A/N: I'm thrilled to report that the germs which held me hostage last week are finally backing down. You'll be happy to know that as I was sniffling miserably in my sickbed, I was also brainstorming the next installment of this story. I've gotta tell you, I'm still amazed by the excitement and anticipation in your reviews. So, thanks everyone! Whether you've been with me from the beginning, or you've just discovered the story, I can't tell you how much your feedback motivates me.

Enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter 24

Soft, warm fingers of pleasure wove their way through Sam's heart. Disconnected and floating, she reveled in the faint, masculine scent that surrounded her. It was a smell that triggered memories of sheer bliss. Nothing could possibly be wrong when she was so snugly wrapped in his essence – Jack's essence.

Jack.

All at once, her eyes flew open. The spacious guest room in Daniel's modest, suburban home was tasteful and understated in its decorating. The comforter on the queen-sized bed was warm and downy, and her night-shirt was freshly laundered. In a disoriented state of sleepiness, she struggled to put her thoughts together.

And then, as it always did, the pain crashed down on her like a pile of bricks. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. In her lifetime, she'd witnessed the possible destruction of her entire planet, been held captive by more than one hostile alien, and had even weathered the death of her beloved mother. But nothing, to her recollection, had ever hurt like this.

When her breath returned, it was in great, painful gasps that eventually turned into sobs of grief. More than a week had passed since the accident, and the wound was still too raw for her to probe with any depth. She remembered grieving the death of her mother in one, ragged process that had pounded her relentlessly. Now, however, Sam couldn't do much more than process a few seconds of anguish before her subconscious slammed the door on the pain, leaving her numb and exhausted. Perhaps, when her mother had died, her inexperienced heart had plunged through the grieving process without pause because it was blissfully unaware of how difficult loss really was. Now, however, she was wise to the grueling agony that accompanied the healing process, and her soul was simply unwilling to go down that road in one, long trip. She could only process the grief in tiny spurts.

In some ways, this inability to feel the pain was a blessing. The despair and horror she felt in those moments of release was almost unbearable. And yet, part of her longed to just push through it and be past it. She wanted to click her ruby slippers together three times and zip to a time when it didn't hurt to breathe.

Unfortunately, heartache didn't work that way. And so, she found herself frequently waking in the middle of the night, expecting to find Jack beside her, and feeling utterly crushed when she realized he was not.

For about the billionth time, she wondered how this had come to be. How had her life been swept away from her so carelessly? In one cruel instant, all her dreams and hopes had been picked up and dashed against the stones of harsh reality.

A sharp movement in her abdomen seemed to protest that reasoning. And, as she had done on the other billion occasions she'd followed this path of thought, she silently amended that not all her hopes were lost. Two tiny, precious little dreams were quietly growing inside her, just waiting to fill her empty, ragged heart with fresh inspiration for the future.

A sad smile touched her lips as Sam settled back into the mattress. As her face touched the soft bed-linens, she was again surrounded by Jack's achingly familiar scent. Initially, she'd resisted the idea of sleeping on the pillows she'd shared with him, because she feared the scent would bring back painful memories. After one night, however, she decided that the memories would be there with or without the pillows, so she gave in and surrounded herself with the scent of him for as long as it still lingered.

Hot tears sprang up in her throat at that thought. How long would it be before even his scent was gone? Could there really be a world without her precious Jack in it? She knew with grim certainty that time would wipe away the physical evidence of his presence on this earth much more quickly than it would erase his memory from her heart. And one day very soon, she'd be left with no trace of him but sweet remembrances.

Another swift kick made her smile through her tears. Again, she revised her assessment of the situation. Because, unlike the others who mourned him, Sam had two, living pieces of Jack O'Neill to hold tightly to. And that, she understood, was nothing short of a miracle.

Hassan trudged wearily into the reed village. With a blanket and some rope he'd planned to use for a goat tether, he'd managed to craft a crude litter for the frighteningly weak man he'd found on the hillside this afternoon. Though it wasn't more than four miles from his home, the hike had been agonizing. Uneven terrain and damp, marshy lowlands had forced Hassan to take a very long, circuitous route home. What had taken only three hours by himself had grown into more than six with his patient. Hassan's shoulders ached from the makeshift harness it bore, and his feet were blistered and sore with fatigue.

Silently, Hassan thanked Allah for placing his hut on the outskirts of the tiny village. This late at night, no one would hear him return home unless he made a great deal of noise. He feared that the villagers would be unsupportive or worse if they learned he was bringing an American soldier into their midst. However, Hassan hadn't deliberated long before deciding to care for the man. Far beyond any monetary incentive he might have for rescuing the American, his faith dictated that he step in and help however he could. The Prophet himself had declared that charity toward the needy was of utmost importance. And Hassan did not think he'd run across a more needy person in his life.

The man was frighteningly dehydrated and racked with fever. Hassan was certain that without his aid, the man would have expired by nightfall. Even now, his survival was quite uncertain. In truth, Hassan was astonished by the man's fortitude. Lesser soldiers would have long since given up.

As quietly as possible, the young buffalo-herder opened the door to his hut and gently dragged his living cargo inside. His aged mother, who lay sleeping on a pallet across the room, stirred from her slumber and sat up.

"Son," she said, a clear note of worry in her voice, "you are late in returning. Is all not well?"

Hassan stepped aside and let his mother see the man who lay on the floor behind him. The moonlight streamed in through the open door, making the black and white Air Force emblem seem to leap from his arm. He heard his mother's startled gasp.

"Allah preserve us!" Her whispered prayer was accompanied by a surprisingly nimble flurry of activity as she launched off the bed. In an instant, she was at the man's side, feeling his dry skin and listening to his labored breathing. "Son, why have you brought this American to us?"

Quickly, Hassan recounted the events of the afternoon. He felt oddly ridiculous explaining the strange stone circle and accompanying scorch marks on the hillside. There was no logical explanation for the features he'd discovered, nor for the man who'd been lying in their center. The story sounded crazy to his own ears, so he could only imagine what his mother would think.

To his surprise, however, she merely nodded sagely. "I do not know what magic brought him here, but there are very, very old tales of such things happening on Rock Fields. When your father took those scientists to that place years ago, I begged him not to, for fear of the old stories. He assured me they were superstitions and nothing more, but this man is living proof of their accuracy. Allah has chosen us, Hassan, to care for him. I pray he recovers, for the wrath of the Americans is nothing to take lightly. However, whether he lives or dies, we shall have to reunite him with his Western brethren."

Hassan nodded. He was not sure he believed his mother's stories of ancient magic, but her assessment of the rest of the situation was correct. They were this man's only hope.

With that thought in mind, Hassan and his mother began the task of nursing this man back to health.

Three days later, Hassan sat in his hut, quietly reading the Koran, when a hoarse voice startled him from his prayers. Since rescuing the American from the hillside, life for Hassan and his mother had been trying, to say the least. They had quickly discovered that attempting to keep anything secret in the reed village was a waste of time. Privacy was a foreign concept to his people, and it hadn't taken half a morning for someone to discover his patient. At that point, there had been an uproar of epic proportions amongst the tribesmen. Luckily, cool heads had eventually prevailed, and everyone had finally, if somewhat grudgingly, agreed with his decision to care for the soldier. In spite of this, every person who entered his hut stared at the loaded assault rifle in the corner as though it were an angry viper ready to strike.

When the man spoke again, Hassan instantly rushed to the man's pallet. Much to his surprise, the delirious haze of fever had lifted, leaving the man looking exhausted, yet startlingly lucid. In a gesture he hoped was comforting, Hassan patted the soldier's hand and called out for his mother.

She peeked in through the doorway, pulled by the urgency in her son's voice. When she saw that the man on the pallet was now awake and aware, she smiled with delight and rushed over to him.

"Hassan," she directed, "go fetch Kahlil. He speaks a few words of English." As her son obediently left the tent, she reached down and gently took her patient's hand. "How fortunate you are, my Western friend. Allah must have many plans for your life, for nothing but his intervention could have saved you." She smiled. "We will reunite you with your countrymen as soon as we can."

Clearly, the man on the bed understood none of her words. He looked at her, and began speaking in the odd, chopped language that she instantly recognized as English. When he saw the lack of comprehension on her own face, he looked supremely frustrated.

Just then, the door to the hut opened again, and her son entered, accompanied by a middle-aged man of distinguished features. Kahlil was highly respected in the village. Though he had been born here, he'd spent several years in Basra working in a factory that made fabric dyes. During that time, he managed to save enough money to buy the only jeep in his entire village, and had picked up some fragmented English from the humanitarian UN workers in the city.

Seeing the soldier awake in bed, Kahlil regarded the man warily. Then, as the clearly frustrated Westerner continued to talk, Kahlil's face registered surprise, then humor. In moments, he was chuckling loudly.

Seeing that Hassan and his mother were completely taken aback by his unexpected laughter, Kahlil hastened to explain himself. "I know my English is not very good," he said with a grin, "but if I'm not mistaken that man is very upset. Not over losing his army or his weapon, but because he fears being late for his wedding!"

Jack looked around at his dimly lit surroundings. He had no idea how he'd gotten here. Or, for that matter, where, exactly, here was. All he knew was that he appeared to be in some sort of bamboo house surrounded by people who spoke an oddly familiar foreign tongue. Could he be on some formerly visited stargate planet?

Blinking, he tried to shake off the blinding fatigue that seemed to have crept into his very bones. He got the feeling that he'd been here for some time. By the looks of things, nobody else from the site had been transported here with him.

Great. He was alone on some godforsaken planet with no way of communicating with the natives. Worse than that, he had no idea how he was going to get home to Carter.

Carter. Wincing, he realized she would be worried sick about him. And knowing her, she'd be working overtime to find a way to rescue him, when she should be putting her feet up and resting until those babies were born.

The elderly woman above his bed was speaking with quiet soothing tones. Well, he thought, at least she's not trying to kill me. A quick glance around the room showed his P-90 propped up in a corner. Assuming he ever regained enough strength to actually walk over and pick it up, he could feel some comfort in knowing he wasn't totally defenseless.

Maybe, Jack thought desperately, she understands English. Clearing his throat, he gave it a shot. "I really hate to bug you, but you wouldn't happen to know how I got here, or how I might get back home?" Seeing the blank look on her face, Jack grit his teeth in frustration. At this moment, he sincerely wished he had either Teal'c's patience or Daniel's knack with languages. Lacking either, however, he sighed in disgust.

Just then, two men entered the hut. Feeling his helplessness rise to new levels, Jack glared at the new arrivals and spoke his mind. The one nice thing about the current situation is that nobody was going to understand enough of his words to be offended. "Damn it!" he vented, trying to get control of his exasperation, "I need to get home! I'm supposed to be getting married!"

Just then, the older of the two men in the room looked very startled, and began laughing. He spoke a few words to his companions, who also began to chuckle.

Much to Jack's amazement, the man walked over to him, crouched down, and began speaking in broken, heavily-accented phrases. "You very sick. We…" he paused, searching for words, "We drive you home soon."

Instantly, Jack perked up. "Home? You know how to get me home?" Seeing a confused look on the man's face, he tried again. "You know where I live?" At that, the man's face brightened.

"Yes," he said, nodding enthusiastically. "Hassan–" he pointed to the younger man, "finds you sick three yesterday." He then poked a finger at his own chest. "I, Kahlil, drive you to army soon."

Jack tried to digest the information. Three days? He'd been out for three days? Oh, hell. Carter was never going to forgive him for missing the wedding. But beyond that, he was confused – and a little concerned – about the idea of driving to an army. He tried to see if he'd understood correctly. "You drive me to the army?" Seeing Kahlil's enthusiastic and smiling nod, Jack could only assume he was supposed to be happy for this. "And where are we now?" The man rattled off an unknown, foreign-sounding name. Jack sighed. That didn't help at all. Deciding on a different tack, he tried again. "How far are we from the stargate?" Seeing his confused look, he fumbled for a simpler translation. "The stone circle?"

Kahlil's eyes brightened, and he turned to converse with the other man in the room. After a brief exchange, Kahlil responded to Jack's question in his broken English. "Hassan find you on six kilometer."

For a moment, Jack simply accepted the information. Then, his eyes widened. "Kilometers?" How did an alien culture know about kilometers?

Kahlil looked apologetic. "I know not mile. Only kilometer."

Suddenly, Jack's head was spinning. Not only did the man speak of Earth's two most standard units of measure, but he knew that Jack was more inclined to understand miles than kilometers. Where exactly was he? Trying to remain calm, he asked another question. "And how far is the army?"

Again, Kahlil and Hassan spoke for a moment, seeming to debate the distance. After some argument, Kahlil shrugged. Turning to Jack, he spoke uncertainly. "I know not how far. It take 2 day to reach Basra by jeep."

Basra Jack felt the breath whoosh from his lungs. "You mean I'm on–" he bit his tongue. He'd almost said 'on Earth,' before realizing how incriminating that would sound. Quickly, he tried again. "I'm in Iraq?"

Kahlil looked surprised by the question. Nodding curiously, he replied with a question of his own. "You are not in Iraq before you are sick?"

Thinking quickly, Jack did a quick appraisal of the local geography. His past trips to Iraq had all been disastrous. One had ended in a late-opening parachute and a skull fracture, while another had landed him four months in an Iraqi prison. Knowing what he did about this part of the world, he was reluctant to give up too much information. Still, he needed some logical explanation for his appearance here. "I don't know where I was before."

Kahlil either accepted this information, or was reluctant to push Jack any further. Clearly, the men understood him to be a member of the US military, and were anxious to shuttle him back to his comrades. Jack had no idea how it was possible, but he was apparently back on Earth.

And then, a thought struck him. The two men had easily understood his reference to a stone ring. Could there be another stargate, here in remote Iraq? The thought sent chills down his spine. Kahlil looked ready to get up and leave, but Jack stopped him with a hand on his arm. "When you drive me to Basra, can you show me the stone ring?" Kahlil looked at Hassan, chatted with him for a second, and then looked back at Jack, nodding.

"We take you to stone ring. We next take you to army at Basra." There was a question in his voice, as if he awaited Jack's approval.

Feeling relieved, Jack nodded. "When do we leave?"

Kahlil patted his hand patiently. "Arahmad go for petrol with his camel. He return in another 2 week. Then we go to Basra."

Jack winced. Two weeks? "Do you have a telephone?" Seeing the other man's eyes darken with pity, he knew the answer before it was spoken.

"Telephone in Basra." To his credit, he looked supremely apologetic.

Sighing, Jack gave in to the inevitable. Sam would really kill him if he missed the birth of their twins. Still, it couldn't be helped. He just prayed she wasn't too worried about him in the meantime.

Kahlil's face had softened, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. "You get married?"

Jack smiled back. "Yes. And my fiancé –" he paused when he saw the man's expression grow confused. Trying again, he chose a different phrase. "My future wife –" this time there was understanding "– is pregnant." Suddenly, Jack wondered if he ought to be proclaiming that he'd had relations with a woman outside the vows of wedlock. These middle-easterners could be touchy about those sorts of things.

Instead, however, Kahlil's eyes lit up with delight. He turned to the two other people in the room and spoke with great animation. The elderly woman smiled widely and clapped her hands, while Hassan grinned broadly. Kahlil returned his attention to Jack. "When is baby come?"

He couldn't help grimacing. It killed him that he might miss the birth of his twins. Still, he supposed he should be grateful for the friendly company he'd stumbled into. Were it not for these men, he might be dead. Pushing past his disappointment, he replied. "Samantha, my future wife, is due in less than three weeks. And she's going to have two babies, not one."

Kahlil's eyes widened. "Two baby?" Then he paused, looking alarmed. "Three week?" When Jack nodded, he again turned to the others in the room and spoke rapidly. The woman clapped a hand to her mouth, looking amazed and worried at the same time.

Turning to Jack's pallet, Kahlil spoke gravely. "We pray. Ask Allah for Arahmad come back soon."

Jack had never been a religious man, but in this instance, he wholeheartedly agreed with Kahlil's intentions. The faster that camel returned with its precious cargo of gasoline, the sooner Jack could be back in the US with the other half of his heart.