O'Neill Interrupted – an interlude. Part 7
He was leaning against the wall again when the lights went out, having pulled himself up after lying down for far too long. He felt like all he'd done lately was lie down in his cell, get dragged through corridors, and lie down again on the torture slab.
He was sick of lying down.
Waking this time, he had found his mind clearer
He couldn't pace – his leg was far from healed, although it wasn't as bad as it should have been, courtesy of the short burst of power he'd managed before blacking out. So, hours later, he was leaning against the wall and considering his options – not that there were many.
Then, the lights went out and the dull ever-present hum of machinery ceased.
The sudden darkness was accompanied by muffled explosions and running feet. Jack knew the cell intimately, having paced its length so often - he had no need to see. He eased himself up and made a lurching, almost-fall towards it and when there, leaned against the cool metal, listening intently.
The sarcophagus may not have healed Jack, but something had clicked in his brain and he seemed to have achieved some sort of clarity. How long it would last, he didn't know. Perhaps it was the final burst his mind gave before the end, like a dying fruit tree with its boughs laden while its heart was rotten. All he knew was that an opportunity had been handed to him, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to take it.
One chance – one change in his luck – was all he was looking for.
Just one.
He waited until the shouts and hurrying footsteps ceased then pressed the door release – that small panel to the left of the entrance that had taunted him all these days, no more able to be opened than if it was sealed with an old-fashioned padlock.
There was a thud and a clunk, but nothing more.
From somewhere, deep inside, the idea that he could do more rose up, and he prised at the cover plate, heedless of the way his already broken fingernails cracked and split. The revealed mish-mash of tiny crystals gave out just enough light for his questing fingers to find the pattern he instinctively knew, and, moving with a sureness he took for granted, they rearranged the patterns. The middle green moved upwards, white taking its place while the red on the bottom row was discarded altogether, dropped to the floor and then trodden on by bare feet without even realising he had done so. With a final 'snick' the large orange crystal on the right was pushed inwards two notches and the door slid open.
Burning torches illuminated the corridor, sending flares of light into corner and then receding, leaving them dark once more. Jack slipped around the door, looked both ways, held his breath for a few seconds then crept forward. He bit back a groan as his injured leg protested, and forced himself to ignore it. He was experienced at limping. Maybe when he got back to the SGC he would get the Doc to cut the damn thing off and be done with it.
He passed through the maze of corridors like a shadow, waiting in alcoves while Jaffa ran past, and ducking into empty rooms to avoid Goa'uld and skull monsters.
The first massive black armoured creature that passed had almost caught him, only its slowness and single-mindedness giving him a chance to hide behind a metal protuberance sticking out from the wall. Not for the first time Jack gave a small thanks for the Goa'uld architects who designed their ships and bases with more thought to effect than practicality. He watched carefully as the thing stalked ponderously past, wondering if the helmet it wore acted like a blinker, making it impossible to see out the sides. Something worth remembering.
He had no idea what was going on, except that Anubis's base appeared to be under attack, shrill alarms sounding loud in the empty halls. At first he hoped to come across the attacking forces, figuring that throwing in his lot with them would be better than sticking around until his value as a plaything ran out. Then he had a sudden thought – maybe it was Ba'al trying a takeover bid. Did he really want to swap one torturer for another? At least Nuby had a reason for what he was doing. Ba'al might have pretended to be after information, but Jack had seen the light of sadism in his eyes and the way he licked his lips as each groan was rung from his victim. No – Ba'al was one sick bastard. Rather than letting himself fall into Ba'al's hands, Jack decided he would find a way to end things here, maybe taking out the high and mighty snakehead Anubis in the process. He hurried on, searching for something, anything, he could use to arm himself.
There! A movement down at the end of the hallway. Running figures.
Jack slunk back against the wall. Maybe he could catch one of the approaching soldiers off-guard as he went past – grab a weapon.
Pounding footsteps told him they were close, and he turned slightly, hiding his face, only lifting it as they ran by.
A flash of familiar green. Unruly blonde hair.
God! It was Carter.
For a second he froze, too stunned to move, then he stepped out into the middle of the corridor, his mouth already open to cry out.
A force flung him sideways, throwing him into the same wall detail he had hidden behind and leaving him to slip down onto the floor. Light shone on the black warrior's armour as it pursued the fleeing figures, its long strides eating up the gap between them. More joined it, running down the hall after their quarry.
As the last one passed, Jack didn't hesitate. He jumped up and took off in a limping run after them.
He couldn't bridge the gap.
Turning the corner, he saw Teal'c's face clearly for the first time, and realised the third person was Jacob, his hand on his daughter's arm, urging her on. They stopped at a door, Jacob pushing frantically at the control panel.
Then it happened. Teal'c's gaze caught his and Jack was sure he saw a flash of recognition.
He had been found. They would rescue him.
He would be going home.
He blinked as Teal'c turned and followed Carter and Jacob through the now open door.
No!
They would be waiting for him on the other side. Of course they had to get rid of the kull things that were chasing them first.
Jack made it to the opening, squeezing through the damaged panels and out onto the same walkway by which he had entered the base. For the first time in weeks he felt the rush of fresh air on his face as the wind buffered him, making him almost lose his already precarious footing. He ran, staggered, and ran as if his life depended on it.
Because it did.
Up ahead a tel'tac hovered, its bottom kissing the surface of the landing pad. One by one his friends jumped into the craft. He expected them to turn – to blast the pursuing warriors away and reach out a hand to haul him in.
His breath burnt in his throat. His heart beat wildly, as if about to burst.
His leg gave out and he toppled down.
And watched in disbelief as the ship – his salvation – lifted, turned, and left him there.
He didn't resist when kicked onto his back.
He didn't protest when dragged back to the torture chamber.
He didn't utter a sound as he was beaten.
But something inside him died.
xoxoxoxoxo
He woke with the taste of fear in his mouth and the knowledge that somewhere in amongst all the torture and the pain he had found his path.
xoxoxoxoxo