A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life, you know? In this chapter, the line between season 7 and 8 has been blurred, so lets, for the sake of this story, pretend that "Threads" has already happened.
Sorry about the formatting problems, something strange must've happened when I uploaded it. :/
Chapter Four – Mistaken Identity
Sam felt suddenly cold in the Colonel's absence. Overcome with grief and shock, she kicked the wooden door with her bare foot, and pushed at it – willing it to fall from its hinges and to run to him and Teal'c, finding them both alive and uninjured, and for everything to go back to how it was before she even stepped foot on the godforsaken planet.
Daniel grabbed her by the arms, and pulled her to the floor, rubbing his hand up and down her shoulder comfortingly.
"They're knocking us off one by one," she whispered, strained with the pain of her throbbing foot and the tears that wouldn't come.
"Sam…" Daniel began, inclining his head to look into her eyes.
"Daniel! First Teal'c now J-the Colonel!" her eyes began to moisten as she held his gaze, trying to make him understand just how terrified she was, "I know what they do to you in here." She looked away, wiping her eyes ambiguously.
***
Sam had taken her place on the wall she shared with Jack. Daniel was sitting opposite her, on the wall with the door, glancing up at her furtively. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, but simply shook his head and studied the floor once more.
On one of these occasions, Sam caught him, "Daniel," she encouraged, only slightly irritated with the archaeologist.
"What happened? Before we came. You know, in here," he thought she deserved the respect and human connection of maintaining eye contact with her, despite his level of thorough insecurity.
"What?" she asked shocked by his boldness.
"Sam," he said softly, "I know it can't have been easy…"
"Can we not talk about this?" she said sternly, annoyed and glaring at him.
Daniel looked at her for a long time, trying to read her thoughts, her body language; capture some sort of idea of where she was. Resigning to the topic of conversation's fate, he asked, "How's Pete?"
Her head snapped up at him, and he caught a flash of malice across her eyes but it vanished instantly, "Can we not talk about that either?" her voice was calm, yet serious.
Daniel hung his head, and began fiddling with the hem of his pants. Sam rested her head against the wall, her eyes up at the ceiling, wondering why she had not heard the Colonel's screams.
***
"I just wish I knew this had something to do with your father," Pete stated, squinting into the setting sun. "Was it the house? Was it too much?"
"No, Pete, the house is beautiful," Sam tried to keep her emotions in check, fiddling with the engagement ring absent-mindedly as she watched the broken man next to her. She lowered her gaze, did he not care for her as much as she assumed? She expected him to rage, scream, demand excuses and satisfactory explanations. But the man before her sat quiet, unmoving, and destroyed.
"What?" he said after she didn't speak for a while.
"Nothing… I just thought you'd react differently."
He snapped at her then, "You want me to beg, Sam?"
"Oh god, no!" she reached a hand to place on his shoulder, he recoiled.
"Goodbye, Sam," he said through strangled tears. He stood and marched to the "For Sale" sign at the front of the lawn that was supposed to be theirs. In a swift movement fraught with meaning, he ripped the "Sold" sticker off and let it fall to the ground, Sam watched, heartbroken, as it settled into the beautifully green grass.
Jack closed his eyes against the pounding in his head and the throbbing throughout his entire body. He did not want to reopen them. He did not want to see the sight before him, see Teal'c's motionless body, and accept that one of his best friends was…
Hands wrenched him forwards, and his eyes snapped open. Two guards lifted him into a chair in the centre of the room and bound his hands tightly behind his back, so tightly that the rope cut into the flesh around his wrists.
"Your friend isn't dead," a voice behind him spoke. Jack glanced involuntarily at the lifeless body beside him.
"Could've fooled me," Jack said as a man stalked into view, smiling down at him malevolently.
"He will be, shortly," the man said, now pacing back and forth along the length of the room,
"Provided the antidote isn't administered within three to six hours." The man toyed with something in his pocket.
"Antidote?" Jack glanced from the man clearly superior to the guards in the room, to Teal'c, and back, "What are you talking about?"
"We gave him a lethal dose of our Master's favourite cocktail for intruders. The woman you tried to steal could tell you."
Jack's senses suddenly flared, fear and realization burned to the surface and he struggled against the ropes binding him, they cut further into his skin.
The man laughed and waved his hand, "Do not bother, it was merely enough to subdue her," his eyes were full of malice and greed. Jack visibly relaxed, relief and yet anger at these people flooded through him.
"What do you want?" Jack spat.
"We? Want nothing. It is you who have so clearly demonstrated your want here. But I'm afraid, Colonel, that that woman belongs to the Chancellor."
Jack fought against his bindings, his fists wanted to destroy the man pacing nonchalantly before him. How dare he speak about Carter as some sort of possession.
"Colonel Jack O'Neill," the man said.
"You have me confused with someone else," Jack said through gritted teeth.
"That is what your… neckwear… says," he lifted Jack's dog tags out of his pocket, he dangled them in front of Jack before snatching them up again and returning them to his pocket. "All we ask, Colonel, is that you give us the information your friend here did not," he gestured to Teal'c, "So we thought we'd offer you a little incentive. Tell us what we want to know, or your friend dies." Jack inhaled deeply, wincing at the pain thudding up his arms from his wrists. The man suddenly leaned forward over him, his hands either side of Jack on the armrests, "Tell me what the situation of the Shakkai is? Tell me of their defence perimeter? Plans, inventory, details! Are they preparing to strike?"
Jack was baffled. Shakkai? Defence perimeter? His mouth opened and closed dumbly and he tried not to look this man, steaming and fuming with demands so that he was visibly shaking, in the eye. "I can honestly say, that I have absolutely no idea what you're on about," Jack said, a hint of laughter in his voice.
The man stood straight, and then raised a hand and Jack had no choice but to bear the full brunt of the blow. He could feel blood pooling in his mouth, he swirled his tongue to find the source and felt a deep gash on his bottom lip. He then noticed that there were several rings on the man's striking hand.
"Where do the Shakkai make their escape? They have thwarted our efforts each time!"
Jack just stared at him, shaking his head. Once again, the man raised a hand, and brought it down upon Jack with twice the force as his previous blow. And followed it immediately with a second punch, this time to his stomach. Jack hung limply for a moment, pulled himself upright, and spat blood onto the floor.
"Your friend was eager for a beating also," the man said, "He was not so fortunate. But the agony that our Master's concoction induces is quite excruciating. You will not be so lucky." He nodded to the guards and they ripped the chair out from under Jack, he anticipated it and leaned his head into his chest to prevent it from cracking on the stone floor. The men threw the chair to the side, he heard it crumple under the force, and one by one they took turns kicking his ribs, his head, his stomach. Jack was lurched and spun and thrown around the cell, bleeding from his head, arms and his torso. He was sure one of his shoulders had dislocated from still being tied behind his back. As one of the guards drew a long, silver instrument from his belt, the superior man held up his hand.
"Stop," he said, crouching on his heels next to Jack, "We know of the Shakkai Rebellion, how they attempt to overthrow our regime. Don't you see, Colonel, you are at a loss."
Jack fought tears and the instinct to cry out; the pain in his ribs and shoulder was so severe. He allowed blood to spill from his lips and onto the floor beneath him, panting heavily and closing his eyes against the throbbing in his body.
"We're not…" he said through shuddering breaths, "from… this… damn it to hell… We're not from this place you call Shakkai, or whatever!" He raised his voice; using what energy he had to make a stand.
The man stood, folding his arms, shaking his head, "Oh Colonel. How I'd hoped you'd be more
forthcoming. Perhaps I will have better luck with the lesser in your group," he nodded again to the two guards, "Take him away."
And he was moving again. His body was screaming in pain, stretched out as they dragged him by his arms, suddenly free from their constraints – shoulder definitely dislocated – and his feet dragged along the cold stone floor. His ribs and left shoulder protested so violently, he thought he might pass out from the pain; he prayed he would. His eyes rolled into his eyelids and his head lolled on his chest, blood spreading over his shirt and darkening the black with a sickening deep maroon. He heard a door unlatch and creak open, shuffling footsteps and gasps, and he was thrust inside. He braced himself for the fall, but he was caught instead, but strong arms – stronger than he would have expected when he opened his eyes to see Daniel lowering him to the ground, and Carter rushing to his side, tears evident in her eyes.
He heard the door swing closed and lock, and felt warmth flood through him as Carter checked his wounds, one hand touching the side of his cheek, the other running through his hair. He doubled over as she prodded his shoulder, noting it's sizeable swell and purple colour. He'd sat up, unable to hold his own head – he leaned forward onto Carter. He felt her arms steady him, one hand slowly, caressingly, made its way up his injured arm, and he wished beyond anything that his nose wasn't broken so that he could breathe her in as his forehead leaned against the crook of her neck. Suddenly, the pain increased tenfold, he cried out, heard a crack, and then it vanished. Though not completely, he was grateful for the respite. He leaned back again, her hands supporting him, his arms cradled around his waist.
"Sir, may I?" She asked respectfully, tugging at the hem of his shirt. He acquiesced, moving his arms to his side, and allowed her to lift his shirt so that she could inspect his ribs. And there it was – a sensation he never thought he'd experience, even through the pain, he could feel it. At her soft touch to his skin, he could feel his stomach doing back flips, blood rushing to his head, tingling all over. He tried not to recoil beneath her, the sensation too immense for the situation. She must have noticed, or thought she was causing him pain, because she immediately increased her pressure, and now there was just pain – lots of pain. He groaned, tried grabbing her hands away from his torso, but she insisted.
"Sorry, sir, but they're definitely broken," she said.
"I could've told you that," Jack returned as she lowered his shirt and helped him move to their wall.
"What happened, Jack?" Daniel asked, "Where's Teal'c?"
The memories of his interrogation came flooding back to him in an instant, and he frowned against them. He told them of the potion they'd given to Teal'c, reassured Carter that she was in no danger, and proceeded to tell them that they'd been mistaken for 'Shakkai Rebels'. Daniel tried questioning him further, wanting more information about the Shakkai, but Jack shook his head as best he could from his lying position, and merely said, "Later, Daniel." Looking crestfallen, but understanding, Daniel took his seat on the opposite wall.
Sam had been pacing during the exchange, and he saw her out of his peripheral vision as she stopped, looked uncertain, bringing a hand to her mouth, and then watched as she took a deep breath, and moved to sit at his head, placing two hands beneath his head and lifting, she shuffled across and then lowered his head onto her thigh. He made eye contact with her briefly, reassuring the uncertainty in her eyes. As her thumb stroked his forehead softly, bringing her hand down to run through his hair, her other hand wound its way into the space between his torso and his upper arm, he allowed himself to be lost in the intimacy of it, forgetting the secrets and lies and hidden agendas, forgetting their ranks and allowing his pain to be taken away by her touch.
A/N: Again, sorry about the formatting problems – I hope everything is normal now.
