Title: Wild Boys
Series: Stargate SG-1
Part: 2/2 - Sequel to SANFU
E-mail address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Category: Slash Angst Action/Adventure Hurt/Comfort
Date: September 2001 -
Disclaimers: Don't own these characters, MGM, Showtime and the rest do. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.
Warnings: may contain slash, H/C, violence, m/m hanky panky, sex scenes, drug use, nudity, coarse language, horror, dodgy research, adult themes, general silliness, etc.
Spoilers: Season Three
Summary: Jack and Daniel go native.
Notes: Apologies to Edgar Rice Burroughs and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle at this point.
In the first light of morning Jack rolled over, feeling all lazy and satisfied, but Daniel wasn't beside him. He sat up, but before he could work on a really good panic Daniel had ducked back inside their little shack.
"Breakfast," Daniel grinned, offering Jack some luridly bright red and spiny fruit.
Jack bounced the fruit in his hand, not really convinced. It looked more fauna than flora.
Daniel grinned that smug anthropologists grin of his.
"You peel it. It's safe. Get one too green and you might get the runs, but that's it. You can't live on MRE rations forever."
Daniel was right. Jack reached by instinct for his knife, but, realising again it had been taken, he had to crack open the tough leathery skin with his teeth and peeled the fruit, swallowing the jelly like pulp inside, then spitting out the marble sized seed. It was sweet, if bland. He nodded at Daniel: not bad.
“Any chance of them giving us back our weapons?” Jack started again, stepping immediately back into their conversation of yesterday. “Because, you know…”
Daniel was rummaging about in his lordly shack, holding up one hand in a futile gesture for Jack to pause in his insults and demands for just a moment until - aha!
Daniel turned and proudly presented Jack with an odd shaped leather sack, which Jack took, looking none to happy about it, and carefully tipped the contents onto the ground. There were their MP-5s, their ammunition, the rest of their kit and their radios. Jack's knife was still missing but if he'd purloined a knife that good he wouldn't have been giving it back, either.
Jack snatched up one of the radios, with a brief glare at Daniel for waiting so long to hand them over, trying to get a signal, static, anything. He shook it and drops of dirty water scattered on the bare earth floor.
"Daniel?" he began, voice rising.
"Uh, that might not work - they ritually purified everything before returning it." Daniel cringed slightly.
"They realise it was wrong to touch the weapons of a great warrior," Daniel began. "They felt the need to ritually purify the objects before returning them. It was a courtesy thing, they didn't know any better, Jack." Daniel pleaded hastily.
Jack scowled. "Great."
"Mine doesn't work either, I tried it before," he added.
Daniel waited, still cringing for the inevitable sharp-tongued rebuke, but none was forthcoming, which didn't bode well. That meant Jack was really livid, beyond insults livid.
Annoying Jack by insisting that he participate in the local customs, that was a given, but losing the radios, Daniel knew Jack had every right to be furious with him. Too late the deed and been done and the radios had been retuned to him, still damp and smoking from their blessing.
"They should waterproof the radios, I don't see why they don't."
Daniel put their dilemma solely back on the shoulders of the USAF and their shoddy equipment. What were they doing, sending them off to distant planets with things less sturdy than a cheap child's walkie talkie made in some factory in China. Probably made in the very same factory, Daniel mused, but he kept such musings to himself. Jack didn't suffer Daniel's little swipes at the military with the same grace that Daniel endured all of Jack's rants about insular academic life. If Jack only knew. Taking on a Goa'uld or three was nothing compared to trying to get tenure.
Jack had sat down in a huff and got on with the business of stripping and cleaning the weapons, counting and checking their ammunition and securing it away. Hopefully securing it beyond the reach of curious little fingers, because he knew he couldn't go walking through the village with a couple of grenades dangling from his belt. That'd be one game of catch they'd never forget.
“I’ve been trying for days and I haven't been able to raise the gate," Daniel continued, trying to soften the blow.
That caught Jack's attention. He gave Daniel a direct look and Daniel shook his head. No, not one signal.
Daniel could tell from the determined way Jack was lacing up his boots that some plan was hatching in that military mind of his.
Jack didn't even bother looking up.
"I don't like it, I want to check it out. The MALP should still be at the gate. I'll use that to contact Hammond."
"Jack, the Gate's a long way away from here."
"I know. You saying I can't make it?"
"I'm saying you don't know the lay of the land."
"I paid attention."
"Jack," Daniel was serious. Okay, what wasn't Daniel telling him.
"It's a three day walk, at best. We don't know what sort of booby traps or other possibly hostile people are out there, not to mention the local flora and fauna."
"Daniel, I've done this sort of thing before."
"On Earth, not here.”
Jack shrugged. Whatever. Jack continued stubbornly checking and re-checking his equipment, shaking out the GDO.
"Then promise me you'll take a guide with you," Daniel insisted, realising that arguing against Jack going at all would be pointless. "They know the way much better than you," Daniel tried to reason. “They'll send their best with you, if I ask for it. I know you want to do it on your own but the mission is to get to the Gate and it'll be quicker and safer if you take a guide."
Jack stopped getting himself ready. Damn if Daniel wasn't right, for once. The quickest, safest option was the better option. He figured he could ditch his tail anyway once he got clear of the camp, if he needed to.
"You'll be alright here?" Jack asked of Daniel, not wanting to leave him with complete strangers but unable to take Daniel with him - Daniel was still healing. "You'll keep up the Montezuma's revenge routine, right?"
"Quezecotl," Daniel corrected primly. “He was an Aztec god.”
Jack nodded. Whatever.
"That big stone head we saw, that was Aztec too, right?"
"What's the difference?"
“Well, one's in Belize and the other's in Mexico. Though you're right, we could be looking at one regional Goa'uld, represented differently in neighbouring cultures. It's not unheard of. But these people aren't Aztecs or Olmecs, they're much more primitive - a stone age culture."
"Maybe we're just in the boonies," Jack grinned.
"Maybe," Daniel agreed.
"You trust them?" Jack asked, still happily paranoid.
"With my life," Daniel answered, pointedly, giving Jack the old big blue eyes again. He was trusting Jack’s life to them, now, too. "Besides, it'll look better if you ask for a guide than if you just sneak out. I'll tell them you need to go commune with our chief beyond the stars, or something like that. It's the truth anyway, as much as they'd understand."
"Don't underestimate them, Daniel. They might be cute and primitive now, but somebody made all those carvings. You said it yourself, there was an active Pre-Columbian civilisation here, once. Whether they upped stakes and left or just let themselves go, that's for you to decide. Just be careful while I'm gone, okay?"
Daniel nodded, not at all wanting Jack to be gone so quickly, but he knew Jack couldn't sit around and wait, he needed to get back to the Gate, and not even his reunion with Daniel was going to stand in the way of his mission.
Jack saw that pout and stepped up to give Daniel one quick but searing kiss on the mouth, grabbing him tight, before letting him go, watching Daniel watch him, all dark eyed and flushed. Damn, he loved him like that. Just like that.
"That's until I get back," Jack winked at him. "Now, go and get me that guide of yours. We're on the clock here - Hammond's probably hocked our stuff already."
Daniel grinned, remembering the last occasion, though it had been far from amusing at the time, and toddled out into the bright afternoon sunshine. Jack watched him go, seeing how Daniel was still heavily favouring his left side, and who could blame him. No, Daniel was definitely staying here. He was still technically walking wounded, and he'd only slow Jack down.
Jack hefted his pack. It was still a little soggy and stinky, but it'd do. His hand went to his belt, checking his personal armoury one more time. He really missed his knife. Maybe Daniel could get that back for him, too. Put those blue eyes to some use other than just making him hard and horny all the time.
Jack didn't wave or smile: he wasn't that big on goodbyes. He just hefted his pack again, checked his sidearm and started walking, though he could still feel Daniel watching him from the doorway of the little VIP hut, like they were in some weird fusion of some civil war movie and the Flintstones. His guides, all young warriors armed only with spears, shepherded him forward through the chattering village, smiling and waving and calling out to friends and relatives as they passed, but everything was pretty much business as usual. The old men were lying about in the shade chewing what Daniel had discovered was the local version of khat, a mild narcotic. Daniel chewed it in the evenings to help him sleep, so Jack knew Daniel's wound must still be troubling him, more than he said. At least it was better than betel nut which had left Daniel's mouth stained dark red like he'd just eaten raspberry icecream. Not an attractive look, to Jack's mind.
The children of the village were scampering about playing warriors and magicians. The women were sitting around gossiping, either plaiting long dried grasses, grinding some local palm nuts into a coarse flour or butchering the remains of a carcass of the largest animal Jack had ever seen, hanging up the strips of glistening flesh to dry in the sun. Again the Flintstones flashed into Jack's mind because he was looking at the biggest rack of ribs the size of Jack didn't want to know what. Jack's hand automatically fingered his MP-5 again. He had his rifle, his sidearm, a couple of grenades and his knife.
No doubt at Daniel's discrete prompting his knife had been found and duly returned with an understanding that no warrior of Jack's stature liked to be without his prized weapon, and Jack must surely be a great warrior to possess such a knife. Jack was fast learning a serious respect for their indigenous knives of chipped stone, though. He'd cut himself quite deeply trying to shave with a small flat spearpoint and he knew it was going to leave a scar. Daniel had joked that Jack had been lucky the spear point hadn't been dipped in frog poison. Then he'd realised Daniel hadn't been joking.
The large woodbeamed gates that barred the way to the village swung open, somewhat ominously, and now Jack couldn't get King Kong out of his head, and with the gates swinging shut behind them with a sense of finality that dropped like a stone in his stomach, the small party set off, Jack following the lead of his young guides.
Daniel had explained the reason for Jack's journey and the chiefs had known exactly where they wanted to go, and they'd been impressed, for both Jack and Daniel claimed to be able to speak to the gods through the stone, and the chiefs weren't about to dispute that claim. Just the weapons Jack carried were proof enough of their fantastic tales and origins.
The breathless heat of the jungle surrounded the little party almost instantly, so thickly humid and rank with rotting vegetation that Jack had to choke for air, almost wishing he had gills. Sweat just rolled down his face and into his eyes and Jack was instantly glad of the thick sticky mud paint that Daniel had smeared all over him because it kept off most of the mosquitos that buzzed around him like a thick grey cloud. He seemed to attract every critter that could bite or sting in miles but they could only get him where his sweat had trickled tracks through the paint so Jack found himself constantly pausing for a touch up as he went. Give him a compact to check himself as he did so and he'd be all set. Just as well Carter couldn't see him now.
It was dark, down there under the tree canopy, all the light filtered into green up above and browns down below. The ground where they walked was a spongy humus of dead leaves and bark and everywhere there were trees and ferns and vines of all description climbing over each other to get up into the light. In the undergrowth and out of sight things rustled and snuffled and shuffled and just occasionally crashed and scattered but so long as the locals weren't worried, Jack resolved not to be either. Sometimes something stirred or bubbled or slid and plopped in the muddy swamp waters that lead down into the river, but Jack resolved not to let that bother him as well.
By Jack's estimation, it was nearly a four day walk to the gate. With these guys, it'd probably take less than two. He didn't know which way they were going, but he was hoping it was the quick way. He was itching to get back, to get in contact and tell somebody they were still alive.
The jungle thinned a little and Jack guessed they must be passing close by to where Daniel had found that big stone Jaffa head and sure enough after about 600 or so metres there it was, and damn if it still didn't look like Teal'c in stonewall mode. They skirted around it and Daniel's hole in the ground and Jack still wondered what that pit had been for. Hunting for lions and tigers and bears and he didn't want to know what else, he supposed.
A little further on and their paths diverged from the one Jack had followed in, and he assumed they were taking him on the more direct route, not just blundering about in the jungle like he had been.
This path led them gingerly around a large stinking brown pond surrounded by the biggest, reddest mother fucker plants Jack had ever seen. They looked like some sort of lily, only they were the size of one of those little electric cars and the colour of raw meat, and the smell, dear god, the smell, like very ripe garbage, rotting under the sun, with a few dozen fish heads thrown in. Carter would just love one of those on Valentines day. He grinned at the thought and edged closer, admiring the deep red and magenta hues that softened into orange and pink at the very edge of the curved lip of the thick waxy petals.
Jack took another step closer and his guide suddenly jabbered in alarm, pulling him well back from the plant's edge, at the same time tossing a nearby fallen branch into the heart of the flower which promptly snapped shut on the branch, waggling tentacle like vines as it chowed down on what it had hoped was dumbarse USAF Colonel, but was in fact only rotting vegetation, possibly with a few more IQ points.
Jack stepped back with an exclamation of "whoa!" and reminded himself that he was still in wonderland and that even the plants had attitude. He should have known better - he'd brushed up against enough stinging trees in his time. Jack pulled away from the reeking pond and marched on, not wanting to be around for Audrey's second course. Shit, what a monster. Man eating plants, for the girl who has everything. He was not going to tell Daniel about those, because Daniel would want to see and that was begging for disaster.
Some savage little Eden he had here, when even the plants wanted to eat you.
The path from the stinking pond led down to a swift flowing river and Jack didn’t want to know what lived in there, but his little guides were pressing him forward and to his horror Jack saw that they intended to put him into a tiny little wooden kayak and tow him out into that current. No way, but Jack found he didn’t have any choice in the matter.
Jack's guides took to the river with unnatural ease. In three man dugout canoes they glided down the river at a surprising speed, surprisingly because the tribesman barely seemed to dip their paddles in the water and they paddled at a relaxed pace, with none of the frantic churning Jack was used to when he took to the water in a rubber dinghy. Jack hated them. They were all sleek and young and brown and not even raising a sweat, either from the heat, the humidity or the effort of paddling down the river. The smug bastards. Jack was both sweating and frying under the hot tropical sun, his tattered olive drab shirt hanging open and the decorative tribal paint underneath not enough to protect him from burning or being bitten to pieces by every insect in a ten kilometre radius who'd obviously not tasted a white man in a long, long while.
Jack's brain had long since fried and his muscles had fallen into the rhythm of guiding the canoe through the water so he was asleep at the wheel and probably missed the first stirrings of ease amongst his companions. As the tension ratcheted up a notch, Jack's instincts suddenly kicked back in and he was aware of everyone scanning the leeward shore. Squinting, he was sure he saw movement flitting between the trees.
He was easing his sidearm from its holster when the first arrow struck the side of the canoe. Only it wasn't an arrow. It was a long thin reedlike needle with a tuft of striped downy feathers stuck on the end. They weren't firing arrows, they were blowing darts at them, and Jack knew it was a good bet they were poisoned darts.
Just to prove his point one of the darts struck one of the guys ahead and he screamed and reared back, eyes already rolling up into his head.
Fuck this. Ducking down, Jack paddled like a madman, digging deep into the water and herding the other canoes onto the shore with him. They scrambled up the muddy bank, another boy catching one in the back and going down screaming, the darts landing too thick and fast for Jack to risk going back for him. They just ducked down in the scrub and tried to make a break for the treeline, just a metre away but nothing had seemed so far to Jack in a long while. Through the mazes of thick buttress roots and dangling vines Jack thought he spied a cave or an overhang in the rock. Shelter was shelter and, head down, he made a dash for it.
Jack ran into the cave, turning around to see if he'd been followed, but he hadn't. Not even the friendlies, the young men from his adopted tribe, had followed him into the cave. Jack was about to walk out there and ask them what was so damn appealing about getting a blow dart shot up your arse when he brushed against a trailing root hanging down from the mouth of the cave. He tried to pull it away but it was sticky and fibrous and it clung to him like superglue and it resisted his attempts to saw himself free, making his knife feel like it was one of those little plastic knives that weren't even up to the job of spreading butter.
"Uh, guys, a little help here," he asked, and as they all stared at him in horror, to a one, he heard something stirring above him. A dry rasping sound like the scratch of a plastic toothed comb against stone. Oh. Crap.
Jack peered up into the darkness. He couldn't see a damn thing but he sure
as hell felt it. The animal part of his brain sat up in fright, snapping all
the hairs on his body to attention, and only years of training kept him from
screaming like trapped monkey when the thing began to lurch and stir from the