Author: Flatkatsi

Email: flatkatsi@optusnet.com.au

Category: POV, Series, Angst, H/C

Pairings: None

Spoilers: None

Sequel/Series Info: Part thirteen of General Jack Year Three. Sequel to Acting on Impulse

Rating: 13+

Content Warnings: Strong adult themes and violence, language

Archive: Jackfic, Incoming Wormhole

Summary: Oh dear -it's not looking good for the general. Not good at all.

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.

Author's Note: Thanks to Nutty for the beta. And many thanks to Lee for her invaluable help.

Mislaid Plans

You know, sometimes things just go the way you expect, and sometimes they don't. It's the times they don't that you should be watching out for.

I took the smallest knife -suitable for very delicate work -and drew a thin line down Ramsey's neck, enjoying the way the blood slowly welled from the cut, forming small beads before leisurely running down and under his collar.

He gave a sharp yelp of pain -a sound I'm not sorry to say, I enjoyed hearing.

But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough,

I bent and put the small knife down, picking up a larger one, as he started to beg.

I had a definite feeling of complacency that everything would happen the way I wanted it. Part of me knew it had been too simple, but I hadn't listened, wanting to hurt him as much as he had hurt me, if that was at all possible. I was lost in anticipation of what was to come, revelling in the evidence of his overwhelming fear. Consequently, despite all my training, despite all my experience, I wasn't prepared for all the men who suddenly crowded into the room.

There were too many of them, far too many to do more than grip the long, wicked knife and brandish it, holding it ready as I circled, keeping them at bay. Ramsey was screaming to be released, but I didn't look at him, trying to spin and turn to keep them all in sight.

But there were far too many, far too many of them.

I took two of them out, leaving them bleeding, but was soon overwhelmed and on the ground. I expected fists and boots; instead I was hauled to my feet and held tight, relatively untouched.

This wasn't good.

"Hold him."

Ramsey circled me, running his hand across my chest and around my ribs, dragging his fingers down my back. I kept my eyes forward, refusing to react even though the touch of his hand had my toes curling in revulsion.

"You didn't really think a man in my position wouldn't be protected against kidnapping? That briefcase you so carefully made sure not to leave behind had an alarm and a tracking device in it. The minute I let go of the handle it was activated."

His fingers lingered on my backside, but he soon began moving again. Someone should find him a clean pair of trousers. I wrinkled my nose as he reappeared in front of me.

"Smells like something's died in here."

He stopped dead, his face emotionless. "General O'Neill is correct. A change of clothes is in order." He smiled, but his voice stayed toneless. "Strip him. Just the jeans."

"Yeah, like they'll fit you, you stunted little runt." I kicked out as much as I could, but couldn't stop them. Soon I was standing in just my boxers and Ramsey was pulling on my Levis, which, I was pleased to note, he had to roll up several inches.

He zipped the fly and came forward again, this time standing right up against me, in my face, invading my personal space. I moved my head back.

"Didn't help -still stinks. Must be you."

That got a reaction. The big grunt on my left swung me around, violently ripping my arm from the other goon's grasp and punched me hard in the stomach. Even holding me with his other hand, the blow was enough to have me coughing as I held my free arm over the spot.

His actions seemed to unleash the others and I was tossed from side to side by the fists, totally unable to do more than try and keep my feet. The first goon had let me go, but only so as to have two fists free. I could still hear Ramsey, his deep throated laugh, seeming so out of place coming from such a thin man, echoing in the empty room.

This wasn't part of the plan.

I twisted, and for a second thought I could get myself out of the situation, leaping away and towards Ramsey. If I could just get my hands on him... But a sweeping sideways kick brought me down, landing me face down on the floor, my recently repaired knee taking the full force of the blow.

I couldn't help it. I curled up in agony, clutching at my leg. But they didn't stop kicking me, and the bastard continued to laugh.

Waking up wasn't a pleasant experience at all. The first thing I felt, after the hard slap on the face that brought me around, was the headache -definitely up at the top of the pain scale. Then the knee. That made the head fade into insignificance.

I wrenched an eye open and looked down, which was fortunately the way my head was already hanging so I didn't have to move it, and winced at the sight of a joint that was sort of sideways and looking somewhat damaged. The thought that I wouldn't be walking on it anytime soon, if ever, fleetingly crossed my mind, before the rest of the reality of my situation sunk in.

The 'tied to a chair by the bad guys' scenario -it never got old. Hell, I'd used it myself just a short while before. Seemed the boot was on the other foot. Well, lots of feet - they were standing right there in front of me.

I pulled my head up, letting my gaze trace a line up the forest of legs, to the faces, each smiling and looking somewhat smug. One in particular seemed to be enjoying

himself far too much. Ramsey.

"Welcome back, General." He bent over me. "I apologise. My men got a little carried away. I tried to stop them, really I did."

His voice just oozed insincerity. I decided to answer in kind, a sweet little sarcastic comment already at hand, but when I opened my mouth all I managed was a moist bubbling noise.

I drew in a breath and spat, spraying blood and teeth into his face. He jumped back. I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth, finding gaps that felt like they were the size of the Grand Canyon. At least two teeth were gone, maybe more, one from right at the front. I groaned. All those years in action and I'd managed to avoid any damage, and here I was, only a few days after being told I was through, and this had to happen. Go figure.

I heard Ramsey giving his men orders, sending most of them away, and leaving only two standing over by the door. It seemed he felt totally secure.

Another wave of pain passed up from my knee and I realised he was right -I wasn't any sort of threat.

Footsteps had me looking up again. He was back, but this time he stayed a bit further away. Red smeared his chin where he hadn't quite wiped away my blood, and his smug expression had changed to one of anger.

"I heard you'd been given your marching orders, O'Neill. About time. Did they find out about your little visit to rehab?" I couldn't help my grunt of surprise and he responded by giving a smug smile. "You thought you'd hidden that from everyone, didn't you. The Air Force didn't look too kindly on a member of Special Ops with a substance abuse problem. Definitely a career ender if it had come out. No wonder you went outside the system for help."

I felt physically sick. "You were the one that gave me the pills. You did it to all of us. Speed before the missions and then something so we could sleep afterwards. So don't you stand there smiling like a sanctimonious bastard. If I hadn't stopped when I did I'd probably be lying in a shallow grave in the desert like the others that didn't come back."

It had been a bad time, and one I thought no one knew about but me. I had hidden my tracks as carefully as I could, knowing the consequences if my addiction had come out.

How the hell had he found out?

Ramsey was still smiling. "I expected you to slink away, not come after me after all these years. What took you so long? Finally got up the courage?"

For a moment I wondered just how much I wanted to tell him, then I decided there was no point in holding back anymore.

"If I had remembered I would have killed you the first chance I got." My cut lips pulled as I spoke, and a pain in my right cheekbone made each word feel like it was being wrenched from me. "I was unconscious, you bastard. What possible pleasure could you have gotten? How long did you take? Five minutes, if that? What was the point? You must have been so scared of being caught, yet you still took the risk."

He came closer. "Of course I took the risk, Jack." He ran his index finger down my cheek, flicking it sharply against the bone as he pulled away, making it quiver with pain. Broken -that was an injury I was familiar with. "Not that there was much risk. I had that whole base sewn up tight as a drum. If Marsden hadn't bumbled in I could have taken my time, but as it was I got what I wanted." He smiled. "You."

"Why? I don't get it. Why go to all that trouble just for a few moments with an unconscious man?"

His hand was back, this time resting on my thigh and squeezing. "Why?" It squeezed harder and I just managed to stop myself crying out. "Because you spat in my face." He took his hand from my leg and wiped it across his cheek, looking at the redness left on it. "Just like now. And no one gets away with disrespecting me. No one."

"That's it?" I raised my voice, unable to keep from shouting, thinking of Keith Marsden hidden away in hospitals for all those years. "You ruined a good man's life because I spurned your advances? You sad old bastard, you're totally pathetic."

"Now, now, General. There is no need to be insulting. Let's keep this civilised." He pulled back a fist and rammed it into my knee. "We shouldn't waste this chance to talk."

I couldn't do anything but ride out the pain, my bound hands straining against their bonds. It was like a hot poker had been stuck into my knee.

He hadn't stopped talking. "While I have you here, I was hoping you would give me a few answers to things I've been wondering about. I understand your latest command is somewhat ..." He paused for a second, "How can I put it? Unique."

"What? Deep space radar telemetry?"

"Come now. I think we both know it's a little more than that."

I shook my head and instantly regretted it. "I don't know what you mean."

He crouched down beside me, resting against my bare legs. "The SGC, Jack." The fingers stroking again, and I tensed, expecting the pain that had followed each previous caress. "I know all about it. There's no need to be coy with me -I've been following your exploits for years."

"What?" I played the dumb card, knowing it wouldn't work.

"I don't know what you hoped to achieve by this rather ridiculous attempt at revenge, but you've played right into my hands." He stood again, using me to help push himself up, and this time I moaned as my knee took the weight. "I was worried when I heard you had lost your command, worried that any information you might give me would be out of date, but things seemed to have happily proceeded much faster than I had planned." He smiled down at me. "I have your stupidity to thank for that."

"Why ..." I stopped, suddenly needing to cough. The motion made everything ten times worse, if that were possible, and it was several minutes before I could do any more than wheeze weakly. At last I was able to finish the question. "Why do you need me to tell you anything? You seem to be well informed."

I knew his sources had dried up since we flushed out his spy at the SGC. I wasn't naÔve enough to think the doctor had been his only source of information, but it must have made it much harder for him. There was no way I was going to let him know how much was known of his actions. He was a traitor. Who knew how long he had been on the Goa'ulds' payroll.

It seemed he was as unwilling to share his motivation with me as I was to tell him what I knew. He didn't answer, just gave another one of those smarmy smiles that almost had me throwing up.

"You're not in any position to be asking questions, O'Neill -just answering them."

I said the only thing I could.

"Go to hell!"

He ignored me. "This isn't the first time you've cracked, is it, Jack? After Iraq? A Special Ops killer who had lost his mind. And then that whole sad debacle with your son. Letting him get hold of your weapon. I wonder if you realise just how close you came to being locked up and the key thrown away after that? It won't take much for me to persuade them that this time you're too dangerous to be left alone."

I shook my head, trying not to listen.

No. It wasn't the same.

"You, see, the records of the SGC aren't the only documents I've had access to. You own file made very interesting reading, especially the parts censored from the 'official' one. For a brief moment I almost felt sorry for you when I read about your experiences as a POW." He patted me hard, on the same cheek again. "But you'll be pleased to know I got over it." He let his hand drop into my lap, gripping me hard. "Very interesting reading indeed. Tell me, Jack, did you enjoy your guards as much as you enjoyed me?"

I couldn't find the strength to speak, to react at all. I was frozen.

Frozen. Was this how it had felt all those years ago? Had I chosen not to move, not to protest?

No!

"I was unconscious." I dragged the words out.

"Is that how you prefer to remember it? Strangely, I remember differently. But you are correct in one thing -there would be no pleasure to be gained from an unconscious partner." And he gave that small knowing smile. I felt his fingers close over me again, and this time the pressure tightened until I couldn't help a whimper of pain.

God, please. The thin material of my boxers gave no protection as he dug his nails in.

Then he was off me, standing back and staring down as I panted my misery in long drawn out gasps.

"You don't need to worry." He reached out and I flinched back, unable to do anything as he pulled the front of my boxers down, exposing me completely. "I prefer my partners much younger, and ..." He gave a contemptuous snigger. "More well endowed."

Part of me was relieved at his words, but another part was cringing, hearing the contempt and the laughter. To my horror a surge of darkness seemed to reach out and grab at me, making me give an agonised sob.

No, not now. Not in front of him.

God, no, please!

I closed my eyes as tears ran unchecked down my face, struggling to hold it together. I had to get control back.

But all I felt was despair, and all I heard was his laughter.

I don't know how long we sat there, he and I, all I know was when I finally surfaced it was as if I had completely lost all shred of self respect. I just wanted out. I would do anything, anything to get away from Ramsey and the memories he caused to surface.

This wasn't the plan.

It had never been the plan.

"Look at yourself, Airman!" The voice barked out and I stiffened instinctively. "You're a disgrace to the uniform. Cover yourself up."

I lifted my head and looked around. Ramsey was still there, but not smiling now. He was standing off to one side, almost as if he was keeping his distance. Odd, considering his previous actions.

I tried to answer, only to find it almost impossible to form words with a mouth swollen and battered.

How long had I been here now? It felt like hours.

"Wilson, get over here and help General O'Neill."

Crap -now what? One of the two men remaining in the room left his post by the door and sauntered over, his heavy jowled face shining with anticipation. I didn't take my eyes off him as he approached, terror rising in my chest. He leaned down and I flinched as he repositioned my shorts, covering me up, but taking his time doing it.

One beefy hand held a crowbar and he stepped away from me again, tapping it lightly against his palm.

Ramsey's voice pulled my attention away. "I think it's time I had some of those answers from you. O'Neill. Shall we start with the defences in Antarctica?"

The sudden change in direction stunned me for a moment, my confused mind finding it too hard to cope. Then I shook my head.

"No." It was all I had the energy to say, all I had the willpower to utter. I didn't bother to pretend I didn't know what he was talking about -that time had passed.

"Would you like to rethink that answer?"

I contented myself with another shake of the head.

"Wilson. The General looks cold. Warm him up."

I barely had time to register the raising of the crowbar, before it swung down, all the man's force behind it, to connect solidly with my knee.

Cold water woke me this time, and agony kept me awake.

I was still tied to the chair. And Ramsey was still watching me.

Drips ran off my chin and down my neck -a sensation that was remarkably annoying considering the way the rest of me was feeling.

"Disgraceful is too simple a word for what you are, O'Neill. Why they kept a liability like you around for so long is beyond me. Sleep your way to the top, did you?"

I had strained forward to reach him before I even thought about it, but the ropes pulled me up short. I was dimly aware of a numbness spreading right through me, its center the knee that I now refused to look at.

This wasn't the plan.

"The Antarctic defences. Tell me about them."

"No."

But I wanted to speak. I wanted to have this over. There was no point to it anymore.

"Wilson."

The goon stepped up again, swinging the crowbar. He pushed a finger into my kneecap.

I couldn't help looking down. Like some sort of out of body experience I felt the scattered bone move and then tremors coursing up my thigh. I watched dispassionately as my whole body began to shake.

"You still have one good leg, Jack. Why risk it?"

Ramsey's words had me staring wildly at him, shaking my head. He couldn't mean what I thought he did, could he? But even as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer.

Of course he could.

I shook my head, unable to stop the words that tumbled from my mouth.

"No, god, please."

It was time to stop this, before it was too late.

"Wilson." At his command, the other man raised the heavy metal rod. "And you called me pathetic." I heard the scorn as I sobbed desperately, begging.

I gave him answers to everything he wanted to know -to all his questions, even ones he didn't ask.

And at the end, he spat in my face and called me traitor.

Me.

Then he said an offhand word and the crowbar came down again. And again.

And again.

I heard sobs, and they weren't mine. They were Carter's. My team had found me. It was over at last.

Done.

I opened my eyes and found them kneeling beside me.

"Don't move. An ambulance is on its way."

I summoned the energy to speak. "What took you so long?"

"We had to allow sufficient time for the sho'vlak to depart."

"He wouldn't let us do anything, Jack." Daniel glared furiously at Teal'c. "We could have stopped this." He looked ready to hit the man.

"T was following my orders, Daniel."

"That's what I don't understand, sir. Why? We had a plan. Why did you change it?" The tears still ran down Carter's face and I knew it was bad.

"It had to look good."

"It does not look good from where I am." Teal'c gestured at my legs. They must have untied me while I was unconscious, because I was lying flat on my back on the floor now.

And I didn't try to move at all.

"It was worth it."

I'm not sure who I was trying to convince -them or me.

TBC