The High Priest nodded, and Jack was tugged forward, struggling against the hands holding him, forced to his knees at the base of the steep flight of stairs.  Yetzolt’s fingers grabbed hold of the short hair on his head, and he found himself being pulled along towards the first step.  The pain as his scalp was stretched was sharp and sudden, and he barely had time to register his being taken by each limb and dragged, his knees painfully bent, scrapping the edge of each step as the whole entourage climbed towards the top of the structure.

They reached the top, and Jack’s hair was released, freeing him to turn his head.  Standing, several feet away at the edge of the small group of spectators here atop the steps, were his team, their faces horrified.  Teal’c was bound, tight rawhide digging into his flesh, a warrior on either side of him.  Carter and Daniel were free, but also guarded, a knife held to Carter’s neck.  A large red mark, already bruising on the Captain’s face testimony to her attempts to escape.

It looked like Daniel was finally getting to see the temple.

Instead of the fresh breeze he expected this far above the buildings, Jack smelt a stench immediately bringing to mind a slaughter-house, acrid smoke filling the air from several torches burning around them.

“No! You can’t do this!”  Daniel voice broke the silence, and the High Priest turned, smiling benignly.

“It is a great honour, Doctor.  The Colonel will become a cuauhtecatl, his spirit will join Huitzilopochtli in the sky, and he will sit at his right hand.  I envy him.”

Raising his arms, the priest beckoned to waiting slaves, and they carried a long heavy cloak forward, letting it unfurl as they draped it over his shoulders, using a large gold clasp to hold it in place at his neck.  Thick black hair hung in glossy strands from the narrow top, flowing down the priest’s back.

As Yetzolt moved towards him, a raw smell of rotting meat emanated off the cloak in waves.  Jack stared at it, trying to not see the obvious, to not accept the evidence of his own eyes, but as the bile rose in his throat, Jack knew he could deny it no longer, the birthmark staining the human skin crossing over the other man’s left arm.  The same birthmark he knew had been echoed on Hetah’s upper arm, and he fought, redoubling his struggle, the image of a beautiful young girl, full of life, making him scream his defiance.

When he was stretched out, his bare back against the hard rock of the altar stone, a roar of approval rose from the crowd below.  Every inhabitant of the city was there, every citizen, every slave, all come to see the warrior from beyond the stars give up his life force.  Yetzolt had taken great care to explain it to him as they had washed his body carefully, anointing it with fragrant oils.  Like their ancestors of old, they went willingly to their doom, rejoicing as they gave their life for the gods, as Hetah had done.  Jack would join her soon.

But there was one major difference between Jack and Hetah - he would not go willingly.

And as the priest held the obsidian knife to his face, and carved the first of many lines into his skin, Jack cursed him with every breath he took.

Until Yetzolt tore his heart out.

 **********

The priestly procession left them several miles from the gate, telling them that they needed to return to the temple - many others were waiting patiently to give their life that the sun might ride across the sky. SG-1’s packs were handed over, but their weapons were missing, giving them no chance for vengeance.  It was made quite clear that they were to leave immediately, and although Yetzolt farewelled them as if they had been honoured guests, the soldiers’ threatening looks were not lost on them.  Untied, Teal’c bent and lifted the Colonel’s body, cradling it as they walked away, not looking back.

Going home.

 **********

Part Four

They turned a corner of the trail, finally out of sight of the soldiers standing watching them.  They had been followed to this point, as if to be sure they did not try and return to the city, although that was the last place any of them wanted to visit again, but now, at last, it seemed they were to make the rest of the journey alone.  Daniel could barely put one foot in front of the other, his exhaustion overwhelming.  The walk to this point, the emotional turmoil he was in and the lack of sleep all combined to numb both his mind and body.  There was no hurry.  No need to rush.  No point in one of them racing ahead to request a medical team be ready.

Teal’c didn’t look any more tired than he had when he first woken the morning before, even carrying Jack’s body, but Daniel knew that the determined Jaffa must be near the end of his energy after so many hours without kel-no-reem.  The sound of the stumbling footsteps at his side told their own tale, Daniel not needing to look to see his own exhaustion reflected in Sam’s face.  He steeled himself, knowing that Sam would soon order them to stop so they could check Jack, pointless though it was.  He cringed inwardly at the thought of what he knew they would see.  Just a few minutes more…they needed to be certain the soldiers would not follow.

He found his gaze held by the pale hand he could just see hanging from where it had escaped Teal’c weakening grip, the gashes etched down each finger running slow drops of blood that splattered onto the lush undergrowth beneath their feet.  He looked down, realising he was treading on a trail of red, and took a step to the side to avoid it.

Jack’s blood.

 **********

The knife had been sharp, designed especially for this work, its handle the shape of a crouching god, eyes painted gold against the black.  His assistants had held Jack down as the High Priest had carved slowly through the skin, holding him still, not because he struggled, but because, by the end, he shook uncontrollably, shock sending messages to his overloaded nerves.  They had placed a piece of wood between his teeth when he began to scream, dulling his cries down to whimpers, but the slice deep down across his belly made him arch his back, the force throwing off one of the younger priests, the one holding his left leg.  And, even as far gone as he was by then, he had lashed out, almost knocking a smoking torch from its stand.

They held him firmer then, as the priest continued his ritual and his team had watched on, repulsed by the brutality of it.

His blood had flowed freely into the drains.

 **********

Jack’s blood!

Daniel’s head snapped up and he pushed himself forward, catching up with Teal’c in a few strides.  His teammates stopped, looking at him in puzzlement, but he didn’t say anything – just held out a trembling hand and pulled aside the feathered clock, holding a finger to Jack’s neck.

Daniel gasped.  It couldn’t be, but it was there – a faint pulse throbbing against his fingers, confirming to him that a man still bleeding after several hours could not be dead.

“Oh, god! He’s alive.”

“He can’t be.”  Sam shook her head, stepping up to put a hand on Daniel’s arm, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.  “Daniel, he can’t be – we saw Yetzolt …”  She stopped, obviously unable to continue.

“Look!”  Daniel pointed to the blood dripping onto the ground.  “He is. Jack’s alive.  I don’t know how, but he is.”

Sam looked down, seeing the evidence for herself, at the same time as Teal’c dropped to his knees, placing the Colonel on the ground.  All three stilled for a fraction of a second, before Daniel wrenched the cloak open, exposing O’Neill’s chest.  The gaping hole they expected to see wasn’t there; instead they found a wound, one of many marring his body.

“I…I don’t understand….”

Teal’c yanked his pack off his back, pulling out a medical kit.  “I do not understand it either, Captain Carter, but I do know that we must tend O’Neill’s injuries or this miracle will be for nothing.”

Grabbing a pressure bandage, Daniel pressed it to Jack’s abdomen, holding it in place, but his eyes roamed over the figure beneath his hands.  “Where do we start?  We’ve got to get him home.”

“I know, but Teal’c’s right, we have to stop the bleeding first.  We’re still several hours from the gate.”  She wound a bandage around the Colonel’s leg as she spoke.  “We should get off the trail.  I don’t think Yetzolt would be very happy to see the Colonel was still alive.”

“I’m not too sure about that, Sam.  Look at how shallow most of these cuts are.  I think they’re designed to cause the victim to bleed to death over a long period of time.  Maybe the longer he takes to die, the more life force feeds the gods.”

Sam glanced anxiously back down the path towards the city.  “That’s a risk I’m not prepared to take.  Let’s get under cover in those trees.”

It only took a few minutes for them to find a suitable spot to hide, close enough to the trail to watch for any locals, but well concealed in a small dip behind large trees.  They broke out their sleeping bags to make as soft a surface as possible on which to lay the Colonel and bandaged his injuries as best they could.  Sam was pleased to find that, as Daniel had noted, most of the cuts, although painful, were not too deep.  However, at least two were serious – the one across his stomach, and the wound in his chest.  O’Neill’s pulse was thready and his skin was cold, the signs of shock unmistakable.  They did what they could - cocooning the Colonel in the sleeping bags for warmth – but he needed urgent medical attention.

Sam made the decision, ordering Daniel back to the SGC to fetch help.  She needed Teal’c with her, able to carry O’Neill if need be, and there was no way in hell she was going to leave.  She was in command now, and she was staying, so with a final look down at the friend he had given up for dead already that day, Daniel set off, running, his tiredness forgotten.

 ***********

The knife was raised high above Yetzolt’s head, and brought down in one swift motion, stabbing into Jack’s chest.  O’Neill jerked and shuddered in the grip of the priests, his eyes wide.  Sheathing the knife in the elaborate golden scabbard at his waist, the High Priest reached forward, pushing his hand into the chest of the man beneath him.  For one brief moment Jack’s eyes and the priest’s met, then, with a grunt of effort, he tore the living heart out of his victim, holding it high and dripping, as the light died from the staring eyes.

And Colonel O’Neill’s team watched, seeing only the death of a friend.

 **********

Jack O’Neill wasn’t a simple man.  He often pondered the mystery of life.  The question of his place in the universe and his reason for being had often held him enthralled as he looked up into the starry nights of many distant planets.  He had decided long ago that he had done only what he saw was right, and tried his best to live by his principles, such as they were.  His role was to defend and protect, and although he had failed in it when it most counted, since his son’s death he had found a new path – one he trod with pride, friends beside him.

And now he was being torn from them, sucked away into the dark, and he knew that wasn’t right.  He didn’t deserve this fate, and he would do as he always had, protest in the face of injustice, fight with everything he had.

This wasn’t where he was meant to be.

This wasn’t fair at all.

 ***********

“This is impossible, Teal’c.  We saw the Colonel die.”

“And yet he still lives.”

“But how?”

“Perhaps what we thought we saw was not what actually occurred.”

Sam waved her hand towards the still figure lying on the ground at her knees.  “This certainly seems real.”  She had just taken the Colonel’s pulse, and barely been able to feel it.  He had shown no sign of waking, even when together they had wiped the worst of the blood from him, Teal’c handling the more delicate areas.  Sam had winced and turned away, not because of any queasiness, but in an effort to preserve some of her CO’s dignity, knowing what a private man like he would feel in these circumstances.

“Did you not say that the old practices had died out?  You mentioned a ritual relating to sending energy to the gods.”

Sam nodded.  “Yes, and that’s what I don’t understand.  The documents were quite clear on that.  Sacrificing by cutting out hearts was something the newer works saw as old fashioned and barbaric.”  She paused, thinking. “The new ritual, sending energy to the gods, they’ve developed that since their arrival on this planet…maybe that’s the answer.”

“How so?”

She frowned in response.  “Obviously what we saw wasn’t possible.  The Colonel’s alive, so it must have been an illusion.”  She shuddered.  “A pretty graphic one admittedly.  We saw the priest put his hand into the Colonel’s chest.”

“No, Captain Carter, we did not.  All we saw was him placing his hand on O’Neill’s chest, then hold up something we took to be a heart.  Are there not people on your own planet that create the illusion of removing cancerous growths from the body without use of surgical instruments?”

“That’s true.”  She considered his words before continuing.  “But why?  And it certainly looked like the Colonel died.  There was more to it than just an illusion.”

“The natives of this planet say they do not follow the old customs, and yet they slaughter their own people in ways we find abhorrent.  From what Daniel Jackson has explained these closely parallel the rituals of their Aztec ancestors.  The only difference I can see is that they no longer actually cut the heart from their victims, only pretending to do so.  Perhaps they have found a more efficient way to perform this part of the ceremony whilst still retaining the spectacle?”

“The dream reader!  That’s it!”  Sam shut her eyes in an effort to visualise the codices she had read. “It was some sort of technology - that much was obvious.  I was going to ask Setztunl about it today.  It involved the transfer of energy, and sounded rather similar to a Goa’uld healing device, except the energy was transferred from the person the reader was being used on, not the other way around.”  She opened her eyes, and raised them to look at her companion.  “If it was a form of energy transference, then we have no way of knowing the effects it had on the Colonel.”  She gulped, a sudden thought sending shivers down her spine.  “Or the effects it is still having.”  Grabbing one of her instruments from her pack, she pointed it at O’Neill’s body.  “Damn!  There’s a strong energy reading.”  She stood, turning the machine outwards.  “It’s coming from the direction of the city.”

“That is why they did not concern themselves with our leaving.  This dream reader machine is still able to take energy from O’Neill even at a distance.”  Teal’c got to his feet, shouldering his pack as he did so.  “We must take O’Neill from this place as quickly as possible.”

 ***********

Slowly, inexorably he felt himself slipping away, sinking down.

He shouldn’t be going down.

He was sure up was the direction he was meant to be taking.

There was a bad down, and a good up, and up was the only option as far as he was concerned.

Piece by piece he was being eaten away, but he was going up fighting.  Up.  That was it – up.

 ***********

Part Five

They packed quickly, and Teal’c took up O’Neill once again, this time wrapped in a sleeping bag, the elaborate cloak left behind – concealed under low bushes.  They couldn’t afford to wait for Daniel to get back, hopefully they would meet up with the rescue team before they reached the gate, but speed was the main thing now, for who knew what the unknown energy drain was doing to the Colonel.

They were still several miles from their destination when the Colonel showed the first sign of waking.  He twisted his head slightly into Teal’c’s chest.

“Captain Carter.”  Teal’c called, dropping to crouch with the other man resting against his legs.  “O’Neill is stirring.”

The Captain hurried to his side.  “Colonel?  Colonel O’Neill, can you hear me?”

“Carter?”  The eyelids fluttered, finally giving up the fight and staying closed.

“Yes, sir.  I’m here with Teal’c.  Daniel’s gone ahead to the gate.”

“Carter?”

Teal’c caught the Captain’s eye, and shook his head.  It was obvious O’Neill could not hear her.  His head moved again, an agitated movement showing his distress, and Teal’c laid him down, allowing Captain Carter better access.  She had just placed her hand against O’Neill’s neck when the Colonel gave a loud cry, his eyes snapping open for a second before shutting, squeezing tight as if in great pain.  Teal’c felt the other man’s body pressing against his own as O’Neill arched his back, stayed rigid for a second, then flopped bonelessly back down, his head sliding sideways against Teal’c’s knees.

“Colonel?”  Captain Carter leaned forward, her hands busy.  “I can’t find a pulse!”

Without questioning her, Teal’c tilted O’Neill’s head back, and exchanging a quick nod, waited until the Captain was positioned across from him then bent and breathed into the Colonel’s mouth.

 **********

They had been working together for ten minutes now.  When Sam had begun to tire she had exchanged places with Teal’c, breathing for the Colonel as the Jaffa compressed his chest with strong, sure movements.  She took a second to glance at her watch.  If Daniel had made it to the gate, he should be back by now.  By her calculations the rescue team would be with them very soon.

If?  She gave herself a mental shake.  Of course Daniel got to the gate.  He was bringing help.

She looked at Colonel O’Neill’s pale, lifeless face, and sent up a pray that help would come soon.

 **********

Climbing up was almost impossible now.  For every hard fought step upwards Jack was being pushed three down, and his energy was almost gone.

The void was filled with images, pictures flying past him, dropping away as parts of his life fell to the onslaught.  Feelings he had buried long ago welled up, tore through the hole in his chest, and away.

He was losing himself.

 **********

“Captain Carter, come in.”

Sam flicked the switch on her radio and waited until she had given the Colonel two more breaths before answering.

“Captain Carter here.  We’re approximately one kilometre from the gate, still on the path.”

“Colonel Makepeace here, Captain.  What is Colonel O’Neill’s status?”

“He stopped breathing over twenty minutes ago, sir.  Teal’c and I are administering CPR. Please hurry.”  She bent back to her task without waiting for the reply.

“Understood, Captain.  We have SG-8 with us.  Makepeace out.”

Sam pressed her fingers against the Colonel’s carotid artery.

She shook her head at Teal’c enquiring look.

Nothing.

“Come on, sir.”  She pleaded softly.

 **********

That was it!  He’d had it with this slow sucking of his soul.  There was no way he was going to let it beat him.

He pushed, forcing himself up, holding on to what little energy he had left and using it to fight.

 **********

A shudder was all the warning they had, and they barely had time to move back before the Colonel started struggling to get up.  His eyes were open, but the glassy stare showed he was unaware of his surroundings.  He had pushed himself half out of the open sleeping bag before they could stop him.

“O’Neill.  You must desist.”  Teal’c gripped the Colonel’s arms, holding him firmly.  He could feel the muscles rigid under his hands.  Slowly O’Neill’s head turned until he was looking directly into his face.  The brown eyes blinked twice.

“Teal’c?”

“It is I, O’Neill.”

“You dead too?”

“Neither of us are dead, O’Neill.  Captain Carter and I are taking you to the chappa’ai.  Daniel Jackson has brought help.”

“Carter?”  The Colonel’s eyes moved, searching.

Sam moved closer, bringing herself into his line of sight.  “I’m here, sir.”

“Where…?”

“We’re on our way to the gate.”

His eyes flittered, constantly moving.  “Where…?”  He made to get up again, pushing against Teal’c’s arms.  “Daniel?”  The cuts on his face had opened again, and Teal’c could feel moisture seeping through the bandages beneath his hands.

“Sir, you have to stay still.”  Captain Carter raised her voice, trying to get her commander’s attention, but it seemed impossible.

He wrenched one arm from Teal’c’s grip, his hand going to his chest.  “God!  It hurts.”  He fell back once more, his weight resting against Teal’c, as his breath came in harsh gasps, each one sounding more painful and labored than the last.

Teal’c reached one arm around the distressed man, holding him firmly.  He listened as Captain Carter used her radio to call Colonel Makepeace, telling him to hurry.

 **********

Major Ferguson, leader of SG-8, checked once more that the oxygen mask was secure before they lifted Colonel O’Neill.  He had been stunned to find the Colonel showing all the symptoms of a heart attack as well as the shock and blood loss he had expected when Doctor Jackson had reported his CO’s injuries.  They stabilised him, but the Colonel had lapsed into unconsciousness again.  Ferguson gave the signal, and his team lifted their patient, the stretcher carefully balanced so as not to jar him unnecessarily.

Colonel Makepeace was listening to Captain Carter, his face an unemotional mask, but his stance showing how upset he was with her report.  He kept glancing back down the trail towards the city as if he wanting nothing less than to go straight into its heart, straight up to the temple, guns blazing.  Ferguson was sure that if Makepeace did, Teal’c would have gladly followed.  The Jaffa walked alongside the stretcher, one large hand resting on O’Neill’s shoulder, the other tightly clenched at his side, his absent staffweapon a ghostly but almost tangible presence.  Doctor Jackson was firmly ensconced on the opposite side of the stretcher, refusing to take more than one step away from it, just as he had refused to remain behind at the SGC.

The journey to the gate was carried out in silence, except for the low murmur of Carter and Makepeace.  Ferguson watched them out of the corner of his eye, noting how they continually scanned their surroundings even as they spoke.  Teal’c too was on alert, even as he guarded Colonel O’Neill.

The Colonel was pale, the cuts standing out in vivid contrast to his skin.  Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the Major could see small tremors running across him.  He took his patient’s pulse – much too rapid – but catching Doctor Jackson’s concerned look, ignored the query in the other man’s eyes by quickly lowering his own.

He returned his gaze to Colonel O’Neill’s still figure and gestured for his team to pick up the pace.

 ***********

It was like swimming through mud, and as sensation returned to his body, it got harder and harder to keep afloat.

Was there any point to this battle?  He was, after all, dead.

But it had now become a battle of principle.  He had come too far to give up now, and somewhere, something was telling him to hold on just a little longer because he was almost there.

 ***********

Part Six

Jack slowly rose up out of the dullness, feeling an ache in his chest and a darkness in his mind that made him wonder if it might not have been better to stay in the limbo he had strived so hard to leave.  Gradually the familiar smells and sounds of the infirmary proved to him that he wasn’t dead at all, that somehow they had brought him back despite the vivid memory he had of his heart being wrenched from his body.

It was extremely strange, when he had been so positive he had died.

Unless, of course, this was some sort of hell – a punishment for annoying the medical staff so much.  Maybe God had a very warped sense of humor.

Testing the boundaries of his delusion, he tried moving, quickly finding it wasn’t a good idea at all if the pain shooting up his arm was anything to go by.

“Colonel?”

So the delusion came with a sound track.

He opened his eyes, finding Doctor Fraiser six inches from his face, her penlight at the ready.

He instinctively shut his eyes, only to have the lids pulled up and the light shone in them anyway.  His protest died in his throat, stifled by a hard obstruction.

“You’re intubated, sir.  Try to relax.”

Relax?  All he knew was confusion.  How could he relax when he had no idea what was going on?

The Doc bent closer, and began speaking slowly, as if to a child.  For once he didn’t mind; as it was he found it hard to pull the meaning of each word from his mind before the next one arrived.

“Your team is safe.  You’re back at the SGC.”

Damn, but she was getting good at this.  Way too much practise.

“You have some serious injuries, and you need to stay as calm and still as possible.”

What sort of injuries?  He remembered being laid out on that accused altar while pieces were carved from him.  He remembered…not a lot more actually….except.  He raised a hand, seeing it swathed in heavy bandages, and groped at his chest, searching for the hole he knew had to be there.

Another hand gripped his own and he found it surprisingly impossible to stop it from pushing his back down.

“One of the injuries was to your chest, Colonel.  You have a deep stab wound very close to your heart.”

He nodded his understanding.  That explained the ache in his chest.  The rest must have been a very realistic nightmare.  He settled back into the bed, feeling the seductive call of the drugs coursing through his system, and drifted back to sleep.

 **********

“So as soon as we left the planet, the energy drain stopped.”  Daniel’s voice ground to a halt, and Jack opened his eyes to look quizzically at his friend.  “Sorry, I thought you might have fallen asleep again.”

He shook his head, not blaming the other man for thinking that.  It seemed that all he had done over the past few days was sleep.  The Doc had explained that his tiredness was because he had had, to all intents and purposes, most of the symptoms of a massive heart attack, and his body was still recovering.

“From what I can work out, sir, the High Priest was using converted Goa’uld technology to drain this energy from his victims.  I wish I could have got a look at the machine.”  Carter paused, and reddened slightly.  “Sorry.”

“That’s okay, Captain.”  He summoned up a smile.  “I understand that it was the scientist in you speaking.”

“It is good to see you recovering so quickly, O’Neill.  We were concerned that your injuries were permanent.”  Teal’c ignored the horrified looks his two teammates cast in his direction, continuing.  “The damage caused by heart failure could have meant your retirement.”

“True, T.  Now I just have to pass the medical board.”

Jack thought about what the Doc had told him.  It wouldn’t be quite as easy as he made out, but there was no way he was going to let his team worry about him.  It had been a very close call, and he was in for an extended sick leave before he got back to active duty.  Fortunately, the damage wasn’t permanent, however nothing was certain yet.  Despite his attempt to conceal his concern, going by their reaction to his words, the others must have picked up on it.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, sir.”

“Yes, Jack.  You just need to rest up, and then we’ll help you get back in shape, no problem.”

Jack lifted an eyebrow.  “No problem, Doctor Jackson?  This is from the man who can barely drag himself from bed before noon?”

Jack lay back, enjoying just listening to his team’s banter as Daniel protested his lack of zeal when it came to exercise.  He closed his eyes, and didn’t even notice when they tiptoed from the room.

 **********

The voice was low and soft – a seductive whisper that pulled him gently from his dreams.

“Colonel.”

She bent, touching him, sweeping her hands across his chest, circling the gapping hole, her fingers light.

“Lie still.”

Her black hair shone, her unlined face smiled, and her eyes sparkled with life.  He did as she asked, lying still, too tired, far too tired to move, but knowing that he should.

He should stop her.  This wasn’t right.

So he captured her hands in his, and felt the wetness of fresh blood.  And as he let them go, he saw the skin peeling back from them until all that remained was raw flesh and the smell of putrefaction.

His throat seized and he yanked himself back, huddled against the bedrail.

“Colonel?  Sir?”  Nurse Coglin stopped, one hand holding the wet sponge, the other a bowl of water.  “I’m sorry.  I tried to wake you.”

Jack slowed his frantic breathing, and forced himself to relax, sliding back down the bed.  “It’s okay.”

“I just need to clean the area around your chest and stomach wounds, sir, before changing the dressings.  I won’t be too much longer.”

He nodded, and watched as the pretty, young nurse carefully wiped her sponge against his skin.

Doing as she was ordered to do.  Doing it happily.

He shivered.

“Sorry, Colonel, I’ll get some warmer water.”

“No, it’s okay.  It’s fine.”  He shut his eyes, trying to forget.

 **********

Jack sat in the booth at the back of the coffee shop wishing that it wasn’t so damned hot.  Outside the sun baked the pavement, and people hurried to get back into the air-conditioned buildings.  He turned the mug in his hands, almost tempted to get a cold drink instead, but knowing that he needed the caffeine.  Weeks of leave, combined with a self imposed exercise routine that he was sure would have Doctor Fraiser furious if she ever found out, had left him here, suddenly, unexpectedly, and completely, exhausted.  He had barely made it into the shop, slumping into the seat, his grocery buying forgotten.

The coffee felt sour on his tongue, but he swallowed, savouring the kick, watching the thick, black beverage swirl around as he put the cup back on the table.

“Jack?”

He had a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, confirmed when he lifted his head to meet the startled eyes of his ex-wife.

“Sara.”  She stared down at him, her floral print dress tightly hugging her curves, her blond hair falling softly around her face.  She didn’t look a day older than the last time he had seen her.  “Sit down.”  He gestured to the empty seat across from him, and she slid into it, her gaze still fixed on his face.

“God, Jack, what happened?”  She brushed her hair back with her left hand, hooking it behind her ear.

He was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the waitress, but it was only a short reprieve before Sara’s attention was once again turned to him.  She reached out, gently tracing the scars on his face.

“Don’t tell me it was a training accident.”

“Okay.”  He dropped his eyes, sipping the now lukewarm coffee.

“You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you.”  He could hear the tone of resignation in her voice.

“I finally lost my boyish looks, huh?”  The cuts were a reminder of his ordeal that he saw every time he looked in the mirror.  Not that he’d done that much lately, even shaving carried out mainly by memory now.

Sara smiled back at him, the fondness in her eyes outweighing the forced brightness.  “You never had boyish looks, Jack.  You always looked like a bit of a rogue, that’s what attracted me to you.”

He laughed, and waited as the waitress put Sara’s coffee down, before continuing.  “The plastic surgeon says they should fade and be pretty well gone in a few months.”

“That’s good.”  As he opened his mouth to comment she hurried on, smiling again.  “Not that I’m worried about you regaining the boyish looks you never had in the first place.”

Jack grinned and they lapsed into a companionable silence as Sara drank.

“Are there any others?”

The question puzzled him, until Jack saw that she was looking at his hands, long scars running down each finger in a pattern.  He realised for the first time just how much they looked like deliberate tattoos.

He had never been good at lying to her, so he didn’t try.  He rolled up one sleeve and wordlessly held out his arm for inspection.  “Yes. A lot.”  He didn’t bother to tell her that they were probably going to fade faster than the scars on his face.  Eventually he’d be left with only a few of the deeper cuts to remind him of just one more time when he almost died.

It was as if Sara had read his mind, her next words spoken quietly, but with a fierce emotion.  “It’s never going to end, is it Jack?  There’ll always be just one more mission, one more time when you have to put the world to rights, and eventually there’ll come a time when the scars don’t fade, when you don’t come home.”  She put her mug down, her hand shaking, coffee spilling across the green cloth, and stood.  “I’m sorry Jack, but I’m glad.  Glad I don’t have to wait for that knock on the door that tells me you’re not coming back.  I know it’s selfish, but I just can’t help it.”  He followed her up, and put a hand out to stop her, but she pulled away.  “I hated not knowing where you were, what you were doing, and I hated not being able to say ‘how was work, honey’ like a normal wife.”  She stopped, hesitated then swallowed, her voice suddenly breaking.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that.”

He stepped closer, pleased to see she didn’t back away, and held his arms out.  She moved into them, and they hugged briefly, and memories of an earlier, far happier time flittering through his head.  He bent, breathing in the familiar smell of her shampoo then straightened.

“That’s okay, Sara.  You didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.”

“I would say ‘look after yourself’ but it seems very unlikely.”  She smiled and he smiled back.  “Goodbye, Jack.”

He watched her as she left the shop.  He pulled his wallet from his pocket, and walked to the register, paying for the two drinks, the decision already made as to what to do next.

Yes, it would be good to have an afternoon with his team.

His team.  They didn't have issues with his life; they didn't have to wait for him to get home.

Because they went with him.

He could catch up on all the base gossip he was missing.  He’d have to be up to speed for when he got back to work in a week or so.  Maybe they’d even discuss their last mission.  There was still a bit of butt kicking to do and some redefining of the terms friendly and harmless.

Blinking in the bright sunshine, he turned towards his truck.  The shopping could wait.  As he turned the key in the ignition he took his cell from his pocket.

“Hi, Daniel.  Want to get together at my place?  Give Carter and Teal’c a call, tell them I’ll provide the beer and pizzas.”  He smiled at the answer, and disconnected, pulling out from the curb.

The End

Assignment:
Time frame: Seasons 1-3
Pairings: None
Fic should be based on: Aztec rituals and archeological findings. As per a recent Time magazine: One ritual is to stake an enemy warrior down on an alter and sacrifice him, eating his organs and limbs afterwards, in order to assimilate his strength. One of the artifacts is called the "flayed lord" where evidently a religious leader or warrior is flayed to release his inner strength.
Restrictions: No Asgard, no ship, very team centered, no "supermen" (or superwoman).
Notes: Preferably team centered, where each member has their "job". No "rabbits out of the hat". Off-world culture that the team meet would be interesting, and maybe Daniel (or Jack) have to deal with a female who is interested in him (probably for the wrong reasons).

Author Note:  I did some research (I actually had three fairly weighty books on the Aztecs in my garage <g>) and found that there were various rituals involving flaying of victims, including one where a maiden was sacrificed in this way during harvest time.  The cutting out and eating of a victim’s heart is essential to the Aztec rituals, but it was very difficult to incorporate this into a fic and not kill off a major character.  I hope my solution works.