Genre: Sci-fi, crossover, AU

Pairings: 1x2, other

Disclaimer: Don't own nothin' but these words

Warnings: Yaoi, lemon, language, violence, torture, abuse, character death (sort of), misuse of electricity, telepathy, politics

Special note: Dedicated to Nalamacleod and Hikishi, because this was your request to me. I hope you enjoy it!

A/N: A challenge-fic, issued by not one but two of my lovely readers. I had been wanting to do this for a long time, and I decided to finally get with the program. Plus, I haven't written anything in forever. If you haven't watched Stargate, GO DO SO! This takes place maybe somewhere in the third or fourth season.


Meetings, Saving Lives, All In A Day's Work

Deep inside Cheyenne Mountain, beneath only-god-knew-how-many-feet of solid rock, Stargate Command enjoyed a very secure headquarters. Earth's main line of defense against the threat of alien invasion, it was the most important program in the history of the world, and only a very, very tiny percentage of the world even knew about it.

Among them, Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, black-ops trained. Second in command under Major General George Hammond. Parking his black Avalanche, O'Neill headed into the base. A spring lightened his step ever so, something he had never been able to hide when coming to work. What a job! Visiting other planets, meeting aliens and forming alliances, protecting Earth from a danger it didn't even recognize yet. All thanks to the Stargate.

The Stargate, one of the universe's most fabulous works of ingenuity, was a large ring capable of generating a wormhole to other Stargates, thereby traveling great distances in the blink of an eye. No doubt Major Carter, a brilliant astrophysicist, would explain it with a great deal more techno jargon, enough to make Jack's head ache. He was relatively certain she just did it because it annoyed him. Even though Carter wasn't necessarily a petty woman . . .

Jack realized he was whistling and made himself stop. He was cheerful, but no sense in making the airmen think he was a loon. Maybe they already did. Whatever. He was in too good a mood to care. Damn, he was whistling again. The airman at the gate straightened as he approached, throwing a sharp salute. Most kids on this base idolized Colonel Jack O'Neill, responsible for saving the whole planet on more than one occasion.

"At ease," Jack said with a lazy smile.

The kid relaxed into a slightly less rigid posture. "Good morning, sir," he said. "SG-1 off to kick more alien butt?"

Jack chuckled. "Sure hope so."

Heading down into the mountain, Jack took the elevator down to the briefing room. At least, that's where he meant to go. His feet carried him instead to the office of another member of his team, Doctor Daniel Jackson.

Jack wasn't a sentimental man. He was a colonel in the air force, the poster boy for macho, masculine, rugged behavior. A "man's man" if you will. But there was a special place in his heart for Daniel, the slightly geeky, somewhat absent-minded archaelogist who made up SG-1's moral center. Not that he would ever admit to something so corny out loud. More than respecting and admiring Daniel's values and beliefs, he admired the man physically, as well. Comfortable enough in his own skin to feel this way, Daniel was one hell of an attractive man.

Again, not something he would ever admit to aloud.

Daniel was there, all right. With a half-finished mug of coffee in one hand, a barely-touched plate showed breakfast from the commissary. The man had probably been here all night, although he didn't look as rumpled as he normally did. Taking that as a good sign, Jack strolled in still whistling. Now mainly to alert Daniel to his presence.

Ice-blue eyes normally far warmer than the color alone merited looked up from the work that had held them captive. A quick smile bloomed over Daniel's face as he went back to whatever he was working on. "Hi, Jack."

"Hi yourself. Did you even leave the base last night?"

A soft snort. "Yeah. General Hammond threatened to fire me if I didn't at least get some sleep. I know how important today's mission is."

Ah, yes. P25-3X3. A world the local yokels called Desaine. Discovered by SG-4 two weeks ago to be a technologically advanced civilization who tentatively agreed to meet and exchange pleasantries. Needless to say, Daniel was excited. He'd been learning their native tongue for formal greetings and such, the type of stuff Jack usually slept through while standing on his feet. And keeping his ears peeled for any sign of hostility.

Jack couldn't help grinning at the thought of Hammond ordering the stubborn linguist off base. Most people gave Daniel far more lattitude than usual simply because he was Daniel. Stubborn, mule-headed, perilously under-developed sense of danger, strong-willed, and one of the gentlest men O'Neill had ever known. Everyone just seemed to love him, Jack included. Which was why he hadn't killed Daniel for willfully disobeying his orders at nearly every turn.

"We leave in about an hour," he pointed out, nudging the plate of now-cold eggs. "You know coffee is not breakfast, right?"

Daniel shrugged, which meant not only was he not listening, he hadn't really heard. Jack slapped his hands down on whatever Daniel was studying. "Earth to Daniel. Helloooooo, Danny. Wake up. You need to eat some breakfast."

Daniel blinked at the hands that obscured his vision and finally looked up. "Breakfast?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you know, that thing you're supposed to do in the morning. Involves eating and nourishing one's depleted energy reserves."

"Wow, there were a lot of big words in there, Jack. I'm impressed." Straightening and folding his arms.

Resolving not to let the archaeologist bait him like normal, Jack just clapped him on the back. "C'mon. Breakfast. Commissary. You. Me. Basic math."

Daniel didn't look convinced. "I really want to finish-"

Grabbing one lean, well-muscled arm, Jack started hauling him toward the door. "Breakfast," he insisted.

Still grumbling, Daniel didn't give much of a fight. A few marines passed them in the hallway, and they gave Jack crooked grins that let him know they understood. The brave colonel, taking on the stubborn and surprisingly short-tempered linguist. Though it had taken awhile, there wasn't a man or woman on this base who didn't respect Daniel and the aforementioned temper, now. It was something of a legend in the mountain. And few people could stand in the face of that withering, icy blue glare without flinching.

Jack happened to be one of those few. Amused by the knowing looks, Jack grinned right back and continued to propel Daniel along. Either Daniel was feeling really mellow right now or he was too lost in thought to notice because he didn't call Jack on it.

Once in the commissary, Jack managed to coax Daniel into eating a mostly-decent breakfast. It seemed to perk the younger man up, and he began talking about his translations and discoveries. Jack listened with half an ear, not all that interested. Then he guided Daniel to the locker room to gear up. Teal'c was there, the imposing Jaffa mostly ready.

"O'Neill, Daniel Jackson," he greeted with the traditional nod.

Daniel nodded back. "Hey, Teal'c."

Little else was said, then they were headed to the 'gateroom. About time for Jack's favorite part of the day.

o8o o8o

Panting, gasping, doubling over and nearly falling on his face from the sharp, intense pain, a young man raced through the trees. His normal speed and grace were gone, replaced by desperation, disorientation, and mindless fear. Get away. He had to get away. Someplace safe. Someplace far from here. Someplace . . . through the Ring. He knew one or two addresses, thanks to his partner. Anywhere had to be better than here. Someplace he could recoup. Recover from what had been done to him.

A wave of dizziness and nausea swept through him, finally sending him to his knees. He pitched forward and wretched miserably, sides heaving with the effort. In seconds flat his muscles ached, stomach trying to spew its contents when there was nothing there. The hand not supporting him reached up and clasped the large pendant hanging around his neck on a heavy black chain. Its sharp edges bit into his skin, a few drops of blood welling up.

Finally it passed, leaving him breathless and weak. No sounds of pursuit yet, but that hardly meant anything. Forcing his protesting body back up, he staggered back into his headlong run. Not bothering to hide his trail now. No point. No time. No energy to do so. Spots were beginning to dance in his vision, everything blurring as the lack of proper oxygen to his brain began to take its toll.

Sick. He was so tired of being sick. The nausea, the sharp stabs of pain, the headaches, the weakness, the inability to think straight. Helpless. Not a feeling he liked. Hated, actually. Despised. He felt betrayed, utterly betrayed. I have to get away.

He nearly collapsed with relief when he broke free of the trees and into a wide clearing. There, at the far end, was the Ring. Legs growing alarmingly rubbery, he forced himself to keep running. Don't think. Just keep running. You're almost to your freedom. Ignore the pain, ignore the sickness.

While his mind could, apparently his body could not. He was within a few paces of the device that could activate the Ring when he simply collapsed, legs unwilling to support him anymore. His vision darkened, receding almost into black as he panted, trying to marshal failing limbs.

o8o o8o

Jack watched as the Stargate engaged, forming the wormhole in the familiar blast of blue energy. Then it subsided, leaving the event horizon behind a shimmering, rippling blue. It never failed to fill O'Neill with a sense of excitement at what lay beyond. Waving with his gloved hand, he slapped his hat on his head and pushed the brim in a bit.

"Let's go, kids," he ordered, heading up the ramp.

SG-1 obediently followed, Daniel looking like a kid on Christmas. Through the tunnel in space, then they were emerging into another world. Desaine. The good feeling dissolved as soon as the world materialized.

There, lying not too far from the DHD, was a thin boy. Entire body quivering wildly, it didn't take a doctor to see he was sick - even from this distance. His skin was a pasty white, a thin sheen of sweat beading on every visible patch. His clothes were ragged as though he'd been running through tangled undergrowth. His bare feet were bruised, scratched, and bleeding. And he was panting like a marathon runner after a several-mile dash.

Daniel was moving before Jack had finished deciding what to do. "Daniel!" Jack barked, but his linguist ignored him. What else was new. "Damn it," he muttered, following with P90 up. "Stay alert Teal'c, Carter."

Daniel had reached the kid's side, already checking him over. "He's got a high fever, Jack," he said, turning those amazing blue eyes on his CO. "We need to get him back to the SGC."

Glancing down at the object of Daniel's concern, Jack felt a twinge of sympathy. The poor kid was obviously out of it. He respond neither to touch nor sound, just gasping and panting for breath. Up close he looked even worse, a sickly gray pallor to his skin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes.

"Uh, sir," Carter said abruptly, sounding tense.

Jack looked up to see evidence of pursuit. Damn. No time to think, then. The kid wasn't in any condition to let them know who was pursuing him and why, he was barely conscious. "Dial it up, Carter," he ordered. "Teal'c, carry the kid." He trained his P90 on the trees, prepared to defend his team if necessary.

The Stargate engaged just as several men armed to the teeth burst from the trees. They looked enraged as they charged SG-1, and Jack didn't wait. He followed Teal'c and Carter through the 'gate, Daniel hot on his heels.

"Need a medical team," he called as soon as the gateroom appeared. He could see a perplexed Hammond watching them from the control room.

Hammond made the call, then he was hustling down. "Colonel?"

"Not exactly sure, sir," Jack said, taking off his hat. "Found him just on the other side of the 'gate. Armed pursuit was on the way, so we got the hell out."

Doctor Janet Fraiser and two med-techs came hurrying in, the petite doctor elbowing everyone out of her way so she could assess her new patient. After about two seconds, she looked up at Hammond.

"Sir, I've got to get him to the infirmary."

Either the action or the noise or something was beginning to rouse the kid. His breathing was slowing a little, and he finally lifted his head. For the first time Jack saw his eyes. They were deep, deep indigo violet.