Doctor Daniel Jackson – archaeologist, leading expert on ancient Earth cultures, fluent in over twenty languages – was speechless.
O'Neill usually got a kick out of watching the (normally) articulate doctor be struck dumb by something, and if the Colonel hadn't been so thoroughly miserable, he would definitely have grinned.
But as it was, when Daniel ducked into the back section of the cell and saw one Colonel Jack O'Neill lying on his side on the pallet, spooned up behind one Major Samantha Carter, he stopped in his tracks with his mouth hanging open and a flummoxed expression on his face. And all O'Neill could do was meet the archaeologist's gaze with apprehension in his eyes.
The younger man finally recovered himself. "Have you been up all night?" Daniel asked quietly.
O'Neill shrugged his left shoulder minutely, not wishing to disturb Carter's sleep and knowing that Daniel would be able to read the answering fatigue and worry in his own expression. All night long he had wrestled with his decision to honor Carter's wishes. Though he hadn't completely let go of hope, he knew full well that Carter was likely going to die today. A part of him – a big part – wanted to say to hell with what she wanted, and get her out of this alive no matter what the sacrifice. Another part, though, knew that Carter was right. There was no negotiating with terrorists. They were never truly able to be defeated, no matter what stance you took against them, but giving in to their terms was the surest way to guarantee that their demands would escalate in frequency and savagery. If Carter were to submit to Polytus, there was no telling what the next level of his demands would entail.
No, the only semblance of victory came from faithful perseverance in the face of all attacks. To never yield. He knew this. And he knew that Carter would rather die than allow her integrity to be compromised. But he wrestled with it, all the same.
All night long he'd fought with himself, second-guessing every decision that had led them to this point. And all night long he'd dreaded the inevitable, relentless advance of sunrise. He'd known that if he were to sleep, morning would come even sooner...unconsciousness being a sort of time machine that would effectively obliterate over the course of an eyeblink the remaining hours or minutes Carter had left. And now, here it was despite his watchfulness. Unbidden and unavoidable.
For his part, Daniel appeared to have forgotten his original intention upon entering the room. He didn't even seem to notice when Teal'c stepped up behind him.
If the Jaffa had any opinion of the state in which the military half of SG-1had just been found, he gave no indication of it. His voice, when he spoke, was as low and even as always. "The guards approach."
O'Neill closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could block out everything just by not seeing it. Block out everything except for the feel of the warm, vital woman in his arms. For just an instant longer he allowed himself to inhale the scent of her hair, imagining another possible life. One in which they were safe at home, far from any psychotic aliens. One in which he didn't have to pretend that he didn't love her. One in which he didn't have to wake her now, and watch her martyred.
Then the moment was over; he could allow himself no more. He opened his eyes and removed his arm from where it had been wrapped securely around her. He leaned back, allowing space between their bodies for the first time since Carter's divulgence the night before.
Sensing either his movement or the sudden lack of warmth against her back, Carter stirred and rolled over, looking at him blearily. "Jack?"
O'Neill could see mirrored in her eyes the regret and foreboding etched into his own features. "It's time," he said simply.
As he helped her up, he took the opportunity to pull her a little closer than necessary so that he could whisper into her ear. "Remember, we have got to get them to let us come with you, today."
The chance of them effecting their crappy escape plan was so slim as to be nonexistent, but it was all that was keeping him going.
Carter nodded wearily and stepped back until she was entirely supporting herself. O'Neill kept his hands out in a protective, cautionary gesture until she appeared steady enough to proceed on her own, then he too stepped back, knowing that she'd want to project a composed image for her enemy.
They entered the front section of the cell just as the bars retracted into the wall. The usual guard quartet waited patiently in the corridor as Carter approached. All of them had healed with no visible signs of their scuffle with SG-1, save for the man with the broken nose. The surrounding areas of his face were still puffy and discolored.
When O'Neill, Daniel and Teal'c made to follow Carter out of the cell, the same spokesman from the second day stepped forward. "Only the woman," he instructed.
"Oh for crying out loud," O'Neill muttered angrily.
"Ah, we'd really appreciate it if you'd let us go with Sam today," Daniel tried.
"The Basileus only wants to see the woman."
"Yes, we know. But we're asking you to take us along anyway."
The front man opened his mouth to reiterate his orders again, but finally Carter intervened. She stepped forward, capturing the gaze of the largest guard, still in the corridor. O'Neill realized that he was the one who'd appeared concerned for her the past two days. "Look, we all know this is the last time," she said. "I won't live through today, and I really don't…I don't want to die alone. Please let my team be with me. I promise that I'll continue not to fight you if you just let them come."
All four guards paused, looking to each other silently for an indication of what their course of action should be. Finally, the largest stepped forward and addressed Carter. "You have conducted yourself with honor at all times, even to the extent of defending those ordered to imprison you. Your friends may accompany you on this day, and I will bear the responsibility for allowing it."
Carter's gratitude was sincere. "Thank you," she said, and led her team from the cell.
For the last time, they were taken to the throne room. Colonel O'Neill walked behind Carter, alert to her status and ready to catch her should she stumble in her weakened state. His 2IC was wasted; he could see it in the way she weaved when she walked. He could see it in her stance when they were led before Polytus and she assumed a loose sort of parade rest, her body obviously sore and exhausted. He watched her with worried eyes as he, Daniel and Teal'c were led off to stand at the side.
Next to him, Daniel carefully glanced up under the pretence of watching Polytus rise and descend from his dais. He nudged O'Neill, bringing the Colonel's attention to the slit in the fabric behind the throne, verifying Carter's impression of the tunnel entrance location. O'Neill nodded, eyes scanning the room for anything that could serve as a weapon.
The obvious choices were the staffs carried by their guard, and getting close to them wouldn't be a problem. All four of their personal escort stood behind the three men of SG-1, obviously there to discourage just the sort of attempt they were hoping to make. There were also two personal bodyguards of the Basileus posted at the door, similarly equipped with staffs, and a personal attendant, unarmed.
Carter was left unguarded, standing alone at the center of the room, but O'Neill knew that she was at the limits of her endurance. Over the years she had proven her mettle to him, over and over, but frankly he was in awe that she was still standing after what she'd been through. Teal'c had said that his Jaffa friend was killed by the fourth shot of the Agonis; the fact that Samantha Carter – a mere human – had survived to the same point was a testament to her personal strength of will. Though there was acid churning in his gut from anxiety, and in preparation for the grief waiting in the wings, he found himself feeling absurdly proud of her. He had reason to be, both as her commanding officer, and as her…well…as whatever it was that he was to her. He wasn't exactly certain of the definition for a CO who was also someone's against-regulations love interest.
Polytus came to the bottom of the dais and approached Carter. Only then did he notice that her team had been brought along with her. "What are they doing here?" he demanded.
The largest guard stiffened in the corner of O'Neill's eye. "Basileus. It was I who allowed it. The woman requested their presence today, and…"
He trailed off, apparently unable to find the words to convey his meaning. O'Neill could understand. Exactly how was the guard supposed to express his sympathetic desire to grant Carter's final request? How was he supposed to explain that to the man who would be responsible for her death?
Polytus didn't need the explanation. "Watch them!" he snapped, clearly displeased by their very presence. It seemed that the Basileus was also at the end of his rope and O'Neill wondered what Carter had said to him the day before to put the ruler in such a surly mood. He almost grinned; knowing his Major it would have been quick, cutting and accurate.
On the previous occasion O'Neill had seen the Basileus interact with Carter, Polytus had attempted to appear charming and magnanimous. Rational even, if only she would capitulate to his demands. Today he spared no thought for pleasantries, addressing her brusquely. "Have you changed your mind?"
Though it was obviously an effort, Carter straightened, squaring her shoulders and jerking her chin up in blatant challenge. "No."
Next to him, O'Neill saw Daniel wince.
The Basileus blew an exasperated breath. "Surely you know by now that you will not be able to withstand the Agonis a fourth time. It will kill you."
Carter's gaze never wavered as she continued to meet his eyes. "I know."
Polytus shook his head, reaching up to massage long, slender fingers against his temple as if he were suffering from a headache. His tone, when he spoke, was incredulous, as if he truly could not wrap his mind around her defiance. "Why?" he demanded finally. "Why would you choose death over being a queen?"
"Because I'd rather die with dignity than debase myself by giving in to the demands of a tyrant who would use me as a brood mare," Carter replied. Her tone was even, but there was an edge of sharpness to it. O'Neill recognized Carter's "pissed off" face when he saw it, and he felt that swell of pride in her again.
"Though you'd never understand it, there are certain things a person would rather die than lose," she continued, and her eyes flitted over to meet the Colonel's briefly. O'Neill's heart began tripping in his chest and he found himself once more struggling with the overwhelming urge to step in and order her not to do this. His reaction was like a stubborn corpse; he kept burying it, and it just kept rising up from the grave to do battle with him again and again. For the hundredth time he reminded himself that this was her decision. He could order her otherwise, and he knew that she wouldn't disobey, but despite his overwhelming temptation to do just that, something kept stopping him from taking that step. Something beyond Carter's conviction to do the right thing, but there was no time to examine it.
"Then you leave me no choice," Polytus said coldly and gestured to his attendant. The young woman retrieved the cane-like instrument, coming to stand next to the Basileus. O'Neill tensed, shooting looks at Teal'c and Daniel, signaling them to be ready.
"You're wrong," Carter countered hotly, anger fueling her and flashing icy blue fire in her eyes. "You've got all the options, here. You could choose not to do this. You could release the workers in the mines. You could let me and my team go free."
"I cannot!" Polytus said. "You know that we are at war with the Bretins. If you were freed only to fall into the hands of my enemy, I and my people would lose our advantage."
"We would go away!" Daniel interjected passionately. He tried to approach the Basileus, but his arms were grabbed from behind by one of the guards. "Look," he continued regardless, "this isn't necessary. If you'd just let us go we'd return to our home, far away from here, and never return!"
"I cannot take that chance," Polytus said.
"Then promise me this," Carter started, capturing the ruler's attention again. "At least let my team go. They haven't done anything, and they can't help or hurt you. Once I'm gone you won't need them anymore. Let them go."
Polytus regarded her silently for a long moment. "I will…consider it," he said gravely, then beckoned to his waiting attendant who moved to hand the death-dealing instrument to him.
For O'Neill time seemed to slow down. Carter looked at him while Polytus reached out for the Agonis stick, and he saw everything in her eyes. Everything he felt himself, and more. Goodbye, hers said. Don't wait. Keep going. Escape. Unshed tears shone in her eyes, and her lips moved in a hopeless, unvoiced "I love you" with so much emotion that he was shaken to the core. Then the room erupted into violence.
O'Neill saw every moment with perfect clarity of vision; colors appeared brighter, sounds louder. He could smell the oil burning in the torches on the walls. He felt his guard's breath whoosh past his ear as he elbowed him in the stomach, then spun to deliver an uppercut that lifted the larger man briefly off his feet as he sailed back into a graceful arc before coming to crash back down on the floor.
On the other side of Daniel, Teal'c had snapped his head back in the same instant, violently impacting the already much-abused nose of the guard Carter had kneed in the face two days before. As the guard stumbled backward, hands pressed to his spurting nose, Teal'c snatched up his fallen staff and jabbed it at the third guard. The fourth, the one who had allowed them to accompany Carter up to the throne room, moved to intervene.
To O'Neill's intense surprise, Daniel dipped and lunged at the fourth guard, tackling the massive man like a linebacker. They both went down.
Then O'Neill realized that Daniel was buying him precious seconds and so, instead of staying to face the two sentry guards that he knew were even now running toward him from their post at the door, he rushed forward to stop Polytus. But before he'd gotten two steps, he knew he would be too late.
The Basileus had used the distraction to advance upon Carter. He grappled with her now, mere moments from applying the lethal end of his weapon to Carter's skin. She was putting up a fight, O'Neill could see, but what little strength she had left was quickly fading. She flagged, lost her grip on Polytus, and sank to her hands and knees. She appeared to be keeping herself from collapsing to the floor only by the thinnest shred of control she had left.
Polytus let her slide down, standing over her like the executioner her was. He glanced up once as the Colonel approached, then reached out his arm to touch the deadly instrument to Carter's head.
"No!" O'Neill shouted, and barreled into the Basileus exactly two seconds later. They both tumbled to the floor, but it was too late. He'd heard Carter's cry of pain.
The Colonel pushed himself up to his knees immediately, scrambling over to the fallen Major. She lay on her side facing away from him, and with his heart in his throat he gripped her shoulder and tugged her onto her back.
Eyes glazed, she looked up at him without seeing, her lips parted and working in silent agony. "Carter, no," he said desperately, pulling her to him, trying to keep her there. "No! Sam!"
She could hear him; she reacted by lifting one tremulous hand up to touch him. It fumbled blindly at his chest before sliding up to find the side of his face by feel, and his heart broke into a thousand shards. He raised the arm that wasn't wrapped around her shoulders to press his own hand against hers, holding it to his cheek. "Sam," he said again, anguish thick in his voice, "Stay with me, here."
But she was fading. Slowly the light dimmed from her eyes. He heard the continued sounds of fighting across the room, but didn't dare to look away, even for a moment. Carter's raspy heaves slowed until her chest was alarmingly still. "Ja…Jack," she whispered, exhaling his name, and then her eyes closed, displacing the water that had collected there. The two tears slid slowly down the sides of her face and into her hair and he watched them as he felt her arm suddenly grow heavier. He lowered his hand, accompanying her own to fall gently to rest on her stomach.
She didn't take another breath.
He stared at her lifeless face, disbelievingly numb. He was waiting for the miracle he knew wouldn't come. Waiting for the last-minute save that was already sixty seconds too late. Waiting for the grief he felt looming to crash over him like the killing blow of a tidal wave. It kept building, gathering above him, threatening an ever-increasing deluge of pain.
And while he was waiting, his gaze was drawn to Polytus. The Basileus was also lying on his back, several feet away, uninjured. He'd only had the breath knocked out of him.
And next to O'Neill, within easy reach, was the device that had been used to kill Carter.
Finally he felt something beyond the numbness…something blessedly more immediate than the grief that would devastate him in a moment, when it came. A murderous rage filled him, and he reached for the device.
a/n: Heh…don't throw anything at me. The fic's not over yet, and all hope is not lost. It only looks that way ;) Trust me!
