by Sheryl
Jack sat behind the steering wheel, staring blankly
out the windshield into the darkness. Traffic flowed past him on the street;
the occasional glare of headlights barely registering in his mind as images of
their recent mission flashed before him, swirling together, melding with
another similar experience from years ago.
A dank, filthy prison. Solitary, mournful wailing
from somewhere in the distance. The stench of bodily fluids and death,
glassy-eyed inmates, occasional tortured screams echoing through the
corridors. An image of a young man, no
more than a kid, with thin, shoulder length hair, wire-rimmed glasses with one
lens cracked, and large blue eyes that Jack would never forget.
It was the blue eyes that reminded him of Daniel and
whenever the memory flashed it was Daniel’s face Jack saw. He rubbed his hands roughly over his face
and took several deep breaths. Patrick, the kid’s name had been Patrick. Not
Daniel. Patrick was dead, had to be dead. But Daniel was very much alive.
Glancing up at the window, he was relieved that
Daniel’s lights were still on. Daniel
had been unsettled even after they’d gotten back to the compound. More so,
after the ‘Destroyer of Worlds’ had been let loose in the universe. In all honesty, Jack was ready to start
climbing the walls, himself. Instead,
he opted for grabbing the sack beside him and got out of the car. Hopefully
Daniel wouldn’t mind some company for a while.
- - - * * - - -
Daniel opened the door, then leaned against the frame
looking Jack over dubiously. “What are you doing out so late?”
“I dunno.” Jack shrugged, a tired smile on his face.
He walked past Daniel, brushing against his shoulder and made his way in to the
kitchen. Setting the sack on the counter, he pulled out a six-pack, took out
two beers and placed the rest in the refrigerator. “I didn’t feel like going
home yet.”
“Okay,” Daniel replied, looking slightly puzzled.
Jack handed
him a beer then stood in front of him, head tilted, scrutinizing. “How ya
doing, Daniel?” he asked in his most sincere voice, knowing that was his ticket
to get Daniel’s compliance. When not in can’t-you-see-I’m-busy-mode, Jack’s
sincerity and concern were always enough to warrant a little indulging from
Daniel. At the very least he’d placate
the poor colonel by showing him he was fine, which meant that they’d just sit
around and do whatever until they both were fine and then everything would be
back to normal again.
“Um, I’m fine, Jack.” Daniel answered suspiciously.
“Are *you* okay?”
- - - * * - - -
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” answered Jack, without opening his eyes.
Not that it mattered. He doubted anyone would rush him to the local hospital if
he weren’t fine. He doubted there was a
local hospital, for that matter. Not
out here in the middle of nowhere.
“You’re American, aren’t you?” The voice said taking
on a little enthusiasm. “So am I. Patrick Donahue.”
Jack forced his eyelids to part. After a few moments
of attempting to focus his vision, he found himself looking into a pair of
worried blue yes. “Huh?”
“Patrick Donahue,” the voice repeated. “That’s my
name. What’s yours?”
Jack didn’t really want to make introductions. He
wouldn’t be here long if everything went according to plan. “Jack,” he said
anyway. With a heavy sigh, he took a moment to consider whether or not he was
going to be able to sit up. He did a
quick mental check of his injuries, then decided he wanted to sit up
regardless. He needed to figure out what he was going to do, needed to survey
his surroundings, not to mention his situation. He struggled to roll on his
side and found himself restrained by two hands on his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t move yet,” said Donahue. “They worked
you over pretty good.”
They did at that. His head was killing him, along
with every inch of his body. One eye was nearly swollen shut; his lower abdomen
was throbbing as well as his lower back. He couldn’t tell if he had any
internal injuries, but if he did, he certainly wouldn’t last long in this
place. With the way his back was
protesting, he had the feeling he’d be pissing blood for the next few days.
“I’m fine kid,” Jack said as calmly as he could.
“O-okay. If you say so.”
The kid released him and sat back, still looking
worried. Jack gave the kid a quick once over. Filthy, gaunt and pale, dark
shadows beneath his eyes. Damn, he looked so young; Jack wondered what he’d
done to land in this place and how long he’d been imprisoned here. Probably
drug related, he surmised. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t his concern. He was
here for another purpose. He needed to find Murray.
“Are…” he cleared his throat. A drink of water
sounded really good, despite the high probability of catching some type of
intestinal disease from whatever microorganisms would be swimming around in the
water supply. “Are there any other Americans here?”
The kid’s face went blank and looked away. When he
looked back, he was frowning. “Maybe.” After another moment the kid leaned
closer. “You should rest for now, though.”
Jack closed his eyes, suddenly too tired to for
debating. He’d find out what he needed to know soon enough.
“Jack?”
- - - * * - - -
“Jack?”
Daniel. This was Daniel.
“I’m okay.”
Daniel’s eyebrow was raised skeptically, but he
nodded and sat down on the couch.
“This whole Hadante thing just….” Jack made a vague
gesture then shrugged, as he sat at the opposite end of the couch. “You know?”
A puzzled frown crossed Daniel’s features and he
turned to Jack, looking concerned. “What? Bad memories?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Jack studied the almost forgotten
beer in his hand before finally taking a drink.
“Like what? What kind of memories?” Daniel asked
hesitantly, then began picking distractedly at the label on his bottle. “I mean is it anything you want to talk
about?”
Jack considered this, considered how much he would
actually be able to talk about -- even if he did want to. Tried to distinguish
if there was anything at all, between the classified stuff and the stuff he
simply would never want Daniel to know, that was even mentionable. “Prison food sucks.”
Daniel immediately grinned. “In other words, you can’t tell me without having to kill me,
right?”
“Something like that.”
It had been a covert op’s mission, over fifteen years
ago. A US agent accused of espionage in Libya, then conveniently disappearing.
Weeks later, they found out he’d been secretly transported to a prison in a
scarcely populated region of Sudan.
Captain Jack O’Neill had been given the assignment to retrieve the
agent, with help from the government of Chad in return for two surveillance
aircraft. Giving them the aircraft was actually in both of their best
interests. Chad was a potentially valuable ally to have with all of the turmoil
going on over in Libya and the Sudan. Still, he’d figured the agent he was
assigned to retrieve must be pretty valuable too. The government wouldn’t go to
so much trouble for just anyone.
“Must have been something bad, huh?”
Jack nodded. “Not very good.”
- - - * * - - -
“You don’t look very good, kiddo.”
Jack opened his eyes and found himself looking into a different pair of blue eyes than he’d waken up to before. “Murray?” he questioned.
The man let out a long breath, nodded then smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever gonna wake up.”
Jack was still in pain, but the sharpness had dulled considerably. After a few moments, he managed to push himself to a sitting position, yet still had to fight a wave of dizziness.
“Take it easy, kid.” Murray said, placing a firm hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’re ready to run any marathons.”
Jack glanced at him. “I’d like to get the hell out of here, if you don’t mind.”
Murray chuckled. “Believe me kid, I’d like to get the hell out of here too, but I’d rather not have to carry you…if *you* don’t mind. So why don’t you be a good boy and lie back down.”
Jack started to protest, but the older man cut him off. “Look, Donahue isn’t ready yet anyway and until he is, we’re stuck here. So you might as well rest a bit longer.”
“Donahue? The kid with the broken glasses?”
“Yeah, believe it or not, he’s the one that managed to get word to you guys that I was here.”
“I wasn’t informed that there would be two of you,” Jack stated, already preparing an alternate plan of escape. Then he remembered how sickly the kid had looked and doubted he could make it the ten or so miles they’d have to go to get to the pick up location.
“Nah, the kid ain’t coming. He’s going to set it up so we can get out undetected. Give us a little head start. Are we on a designated time frame or anything?”
Jack shook his head. No, he’d hidden a radio some miles away. They’d have to get to the radio. Once he’d sent the signal, their operatives in Chad would send out the rescue plane. Jack was suddenly stuck with guilt. How could they leave that poor, sick kid behind? He was an American after all.
Apparently able to read his expression, Murray cut him off before he could speak. “The kid wouldn’t make it, he’s too sick. Besides, he doesn’t want to go.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know for sure. Something they call slim disease. Once you catch it, you just waste away to nothing…and then you die.” The agent sighed, looking remorseful.
Jack’s eyes went wide and his breath hitched. Oh god. The kid had been right there, he’d touched Jack. What if…?
“Don’t worry,” the agent said calmly, patting him on the arm. “You won’t catch it just from talking to him. It’s more like some kind of VD, or something. You get it from having sex, as far as anyone knows, anyway. I’ve also heard that mothers can pass it on to their babies too. Probably if they get it while their pregnant.”
Jack felt his racing heart calm somewhat and relaxed, resting his elbows on his knees. Jesus.
“The kid was working, doing some charity bullshit over in Zaire when him and his boyfriend got arrested. He probably got it over there. I heard people over there were dropping like flies from it.”
Christ. “What was he arrested for?”
“Well, he and his boyfriend were getting ready to fly back to the good ol’ USA when the authorities stopped them at the airport and accused them of stealing tribal artifacts. There was no trial or anything but apparently they were found guilty, I’d say. I have no idea why they brought him here. Well, actually I do, but it’s only theory.” Murray smiled wryly.
“Okay, well, maybe we should take them with us, then. Even if they did steal artifacts, this is…” Jack looked around at the uninhabitable surroundings. “This is a little harsh, for cryin’ out loud. Don’t ya think?”
“Look kid, I know you mean well, but like I told ya, he doesn’t want to go. Trust me.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. We have better medical facilities, maybe….”
Murray shook his head. “When they were brought here, I guess the guards roughed them up pretty good, beat them pretty brutally,” he said in a lowered voice. “The other guy, Scott something-or-another was his name, didn’t make it. I wasn’t around then, or maybe….” Murray paused with a frown, then shrugged. “Donahue said that afterwards the guards started raping him. Poor kid was all alone, looking like he does, especially with those glasses, all sweet and innocent, like any pervert’s wet dream.”
Jack raised his eyebrows.
“Sure, he doesn’t look too good now, but you can imagine.” He glanced knowingly at Jack.
- - - * * - - -
Jack glanced at Daniel, who was sorting through his mail. Oh yeah, he could imagine.
“All bills,” said Daniel, disgustedly. Tossing the last of the pile onto the coffee table, he took off his glasses, set them aside carefully, then leaned back into the couch and turned his head toward Jack. “So….”
“So…?” Yeah, ol’ Dannyboy looked pretty sweet and innocent with or without the glasses, although Jack knew better than to ever tell that to Daniel. He no longer had a death wish. However, with the glasses…well, Daniel’s looking like anyone’s wet dream had been high on Jack’s list of worries while they’d been in Hadante.
No, Jack hadn’t been willing to take any chances. He’d divested Daniel of the glasses and with unspoken acknowledgment, made certain that Teal’c knew not to let him out of his sight for a moment. And Teal’c hadn’t. It had been Jack who had allowed Daniel to catch him off guard. It was Jack’s fault that he’d almost been killed. Again. But, Daniel had seemed so intimidated and out of sorts that Jack had mistakenly assumed he would behave and keep in line. A mistake that wouldn’t be made twice.
Daniel yawned and Jack watched him struggle to keep his eyes open. He probably should leave, he thought. Daniel obviously needed to get some sleep. He kept watching. Daniel’s eyelids drooped; he yawned again then rested his head against the back of the couch. Daniel was fine, healthy and undamaged. There was no reason for Jack to hover. No reason for him to stay.
- - - * * - - -
The escape had gone off without a hitch. Donahue had distracted the guards. There weren’t many to begin with. It was a fairly small prison. Jack didn’t know – didn’t want to know what the kid had done to distract them.
Donahue had poked his head into the unlocked cell and smiled. All big blue eyes, looking like a young boy heading out on some sort of adventure. “Give me about fifteen minutes,” he said. He hesitated, then added. “Good luck and…well, thanks for everything, Murray. See ya around.” And then he was gone. And then they were gone.
“I wish I could have been there then, to kinda look out for him,” Murray later told him, regretfully. “Maybe…well, maybe none of this woulda happened. Who knows? Whether he had the sickness before he got there or not, I don’t know. A couple of the guards who raped him have already died from the disease. The kid should probably be dead already. I think the thing that keeps him hanging on is his need for vengeance. He’s fighting his own little battle there. Wants to make everyone pay for what they’ve done to him…and Scott.”
- - - * * - - -
Jack remembered thinking, wondering at the time, how a kid like that could be so hell bent on revenge, but now, looking at Daniel he could kind of understand. In a way, Daniel was fighting his own little war. Battling the Goa’uld for taking his wife. Still, he couldn’t imagine that Daniel would ever indiscriminately commit murder, even against the Goa’uld.
Now that Jack knew what slim disease was and knew the effects, he wondered how many others, besides the prison guards, that Patrick Donahue had inadvertently taken out. But, that had been a lot of years ago, before anyone knew what AIDS was or how far reaching the disease could be. And he couldn’t help but feel anything other than sympathy for Patrick Donahue. He had been alone in his battle. Bitter and lonely, filled with hate, despite his innocent appearance. By the time Ronald Murray had happened along, he was too far gone to care.
There was nothing he or anyone else could do for Patrick Donahue. All Jack could do was make sure that nothing like that would ever happen to Daniel. If he had anything to say about it, Daniel would never be alone again. He would always have Jack.
After flying to N'Djamena, he and Murray had then flown to Aviano Air Base in Italy, where they parted ways and Jack had never seen or heard anything of the man since, but he often wondered about him.
Daniel moaned softly, bringing Jack back to the present moment. Daniel was sleeping, head tilted to one side, frowning. Most likely dreaming of their fun-filled getaway in Hadante. “Jack,” he whispered, his voice sounding lost.
Jack scooted closer and placed his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m right here.” Daniel leaned into the warmth of his hand and quieted. He knew that he should probably wake Daniel and send him off to bed then head home, but he really didn’t want to do that. He didn’t feel like putting that much distance between the two of them. Not yet.
Maybe he could situate him a little more comfortably on the couch, but then where would he sleep? Glancing at the floor, he reminded himself that he was getting a little too old to be sleeping on the hard floor. If he went home, however, he doubted he’d get any sleep at all.
Dropping the pillow onto the floor beside the couch, he checked once more to make sure Daniel was sleeping comfortably before turning off the light. His back would definitely protest in the morning, but at least he’d get a few hours of sleep here. And, if you looked on the bright side, had they spent the night in Hadante, he’d be using a rock for a pillow.
“G’night Daniel.”
- end -