"He knows what I look like, Leroy, therefore is an obstacle in my career path."

The large man sat opposite me nodded.

"Yes boss."

"Therefore I have decided that we must act."

"Yes boss."

I settled back in my chair, hearing the dark leather squeak.

"If I don't stop him now, I may not be able to later, when the senator needs me by his side."

"Agreed boss."

The big man sat opposite me nodded sagely, giving the impression of great wisdom.

That was misleading. Leroy had the IQ of a 15 year old, and the sadism to match.

His eyes glittered. "You shouldna gotten fancy boss. You shoulda just iced him." He looked thoughtful. "Or you coulda let me. I coulda broken his neck, just like that." He clicked his fingers together, causing people to look around at him curiously as the waiter to scurried towards us, his urbane smile already in place.

"I mean boss, I had him. One inch to the left and…"

"Let’s go," I said hurriedly, not wanted to attract any more attention than we had so far.

"But its raining out there, boss," Leroy complained, looking outside with a miserable expression on his face.

"I bet you it isn't in Colorado Springs," I said, my mind made up.

...

"So how we gonna do him, boss?" Leroy asked a couple of hours later.

This time I wasn't so worried about us being overheard. We were completely alone in the air, apart from the pretty stewardess who occasionally popped up to refill our glasses. I could see that Leroy was already taken with her, and I hoped he would be careful this time.

"Oh I don't know," I ruminated. "Something simple, that’s for sure."

Leroy brightened, eying the stewardess with beady eyes.

"How about you ring da door, and when he open it, you shoot him in the kisser."

I shook my head.

"Too messy, and besides that, nobody just opens their doors anymore, they check first."

"Act like a deliveryman then."

I still shook my head, smiling at the stewardess when she refreshed my drink. I noticed that she gave Leroy a wide birth, as if already aware of what his intentions were.

"No, there could be witnesses," I said, once she had gone. "A gun makes a noise, even with a silencer on.

"So knife him then," Leroy said impatiently.

"Too dangerous. He's combat trained. He'd have me flat on the floor in minutes."

"You need the element of surprise," Leroy said, sounding intelligent.

"Indeed I do," I said warmly, making him flush with pleasure.

"How about a long gun?" he asked. "You’re good with that. You could sit in a tree and take him out when he went outside."

I was just about to say no when the full richness of his suggestion came to me.

There would be no witnesses, no blood splattered clothes, and if I used hollow pointed bullets, no Colonel Jack O'Neill.

...

"How was the Military Academy?"

"Tiring, sir" I replied with a smile. "But satisfying."

Hammond raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised by my confession.

"Really?"

"Really sir," I sighed, sinking into the proffered chair.

"And what changed your mind?"

I had to smile at his cautious tone. I had created a hell of a stink when he had asked me to help out at the Air Force Academy’s military history faculty. In fact, I had objected so much that he had finally snapped and made it an order. Being a good airman, I had obeyed, expecting the worst. What I had found had surprised me.

"Bright cadets," I said with a smile. "The future is secure."

When he looked at me from under lowered eyebrows, I elaborated.

"At first I wasn't too sure what contribution I could give, what I could remember and use to help these kids, but I needn't have worried."

"And why's that?" Hammond asked.

I drew a hand through my hair, thinking hard.

"They were willing to be patient with their new lecturer, and I was open to suggestion, which turned out to be a pretty dynamic combination in the end."

"And how is the military history knowledge now?"

I smiled ruefully. "Crammed into my head, where it had always been. I do, after all, have a degree in it, sir."

Hammond nodded. "I know son," he said. "That's why, when the academy asked if we had any graduates hidden away in our hallowed halls that could possibly help out, I immediately thought of our errant ph. D."

"Gee thanks sir," I snorted. "The problem with that is that if my team find out, it will kinda kill off my dumb Colonel image."

"No chance of that," Hammond said, shaking his head slowly, obviously wondering why I even bothered. I had my reasons, even if they seemed obscure to most people.

"Teal'c is on Chulac, Major Carter is still on holiday with her father and Doctor Jackson isn’t due back from Egypt until day after tomorrow."

I brightened at that. Daniel had been looking forwards to studying an urn that some Egyptologist had unearthed at Luxor, believing the writing on the side to be ancient Gou’ald.

"And how did Daniel's expedition go?"

"Not well," Hammond said. "What we thought were Gou'ald artifacts turned out to be merely an obscure ancient Egyptian dialect. The Cairo museum are ecstatic, we are not."

"I bet," I said, desperately trying to smother a yawn.

"Did the kids tire you out?" Hammond asked sarcastically.

I smiled at him, the barb not hurting at all.

"God yes, sir. You try to keep a lecture hall full of restless teenagers riveted on Vietnamese history." I shuddered theatrically. "I'd rather face the Gou'ald."

George Hammond laughed, as I knew he would.

"Go home Colonel," he said kindly. "Have a good nights sleep, and try not to dream of thirty year old military tactics."

I rose to my feet. "Well at least on this mission I didn't have anybody shooting at me."

"The night is still young," Hammond said, grinning.

If I had known just how prophetic his words were, I would have demanded he take them back immediately.

...

"This balaclava is itchy," Leroy complained, his voice a high nasal whine.

"One unnecessary death a day is more than enough," I growled, recalling the stewardess. "The Gunderson’s are good people, and we are not going to kill them, hence the disguises."

Two pairs of wide eyes looked up at them from their trussed up positions on the floor.

I looked around; grimacing at the chaos these people called a lounge, and thought that I might just kill them anyway.

"No, we'll just kill the Colonel - tie up all those nasty loose ends - and be on our way again, okay?"

"You sure?" Leroy asked.

"Not really."

I looked at the Gunderson’s thoughtfully. "I may kill them, I may not. Let me think about it for a while."

"Let’s kill them," Leroy whined, "then I can take off the mask. Please?"

The wide eyes turned from horrified to terrified.

"No, leave the mask on," I said tiredly, my decision made.

"But I'm itchy." Leroy whined again.

"You’ll survive," I said.

...

The problem with teaching at the military academy was the inevitable paperwork that went with it.

Knowing it was my last day, and curious to know just how much my students had learned, I had set them a test, a test that now had to be marked and returned to them, all before I reported back to the SGC the following morning.

"Bright Jack, really bright," I muttered. An early riser I might be, but only by choice, not of necessity.

Clutching my heavy stack of papers to my chest, I kicked the truck door shut with my heel, wondering just where in the hell I would get the energy to mark them. I hadn’t been kidding when I had told Hammond that I was exhausted.

The front lawn was festooned with autumn leaves that crunched underfoot as I staggered to the front door, making me frown in irritation. I paid Tommy Gunderson good money to make sure that the yard was kept neat and tidy, something that he obviously just wasn't doing.

Glaring across at the Gunderson’s house, I opened the door and backed inside.

...

"Holy crap, do ya think he sees us boss?" Leroy asked, looking at O’Neill’s house through a pair of binoculars.

"I mean, he’s lookin’ right at us."

"Even if he does, its way too late for him now," I said, staring through the scope at the one man I admired in this world.

It was a real pity he hadn’t died the first time we had met. It would have made life a lot simpler all round.

Taking a deep calming breath, I gently squeezed the trigger.

"Goodbye, Colonel Jack O’Neill."

...

I felt like someone had punched me hard in the midriff, the unexpected impact throwing me back into the hallway, sending the history papers high into the air, swirling around me like large pieces of confetti.

What in the heck? Who had hit me? Teal’c?

One minute I had been backing inside, cursing the lack of Tommy and his rake, and the next...

It was all too much to take in. I needed to sleep.

...

"Dammit."

Shit. He moved. At the last second, when I was fully committed, he moved, hitching his parcel up and turning away slightly.

Maybe it wouldn't matter. Only time would tell. At least I had the satisfaction of seeing him slam back into his hallway, the force of the bullet literally knocking him off of his feet.

"Nice one boss," Leroy said appreciatively.

"Maybe," I said doubtfully.

The shot hadn't been exact, and I knew that there was a slight chance that O'Neill still breathed. What I needed to do was go over there and see for myself, administer the coup de grace if necessary, the final bullet to the head.

"Leroy," I said slowly, quartering the yard with my scope. "I'm not sure if I dotted the bastard. What we need to do is... Shit."

My snarled curse was warranted. Out of seemingly nowhere, but probably the backyard, a kid had appeared, raking a huge pile of leaves. He was going to see O'Neill within seconds.

"Time to go," I muttered, pushing his bulk towards the door. "Now."

…

"Colonel O’Neill?"

The voice was high, cracking slightly as he reached adulthood.

"Colonel?"

I blinked hard, trying to breathe, to keep conscious, to speak.

"Tommy…" I got no further, blood bubbling up into my throat, but he had heard. A tousled blonde head peered around the door, his eyes wide in shock.

"Christ…what?" He flew to my side, pressing a hand to my chest his head whipping around frantically as he looked for a phone.

Seeing none, he immediately started to search my pockets, impressing me. His parents were a lost cause, but their kid had great potential.

I slowly reached for my left pocket my hand shaking at the effort it cost me, but he was way ahead of me, pulling out my cell phone with a triumphant cry.

Then I lay there, helpless and unable to speak, listening as Tommy spoke frantically into the phone, directing people to my house, to me.

Everything went gray for a while as Tommy knelt over me; his young voice constantly speaking, forming words I was too tired to translate. I was dying, I knew this, but Tommy, my young friend from over the road, had other ideas.

He had no idea how much danger he was in. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had been sniped, that Tommy could be in mortal danger, had they still been watching me.

Finally, I heard the sirens, and relaxed slightly.

Now, with the police on the scene they were helpless to intervene.

I heard his voice, as if from a great distance.

"Hang in there, Colonel Jack, please."

He seemed so young and scared and I wished I could reassure him.

###

"The bullet was a hollowpoint one, sir, a bullet designed for maximum damage."

Doctor Janet Fraiser looked away from the x-rays to regard General Hammond gravely. They were in a private room at Academy General, discussing Colonel O’Neill’s condition quietly.

"Luckily for him, the Colonel was carrying a sheaf of papers, and it was against these papers that the bullet initially struck. It wasn’t enough to stop the bullet, but it did slow it down and change its trajectory, enough to seriously wound him, but not kill."

"One bullet," General Hammond mused, making her look at him curiously.

"Sir?"

"It takes tremendous skill to take out a man at such a range," he said thoughtfully. "It’s a very exclusive club, one to which very few people belong."

"Sir?" Fraiser asked again, looking confused.

"Snipers, Doctor," he said straightening up determinedly. "They are a breed unto themselves." He paced the small room, lost in thought.

"Whoever the sniper was, he was good. He fired from the house across the street, tracking and taking O’Neill down with one shot. Very people in the world are that good."

"Uh huh?" Fraiser asked doubtfully. "I scarcely consider a talent in killing one’s fellow man to be a good talent to possess."

He ignored her, pacing the room and thinking hard.

"Colonel O’Neill is capable of taking a man out at such a distance, but is the only person I know who can. I know I certainly can’t, nor can anyone else at the SGC."

He looked up to see her staring at him, and offered her a tight smile.

"I have a point to all my ramblings, Doctor," he said. "And my point is this. Colonel O’Neill is a skilled sniper, and is registered in the military database as such."

Fraiser looked at him, her face clearing in understanding.

"Do you think that this sniper is military?"

He nodded. "I do, Doctor, or retired military. And if we’re really lucky, he is still registered."

"And if he is," Fraiser breathed, "then all we need do is find out who visited Colorado Springs in the last two days and arrest him."

"And try not to get shot doing it," he said pessimistically.

…

"How’s he doing, Patty."

Nurse Patty Winters looked up gratefully as Doctor Fraiser made her way into the Colonel’s room, glad to have someone to talk to.

"Well, he stable, which is amazing seeing how much damage that bullet did to him."

Fraiser nodded in agreement. "Let’s not count all our chickens just yet," she murmured, staring down at her new patient.

The bullet had hit whatever he was carrying first, papers, she assumed. These papers had saved his life. Its trajectory altered and slowed, the snipers bullet proceeded to tumble through his body, breaking ribs and damaging his right lung before finally exiting out of his lower back.

"These hollow pointed bullets are inhuman," Nurse Winters muttered. "I could have put a fist through the exit wound." She took a deep breath, calming herself, then continued softly. "Quite frankly, Doctor, I’m amazed he’s still alive."

"Tommy."

Winters looked up in confusion.

"Pardon maam?"

Fraiser gently brushed the short hair from O’Neill’s forehead, her face soft in the evening sunshine streaming through the window.

"Tommy Gunderson, Colonel O’Neill’s neighbor on the other side of the road. He’s a young kid with a flair for doing the unusual. It was he who found the Colonel, placing direct pressure on both entrance and exit wounds, thus saving the Colonel’s life."

"How did he do that?" Winters asked, intrigued.

Fraiser shrugged. "Beats me. Suffice it to say, if he hadn’t, the Colonel would not be lying here."

"He’s a clever kid," Winters said softly. "The Colonel’s a lucky man."

"Not really," Fraiser said softly. "Someone tried real hard to kill him. That isn’t lucky at all."

…

"So you say the Gunderson’s have no idea who the men were?"

Jacob Carter stared at his friend with a hard expression on his face, wanting as much information as Hammond could give.

George shook his head, his expression equally as firm.

"That isn’t surprising really. Carl and Marina Gunderson are both alcoholics, he scraping together a living whenever he is sober. If she hadn’t inherited the house from her late father, they would have been out on the street years ago. Their only redeeming factor is their son, Tommy."

Carter frowned, thinking hard.

"Haven’t I met him before?"

Hammond nodded. "He helped with the Christmas barbeque last year. Remember, blonde hair, green eyes?"

Carter nodded remembering. "Ah yes, the kid able to do anything with his hands."

Hammond nodded. "That’s him. Unfortunately for us, he was raking out the Colonel’s backyard and didn’t see much. He did, however, see a red GMC truck pulling away from the curb."

"Impressive kid," Carter said, meaning it.

"Tell me about it." Colonel O’Neill already has him enrolled at the military academy. He starts next year."

"Isn’t that unusual?" Carter asked.

"He’s an unusual kid," Hammond grunted. "One look at him, and I added my signature to his, and to hell with the correct procedure. We can’t lose someone that good."

"Kinda like a young Jack O’Neill?" Jacob Carter asked with a grin.

George Hammond’s face immediately sobered." Very much so, and let’s hope we don’t lose the original."

…

"Like I told the cops, and the MP people and the feds and anybody else that wants to know, lady, I didn’t see nuthin’.

Samantha Carter sighed, turning her smile back onto full wattage, and tried again, although all she really wanted to do was reach over and strangle this tiny self-opinionated man.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see how someone as wonderful as Tommy had come from his loins.

"Maybe Mrs. Gunderson…" she asked hopefully.

Gunderson snorted derisively.

"She ain’t saw nothin’ either," he said, contradicting himself nicely. " an’ what she did see sent her straight to bed."

"And what was that?" Daniel asked patiently, privately wondering how Sam could act so pleasant to these people.

They were surrounded by filth, from discarded beer bottles to roach strewn dirty plates that just hadn’t made it all the way to the kitchen. No wonder Tommy hung out at Jacks so often.

"I tell you, there were two people, one small, one big, not fat, just big. They tied us up, an’ went upstairs. I heard a shot, an’ they left."

He glared at them belligerently. "That’s all. I’m sorry for O’Neill, he bein’ a neighbor an’ all, an’ helping with Tommy and all, but, hey, them’s the breaks."

"And that was it?" Daniel asked desperately. "You saw and heard nothing else?"

"Nuthin’."

Sam sighed and rose to her feet, desperate to see the back of this shallow callous man.

"Well, thanks for your time." She deliberately didn’t shake his proffered hand, rather looping an arm through Daniel’s, leading him out into the fresh air.

"If you think of anything else, anything at all, give us a call," Daniel said, handing Gunderson his business card, his smile dropping as the skinny man snatched it from his fingers and scurried back inside.

"Well, that went well", Sam said as the front door slammed.

"He’s scared," a young voice said, making her spin around.

"And why is that, Tommy?" Daniel asked, having see the youngster lurking in the bushes as soon as they stepped outside.

The teenager shrugged, then answered.

"He’s frightened that the man’s gonna come back. He says they were talking about icing them." His expression took on a angry look. "They were gonna kill my parents. My Pa said they discussed it right in front of them."

"He didn’t tell us that." Sam said gently.

Tommy smiled sadly.

"I bet you he didn’t tell you much, huh?"

Daniel shook his head. "Not much." He looked at Tommy with a calculating air. "But I bet you he told you plenty."

Sam nodded, seeing where Daniel was going with this.

"Tell you what," she said. "Let’s go and destroy the Colonel’s soda supply, and you can tell us what you know."

"O-kay," Tommy said dubiously, sounding so like Jack her heart broke. "But the problem is, how are we gonna do that." He gestured towards Jack’s closed front door, still festooned with its unbroken yellow ‘crime scene do not pass’ tapes.

"In the back," Daniel said calmly. "I have a key…somewhere. They both smiled as Daniel groped in his pockets, reverting to type.

"Here it is," he said eventually, brandishing a silver key. "Shall we?"

…

"So he lay on the floor, and listened to the shot." Tommy stared into his large glass of soda and grimaced. "He said he had no idea what it was at first, ‘cos it was so soft. It was only when they came down the stairs again, arguing, that he realized that they had shot Colonel Jack."

"What were they arguing about?" Daniel asked.

"Me." Tommy looked embarrassed. "I was over there, cleaning the yard. I shoulda’ done it days ago, but I kinda forgot."

"Thank God you did," Sam said darkly.

"You’re telling me," Tommy agreed.

"Pa says the big one wanted to make sure that Colonel Jack was dead, but the little one said no, that all the loose ends were tied up, that he was a good shot, and if the Colonel wasn’t dead yet, he sure would be soon, ‘cos he was hurt real bad, and there was no way a scrawny kid could help him."

"He didn’t reckon on you, did he?" Sam murmured, trying hard not to stare towards the front of the house, where the large dried bloodstain told anybody who looked just how to close to death Jack O’Neill had come.

"No he didn’t," Tommy said, his eyes clear and steady. "Colonel Jack told me what to do in a medical emergency, and I used that knowledge when he needed me to."

"You are one bright kid," Sam said admiringly.

"I had a good teacher," Tommy said sadly. "Do you think he’ll be okay?" he asked in one of those lightening quick changes of conversation teenagers were renowned for.

For a moment Sam was going to lie, but one look at the intelligence blazing from Tommy’s eyes and she changed her mind.

"We don’t know yet," she said sadly. "Teal’c, that’s Airman Murray, is watching over him, and will call us if there is any change.

Daniel had been quiet, clearly mulling over something Tommy had said. Eventually he stirred, catching their attention.

"Tommy, your dad said that the bad guys said the loose ends were tied up, correct?"

Tommy frowned for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. He also said he was a good shot. You think it means anything?"

Daniel nodded slowly. "I think so. I think that whoever the gunman was, he had had dealings with Jack before."

…

I hurt, a deep aching hurt that made me moan in distress.

I hurt, but no matter what I tried, I couldn’t get to the pain. People seemed to be preventing me, holding me back, whispering soft commands into my ear, telling me to lie still, and not to worry.

I hurt, and nobody seemed to care.

Sobbing in pain, I struck out, encountering something soft, pushing it away from me with a crash.

I needed…something. No, yes. I needed to hide. I was hurt, and needed to hide, before he…

"No."

He, they were back, holding me down, bands like iron stopping my every move.

It was worse now. It hurt to even breathe, my breath hissing in my throat as they sang traitorous songs to me, crooning soft words in a strange tongue, lulling me back to sleep, no matter how hard I tried to resist.

###

The briefing room at the SGC looked as if some insane paper supplier had hurled reams of paper inside and hastily shut the door.

Everywhere one looked there were piles, on the table, pinned to the walls, and even on the floor. In the midst of this mess stood two generals, their expressions thoughtful.

"Kingston’s out," Carter said slowly, tapping to a name on a computer readout. "According to this, he fell down a mine shaft in Arizona whilst resisting arrest."

"They never found his body," Hammond said firmly. "That still makes him a suspect in my book."

Jacob gave his oldest friend a patient look that was magnificently ignored.

"So, what do we have so far?" Hammond asked.

"Squat, really," Jacob said, sighing in frustration. "Out of the seventeen names we do have, fourteen were elsewhere at the time. Of the three left, two are on assignment, and one, your Kingston, is presumed dead. Which if you really think about it, is most probably the case."

"So we have squat," Hammond said, allowing the paper he had been holding to flutter to the floor. "So it looks like Jack’s shooter isn’t military after all."

"Not necessarily," Selmac said, the unexpectedness of the two toned voice making Hammond jump. Up to now, the symbiote sharing his friends body had been silent, but seeing that her host and his colleague were truly stymied, she finally felt she had a right to opine.

"I feel that a certain line of inquiry has been overlooked, that of the NID."

Selmac’s eyes flashed. "Perhaps they have in their employ certain skilled operatives that are not necessarily military, but possess the skill you seek."

"Brilliant idea," Hammond enthused, before hesitating. "The problem is, just how in tarnation are we meant to get into the NID database?"

Jacob Carter laughed and reached for the phone. "Simple. I’ll call Sammie."

…

"What you’re asking me to do is illegal, you know that?" Samantha Carter said to her father half an hour later.

"So they can prosecute me if they like," he said comfortably, relaxing in one of the chairs in the control room. "They can find me on Avernon, a cute planet on the far side of the galaxy."

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Extradition could be a bitch, though."

She didn’t bother to answer, concentrating on routing her query via a think tank in Greece, bouncing it via Amsterdam, and just because she could, originating the query in a brothel in Sydney, Australia.

Five minutes later, she had her answer.

"Do any of you know a Lt. Colonel Roscoe Dinetti?"

General Hammond sighed.

"I’m afraid we do."

…

"He’s an assassin," Hammond explained a while later. "Faceless, and up until now, nameless."

He stared across the cleared briefing room table at the blonde haired Major, a silent Teal’c by her side.

"This is the individual whose name was inscribed onto O’Neill’s scrap of paper and driven into the infirmary wall," Teal’c said, nodding wisely.

"Oh God," Sam said, finally understanding. "The same man who tore the Colonel’s fingernails out?"

"Seeing that Colonel O’Neill never discussed this Roscoe character with anyone besides his therapist, I have no idea," General Hammond said dryly. "However, it seems too much of a coincidence for this person to be anyone else."

"So let’s go and arrest him," General Carter said, riding to his feet. "We have probable cause."

Hammond remained seated, his eyes thoughtful.

"Do we?" he said.

"George," Jacob said warningly, sinking back into his chair. "What do you mean?"

"Colonel O’Neill could not properly identify the man."

"Jack?" Jacob asked surprised.

Hammond grunted in agreement.

"Apparently this Roscoe character set a trip wire at the top of the stairs. When O’Neill came to investigate the noise, he went flying, ending up in a heap at the bottom. Roscoe introduced his drug soon after, almost killing him."

"Nice man," Jacob muttered, waving at Teal’c when the man shifted. "I was being sarcastic Teal’c."

Teal’c inclined his head and settled back to see what plans these two and a half Tau’ri would come up with.

"Apparently O’Neill was unable to correctly identify his attacker, besides the fact that they were called Roscoe and Leroy, a big brute who seemed to get off by inflicting pain."

To Hammond’s relief, Teal’c didn’t ask for an explanation.

Sam Carter nodded in agreement.

"The Colonel was agitated for months afterwards, but there was no trace of them at all. It was as if they had literally disappeared into smoke."

"With the help of the NID, no doubt," Carter said, looking at his daughter fondly.

"Their aim then was to ascertain the location of an offworld base called Tollana 3," Teal’c said slowly. "O’Neill swore he never revealed this information, and his grievous injuries bore his story out. By now attempting to assassinate O’Neill, there is an indication of a change in thinking."

"Or he saw too much," Sam said thoughtfully.

"Like?" Hammond asked.

She shook her head. "I’m not too sure, sir. Maybe he witnessed an NID operation, and they need to silence him, although that’s doubtful, seeing as we’ve been offworld or on the base for months."

"Maybe a rogue NID operation want to silence him for smashing their little smuggling ring?" General Carter asked.

"After all this time?" Hammond asked. "I doubt that."

"Or perhaps the mission was not sanctioned by the NID at all, but rather by Roscoe himself," Teal’c said thoughtfully. "O’Neill did, after all, see he and his companion’s face, heard them speak..."

His dark eyes swept the table. "O’Neill may not be able to identify them from memory, but perhaps if he saw them again, he would. This could be a danger to Dinetti, and perhaps even to the NID itself."

"You may have something there," Teal’c, Sam said, fingers blindly reaching for her keyboard again. "Let’s see who Colonel Roscoe Dinetti reports to."

…

"Senator Kinsey?"

Daniel looked up from his position at Jack’s bed, and lowered his tone.

"That bastard has gone too far this time."

"Even if he was involved, it’s doubtful that he would incriminate himself," Daniel said bitterly. "An assassination attempt against someone who is an obvious thorn in his side just wouldn’t go down well with his political aspirations."

"Not unless Jack died." Hammond said firmly, seeing the linguist flinch.

"He still might," Daniel said softly, stroking his friend’s arm forlornly.

"What did Doctor Fraiser say?" Hammond asked kindly.

"What do you want first?" Jackson asked savagely. "The fact that he suffered severe blood loss before arriving here, and no one knows for sure whether he is brain damaged, or not? Or the severe convulsions he’s prone to, that may be just a result of the infection he has, or that said brain damage?"

"Or maybe you wish to know about the nicked spleen, the smashed ribs, and the damaged lung?"

General Hammond sighed, staring hard at SG1’s linguist.

"When was the last time you got some sleep?" he asked gently.

Daniel blinked, then smiled ruefully, removing his glasses and laying them on the bed.

"Hours and hours ago," he said. "I just couldn’t…just in case…" he gestured towards the still figure wordlessly.

George Hammond could understand his reluctance to leave.

Jack O’Neill was lying still and helpless, the nurses hiding his obvious injuries from prying eyes. Nevertheless, if one looked, one could see the limps under the sheets where bandages encircled his chest, and there was no mistaking the mass of tubes surrounding him all doing mysterious things that an awake Jack O’Neill would find incredibly galling.

His 2IC was also as white as a marble statue and had a machine help him breath.

God, Jack would really hate that when he awoke.

If he awoke.

General George Hammond sighed deeply and prayed hard.

"I’ll have a comfortable chair brought in," he said after a while, smiling at the grateful look Daniel gave him.

"It’s not just that I like you, Jackson," he said warningly. "There is also the thought that whoever tried to kill Colonel O’Neill may very well try again, and the added security of having someone else in the room with him may just deter him enough for us to capture him."

"Gee, thanks," Daniel said dryly. He pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Are you going to remove the guards outside his door?"

Hammond shook his head. "No, that would make you too much of a target, but I do want you armed with your handgun, just in case." He gave the linguist a level stare. "I assume if it came to the crunch, you would use it?"

Daniel stared back at Hammond, his face hard. "I would," he said, his voice like steel.

Hammond nodded, well pleased with the fit young man who stood before him, a man very different from the long haired academic they had met all those years ago.

Slowly, but surely, Jack O’Neill had turned that cowardly young man into a seasoned soldier, a civilian in name only, one who would now die rather than see harm come to his commanding officer and best friend.

"Not that I’m expecting any harm to come to O’Neill yet," he said softly. "Not whilst he is still so…"

"Critical?" Daniel finished. His eyes met those of the General, fire in their depths.

"As long as there is still a chance of him dying, he gets left alone?"

General Hammond nodded. "So we believe. Colonel Dinetti is not one to get his hands dirty, nor does he wish to be identified. No, if there is to be another attack, he will wait until the Colonel recovers somewhat, and try again."

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

"What about this Leroy character?" Daniel asked, a worried frown on his face. "He almost broke Jack’s neck the first time they met."

"Again, we have the fact of association," Hammond said. "Dinetti daren’t use him. If he did, the finger of suspicion would point straight back to him."

Again, he was wrong.

"So, what, we wait, and sooner or later this Roscoe tries again?" Daniel asked.

General Hammond nodded.

"And he will try again, because as long as O’Neill lives, he can identify him."

In that, he was finally dead right.

…

"Nada."

Samantha Carter looked up from the computer, her face disconsolate.

"There are no photos of Colonel Dinetti anywhere on this planet."

"What?" General Carter said, straightening in his chair. "There ought to be. I mean, the Pentagon must have some for Chrissakes."

Sam shook her head, trading a look with Sergeant Davis who also shook his head. The control room was silent, apart from their soft clacking of the keys. It was late evening, and besides SG9, no offworld teams were due to return for hours, allowing them the freedom of using the powerful base computers to their hearts content.

Davis nodded, adding weight to her words.

"Major Carter is correct sir," he said, his bald head shining in the light from the monitor. "This Colonel seems to have hired a very good computer fundi to remove all photographs relating to his career. A short bio I can find, a photo to go with it? No."

General Carter stiffened, his face thoughtful.

"How recently was this done?" he asked Davis. "I mean, can you tell precisely when these photo’s were removed?"

Davis shook his head. "Not really sir, but pretty recently, that’s for sure. I know the Pentagon, and an assault like that? One that invaded their computer and actually removed files? If they were aware of it, they would be screaming blue murder."

Sam nodded in agreement. "It was most certainly done in the past few days."

"He’s covering up his tracks," Carter said softly, as if to himself, but probably to Selmac. "That way he can waltz past any checkpoint we place, and complete his mission."

"Damn," Samantha said, her face tragic. "We need the Colonel to wake up, and soon, because if he doesn’t, we may not be able to stop him."

…

"Colonel?"

Someone was calling my name, her voice soft and sweet, pulling me from my slumbers.

"Colonel O’Neill, can you hear me?"

I felt someone take my hand.

"Squeeze my hand if you can understand."

The hand was small, and kneaded mine, moving my thumb back and forth.

"Please Jack."

That was Daniel’s voice, sounding anxious.

"I know you can do it." His voice caught, making me frown slightly.

Both voices stopped immediately, and then the female spoke again.

"Yes Colonel, we know you can hear us. Now I want to see you squeeze my hand."

Okay then, if that was what she wanted, that is what she would get.

Straining mightily, I curled my fingers around hers, wishing with all my heart that I could open my eyes. Who was she? Nurse Pettit? Nurse Winter? The voice sounded familiar, but I just couldn’t open my eyes.

"Good man, Colonel," the voice said warmly. "Now you rest. Daniel will watch over you for a while, then Teal’c will, okay?"

I squeezed her hand again, wondering why I couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t see and I couldn’t talk, but Daniel was close, and that was all that mattered for now.

"Jack." I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, where it wasn’t numb. "Welcome back."

Glad to be here, Danny, I thought, before sleep claimed me.

…

"You don’t need to stay," George Hammond said to his friend, a smile of contentment on his face. "With Jack out of critical condition things are improving daily, and there has been no sight nor sound from this Roscoe, making me believe that he has given up on his mission."

Jacob grunted dubiously, stabbing at a piece of beef with a fork.

"Would you?" he asked quietly, well aware of other ears in the canteen straining to hear the answer as well.

Hammond’s face fell. "No. But with Senator Kinsey’s description of him, we at least know what to look for."

"How did you manage that little feat, by the way?" Jacob asked curiously.

George smiled thinly. "It was easy," he said. "Kinsey has serious political aspirations. All I needed to do was remind him what being associated with a murderer would do to his career, and lo and behold, a description was faxed to my office within minutes."

"Sweet," Carter said, sitting down his fork neatly.

"Damn, I had forgotten how earth based food tasted," he said with a grin.

"Pure Styrofoam?" Hammond asked dryly.

"And let’s not forget all the additives," Jacob said, finger in air.

"To enhance taste, of course," George said, pushing his own plate from him with a happy sigh.

"God, it’s good to be able to finally relax. Jack is out of danger, and if Dinetti moves even so much as one foot…"

"We’ll have him," Jacob said contentedly, eyeing the dessert section carefully.

Again, they couldn’t have been more wrong.

…

"I cannot believe the yellow backbone of that man."

As expected, Leroy merely sat in his chair and watched me rant and rave. Once before in his life he had tried to offer me comfort. I had shot him where he stood.

He had undergone three months of physical therapy and now he knew better than to disturb me.

I was in one of my moods, and had no desire to be pulled from it prematurely.

"Oh sure, a little hair dye, new contacts, and I’ll be a new man." I took a deep breath. "The problem with that is the fact that it won’t be me. I’ll no longer be Mamma Dinetti’s little bambino."

Lifting up my tumbler of whiskey, I threw it into the fireplace, seeing the flames flare before the alcohol was consumed. I knew that the crash wouldn’t be investigated. I had hired good efficient staff years ago, and had a large file on each one. No, I would be left alone, and the glass swept up the next day.

"So what do you wanna do boss?"

For a moment I saw red, before common sense asserted itself again. Leroy was merely asking a question I was asking myself. What indeed did I want to do?

"Eliminate O’Neill," I hissed. "The SGC have nothing on me, merely an eyewitness description from a half drunk senator. Yes, they may know how tall I am, and what color my skin is, but that’s all. I can get around that little problem. O’Neill, however, is the only person on this planet who can truly identify me in all respects, and for that reason must be removed, once and for all."

"I told you that you should have shot him in the kisser," Leroy said phlegmatically.

"And I should have listened," I conceded.

"And now?" he asked.

"You go and shoot him in the kisser," I said, reaching for the whiskey bottle and a new glass.

His eyes lit up.

"Me? Alone?"

I nodded sagely. I was sending Leroy on a suicide mission, not that he cared. All he cared about was spilling blood. And sex, I thought, thinking of the stewardess.

"There will be plenty of guards," I warned.

"So I’ll take plenty of C4," he smirked. "Let’s see how good they are with one side of the hospital reduced to rubble."

I nodded, well pleased. With all of their attention on Leroy and his explosions, nobody will be paying much attention to my target besides me. And with eye contacts and my hair slicked back and dyed, no one will be interested in me either, especially if I carried a clipboard and wore a white jacket.

No, despite what I had told him, Leroy would make the distraction, and I would make the kill.

…

"O Neill, I have decided that Daniel Jackson is in need of rest. It is unhealthy for Tau’ri to be awake for extended periods of time."

Opening my eyes was still a massive task, but when a stuttered response from Daniel dissolved into a strangled yelp, I decided it was definitely worth the effort.

I cracked open an eye in time to see a volubly protesting Daniel being forcefully ejected through the door and into the waiting arms of a nurse, who led him off somewhere, him protesting all the way.

Then Teal’c was back, P-90 in hand.

That got me blinking in confusion. I assumed we were still on Earth, so why the weapon?

Thankfully, Teal’c was good at reading my body language.

"You were shot, O’Neill," he said calmly, settling himself down comfortably in Daniel’s chair. "General Hammond and Jacob Carter believe the…sniper will once more attempt to end your life, and thus have entrusted the rest of SG1 with the task of keeping you alive."

He patted the P-90, a grimmer look than usual on his face. "Whilst this is not my weapon of choice, as you well know, I am accurate enough to do some considerable damage."

Ah, so that’s why Daniel had his Beretta within arms reach at all times.

Damn, I also had a tube in my throat. Crap. There were so many questions I wanted answered, like who the assassin was, and why me. Of course, they may be deliberately keeping that information from me, which should infuriate me, and would, once I had had a nap.

…

"He is very weak, and still needs a tube to help him breathe, but we seem to be past the worst of the danger, sir."

Doctor Fraiser looked up at General Hammond, a rare smile on her face. "All in all, he was one very lucky man."

Hammond grunted in assent.

"When can he be moved back to the SGC?" he asked, staring at her closely. Maybe it was just old age, but the hairs on his arms were stiff with foreboding.

Her smile slipped slightly, and she gave him a long look.

"Do you think he will try again, this assassin?"

Hammond sighed, nodding at the small woman. "I do. Hence the Marines outside his door."

Janet’s jaw tightened and he saw the fear in her eyes, fear for more than just her patient, he believed.

Academy General was a big busy hospital. She had a lot of friends there, people that might conceivably be hurt if anything did indeed happen.

"Tomorrow," she said eventually. "Although by rights we shouldn’t be moving him for weeks still."

Hammond breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of the world slough off his shoulders.

"Tomorrow morning at 09H00, doctor," he ordered.

She nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"Yes sir."

Had general Hammond known what was to happen in the next couple of hours, he would have removed O’Neill instantly.

…

"How is he Teal’c?"

Teal’c rose fluidly to his feet, offering his chair to a plainly exhausted Major Carter.

"He has been conscious for brief amounts of time only, however Doctor Fraiser and her nurse believe this to be a good sign. They call the sleep he now immerses himself in to be something called a ‘healing sleep.’

They both sat in companionable silence, she in the chair, him perched on the arm, watching their commanding officer closely, seeing again the translucent skin, his body unmoving under its covering sheet.

He looked dead, like a corpse assisted to breathe, and despite herself, she shuddered.

"He will recover," Teal’c said softly, noting her expression. "I believe this Tau’ri over all others has a destiny to fulfill before journeying to Kheb, the land of the dead."

"You may be right," Sam said, shaking off her reluctance and rising to her feet. "He acts so tough, but cares for us so much, as we do him. He does not deserve to die here."

"He will not die here." Teal’c’s voice was firm.

Shaking slightly, she ran her hand lightly down his arm, wanting to feel the warmth of him, wanting to know that he was still alive.

It felt strange to feel his skin, to part the soft hairs covering his arm, to lightly run her hand across an area of his body that she had only touched briefly before, drawing his attention to something or the other.

Contrary to what she saw, he felt vibrant, alive, and she sighed in relief.

"O’Neill would welcome your touch," Teal’c said seriously. "I have read that tactile contact can assist patients in healing."

She smiled in agreement, running her hand lightly across his, gently stroking his palm.

"You say he was conscious before?" she asked, needing that confirmation.

Teal’c nodded, walking to stand next to her. "Twice before, to my knowledge. The first time was violent, the infection that burned within making him crazed. The second time he was more lucid. He noticed my Tau’ri weapon and frowned. I hastily explained as to why I had it before sleep once more reclaimed him."

"You have it because he is still in danger," she said softly.

"Indeed," Teal’c said.

…

I watched Leroy from my car, feeling a sense of smug satisfaction.

I had trained him well.

Yes, he may be a weak-minded sadistic bastard with an eye for skirt, but when the chips were down, he could move like a ghost, moving through people with ease, unnoticed, despite his size.

Rolling down the window, I smelt the sweet honeysuckle smell of the hospital garden, and followed Leroy with my eyes, watching as he laid his prepared parcel bombs down a stretch of white painted wall. Once he was done, he continued inside without a backward glance, presumably to sit in the hospital canteen until the fireworks started.

Now it was my turn.

O’Neill was kept in ward A7, a private ward, as benefiting his rank. I knew from my wanderings around the hospital earlier that day that he was guarded by two heavily armed marines, and had a least one member of his team inside the room with him at all times. Ordinarily this would present an insurmountable problem, but with Leroy’s explosions distracting them, I stood a good chance of completing my mission successfully.

O’Neill himself would not cause a problem, a friendly nurse telling me he was still unconscious.

…

"Teal’c?"

He looked at her, his eyebrow raised, the Jaffa version of surprise on his face.

"I have no idea, Major Carter. Would you like me to investigate?"

She almost said yes, had opened her mouth to do so, when with a roar, the far wall disappeared in a cloud of cement and brick dust.

"Colonel," was all she managed to gasp before a giant hand scooped her up and slammed her hard against the far wall.

She needn’t have worried. Teal’c reacted instantly, hunching over O’Neill’s helpless figure, stoically enduring the glass and pieces of concrete that literally tore the clothes from his back, mincing the flesh beneath.

Then the ordeal was over, the smoke wafting out of the shattered room, leaving behind three unconscious figures, one now in mortal danger.

…

"Whee."

My whistle was one of admiration, mixed in with, I believe, a fair amount of trepidation.

Damn, I didn’t want him dead, not yet, and that last explosion sure must have done some close up and personal damage.

Leroy sure knew how to get the maximum out of a pack of C4.

The problem was, his latest and greatest blast was very close to where the good Colonel lay. Whilst his death would simplify things, I really wished to dispatch him myself. It was almost a matter of honor now.

If only I had let Leroy snap his neck when he had had the chance. Oh well, hindsight is always 20/20.

"Doctor…DOCTOR!" I turned towards the running nurse, noting her military clothes, and couldn’t believe my luck. This was the nurse who personally oversaw Colonel O’Neill, a nurse…Winters. I had met her that morning, whilst planning my escape routes. A fit looking civilian, still rubbing sleep from behind his round glasses, trailed behind her, looking completely stunned.

"Can you help, Doctor?" she said breathlessly, looking close to tears. "The Colonel and the Major and… well they’re stuck, and I can’t find Doctor Fraiser in all this chaos and…."

I held up my hand, acting just like every doctor I had ever visited in my life, hoping like hell that she wouldn’t see through me.

"Woah, hold up nurse," I said in the heavy Texas twang I had used on her earlier. "I’ll do what I can. Just point me in the right direction."

"This way doctor," the civilian snapped, looking more awake now. When I nodded, he spun back to the nurse.

"Patty, call the SGC, we need more manpower here. God knows this wasn’t an accident, and if we don’t watch it, Roscoe will try again."

I almost stumbled and fell as the full enormity of what he was saying hit home. They knew my name. How in the hell? Then it occurred to me, it didn’t really matter. With O’Neill gone, the only person truly able to identify me would be dead.

Nurse Winters was nodding, her eyes wide, then she was off, leaping over the rubble like a gazelle.

"This way sir," the civilian repeated, making his way through a crack in the wall, leading me from the parking lot into a ruined hallway, the fluorescent lights hanging by their cords and flickering eerily.

"I know," I murmured, eying him carefully. He was obviously someone from the SGC and therefore dangerous to be around.

"Boss, boss…" The voice was faint as the lumbering figure hurried down the hallway, getting louder with each step. "Was that great or what?"

Shit. Leroy had the sense of timing of a Mack truck at midnight in rural Montana - not good.

"What?" I could see the civilian flicking his gaze between a clearly elated Leroy and myself, making all the right connections, unfortunately.

Ah well, there was only one thing for it.

"So sorry," I said, lying through my teeth, and viciously chopped my new friend at the base of his neck, catching him as he crumpled.

"Leroy, let’s go," I said, leaping over his body and heading down the hallway.

O’Neill’s room was at the very end, and from the pools of blood surrounding the bodies of the two marine’s outside, very close to the epicenter of Leroy’s big blast.

"Just how much C4 did you use?" I muttered, waving him off as he attempted to answer. It didn’t really matter now. What was done was done. I just hoped O’Neill was still alive. Killing him was one pleasure I wanted all to myself.

"You can kill anybody else you find," I said to Leroy, "but the good Colonel is mine."

Leroy’s face sagged. "But…"

"Understand?" I insisted, enunciating every syllable, making him aware of what would happen to him if he disobeyed me.

Like a Rottweiler on a choke chain, he backed off, his eyes smoldering in resentment.

"Got it boss."

"Good."

I would have to be nice to him later, to get back into his good books, but in the meantime, it would have to do.

"Come on then," I said, and pushed open the door.

…

Something was lying on me, making breathing difficult.

No, someone was lying on me - Teal’c.

Blinking slowly, I tried to make sense of what had happened. One minute he had been over…somewhere next to the door, checking out a P-90, the weapon looking strange in his hands, the next, he was lying on top of me, his weapon pressing hard against my ribs.

I lay still for a while content to let my brain slowly assimilate what information it had.

Okay, point one. Somehow, I had been injured, although I didn’t remembering it happening. So be it.

Point two - Teal’c and I guess the rest of the SGC had been worried that whomever attacked me initially would most likely try again, hence the heavy earth based ammunition carried by my favorite Jaffa.

Point three, and this was a doozy, was the fact that the bad guys had indeed tried again, and Teal’c had somehow lost.

Shutting my eyes, I slowly worked one hand across Teal’c’s shoulder, relieved at the warmth I felt. It told me that the big guy was alive way before my fingers felt his pulse. Thank goodness for small mercies.

Now if only I could get his deadweight off my chest, I could breathe again, albeit with the damn tube I felt still stuck between my teeth.

Furthermore, where the hell were the nurses?

…

"Leroy, leave her alone."

"But boss." His voice was high pitched as he looked up from the crumpled form of a blonde haired female lying senseless next to the door. "She…"

"Stay focused," I warned him, pleased to see him rise to his feet, taking his customary position just to my left.

"Can I have her afterwards?" he whined, aware that I was only listening with half an ear, and thus liable to get his way.

"Sure," I muttered. "But first, the guard."

"He’s toast," Leroy said in a bored voice. "I mean, look at him."

I had to agree with Leroy. The large black man was sprawled over O’Neill’s bed, covering him so well that only the gray hair of his head could be seen.

I couldn’t help but admire this faceless man. He was obviously ordered to guard O’Neill no matter what, and this he had done, to his last breath.

"Eww, what a way to go," Leroy said, his face a mask of distaste.

The guard’s back was a mass of blood and gristle in which the white of some ribs could be seen. No one on earth could have survived that. As Leroy had so inelegantly put it, he was toast.

"Push him off and let’s finish this once and for all," I said.

…

I floated, just floated.

Warmed by the unconscious body of my friend, I just…floated.

How much of that was due to lack of oxygen, I had no idea, nor did I care. Teal’c was protecting me, keeping me safe and warm, and that was all that mattered.

Until I heard that voice.

It was smooth, urbane, with a touch of New England plumminess, and belonged to the one person I had spent the last six months trying to find.

Roscoe was in my room.

Roscoe.

It was as if my blood had turned to ice.

Roscoe.

That man had hurt me. Torture I can withstand, in fact, we are mentally trained for that, but Roscoe had drugged me, and in doing so, had almost killed me.

"Push him off and let’s finish this once and for all."

"Sure thing boss."

Roscoe and Leroy.

Crap.

Then it hit me, Teal’c’s gun. The P-90 was still digging into my ribs.

The fun part was, did I have the strength to use it?

Leroy giggled, a high-pitched sound of a damaged child.

"This is gonna be fun." There was no mistaking the anticipation in his voice.

Roscoe’s voice was tolerant. "Stand well away when I shoot, Leroy. We don’t want brain matter over that nice white coat, do we?"

He snickered. "No boss."

It was then that I felt rough hands tug at Teal’c, and knew that I had no options left. It was either them or me. The problem was - could I take both out in time?

…

When I felt that brute pawing at me it was all I could do not to scream, or, even worse lash out at him. Instead, I lay where I had been thrown, pretending unconsciousness, enduring his hands, until the other man pulled him off.

The smaller man was obviously Roscoe, the larger…I had an idea that he was Leroy. The Colonel had said that Roscoe used him to subdue him when he had resisted, almost breaking his neck in the process.

The Colonel had said that he was mentally impaired, and this hulking creature sure fit that mould.

I watched them through slitted eyes, gritting my teeth when they discussed Teal’c, hoping he wasn’t dead like they said. It didn’t take genius to know that a lot of people had been hurt, thanks to them, and with a start, I thought of Daniel. He had been with Nurse Winters, both catching some badly needed shuteye, and I prayed that they were both all right.

Not that I could do anything about them.

I could, however, help Jack.

Moving stealthily, I carefully pulled my handgun out from its specially designed shoulder holster and moved it to my lap, watching as Leroy slowly dragged Teal’c off the bed, exposing the still form of the Colonel for the first time.

Oh God. He was not going to die this way, helpless in a hospital bed. A man such as he deserved a better death than that.

Gritting my teeth, I slowly rose to my feet watching as Roscoe leveled a gun at his face, a.45.

Of course it was. This time Roscoe was determined to finish the job.

He was not going to get that chance. Damn him.

…

I had never felt so weak as I did at that moment, and with a tube down my throat, I couldn’t even move. It was so frustrating. Nevertheless, I was determined not to die.

I knew what would happen if I did. Leroy would kill Teal’c, just because he could, and I was determined that that was not going to happen. Not whilst I had any breath left in my body, assisted or not.

I felt Teal’c’s weight finally slide off me and knew that it was now or never. With Teal’c gone, the P-90 in my hand was exposed for the first time.

…

"Gun boss."

I saw the bulky gun lying next to O’Neill, but hesitated, more in shock than anything else. There was no way that a man connected to oxygen had the strength to lift such a large gun, let alone use it.

Besides, he was unconscious, wasn’t he?

Then O’Neill opened burning eyes, and opened fire.

…

Soldiers work in split seconds. The Colonel told us this, and more importantly, showed us how.

Once we had the necessary training, all of SG1 could consciously slow down moments of time, a-la-Matrix.

Oh sure, time continued as usual - ask the astrophysicist.

What actually happened is that our brains, our thinking, sped up to such a degree that things only seemed like they were happening in slow motion.

That was enough.

I saw Roscoe reel back from Jack’s bed, and instantly changed targets. I had no idea what had happened to the man, nor did I care. All I cared about was saving the Colonel’s life, and if Roscoe was no longer a threat, then Leroy was.

My gun gave a loud bark, and Leroy’s head dissolved into a cloud of blood and brain matter, just as they had planned for the Colonel. My aim had been deliberate - believe me.

Then I was up and running to Jack’s bed, my still smoking gun trained on Roscoe’s body, wondering just what in the hell happened?

###

"So what in the hell happened?" General Jacob Carter asked three weeks later, reaching into a large bowl situated in the middle of the briefing room table and crunching on a handful of peanuts appreciatively.

"Dunno," Jack O’Neill shrugged, his own lunge at the bowl cut short with a wince.

"You were put on the endangered species list, sir," his daughter said, pushing the bowl towards him with a smile, one that had Jacob frowning. "Luckily poaching season was finished."

"Yep," Daniel said, spinning the peanuts towards himself and Janet. "You almost met your maker."

"Ack, do you mind?" O’Neill moaned, waving a finger helplessly. "Leave the hackneyed cliché’s to the Gou’ald."

"Yes Oh master," Daniel smirked, crunching happily.

"So," Jacob said again, "What in the hell happened?"

"We proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Colonel O’Neill can indeed fire a P-90 in his sleep." Samantha said, trading grins with the rest of SG1.

Jack’s eyes abruptly held hers, suddenly very serious. "Compared to a nice green plot where I can spend all day pushing up daisies?" he murmured. "I’ll take the torn stitches any day."

"What I can’t understand," George Hammond said from his customary seat at the head of the table, "is why this Roscoe went to all that trouble." He shrugged. "I mean, a little hair dye, and he would be another person."

"That wouldn’t have been enough, sir," Jack said.

"There is one thing I remember above all else from our first meeting, and that was the fact that he was so proud that he needn’t use a disguise. He said that he was as forgettable as they came, and he was half right."

"Half right?" Hammond asked, looking confused. "Explain." It wasn’t a request.

Jack shifted on his seat, grimaced, and then spoke softly, aware that the others were listening intently.

"Do you remember the first time Roscoe and I met? Remember the paper stuck to the infirmary wall? Well that was a symbol of my sheer frustration, because, try as I might, I could not picture Roscoe in my mind.

For someone who prides himself on remembering every detail about my adversaries, I sure flunked out on him. Remember that?" He smiled thinly when they all nodded. "Leroy I could describe to a T, but not Roscoe."

"Because he was so ordinary nothing stood out." Daniel said.

"Exactfully," O’Neill said.

"If he was that forgettable, then why all the trouble to find you now?" Janet asked. "And once he had, and you were lying in hospital, why all the needless deaths?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I have no idea as to why he went to such extremes. All I can say is that it will never happen again."

"That’s for sure," Daniel said, rubbing Janet’s arm in a comforting manner. The explosions at Academy General had killed three people and injured sixteen, something the diminutive doctor was still coming to terms with.

"If this Roscoe had indeed appeared by Kinsey’s side, would you have been able to identify him?" Teal’c asked, his eyes curious.

"Not by sight, no," Jack said slowly.

"Then why all the effort?" Jacob said. "I doesn’t make sense."

"Oh yes it does," Jack said, calmly rescuing the peanut bowl from Teal’c’s clutches.

His eyes scanned his team, asking for their attention.

"An identification depends on a couple of factors, right?"

They nodded, wondering where he was going.

"Sight. You need to be able to say if the bad guy had blonde hair or brown, was light skinned or dark."

They all nodded.

"Smell. You can identify his perfume, or whether he worked in a fish shop or not."

They all laughed at that.

"And hearing."

He was pleased to see Sam nod.

That, campers, was what Roscoe was afraid of, of being heard."

"I do not understand," Teal’c said massively, a rare occurrence nowadays.

"Nor do I," Daniel said. "He was perfectly okay, besides coming from Texas."

Generals were not above pelting civilians with peanuts, as Daniel found out.

"He wasn’t from Texas," Jack said once the laughter had died down. "Was he Carter?"

"You heard him, didn’t you?"

Her smile was huge.

"Oh my goodness yes," she said in a cultured voice. "Clear as the proverbial cracked bell."

"Mind telling me what you mean?" Jacob asked in a dangerous voice. "Or is it classified?"

Jack was on the verge of telling him it was, just to get a rise out of the man, but Carter kicked his ankle, warning him off.

"Roscoe was New England blue blood stock, sir," he said. "His voice was full of rich vowels and to cap it all, he had an indolent upper crust drawl. One that set my teeth on edge from the first time I met him."

"He also had a lisp," Carter said brightly. "A bad one."

"And he became an assassin?" Hammond asked incredulously. "With that handicap?"

"And an awfully good one as well," Jack O’Neill said softly. "Who would have thought? God alone knows how many people he killed before he met me. When I refused to die, I became the fly in the ointment, the thorn in his side…"

"We get it," Hammond said dryly.

"It makes you wonder what he used Leroy for, besides as an odd job man," Daniel mused.

"Daniel, that is disgusting," Janet exclaimed, clipping him behind his ear.

"And he was in the employ of Senator Kinsey?" Jacob asked, once the laughter had once more died down.

"Any idea as to why?"

He looked around the table enquiringly, but no one answered.

"That Senator is one evil man," he said eventually. "Whatever he is up to, it cannot be good."

"Makes you glad to live offworld," Jack said flippantly.

"The problem with this Senator," Jacob said seriously, "is his ambition. No, whatever he is up to, I believe it will affect us all, no matter where in the galaxy we live."

He looked around the table at his daughter and their friends.

"Be careful," he said. "I have a suspicion you have an undetected snake on earth after all."

"And he is a Senator," Jack sighed, his face drawn. "We know."

EINDE

BetaTested by CiGiK - Cape Town - South Africa - 14th May 2003