Title: Whose Turn Is It To Be Rescued
This Time? Part II
Author: Wonderland
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don’t
own ‘em, wish I did, you know who does, yadda, yadda, yadda
Summary: Written for Fox1013’s Gen Battle. Prompt: Stargate SG-1 team (any variation) -
whose turn is it to be rescued this time? Same scene, just a different POV
Season/Spoiler info: Proving Ground
“Okay, here’s the plan. We go up the
stairwell, get off on Level 28. Cryder and Garth, you go down Corridor C, give
us five minutes then use the ladder to backtrack down to Level 27. Cho and I
will take the main Corridor and we’ll meet at the auxiliary elevator near the
General’s office. O’Neill and SG-1 will almost certainly be guarding the office
so be prepared to take them down. Any questions?” I crouch on the cramped Level
Nineteen landing beside my teammates. We know each other from the academy but
we’ve been a team a scant ninety minutes due to a pre-testing name draw.
“Sir, I mean, ma’am, I mean…” Cho
mumbles.
“What, Cho?”
“Are we sure SG-1 are the bad guys in
this scenario?”
Cryder snorts loudly. “They’re the bad
guys everytime.
Why would this be any different?”
“To throw us off our game?” Lt. Garth
suggests, shifting her long legs.
“Because Colonel O’Neill is a sneaky
bastard who loves to shoot cadets, that’s why!” I hiss. “Go and keep your heads
up. I don’t want to be the first team to be taken down. Go.”
*
This, I realize, was just too damned
easy. We’ve made it to Level 27 without any trouble, without any opposition. I
use my scope to peer around the corner. There’s a body sprawled in front of
O’Neill’s office. Forcing myself to stay calm, I watch long enough to satisfy
myself that the person is unconscious. Focusing the scope allows me to get a
better look. Clearly male, brown haired, I silently, viciously, curse the fact
that he is lying on his right side so I can’t see his team designation, his
jacket obscures his left arm so it’s impossible to determine who he is or what
threat he poses.
I shuffle back to kneel, giving myself
time to decide what course of action to take.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I whisper to
Cho. “There’s a man down in front of O’Neill’s office. It could be one of ours
or it could be a trap. I’m going to investigate. Watch our six.” Hoping he’s
behind me, I slide around the corner and approach cautiously.
“It’s Dr. Jackson!” Cho sounds
relieved. “Wonder who shot him?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I
snap, with some relief of my own. This is one less enemy I have to worry about.
Not that I was too worried about him, he isn’t military, after all. “Come on.”
“You mean, we’re just going to leave
him? What if he’s, like, really hurt?”
“I just told you I don’t care. I’m not
losing this challenge because of some civilian with a bunch of letters after
his name.”
The softly drawled, “Really?” registers
a split-second too late in my mind. By the time I process what’s happening and
clumsily bring my weapon up to bear, Cho’s down and I feel the intar pressed
firmly in my breastbone. My last coherent vision is a pair of oddly familiar
cool blue eyes and the overhead fluorescent lights.
*
My first thought on waking is that I’m
not sure what hurts worse, my head, my chest or my entire body as I’m dragged
across the concrete floor and into an office.
“Dammit, Daniel, do you have to keep
shooting them at point blank range?” That sounds an awful lot like O’Neill’s
voice somewhere above so I’m assuming he is the one doing the dragging. I am
still too groggy to fight when I find myself slung up on a bunk and feel
something cool and metal encircle one wrist before I hear two distinctive metal
snaps.
“No, Jack, I don’t have to. I just do it
because it’s so damn much fun!” Jackson sounds decidedly short-tempered. I
don’t know what he has to be mad about, he isn’t the one who’s been shot and
handcuffed to a narrow bunk.
“Ziegfield, wake up, Ziegfield!” My
cheek is tapped with a fair amount of force.
“It’s Ziegler, Jack. I don’t know why
you can’t keep anyone’s name straight.” There’s a bit of give on my mattress.
“Come on, Ziegler, wake up before he decides to use water torture on you.”
I reluctantly do and realize why those
eyes looked vaguely familiar earlier. “You zatted me, sir?” I ask inanely.
“Well,” he shrugs, “I wouldn’t say I
zatted you. It was actually an intar.” His smile is oddly cheerful.
“Daniel, quit flirting with the
prisoners. Ziegman, you two are officially dead for the rest of the challenge.
I’ve marked the door. Water on the bedside table, use the phone to call an SF
if you need the bathroom. Come on, Daniel, we gotta take out the rest of the
team.” O’Neill drags a protesting Jackson out the door.
“Great, just great.” I let my head flop
down on my pillow. “I’m never going to live this one down. They’ll wash me out
for sure.”
“For getting shot by one of SG-1? Man,
that’s like getting kissed by Elvis or something!” Cho rolls over on his bunk,
as well as he can with the handcuff.
“Shut up, Cho.”