Disclaimer Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Dirt.

This planet is nothing but dirt and mud. Or maybe it's just this pit. Pits do tend to be muddy, it's a gravity thing.

I'm crouched in a mud puddle, it's covering my boots, squishing under the treads as I shift my weight. I don't want to be down here, it's too close, too intimate. I don't want to be down in the mud, I want to be up on the ridge where I don't have to be alone.

Then again, maybe it's best that I'm alone right now.

Seven. Eight.

He cries out now. With every lash he cries.

Nine. Ten.

They're so close, just a few yards away. I saw them drag Teal'c and Raknor away. They walked right by me and I could literally smell them, Jaffa apparently aren't big on showers.

I could have done something, but didn't. Why? Why didn't I stand up and zat them. I could have stopped it.

No. I couldn't. Rationally I know that. All I'd have done is given them another captive. Then we'd be even more outnumbered.

Eleven. Twelve.

There's so many of them. Not just the Jaffa down here, but the whole ship full of warriors hanging over us. If they knew we were here, we'd be dead. And corpses can't help anyone.

Thirteen.

God, what if they die? Raknor may survive, but Teal'c…he's different now. He's more vulnerable, something all of us knew in the backs of our minds, but a fact that got shoved in our faces a few weeks ago.

Fourteen.

It hurt to see him in pain, to see such a steadfast giant brought low by a single lucky shot.

Fifteen. Sixteen.

Come on, Colonel. Call me back up. Don't keep me down here forever.

Seventeen.

He won't. I know why he won't. Blondie might get done with them soon and we can still pull this off. There's still some darkness left.

Eighteen.

The torch light plays across a puddle, painting the brackish water a garish red. It looks like blood. Blood that's running down his back, seeping from his torn skin. Warm salty blood that slows as it thickens, soaking his pants, stiffening the material as it dries.

His lifeblood.

Nineteen.

You can only lose so much blood you know. Losing a little doesn't hurt, some even say it's good for you.

Years ago they used to bleed people, let blood to heal them. That was before they knew that blood could save, before they knew about transfusions.

It can kill now, viruses and diseases sometimes bringing death even as they save a life.
Teal'c never had to worry about that. He was invulnerable, invincible, a quiet dauntless strength.

He still is, even though he can't see it.

Twenty.

He'll survive. He has to survive. He's too damned stubborn to die. He'll survive because if he doesn't Ry'ac and Bratac will die. He'll survive for them.

I hear a sound and I cower, hoping like hell they don't look down, that they're too busy trying not to slip in the mud that they ignore me. They head off towards the Stargate and I know that they know Teal'c and Raknor are not alone.

Twenty-One.

God. Why won't he stop? What more does he want? He's not asking them questions, I've heard no pauses, no attempt at interrogation.

He doesn't want information, he doesn't want intel. He's doing it just to be cruel. He's doing it because he can.

He won't kill them. They're no fun to him if they're dead. He's going to stop soon. Just short of killing them. Just short of killing a Jaffa. But he doesn't know about Teal'c. He doesn't know that he can kill Teal'c, he doesn't know that Teal'c doesn't have a symbiote anymore. He doesn't know that Teal'c can't heal as fast, that Junior can't tweak his endurance, because Junior's dead.

Twenty-Two.

And Teal'c will be soon if he doesn't stop.

Twenty-Three.

God. Just stop. How much more do you need? How much pain can you inflict? How can he take it? I don't know if I can take it.

Twenty-four.

The sun's starting to rise, the beginnings of a false dawn painting the sky with warm pinks and reds. Dawn is usually the time of beginnings, fresh starts. I'm afraid this one may herald an ending, that the rising sun may not be enough to chase the spectre of death back to it's dark home.

Twenty-five.

I could stop it. I could go in there and zat his ass and stop it. My hand tightens on the alien weapon. I could end it. God, I want to stop it. Come on, Colonel. Give the order. Let's stop this.

"Carter." His voice echoes in my ear and I almost yelp out loud. Geez, what was he doing? Reading my mind. "Sun's coming up. Get back up here," he orders.

"Sir?"

"We can't do anything. Fall back before you're made."

"Yes, sir." I get to my feet, wincing at the cramps in my legs. The whole camp is quiet now, like that unnatural calm in a house after a fight, when people are afraid to make it worse.

It's relatively easy to sneak back out of the camp, everyone is in their tents, I'm guessing afraid to draw Blondie's attention and be the next person on his list, to be the next corpse to lie nameless and unmourned in the dirt.

My boots are heavy, coated with thick mud. They slow me down, making the ascent back to the ridge as arduous as a ten mile hike. I don't want to go, I feel like I'm abandoning him. Hell, I feel like we abandoned him already.

He knows. He has to know that we couldn't do anything. That we're not going to leave him behind, not going to leave any of them behind. Where there's a will there's an or, that's what the colonel always says. They're coming home with us if it's the last thing we do.

~Fin~

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