stargate fic: another beginning's end (1/3)
Title: Another Beginning's End
Rating: PG-13
Category: Sam/Jack, pre-series, A/U
Summary: How she had been captured didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the United States Air Force had ordered him to rescue one Samantha Carter, and that’s exactly what he planned to do.
A/N: I had the idea for this story years ago when I was writing "1991" but never really got around to putting it down on paper. The muse, however, would not leave me alone about it, and this is the end result.
Thanks to deltachild, rithmah and sammysam for the beta! And thanks to averita, kosmikdawg and jedimara77 for the nudges and encouragement!
"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." - Seneca
***
Jack O'Neill ducked into the nearest alleyway, using the cover of darkness to conceal himself in the shadowed corners. From his crouched position, he warily watched the two individuals who had been tailing him the last fifteen minutes, his body taut with tension.
Anxious minutes passed until their footfalls steadily faded away, leaving him listening only to the sound of his rapidly pounding heart. Once he was absolutely certain he was not being followed, he settled against the wall of the closest building, taking a moment to collect his wits.
During the last quarter of an hour, he had feared his cover had been blown and his mission shot to hell, over before it even truly began. Too many people were relying on him to prevail, the assignment too crucial to allow for any screw-ups.
Failure was simply unacceptable.
Sliding down the wall, he seated himself on the ground, digging through his pockets and retrieving a small flashlight and a wallet-sized photograph handed to him two days ago. Jack frowned at the image of the young woman clad in Air Force dress blues, whom he had been charged with finding.
They wouldn't tell him what mission she had been on, and it wasn't his place to ask. In his line of work, information was provided on a need-to-know basis, where details were kept to a minimum to protect sensitive secrets. It was right out of the old spy serials he used to watch as a kid, all cloak-and-daggery, top-secret, hush-hush kind of stuff.
Just the kind of the thing Jack was intimately familiar with as a Special Forces soldier.
The intel in this particular report had been scarce, and he had very few details about the person in the photo. He knew her team was gone, one of them killed when they were shot down over Iraqi airspace, the other two found dead in a warehouse outside Baghdad a couple of nights ago by a pair of Army Rangers.
She was all that remained, held captive in enemy hands.
Jack studied the picture intently, taking in the features of the youthful, smiling face. She looked like a child with those big blue eyes and dimpled cheeks, cute as a button. Hell, she was still a kid, he mused, noting the brightly polished single silver bars pinned on her service uniform. Despite being a lowly first lieutenant, she was important to someone somewhere in the brass and that was what had made the difference this time.
After all, it wasn't every day you had a two-star general personally requesting you do whatever was necessary to bring someone home safe and sound.
For the umpteenth time, he wondered how the hell she had been taken prisoner behind enemy lines at this point in the war, when victory was so close at hand. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Jack crammed the photo and the flashlight back into his pocket.
How she had been captured didn't matter.
All that mattered was that the United States Air Force had ordered him to rescue one Samantha Carter, and that's exactly what he planned to do.
Deciding it was time to get a move on, Jack climbed to his feet, cautiously taking a good look around before he continued deeper into the city. He had arranged to meet a trusted contact, a Saudi informant, who was well versed in the comings and goings of the Iraqi Republican Guard and was rumored to have vital intel on the missing lieutenant. Where and how he had come across the details, Jack wasn't sure, but the man hadn't let him down once yet and Jack wasn't about to start questioning his help now.
He casually entered a small, out-of-the-way café, pausing at the entrance to purchase a local newspaper before he wandered to a tiny table in the back. The place was practically deserted at this time of the night, many of the locals clearing the streets once the sun set and the attacks from the sky began. Although the aerial assaults had become few and far between two days ago as the ground offensive began in earnest, that didn't stop the people here from worrying any less about bombs raining down upon them.
"Anything of interest in the paper this evening, sadiq?"
The soft voice contrasted deeply with the heavy Middle Eastern accent. Jack slid the newspaper to the man who had slipped into the chair across from him, leaning back in his own chair.
"Ah, you know, just the usual. I was actually looking for some real estate. Know of any places nearby?"
The Saudi informant browsed through the pages of the newspaper, shaking his head.
"Alas, no, I cannot advise you on local properties."
He set the paper down on the table between them, taking a moment to sip his tea.
"I can, however, tell you that your search may be more worthwhile in the district of Al-Karkh on the western bank of the Tigris. I suspect you will find good fortune there, sadiq."
Jack reached for the newspaper, tucking it under his arm and inclining his head in gratitude as he rose from the table and exited the café. Only his training and years of experience stopped him from immediately tearing opening the newspaper outside the building. It wasn't until he was safely tucked inside an abandoned building ten blocks away that he laid the paper out on a rickety table, grinning.
Jackpot.
His informant had cleverly slipped a wealth of information between the pages of the newspaper: a highly detailed layout of a small warehouse in the Al-Karkh district, complete with guard counts, positions, and shift change times. There was also a satellite photo of the area, the building circled in red marker. He spent as much time as he dared studying the intel, committing to memory every detail, formulating plans and backups in case anything went wrong.
An hour later, Jack was staking out the warehouse, hardly daring to believe his luck. Three guards near the entrance, another on the roof. Security was indeed at a minimum. He idly wondered if the Iraqi military assumed no one would be stupid enough to attempt a rescue this deep into enemy territory even if a rescue party knew where Lieutenant Carter was being held.
Clearly, they had no idea how stupid Jack O'Neill could really be.
He edged closer, using the adjacent building for cover and keeping his eyes open for any surprises. Jack quickly located the side entrance his informant had pointed out on the layout, boarded up with rotting plywood and easily accessible. He was inside the building within a matter of minutes, swiftly searching for the missing officer.
The first and second rooms he explored yielded no trace of her. The third, however, no more than a closet, was occupied.
A sliver of moonlight breached the pitch black interior of the room, just enough light to reveal the silhouette of a slender figure lying on its side in the furthest corner. Jack stopped in his tracks as he crossed the threshold, his stomach tightening in revulsion as the odor of human waste and bile nearly made him sick. Steeling himself for the worst, Jack crept closer, fishing the small, red-lensed flashlight out of his pocket, his thoughts almost deafening in his head.
Please don't let her be dead.
Please don't let her be dead.
PLEASE DON'T LET HER BE DEAD.
Summoning all of his control, Jack shone the light on the figure, the beam catching the once brilliant mop of blonde hair on her head, now dull and dirty and flecked with granules of sand. She was blindfolded and gagged, her hands bound behind her back, a filthy, ragged blanket beneath her the only small comfort she had been allowed.
Jack squatted beside her and reached out, tentatively touching her arm, and all of a sudden the seemingly defeated figure jolted to life. The young woman twisted and kicked out, her heavy combat boot catching his bad knee. He fell forward with a groan, clutching his leg in pain, growling, "Dammit, Lieutenant Carter! What the hell was that for?"
Bracing herself for another kick, Carter stiffened upon hearing the distinct American accent, slowly lowering her leg back to the floor.
Figuring it was safe to approach without the risk of his knees - let alone any other sensitive part of his body - being assaulted by those boots, Jack carefully slid the blindfold off her face.
Carter blinked, her sight adjusting to what little light was present in the room, and as her eyes focused on the man crouching above her, he saw a flash of suspicion, her flight or fight instincts charging to the forefront once again. Jack immediately raised his hands, pulling out his dog tags, the metal glinting in the small amount of faint moonlight that penetrated the room.
Dressed in traditional Bedouin clothes, he probably wasn't what she expected her rescuer to look like. He grinned wryly.
"Sorry, Lieutenant. I know I must smell like a yak, but do you think I'd have made it this far if I smelled like regulation issued soap and shampoo? Can't exactly find those things out in the desert, you know."
He could have sworn he saw her eyes crinkle in amusement at his comment, her body relaxing somewhat. Taking that as a good sign, Jack removed the gag, frowning as he caught sight of a dark, wet stain on the fabric.
Blood.
Gritting his teeth, Jack tossed the rag aside. There wasn't anything he could do about that right now. Not until he got her the hell out of here.
Carter moaned quietly as he helped her sit up, remaining motionless as he freed her hands and explained the situation to her.
"There aren't many guards hanging around, but we're still going to have to move fast. We don't want them finding out you've decided on an early checkout from this place."
"The accommodations really suck, sir. I wouldn't recommend staying here," Carter murmured with a shake of her head.
Jack bit back a bark of laughter, pleasantly surprised by her sharp sense of humor and grateful it was intact. Leaning over, he slowly helped her climb to her feet, quickly slipping his arm around her waist as she wobbled precariously, her fingers scrabbling for any support as she blamed her unsteadiness on a spell of vertigo, claiming she would be fine. Jack wasn't fooled. He suspected far more serious injuries, but now wasn't the time to stand around and argue with her.
Making sure she was more or less steady on her feet, Jack picked up his satchel, digging through it for a dark thawb, very similar to the one he was wearing. He pulled the garment over her head, her torn flight suit now effectively out of sight beneath the ankle-length tunic.
"One more thing," Jack muttered as he retrieved a black head cloth from the satchel, fitting it on Carter's head, concealing her blonde locks. Once it was in place, he carefully examined her attire with his flashlight, making certain she wouldn't draw any unwanted attention on the streets of the city.
"Well, I don't think you'll be making the cover of any fashion magazines in these clothes, Carter, but in this case, I'd consider that a good thing," he quipped, shining the light near her face.
She looked up at him, giving him his first real glimpse of those eyes he had only seen in a photograph previously. Her face was dreadfully pale beneath the grime and dark bruises, a mere ghost of the young woman whose features he'd memorized when he had first been handed the mission file.
But those eyes hadn't changed one bit.
Large and brilliantly blue, they were like a beacon to him, brimming with life and intelligence beneath the pain. The crash and her subsequent captivity may have broken skin and bones, but they hadn't broken her spirit, and Jack was going to make damn sure that never happened as long as she was with him.
End part 1.
Continue to part 2.
Rating: PG-13
Category: Sam/Jack, pre-series, A/U
Summary: How she had been captured didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the United States Air Force had ordered him to rescue one Samantha Carter, and that’s exactly what he planned to do.
A/N: I had the idea for this story years ago when I was writing "1991" but never really got around to putting it down on paper. The muse, however, would not leave me alone about it, and this is the end result.
Thanks to deltachild, rithmah and sammysam for the beta! And thanks to averita, kosmikdawg and jedimara77 for the nudges and encouragement!
"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." - Seneca
***
Jack O'Neill ducked into the nearest alleyway, using the cover of darkness to conceal himself in the shadowed corners. From his crouched position, he warily watched the two individuals who had been tailing him the last fifteen minutes, his body taut with tension.
Anxious minutes passed until their footfalls steadily faded away, leaving him listening only to the sound of his rapidly pounding heart. Once he was absolutely certain he was not being followed, he settled against the wall of the closest building, taking a moment to collect his wits.
During the last quarter of an hour, he had feared his cover had been blown and his mission shot to hell, over before it even truly began. Too many people were relying on him to prevail, the assignment too crucial to allow for any screw-ups.
Failure was simply unacceptable.
Sliding down the wall, he seated himself on the ground, digging through his pockets and retrieving a small flashlight and a wallet-sized photograph handed to him two days ago. Jack frowned at the image of the young woman clad in Air Force dress blues, whom he had been charged with finding.
They wouldn't tell him what mission she had been on, and it wasn't his place to ask. In his line of work, information was provided on a need-to-know basis, where details were kept to a minimum to protect sensitive secrets. It was right out of the old spy serials he used to watch as a kid, all cloak-and-daggery, top-secret, hush-hush kind of stuff.
Just the kind of the thing Jack was intimately familiar with as a Special Forces soldier.
The intel in this particular report had been scarce, and he had very few details about the person in the photo. He knew her team was gone, one of them killed when they were shot down over Iraqi airspace, the other two found dead in a warehouse outside Baghdad a couple of nights ago by a pair of Army Rangers.
She was all that remained, held captive in enemy hands.
Jack studied the picture intently, taking in the features of the youthful, smiling face. She looked like a child with those big blue eyes and dimpled cheeks, cute as a button. Hell, she was still a kid, he mused, noting the brightly polished single silver bars pinned on her service uniform. Despite being a lowly first lieutenant, she was important to someone somewhere in the brass and that was what had made the difference this time.
After all, it wasn't every day you had a two-star general personally requesting you do whatever was necessary to bring someone home safe and sound.
For the umpteenth time, he wondered how the hell she had been taken prisoner behind enemy lines at this point in the war, when victory was so close at hand. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Jack crammed the photo and the flashlight back into his pocket.
How she had been captured didn't matter.
All that mattered was that the United States Air Force had ordered him to rescue one Samantha Carter, and that's exactly what he planned to do.
Deciding it was time to get a move on, Jack climbed to his feet, cautiously taking a good look around before he continued deeper into the city. He had arranged to meet a trusted contact, a Saudi informant, who was well versed in the comings and goings of the Iraqi Republican Guard and was rumored to have vital intel on the missing lieutenant. Where and how he had come across the details, Jack wasn't sure, but the man hadn't let him down once yet and Jack wasn't about to start questioning his help now.
He casually entered a small, out-of-the-way café, pausing at the entrance to purchase a local newspaper before he wandered to a tiny table in the back. The place was practically deserted at this time of the night, many of the locals clearing the streets once the sun set and the attacks from the sky began. Although the aerial assaults had become few and far between two days ago as the ground offensive began in earnest, that didn't stop the people here from worrying any less about bombs raining down upon them.
"Anything of interest in the paper this evening, sadiq?"
The soft voice contrasted deeply with the heavy Middle Eastern accent. Jack slid the newspaper to the man who had slipped into the chair across from him, leaning back in his own chair.
"Ah, you know, just the usual. I was actually looking for some real estate. Know of any places nearby?"
The Saudi informant browsed through the pages of the newspaper, shaking his head.
"Alas, no, I cannot advise you on local properties."
He set the paper down on the table between them, taking a moment to sip his tea.
"I can, however, tell you that your search may be more worthwhile in the district of Al-Karkh on the western bank of the Tigris. I suspect you will find good fortune there, sadiq."
Jack reached for the newspaper, tucking it under his arm and inclining his head in gratitude as he rose from the table and exited the café. Only his training and years of experience stopped him from immediately tearing opening the newspaper outside the building. It wasn't until he was safely tucked inside an abandoned building ten blocks away that he laid the paper out on a rickety table, grinning.
Jackpot.
His informant had cleverly slipped a wealth of information between the pages of the newspaper: a highly detailed layout of a small warehouse in the Al-Karkh district, complete with guard counts, positions, and shift change times. There was also a satellite photo of the area, the building circled in red marker. He spent as much time as he dared studying the intel, committing to memory every detail, formulating plans and backups in case anything went wrong.
An hour later, Jack was staking out the warehouse, hardly daring to believe his luck. Three guards near the entrance, another on the roof. Security was indeed at a minimum. He idly wondered if the Iraqi military assumed no one would be stupid enough to attempt a rescue this deep into enemy territory even if a rescue party knew where Lieutenant Carter was being held.
Clearly, they had no idea how stupid Jack O'Neill could really be.
He edged closer, using the adjacent building for cover and keeping his eyes open for any surprises. Jack quickly located the side entrance his informant had pointed out on the layout, boarded up with rotting plywood and easily accessible. He was inside the building within a matter of minutes, swiftly searching for the missing officer.
The first and second rooms he explored yielded no trace of her. The third, however, no more than a closet, was occupied.
A sliver of moonlight breached the pitch black interior of the room, just enough light to reveal the silhouette of a slender figure lying on its side in the furthest corner. Jack stopped in his tracks as he crossed the threshold, his stomach tightening in revulsion as the odor of human waste and bile nearly made him sick. Steeling himself for the worst, Jack crept closer, fishing the small, red-lensed flashlight out of his pocket, his thoughts almost deafening in his head.
Please don't let her be dead.
Please don't let her be dead.
PLEASE DON'T LET HER BE DEAD.
Summoning all of his control, Jack shone the light on the figure, the beam catching the once brilliant mop of blonde hair on her head, now dull and dirty and flecked with granules of sand. She was blindfolded and gagged, her hands bound behind her back, a filthy, ragged blanket beneath her the only small comfort she had been allowed.
Jack squatted beside her and reached out, tentatively touching her arm, and all of a sudden the seemingly defeated figure jolted to life. The young woman twisted and kicked out, her heavy combat boot catching his bad knee. He fell forward with a groan, clutching his leg in pain, growling, "Dammit, Lieutenant Carter! What the hell was that for?"
Bracing herself for another kick, Carter stiffened upon hearing the distinct American accent, slowly lowering her leg back to the floor.
Figuring it was safe to approach without the risk of his knees - let alone any other sensitive part of his body - being assaulted by those boots, Jack carefully slid the blindfold off her face.
Carter blinked, her sight adjusting to what little light was present in the room, and as her eyes focused on the man crouching above her, he saw a flash of suspicion, her flight or fight instincts charging to the forefront once again. Jack immediately raised his hands, pulling out his dog tags, the metal glinting in the small amount of faint moonlight that penetrated the room.
Dressed in traditional Bedouin clothes, he probably wasn't what she expected her rescuer to look like. He grinned wryly.
"Sorry, Lieutenant. I know I must smell like a yak, but do you think I'd have made it this far if I smelled like regulation issued soap and shampoo? Can't exactly find those things out in the desert, you know."
He could have sworn he saw her eyes crinkle in amusement at his comment, her body relaxing somewhat. Taking that as a good sign, Jack removed the gag, frowning as he caught sight of a dark, wet stain on the fabric.
Blood.
Gritting his teeth, Jack tossed the rag aside. There wasn't anything he could do about that right now. Not until he got her the hell out of here.
Carter moaned quietly as he helped her sit up, remaining motionless as he freed her hands and explained the situation to her.
"There aren't many guards hanging around, but we're still going to have to move fast. We don't want them finding out you've decided on an early checkout from this place."
"The accommodations really suck, sir. I wouldn't recommend staying here," Carter murmured with a shake of her head.
Jack bit back a bark of laughter, pleasantly surprised by her sharp sense of humor and grateful it was intact. Leaning over, he slowly helped her climb to her feet, quickly slipping his arm around her waist as she wobbled precariously, her fingers scrabbling for any support as she blamed her unsteadiness on a spell of vertigo, claiming she would be fine. Jack wasn't fooled. He suspected far more serious injuries, but now wasn't the time to stand around and argue with her.
Making sure she was more or less steady on her feet, Jack picked up his satchel, digging through it for a dark thawb, very similar to the one he was wearing. He pulled the garment over her head, her torn flight suit now effectively out of sight beneath the ankle-length tunic.
"One more thing," Jack muttered as he retrieved a black head cloth from the satchel, fitting it on Carter's head, concealing her blonde locks. Once it was in place, he carefully examined her attire with his flashlight, making certain she wouldn't draw any unwanted attention on the streets of the city.
"Well, I don't think you'll be making the cover of any fashion magazines in these clothes, Carter, but in this case, I'd consider that a good thing," he quipped, shining the light near her face.
She looked up at him, giving him his first real glimpse of those eyes he had only seen in a photograph previously. Her face was dreadfully pale beneath the grime and dark bruises, a mere ghost of the young woman whose features he'd memorized when he had first been handed the mission file.
But those eyes hadn't changed one bit.
Large and brilliantly blue, they were like a beacon to him, brimming with life and intelligence beneath the pain. The crash and her subsequent captivity may have broken skin and bones, but they hadn't broken her spirit, and Jack was going to make damn sure that never happened as long as she was with him.
End part 1.
Continue to part 2.