home. She had told him that Daddy wanted to see him on his own, not with all those other people and to do that he had to patient for just a little longer.

A knock on the door and it was time. The day she had begun to think might never happen was here. Turning to Charlie, she bent down to him and taking his face in her hands said, "Ok Charlie, this is it. I've got to go now to meet your Dad. You be a good boy and wait here and I'll be back as quick as I can. I promise."

She kissed him and stood up.

"Mom."

"Yes sweetheart."

"Tell Dad I love him."

Sara swallowed hard, forcing back the lump in her throat and the tears in her eyes.

"I know, why don't you tell him yourself. He'll be back real soon now."

Another knock on the door.

"I've got to go now Charlie, not long now."

She turned and hurried out of the house hoping her tears wouldn't show.

The Air Force had sent a car for her and the young airman showed her in and then drove her to the main hanger where a group of high-ranking Air Force officers were already waiting.

She felt so nervous, like she was about to go on her first date or sit a college exam. The car drew to a halt, the driver got out and opened the door for her. For just a moment she didn't want to get out, to have to face all these people, to smile and make polite small talk while she waited for her husband to arrive.

Come on Sara. No choice girl. Up and at 'em.

She got out of the car and was swallowed up into the waiting crowd, introduced to people left, right and center, asked the same questions time and again.

How do you feel? What does it feel like to know your husband is a hero? How did you manage not knowing what had happened to him? How do you feel?

After a few moments a hush descended over the crowd and they all turned their eyes skyward. The word had come through that the plane carrying Major O'Neill was on its final approach. At first it was just a speck against the clear Florida sky, but it gradually grew bigger and bigger until at last it circled the runway and landed.

The military machine moved into action. Generals and Colonels made their way to the tarmac ready to be the first to welcome back the returning hero. Sara was almost forgotten about, until somebody took her under their wing and lead her out to the edge of the waiting group.

"You should be able to see everything from here."

"Thank you."

Left alone, a civilian in the middle of all the uniforms and medals, the spit and polish, she once more felt nervous bordering on scared. She had no idea what to expect, nobody had told her anything, about what was going to happen, about what she was meant to do or say, or about Jack.

Oh God... why am I so scared? He's my husband – I shouldn't be scared What if....

She never had time to finish her thoughts as the plane had now stopped just a little way in front of her and the doors were open.

Jack was stood in the doorway.

All the way from Vandenberg Jack had been wrestling with his emotions. He wanted to see Sara and Charlie again, but he still knew that he had not dealt with the fact that in his darkest moment even they had not sustained him. Even they could not have saved him from the welcoming arms of the death he sought. And yet he hadn't died. He had been saved, by the strength of his will, the courage of a Marine Sergeant and the stubborn fight for life, which had never given up inside him.

Maybe that would be enough. It was all he had. It would HAVE to be enough – at least for now.

The plane landed, taxied and finally came to a stop. Jack rose slowly from his seat, his body was still recovering from the months of abuse he had suffered and sitting in the same position for hours on end hadn't helped.

Jack thought it felt strange to be wearing a uniform again, in fact it still felt strange to be wearing anything at all. The uniform was his, sent to the hospital by Sara, but to look at it you would have thought it belonged to a different Jack O'Neill. It hung from his wasted frame like the two were strangers.

Jack limped slowly to the door, wondering what was waiting for him on the other side, dreading what was waiting for him on the other side. As the plane door opened a wave of panic and dread washed over him and just for a second he wanted to turn and run. To run back to what he knew best, the dimness of a cell, the man with grey hair and the pain.

Stopping just shy of the now open doorway Jack steadied himself with a deep breath and the thought of finally being free again.

He had not been free since that day in Tarasha, even in the hospital he wasn't free, it was really just another kind of prison with doctors instead of guards and psychiatrists instead of interrogators but still the same questions.

Hi honey I'm home!

Jack strode into the open doorway.

He was faced with an array of highly decorated, highly ambitious, highly powered Air Force personnel lining the edge of the runway. He balked slightly at the sight and searched for a face he knew.

Where is she? She said she would be here. Sara!

Finally he saw her looking a little lost and more than a little out of place at the edge of the crowd. He noticed that she was wearing the same dress as on the day he left.

When was that – seemed like a lifetime ago?

He sought her eyes but she was too far away, so instead he fixed her in his gaze and slowly made his way down the plane's steps.

As he reached the ground it seemed as if all the bases most senior officers were in front of him. He took a few slow steps, came to a stop in front of them and saluted.

"Welcome home Major O'Neill."

"Thank you Sir, It's good to be home."

He watched Sara over the shoulders of the officers, she looked like she was crying, wiping the tears on her hands as she waited.

What had he done to her?

He needed her to be his focus, now more than ever before.

"I think Major that you have been away from your family for far too long, why don't you go and say hello to your wife? Anything we have to discuss can wait."

"Yes Sir, Thank you Sir." Jack's response was automatic; his mind was swimming, swirling with thoughts and emotions.

As he limped away past the other officers he hardly noticed that they all saluted him as he passed.

Sara looked at the figure in the plane doorway.

That can't be Jack He's so thin

Looking harder she knew that it was him. By the way he stood and the way that, despite his limp, he walked.

It was him.

As he drew closer she was shocked to see just how thin he looked, almost frail, just how loosely his uniform hung from his body.

Tears fell at the sight of him.

Oh baby! What have they done to you? My poor baby.

Angrily she wiped the tears from her eyes with her hand. Just as on the day he left she had vowed that he wouldn't see her cry.

She watched as he stopped briefly in front of the other officers, she couldn't make out the words that were exchanged but she noticed that his eyes never left her. They never left her as he started to walk slowly and painfully towards her.

She couldn't wait for him to reach her, couldn't let him suffer taking another step and so she started in his direction. She walked the first few steps and then she ran, she ran into his arms nearly knocking him off his feet as she did so.

She flung her arms around him, hardly noticing the slight gasp of pain that escaped his lips as she did so. She looked into his face, past the scars and the lines of pain, past the dark circles and the pale skin and into his eyes. The deep fathomless pools of the darkest brown imaginable and she could no longer hold back her tears.

"Jack." her voice no more than a whisper "Oh God Jack it's really you, you're here, you're really here."

She leant in and kissed him gently like she was afraid he would break or worse, disappear.

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

Jack watched as Sara walked and then ran towards him, he tried to suppress the gasp of pain when she threw her arms around him and his still broken ribs flared at the contact. He braced himself with his good leg as she hugged him tightly, holding back the wave of agony that suddenly pulsed through him.

Carefully and without total conviction he returned her embrace, letting her kiss him, watching her tears fall listening to her words.

He couldn't return those words – not yet.

He lifted her head and looked at her tear stained face, beaming broadly back at him.

His heart broke, weighed down with guilt and anguish for what he had done and what he had so nearly done.

I don't deserve you. You don't know what I did – what I chose to do. I don't deserve you. My love.

His voice cracked as he spoke, "I'm here and now I want to get out of here. Let's just go home, please."

"Sure, Charlie can't wait for you to get back."

She took her arms from around him and took him by the hand, helping him, supporting him on the long slow silent walk to the car.

Jack sat quietly in the car trying to sort through his emotions, Sara was sensitive to his needs, and she just held his arm and caressed his hand. Jack had always had quiet times when he needed his own space, his own time and so she knew what to do.

The trip back to the house was short, shorter than Jack would have liked or wanted.

They got out of the car and waited until it had driven away.

"Do you want me to tell Charlie or should we surprise him?"

The choice was made for them. Charlie had been watching out of the front window from the moment Sara had left the house. As the car drew up he watched as Sara and Jack got slowly from it and, before it had fully drawn away, he was out of the house and running down the porch steps.

"Dad, Dad!"

He flung himself at Jack, unaware of his injuries, caught up in the moment. Jack grimaced as Charlie barreled into him and grabbed him tightly around his waist.

He could feel Charlie's damp face as he pressed it against him.

"You're home!"

Jack reached down and tousled Charlie's fair hair.

"I promised I'd come back didn't I." It wasn't a question, more a reiteration of the promise they had made all those months ago.

Jack's emotions had been knocked for six. At the sight of first his wife and then his cherished son accepting him back, welcoming him back with unrequited love the guilt he felt inside welled up.

How could he have wanted to die when this perfect love was waiting for him?

How could he have even contemplated death over life when he had this precious family relying on him?

And yet when the questions and the pain and the despair had taken everything he had, he had chosen to die.

He deserved to die – for what he had done and for what he had wanted to do.

He had been weak and selfish and now he hated himself more than he had ever done.

Jack took his hand from Charlie's head and taking his arm pushed him away.

"Dad? What's wrong Dad, aren't you glad to be home?"

"Sure I am Charlie, I just need...."

What?

"Your Dad just needs a little time on his own now Charlie. Why don't we go inside?" She took Charlie's hand and started to lead him back into the house.

He went reluctantly, looking over his shoulder to where Jack stood, unable to understand why his Dad had pushed him away, why he didn't seem to be pleased to be home, why he looked so sad.

"Mom, is Dad OK?" He asked as they walked away.

I don't know. Is he?

"He'll be fine sweetheart, he's been away a long time."

She too looked back at Jack. He stood where they had left him, still staring at the house with the unfocused look of a man who didn't really know... or care? She watched as he scrubbed a tired hand across his face and then walked slowly away towards the garden, stopping frequently to ease his still battered body.

"He just needs time to get used to being back at home with us. Ok?"

Charlie wasn't sure he understood but if his Mom said it would be ok then it would be.

"Sure Mom. It's good to have him home isn't it?"

I hope so.

"Yes it's great sweetheart. Let's go inside and get some dinner ready for your Dad. What do you think he'd like?"

"Ice cream."

They carried on into the house, lost in their discussion about what to get for dinner. Despite the distraction of keeping Charlie from asking too many questions, questions to which she didn't have any answers, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was really wrong with Jack, something deep inside him.

Jack had finally reached his favorite spot in the garden, a small bench tucked away to one side. He had sat here on many occasions watching Charlie playing on the lawn, enjoying the sunshine.

He sat down wearily, his leg and his chest and his heart all ached, he had maybe done too much too soon. He rubbed his knee to try and ease the pain but he knew that it wouldn't work; it wouldn't work because the pain he felt was more than just physical. It was the pain of a man who had nearly lost everything and now, when he had it all back, he didn't know if he wanted it.

He looked around the neat garden thinking that Sara had done a good job of keeping it tidy while he had been away. He looked up at the house. It had once been his home. Could he make it so again?

He closed his eyes as his mind filled with memories, they fought within him, pulling at his emotions. He tried to focus on the good memories, the ones that were from a time before Iraq. That time had been filled with laughter and love, not like now.

Now tears pricked at his eyes as the images of his rape, torture, and humiliation ran like an endless piece of broken film in his head. He couldn't stop them, he didn't know how to stop them, he didn't know if he wanted to stop them. They had made him who he was.

The tears fell.

Jack sat in the garden until the sun had begun to dip below the horizon. He had long ago ran out of tears to cry and now he just sat and stared at the house, the garden, the things that he had once taken for granted. The things he wanted to be able to take for granted again.

He wanted to hear laughter and to laugh again. He wanted to love again and to be loved again. He wanted to live again.

Was he going to let the instigators of his hell take those things from him as well?

They had taken everything he had, everything he was, but he wasn't going to let them take everything he still had to be.

Was he?

I may have deserted you...but I was scared. I did it to save you.. from having to see me like that. The nothing man that I had become. I hated them and I hated me but I always loved you. You and Charlie. I still love you. But... Me? I still hate me. And you... you still love me. Why? You don't know what I did – that's why. And if you never know. Then maybe... I can really love you too.

Jack looked once more toward the house, he saw Sara silhouetted against the window as she watched him. He saw her turn away and then appear at the back door, she started down the garden to him.

It's now or never – Jack. Time to choose. Live or die.

He got up and walked to meet Sara.

"Dinner's ready Jack."

"Listen Sara, thanks for this afternoon with Charlie."

"It's OK Jack, he's just glad you're back, we both are. He'll be fine, you know what kids are like."

She held out her hand to him.

"Come on, let's go inside."

Gratefully he took her hand and let her help him into the house. The cool of the evening had made him stiff and his joints ached. He tried to hide the flashes of pain that crossed his face as he walked, but she saw them and he knew she had.

"You alright Jack?"

"Yea, just stiff and tired. It's been a long day."

Sara knew he was lying. Jack knew he was lying.

They both knew the other knew, but they chose not to say anything as they made their way back into the house.

**********

For the next few days Jack and Sara and Charlie tried hard to act as if nothing was wrong. They talked about what Charlie had done in school and planned their next vacation. They talked about trips to the beach and the zoo and the ball games. They talked about everything except what was really important.

Each day a car was sent for Jack and he went onto the base. He had further debriefings and meetings about what he could and couldn't say, to the press, other air force personnel and even to his wife.

He had regular appointments with physiotherapists and consultations with doctors to help his healing process.

Every night the car took Jack home, where Sara would ask him about his day and if there was anything he wanted to talk about.

The answer was always the same:

"My day was fine and no there is nothing else I want to talk about."

Sara was getting more concerned about Jack as the days passed. He didn't talk beyond polite conversation, he hardly ate anything, she knew he wasn't sleeping. They did nothing more intimate than hold hands, she kissed him and he never returned her kisses. She told him she loved him, he never replied. She expressed her concerns to the doctors, they said she needed to give him more time and more space to adjust. After all, he had been imprisoned for 4 months and only home a few days.

She knew there was more to it than that.

Charlie too was aware of the change in his Dad, he never laughed anymore and he always seemed to be quiet and sad. He never wanted to play ball or go to the park, he wasn't interested in helping Charlie fix up his bike. Charlie was scared of him now, his mood seemed to change quickly and he would storm off to the garden or lock himself away in the spare room. Charlie thought he had heard him crying through the locked door, but his Dad had never cried before.

He wasn't Dad anymore.

Jack tried to adjust to family life again, he really did, but he knew it was all just a sham, a façade and, until he could face his inner demons, that was all it could ever be.

Whenever Sara or Charlie got too close to the wall he had built around himself, he would retreat back to the safe warm embrace of his memories. To the things he knew to be true, his betrayal of them and of himself, his pain and his hatred. With every memory he tried to push them further away from him, to a place where he could no longer hurt them.

They kept coming back and he kept pushing them away, eventually something would have to give.

Another night. Another nightmare.

These were different to those he had in the hospital, but they were always the same.

Night after night.

He was back in Iraq, being tortured again and again. The scene changed and he was watching Sara and Charlie being tortured by the gray-haired man. A glass window separated them and, while he couldn't hear their screams, he could see their pain, almost feel it. He hammered on the window, shouting at them and at the gray-haired man. No words came out. Eventually the gray-haired man turned to face him and he found himself staring back at himself. He was torturing his own family.

That was the point at which he would jerk awake, a scream on his lips his body covered in sweat. After the first few nights he had stopped sharing a bed with Sara, preferring to sleep alone in the spare room with only his nightmares for company.

He hated to look at himself in the mirror, to see the slowly fading souvenirs of his time in Sijn al-Tarbout, the bruises were now all gone but the scars were still evident, on his face, his chest, his back. Every one of them a still vivid reminder of what had been done to him. Sleeping alone spared Sara those sights and spared him from facing up to them and what they stood for.

Tonight the nightmare had been worse than usual, more intense and had left him with a raging headache. As quietly as he could he stepped from the spare room and made his way toward the bathroom, a couple of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed him should do the trick. He saw the light was on in Charlie's room and he could hear Sara's voice quietly soothing over the sounds of a child sobbing.

"Shh now sweetheart it's going to be alright. I'm here now."

He cautiously peered around the door and was greeted with the sight of Charlie held tightly in Sara's arms, his head pressed to her chest whilst he cried against her. Neither of them seemed aware of his presence, he felt a stab of guilt as he watched this precious moment. Guilt that he was watching but more that he was the cause.

Charlie's shoulders shook as he cried.

"What's wrong with Dad, Mom? Why doesn't he love me anymore? What have I done wrong?"

I wish I knew. I wish I could make it right again. I wish he would let me in.

"Oh Charlie, you haven't done anything wrong. While your Dad was away some very bad men tried to hurt him and he needs some time to get better. We have to help him get better."

"But he's home why isn't he better now? The bad men aren't here are they Mom?"

Sara wished for all the world that the childlike simplicity of Charlie's world, his logic, could just be transferred to the real world. Then everything would be better.

"No, the bad men aren't here sweetheart." She ruffled his hair they way that she had seen Jack do a million times... before.

"I think your Dad just needs us to be strong for him and we can do that can't we?"

"Yes, I guess so."

For a moment the room was silent apart from the sniffling of a scared little boy who couldn't really understand what was happening. He couldn't understand why anybody would want to hurt his Dad, and why his Mom still cried when she thought she was alone.

"Will the bad men come back?"

"No, they're gone now, they won't be coming back."

Jack wished that were true. They had captured most of the guards and interrogators from the prison and Kamil was dead, there was no way that Jack would forget that moment, but what of the man who drove him to this dark place? The man who drugged him and tricked him and almost made him die?

Where was he?

Jack couldn't listen to anymore so, before he was spotted, he moved silently away and after grabbing the pain-killers returned to his lonely night time ritual of trying to keep the nightmares at bay long enough to sleep.

The following day Jack was in a foul mood. His headache still raged and he was snappy with everybody. Sara and Charlie tried to keep out of his way as he groused at everything, the food, the weather, the fact he still had to go to the base and do these dumb exercises. Nothing seemed to please him.

Jack was taking out the guilt he felt at overhearing Sara and Charlie in the night on everybody except himself. He knew he had no right to, but he couldn't stop himself. They were to blame for making him feel guilty – right?

Jack was sat in the kitchen, playing with a plate of food and scowling when Charlie came running in. He had been out playing with his friends and had forgotten about the mood his Dad was in.

"Dad, guess what Tommy and I did? We built a den in Tommy's garden, it's cool Dad. Do you want to come and see it?"

In his enthusiasm he was shouting and grabbed Jack by the arm. That was just enough to tip Jack over the edge of his black mood. He pushed Charlie away with more force than was absolutely necessary.

"No Charlie I don't want to see your stupid den."

He stood up and stormed from the kitchen, oblivious to the ache in his leg and the sound of his own heart breaking.

"Why don't you just leave me alone? Both of you just leave me alone."

And with that he was gone, out into the garden leaving a bewildered child crying over something he couldn't begin to understand.

He stormed to his usual spot and slumped down wearily. His headache was getting worse by the second, it pounded in time with the beating of his heart.

Why wouldn't it stop? Why couldn't he find peace? Why?

He held his head in his hands, his eyes closed against the incessant thumping. The thoughts that ran through his mind were a confusing jumble of memories and wishes, hopes and dreams, nightmares and visions from all through his life. He tried to catch the wishes and dreams but all he managed to get hold of were the nightmares and the vivid recollections of a time he would rather forget.

The images were strong, so strong they were almost real. They pulled him down deeper and deeper into the black pit of his soul, into a place that he didn't want to be...ever again.

He was sliding, slipping away from reality with every fresh anguished thought that fought its way into his pain filled head.

The reality of now and the nightmare of then just became one swirling mass inside him until he didn't know which was real and which just a viciously twisted memory.

He grabbed hold of his body to still the tremors that grew as the nightmare visions of his imprisonment took over. Then he was back, back in the cool dark cell. Back at the mercy of a man who wanted to break him, to destroy him, to kill him.

Sara had heard the commotion in the kitchen and arrived after Jack had stormed out to find Charlie, once more in tears. This time her soothing words and actions failed to stem his tears and he ran to his room. She shrugged back her own tears as she heard him sobbing all the way upstairs until he slammed his door shut.

She was mad at Jack, at what he was doing to her and Charlie, at how he seemed hell bent on destroying what was left of their life together.

Damn you Jack. Can't you see what you're doing to us? I'm not going to wait around until you finally destroy yourself and us with you. No sir! I.. we... love you too much for that. So I'll fight for you and with you until we beat this thing. Until you love us back.

She knew where he would be and went out into the garden to face whatever Jack was facing, to be by his side when he decided that he needed her.

She watched him for a while as he battled his demons and lost. She watched as he hugged himself as if supporting his body, his head was tipped back and, as the tears fell, she watched him mumbling to himself as if reciting something that was important to him.

Her heart broke to see him like and she had no idea what she could do to help him or even if he would let her, but the one thing that she was certain of was that she had to try. She just had to.

Slowly and quietly she approached him, he was completely unaware of her, engrossed as he was in his own private nightmare.

She could make out some of what he was saying but other words sounded like a foreign language.

"O'Neill. Jonathon. Major United States Air Force 66-789-7876-324." He paused. "Saédni (help me)." Another pause, but the tears still flowed.

"Mn Fadlek balach laa (Please don't No).

O'Neill Jonathon Major United States Air Force 66-789-7876-324."

Sara couldn't begin to imagine what Jack had gone through in the months of his captivity, what they might have done to him to make him behave the way he was.

Stealing herself for what was to come she came and sat beside Jack, he remained unaware of her presence, hugging his body and crying through closed lids.

"Tawakaf ... Men Fadlek tawakaf ( Stop... please stop)."

Gently she took hold of his arm.

"Jack? Jack it's me it's Sara."

No reaction.

She took him into her arms, pulling him to her, forcing him to acknowledge her presence.

"Jack you're safe now. Nobody is going to hurt you anymore Jack."

She felt the tension in his body like an elastic band stretched to its breaking point. Slowly she kissed him, first his forehead and then his tear stained cheeks. She ran her fingers over his lips.

"Shh now baby, everything is going to be alright. You're safe now, safe at home with me and Charlie."

She kissed him again, this time harder, more forcefully as if by this simple action she could break whatever seemed to possess him.

Jack was aware of nothing more than his return to hell. It hurt so much he had to back in hell. Didn't he?

Arms were holding him, stopping him from moving from fighting back, he felt the brush of lips on his face.

Kamil ?

He heard the soft whisper of a voice, a voice he knew that he should know. A voice that didn't belong in his nightmare, and if it didn't belong then it couldn't be real. It was just another trick.

Oh God. Another trick. Not again. I can't.....

The whispered voice was back, telling him everything was alright, telling him it was going to be OK, telling him it loved him.

What did the voice want really? The voices had always wanted something from him. What now?

I have nothing more to give you. Nothing. Leave me... let me die.

"Let me die. Please." The words were on his lips almost before the thoughts had finished.

Sara held him tighter her own tears now mingling with Jack's. Her dreams of a happy homecoming and a normal family life were now in tatters, torn apart by whatever horror Jack had been through. Whatever horror he still couldn't let go.

"No Jack, I won't let you die. I won't let you just give up. Damn you Jack you have to fight this, you have to let me help you to fight this. How can I help you Jack, tell me..tell me?"

That voice, that voice he should know kept penetrating Jack's thoughts insisting he did something, something to save himself. What could he do, his body was broken, his mind was confused and in turmoil, but yet his spirit, his essence, his will to live was still with him.

The things that made him Jack O'Neill were still inside him. Maybe they were buried deep, away from the pain and the hurt, away from the prying eyes of those who would seek to possess them but they were still there. The gentle voice at his ear held the promise of those things and it told him to go and find the things that made him Jack O'Neill.

His wife. His son. They were what made him who he was. They were the purpose and the meaning in his life. At least they had been... once.

Slowly Jack opened his eyes, afraid of what he might see. Afraid to find that once more it was a trick and he was still trapped in a downward spiral of pain, a spiral that could only end in his death.

He saw Sara, he felt her arms around him and her heard her whispered words encouraging him. He could smell her perfume as she kissed him again, that was too real.

It had to be real.

His mind was still clouded with images and Sara didn't fit in any of them so why was she there?

"Sara?" He blinked away the tears and found she was still there. "What? Why?"

He couldn't form the questions that now plagued his mind, scared that the answers might prove his final undoing.

What are you doing here? Why are you here? You don't belong in this place. Or maybe... I don't belong in this place.

"Jack.. my love. Let me help you Jack, tell me what to do. Let me help you." Her voice was cracked with emotion and the tears still fell as she watched the man she loved struggling to keep a grasp on his life. On their life together.

The wall that Jack had carefully constructed around him, the one that made it so he didn't have to face up to what he had done, was failing. The façade was crumbling and he didn't know how to stop it. This woman, this woman that he had once loved and wanted to love again was breaking down the barriers between them. He was scared; if he started how could he stop himself from showing her the darkest parts of himself, the parts that even he didn't look at?

Nobody deserved to see that part of him and yet Sara was pushing, insisting, demanding he gave her everything. It was the only way to save his soul, but would it be the destruction of hers?

"Talk to me Jack, tell me what happened to you, what they did to you. Tell me so I can help you. Please Jack, please let me help you."

He wanted to tell her, he wanted to let her inside the high walls around him, he wanted to let her help him. He just couldn't.

He couldn't let her soul be damned along with his – it wouldn't be fair. He had been to the place of darkness and death and it was nowhere he wanted to share, especially with the woman he loved.

"I can't tell you, I really can't, and believe me you don't want to know. You don't deserve to know, nobody does."

His voice was a mere whisper.

Neither of them had noticed that Charlie now stood nearby. Clutched in his hand was his favorite teddy bear. Sara and Jack had bought it for him when he was born and even now he still slept with it. When Sara had suggested that maybe he was too old for a teddy, he told her that it helped him keep the bad things away.

Slowly he approached them, the bear clasped tightly to his chest, he didn't stop until he was right beside them. He took a deep breath and pushed the teddy bear in Jack's direction.

"Dad, I want you to have my teddy bear. He helps keep the bad things away from me when I'm asleep, maybe he can help you."

Having said his piece he turned and ran off, not knowing what reaction his actions would cause.

For Jack this one single unselfish gesture, born of the love of a child was the final act.

As he held the teddy and unconsciously stroked its soft fur, the enormity of what he was doing crashed around him like the surf breaking on their favorite beach.

The final pieces of the wall around his heart and his emotions just crumbled away.

"Charlie, Charlie come here son...please."

Jack called after him, stopping him in his tracks. Charlie turned and looked at where his parents sat. Sara still had her arms around Jack and he was holding the teddy bear in one hand his other arm outstretched waiting for him. He made his way to them and was embraced by firstly Jack and then Sara.

They were a family again, maybe not quite like they had been but at least it was a start.

Jack knew it would be a long and difficult road for all of them but if they were to stand any chance of getting their lives back then it was a difficulty they would have to face.

Together.

He knew then that even in his darkest times and even in the dark times that he was sure were still to come there was one unassailable fact. That fact had given him strength before and it would give him strength again.

Sara and Charlie still loved him and they would always love him.

*******

Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Epilogue: Several Months Later

Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps Andrew Harriman once more straightened the jacket of his number one dress uniform, brushing off invisible and non – existent specks of dust and for the final time placed his cap at the required angle. A last glance in the mirror and he was done. Pulling on his gloves he picked up his rifle and made his way to join his comrades.

I have the BEST job he thought as the group of Marines began their short march through the grounds of the White House. They took up positions at all the external entrances and inside at the doors to the Oval Office and the state room, where today the President was holding a reception for the heroes of the recently ended Gulf conflict.

Harriman's recall from the Gulf had been as swift as it was unexpected. One day he was on patrol in the dangerous northern Iraqi desert, the heartland of Saddam's supporters, the next he was packing for his return to the USA.

On his return he had been called into see his Commanding Officer who had told him that due to his bravery and dedication to duty during his tour of duty he was to be promoted to Sargent Major of the Corp and reassigned. His final posting was to be the one that all the Marines dreamed of:

Ceremonial duties in the presence of their Commander In Chief.

Andy didn't know why he, amongst all the soldiers he had served with in the Gulf, should have been chosen. He had seen other acts of bravery and heroism far greater than his, and wondered if they too had been recognized.

He stood smartly at attention outside the huge doors to the stateroom, as the President's invited guests began to arrive. Along with top Generals and Admirals were a mixture of other officers and enlisted men, representing all the branches of the armed forces. They mingled around discussing military matters in hushed tones as they waited for their Commander-In-Chief to appear.

Harriman noticed a lone figure walking slowly down the hallway towards the stateroom. The figure was dressed in Air Force Blues and walked with a noticeable limp. Even at a distance Harriman though there was something familiar about the man, about the way he walked and the way he stood but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The figure slowly made its way closer and closer to the stateroom, stopping every now and again to rest.

Stopping to rest!

That was what made Harriman realize why he thought the figure looked familiar. He had witnessed that action before, as he had supported a broken body fighting for dignity in the dry barren confines of an Iraqi prison.

It couldn't be?

Could it?

Harriman had not thought about Major O'Neill in a long time. After he had watched him taken away to safety, he had returned to his unit and was all too soon once more involved in the ongoing hunt for Saddam. He had enough to think about keeping himself and those under his command alive to worry much about the fate of Major O'Neill.

But now, as the figure finally came into vision he realized that it was Major O'Neill, he knew that although he may not have thought about him in a long time he would never forget him and what had been done to him. Harriman had sent more than one enemy soldier to the arms of his God purely on the strength of what he had seen in that prison hell.

The officer looked a hell of lot better than when Harriman had last seen him, he was no longer gaunt and battered although his face still bore the tell tale signs of a man who was still not quite at peace with himself or those around him. It was obvious from his limp that he still carried the physical signs of his time in prison. Andy felt sorry for him, sorry that he couldn't have done more to help him.

For Jack O'Neill this reception was an 'honor' that he could have lived without. He hated being the 'POW who survived 4 months in prison'; he just wanted to be Jack O'Neill, Air Force officer. He hated the looks of pity that crossed peoples faces as he limped towards them, as he was forced again and again to listen to the tales of how he was a hero, how he fought the brutal regime and survived, how he never gave up hope.

They really don't know – do they?

He just wanted to get back to picking up the pieces of his life. It had been hard, almost impossible to lead a normal life since his return from the Gulf. It had almost driven him to the brink of despair again, almost lost him his wife and child.

Almost.

Things were better now, the media circus was abating and Jack hoped that this would be the last time he would have to listen to and tell all those lies about what had happened during those four long months in hell.

His knee still troubled him and, as he stopped to rest, he noticed for the first time the Marine Sergeant standing at the state room door.

He looks like... It can't be.... can it?

He started walking this time a little quicker, ignoring the protests from his still aching knee, he had to know. Was this the man who saved him? Stopping by the door, he glanced at the Marines nametag:

Harriman. It is you. What should I say? What can I say?

Harriman hadn't moved a muscle, although deep down inside he felt proud, proud that he had helped to save this man.

Jack looked at Andy and smiled.

"Sergeant Major...,. Harriman ... congratulations."

"Thank you Sir."

"No. Don't thank me.. I .. well I." Jack suddenly felt all tongue tied, he had so much he wanted to say to this man and yet he couldn't think of anything to say.

He wanted to thank him for saving him, for not giving up on him when he was ready to give up on himself, for taking care of him and most importantly for keeping his promise to get him out of the hell he was in.

"I don't know if I said this before but thank you, for everything you did for me, you know.. out there."

"You did Sir, but thank you. I'm glad you made it Sir."

"So am I, so am I."

Jack could think of nothing more to say, but he had one more thing to do. Drawing himself up to his full height, he gave Sergeant Major Harriman his best parade ground salute.

"I'll never forget what you did for me."

He dropped the salute and, as he made his way towards the other officers and men he felt stronger and more able to face their questions because once more the rock that was Andrew Harriman was beside him.

"Lieutenant Colonel O'Neill."

Jack turned at the sound of his name, an Air Force General he knew by sight was approaching him, flanked by about half a dozen other senior officers.

Jack came swiftly to attention.

"As you were. Now these gentlemen are dying to hear about your experiences in the Gulf."

Jack smiled inwardly to himself.

One more time.

"Well Sir...."

**********

In a small apartment on the outskirts of Baghdad a gray-haired man was also smiling, but for a completely different reason.

He looked down at the dog eared and creased photo that he had carried with him every day since he had fled from the desert prison of Sijn al-Tarbout.

The photo was of a battered and bleeding man, pain and despair on his face, tears in his eyes.

The photo was of Major Jonathon O'Neill, the only man that he had never broken.

He lit a cigarette and then, taking the match he set fire to the photo and watched as it burnt down to nothing more than a pile of blackened ash. He didn't need the photo any more he knew what Jonathon O'Neill looked like, how he sounded when he spoke, who his family were.

He knew everything he needed to know.

There was a knock on his door, glancing at his watch, he knew it was time. He picked up his fake Syrian passport and his plane tickets, checking them one last time.

Miami Florida, via Paris and then London.

He smiled again, stubbed out his cigarette, picked up his suitcase and left.

There was nobody he couldn't break.

********