[Updated 01/09/2017]
Chapter Twelve: Friend or Foe
Rain poured down in a heavy blanket when Jack came to an abrupt stop, gazing around the foggy woodland. The confusing streaks had stopped their taunting fifteen minutes ago, and the eerie voice had dwindled to five-minute intervals, whilst the sound of marching, to his comfort, had completely vanished.
Leaning his hand against a nearby tree, the showering water washed the sweat from his head, neckline, and façade, cooling his tired body. His muscles ached, lungs burned, and his throat was sore and dry, while his heart pounded like a sledgehammer, ears rang like a dozen annoying bells and his head felt as if it was about to explode.
O'Neill leaned his shoulders against the rugged trunk and allowed his head to fall gently against it, releasing a heavy sigh. Raindrops collided with his face in splodges, whilst his eyelids closed upon impact, as he relished the refreshment, and revelled in the offered respite.
His knees felt like buckling, a sign that adrenaline was slowly fading from his system.
Have to keep moving. Don't know how long I'll have this breather for.
O'Neill tilted to the right, compelling his body to move, he needed to find shelter, as it would conceal him from his pursuers.
His chocolate brown eyes opened sluggishly, and then quickly blinked a few times.
"Shit!" He exclaimed, whilst cocking his sidearm. It appeared as if one of those streaks had finally revealed themselves. Careless, Jack aimed at the figure fifty metres away, half-hidden behind a tree, and fired a round. The firing pin crackled as it released the slug from its chamber and pierced through the air, followed by another quick on its heels. He saw them hit their mark, heard the assailant cry out in pain and then the figure ran, weaving through the trees until the mist swallowed it whole.
[Earlier]
Sam Carter regained consciousness on the muddy forest floor, whilst rain pelted her body in ice-like pinpricks. She opened her eyes to find a white descended cloud and trees towering around her. Her clothes resembled Haran's, only its colour was camouflaged green, and a shroud draped over her facial features.
The Major suddenly jerked upright, as she finally understood her predicament – trapped within the Colonel's make belief world, a reality where he had endured the unthinkable. Now, she found herself in the very location she had last sighted him, where he had run like a scared hunted rabbit.
A breath hitched in her throat.
What the hell should I do now? I have no idea what's transpired or what Haran has done to the Colonel.
Lifting herself off the ground, Carter inspected the area – it was the same old setting the team mostly surveyed during missions; however, she could not help but feel like Princess Leia on the planet Endor, considering that she was dressed as such.
Well, almost. Assassin she was most definitely not.
Okay, where should I . . .
A familiar sound drifted in the mist from the east. It was the Colonel's panting.
He probably stopped to catch his breath. Well, here goes nothing.
Sam expelled a sigh, inhaled and then tilted in Jack's direction, bravely trudging forward until he barely filtered into view. He was leaning against a tree still dressed in his desert attire. Eyes closed as he allowed the rain to drench him from head to toe. He appeared exhausted, his body shivering from the run. His countenance flustered. She saw how his knees buckled and her heart plunged on his behalf. Physically, he was fighting to stay upright, whereas mentally, he was most probably waging war.
Sam peered around the trunk for a better view, when O'Neill turned to face her. Sudden alarm prompted in his tired brown eyes, and his weapon swiftly cocked in her direction, it was steady in hand, so unlike his countenance.
She stood rooted to spot, frozen in time as she saw both his fear and the sidearm jolt in his hand. Tremendous pain followed suit, as one bullet collided with her battle leathers, protecting her shoulder from a thorough wound. Yet another grazed her arm and it felt as if she had received a sucker punch and a stab wound simultaneously.
Anguish tore through her lips as she wailed in reply, her feet rapidly retreating from whence she came.
She ducked, weaved, and swore under her breath, while negotiating the unknown terrain.
How could she have been so naïve to think he would identify her as his Major? She was not clothed for the occasion, especially the hood over her head. She should have thought through possible tactics, taken in account his emotional state, physical state – his overall condition before approaching. Nevertheless, she had listened to her heart and natural ability to aid whomever of her team was in need. Jack fit that description to a tee.
In this moment and time, he only saw her as his enemy not his second-in-command. The statement tore at her emotions.
Dammit! I thought it was too good to be true. I still sense what he senses. This might be a problem.
After a few minutes of running blindly, Sam slowed to a jogging pace. She glanced over her shoulder, and then ceased to check up on the damage the Colonel had inflicted.
She lifted the tail end of her hooded cloak, found that the slug had dislodged during the hasty retreat, leaving behind a nasty indentation in her armour. Her arm was not so lucky, for the slug had parted five centimetres of flesh below the leathers protecting her left bicep. Blood seeped profusely, flowing down her forearm, hand, and fell down to the ground.
A piece of her cloak would suit the wound just perfectly, thus she tore through it using the dagger strapped next to the holstered sword.
"Jaaaackkk! Ruuuuunnnn! Run . . . run . . . runnnn booooy!"
The unexpected voice slithered through the forest from Jack's last known location, moved through her body like a thin blade, and elicited a bout of goose flesh.
Her progress on the wound halted, as she turned in its direction.
"What the…." She suddenly declared in terror.
"Jack! Run! Run . . . run . . . run boy!" The voice repeated again, its tone chilling her to the bone. "She's waiting! Run! Boy!"
"LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!" Carter heard Jack growl not too far from her position.
Holy Hannah! He followed me!
His treading boots were the next thing she heard, and her eyes expanded in shock, for with it came a sudden joust of anxiety, which sent shooting pain over her skull. She screamed in reply, the snakelike voice muffling the rest. Unintentionally, alerting the Colonel to her position.
"AAHHH….."
"Jack! Run! Run . . . run . . . run boy! She's here! Run! Boy!"
The shrieking and slithering voices resounded through the forest simultaneously, making him stop dead in his tracks. The voice was spot-on; the warrior he had wounded was a woman.
Aw, crap! Why not a man like Royal? Now I have to chase down a woman for crying out . . .
Rustling echoed from his right drawing his attention.
I have no strength for this bull! Why did it have to be a murky pursuit where the freakin' bad guy has camouflaged gear and I stick out like a gigantic sore thumb.
Three thunderclaps sounded off in procession, and O'Neill shoulder rolled to the left, stopping short before a mud puddle. The bullets penetrated a tree two metres to his right.
Dang, she's laying down covering fire, while I'm a sitting duck. Rain splashed down in the puddle, drawing his attention. Guess I have to wallow like a pig to blend in with the surroundings.
Aw well, won't be singing in the rain just yet.
The soldier holstered his weapon, inhaled, bracing himself for what was to follow and without hesitation, he rolled his back into the muddy water, soaking it in dark thick slush. Ending on all fours, a disgusted look graced his features. He dug his left hand into the ground, retracted a handful of slobbering soil and rubbed it over his arms, neckline, and face, careful not to get it in his eyes and mouth. His boots and slacks received the same messy camouflage.
Excellent! Now it's time for good ol' fashioned hunting.
At the thought, two more slugs sliced through the air, embedding themselves in the same tree. This time it sounded further away than the previous ones. Perfect, it meant he had direction and distance he could use as navigation. He was to the east, the warrior to the southeast. He would head west encircling to meet the assailant from the south.
The Colonel waited for a few seconds, positioning his body like a sprinter's, then set off, the ethereal voice spurring him. "Run boy, run! She's waiting for you!"
Finally, something we agree with!
Ten minutes passed by as the veteran soldier navigated the terrain, anticipation bubbling within. He felt invigorated, driven to catch this warrior and once he had her, he would finally have his answers. Yes, this hunting mission was a strategic one, not because he feared she would kill him. No, this was personal. He wanted to leave this place so desperately, and this woodland had finally given him the opportunity to do so.
The voice echoed again spurring him on, when a shadow drifted from his side. A body collided with his back, sending them sprawling to the ground. In no time, he was up on his feet only to receive a kick to his right inner thigh, a cracking blow to his jaw and then felt aggressive fingers intertwine behind his head as the warrior forced him towards the ground. However, he countered the oncoming knee with both his hands, yet failed to stop the stomp to his left shoulder.
His back hit the tree behind him, and sudden paralysing pain thundered through his body. He groaned in reply, his assailant's aching yelp sounding shortly thereafter. When he opened his eyes, the warrior was gone, but not the sound of her retreating footfalls.
Jack pushed off and followed closely behind, holding his aching shoulder in the pursuit.
How the heck did she know where I was?
Crap! The shots were a lure. She wanted me to head this way, meet her from the south. Sucha idiot!
Before him, the figure weaved through the trees, sailing over dead trunks as if it were hurdles.
Damn, she's fast, surefooted too. Maybe that's her advantage, but why did she cry out in agony then?
O'Neill ignored the question and pushed his body to the limit, zigzagging the terrain like a skilled hunter. This was his world not hers, and as such he treated it as he pushed himself off a fallen tree trunk. His posture impersonated a parachute jumper's as he soared through the air, and then clamped his arms around her shoulders, taking her down like a hungry lion its prey. Together they tumbled on the ground and Jack released his hold, rolled in the opposite direction, and jumped to his feet, gun in hand.
The warrior crawled away on hands and feet, desperate to get away. If he read this correctly, she was scared of him, for she appeared as if a wounded animal scurrying for safety, and it made him snicker, laughter rattled in his chest.
"Jaackkk! Boy! Kill herrr! Kiillll!" The voice sounded different this time round, daring him to take the step.
"You really caught me on a bad day." Jack called out after the retreating figure. "You heard the voice, don't give me a reason." She kept on going, yet Jack followed behind, stating in annoyance, "I'm not in the mood. Please just . . . stop!"
The woman complied, using the tree as a means to pull herself upright, and turned to face him. He was soaked in mud, but the unrelenting rain had washed most of it away. Plain exhaustion rippled in his posture, yet what she saw within his eyes, sent a chill down her spine. He was not fooling around; Jack would shoot to get the answers he needed, and nothing really prevented him from listening to the voice.
Across from her, O'Neill took in the warrior's appearance. Blood soaked a torn piece of material around her elbow. She was dressed like a stealthily soldier; a shroud covered her face, except for her blue eyes.
Agony tore through him and the woman dropped to her knees clenching her head in pain.
"Hey!" Jack growled, weapon demanding her to adhere. "Get up! I didn't say you could take a break."
"Kill her! Jack! Kill . . . kill . . . kill!" The voice coaxed in a wolf-like manner.
"You don't understand." Jack's voice cracked. He quickly swallowed his pleading tone and spoke sternly, "I will shoot if you don't listen. Stand up!"
The warrior did so, poorly.
He flinched at her struggle, and feeling guilty, he gently commanded. "Could you please remove the veil?"
Carter swallowed hard, breathing through the Colonel's change in feelings that reverberated within her emotions. Reluctantly she obeyed, unclipped the shroud, and removed the hood. Confusion briefly graced his features, but then searing anger replaced it. Something she clearly felt burning in her chest.
Eyes bloodshot from the pelting rain, Jack peered at her. "Protector?" He hissed, and then lividly growled. "You sneaky little . . . I should kill you on the spot."
The weapon raised towards Sam's head.
She extended her hands in self-defence, suddenly scared of the beast that had made itself known. "No, Colonel! It's Major Carter. It's me!"
"Enough!" Spittle flew with the command, whilst he moved forward two steps. "You put me through hell, tried to seduce me, and chased me through this hellhole. Now you're using Carter against me? YOU…" Jack pulled the trigger, releasing the slug to wreak havoc on her already bruised shoulder.
"Kill . . . kill . . . kill! Jack!"
"Yeah! I agree with you." He shouted at the voice.
The pain was unbearable as the bullet had shredded its way through her shoulder and embedded itself in the tree. Blood instantly soaked her battle leathers, whilst she groaned in pain. O'Neill had shot her, mistaking her for someone who had clearly impersonated her. No wonder Haran had said they would be each other's enemies, because unknowingly he had already set her up against the Colonel.
"Move. Move!" He mocked. "You've shown me both sides of the coin. Now be a good girl and get up!"
"Colonel, listen…" Carter protested.
"No, you shut up!" He yelled.
Sam winced at his furious outburst, slowly pushing herself to her feet. She felt like a wounded bird, waiting for its hunter to pull the final trigger. She swayed sideways as discomfort revealed on her expression.
There was no point in hiding her agony; the Colonel would only distinguish it as a ploy. Whoever this Protector was, she had played her part, and now it was Carter's time to face the music.
"I know this place is fake, and know that once I kill you, I'll just end up in another scenario. But not before you tell me how to get out of this godforsaken place."
"Please, Colonel. I don't know how to get us out of here." Sam urgently pleaded, clenching her wounded shoulder.
"You can't or you won't." Jack spat.
"I'm stuck just like you are, Sir."
"Bull!"
He aimed at her right thigh.
The gunshot went off, Carter falling to the forest floor with a thud, while she screamed for him to stop. She could feel his seething anger and it frightened her. If she did not get through to him, he would kill her before she got the chance to tell him what was really going on.
Holy Hannah! Never in our military career did we ever have to fight one another in such a way. Not once did I have to beg for redemption . . . from him. The Colonel wants to kill me, coldheartedly, like I'm a Goa'uld he should eradicate.
Carter managed to anchor most of her weight on her knees; nevertheless, Jack came for her, grabbed her hair, and pulled it back, so that he could place the handgun's cold barrel underneath her chin. Surprise registered in her eyes and her expression, whereas Jack's dark pebbles glared at her. He was beyond his wits, for it danced in his eyes.
Would I die, if he shot me here? This is not my real body, nor does this world exist. Yet everything that I've felt thus far has tormented me in the worst possible way.
"Kill! Kill! Kill Jack!" It was stronger now, excited that O'Neill had finally decided to obey.
"Jack." Tears welled in her blue eyes. "Please!" They trickled down her ashen cheeks, whilst she gazed pleadingly into his eyes. "Please. Jack."
The latter imploring was barely audible, yet it stung for O'Neill jolted back shocked.
Carter keeled onto her side, and a moan escaped her lips as she withdrew into a fetal position covering her head and ears.
"Colonel, please." I've heard the same appeal a year ago, when I was dying from the ancient plague. Carter had asked me to hang on, just like she's appealing for her life.
The Colonel clenched the sides of his head in confusion, growling under his breath. He failed to understand what was transpiring. He had been alone in his torment, and now the Major had shown up unexpectedly, bearing the same appearance as Protector. The anger he had felt, the driven fear propelling him to survive had blinded the truth, causing him to turn into an animal, a monster.
I shot my Second. I shot her four times . . . wanted . . . to kill . . . her.
"This . . . it's not true. I don't believe you."
He shook his head, pacing before the Major, while she tried to breathe through the coinciding pain of injuries and the Colonel's distress.
She gazed up at him, "I don't know what they've done to you but I AM real, Colonel. I'm me! I'm Sam. I'm Sam." She implored.
Jack had halted abruptly as her voice faded near the end. Her body cascaded with shivers and then she lost consciousness. Staring down at her prone body, he suddenly realized she might be gone.
He darted for her, falling down on his knees, and quickly, yet gently rolled her unto her back, whilst feeling for a pulse. Shaky cold fingers moved along the jugular vein until he found the desired throb.
Jack sighed in relief.
Sitting now on his haunches, the Colonel examined her bleeding thigh, shoulder, elbow, and possible bruises from their tumble. His slender fingers unclipped the cloak from her shoulders, and gently pulled it towards him. He grabbed her dagger and tore off some strips.
Oh, Sam. Why did you attack me? Stupid question, O'Neill, you attacked first, and she used direct force as the only feasible way of getting through to you.
Jack got to work on bandaging her thigh, working with soft careful hands, afraid he would cause more pain than what she had already endured, then, moved on to her shoulder.
If I'd known it was you, I would have reacted differently.
Where you trapped in your own hell? Did you suffer? Is that why you were so cautious? I was a freakin' monster; I would have done the same thing in your place. I just hope you can forgive me. I know I won't be able to forgive myself for a while. Even if this world is a dud, the pain is very real. This place has awoken the worst in me, turned everything inside out, and you got pulled into it by a mere fluke. I'm so sorry.
With no prying eyes present, Jack did what his heart desired; he leaned forward, and carefully placed his hands on her cheeks, wiped away her tears with his thumbs, and tenderly placed his forehead against hers. Sobs echoed in the drizzling forest as Jack O'Neill surrendered to the grief he had unknowingly caused. He cried for her, for him, for Charlie, for those he had failed in the past. For once, he gave in and allowed his emotions to take control.
"I'm so sorry, Carter. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry."
"No!" Haran furiously exclaimed. "This is not what I had wanted. The dais even supplied intolerable torture, so that she could not succeed."
"It seems she has found a way to numb to the pain, Sir. I have no idea how, but her body has regulated enough for her to be near him."
"Be quiet, you fool." He ordered impatiently; gestured at the monitor before him. "I can see that. He's embracing her, when he should be killing her like we planned."
"Maybe it's due to the bond they share." The technician stated matter-of-factly.
"We have underestimated our opponent, Michal, which is all that has transpired. They are stronger than what we had first observed. Obviously the technology has failed too."
"With all due respect Commander Haran." The technician began confidently, preparing the displeased man for his following declaration. "Clearly, the team has a resilient strength. We may live for combat, but they have seen it, tasted it, and endured many battles. No wonder the Goa'uld have retaliated. We are fools to think they will go down with ease."
"Michal." Haran let out an exasperated sigh, holding the bridge of his nose. "You are trying my patience."
The advice had not worked, so the technician bowed his head, saying, "Yes, Commander, I apologize. Should we leave them together or would you like the woman to be disconnected?"
"Certainly not, I need them to suffer for a time longer before we withdraw them."
Haran turned away and gazed upon the SGC members. Blood had flowed from the Major's nose as her body had processed the pain inflicted by O'Neill in the virtual reality. Now here in the present world, both were quiet, breathing evenly. He glanced over his shoulder, observing the display provided by the monitors. They had both fallen asleep.
A sickened snarl twisted his expression.
"Prepare the next environment and be sure to minimize her injuries, but leave O'Neill as is. I want him so physically and mentally exhausted, he will plead to die."
"Yes, Sir." Michal said.
A messenger entered the room, waiting patiently for his leader to acknowledge him.
"Yes, speak!" Haran yelled.
Thus far, things were falling apart, not as he had desired. Someone had to feel the brunt of his frustration, and unfortunately the young man suited that criteria.
"Sir, the visitors have joined the fighting exercises." He declared.
"What?" Haran replied appalled. "I gave no such liberty. Why did Sharif not do as I have instructed?"
"Ah." The messenger swallowed nervously before continuing, "The Jaffa persuaded him to demonstrate our craft. Presented a challenge he could not refuse, Commander."
"I see my men are eager to prove themselves. Why don't I send them into O'Neill's world? They will most certainly receive a challenge." The Commander chuckled. "Fine, let them enjoy themselves. It gives me more time to sort out this mess."
"Sir." The messenger hesitated, apologetic for his interruption. Haran scowled, waiting impatiently for him to continue. "They have requested to see you."
"They did." He mulled over the young man's words. "And why would I grace them with my presence? My interest lies with these two, the other two are nothing but a hindrance to me."
"The one called Daniel wants to learn more about our culture."
"He's received his fair share of cultural experience within the central building."
Haran paused, gazing at the technician's progress, and then tilted his head to the messenger. "Fine." A chaffed smile curled his lips. "I will make time for them. "Go!" He commanded while waving dismissively. "I will come once Michal completes his task."
The messenger curtly nodded his confirmation and quickly, yet swiftly left the room.