mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,
mockturtle
hellblazer06

more snafu PG


I know I'm posting this early but I'm not in tomorrow and I thought what the hey. Mother wants to go to some flower show and I am required to accompany her. I suspect I am there merely in a baggage carrying capacity or perhaps this is her attempt to make up for the loss of my garden, either way I'm morally obliged to go, hence tomorrow's post today. I'll probably post my review of SG on Monday, as I plan (plan being the operative word here) to spend my weekend re-aquainting myself with bad jungle films, all in the name of research.


  • Memorable TV
  • Stargate database

  • I Spy episode guide
  • Clockstoppers
  • Rocket Scientists Find a Rocket
  • Real-life Beverly Hillbillies project has Southern folks bubblin' mad
  • Indians making gains with games, but still are Washington's poorest race

  • War led to demise of Mayans

  • White Man's Burden
  • Aussie heartthrob takes to the dunes

  • City sees a star in the knight

  • Another bit of Stargate: Wild Boys, just for my FC friend. Make it last cause I'm up to that big blank stretch I mentioned. This part owes a great deal to the I Spy episode "A Day Called 4 Jaguar", for obvious reasons. Rated PG due to some adult themes but little else.


      Of all the boneheaded...Jack muttered to himself internally as the natives pushed
      him along the path, if you wanted to call this crawl hole through the jungle a
      path. This was the worst case scenario he'd always had festering up in the back
      of his mind. It wasn't the only one, and there were probably worse worst case
      scenarios that he could think of, if he really tried, but this was getting about
      as bad as he ever wanted it to get. They were stranded, in the captivity of hostiles
      and Daniel was very seriously injured. Jack had seen men killed from less and
      if Daniel didn't get proper medical treatment and soon he was going to die, if
      it wasn't already too late.

      The stupid little bastard. If he'd only listened to Jack and not gone storming
      off like some jilted teenager. Jack had always worried about Daniel walking
      off the edge of a cliff somewhere. He didn't think it was possible to be as
      situationally unaware as Daniel was and to still be alive, but somehow Daniel
      had managed it - up until today in any case. For Daniel, it was all about discovery.
      Watching where he put his feet, well, that was Jack's job.


      Ah, there was the kick, the first sharp pang of guilt. Because Jack had fucked
      up today. He'd fucked up badly. He'd been so mad at Daniel he hadn't been watching.
      He'd taken his eyes off the ball for a moment and now look, they were in shit
      up to their eyeballs. This is why they have those regulations, he reminded himself
      again, bitterly. If he hadn't been having what could only be described as a
      lover's tiff with Daniel then none of this would have happened. Daniel would
      have never have dared to walk away from Jack like that...though, he was talking
      about Daniel here. Maybe whether or not he'd been sleeping with Daniel had no
      bearing on how well Daniel could follow his orders. In fact, sometimes, he'd
      thought it had given him a certain amount of leverage over Daniel in the past.
      A kind of 'do this for me now and I'll make it up to you later' unspoken agreement
      between them that he just couldn't pull off with anyone else.


      It didn't matter anyway, what was done was done. If he managed to survive this
      and had to answer formally for the supreme cockup that was this mission, it
      would probably all come out: the fact that he and Daniel had been at odds lately,
      then he'd be under oath to explain why...


      Oh yeah, he could just see General Hammond's face turning ever deepening shades
      of magenta as the truth came out, out being the operative word here.


      Fuck it, Daniel. Why couldn't the little shit just keep it in the bedroom like
      it was supposed to be?


      No more than Jack could pretend he wasn't frantic with worry over Daniel, much
      more than he should be, he supposed. Fuck, if that little bastard with the spear
      behind him jabbed him forward with it one more time he was going to...do nothing
      because it'd get them both killed and he needed to see how this was going to
      play out. There was a chance, just a chance, that one of them could get out
      of this alive.




      After a long forced march through the jungle they'd come to a hacked out clearing
      and inside the clearing was a fort. Well, to Jack it looked for all the world
      like an old west fort, only circular, rather than square. The party was hustled
      inside and the large gates closed ominously behind them, which Jack did not
      like, not one bit. It meant there was something that obviously needed to be
      kept out, or in. Daniel was vanished into one daub hut amongst a throng of chattering
      spectators. Jack was dragged off, struggling against his captors, to another
      structure on the other side of the compound.


      They threw him the hut and barred the door with a large stone, seemingly hewn
      especially for the purpose, and all the screaming and pounding did nothing except
      make his throat burn and his fists sore. For a building constructed almost entirely
      of mud and dried vegetation, the stupid little hut was a surprisingly sturdy
      prison, and of course the thieving little bastards had already souvenired his
      knife and his P-90 and the rest of his gear so he was down to his finger nails
      and harsh language. He felt about the dark interior but it was entirely empty,
      not so much as a stick to dig with.


      "Daniel!"


      He heard the screaming come again from the other end of the compound, real
      gutteral screaming. They were hurting him, and badly, the little fuckers.


      "Daniel!" He pounded at the door again but it was no use. He sank
      down in the darkness and eventually the village grew quiet and Daniel wasn't
      screaming any more. Jack huddled up, resting his forehead on his knees, exhausted,
      knowing the sort of shape Daniel had been in before they'd gotten their filthy
      little hands on him. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried not to think
      about it.




      He'd lost track of the time, sitting here in the dark. He guessed maybe two
      days had passed, but that was only a rough estimate. He usually had a pretty
      good internal clock, but that was set to earth time, and he couldn't remember
      how long the days and nights lasted here for the life of him. All he knew was
      that he was tired, he was hungry and he was very much fed up with the whole
      situation. Stuck here in the dark, sitting on a dirt floor, it reminded him
      of past times, times he didn't want to dwell on, but the memories would surge
      up, a muscle memory of being tired and sore and kept in the dark like this and
      he hated it and he couldn't make the memories go away. It even smelt and sounded
      the same: sweaty bodies moving outside, stinking smoke from cooking fires, the
      sudden bursts of laughter.


      The heavy stone which guarded the doorway was dragged aside and under spearpoint
      a bowl of...something was pushed towards him. Jack took the bowl and nodded
      to his captors as they watched. He sniffed it experimentally. Okay, shouldn't
      have done that. It turned his achingly empty stomach. He dipped a finger in
      and tasted it. He wondered if it was poisoned or safe to eat, but then he decided
      he was too hungry to care. They were human and it seemed to have been scooped
      out of a communal pot, so how bad could it be? He smeared a portion onto his
      fingers and licked at it. Meat, there was meat in this grey-brown glop. For
      one hideous moment he thought it might be Daniel.


      He dug out a scrap of meat from the glutinous stew, glaring at it suspiciously.
      He sniffed at it, he prodded at it and then, under the amused supervision of
      his captors, he touched his tongue to it. It didn't taste like Daniel. Not that
      he knew what Daniel tasted like, well, he did, but not like this and he was
      pretty sure Daniel didn't taste like week old chicken or if he did it was horribly
      ironic.


      Deciding that keeping his strength up was the main priority now, he swallowed
      it, trying not to chew to prolong the flavour, and managed a twisted smile for
      his audience. They murmured amongst themselves and shut him in his adobe prison
      again.


      Jack settled down against the wall and shovelled his weird tasting dinner down
      as fast as it would go, wishing he had something to chase it down with. Daniel
      had taken him once, and only once, to an authentic Chinese restaurant. A little
      too authentic for Jack's American palate. Whatever he'd just eaten now tasted
      like something he'd accidentally eaten then. He had no idea. Daniel had ordered
      the entire meal in whatever local dialect the waiter had spoken and when Jack
      had asked him what the hell had been set before them on steaming plates Daniel
      had just smiled that smartarse smile of his and dared Jack to eat it, with only
      a twinkle in his eyes.


      Jack leant forward, willing his stomach to digest whatever shit he'd just shoved
      in it. Fuck, but he missed Daniel. He'd never realised before how just having
      Daniel nearby, just close enough to reach out and touch in the dark, made the
      worst kind of captivity bearable.


      There was a lot of noise outside. Feeding time at the zoo, he guessed. He hoped
      he wasn't next on the menu. The horrible image of the old witch fattening up
      Hansel and Gretel suddenly sprang into his mind. Man, had he really read Charlie
      such gruesome stuff as bedtime stories? No wonder the little tyke had always
      been crawling into their bed with nightmares.


      The sudden pang of loss hit him again and he really began to hate sitting here
      in the dark. There was nothing between him and his memories and he couldn't
      think of a damn one that wasn't a kick in the guts. He'd do anything for a safe,
      warm bed to crawl into himself right now.




      After a few days he started to receive visitors, or rather, they crept in, unable
      to help themselves. He was new and different, pale skinned and dressed oddly
      and curiosity got the better of his captors and they used any excuse to gather
      around and touch his skin and tug at his hair. Jack did his best to endure it,
      waiting for his moment, but for now he was watching. He was a long, long way
      from the gate and outnumbered by limber young men who knew the lay of the land
      much better than he did. And he still didn't know if Daniel was alive or dead.
      He tried asking them, but they just laughed at him, finding his speech funny,
      and his charades had them rolling in the aisles. They just gathered around him
      and fondled him like a favoured pet, playing with his dog tags, which they'd
      let him keep, turning them over and over until he got cranky one day and snatched
      them back. They left his tags well alone after that.


      It must have been well over a week, enough time for him to recognise most of
      his captors by sight. They’d suddenly flung back the stone and dragged
      him out blinking in the brilliant sunlight, amidst much chattering and pawing,
      and herded him over to a hut that occupied a prominent central position within
      the village. Jack didn’t like this at all and he resisted, so he was half
      thrown, half shoved through the narrow doorway to land in a sprawl on the dusty
      floor within.


      This apparently penitent position drew murmurs of approval and nodding from
      the elders Jack could smell sitting around him, and as his eyes adjusted to
      the dim light once again he found himself staring up into the bemused smile
      of one Dr Daniel Jackson.


      “Hey, Jack,” Daniel greeted him casually, as if they’d run
      into each other on the streets of Colorado Springs.


      “Daniel,” was all Jack could managed, stunned. He’d been
      so sure that he would never see Daniel alive again.


      Slowly the shock wore off and he flung himself forward, crushing Daniel in
      his arms. “Oh, god, you’re alive. I thought I’d lost you,”
      he breathed with raw emotion.


      Then Jack managed to recover himself and drew back, annoyance replacing joy.
      “I thought you were dead. Shouldn’t you be dead?”


      “They healed me, Jack. They have this medicine, made from some leaves
      like what we found on P3X-593 that they used, with a whole lot of ritual animalist
      shamanism thrown in. It stopped the bleeding, see?” He pulled up his shirt
      to reveal the puckering scar of the exit wound on his midriff.


      Jack nodded his approval at both the miracle drug, the healing wound and the
      midriff.


      “So while I’ve been imprisoned you’ve been visiting with
      the folks here,” Jack remarked and Daniel winced at the first sting of
      Jack’s sarcasm.


      “I didn’t know where you were, and I was quite insensible for several
      days as they poured some sort of raw opiate down my throat. Apparently my ravings
      in several languages really impressed them. That’s why they healed me.”


      “And why would that be?” Jack asked, losing track of Daniel’s
      thoughts again.


      "They think I'm a god, Jack." Daniel beamed up at him smugly. "Apparently
      there's a local legend about a bearded, white skinned, blue eyed god. Rather
      like Quetzalcoatl, though I can't find any trace of an Aztec influence in this
      culture..."


      Well, they certainly had the description down pat, Daniel was indeed sun bleached,
      pale skinned under his tan, bearded after nearly two weeks in the wilderness
      and as for the blue eyes, well, that went without saying. Few beings in the
      universe could resist those blue eyes boring into you, not even self professed
      gods.


      "That's very nice for you," Jack cut him off. "But you have
      seen 'The Man Who Would Be King', haven't you, Daniel?" Jack inquired,
      somewhat testily.


      Daniel’s eyes burned cold for a moment with that steely Teutonic temper
      of his that surfaced every so often. “I know, Jack, but I wasn’t
      in any state to dispute the point and I thought living the lie was better than
      dying. I’ve been trying to learn their languages and customs so I don’t
      make any mistakes. As far as I can tell, they believe I’m some sort of
      prophet or shaman of some importance because I travel with a bodyguard.”
      Daniel’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “That would be you.”


      “Bodyguard is it now?” Jack muttered sourly.


      “It’s considered a great honour. Only the best warriors would be
      chosen to protect a man of my knowledge. This is a pre-literate society, Jack.
      Everything known is by way of oral history and the keepers of that knowledge
      are as precious, more precious than food, warmth, shelter, anything. Do you
      understand, Jack?”


      “And you think you can fake it?”


      “Yes. I told them I’m a traveller, here to learn their ways and
      teach them mine.”


      ‘And they bought that?”


      Daniel nodded. “It’s only a slight twist of the truth,”


      “Except that whole godhood thing.”


      “Jack.”


      “Daniel.”


      They glared at each other, then melted into happiness at each other’s
      survival, realising they’d fallen into their usual bickering, the bitterness
      of the last few months now suddenly behind them.


      Daniel drank in Jack with his eyes and Jack gave him the smile that had melted
      many a heart.


      “Daniel,” he murmured again, relieved and comforted to find his
      friend alive, against all logic.


      Daniel proceeded to introduce Jack to the assembled elders and prized warriors,
      which was how they ended up being inducted into the tribe in this silly ritual
      of paint, smoke and drums. Jack was beginning to think he’d followed Daniel
      to some daft new age camp for really tragic middle aged white guys.




      They followed the procession lead by flickering flaming torch light down to
      the river, where, with much prompting, they were made to wade out to their waists
      in the cold muddy depths, then to have water vigorously splashed over them by
      overly enthusiastic assistants to their initiation.


      Jack squinted at Daniel in between suffering handfuls of water in the face.


      "Is this safe?"


      "You've had all your shots, right?" Daniel answered back, not the
      answer Jack wanted, and he grimaced.


      Then they were being dragged out and congratulated upon their dunking while
      being patted down with dry dirt.


      Jack nodded sourly, showing his consternation at this alarming aboriginal rite
      being inflicted upon his person. Daniel knew that look. Jack would make him
      pay for this for months, if not years.


      "Well, Daniel?"


      Daniel glanced about him, mustering his thoughts.


      "This probably means we've been welcomed to the tribe, blessed, or we've
      just gotten married."


      "Thanks."


      "Well, it is about time you made an honest man of me," Daniel continued
      in the same serious academic tones.


      Jack looked at him for a long second, then realised Daniel was yanking his
      chain.


      His eyes narrowed. Oh yeah, Daniel was going to pay for this one for a long,
      long while.


     

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