. . . And Into the Fire
By Mickey

STORY STATUS: Completed 7/29/06

ARCHIVE PERMISSIONS: Ask first. I'll probably say yes.

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for fun and I sure as hell didn't get paid for writin' it. No copyright infringement intended.

WORD COUNT: 939


You know, this whole `kill the Tauri then bring him back again' thing is getting really old. Never really been too fond of blinding white lights.

I take it back. What I said about the sarcophagus, that is. It just isn't all it's cracked up to be.

How about we play `kill the sadistic son-of-a-bitch snake' instead. Or maybe `beat the shit out of a pair of nitwitted, blond, jarhead Jaffa'?

Or not.

Whoa. What's in the bottle? I have a very bad feeling I really don't want to know.

Crap

Acid? Burns like it. Must be. Can't be fire, no flames. Guess he got tired of the knives. I definitely didn't see this coming.

"The Telvac acid will take some time to burn through all the way. Though it cauterizes the flesh as it burns, very small amounts often finds its way into the blood and begins to spread."

Well, thanks for letting me know. That was information I really didn't need or want to hear. But, then again, that was the point, wasn't it? Mental torture, the fear and anticipation of what is to come, is almost always worse than the physical pain. The Iraqi's, and a few others, illustrated that point quite vividly to me. Baal has mastered that concept. He's mastered it as an art form, I'd say.

Pissed `em off royally when it didn't work. Much. They couldn't break me, and neither will you.

"Why have you returned here, Tok'ra?"

"I'm human." Man! Talk about dense. For creatures that claim to be so smart and all knowing, the Goa'uld aren't to bright. Hell, they make me look good even when I put on my best, I'm-just-the-dumb-colonel-pay-no-attention-to-me, act. Or, at least Bocce isn't. How many times do I have to tell him I am not a Tok'ra and I don't know anything about his slave?

It's only a little lie. I sure as hell ain't no damn Tok'ra, but I do know a little about why I'm here, well, the only thing I really know is the slaves name. I'm not telling that to mister nobody-told-me-goatees-where-so-last-year, though.

"I don't know and I don't care!" Actually, that's not entirely true either. As a whole, they're only maybe a notch or two above the Goa'uld, but there are one or two I don't mind. Jacob and Selmak immediately come to mind.

"I don't remember!"

I really don't remember his name. Don't want to either. He's probably already dead so any thoughts of revenge are moot.

"The Tok'ra retain the memory of both the host and the symbiote. You are O'Neill. What was the name of your symbiote?"

This guy just doesn't let up. I'll give the snakeheads one thing; they are a determined bunch of bastards and bastard. . . ettes. Can't forget the female ones. Wouldn't want them to feel left out.

Not to get off subject here, but there is smoke coming out of my chest. Kinda blows the whole `where there's smoke there's fire' theory right out of the water. Don'tcha think? Although, my chest does feel like it's on fire. Who would have thought a wound the size of a quarter could hurt so frigging much? And it just keeps getting deeper.

Keep on talking, Bouncy. You'll never get a damn thing out of me.

"I just told you." That had a suspiciously pleading tone to it. My mouth usually over rides my brain. That never really bothered me much before, but I'd do anything to muzzle it right now. Before I say something I'll regret.

"Why protect the one who betrayed you? Abandoned you to this."

"If I knew the name I'd give you the damn name. I don't care about protecting the Tok'ra." I put as much venom and hate into the one word as I can muster. Again, not entirely true, but I'm not really up to splitting hairs right now.

So.

Blah, blah, blah.

Like I care. Good for them.

More talking. He just doesn't get that I don't care.

"Don't!"

Was that a whimper? Did I just beg?

God. It. Hurts.

I can't stop myself. It comes out before I can stop it. "Kanan! That's a name. Kanan."

Damn it!

That son of a bitch took over my body, dragged me out of the Tok'ra base, pissed off one of the most sadistic snake-head bastards I've ever had the displeasure of meeting, then abandoned me to deal with this crap alone.

So why do I feel so God damn guilty? Like I'm the one who betrayed him instead of the other way around?

Aw crap! Not again. Dammit, I told you the damn name, you sadistic shit! "I just told you."

"Yes, you did."

No shit I did. I just said I did.

Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to torture aging Air Force Colonels?

Seriously, you can put that down now.

"Ahhh."

We'll, that was . . . surprising. Stuff works fast, it doesn't hurt anymore. Until next time.

"So you see, the truth is rewarded."

My ass! If he really wanted to `reward' me, he'd let me go. Yeah, like that'll happen.

Really. "I don't know anything else."

"There may be more of this, Kanan, in your mind than even you know."

No there isn't.

"It'll come to you. In time."

No it won't.

Or, at least I pray it doesn't.

Daniel, help me. Please. You promised you'd be back. Where are you?

Just as the world drops out from behind me, my last thought is `I'm gonna kill that slimy snake if it's the last thing I do'.

Both of them, even if Kanan is already dead.


THE END