The Strength of Defiance
Part 3 of the Origins Sequence
Sequel to 'A Scream in the Dark'
By Gumnut
Jan/Feb 2004
It was itchy.
It was itchy, and it was driving him nuts.
Daniel Jackson fingered the bandage on his forehead, and resisted tearing it off and throwing it across the room.
He needed sleep. His mind cried out for it, but at the same time denied him its release. The inscriptions in front of his eyes doubled as his vision struggled to focus. Janet was going to kill him.
The writing was Ancient, its elegant engraving, graceful on the digitised print out, a fragment of the treasure trove that had led to his current incapacitation. One of the few. All of his equipment had been abandoned in their mad scramble for safety. He regretted the loss, but it had been unavoidable. All he had was the digital tape he had stuffed in his jacket pocket when he had changed cartridges. He would have to work with what he had.
The characters doubled again and he shook his head in frustration. The world spun, his office rotating around him in wonderful streaks of colour. Damnit, he couldn't cut a break.
He eyed his now empty coffee cup. Coffee, his saviour. He glanced at the place where his coffee machine used to be – it had still not been returned. The place, of course, was no longer empty, a large pile of books having adopted its spot on a semi-permanent basis. Another trip to the commissary. He was going to kill the person who stole his coffee machine.
Staggering slightly, and almost tripping on his chair on the way out, Daniel headed off down the corridor.
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He ended up in the infirmary attempting to coax a cup of coffee out of the night duty nurse.
He knew he was being cruel. Rosey Peters had not kept it a secret that she had a soft spot for him, going out of her way to attend to him each and every time he ended up here, but this was an emergency. He needed caffeine like he needed oxygen, and with the commissary closed for cleaning, the next closest source was the infirmary staff coffee machine.
He crossed his fingers Janet didn't catch him or he may never be able to leave.
"Hi, Rosey."
"Oh, Doctor Jackson, you look terrible." The nurse immediately stood up, moving out from behind her station, and approaching him, a concerned look on her face.
Uh, oh.
"Ummm." He raised a hand to scratch the back of his head. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Maybe a quick getaway was in order, but the warm smell of fresh hot coffee wafted past his nose – he was a victim of his own addiction.
"No, I'm fine. I was just wondering if I could borrow-"
He was interrupted by the sound of a crash and a moan.
He spun. The noise had come from a private room just to the left of Janet's empty office.
Jack's room.
"Jack?"
He was moving without waiting for an answer, Nurse Peters on his heels.
Daniel made it to the doorway, but no further. A body came hurtling out of the room and slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. His head hit something solid, he saw stars, and the world went away for a while.
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He woke to the sound of a series of gasping moans.
One eye opened and was greeted by cold, grey concrete. Pain echoed back and forth in his head like a billiard ball eternally on the rebound on the inside of his skull, but there was an urgency, an importance, that drove him to ignore it.
Another strangled gasp brought him to sudden clarity and forced him to push himself off the ground. Something was not right.
The first thing his eyes encountered was the crumpled form of Nurse Peters. She lay curled up against the far wall, a red bruise swelling beneath her left eye.
Moans came from behind the nurses' station.
Carefully, in order not to disturb his equilibrium, Daniel climbed to his feet. He briefly staggered against the wall, pausing as the world spun, and swallowing the bile threatening to crawl up his throat. He forced himself to focus. Eyeing the nurse on the floor he could see the steady rise and fall of her chest, and it gave him reassurance that hopefully she was only unconscious, because in his current state, he doubted he could make it over there to check on her himself. The world continued to teeter, threatening to spin away and take him with it.
"Jack?" His voice trembled.
Not knowing Jack's condition, but knowing he was here and knowing the man's capability, Daniel grabbed a phone off the wall. Jack continued to moan, unintelligible mutterings and half formed words drifting up behind the desk.
The connection clicked at the other end of the line, a calm deep voice answering.
"T-Teal'c. I-I need help in the infirmary. Medical assistance. It's Jack." His voice had begun to rasp.
The world tipped sideways suddenly and he had to grab the wall for support. The receiver fell from his hand, clattering as it reached the end of its cord and swung into the wall.
Pull yourself together, Daniel. Jack needs help.
He forced the world to straighten itself, squeezing his eyes shut in defiance. He stepped away from the cold concrete, and opening his eyes once again, came face to face with Jack.
The man must have moved silently, because he hadn't heard a sound.
"Jack?"
Dark eyes, wet with despair, stared at him. A flash of recognition rippled across Jack's face, and his lips formed a name.
"D-Daniel?"
"Jack, it's me." Daniel reached out a tentative hand, unsure whether to touch the man or not.
The choice was taken from him.
Jack grabbed him in a vice like grip, his injured arm torn from its bandages, leaving trails of blood on Daniel's jacket.
"I can't tell. I won't!" His eyes were wild, darting from Daniel to various random points around the room. He opened his mouth to say more, but suddenly his body shuddered as if he had been struck. He gasped aloud, his body shaking. "No, I have to protect." Indrawn breath. "The children! No, no, no..." His agonising howl drifted to a whimper.
The grip on Daniel's arms was painful, Jack's hands flexing in tune to his despair, his body wavering on the verge of collapse, and his mutters wandering off into randomness. Daniel was about to make another attempt to gain a coherent response from the failing man, but abruptly Jack's body stiffened, his eyes catching on Daniel's. They widened as if to pop out of their sockets before, with a gentle sigh, Jack O'Neill collapsed like a stone, taking Daniel to the floor with him.
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The dark was full of painful memories. Shadows of past and present haunted him.
And the screams.
They no longer came, but his slumbering mind replayed them over and over, taunting him with their anguish. Somewhere someone was dying and there was nothing he could do to help them.
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The clatter of falling medical instruments woke him. The curse that followed only helped to clear the fog from his brain.
Opening his eyes he found himself once again in the infirmary, lying on his back, the curtains around the bed hiding everything else from view.
There was another clatter. This time something plastic hit the floor. The cursing continued and abruptly someone's scantily clad backside poked through the curtains.
There was only one person who belonged to that voice.
"Uh, Daniel?"
"Jack?" There was a yelp, and suddenly the backside was joined by the rest of its body as Daniel, attempting to hold up a pair of hospital pants and failing miserably, medical gown covering everything but what it was supposed to, fell through the curtains and landed with a slap on the floor.
O'Neill struggled to sit up, hampered by the tight bandages down his right side. "Daniel? You okay?"
A scruffy tuft of light brown hair appeared at the end of his bed, followed by a pair of blue eyes caught somewhere between embarrassment and elation. "Jack, you're awake!"
"That's stating the obvious, Daniel. You okay?"
"Uh, yeah, fine." The archaeologist stood awkwardly, swaying for a moment.
With the beginnings of exasperation, Jack glared at the younger man. "Daniel, what are you doing? You look like crap."
"I, uh..." He vaguely attempted to pull up his pants, stumbling again, his fingers fumbling with fastenings, but was forced to grab hold of Jack's bed as he swayed again, almost falling.
Jack grabbed his buzzer, signalling for the nurse. There was obviously something wrong with Daniel.
The archaeologist continued to attempt to get dressed. "Daniel, for crying out loud, will you sit down!" He was interrupted by Janet and two nurses bursting through the curtains.
"Colonel! How are you feeling?" Janet immediately targeted him, her wrist flicking up, penlight appearing in her hand as if out of thin air. Probably kept it up her sleeve, he idly thought. But this time he had no time or tolerance for the blasted thing. "Janet, I'm fine." He brushed the light away. "Help Daniel."
"Colonel, Doctor Jackson is not in need of any assistance, much less mine." She cast a frustrated look in Daniel's direction. "I told him last time that if he tried come and see you again, he could pick himself off the floor."
Jack turned his head to look at the archaeologist again. He was now strung between two male nurses, a sheepish look on his face. Janet glared at him. "Daniel, do I need to have you put in restraints?"
"Janet-"
"No, Daniel."
"J-"
"Sanchez, return Doctor Jackson to his bed, and if he should ATTEMPT to twitch a muscle in the wrong direction, you have my permission to restrain him, forcibly if necessary."
Daniel shut up suddenly, swallowing nervously, and was ushered beyond the curtains leaving Jack alone with the doctor.
Okay, this was not the time to piss off the Doc.
When she turned back to him, however, there was nothing of the dictator in her expression. If anything, worry was the dominant emotion on her face.
Oh, god.
"What happened? What's wrong with Daniel?" His heart increased its tempo in his chest.
Her brow wrinkled briefly before she reached out a hand and gently pushed him back down on the bed, his confusion and mounting worry forcing him to comply. "Daniel will be fine, Colonel, he is simply suffering from the remnants of a concussion aggravated by overwork and lack of rest. It seems he has taken a leaf out of your book."
Jack didn't quite know what to say to that remark. Considering the Doc had just had Daniel basically dragged off in chains had him thinking that perhaps this was not the time for some smart-ass remark.
His lack of comment didn't go unnoticed, and her dark eyes smiled at him. "Now, Colonel, how do you feel?"
He looked her in the eye attempting to read her concerns. "I feel fine."
Her gaze darted away from him for a moment.
"Doc, what's wrong?"
She looked at him again, her eyes wide, her expression troubled. "Colonel, what is the last thing you remember?"
Is that a trick question? He thought back.
Memory blinded him.
Words tumbled out of his mouth as he sat bolt upright in bed. "Oh, god, Thor!"
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Sergeant Siler was feeling sorry for himself. He knew he was being pathetic, but he felt like being pathetic.
Here he was, wizbang engineer cum mechanic in the most secret of secret bases on planet Earth. He played with alien technology everyday, knew how to balance the energy of an incoming wormhole in one hand and outgoing energy from a naquahda reactor in the other, had met aliens from all over the galaxy - regularly played poker with one of them, in fact – had been hero of the hour on more than one occasion, and always had the answers when he was asked. He was freaking modern day version of Scotty, for god's sake.
But could he get a date?
No.
It just wasn't goddamn fair.
He held back the urge to pick up the wrench and beat the life out of the capacitor he was performing maintenance on.
The party had been his sister's idea. Invite some of your friends, she said. Have a good time, loosen up.
Party on.
Yeah, right.
Easy for her to say. She was married with three kids. Her husband was Mr. Popularity himself, had a great job, a great car, knew how to say all the right things all at the right time. Admittedly, he couldn't change a light bulb even if he had the instructions tattooed on his forehead, but he knew how to work a room full of people for all it was worth.
Siler had felt like the stereotypical geek-nerd last night. He had wandered around the room attempting to look occupied. Standing amongst conversations that were directed at anyone but himself. He would have been lucky to open his mouth to anything other than an hors-d'oeuvre. It wasn't like there had been anyone in the room he could discuss the mechanics of stargate maintenance with, and since his life tended to revolve around that topic, there wasn't much more to talk about.
The zap of spitting sparks interrupted his train of thought. His finger sizzled and he swore. Damn that hurt.
Man, he needed to get out more.
He darted a glance up at the windows to see if Davis had noticed. Nope, the sergeant had his nose in a book. He squinted. You have got to be kidding! Asterix? Davis, was reading an Asterix comic in the control room?
He sucked on his finger.
Damnit, he needed to change his career path as well.
He turned back to the avenging capacitor, but suddenly the gateroom was awash in a flash of red light.
What the?
Siler nearly fell off his ladder the moment he caught sight of what the light had heralded.
In the middle of the gateroom stood a ten foot roughly humanoid creature with a hide resembling pine bark. A pair of glowing red eyes briefly passed over him before turning in the direction of a stunned looking Davis, comic discarded and out of sight.
An absurd part of Siler's mind counted down to the sound of the klaxon going off. No more than seven seconds, Davis, you're getting better at that. "General Hammond to the control room!"
The creature jumped at the blaring of the alarm, and brought a huge hand to its head. "Oh, for the love of Tencnak." It shook its head, and eyeballing the siren on the wall, stalked over, reached up, and tore it from its mountings. Concrete dust sprayed over the room, and the immediate sound was silenced, only its echo bouncing around the halls outside the room remaining.
That same absurd part of Siler's mind, the part that wasn't cringing in abject terror, threw up its metaphorical hands. Damnit, yet another job for good'ol Siler.
The form of Hammond abruptly appeared in the control room, the clatter of soldiers gathering outside the gateroom doors, drum roll to his entrance. The General grabbed the microphone, his expression one of defensive steel, but before he could open his mouth, the creature interrupted him.
"Don't lose your tunka fronds, General, it is only me. Where the mikbar is O'Neill?"
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FIN.
