Name: Better Ways To Self Destruct (aka 'Politics...Oy')
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Summary: Something smells bad, and it isn't Daniel Jackson's feet... (sorry, couldn't resist -g-)
Feedback: Please respond – I need to know if people are reading :)

Disclaimer: Stargate SG1 and the characters are the property of MGM. There is no infringement intended and no profit made.

–Part 3–
Burnt Out

Okay, thought Jack, first of all: am I alive? …Yes. Good, that's a good start. Now. Am I hurt? …Ouch!… K, moving is a bad idea. The real question here, of course, is 'what just happened?'

He replayed the events in his mind – the events he could remember, at least. He saw himself round the corner of the path, heard the clicking, felt himself sink to his knees as pain gripped him. He didn't care to recall the sensation itself: he had enough of a migraine to be getting on with already. If he hadn't been aware of the cause – a hidden device on an alien planet – he might well have assumed he was suffering from a particularly bad hangover. The headache and the nausea were certainly there. The only thing he didn't recognise was the fact that his eyes felt strangely extinguished, like burnt out light bulbs.

So, big honking alien device equals grave pain for Jack O'Neill, his thoughts continued, mimicking Daniel's habit of commentating to camera. But how did said Colonel escape?

He pondered that a while, until his thoughts came to rest (as they habitually did) on his second-in-command. Ah. Yes. I remember now, thank you, Major.

Despite the blur of his recollection, he could clearly remember the pressure of her body against his. He summoned the memory of Sam's slender hand curling round to shield his eyes as her deceptively strong arm fastened around his waist. She had pulled him sideways, out of the glare of the beam; but somehow they had been propelled forwards, Sam's arm still around him, her palm still protecting his eyes. Then they had been thrust backwards and his spine had crunched against solid rock.

He was beginning to wish the numbness would come back.

"Colonel?"

He heard Sam's voice and briefly wondered if he'd imagined it. It was certainly likely, considering the fact he still wasn't entirely sure he was totally conscious. He decided to test the theory that his imagination was talking to him with an experimental response.

"Gah!"

"Colonel!"

With a certain sense of satisfaction, he heard his 2IC breathe an open sigh of relief. Outwardly, he gave his best I'm-in-pain-but-I'm-too-manly-to-show-it grimace and tried to open his eyes.

"Um, Major," he began, "why is it so dark? I didn't pass out long enough so it's suddenly night, did I?" There was a painfully long pause. "Carter?"

"It's still day, sir," she said carefully, "and it's as light as it was five minutes ago."

"So what are you saying? We're inside, in a cave somewhere?" Even as he said it he could feel the hope draining from his words. He knew they were out in open woodland. There was a freedom in the way the air moved.

"Close your eyes, sir," Sam said at last. "Do you see a difference?"

He clenched his jaw. What he wanted to do more than anything at that moment was make a sarcastic comment about not being able to see with your eyes closed. Frustratingly, he knew there was no use in it. He couldn't lie, either: both of them would be at risk if his current abilities were overestimated.

"No," he muttered grudgingly.

"Colonel," Sam began regretfully, "I think the beam device damaged your eyes so much that --"

"Don't say it, Carter! I am not blind."

"Sir…"

"Not blind, Carter. I have a temporary visual impairment but I'm not blind."

She allowed the long pause to develop into an uncomfortable silence before belatedly replying, "Yes, sir."

"Now do me a favour and stop my eyeballs from burning a hole through my brain."

He heard the prompt tearing apart of velcro and the rustling of packaging. Then there was a trickle of water on the rocky floor. A moment later, Carter had pressed a damp section of bandage material over his eyes.

"Hold that in place, sir," she instructed. She brushed against the back of his hand as he obeyed; his skin ignored the cool of the material, prickling hotly.

"Thanks." He held his breath a moment, feeling the moisture seeping into his burnt skin. It was great relief yet still only mildly soothing: his eyes remained painfully closed to the world. He could feel them streaming and tried not to think about the damage that might have been done. He was not blind.

"Tell Teal'c to go with Daniel back to the Gate and report to Hammond." It was partly for something to say and partly to regain control by giving orders. "We'll follow once my damn legs decide to co-operate. They feel like deadweight."

An ominous pause. He hated it when she didn't respond. It always – always – meant something was wrong. Something she didn't want to tell him, news she didn't want to break.

"Carter! Will you stop it with the silent treatment?"

"Sorry, Colonel, it's just…" She trailed off, and for a moment it seemed that she had lapsed into quiet again. Then she took a breath and continued: "They're not here."

"Not here?"

"Or rather…we're not here…sir."

"Carter!" he exclaimed, "stop talking gibberish at me!"

"Colonel, whatever attacked you transported us out of that clearing," Sam told him earnestly. "Sir, we're half way up a mountain."

"Major, I didn't see any mountains when we arrived."

"No, sir," Sam sighed. "Neither did I."

"Can you be sure we're on the same planet?"

"I think so, sir."

"Thinking so isn't being sure, Carter." He needed something to provide hope.

"I'm sure, Colonel," Sam replied, though this time she seemed unfocussed in her response. She was doing something. Jack tried to figure out what, came upon a dozen different possibilities and decided he might as well just ask.

"Carter? Y'alright?" He considered the sound of a packet being torn open. "Are you hurt?"

"No, sir," Sam lied as she bandaged up the searing burn on the back of her hand. The beam had been a powerful one. She made a conscious effort to lighten her tone and added a casual, "I'm fine."

"Okay, well…good."

They left it at that for a while. Jack listened as Sam checked the supplies. They were both relieved to find nothing missing: they should be able to survive for now. Getting back to the Stargate, however, was an entirely different – and for O'Neill very pressing – matter.

Carter left him for a while, went to check out the surroundings. Jack thought briefly about trying to raise the other two members of his team on the radio, but when he tried it, his only response was static. He cursed the useless hunk of plastic and just about resisted the urge to hurl it down the rocky slope that he knew stretched out beneath him.

He heard the crunching of boots on gravel and suddenly felt very unprotected. He grabbed his P-90 and held it ready, but lowered it a moment later when Carter spoke.

"Colonel, hold your fire," she said, though her words were heavy: "it's just me."

"Good. I was getting lonely." He could imagine her trying not to smile at that. He wasn't sure why she smiled at some of the things he said sometimes: maybe she understood the suggestive subtext. His serious hope that she didn't was mercilessly destroyed by her sly response.

"Can't let a man like you get lonely, Colonel."

Jack cleared his throat in surprise. Sam laughed a little; he smiled unintentionally.

She settled down beside him on the cold stone and he felt the need to prop himself up against the rock behind. There was a small silence. He sensed her gaze on his face, suddenly devoid of humour, waiting to speak.

"Say it, Carter."

"We're on a ledge held up by the trees," she sighed. "Below us is a sheer drop; above is a steep climb. No way up or down, sir."

"Any paths? Mountain trails? Give me something here, Carter."

"There's a path leading east, but…"

"We'll follow that, then," O'Neill decided cheerfully.

Sam hesitated in her response. In the end, she couldn't bring herself to dispute him, and just said, "Yessir."

Jack frowned. It worried him how swiftly she had gone from so wry to so low-spirited. She tended to be pretty stable emotionally and the mood shift was a sure sign of something else in play.

He tried to alleviate the tension in the air: "I can't believe I'm all the way up a mountain and I can't see the view."

"Want me to describe it to you, sir?"

He contemplated the offer. "Yes, Carter," he smiled; "I'd like that."

Sam hadn't meant for her hopelessness to be so apparent in her words. She usually tried to keep optimistic, especially around Colonel O'Neill, but as far as she could see, there was no way down. Trying to climb over the mountain would be a gamble and the risks were far too high. Even if they made it, there was no guarantee they would be able to descend. The lack of oxygen would get to them in the end.

So, then, all that was left was following the path. She already knew that was an impassable route: it had been made a dead end by a rockslide. The hope Jack clung onto would be gone before the end of the day.

So as she painted the landscape in Jack's mind, she closed her eyes. She wanted to be as blind to the reality as he was. It was easier this way. Lovelier. She added colour, a few hills, a brilliant blue sky streaked with breath-taking cloud. He didn't ask how clouds could look like rainbows. He didn't question her as she described the shimmering ocean, the ancient shoreline, the soft-edged moon rising beside the proud-hearted sun.

He could feel the fog pressing against his skin and loved her for lying to him.