Please note: Major spoilers for the Season 8 episode 'It's Good To Be King'

Sequel to 'Under His Gaze'

Freezer Burn

The moment his fingers touched the panels, it was back. It writhed in his head, taunting him, but he fought it. He was the one in control. He had to be.

"Got any quarters?"

After that first attempt he had forced himself into a flippant comment to hide just how much he didn't want to be there. He had been pleased, excited even, but as soon as he sat down he had wanted to get up, just as he had in Antarctica. However, that had been different. That was Earth. He had know they would find a solution, and if they hadn't he would have made himself go back.

This time it was him or no one.

Now he had no choice.

He could hear the Jaffa pounding on the hull, the sound of staff weapon blasts echoing.

Why had he agreed to do this?

He had jumped at the excuse to go off world, have a bit of excitement after months hemmed in by walls hundreds of feet underground. His mind had played tricks on him, told him it couldn't have been that bad. That the Antarctica device was a chair that controlled a whole complex – this was just a tiny little ship. What was there to worry about?

This mission gave him the chance to get off world and have the added pleasure of seeing Harry again, because, if truth be told, he liked Harry – a lot. Maybourne was as transparent as a beer glass, and just as much fun to keep company with. When he had heard Harry had been made a king it had just seemed too good an opportunity to miss – go exchange a few jokes, tease him a little, get the Ancient ship working, and bring it home.

A piece of cake.

Oiy!

He concentrated. Of course he did. He hadn't been unhappy when it didn't work during those first few attempts. Now part of him hoped Carter hadn't managed to fix the damn thing, and that they could just wait the Jaffa out.

Leaving Daniel and Teal'c to Ares' tender mercies.

And Maybourne.

And all his subjects.

Damn.

So he concentrated some more and felt the insidious tentacles infiltrating his mind, and he managed to speak through the effort of holding them at bay.

"I'm doing the best I can."

But when the burst of pain told him it was working and Carter had been so relieved, he had smiled. He sought the path he knew he had to follow and let it lead him, lifting the ship to head out to space as if he were a hawk seeking his prey. Carter leaned over his shoulder, trying to help, and casting excited glances at him. Once he even caught her eye as she told him he was doing great and she had grinned until the ship jolted, and he had been still in command enough of his own faculties to instinctively grin in return.

Up through the darkness of space he flew, straight into the heart of his enemy, all the while the fire growing behind his eyes, until he couldn't hold it in any longer and the word came muttering from between his lips like a prayer.

"Weapons."

And he became Death.

So very easily.

He wanted more, annoyed to find the weapons depleted. He wanted to grind Ares' mothership and everyone in it to pulp.

Grabbing a handful of himself, he pulled a cloak of normality around him, becoming the General once more.

And all the while, through the happy celebrations, the speeches, the platitudes, the sending of the ship through the gate, right up until he finally mounted those steps, holding a bunch of yellow flowers at his side, he thought he had beaten it.

He thought he had won.

Until he came out the other side.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Jack sat back, the hard leather of his new office chair squeaking annoyingly, raising a hand to massage his temple as he tiredly shut his eyes. The headache that had flared with such intensity when his feet hit the ramp, seemed to have raised itself up a notch or two, despite the tablets the doctor prescribed, and he was beginning to wonder if he should give up on the paperwork and go home.

He never used to feel this way when he returned from a mission, but he wasn't as young as he used to be either, so maybe it wasn't just the knees that were going.

For a while there, back on Maybourne's planet, he had felt alive – holding his P-90 in his hands, refusing to back down, the adrenaline pumping.

And Carter grabbing his sidearm like that.

He wasn't going to let her live that one down any time soon. He smiled. Yes, he could get plenty of mileage out of that little incident.

Glancing at his watch, he decided to finish the report he was writing and leave early, get a good night's sleep, and come in bright and early in the morning.

The decision made, he bent back to his task, his hands rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he worked.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

"Sir? General?"

Jack shook himself awake and sat up, wondering for a second where he was. The young face staring at him over the car seat came into focus, anxious expression and all.

"Is there a problem, Airman?"

The face immediately swung back to the front, but the eyes still tracked him in the car mirror. "No, sir, no problem. It's just that we're here, and you were asleep."

Sitting straighter, Jack looked out the window, seeing the familiar sight of his own house in the fading light. He must have been more tired than he thought to not wake when the car stopped. Normally he was a lot more alert than that, hell - maybe it was best that his field days were virtually over. If he'd slept like that on a mission…

He exited the car, giving the airman a quick 'thanks' as the man jumped to hold open the door for him, and entered the house.

His first inclination was to sit down with a cold beer in front of the television, but despite the temptation, he knew better. If he did that he would end up falling asleep on the couch and probably wake in the early hours of the morning, starving and with a sore back. Instead, he changed clothes and took a steak from the refrigerator, grilling it while putting together a salad. He even ate at the table, sipping a glass of water, before swallowing another couple of the doctor's pills. And then, studiously avoiding the television, he headed for bed.