Shattered Crystal Part Two
"What have we got here, Sergeant?" Captain Morales watched as the two MP's led a handcuffed man into the room.
"We arrived at The Three Doors bar, sir, and found this man in the parking lot fighting with a group of civilians. From his description he must be the customer Mister Bentley called us about. The others ran off."
"He doesn't look like he's been in a fight, Sergeant."
"He took a blow just as we arrived, sir, but from what we saw it looked like he was doing most of the damage. He had two down."
"How many of them were there?"
"Six that we saw." The Sergeant gave a broad smile. "And yes, we checked his dog tags. He is one of ours."
"Hot damn! Six you say?" Morales smiled back. "Who is he?"
"Name's Jonathon O'Neill according to his tags, other than that I've got no idea, sir. He refuses to answer questions, and doesn't have anything on him except some cash and a set of keys."
"Okay, we'll run his service number. Get him into a cell, and give him a chance to sleep it off while we check him out. He may be a little more cooperative when he wakes up." As the man was led away, he had another thought and called out. "You said he took a hit?" At the nod of confirmation he continued. "I'll get the duty doctor to have a look at him."
The Captain turned back to the computer on his desk, reading the number off the incident sheet Sergeant Kingston had handed him and tapping it in. He pressed the enter key and waited. For some reason the screen was taking ages to load.
"Captain." Kingston reappeared, a look of resigned disgust on his broad face. "Did you call the doctor yet? Our guest has just thrown up all over Simpson."
"Damn! Not in the cell?"
The Sergeant smiled grimly. "No, sir, we were still in the corridor. He managed to avoid himself as well, but the Airman will need to change his uniform. I think you better get the doctor over here, Captain. I don't think it was the drink that made him sick. He doesn't look too hot at all. Could be that blow he took."
Morales rubbed a hand across his eyes before looking down at his watch. 0300hrs – the doctor wouldn't be happy at being called out at this hour. He had hoped to leave it for a few hours at least, let the guy sleep it off, but he trusted Kingston's judgement in these matters. The Sergeant had been an MP for long enough to know the danger signs if they reared their ugly heads in one of his charges.
The duty doctor duly requested, Captain Morales followed the Sergeant to the cell. Airman Simpson was impatiently waiting there, the smell of fresh vomit cloying in the still air of the corridor, with a mop and bucket, evidence that the young MP hadn't been wasting his time.
"Okay, Airman. We'll take it from here. You go get yourself cleaned up." Morales couldn't help but smile as he looked into the open cell and saw that Kingston had been right. The man sitting on the hard cot was spotless, perhaps an indication of just how experienced he was in these matters.
The Captain took a closer look at their guest. He certainly didn't look like their normal client – usually young airmen who got a little too enthusiastic when celebrating a night off base. He moved into the cell, motioning the Sergeant to accompany him, and stood looking down at the bent head.
"You okay?"
He was surprised when he got an answer. The head came up, and hooded brown eyes stared back at him. "I'm fine, Captain."
"You don't look it." Morales took in the lines of pain creasing the man's forehead. "I was told you could be injured. I've called the doctor to come look at you."
For a second an expression flickered across the man's face that Morales couldn't identify. Anger? Fear? Neither one made sense. Then he groaned, and lifted his legs up onto the cot, moving down it to put his head on the hard lump that was the cell's answer to a pillow.
"Shit." The expletive was softly said, but heartfelt, as an arm came up to shield his eyes.
The Captain watched, unspeaking, as the tall figure lay there, then moved back out the door, gesturing for Kingston to lock it behind him. He wasn't going to bother asking any questions until after the doctor had seen him. Any information he needed should be waiting for him on the computer.
"Come on, let's see who our mystery guest is, Sergeant." Morales lead the way back up the corridor and into the office, checking the time as he did so – the doctor should be arriving soon. Sure enough, the screen had finally loaded, the man's service information waiting. The implication of what he read hit him like a sledgehammer.
"Oh God!"
The Captain grabbed for the handset of the phone, punching in the numbers for the Base Commander. It took a few minutes before a sleepy voice answered.
"Sir, it's Captain Morales here. I thought I should let you know - we have a Colonel O'Neill in the cells." There was a pause as he listened to the questions on the other end of the line, before answering. "Yes, sir, I'm sure." The call ended with another "Yes, sir." from the Captain.
Morales hung up to meet the stunned eyes of Sergeant Kingston. The Sergeant turned back to the computer screen. "It says here he's from NORAD. Should we call his base commander?"
"Nope. Let the General handle it, Sergeant." Morales pointed to the screen. "Look – there was a flag put on the Colonel's record. There's something else going on here, and I think it would be best if we just stayed out of it."
Sergeant Kingston nodded, his long years in the Air Force telling him that his captain was right. When it came to officers as senior as the mysterious colonel locked away in that cell, it was best to keep your head down and just do your job.
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Jack tried to relax, tried to stop thinking and ease the pounding behind his eyes, but he couldn't. The more he tried, the harder it became, until after only a few minutes, he sat up with a muttered groan, finally properly taking in his surroundings.
He didn't like cells. Knowing he deserved to be in this one didn't help. Even after all these years, being locked up still brought back memories of a time he would rather not remember. He had kept that part of his past from his team, wanting to talk about it no more than he had about his son. Of course, Daniel knew about Charlie, and it was obvious that he had discussed what had happened with Captain Carter and Teal'c, but that didn't mean Jack was glad they knew.
Jack O'Neill was a private man, and the knowledge that his hidden pain had been visible for all to see was abhorrent to him. He had managed to box his memories of his son's death up into a corner, only allowing them out when he was alone, but now they had been exposed, and he didn't know if he could cope. He didn't even know if he wanted to.
But there was more to it than the thought of everyone knowing what his neglect had done. More than the thought of the way people would look at him now. Much more than that.
He stood, pacing the few short steps from the cot to the door and back, getting more agitated the more he thought about the events of the day. This wasn't the first time he had been locked up today. With an unconscious imitation of his previous words he grabbed the bars on the door and shouted.
"Get me the hell out of here!"
He was answered by the sound of footsteps, and the captain he had spoken to earlier appeared, looking worried.
"I'm sorry, Colonel, but I can't release you. The doctor will be here in a few minutes."
"I don't need a doctor, Captain." Jack's voice dropped to a low growl. "I just need out of this cell."
"I need to examine you first, Colonel."
At the sight of the doctor, Jack stood back, schooling his features and automatically concealing his emotions.
The doctor spoke briefly to the captain before the door was unlocked, and he was allowed to enter, placing his bag on the floor next to the cot.
"I'm Doctor Martin, Colonel. I understand you have been in a fight tonight? Would you mind sitting down and letting me examine you?"
"I keep trying to tell everyone – I'm fine." Jack felt his temper rising again and firmly held it down, speaking as calmly as he could. His words were obviously not going to stop the doctor, as he opened his bag and took out one of those little penlights that were the bane of Jack's life.
"Wait!" Jack held his hands out. "They got a lucky punch in. Got me in the side." To his relief the doctor put the penlight down beside him and waited as Jack unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from his waistband. His attempt to appear normal took a blow as he lost balance, quickly sitting before he fell down.
The doctor raised his eyebrow at the stumble, and turned to Morales.
"If you would give us some privacy, Captain, I'm going to give the Colonel a proper examination." At the look on the captain's face, he continued. "Don't worry. I'm sure I'm safe to be left alone with him."
Jack grimaced as the Captain left.
"Now, sir. Just how much did you have to drink tonight?"
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General Langdon was not happy. He knew Jack O'Neill well, and couldn't begin to imagine how the second in command of the SGC had ended up in one of his cells. The report from Captain Morales only served to confuse him, raising more questions than answers. He waited in uncomfortable silence for Doctor Martin to finish his examination, accepting the sergeant's offer of coffee gratefully.
"Well?" He barked the question as soon as the doctor came into view.
The doctor was clearly surprised to see the general there, but answered without hesitation.
"Colonel O'Neill has a blood alcohol reading of .19, and I would suspect has been drinking for several hours. He has some bruising to his side, but seems to have suffered no damage to his kidney, at least as far as I can tell without more complete tests. He is, however, experiencing severe headaches and is supersensitive to light. Normally I would put that down to the effects of the alcohol, but I don't think that is the case here, and I'd like to have him transferred to the infirmary."
"Sir." Captain Morales interrupted before his CO could answer. "The Colonel's record has been red flagged."
"It has?" Langdon strode over to the computer. "Give me a minute, Doctor."
The information he called up was no more illuminating than anything else he had heard in the last half hour. Reading between the lines it looked like O'Neill had gotten himself into a bit more trouble than just over indulging. There was a request to notify his commanding officer if he was located, and Langdon could think of only one thing that would cause George Hammond to do that. O'Neill was AWOL.
Damn.
Dan Langdon found himself between a rock and a hard place. He knew he should contact George immediately and let him deal with his own officer, but he and Jack had a long history, going back to when he was a newly promoted Captain, and Jack was a very undisciplined Lieutenant. They had served together several times, fought alongside each other, and even double dated, at least until Sara came on the scene.
Dan had married soon after Jack, and after the birth of his second child had transferred out of a combat unit. He had lost touch with Jack O'Neill for a while there and had been shocked to learn of his capture and imprisonment at the hands of the Iraqis. The next time he had seen him was only a few months ago, on his way from the Springs to Washington for some high-powered meeting. That had puzzled Dan, Jack being the last person he would expect to be involved in anything to do with the top brass.
Then Dan had been told about the magic ring hidden deep down under the mountain like something out of a Tolkien novel, and it had all fallen into place. The thought of Jack O'Neill travelling to other worlds and fighting aliens on a daily basis was much more believable than him attending meetings in Washington.
They had met a couple of times for dinner since, and been careful to avoid any mention of Jack's work in 'Deep Space Radar Telemetry'. Now, here he was, in Dan's prison, and he was causing as much trouble as in the old days.
General Langdon came to a decision.
"I'm going to talk to Colonel O'Neill, Doctor. I'll let you know if he's being transferred into your care when I'm done."
Captain Morales moved forward, the cell key in his hand, but the General stopped him. "I'll speak to him alone, Captain." He held his hand out and the key was handed over, albeit, reluctantly.
"Are you sure, sir?"
"Yes, Captain, I'm sure." He couldn't help smiling at the question. A drunk Jack O'Neill wasn't exactly a new experience for him.
Jack was lying down when Dan unlocked the cell door, but sat up when he saw who his latest visitor was. His attempt to stand ended in failure and he slumped back on the cot with a groan.
"Sir."
"Jack."
Dan took a seat on the cot next to him. "Want to tell me what's going on?"
"I got in a fight, ended up here."
"And what about the rest of it, Jack? Hammond's put a flag on your file, you know."
Jack turned bloodshot eyes to his. "Really?" At the answering nod, he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "Hell. Guess I'm in trouble then."
Dan searched his face, seeing changes he didn't like. "Come on, Jack. I need some answers if I'm going to help. So far there's no real paperwork – just a couple of incident reports." When there was no answer, he continued. "Doctor Martin wants to transfer you to the base infirmary."
That got a reaction.
"No. I don't need to go to any infirmary."
"Then what am I meant to do, Jack? By rights I should have reported your whereabouts to General Hammond by now."
"I...oh shit!" Jack bolted upright, his hand over his mouth.
Dan recognised the signs immediately, dragging the other man over the corridor to the latrine directly opposite. He stood, patiently waiting while the Colonel vomited into a toilet bowl, then watched as he staggered over to the hand basin and splashed liberal amounts of water on his face. When he straightened up, Dan was stunned at how pale he looked.
He turned to lead the way back, only to have Jack make no move to follow. "Jack?"
O'Neill shook his head. "No, Dan. I can't go back in there."
Dan had never thought to hear such desperation in Jack's voice. He thought for a moment then nodded. "Okay, Jack. God knows what, but I'll think of something." He put his hand on the small of the other man's back, helping him to stay upright. "Come on."
He saw the surprise in the faces of the personnel in the outer office as he hurried by, urging Jack past them. He paused only long enough to say two things. "Colonel O'Neill is fine, Doctor. I'll take full responsibility." And "Lose the paperwork, Captain."
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