Saving Grace

By Charli Booker

“Why do you doubt your senses?”

“Because,” said Scrooge, “a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!” Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

“He is restless.” Teal’c’s gentle baritone filled the tiny cavern, warming it. The warmth was transient, however, dissipating as quickly as the concerned voice which ignited it.

“Yeah. It’s the fever.” And the pain, too, he imagined. Seated on the cold, hard ground beside his friend, Daniel frowned and wiped the damp cloth over the familiar, sweaty brow. He shivered, telling himself it was the chill seeping from the rag to his fingers, then glanced up at the obviously worried man. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Gently touching the fresh scab on his temple, Teal’c quietly replied, “The wound is nearly healed, Daniel Jackson.” He rose, hefting his staff weapon in his hand and staring down at his two comrades, before turning to leave. “I will relieve Major Carter.”

“Thanks. And, Teal’c?” The big man stopped and looked back at him, and Daniel forced a smile. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

Teal’c’s head bobbed imperceptibly, but he said nothing before pulling aside the tattered cloth stretched across the mouth of the cave, and disappearing into the darkness outside. Despite the healing of his physical injury, it was obvious that Teal’c was still shaken by yesterday’s events.

Re-wetting the cloth cut from his extra shirt, Daniel squeezed the excess liquid from it and laid it across Jack’s forehead. Then, resting what he hoped was a soothing hand on Jack’s shoulder, he leaned back against the jagged wall and closed his eyes.

It felt late, but he knew it wasn’t. Without looking at his watch, he was pretty sure it couldn’t be later than mid-afternoon. But time on this planet was deceptive. Even before Jack’s injury, it had seemed to crawl. P4T-171 was a lot like the arctic - searingly cold, hauntingly dark, and amazingly, indescribably beautiful in a deadly sort of way. They had been on this world nearly forty-eight hours, and the sun had yet to make an appearance. But, undoubtedly, the worst was the cold.

He hated it. And, this time, it wasn’t just because he was a desert rat. This cold was different. Even Jack had bitched about it . . . back when he’d been up to bitching. Upon their arrival, Jack had skipped right over the trite reference to a witch’s anatomy, and had immediately pronounced this world to be ‘colder than a well digger’s butt.’ A mere hour later, he’d advanced to the dreaded ‘steelworker’s balls.’ Afterwards, the cold leeching into their bloodstreams like a toxin, adequate words had failed even Jack.

Daniel jerked awake from a light sleep, suddenly alert. Something had awakened him. A noise. His right hand dropping to his holstered pistol, he looked around the dim interior of their hovel away from home. Seeing nothing out of place, he eased back against the wall and glanced down at Jack. Dark, fevered eyes stared up at him. Immediately, Daniel leaned down beside his friend.

“Hey, Jack. How’re you doing?”

Jack shifted miserably, and licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice was frail, and the sound of it made Daniel’s stomach clench with equal parts pity, dread and fear. “Dan’l?”

“Yeah. It’s me. Do you want some water?”

Jack moaned and shook his head, but Daniel wasn’t sure he’d even understood the question. “Hurts.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” They’d given Jack as much morphine as they safely could just two hours before. It was too soon for another shot. “Where’s it hurt, Jack?” They all feared there were more injuries than the obvious.

“What time is it?” Jack gasped.

“It’s nearly sixteen hundred,” he guessed. It didn’t matter. Jack wouldn’t know the difference. “Where are you hurting?” Daniel lifted the edge of the sleeping bag in which his friend was ensconced, and pulled open Jack’s shirt. The bandages beneath were mostly white, with only a few, small blotches of red. Harsh, shadowy bruises were hourly inching their way across Jack’s abdomen. Still, it was a vast improvement, and Daniel sighed with relief.

“Don’t,” Jack pleaded breathlessly, and raised a shaky, blood-stained hand in an unsuccessful attempt to push Daniel away.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to touch it. Just relax.” He took a moment to check the splint on the leg before covering him back up, then he picked up the small pan and eased a hand under Jack’s head. “Come on. You need to drink.”

Most of the water ran down the sides of Jack’s face, but Daniel was relieved to see him swallow at least a little. Easing his friend back down, Daniel set the pan aside as Jack coughed softly.

“Dan’l?”

“Yeah?”

Glazed eyes frowned up at him. “Killarney?”

Daniel laughed softly. “Yeah. We’re still on Killarney.”

“Dan’l?”

“What?”

“Home?” Jack said, his voice cracking weakly.

“Yeah, Jack. We’re going home. Soon.”

“Dan’l?”

Daniel sighed softly, smiling despite the exhaustion which deadened his limbs. “Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

“It’s sixteen hundred, Jack. It’s still early.”

As he stumbled out on the planet side of the ‘gate, Jack was momentarily stunned. The customary chill of passing through the wormhole seemed absolutely warm in comparison to the frigid air which greeted him. Hurrying down the icy steps, clearing the way for his team behind him, he tugged the fur-lined hood of his parka tighter around his face.

Much as he bragged about being from Minnesota, Jack had been frozen one too many times. This time, he was taking no chances. They were weighted down with tents and rain-flies, sleeping bags, water-proofed everything that he could think of, extra food, extra socks, extra gas cannisters, matches, and even an extra magnesium bar and toilet paper. They each had a pair of lightweight snowshoes strapped to their packs, and they were wearing insulated parkas, insulated boots complete with knee-high, nylon gaters, insulated gloves, insulated underwear, insulated everything, as intricately layered as the coconut cake his mother had made every Easter. And, still, he felt unprepared for the biting cold.

Standing at the base of the ‘gate waiting for his team, his right knee began sending up a premature, fiery protest at their choice of destinations. Damn. It was going to be a long two days. Studiously ignoring the throbbing joint, Jack felt the muscles of his abdomen unclench when the three members of his team popped whole and unharmed out of the event horizon with a watery slurp. As the intangible blue circle snapped shut behind them, Carter and Teal’c scanned the surrounding area, and Daniel cursed . . . loudly.

“Now, now, Doctor Jackson. No taking the good Lord’s name in vain. After all, it’s not his fault it’s so freakin’ cold here.” Jack paused, gazing out at the dusky, white horizon. “Well, actually, I take that back. It probably is.”

“Geez,” Daniel complained.

Fighting back a smile, Jack lifted the digital atmospheric data recorder - or DAD, as he liked to call it - that hung by a nylon cord from the front of his parka. He studied it a moment, silently marveling at the sizeable technology which fit in the palm of his hand. “Carter.” When she looked at him, he pointed with a thick, gloved finger. “That way.”

She took point, and Teal’c stepped in behind her. As Daniel came up alongside him, Jack heard him mutter the dreaded ‘F’ word - the one syllable to which Daniel rarely resorted. Seeing Jack’s frown, Daniel grimaced.

“If you tell me this feels like springtime in Minnesota, I swear to God, Jack, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

Regretting it the instant the bitter cold hit his lungs, Jack inhaled deeply, and forced a smile. “Ah, it’s like Christmas in Killarney, me boy,” he declared in his best Irish brogue.

“Bullshit,” Daniel pronounced.

“Please, Daniel, watch the language. There’s Jaffa present.”

They made good time, despite the frigid temperature . . . or maybe, because of it. They stopped only three times in eight hours of walking, and each time, they hurried to get started again. Sitting still slowed the blood, and quickened the cold which settled in their arteries, turning liquid to deadly slush. Late in the afternoon, it began snowing - a light, dry snow that thickened incrementally, almost imperceptibly. At about nineteen hundred hours, they stopped to put on their snowshoes, and Jack took point. Ski mask pulled over his face, and clear goggles protecting his eyes, he guided them using instinct and his DAD.

They were a little over seventeen miles from the gate, and while there had been no change in the dim light to suggest the passage of time, Jack’s aching knee and the deepening drifts testified to the lateness of the hour. Despite the clown shoes, Jack’s balance wavered momentarily as the bank of snow on which he was walking cracked and dropped a few centimeters. He stopped, waited, and when nothing else happened, he pressed on. Damn, stupid Tok’ra! Carter just had to go and re-read Anise’s damned reports from the whole armband thingie fiasco. And, of course, she just had to stumble onto some archaic reference to a friggin’ ice world where some freakin’ blue, crystal-powered whatchamacallit had once been found but had been left behind because it was deemed unimportant. And, of course, Carter then had to go and disagree about the importance of said freakin’ blue, crystal-powered whatchamacallit.

Despite his argument that it was probably sacrilegious to go running off to some alien planet looking for some fake god’s discarded car battery two days before Christmas, Hammond had sided with Carter. Apparently, the only thing on his 2IC’s wish list was this stupid power cell thingamajig, and Santa had blue eyes, was bald, and hailed from Texas. Well, Jack wanted credit with the Big Guy upstairs. If this mission to Killarney took a detour and went south, he wanted it on record that he’d tried to do the right thing.

Blinking into the dizzying whirlwind of driving snow, Jack stopped and grabbed the DAD, squinting down at the readout. The compass reading flickered, wavered slightly, then burned as brightly and steadily as a digital readout could. No wonder he was cold - temperature of minus twenty-nine degrees Celsius, with a steady head wind of ten knots. That left them with a wind chill factor of approximately minus forty-eight degrees Celsius. Crap! Damn, stupid scientists!

Something slammed into him, knocking his legs out from under him, and dropping him ass first into the snow. He landed on something that was soft, hard, bony, and squirming vigorously. Groaning, Jack rocked himself to a sitting position, then rolled to his knees.

“Carter?”

Laying face down in the snow, his teammate stared up at him. Behind the goggles, he could see weariness and embarrassment. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t see you stop.”

In the time it took him to help her to her feet, Teal’c and Daniel had appeared from the curtain of snow, and Jack had reached a decision. It was late, and they were all exhausted. Setting up camp in these conditions would be tiring in itself. “We’ll bivouac here for the night.”

Shrugging off his pack, he quickly set to work building a shelter that was half snow cave and half igloo. His team silently watched until the mechanics of what he was building became clear, then they pitched in to help. Daniel, who’d been crawling into and studying similar styles of architecture for nearly three decades, caught on quick. Within three-quarters of an hour, they’d worked up a film of sweat that could swiftly turn deadly, but they had a solid structure that was big enough for them and their gear.

Jack motioned his teammates inside, then took a final look around. They’d stopped just in time. Visibility was now hovering around the zero mark. He could barely see his own white-gloved fingers. He shivered as a drop of sweat ran down the back of his neck under his multi-layered gear. It was useless to set watch under these conditions. The best they could do was to huddle in their shelter, letting their own body heat sustain them, and keep one ear open. Besides, odds were, nothing and no one else would be out in this weather, either. He had to hope anyway.

Grabbing his pack, he shook the snow from it, and crawled in behind the others. They had unzipped their parkas, and were in the process of rolling out their sleeping bags by the light of a small, battery-powered lantern. Jack slipped off his gloves, rifled through his pack, and dug out a gas cannister, portable stove, and a small, dented metal pan. Clearing a spot in the center of the shelter, he packed the pan full of snow, lit the stove, and set the pan over it.

Ironically, the risk of suffering from dehydration was as great as that of freezing, and while they were literally surrounded by water in its frozen state, it took time and energy to reduce it to a safe, consumable form. As the snow melted, he shrugged out of his coat and hat, and rolled out his sleeping bag. Like him, Daniel began the tedious process of melting snow as Carter and Teal’c sorted out enough MRE’s for all of them. Glancing at the hideously ugly, plain brown packages, Jack’s stomach rumbled. He was suddenly starving.

Without a word, he peeled off the layers of clothes that had already sucked the thin film of sweat from his skin. Oblivious to the presence of the others, he undressed to his skivvies, then hurriedly dressed in a fresh, dry, identical set of clothes. Years of cramped quarters and mutual respect shielded him from the others’ view, even Carter’s. And, when his 2IC began stripping down in front of her teammates - which she did unselfconsciously - she huffed softly as they chivalrously turned their backs to her, but he was pretty sure she appreciated it. This obvious shielding of her privacy was the only gender concession which Jack allowed or Carter tolerated.

It was with a minimum of words that they consumed their dinner and bedded down for the night. Glancing around at his weary team, Jack flipped off the lantern. Then, using his pack to cover the small entrance hole, Jack snugged his back against it, closed his eyes, and was instantly asleep.

Using a small, collapsible shovel, Jack had to dig their way out of the deep, soft layer of snow that had blanketed their bivouac during the night. Suspecting he looked like a giant, white rabbit emerging from its hole, he clambered out of the snowbank, shoving his pack in front of him.

His knee protesting only vaguely, he glanced around at the white on white. The morning, while dark, was clear. A handful of dim stars was visible overhead, and according to DAD and his own aging joints, the weather had warmed overnight to a balmy negative fifteen degrees Celsius. More importantly, the wind had completely dissipated.

Carter, Daniel and finally Teal’c emerged from the drift behind him. They’d spent the last half hour drinking hot, bitter coffee, and consuming a breakfast that consisted of chicken with noodles, raspberry applesauce, and peanut butter and crackers. Jack had bartered with Carter, trading a bag of pretzels for five pieces of hard candy, which he shoved in his pocket for later. It wasn’t Cracker Barrel eats, but it beat the scrambled egg MRE’s, which were hard to come by and left you hungry. As they’d eaten, they’d melted more snow and drank as much as they could hold before packing up.

Now, emotions hidden by the ski mask and goggles, Jack smiled at his team’s early morning exuberance which would soon be a casualty of the harsh climate. “Merry Christmas Eve eve, kids.”

Daniel’s head popped up and he looked at Jack, his happy grin evident in his wide, blue eyes. “It is, isn’t it?” Jack could almost feel Daniel’s instantaneous joy. The man was a Christmas fiend, and while he couldn’t be sure, Jack suspected it had something to do with all the crappy holidays that a young Daniel Jackson had been forced to endure. As an adult, Daniel took it upon himself to make sure that everyone around him had a good time, which wasn’t hard when you were faced with a grown man who insisted on passing out burnt cookies, bad eggnog, and elaborately wrapped gifts while wearing elf shoes, a fuzzy hat, and Vulcan ears.

Strapping on his pack, Jack shook his head in amusement at the very thought. They should reach Carter’s blue crystal thingie by mid-day, which meant they should be back home sometime late tomorrow - Christmas Eve. Staring down at DAD, Jack turned, searching for their direction in a monotone, featureless landscape. Frowning at the slight flicker of the pale readout, he glanced at Carter.

“Carter, you having any trouble with your DAD?”

Shrouded in white down, she pulled out her own data recorder and studied it. “It seems fine. Why?”

Jack shrugged. “Must be my batteries.” He nodded straight ahead. “You getting north by northwest?”

She looked down at the gadget again. “Yes, sir.”

Quickly coating his lips with a protective layer of lip balm, Jack took point and led his people into a brand new day, and towards the vague hope offered by a freakin’ blue, crystal-powered whatchamacallit.

At just shy of eleven hundred hours, he called a stop. For the last hour, he and Carter had been getting slightly different readings on their DADs. Huddled in a protective circle, they replaced the batteries, and the gadgets seemed to be working fine.

At twenty minutes after twelve, they stopped again. While Daniel and Teal’c used the opportunity to heat MRE’s for lunch and melt more snow, Carter tinkered with the DADs. Hers had given up the ghost completely, and the compass readings on Jack’s were erratic. One minute, the instrument declared they were headed due north; the next, they were supposedly on a southeasterly bearing.

“Carter?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, sir. I can’t find anything wrong. It must be something about the planet itself. If we’re near one of the poles, maybe.” The doubt in her voice caused him to shiver, and he was aware of Daniel throwing her a quick glance.

“O’Neill.”

Jack looked over at Teal’c, who was holding out a container of warm food. Nodding his thanks, he took it and stared down at the worrying, mustard-yellow contents. Apparently, someone had checked their list twice, and discovered that Jack’s name was in the naughty column . . . that could be the only logical reason why he was the lucky one holding a warm envelope of cheese tortellini. Grimacing, he forced himself to eat it before it got cold.

“So,” Daniel huddled into his parka, his hands wrapped around a packet of beef stew, “what do we do?”

Jack forced himself to swallow. “I figure we can’t be more than an hour from that Tok’ra reject doohickey.”

“I suspect we’re less than that, sir. We made better time yesterday than we’d anticipated.”

“Right. So, how come we haven’t seen those cliffs the UAV picked up?”

“You believe we are off course, O’Neill?”

Jack breathed through his mouth, trying not to inhale the noxious fumes as he lifted another spoonful of toxic cheesy substance. “It’s likely.”

Carter frowned, and snapped the DAD back together. “So, what do you suggest?”

Jack choked down the last of the tortellini, then grabbed the slice of dry pound cake that came with the meal, and a cup of the hot tea that Daniel had brewed. “Those cliffs run basically north-south, starting a couple of miles south and west of our target, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, anyone else feel like we’ve been going uphill?”

Daniel frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I can’t be sure, but I think we overshot our mark. We’re too far west. My guess is we’re on top of the cliffs.”

Looking around at the bleak, snow-covered world, Carter bit her bottom lip. “So, what now?”

Jack shoved the last of the pound cake into his mouth, and washed it down with the tea. “If I’m right and we head due east, we should reach the cliffs within an hour, maybe two.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Jack glanced over at Daniel, and saw the first soft flakes drift down between them. He squinted upward, into a thickening sky, then forced a tight smile at his teammates. “Then, we’re not on Killarney, after all.”

But, he had been right. Almost. Except, they hadn’t drifted as far west as he’d thought. It was half past thirteen hundred hours, and they were walking single file with a driving snow bullying in from their left. It might have been his imagination - hard to say with the DADs malfunctioning - but Jack could have sworn that the wind was buffeting them more than it had been just a few minutes before. But, if they really had gained the altitude he suspected they had, it made sense.

As if reading his mind, the wind suddenly howled, swirling furiously and tugging at the hood of his parka. He staggered as he was slapped in the face with flakes that stung despite the ski mask. He heard something and stopped, looking behind him. Daniel was just a few feet away, closely followed by Carter and Teal’c. If this kept up, it wouldn’t be long before they reached white-out conditions. Time to dig out the rope and tie themselves together before it was too late. He began shrugging off his pack.

“Jack!” Even though Daniel was obviously yelling, his voice was nearly swept away by a gust of wind, and despite their closeness, Jack had to strain to hear him. Daniel stepped nearer, turning his back to the blowing snow, and looked over at him. “What are you doing?” he yelled.

Fumbling with gloved hands at the clasps on his pack, Jack dug for the rope. “We should-”

Something hit him, hard. It slammed into the right side of his body and he was flung over his pack, hitting the ground with a muted rush of expelled air. Stunned, the air knocked out of his lungs, he could hear yelling. There was a loud roaring sound that he suspected might have been inside his own head. Out of breath and slightly disoriented, but otherwise seemingly unharmed, he struggled to his hands and knees.

“Colonel, stay down!”

He was confused; he could have sworn he heard Teal’c’s staff weapon and a zat gun being readied. “What?” he whispered. Blinking, he stared down at the snow. Vibrant red drops splattered the pristine snow; like Kool-Aid drizzled on a paper napkin, the dark droplets grabbed onto the icy crystals, quickly expanding into a large, ugly circle. It was the only color in an otherwise monotonous landscape. Panting softly, Jack frowned and eased back onto his heels, sitting up. Swaying, he dully swiped a glove down across his parka, wondering what had happened. Tufts of blood-stained goose down were glued to his glove by dark red gore. Nothing really hurt, just a slight stinging sensation on his side, but he was making a hell of a mess.

“O’Neill!” The warning cry was accompanied by the distinctive sound of a zat firing, and something big and powerful shoving him over into the snow. This time, pain flared with the impact and he groaned, frowning up into Teal’c’s face. The Jaffa looked back over his shoulder as he eased his weight off his commanding officer.

Hearing Carter’s and Daniel’s voices in the background, Jack gasped as raw agony engulfed the right side of his abdomen. Trying to figure out what was happening, Jack whispered his friend’s name.

Teal’c turned to look at him, a worried frown teasing the edges of the gold tattoo. “O’Neill, you should-”

And then the world dropped out from under them.

Voices awakened him. Sitting up, he squinted out at a dark, twisting, heaving world, and he swayed drunkenly.

“Teal’c?”

He was nauseous, his ears were ringing, and his head throbbed. He pressed gloved fingertips against his temple in an effort to quell the pain.

“Teal’c, do you copy?”

Major Carter? He pulled his hand away and glanced at his fingers. His glove was covered with blood.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.”

Teal’c started to reach for his radio when he heard the softly spoken mantra. It was coming from somewhere nearby, and it sounded suspiciously like . . . he looked to his left.

“O’Neill!” Fighting the dizziness which swamped him, Teal’c scrambled on his hands and knees to the side of the man who lay on his back in the snow a few feet away. When he reached his friend’s side, he glanced down the length of the human’s body, and was at an immediate loss as to what to do. With a tenderness defying his bulk, Teal’c pushed back O’Neill’s hood and peeled off the protective goggles and ski mask. The exposed face was twisted in agony, and O’Neill looked up at him with desperate eyes.

“Teal’c? Oh, God, Teal’c,”O’Neill whispered. The agonized man lifted his head, and then dropped it back against the snow, repeatedly, as if he might somehow beat the pain from his body.

“O’Neill, do not move.”

“Help me.”

“Teal’c, can you read me?”

Major Carter. Gripping O’Neill’s arm with one hand, Teal’c grabbed his radio with the other. “Yes, Major Carter, I read you.”

O’Neill groaned and struggled to rise. Teal’c moved his hand to O’Neill’s chest, holding him down.

“Thank God. Teal’c, are you injured?”

“I am fine; however, O’Neill is gravely injured.”

“How? What’s wrong with him?”

What was wrong with him? Teal’c frowned down at his friend’s obvious injuries, then fighting another wave of dizziness, he squinted up through the heavy snowfall, trying to see Daniel Jackson and Major Carter. He thought he saw the vague outline of their forms moving at the top of the sheer face of the cliff. “His abdomen is bleeding.” At a loud, gut-wrenching cry from O’Neill, Teal’c glanced back down at his companion. “And his right leg is badly broken.”

“He’s bleeding?”

Despite the obvious worry in Major Carter’s voice, Teal’c did not believe the wound to O’Neill’s abdomen was the source of his intense pain. Swallowing back a churning in his stomach, he studied the man’s leg. Approximately two inches below the knee, the leg was bent sharply back and to the side. The break was bad, and he knew his friend was in grave danger.

When he looked back at O’Neill’s face, the man’s pallor alarmed him. His normally tanned skin was chalky, and he frantically clutched at Teal’c’s hand on his chest. Even through the thick layers of protective clothing, he could feel the shallow, rapid breathing and the tremors which wracked O’Neill’s body.

“T-Teal’c,” his voice shaking badly, O’Neill squirmed in agony, “my leg. You-you gotta help me. Pl-please.”

“Major Carter, the break is severe, and he is in extreme pain. What can I do?”

“Try to stop any bleeding. Then, keep him warm, and don’t let him move. He may injure himself worse.”

Teal’c grimaced down at the misshapen limb. “Perhaps I should try to set the bone, Major Carter.”

“No. Teal’c, unless you’re absolutely sure of what you’re doing, wait for us.”

O’Neill gasped, his back arching off the ground. “O’Neill, you must remain still.” Feeling helpless and wrestling a panic he hadn’t felt since Rya’c’s aborted implantation ceremony and near death, Teal’c keyed his radio once again. “Major Carter, O’Neill requires assistance.”

“I’m ordering you to wait for us!” There was a momentary pause filled only with O’Neill’s moans and gasps, then Major Carter spoke again, her voice softer. “Teal’c, I know you want to help, but Daniel and I are getting ready to start the climb down to you. We’re only about twenty-five feet above you, and we’ll be there shortly. If you try anything on your own, you could just make things worse.”

Frowning down at his friend, Teal’c took a deep breath. “I understand, Major Carter.” Releasing his radio, Teal’c knelt down over his friend. “O’Neill, I must check your wounds.”

His eyes unfocused, O’Neill merely groaned and lifted his head once more, before dropping back limply onto the snow.

Suddenly realizing that his mangled pack was still strapped to his back, Teal’c angrily tossed it aside with shaking hands, then leaned over and closely studied the wound on O’Neill’s side. Apparently, the beast which had attacked him had clawed through the thick layers of parka and clothing, tearing deep into the skin beneath. Three parallel, bloody lines neatly wrapped around O’Neill’s rib cage on the right side. However, currently, the bleeding appeared sluggish, most likely slowed by the extreme temperatures. Thinking about Major Carter’s warning against making matters worse, he decided that the safest thing he could do about the injury was nothing. Hating his own helplessness, Teal’c pulled his dented pack near and unrolled his sleeping bag. Very gently, he draped it over O’Neill’s shaking frame.

As his friend groaned and shifted slightly, Teal’c lowered himself alongside the injured man. If all he could do was keep him warm and still, then that is what he would do. Cursing the fates that had led the animal to attack them, Teal’c wrapped his arms around O’Neill and, taking care to avoid the badly mangled leg, he draped one leg across his friend’s thighs in an effort to keep him from moving.

O’Neill grunted and Teal’c thought he heard his name being whispered, but perhaps it was merely wishful thinking. Tightening his grip, he laid his aching head against his injured brother’s. “Do not worry, O’Neill. Help is on the way.” He closed his eyes, flinching at O’Neill’s soft, agonized cries and steady trembling. “We will not leave you behind, my friend.”

“. . . until morning.”

Daniel roused at Sam’s soft voice. Blinking, he looked around. Three of the small, portable stoves flickered around the perimeter of the small cavern. The warmth was meager, but welcome. Their parkas unzipped, Sam and Teal’c were seated on the other side of Jack, quietly talking.

“Hey, guys.” Daniel shifted his weight and glanced at Jack, who appeared to be sleeping. “What’s going on?”

“It is snowing again,” Teal’c announced, which explained why they were both inside. After spending last night in another snow cave and hauling Jack on a travois for most of the day, they’d found this cave a few hours ago. They were simultaneously relieved and worried about using it to escape the cold. It was obvious from the cloth across the entrance that someone had been here before them, but from the meager belongings scattered around the small cavern, that could have been mere hours or several weeks ago. Just in case, Sam had insisted on setting watch. But, it was impossible to watch when there was no visibility.

“The colonel’s fever’s up again.”

At her words, Daniel scooted down next to Jack, and laid a hand against the smooth forehead. There was no response to his touch, but Sam was right. Jack was burning up, and while he was sleeping soundly, his breathing seemed a little too strained and rapid. Daniel started to lift the sleeping bag to re-check the wounds on his abdomen.

“I just checked.” Daniel stopped and looked up at her. “They’re infected.” Sam frowned and tiredly rubbed a hand across her forehead. “And we’re stuck here until the weather breaks. If things go like they have the last few days . . . .”

“Then that won’t be for at least another six to eight hours,” Daniel finished.

Teal’c looked down at the staff weapon resting on the ground in front of him, and Sam merely nodded. “Yeah.”

Daniel looked at Jack again, and reached for the cloth and the pan of cooling water. “At least he’s sleeping.”

“Major Carter gave O’Neill another dose of morphine.”

Daniel frowned over at her. “So soon?”

Sam’s face flushed slightly, but Teal’c calmly stated, “It was necessary, Daniel Jackson.”

Yeah. He supposed it was. The only thing worse than being in agony, was standing helplessly by while someone you cared about suffered. “Sorry, Sam. I know you only did what you had to.”

“It’s a bad break, Daniel, and with the infection . . . .” Sam turned away, digging in her pack. “We might as well eat, and get comfortable for the night.”

“Yeah.” And hope that once the weather clears, we can find our way out of here, Daniel thought. Wringing out the rag, he gently laid it on Jack’s sweaty forehead. “Merry Christmas Eve, Jack,” he whispered.

As his teammates paused in their dinner preparations to stare over at Jack’s limp form, the cloth at the cave entrance suddenly was whipped aside.

Grabbing his staff weapon, Teal’c leapt to his feet, and Sam scrambled to pull her zat, while Daniel dropped over Jack in an instinctive, protective move.

The man at the entrance looked as shocked as the cave’s inhabitants. His eyes wide, he raised empty hands in front of him. “We . . . we mean you no harm,” he stammered.

Getting to her feet, zat aimed squarely at the man’s chest, Sam stepped over the sleeping bag, putting herself between the stranger and her commanding officer. “We?”

The man ducked his head, breathless. “Yes.” Looking back over his shoulder, he reached out a hand to someone outside the cave. “Come.”

When she stepped inside the cavern, both Teal’c and Sam lowered their weapons, and Daniel rose to his feet. “Oh.” He stared at them, momentarily stunned into silence, before clearing his throat and stepping towards the strangers. “Come in. It’s okay. We won’t hurt you.”

Someone spoke his name. Not his nickname. His given name.

It sounded vaguely like his mother’s voice - clear, with a subtle Irish lilt that softened the vowels and hardened the consonants, drawing each syllable out to its full potential. He’d forgotten that about her - how she sounded.

“Jonathan.”

Softly spoken. Comforting.

Opening his mouth, drawing in a soft breath, he looked up to find Daniel leaning over him.

“Hey, Jack.” Daniel smiled broadly, looking relieved. “How’re you doing?”

He frowned, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Hot.” He pushed weakly at the smothering layer of insulated nylon that was covering him.

“It’s the fever.” Daniel pulled the cover back up over him. “You’ll get chilled.”

How could he possibly get chilled when it was so freakin’ hot? Movement to his left caught his attention. An old woman was kneeling beside him. Definitely not his mother. Jack’s mother had been an attractive woman at every age. This woman was haggard, dressed in mere rags, and if he were a guessing man, he’d say her life hadn’t exactly been peachy. Without warning, she smiled, and he squinted up at her. She had a great smile, he’d give her that. “Who . . .?”

“Apparently, there’s a village nearby. This place,” Daniel looked around, indicating the cave, “holds special significance for them. It’s where people come to die.” As if suddenly aware of how bad that sounded, Daniel forced a grim smile. “It’s also where they come to give birth. The young woman is Astrid and her husband is Olaf.”

Even as Daniel spoke, Jack was aware of the sounds of rapid breathing and cries of pain coming from the back of the cave. He lifted his head enough to spy Teal’c, Carter, and a strange man gathered around what was obviously a woman deep in the throes of labor. Watching her strain to bring forth new life, his own pain suddenly swelled, and he dropped back down, pressing his shoulders against the hard ground. It seemed an obscenity to mingle his pathetic cries with hers, so he pressed his lips together, struggling against giving voice to the agony. Instead, he contained it to a soft, miserable gasp.

Daniel and the old woman reached for him simultaneously, a hand on each side of his chest. Oh, God. His leg hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. His side was being a bit of a bastard, too, as far as that went. Pain rendered him speechless, and he simply stared up at Daniel.

“Hang on, Jack.” Giving him a gentle pat, Daniel turned and began digging in a medkit. Jack took the opportunity to push the sleeping bag off of him once more. The old woman smiled kindly, and tugged it back in place.

“What’s your name?” he whispered.

Smile still in place, she ran a calloused palm over his cheek. “Grace,” she quietly intoned in an oddly familiar voice.

“Grace,” he repeated, and looked over at Daniel who was preparing a shot.

Daniel turned back to him. “What?”

Jack shook his head, embarrassed to hear himself whimper softly in anticipation as Daniel bared his arm and injected the morphine. He hated his need of it. But, damn, it hurt. The pain in his leg was bigger than he was; it outranked him, and downplayed the hot throbbing wrapped around his side. Hot. Too hot. Feeling petulant and miserable, he again pushed at the thick cover choking him. Pain blossomed, and he grunted softly, fighting it. Tired of fighting it.

“Jack . . . .” Daniel grabbed his hands, trying to still his movements.

His ears ringing hollowly, Jack was aware of the distant cries of a baby as the old woman rested a hand on Daniel’s forearm and said, “Something to drink perhaps.”

“Hey,” squeezing Jack’s hands and forcing a grin, Daniel leaned closer, “how about some tea? Maybe something to drink would make you feel better.” He turned away, reaching for a small pan sitting on the nearest stove.

The old woman, Grace, stroked Jack’s forehead in a calming gesture while Daniel prepared a cup of tea. Jack rocked his head from side to side, trying to escape her touch. He was hot, and he hurt, and he wanted to be left alone. He wanted to be better. At least good enough to get his people home. They had to get back. He didn’t want to be here - hurt and lost.

“Lost,” he mumbled.

Grace merely smiled and continued to pet him. “You are closer to home than you think, little one.”

Little one? Frowning up at her, he felt himself go still, finally calming under her tender caresses and the subtle, enveloping fog of morphine.

“Jack?” One hand holding the small pan, Daniel slid an arm under Jack’s shoulders, lifting him gently.

Grace reached into a pocket of her ragged dress and pulled out a small leather pouch. She loosened the rawhide string around its top, reached inside and removed a pinch of dark powder. Smiling over at Daniel, she sprinkled the granules into the tea. “This will kill the fever which rages within.”

Daniel didn’t question the remedy, but merely held the drink to Jack’s lips. Perhaps he was as desperate as Jack. Perhaps he trusted her as instinctively as Jack did. His hands shaking, Jack reached for the pan, and encountered Daniel’s hand. Sipping slowly, he clutched weakly at his friend’s strong hand, and studied the familiar face. After he drank as much as he could, which granted wasn’t much at all, Daniel lowered him back down and covered him up.

Over the old woman’s shoulder, he saw Teal’c and Carter approaching.

Grace returned the pouch to a pocket, and pulled out something else. Something shiny and round. She slipped it into the pocket of his BDU shirt, and let her hand rest lightly on his chest. “A little something to guide you on your journey,” she grinned. “The pathway home grows so familiar that, at times, we overlook it.”

The old woman rose, and Carter and Teal’c took her place, kneeling on the ground opposite Daniel. Without a glance back, Grace crossed the room, and knelt beside the new mother and the baby which squirmed and mewled half-heartedly in her arms.

Carter smiled. “It’s a boy, sir.”

“The child’s name is Leif,” Teal’c quietly announced.

“Beloved,” Daniel whispered. “It means ‘beloved.’”

“Jonathan,” his mother whispered in his ear.

He came awake suddenly. Without fear, without confusion. One minute he was soundly sleeping, unaware of his own existence, and the next he was flat on his back in a bed in the infirmary. Familiar sounds floated around him. Soothing because they signalled that he was back. Home.

Feeling numb, he swallowed dryly and turned his head, studying the man dozing in the chair beside his bed. Arms crossed over his chest and legs outstretched, Daniel snored softly. The toes of his green elf shoes were pointed in opposite directions, and a fuzzy red hat with a fluffy white ball on the tip sagged over his forehead, concealing the left side of his face and one of the Vulcan ears.

“Daniel Jackson refused to leave your side.”

At the soft, comforting voice, Jack turned his head and stared over at Teal’c, who was seated in an identical chair on his right. “Teal’c. How . . .?”

“When the weather broke early this morning, Olaf and the men of his village helped us carry you to the Stargate. We were not as far from it as we had feared.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”

“I must have been out of it. I don’t remember any of that.”

“Indeed, you were.”

“I thought I heard voices.” Janet Fraiser quietly approached the bed, squeezing past a still snoring Daniel. “How are you feeling, Colonel?” She automatically began checking his vital signs.

Jack thought about the question. “Pretty good, actually.”

“Any pain?”

“Not much.” Then again, he hadn’t moved yet.

“Well, you will soon enough, I’m afraid.” Janet smiled. “From what I understand, you’re very fortunate, sir.”

“Yeah?”

“Sam said that last night, the wounds on your side showed every evidence of a bad infection.”

“Your fever was high, O’Neill.”

Dammit if he hadn’t slept all day, and already he was sleepy again. “I kinda remember that.”

“The fever broke with the storm.”

Daniel groaned and sat up, yawning loudly. Pulling off his glasses with one hand, he rubbed his eyes, then looked up. “Jack!” Slipping his glasses back on, he stood next to Janet, grinning. “You’re awake.”

“And, obviously, you’re Spock, the lesser known elf,” he grumped.

Daniel was undeterred. “God, I can’t believe you’re awake and talking. Last night, I thought . . . .” He stopped, grimacing. “Well, you were pretty sick, and things weren’t looking good for getting you home, Jack. I’m just . . . I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks.” Jack nodded, then frowned as a flicker of pain shot up from beneath the thick cast on his leg. “So, did I dream that a baby was born?”

“You did not, O’Neill.”

Daniel laughed softly. “Can you believe it? A baby born in a cave. And on Christmas Eve no less. How perfect is that?”

Jack shrugged. “Someone should tell them, it’s been done before.”

“Okay, gentlemen, we should let the colonel get some sleep.” Janet patted Jack’s arm, smiling.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Daniel sighed.

“I will check back with you in the morning, O’Neill.”

“See ya, T.”

Daniel lingered after Teal’c and Fraiser left. “So, how are you really feeling?”

“It beats Christmas with the in-laws,” Jack quipped tiredly. “That baby? He was okay?”

“Yeah. He was perfect, Jack. The mom, too.”

“That’s great.” Jack shifted, searching for a comfortable spot. “So, what was the old woman’s story? Was she the grandma? The midwife?”

“What old woman?”

“You know, the old woman. Grace.” At Daniel’s puzzled look, Jack chuckled. “Come on. She was sitting right there by me the whole time. Not three feet away from you.” Daniel merely frowned. “She put something in the tea that she said would get rid of my fever.”

“I’m telling you, there was no old woman. There was just us, and the young couple.”

“For crying out loud, Daniel, you talked to her.”

“No. I didn’t.” Daniel smiled. “You were delirious, Jack. If you don’t believe me, ask Sam or Teal’c.”

“But . . . .”

Pushing his fuzzy red hat out of his face, Daniel leaned over and squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “You’re tired. Get some sleep.”

Jack nodded without speaking, unaware of Daniel slipping out of the room. Had he dreamt her? Grace? She’d been so real. And, it seemed like if he was going to dream up an apparition, she’d have been better looking.

“Colonel?”

He flinched at Janet’s soft voice, not realizing he’d been dozing. “Huh?”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t know you were sleeping. I just wanted to give this to you before it got lost.”

“What?”

She placed the object in his hand. “Maria found it in the pocket of your uniform. It looked like an antique, so we thought it might be important.”

Jack stared down at the small metal object, and felt the blood drain from his face.

“Colonel, are you all right?”

He nodded, his wounds forgotten.

“Sir? It is yours, isn’t it?”

Jack cleared his throat. “It was my father’s,” he said softly.

Janet smiled. “I figured it must have sentimental value.”

“Yeah.” He turned over the object, and with a shaky hand pressed the small button at the top. The lid flipped open, exposing an old-fashioned compass inside, along with his father’s engraved initials. “He gave it to me when I was ten, and I . . . I passed it on to Charlie when he was the same age.”

“In that case, it really is special then. I’m glad we found it.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He didn’t tell her that Charlie had lost the compass only four days after Jack had entrusted him with it.

“Well, goodnight. Try to get some sleep.” Janet straightened his covers, dimmed the light over his bed, and crossed the room.

“Doc?”

She stopped in the doorway. The light from the hallway cast a soft halo around her, and submerged her features in shadows. She could have been anyone. “Yes, sir?”

Jack clutched the compass in a tight fist. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Colonel.”

Back to Holiday Archive