A/N's: thanks again for your loyal reviews, it is fun reading your thoughts on this! Hope you like the next part. Time to see what happened to Marc Crook...
Major Marc Crook lifted his head wearily at the sound of the explosions. It took a while for his dull brain to recognize the sounds and for a brief moment he hoped that this would mean the Forces had sent a rescue party.
He shook his head violently, groaning at the stabbing hammers that were pounding into his skull as a result of the action.
Get a grip, Marc. Bayfield won't send a rescue team, he thought. I've got to find us a way out of this mess myself.
The Major sagged against the moist, brick wall of his cell, not even having a cot to sit or lie on. After his latest interrogation, he had no energy left to so much as raise his arms to wipe the sweat from his face. Although the Tyberians had beaten the shit out of him, they had been careful not to do any fatal damage. His chest was on fire, bruised, his ribs probably cracked, but he was pretty sure his vital organs hadn't been injured. His head had been used as a punching bag long enough for him to realize he likely had a hell of a concussion, yet those bastards had made sure not to hit him on his temples, knowing that one blow on that delicate area could be fatal.
All in all, he felt as if he was in hell, which he most probably was, but his major worries didn't concern his own safety, but that of his men. He hadn't seen them in days and he just hoped the Tyberian soldiers were too busy playing with him to pay any attention to his men. Major Crook took his responsibilities regarding his team very seriously. He'd learned that skill a long time ago; he'd had a great example.
A way out of here. He needed to think of a way out of here. That was his job. Keep focussed, Marc. His head was pounding so badly that he couldn't concentrate on one single thought.
He was startled when he heard the loud footsteps in the hallway outside his cell. A vicious shiver ran over his back. Were they coming back for him already? He'd hardly had time to rest, to recuperate…
The door opened and a soft light lit up the cell Major Crook was in, but after having been in the dark for a long time, his eyes couldn't adjust fast enough for him to see what was going on.
They appeared to be dragging a limp body.
God, please, don't let it be one of my men.
Too tired to get up it was all he could do to force his eyes open and concentrate on the commotion next to him. Through a gray fog, he realized the cell next to his was being opened. The dull thud of something being dropped was the next he heard; telling him the guards had dropped the body on the floor in the cell before locking the door. The door to the hallway closed and he was left in the dark once again.
Marc Crook forced his ears to listen, to catch the sound of breathing, moaning, anything, any sign of life, but he heard nothing. His eyes slowly adjusted at the dark again and the small beam of daylight that penetrated through a tiny opening in the roof was enough for him to finally see the body sprawled on the floor next to him.
Marc gasped as he recognized the clothes the man was wearing. Although it was none of his unit, he knew it was an American, and that meant that at least somebody had attempted a rescue mission.
The Major ordered his sore muscles to obey as he slowly crawled closer to the bars between him and the deathly still form lying on his stomach in the other cell. Fighting off the dizziness that was threatening to overwhelm him he lowered himself into the prone position, his left arm reaching through the bars, attempting to touch the unmoving body, while he desperately hoped for a sign of life.
His hand touched the other man's shoulder and he probed, carefully, waiting for a response.
Nothing. The other man definitely was out cold.
Marc didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing, given the circumstances. If the man stayed out cold, then maybe… just maybe the guards would leave him alone…
On the other hand, the man could be dying and he wouldn't even know his name…
If only his head didn't hurt so badly… He needed to make up his mind, but it just seemed impossible.
Marc stretched and stretched, reaching with his fingers for the other man's neck and sighed in relief when he felt a pulse, strong and steady.
Then, the body shifted, and Marc drew his arm back, taking a deep, startled breath.
"Oww," the other man moaned softly, before pushing himself slowly to hands and knees.
"Hi," Marc said softly. "Are you okay?"
"Sure," a familiar voice answered. "I get caught in a mine detonation all the time…" The man suddenly raised his head, searching for the person who'd just asked him a question. "Marc?" he asked.
That's when Marc Crook realized who it was in that cell next to him. Although at first relieve overwhelmed him for not being alone anymore, he immediately realized that this was the last place on Earth we wanted to meet his old friend. He cursed inwardly. "Jack? What the heck are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you too, buddy. I came here to rescue you," Jack shifted, wincing as the movement hurt his arms and legs, but he managed to get closer to the bars. His eyes weren't adjusted to the dark just yet and he could only make out a slight silhouette close to him.
"Well. Nice rescue then," Marc mumbled.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm working on it, okay?" Jack said, optimistic as ever. He fidgeted with the straps of his helmet until he was able to remove it. He absently dropped it on the floor next to him. He then let his fingers gently touch the gash above his eye, noticing that it wasn't bleeding anymore.
A thought suddenly occurred to the Major, as he hopefully asked, "My team?"
Jack rested his aching head against the bars. "I've got them out, Marc. Relax, they're safe."
Marc let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. At least that was one worry less for him. "You should have left with them, Jack," he continued, hating to be the one responsible for O'Neill's capture.
"No one gets left behind, Marc. I thought you of all people would know that."
Now that O'Neill had moved closer to him, Crook was able to examine him more thoroughly. He could see the blood trickling down the Colonel's arms and it was only now he truly realized what the other man had said earlier. "What happened? You stepped on a mine?"
Jack sighed. "No, I was hiding between that building and the mountain wall when two guards on the roof started arguing about something. One of them kicked something, a box, or a barrel, I don't know. It landed in the field and detonated one or two mines. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time…"
"Damn," cursed Marc. He moved closer, biting back a groan as his own body protested the movement and gently grabbed O'Neill's right arm. "Let me take a look at you. You're bleeding," he said.
Major Crook spent the next thirty minutes letting his fingers run softly over O'Neill's skin through the torn fabric of his clothes, looking for debris and shrapnel, attempting to pull it all out of the man's arms and legs. The dim light and the fact that he only had his bare fingers made it impossible to get rid of the smaller pieces so he was forced to leave them where they were.
By the time he was finished, he had also told O'Neill all about what had happened, from how they got caught by the Elite forces until he was being taken away from his team.
O'Neill sat up straight, stretching his sore legs out in front of him and stared at his old friend, taking in every visible scar, the exhausted and haunted eyes, realizing all too well how miserably the Major had been treated. "How are you doing?"
Crook shrugged. "Mother of all headaches, bruised, battered, sore… Nothing to worry about."
O'Neill stared at the floor. "I'm sorry, Marc," he said in a low voice.
"For what?"
"I should have gotten you out of this rotten place. I've screwed up…"
"No you haven't. There was nothing you could have done. We'll get out of here. We will, Jack. We've got to." Marc Crook tried to keep his voice as confident as he could, but to be honest, he was having a hard time believing it himself. He'd spent hours, days, looking for a way out, but the opportunity just hadn't come. Marc knew, however, that Jack had escaped from this place before, so it could be done. He had to hang on to that thought or he would lose it completely.
"Yeah, we will," Jack agreed, then looked up as the door opened and the guards unlocked the door to his cell.
"You," one of them barked. "Come."
O'Neill shrugged his shoulders, got to his feet and looked back at his friend, giving him a comforting smile. He wasn't allowed any more time as the guards grabbed him roughly by his arms and pulled him with them, completely ignoring his protests that he was perfectly able to walk on his own.
A/N's: oops, and that was all that I uploaded to fanfic for now... so now I better hurry up and get the next set of chapters, right?
hmmm, and I think I will have to update the rating of this story to M now... Be sure to put an alert on the story, or check the M rated stories, as fanfiction dot net does not show those by default...
see you guys on Friday... hope you can wait that long :-)