Disclaimer: Neither Stargate:SG1 nor Quantum Leap belong to me... in fact nor do any other series, and I have no intention of claiming that they do. I hereby swear that I will try to play nicely and not damage any of the lovely characters.

Reviewers – ta muchly, you're all great! Keep on reading, pretty please with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on top!

Raneko – cheers for the comment however I should point out that I believe in the 'other' theory, i.e. that Sam's entire body switches place with that of the Leapee. I base this on episodes like "8 ½ months", where Al & co were checking up on the Leapee's impending baby in the Waiting Room then were shocked when the baby vanished and appeared back in the past with Sam. Also when he Leaped into a chimpanzee and was able to swim easily, since a chimp can't float like a human due to less fat in their bodies. I always did wonder how he managed to fit into some people's clothes though :)

Jack felt a bit woozy. He was used to the sensation of being sent through the Stargate, being de-molecularised and all that, but this felt worse. At least the Stargate would put you back together in one piece, and it didn't normally give you this kind of headache. Maybe he was hung over, he couldn't tell – had he even been drinking last night? – and it hurt to think.

Colonel Jack O'Neill was part of an elite force that explored the galaxy via what was known as the Stargate. Their role was a highly classified one, because to all intents and purposes no one in the US government wanted the world to know that not only did aliens exist, but also that some of them were just waiting for an excuse to destroy Earth. The role of Stargate Command (the SGC) was to monitor and constantly re-evaluate this risk, create friendly links with other planets, and to seek technological alliances to keep their greatest enemies, the Goa'uld, at bay. It still sounded to him like something from Star Trek on a bad day, but he had the physical and mental scars to prove that it was not.

The Goa'uld were a near-immortal parasitic race that took possession of human bodies, relegating the personality of the host to the position of a helpless observer. Their true form looked somewhat snake-like, attaching itself to the host's brainstem in the neck area. More to the point the Goa'uld dominated much of the galaxy via the use of the Stargate network and their space fleet, enslaving whole planets by convincing their inhabitants that they were gods. While the highest ranking Goa'uld – the System Lords – did indeed possess god-like powers via their technology, the SGC knew that in reality the Goa'uld were no such thing, and they worked to free and ally themselves with other peoples in danger of attack. Thousands of years ago the Goa'uld enslaved Earth itself, until a rebel uprising had driven the false gods from our solar system – and if we could do it, so could others.

Jack O'Neill was one of the first humans from Earth – known as the Tau'ri – to step through the wormhole created by the Stargate, and was now the commander of its flagship team, SG1. His team also included Dr Daniel Jackson, another member of both the first mission and now SG1, a disgraced archaeologist who was now in the unenviable position of having proved his theories but unable to tell anyone in academia about it. Captain Samantha Carter, a brilliant astrophysicist who helped research and understand the workings of the Stargate prior to its use, was now SG1's scientific expert, studying further alien technologies first hand. Finally, the fourth member of SG1 was Teal'c, the former 'First Prime' of the System Lord Apophis – he had once commanded a vast army in the name of his god, but was now one of a growing number of rebel Jaffa (soldiers who incubate Goa'uld larva as a source of great strength and healing) who fought against the Goa'uld.

Back on his bed, Jack's semi-conscious mind took in the lack of noise in his surroundings, bar a low buzzing, and what seemed like bright light shining through his closed eyelids. A subliminal alarm bell rang, bringing him to full alert. Where the hell was he? He was lying down but it didn't feel like there were sheets over him like in the infirmary, though the presence of a mattress made it clear that he wasn't in a tent or – based on previous experience – in the hands of the Goa'uld. In fact, what was he wearing? Because it sure wasn't BDUs!

Lurching upright, Jack instinctively noted the orientation and height of the bed, swung his legs round, jumping down and landing on his feet in a fighting stance. What he wouldn't give for his MP-5 right now, but years of experience had taught him the value of keeping in shape and in practice for close hand-to-hand combat. Whoever was holding him here would have a problem on their hands, and since he seemed to be wearing some kind of long white leotard – his mind baulked in shock at the mere concept of this – he would also be a very slippery problem. If 'they' wanted to dress in up in some gym costume fit for the Mardi Gras, 'they' would pay the price – with interest!

Scanning the floors and walls, Jack established that the only contents of this room – other than himself and the bed – were a small table, an empty glass and a jug of what looked like water. Damn, he was thirsty. He couldn't see any doors or windows, but the whole room seemed to be painted in a fluorescent pearly white, if that were possible. The air wasn't musty so there had to be ventilation in there somehow, but given the number of advanced races he'd encountered this Colonel was ready to accept that he wouldn't be able to see everything. What he did regret though, was the lack of an obvious means of escape... and any sign of his team.

Confident that if he was going to be attacked he'd either have every chance or no chance of seeing it, Jack decided to investigate the bed, table and water. On first glance they seemed pretty normal, and the 'water' did smell perfectly harmless, but being Jack O'Neill he wasn't about to fall for that trick. He'd spent months in an Iraqi prison and been tortured by Goa'uld from here to breakfast time, so a little thirst was the least of his worries. He could wait, and in the mean time he would rest because he'd taken two watches last night so he was dog tired. That little table and/or the glass and jug could serve as basic weapons should he need them, and they were right by the bed. Nice. Time to settle down.

Power napping was a favourite pastime of Colonel O'Neill's, mainly because he rarely got the chance to have a proper sleep when he was off world. Half the time he was either on watch or trying to get comfortable on a highly uncomfortable patch of ground, and the other half of the time he spent in a prison surrounded by Jaffa and their staff weapons. In comparison this spell in captivity was pretty good so far, but he still wanted to know where Carter and Daniel were. Presumably Teal'c was still visiting his son on Chulak, so at least one member of SG1 should be free, but as for the others... The last thing Jack could remember was running through the Stargate to escape a couple of Death Gliders, but instead of coming through to the Gate room he'd woken up here. Curiouser and curiouser, but not a mystery that he was going to solve by losing his sarcastic wits to fatigue.

Dozing lightly, Jack managed to catch a few winks while remaining superficially aware of his environment. He even managed to dream a little, and just as he and Teal'c used a lightsaber to catch the biggest trout he'd ever seen, his eyes opened and he was fully awake. Someone else was in the room, which meant that there was a door somewhere. There it was – the noise of a door sliding shut mechanically. A rarely used technology on Earth. Alien?

Deciding to check out his captor, Jack discarded his original plan of grabbing the jug and knocking whatever-it-was out. Instead he sat up slowly, propped himself up on his elbows and turned toward his captor and – he presumed – soon-to-be tormentor with a sarcastic grin. He was almost taken aback by the sight of a normal looking human, probably in his early sixties and wearing garish clothes – garish, but still within the realms of 'fashion' (something he himself avoided at all costs). Not to be outmanoeuvred, Jack chose to proceed as planned.

"How's hanging?"

"Slightly to the left – and you?"

Jack's mouth fell open. He'd never met an alien, whether human or not, with a sense of humour so close to his – and almost as few people on Earth. Another thought struck him. Could this be a ploy by the NID? Had they redirected the Stargate somehow? The NID were continually undermining the SGC's efforts on alien worlds by stealing artefacts and disrupting diplomatic relations – they were the vultures who saw their mission as to protect Earth at all costs, unlike the SGC who had a much broader code of conduct: protect Earth without creating any more enemies. He'd infiltrated them once and had their main base shut down – so they certainly had a motive to capture him.

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, service number 69-4-141."

Name, rank and number was all that the NID were entitled to as far as he was concerned, and Jack wasn't at all certain whether it was even worth giving them that. The other guy didn't look too happy to hear those words anyway – he was frowning, his shoulders sagged, and Jack could almost hear a mental plea of 'why me?'

"Stand easy Colonel, this isn't a hostile situation. Just relax," said the wacky dresser, resignedly. "You've been caught in part of an experiment funded by the US Government and we're going to try our best to get you back where you belong as soon as possible, ok?"

Jack smirked. Either the Goa'uld were slipping or the NID had run out of ideas, because this one was bad. He worked in a secret government project, remember? No way was he going to crack at a piddly excuse like that.

The funny little man seemed to be waiting for an answer, and eventually he ran out of patience.

"Colonel O'Neill, my name is Admiral Albert Calavicci and I run this facility. Call me Al if it makes you more comfortable. I need your cooperation to get one of my men back, because for one reason or another you have taken his place in this room – do you understand?"

Jack kept on smirking. He didn't believe this guy one bit, and the story he was putting out was kind of entertaining. This Al sure didn't look like an Admiral either, and he said so. "Standards must be falling out there on the water, Al."

"Ha, ha," was the dry retort. "I wouldn't know – I haven't been out of New Mexico in years, and they don't have much water round these parts."

"New Mexico, eh? Sweet!" Jack was warming up, thinking that he might be able to do a little reverse interrogation. "So, are we anywhere near Roswell? I could take a tour. Or is it Los Alamos this time? I never can keep track of you fellas."

"Us... fellas?"

To his credit, the funny little man seemed to be genuinely confused. Jack had a moment of doubt, then decided to clam up.

"Look, I'm not saying a word until you tell me where I am and what the hell you want. If you want to torture me, that's fine too because I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime – it doesn't even hurt any more."

Ok, maybe he'd clam up after getting in one last shot for information. Jack figured that his best bet now was to either trick this 'Admiral' into releasing some information, or to take him hostage and find that door. Funny boy could decide his own destiny.

Al squinted his eyes and looked closer. "Tortured? I was tortured too. Vietnam. I was MIA for 4 years, but they all thought I'd been killed. When they finally found me, my wife had already re-married. I think that was worse torture than anything I got from the Cong."

So he was going to play on the sympathy vote was he? Jack turned this over in his mind and quickly decided that playing along couldn't hurt.

"Iraq, 4 months. That was the first time. You don't need to know about the rest. My wife left me too, but not the same way."

'No,' he remembered painfully. 'Sara left me after Charlie topped himself with my goddamn gun.'

Al let the silence hang there before he spoke again. Jack couldn't figure out why, but he wasn't about to fill the gap. When it came though, it wasn't what Jack had expected.

"Sam has a wife too, you know. Sam Beckett, that's his name, and his wife has no idea when he'll be back. He's been put through the grinder for so long that he doesn't even remember that he's married. Can you imagine that, Colonel? Can you imagine how that much hurt both Sam and Donna? He's my best friend, and you're standing where he should be."

This was either a low blow, or a pitiful attempt at making him feel sorry for Al and this guy Sam. Anything was possible – Jack of all people was prepared to accept that by now – but somehow he still wasn't too happy with this arrangement.

"Uh-huh? You're saying that we switched places somehow," Jack questioned. After receiving a nod from Al and what looked like a hopeful frown, he carried on. "And how exactly did that happen, Admiral?"

Al looked like he was thinking. He even sighed a little.

"That's classified, son. I can't tell you. All I need to know is the last date you remember and where you were. If you can't give me that, this will take a whole lot longer."

Jack felt a little guilty under Al's stare, unnecessarily so as far as he was concerned. He was the guy trapped in this godforsaken room full or white light, dressed in a white leotard of all things. This so-called Admiral wanted a date and a place? Well he sure as hell wasn't about to get them. Whatever else it was that he wanted, he wouldn't get either. And since Jack's security clearance was sky-high he didn't rate Al's reference to 'classified information' much. It was safe to say that Jack didn't care whether this guy was NID, Goa'uld, Tok'ra, Tollan, Abydonian or whatever – his lips were sealed.

Al seemed to take the hint, and he looked harassed and frustrated to boot. That was his problem, in Jack's opinion, and he was prepared to take the consequences.

'Hit me with all you've got,' his eyes said, defiant.

Looking reluctant, Al nodded. "Ok son, have it your way." Then, raising his voice, he yelled, "Gushie!"

Jack flinched involuntarily and closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn't quite a Jaffa "Kree!" but obviously the guy was calling for someone or something, and while he knew he could take the pain he also welcomed the chance to prepare his body for whatever came next.

But it didn't come. Instead he heard the swishing sound of a sliding door once again, and realised – too late – that Al was safely out of the room and his only known exit was closed. He could see its faint outline in the wall now, so faint that when he looked away for a second it became difficult to refocus on, and there was nothing to hand that could help him prise it open.

Jack was alone in the bright white room, wearing the bright white leotard, wondering what the hell was going on.

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

Next chapter: Daniel's office.