I should move.

That thought just popped into my head, and to tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure why. Everything’s a little fuzzy around the edges; I feel like I’ve had a few too many six packs.

It’s kinda nice here, anyway - I’m lying on something soft and I feel warm. I could almost be in bed on a Saturday morning, if it wasn’t for that persistent part of my brain that knows the comfort I presently feel will disappear really, really fast if I try to move.

Which is exactly what that part of my brain is telling me to do.

Just a minute. Hit the snooze button. Back in five. Just a little longer to rest, then I’ll go ahead and get up. Even though I intuitively know it’s going to hurt like hell.

That must mean I’ve gotten myself injured again.

Hell, what is it? Have I got a big target painted on my back? A nametag that says, “Hi, my name is Colonel Jack O’Neill and my hobbies are fishing and getting shot”? Subconscious body language that screams, “maim me”?

Or just really, really bad luck?

I’m starting to remember a little now. P4X-something. Really pretty planet, lots of trees and grass and wildflowers, bright sunlight, seemingly friendly natives. Daniel did his “we come in peace, take me to your leader” spiel; we ended up in a nice little village. Head Honcho Big Man Chief seemed thrilled to see us. He had an adorable daughter about four years old, big dark eyes, grinned at me shyly.

What went wrong?

Ah, shit.

It wasn’t the people we were talking to, the dark-skinned natives with their lyrical language and pretty little village. They got raided by - somebody. I remember screams and gunfire and that little girl’s round scared eyes.

What happened to her?

What happened to my team?

The second that thought strikes, snooze time is over and the alarm clock goes off big time. Carter, Daniel, Teal’c … I’ve got to find them.

Damn, damn, damn.

Trying to move hurts even worse than I thought it would. Something is seriously wrong, although I can’t tell where; the pain’s coming in from places I didn’t know I have. Hell, it’s coming from places I’m pretty sure I don’t have.

Worse than the pain is the fact that my attempts to move aren’t doing any good. The body’s on standby, completely immersed in Do Not Respond mode. This is so not good.

I focus every ounce of strength on the task of moving and two fingers on my left hand wiggle a little.

Splendid, O’Neill. Given a few more days you might actually have the whole damn arm twitching, and then you can scare away all the bad guys with your Twitching Arm of Doom.

Have I mentioned that this is so not good?

I’m becoming a little more aware of my surroundings; I’m lying in thick grass and sunlight is warming my body, which is why I felt so nice and comfy before I went and spoiled everything by trying to move.

Everything’s still hurting, but I’m beginning to be able to identify the sources of the worst pain: my head, my chest, my right arm. I think I’ve been run over by an entire herd of buffalo, or a freight train. Or a Goa’uld mothership.

And I’m not alone here.

Oh, damn.

The faint sounds clue me in: rustling, a couple of quiet footsteps. If it’s an enemy, I’m so toast.

It’s not, unless the enemy is a small child who is trying very hard not to sob.

The chief’s daughter.

I don’t remember exactly how we got here (wherever “here” is), but there are flashes surfacing: snatching her up, out of harm’s way; holding her tiny trembling body against me and feeling the rapid butterfly beat of her heart against my chest.

God, let her be okay. Please.

Somehow, with incredible effort, I manage to get my eyes to open. The kid’s standing over me, her face tear-streaked and terrified, but she looks unharmed. Thank you, God. I must have put her down before I got hit by the mothership.

The little girl kneels down beside me and says words in her own language, words I wouldn’t have a chance of understanding even if my brain wasn’t so fuzzy. When I don’t reply, the kid says, “O’Nee?” which is as close as she can get to my name. The emotion in her voice is clear: she’s worried about me.

I want to say something reassuring and totally untrue, but the words just won’t transmit from my brain to my mouth. I must have some fried wires. Guess I need to get Carter to take a look at my head, replace the burnt fuses. The idea makes me grin stupidly, which hurts.

My fingernails hurt, my toenails hurt, my hair hurts. I’m convinced I can feel other people’s fingernails, toenails and hair hurting. And to make the situation even more joyously wonderful, I’m beginning to have some serious problems breathing. Unconsciousness is sounding better and better.

No, O’Neill, you selfish SOB. You have things to do. Let’s prioritize, list off the most important things to do: protect the kid, find Carter and Daniel and Teal’c.

Move.

Couple of fingers, different ones this time, then my whole arm. Wow, didn’t take days after all. Dr. Fraiser would say I’m making encouraging progress (what I wouldn’t give to see her and one of her needles right now). Maybe I can even roll over, like this -

Oh boy. Not a good idea.

There are things grating in my chest, things that really aren’t meant to move around at all. No wonder I’m having trouble breathing. I’ve really freaked out the kid now - what is her name? Alosa? Eloisa? Alissa? Whatever her name is, the sounds I’m making have really scared her. She reaches out and touches my face, says “O’Nee!” plaintively. Reminds me a little of Skaara: dark trusting eyes, bronze skin.

In between gasps I manage to wheeze, “Alissa?”

She looks relieved - almost smiles, in fact - and despite the fact that I’m butchering it, realizes that I’m trying to say her name. “Aleiza,” she corrects. “O’Nee?” It’s clearly a question - are you all right, can you move, are we going to survive, who’s gonna win the hockey playoffs? Okay, maybe not that last part. Giddiness is so not a good sign in someone with internal injuries.

I nod - not good, O’Neill, makes head hurt worse - in hopes of reassuring the poor kid. I wonder whether this attack was total coincidence - SG-1’s infamous luck again - or whether we somehow brought it on by visiting Aleiza’s people. God, I hope not. From the screams I remember, some of her people didn’t get off so easily as this little waif of a girl.

Okay, time to take stock of the situation. I have no idea where my team is. I seem to be some distance from the village, out in the woods, with an obviously terrified four-year-old who’s trying really hard to be brave. I’ve got internal injuries which are bringing back unpleasant memories of Antarctica, my right arm is broken, probably badly, and I’ve got a head injury, at least a concussion, which could account for the fact that I have absolutely no clue what happened to me. My hair is plastered to my forehead, and I don’t think it’s from sweat. I can still feel sticky wetness dripping down my face and off my chin. Don’t seem to be losing blood from anywhere else. That’s good. I could use some good news.

And, of course, I’ve jinxed myself by daring to hope there could possibly be some good news. Something catches in my throat and I start coughing, which hurts absolutely beyond description, and the stuff I’m coughing up is most definitely blood. Some of it spatters on Aleiza’s arm and she looks like she’s about to faint.

Join the club, kid.

I’m lying in a small open space, surrounded by trees and flowering underbrush. It’s very nice, really, but not exactly the place I want to die, especially not knowing what’s happened to my team.

My radio crackles to life.

“Colonel O’Neill, can you hear me? Colonel, are you there?” It’s Carter; she sounds worried. She’s probably tried contacting me before, while I was still unconscious from whatever the heck happened.

I’d like to answer her, I really would, but at the moment I’m too preoccupied by my desperate attempts to breathe. Aleiza stares at the radio as if it’s about to jump up and bite her nose off; her people aren’t primitive, they even have guns of a sort (although they obviously weren’t prepared to use them when the attack came), but their technological inventions obviously don’t include walkie-talkies.

I push down the talk button and, my hand shaking uncontrollably, hold the radio up to Aleiza’s face, hoping she’ll realize what I want her to do. She’s a smart kid; she clears her throat and nervously says a few words in her own language. I let up on the button, and there are a few seconds of silence, then Daniel’s voice comes on, replying a little haltingly in Aleiza’s language. I can’t understand anything they say, and can only hope I’m pushing and releasing the button at the right times, but I can hear Daniel’s voice rise in concern and I know that Aleiza must have told him I’m in bad shape.

When Daniel and Aleiza are through talking, Daniel switches to English for a minute. “Jack, if you can hear me, we’re in the woods on the north side of the village,” he says. “Sam, Teal’c and I all escaped from the raid but we got separated from you and Aleiza in the melee. We’re okay, but some of the attackers are still around. Aleiza isn’t sure exactly where you are. Do you know what direction you are from the village?” He falls silent, hoping I’ll reply.

Sorry, Danny, even if I could talk, which I currently can’t, I wouldn’t be of any help to you, since I don’t remember leaving the village at all, much less what direction I went or why exactly I went there. I look up at the sky hoping to see signs of smoke, anything to clue me in, but there’s nothing - just crystal clear, gorgeous blue sky. I could almost be in Minnesota. Boy, that’s a nice thought. Cabin, lake, fishing …

Stop it, O’Neill, you’re drifting. Can’t afford to, not with this kid to look after. She’s not the least bit afraid of me, that’s for sure - she carefully curls up next to me, trying not to cause me any pain, and slips a tiny arm around my neck. I remember other hugs and a little boy with brown hair and a mischievous smile, but now’s not the time to dwell on memories. I have to do something. There are miles of woods around the village, most of it looking exactly the same. We could be almost anywhere. It’ll most likely take my team a long, long time to find us if they have to search the entire area around the village.

I don’t have a long time. I may not have more than a few hours. I’m still coughing every few minutes, my body wracked with spasms and pain so intense I think I’m going to pass out.

It’s while I’m beginning the slow, agonizing process of choking to death on my own blood that I get more flashes of memory, bits and pieces of the puzzle telling me how I got like this: I remember a man dressed in bright red, a really big bear of a man, carrying some kind of staff. I remember the blow to the head before I could turn; shoving Aleiza into the bushes behind me; trying to dodge more blows but made too clumsy by the head injury. My attacker must have left me for dead.

That still doesn’t tell me where I am in relation to the village or how exactly Aleiza and I got here.

I’m just about to pass out again when I see the path.

It’s faint - doesn’t look like it gets much use - but it’s definitely a path, and it ends at the edge of the pretty little clearing I’m currently dying in. That means, or at least I hope it does, that the path can only lead one place: back to the village.

I’ve still got a compass, and if I could get myself and Aleiza back to the outskirts of the village, I could probably find my team. The only problem with this plan is the fact that I will never in a million years be able to get to the village. Hell, I can’t even turn over without coughing up buckets of blood.

No, think positive, O’Neill. You will get Aleiza back to the village, you will find your team, you will get through the Stargate and back to the SGC so Doc Fraiser can do her little Napoleonic power mongering thing, you will run for President of the United States and win, you will find out that you’re really Superman, you will defeat the Goa’uld with your super powers.

Well hell, if I’m gonna be a positive thinker, I might as well go for the big time, right?

Okay, it’s time to stop thinking and start moving. That is not a pleasant prospect considering what happened to me last time I moved, with things shifting around in my chest, but if I don’t move I’m going to quietly die here, and that’s not real pleasant to think about either.

So I move.

I have to move.

I prop myself up on my left arm and screw my eyes shut and try not to scream, knowing that if I do I’ll probably attract some of the Raiders In Red who are still hanging around. There’s an added problem: I’ll have to be extra careful about avoiding the lingering destroyers, and in my current state I’m not sure I could avoid my grandmother, who’s been dead for twenty years. Although I would imagine ghosts are hard to avoid.

Rambling again, O’Neill. Shut up and move. Shut up and drive. Wish I had a car. Yeah, it would do a lot of good without any roads to drive it on.

Move!

Push myself up to my knees; nothing wrong with my legs, nothing more than usual anyway, thank God for that. Aleiza’s beside me, dark eyes wide and concerned; I think she wants to help but she’s too scared to touch me. Probably a good thing, too; even the lightest touch hurts like crazy right now and I don’t think a fragile four-year-old would be a lot of help.

By the time I finally do manage to get to my feet, I feel like I’m going to pass out again; my head is killing me, I’m coughing up blood again, and my right arm hangs limply at my side, totally and completely useless. And I have to move.

One step. Two steps. Three steps. Keep walking, O’Neill, through the clearing to the path, to the first turn, to the second turn. One foot in front of the other. Who knew walking could be so hard? Most people do it every day of their lives, take it for granted constantly, the ability to effortlessly put one foot in front of the other over and over and over again to get wherever they want to go.

I don’t think I’ll be taking it for granted any time soon.

God, it hurts, it hurts, but I can’t stop, I have to keep going - for Aleiza, for my team, but probably mostly for Aleiza. My team’s okay, unharmed, could probably make it back to the SGC without me; Aleiza’s a different story. If I die out here that kid will probably die with me one way or the other.

I have to get her to safety, and then I can collapse or die or whatever the situation calls for. After I’ve made sure she’s safe.

Step. Step. Step. Stop for a moment, cough, pain-wracked, leaving a dark red stain all over the grass and dirt. My head’s still bleeding, the small drips coming off my chin adding to the damning evidence of the fact that I’m dying on my feet.

It has to stay that way. On my feet. Can’t fall down, sit down or just plain collapse and die on the spot.

The village is closer than I thought.

It’s pure luck that we don’t run into any of the Raiders In Red before we reach the village; maybe Somebody is trying to make up for the fact that I had such crappy luck in the first place. Now all I have to do is figure out where north is. Hopefully my compass will actually tell me where north is on this planet. Although Daniel must have been going by his compass, so north to him will be north to me too.

North. North is that direction, toward the big trees draped in blossoming vines, around the outskirts of the village. You can do this, O’Neill. Aleiza’s got my hand now, willing me to keep going, staring up at me with her big, scared eyes. She’s brave for a four-year-old; some of them would have panicked, blubbering and crying. Aleiza’s obviously terrified out of her wits but she has hardly made a sound.

No wonder we didn’t see any smoke. The village wasn’t set on fire. Maybe the raiders like to keep the houses for themselves; who knows? I get just a glimpse of what’s happened to most of Aleiza’s people, and it’s enough. I pray to God she didn’t see it, but I don’t think she was tall enough to. I make sure to keep enough trees and brush between the village and us to block Aleiza’s view. She doesn’t need to have to live with that for the rest of her life.

North. Into the woods. They can’t be much farther. God, don’t let them be much farther, because I’m going to fall. They have to be here. They have to be here. I tried my radio when we reached the village and it didn’t work. That can’t mean they’ve been captured or worse. It can’t. They’re here. They have to be.

They are.

They’re hiding back in the underbrush, behind a wall of vines with pink flowers, and Teal’c is the first out toward me, Carter following close behind him. I’m swaying on my feet but I don’t think they realize the severity of my injuries until I start coughing. Teal’c gently supports me by putting his hand on my left shoulder and they help me make it the last few steps behind the vines.

Daniel’s there, not entirely as all right as he had said, with one arm bandaged and bloody, but I can see even through blurring eyes that it’s not serious. He’s talking to me, but his voice sounds a million miles away. I’m fading, but it’s okay; Carter’s hugging Aleiza, and she’ll take care of her.

Everything fades out, and when it comes back into focus, I hear the familiar thunk of the DHD, the satisfying “whoosh” as the wormhole is established. I’m lying on my back on a makeshift stretcher and everything hurts like hell, but I’m going home. Carter’s holding Aleiza; she’s coming with us.

I’m safe. She’s safe. I don’t have to walk any more; I can stop moving.

We’re going home.