Fic: Solo Act
Mar. 3rd, 2006 08:48 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
gigerisgod.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mitchells_sg1I've been writing fanfic for a while, but this is my first SG-1 story. I wasn't going to post b/c I'm so new to this fandom, but I've enjoyed a few stories here and I thought I'd offer something up. Forgive any oversights. Unbeta'd
Title: Solo Act
Rating: PG (subsequent parts may not be so clean)
Category: Gen
Pairing: None (yet)
Spoilers: Through Season 9
Word Count: 2,392
Warning: The first part is told from Mitchell's POV, the second from Teal'c's. I'm not sure I've voiced him correctly, but there's not enough fanfic dealing with the bug guy, so I've taken a stab at it. I plan to continue, but no time frame.
He can hear the unmistakable sound of artillery fire from somewhere in the distance. Cameron wants desperately to believe his team has come for him, but he’s not about to delude himself. He can’t spare the emotional cost, doesn’t want to make himself more vulnerable than he already is and risk divulging any sensitive information. More than likely it’s another sensory illusion, another mind fuck caused by whatever drug they’ve been feeding him. Can’t understand how he stays under its influence when he’s refused fluids and food. Cameron’s memory is fragmented, moments of recall lost during his interrogations that nag at him like a bad itch.
Speaking of itch, his sack is crying out to be scratched, and grinding against the dirt floor just isn’t reaching that intimate spot on his anatomy. The awkwardness makes him want to laugh, but something just short of a sob escapes instead.
His head feels insulated, muffled, and his balance is off, so he stayed on the ground where his captors tossed him. Cameron is lying on his side, arms are wrenched behind his back, locked tightly in some kind of manacle and his shoulders ache horribly. He lost feeling in his hands hours ago and the numbness has begun to spread up the length of his forearms. The ground is cold, but it feels good, like cold porcelain tile after you’ve drunken yourself sick. The soil is solid, tangible and so he closes his eyes and pushes his forehead into the dirt to temper the heat he’s radiating. He’s too exhausted to do much else.
There’s more weapons fire and that sound is getting closer.
The only comfort he clings to is knowing his mission is accomplished, and as long as the tiny device implanted in his forearm has done as promised, Stargate Command should have its Intel. General Landry had made it very clear during his brief; once the information had been assimilated, the mission was considered a success. Cameron would have to make it home on his own. Unfortunately, getting captured pretty much screwed those chances.
He understood the risks from the get-go, but when you put it into perspective, his life was worth the price. He’s not a damned martyr, but he understands the importance of dying for something worthwhile. Hell, he’s come pretty close at least once before.
He wonders how long it will be before Landry writes him off as MIA. There’s a glass ceiling on the SGC’s budget and resources are tighter than a virgin at a booty call. The spending that hallmarked the early growth of the program has long since been curtailed. Right now, it doesn’t make sense to risk sending a team for him, not when the mission objective has been fulfilled.
One job, highest level of security, single operative and Cameron was the ideal candidate. It was vital that the SGC could in no way, be connected with his actions. His government would essentially wipe their hands of the whole affair now that he’s been exposed. It’s another case of bad Intel that blew his cover and this time it’s his ass that’s on the line and the karma is somewhat comforting. It’s enough to offer him some hope that the Ori will get what’s coming to them someday, though he won’t be around to see it. Ah well, he’s got too much sick time logged as it is.
Landry leveled with him from the start. He had to watch his own back because there would be no extraction.
Carter, Teal’c and Dr. Jackson were all unique and integral parts of SG-1. He can’t hold a candle to the experience any of them has. A good leader needs to know how to best allocate his resources and this mission was his alone. He’s just a flyboy who got lucky, incredibly lucky. Cameron only wishes he had accomplished more with them before this. He can’t be too upset because he should have been dead two years ago. Mitchell isn’t one to dwell on regrets; otherwise he’d still be in that Vet hospital, languishing on that damned bed.
So much for playing with the band. Cameron felt more like a roadie than the front man anyway.
He’ll miss it, though, especially some of the perks; like having breakfast with the esteemed Samantha Carter. Cameron has enough self awareness to realize he’s got a thing for super-intelligent women. Next time, they’re going someplace that doesn’t have blue Jell-O on the menu.
‘Next time….ah, damn.’
The hallucinations have been tapering off in the last hour or so, but his eyes are doing strange, inexplicable things. There’s a host of tiny stars circling like glowing halos in his vision. He tries to blink them away, but they’re persistent, burned into his iris like the resonance of a flash bulb after a photograph is taken.
That damned weapons fire has returned and increased in volume ten-fold. Not making much sense, but then again, neither is he. He closes his eyes and digs his head into the ground, wishing for it to stop.
“Can’t a man get some sleep around here?”
He murmurs the words into packed earth, only it’s not earth at all.
It sounds like his cell door has opened, but he’s going to pretend not to notice and maybe they’ll let him sleep in. They can torture him again later. If they want him that bad, they can drag his ass this time.
“Colonel Mitchell.”
He hears his name, the words spoken in a deep, rich, familiar bass tone and it’s floating right next to his head.
‘Can’t be, can’t be.’ So he squeezes his eyes shut tightly, waiting for the the specter to leave.
“Colonel Mitchell.”
This time the voice is louder, more urgent and it’s followed by a firm touch, a heavy hand pressing right between his shoulder blades.
He can’t process the voice along with the sensation and his reaction is instantaneous.
*********************************************************************
Teal’c is rarely unprepared, but he had not anticipated Colonel Mitchell’s response. Twice the Colonel failed to respond to his name, but once Teal’c laid his hand firmly on the other man’s shoulder to rouse him, Mitchell had startled instantly; whipping his head around and hurriedly pushing away, frantically getting to his knees and putting as much distance possible between them.
Mitchell is bare from the waist up, arms secured behind his back and Teal’c takes notice of the mottled bruising coloring his midsection. Teal’c’s eyes trace upward, scanning the cuts and abrasions on the Tauri’s features. Mitchell is looking at him strangely, his face a mask of feral desperation. He’s registering some level of recognition, but Teal’c finds his expression conflicting.
Mitchell, to his knowledge, has never been anything but pleased by his presence. And although his surprise is understandable, several moments have ticked by and Mitchell still doesn’t appear to recognize him as anything even closely resembling an ally, as part of his team. Teal’c has no idea what interrogation methods these people practice, but Mitchell is staring at him like he’s either a ghost or an enemy, and either prospect is very disturbing, indeed.
Teal’c is squatting down, trying to meet Mitchell’s eyes, which haven’t stopped darting around the containment cell like a frightened animal. He backs himself against the wall and practically snarls at Jackson when he enters, flanked by Samantha Carter. The remaining members of SG-1 are equally alarmed at Mitchell’s reaction and grant him a wide margin.
“Cam?”
Teal’c watches as Mitchell attempts to bring himself under control and answers Samantha Carter. He swallows harshly and makes a guttural sound.
“Sam.”
It’s a simple acknowledgment and nothing more. Samantha Carter’s smile weakens when the Colonel doesn’t reciprocate her friendly gesture. Mitchell remains withdrawn, does nothing more to verbally interact with any of them. This behavior is incongruous with Cameron Mitchell’s character, but Teal’c also has to admit there is a great deal he does not yet know about this man.
From here, Teal’c can see Mitchell’s eyes are reddened with exhaustion and the pupils are dilated, drugged most likely. That explanation however, does little to alleviate the current problem. Teal’c exchanges glances with Carter and Jackson, both equally perplexed and concerned.
Teal’c begins strategizing how best to take Mitchell down without causing him further injury. The man has been beaten, is still forcibly restrained and possibly irrational. They have little time to make their escape and Teal’c isn’t about to let Mitchell hinder his own rescue.
The rest of them have been a team, a unit, for so long that communication between them is no longer restricted to the simple matter of words. Their responses are attuned to each other’s actions, fluid, almost interpretive, precognizant based on a simple hand motion or an automatic response as dismissive as a muscle twitch.
It wasn’t Teal’c’s intention to signal his move on Colonel Mitchell, but Samantha Carter had obviously read otherwise. Before Teal’c could act, she physically puts herself between the two men to block Teal’c advance. He raises his brow in question.
Mitchell’s breath hitches as he watches the interaction, and then he finally speaks up.
“This some kind of social call?”
Now they’re all staring at him unbelievably.
Carter dismisses the quip.
“Can you walk, Cameron?”
He scrunches his face up and winces like Carter’s voice just caused him pain.
The Colonel keeps his eyes closed and whispers, “You’re not real.”
If Mitchell can’t even gauge his reality, then he may prove difficult to move safely and it’s a grim development he’d rather not consider.
“Cam. I don’t know what’s been done to you, but we need to get you back to Command.”
Mitchell’s actually laughing now and Jackson throws a look to Teal’c, silently confirming his own fears that their commanding officer acting most irrationally.
Mitchell begins ranting, his volume increasing with his obvious agitation.
“See now, that just doesn’t make – any – sense! I completed my mission, dammit! Therefore, you – and I mean none of you should – be – here!”
The Colonel is angry and right now he’s not the only one.
“Colonel Mitchell!” Teal’c’s voice is hushed, but unmistakably hostile. “Keep your voice down or I will be forced to do it for you!” His threat only makes the other man laugh that much harder.
“Oh, well now, that is familiar! C’mon big guy!”
Teal’c doesn’t understand Mitchell’s behavior any more than his last statement, but it will certainly get them all killed if he doesn’t act quickly. This time it’s Jackson who holds him at bay.
Daniel implores him. “Let her try, Teal’c. Just once more. It’s better than dragging him.”
Confronted with that logic and Daniel’s entreaty, Teal’c cedes as Carter tries again.
“Cam. There’s been a problem. The transmission was incomplete. The chip failed. We’re not sure what happened, but we need to examine it for further analysis. We have to get you and that information back to Stargate Command.”
And apparently, Colonel Mitchell is not as far gone as Teal’c had originally ascertained. Sam’s words are like a blow, but they seem to reach the Tauri. He’s attempting to focus, biting back on the inappropriate laughter.
“All the tests were a success, Sam. How could that be?”
“We won’t know until we have a look, Cameron. I’m sorry. Are you up to this?”
The question is purely rhetorical because Mitchell doesn’t have a choice. Blue eyes pierce the shadows with hardened intent and Teal’c finally sees a spark of the man that he’s come to know.
“Yeah. Yeah. I can do this.” and Mitchell’s voice sounds gravelly and harsh.
Samantha Carter approaches Mitchell first and offers him water from her canteen. She holds it for him while he drinks it down with abandon, half of the contents splashing down his parched lips, chin and throat. He appears not to notice.
Meanwhile, Daniel Jackson moves quickly to examine the manacles, searching for a release or a weakness in the metal. Teal’c tests their strength and that induces a grunt of discomfort from Mitchell.
“I am sorry, Colonel Mitchell, but we do not have time to release your bonds.” Teal’c’s apology is sincere.
“Forget it. Let’s just go. I can manage.”
Teal’c falls in line trailing Mitchell and the others as they make their way out of the detention center. Mitchell relays an alternate route leading out of the maze of passageways, past various offices, and cellblocks.
Teal’c comes up behind as the Colonel pauses to look inside one of the rooms. It’s empty save for a single chair fitted with several leather straps. Doubtless it’s one of the interrogation chambers Mitchell was taken to. The Tauri pauses only briefly, as dusty hands and fingers twitch within the confines of the manacles, then he moves silently to catch up with Carter and Jackson.
Teal’c looks inside momentarily, unable to repress the image of Mitchell restrained there, wondering what kind of experience he suffered. Teal’c’s own ghosts linger in his mind as he replays the all-too familiar repercussions of torture.
Mitchell is surprisingly stealthy, given his earlier disassociation, but Teal’c is grateful, especially when they are discovered and a firefight erupts.
Daniel Jackson gets caught in a vulnerable position, pinned down by crossfire and it’s Mitchell who breaks the impasse. With no other means at his disposal, he knocks one of the sentries down, violently ramming his head with skull. The other man instantly crumpled to the floor along with his weapon. Arms still bound behind his back, Mitchell straightens up, revealing a fresh surge of blood running hot and red down his face. Jackson looks horrified at the smile on his face, and fails to even mouth a word of thanks.
Teal’c however, is strangely impressed.
Two miles of dense vegetation later and the team is still being pursued when they reach the Gate, but they emerge at Command relatively unscathed and the wormhole is disengaged successfully.
The klaxons are still blaring when they come to a halt on the ramp. Teal’c is watching Mitchell cautiously. His head is craned upward, looking over at the control room. General Landry is at the forefront and Teal’c can literally feel his eyes on Mitchell. He and Doctor Jackson anticipate the collapse, and they both spring forward, catching Mitchell under the arms as he goes down while the medical team sprints into Teal’c field of vision.
TBC
Title: Solo Act
Rating: PG (subsequent parts may not be so clean)
Category: Gen
Pairing: None (yet)
Spoilers: Through Season 9
Word Count: 2,392
Warning: The first part is told from Mitchell's POV, the second from Teal'c's. I'm not sure I've voiced him correctly, but there's not enough fanfic dealing with the bug guy, so I've taken a stab at it. I plan to continue, but no time frame.
He can hear the unmistakable sound of artillery fire from somewhere in the distance. Cameron wants desperately to believe his team has come for him, but he’s not about to delude himself. He can’t spare the emotional cost, doesn’t want to make himself more vulnerable than he already is and risk divulging any sensitive information. More than likely it’s another sensory illusion, another mind fuck caused by whatever drug they’ve been feeding him. Can’t understand how he stays under its influence when he’s refused fluids and food. Cameron’s memory is fragmented, moments of recall lost during his interrogations that nag at him like a bad itch.
Speaking of itch, his sack is crying out to be scratched, and grinding against the dirt floor just isn’t reaching that intimate spot on his anatomy. The awkwardness makes him want to laugh, but something just short of a sob escapes instead.
His head feels insulated, muffled, and his balance is off, so he stayed on the ground where his captors tossed him. Cameron is lying on his side, arms are wrenched behind his back, locked tightly in some kind of manacle and his shoulders ache horribly. He lost feeling in his hands hours ago and the numbness has begun to spread up the length of his forearms. The ground is cold, but it feels good, like cold porcelain tile after you’ve drunken yourself sick. The soil is solid, tangible and so he closes his eyes and pushes his forehead into the dirt to temper the heat he’s radiating. He’s too exhausted to do much else.
There’s more weapons fire and that sound is getting closer.
The only comfort he clings to is knowing his mission is accomplished, and as long as the tiny device implanted in his forearm has done as promised, Stargate Command should have its Intel. General Landry had made it very clear during his brief; once the information had been assimilated, the mission was considered a success. Cameron would have to make it home on his own. Unfortunately, getting captured pretty much screwed those chances.
He understood the risks from the get-go, but when you put it into perspective, his life was worth the price. He’s not a damned martyr, but he understands the importance of dying for something worthwhile. Hell, he’s come pretty close at least once before.
He wonders how long it will be before Landry writes him off as MIA. There’s a glass ceiling on the SGC’s budget and resources are tighter than a virgin at a booty call. The spending that hallmarked the early growth of the program has long since been curtailed. Right now, it doesn’t make sense to risk sending a team for him, not when the mission objective has been fulfilled.
One job, highest level of security, single operative and Cameron was the ideal candidate. It was vital that the SGC could in no way, be connected with his actions. His government would essentially wipe their hands of the whole affair now that he’s been exposed. It’s another case of bad Intel that blew his cover and this time it’s his ass that’s on the line and the karma is somewhat comforting. It’s enough to offer him some hope that the Ori will get what’s coming to them someday, though he won’t be around to see it. Ah well, he’s got too much sick time logged as it is.
Landry leveled with him from the start. He had to watch his own back because there would be no extraction.
Carter, Teal’c and Dr. Jackson were all unique and integral parts of SG-1. He can’t hold a candle to the experience any of them has. A good leader needs to know how to best allocate his resources and this mission was his alone. He’s just a flyboy who got lucky, incredibly lucky. Cameron only wishes he had accomplished more with them before this. He can’t be too upset because he should have been dead two years ago. Mitchell isn’t one to dwell on regrets; otherwise he’d still be in that Vet hospital, languishing on that damned bed.
So much for playing with the band. Cameron felt more like a roadie than the front man anyway.
He’ll miss it, though, especially some of the perks; like having breakfast with the esteemed Samantha Carter. Cameron has enough self awareness to realize he’s got a thing for super-intelligent women. Next time, they’re going someplace that doesn’t have blue Jell-O on the menu.
‘Next time….ah, damn.’
The hallucinations have been tapering off in the last hour or so, but his eyes are doing strange, inexplicable things. There’s a host of tiny stars circling like glowing halos in his vision. He tries to blink them away, but they’re persistent, burned into his iris like the resonance of a flash bulb after a photograph is taken.
That damned weapons fire has returned and increased in volume ten-fold. Not making much sense, but then again, neither is he. He closes his eyes and digs his head into the ground, wishing for it to stop.
“Can’t a man get some sleep around here?”
He murmurs the words into packed earth, only it’s not earth at all.
It sounds like his cell door has opened, but he’s going to pretend not to notice and maybe they’ll let him sleep in. They can torture him again later. If they want him that bad, they can drag his ass this time.
“Colonel Mitchell.”
He hears his name, the words spoken in a deep, rich, familiar bass tone and it’s floating right next to his head.
‘Can’t be, can’t be.’ So he squeezes his eyes shut tightly, waiting for the the specter to leave.
“Colonel Mitchell.”
This time the voice is louder, more urgent and it’s followed by a firm touch, a heavy hand pressing right between his shoulder blades.
He can’t process the voice along with the sensation and his reaction is instantaneous.
*********************************************************************
Teal’c is rarely unprepared, but he had not anticipated Colonel Mitchell’s response. Twice the Colonel failed to respond to his name, but once Teal’c laid his hand firmly on the other man’s shoulder to rouse him, Mitchell had startled instantly; whipping his head around and hurriedly pushing away, frantically getting to his knees and putting as much distance possible between them.
Mitchell is bare from the waist up, arms secured behind his back and Teal’c takes notice of the mottled bruising coloring his midsection. Teal’c’s eyes trace upward, scanning the cuts and abrasions on the Tauri’s features. Mitchell is looking at him strangely, his face a mask of feral desperation. He’s registering some level of recognition, but Teal’c finds his expression conflicting.
Mitchell, to his knowledge, has never been anything but pleased by his presence. And although his surprise is understandable, several moments have ticked by and Mitchell still doesn’t appear to recognize him as anything even closely resembling an ally, as part of his team. Teal’c has no idea what interrogation methods these people practice, but Mitchell is staring at him like he’s either a ghost or an enemy, and either prospect is very disturbing, indeed.
Teal’c is squatting down, trying to meet Mitchell’s eyes, which haven’t stopped darting around the containment cell like a frightened animal. He backs himself against the wall and practically snarls at Jackson when he enters, flanked by Samantha Carter. The remaining members of SG-1 are equally alarmed at Mitchell’s reaction and grant him a wide margin.
“Cam?”
Teal’c watches as Mitchell attempts to bring himself under control and answers Samantha Carter. He swallows harshly and makes a guttural sound.
“Sam.”
It’s a simple acknowledgment and nothing more. Samantha Carter’s smile weakens when the Colonel doesn’t reciprocate her friendly gesture. Mitchell remains withdrawn, does nothing more to verbally interact with any of them. This behavior is incongruous with Cameron Mitchell’s character, but Teal’c also has to admit there is a great deal he does not yet know about this man.
From here, Teal’c can see Mitchell’s eyes are reddened with exhaustion and the pupils are dilated, drugged most likely. That explanation however, does little to alleviate the current problem. Teal’c exchanges glances with Carter and Jackson, both equally perplexed and concerned.
Teal’c begins strategizing how best to take Mitchell down without causing him further injury. The man has been beaten, is still forcibly restrained and possibly irrational. They have little time to make their escape and Teal’c isn’t about to let Mitchell hinder his own rescue.
The rest of them have been a team, a unit, for so long that communication between them is no longer restricted to the simple matter of words. Their responses are attuned to each other’s actions, fluid, almost interpretive, precognizant based on a simple hand motion or an automatic response as dismissive as a muscle twitch.
It wasn’t Teal’c’s intention to signal his move on Colonel Mitchell, but Samantha Carter had obviously read otherwise. Before Teal’c could act, she physically puts herself between the two men to block Teal’c advance. He raises his brow in question.
Mitchell’s breath hitches as he watches the interaction, and then he finally speaks up.
“This some kind of social call?”
Now they’re all staring at him unbelievably.
Carter dismisses the quip.
“Can you walk, Cameron?”
He scrunches his face up and winces like Carter’s voice just caused him pain.
The Colonel keeps his eyes closed and whispers, “You’re not real.”
If Mitchell can’t even gauge his reality, then he may prove difficult to move safely and it’s a grim development he’d rather not consider.
“Cam. I don’t know what’s been done to you, but we need to get you back to Command.”
Mitchell’s actually laughing now and Jackson throws a look to Teal’c, silently confirming his own fears that their commanding officer acting most irrationally.
Mitchell begins ranting, his volume increasing with his obvious agitation.
“See now, that just doesn’t make – any – sense! I completed my mission, dammit! Therefore, you – and I mean none of you should – be – here!”
The Colonel is angry and right now he’s not the only one.
“Colonel Mitchell!” Teal’c’s voice is hushed, but unmistakably hostile. “Keep your voice down or I will be forced to do it for you!” His threat only makes the other man laugh that much harder.
“Oh, well now, that is familiar! C’mon big guy!”
Teal’c doesn’t understand Mitchell’s behavior any more than his last statement, but it will certainly get them all killed if he doesn’t act quickly. This time it’s Jackson who holds him at bay.
Daniel implores him. “Let her try, Teal’c. Just once more. It’s better than dragging him.”
Confronted with that logic and Daniel’s entreaty, Teal’c cedes as Carter tries again.
“Cam. There’s been a problem. The transmission was incomplete. The chip failed. We’re not sure what happened, but we need to examine it for further analysis. We have to get you and that information back to Stargate Command.”
And apparently, Colonel Mitchell is not as far gone as Teal’c had originally ascertained. Sam’s words are like a blow, but they seem to reach the Tauri. He’s attempting to focus, biting back on the inappropriate laughter.
“All the tests were a success, Sam. How could that be?”
“We won’t know until we have a look, Cameron. I’m sorry. Are you up to this?”
The question is purely rhetorical because Mitchell doesn’t have a choice. Blue eyes pierce the shadows with hardened intent and Teal’c finally sees a spark of the man that he’s come to know.
“Yeah. Yeah. I can do this.” and Mitchell’s voice sounds gravelly and harsh.
Samantha Carter approaches Mitchell first and offers him water from her canteen. She holds it for him while he drinks it down with abandon, half of the contents splashing down his parched lips, chin and throat. He appears not to notice.
Meanwhile, Daniel Jackson moves quickly to examine the manacles, searching for a release or a weakness in the metal. Teal’c tests their strength and that induces a grunt of discomfort from Mitchell.
“I am sorry, Colonel Mitchell, but we do not have time to release your bonds.” Teal’c’s apology is sincere.
“Forget it. Let’s just go. I can manage.”
Teal’c falls in line trailing Mitchell and the others as they make their way out of the detention center. Mitchell relays an alternate route leading out of the maze of passageways, past various offices, and cellblocks.
Teal’c comes up behind as the Colonel pauses to look inside one of the rooms. It’s empty save for a single chair fitted with several leather straps. Doubtless it’s one of the interrogation chambers Mitchell was taken to. The Tauri pauses only briefly, as dusty hands and fingers twitch within the confines of the manacles, then he moves silently to catch up with Carter and Jackson.
Teal’c looks inside momentarily, unable to repress the image of Mitchell restrained there, wondering what kind of experience he suffered. Teal’c’s own ghosts linger in his mind as he replays the all-too familiar repercussions of torture.
Mitchell is surprisingly stealthy, given his earlier disassociation, but Teal’c is grateful, especially when they are discovered and a firefight erupts.
Daniel Jackson gets caught in a vulnerable position, pinned down by crossfire and it’s Mitchell who breaks the impasse. With no other means at his disposal, he knocks one of the sentries down, violently ramming his head with skull. The other man instantly crumpled to the floor along with his weapon. Arms still bound behind his back, Mitchell straightens up, revealing a fresh surge of blood running hot and red down his face. Jackson looks horrified at the smile on his face, and fails to even mouth a word of thanks.
Teal’c however, is strangely impressed.
Two miles of dense vegetation later and the team is still being pursued when they reach the Gate, but they emerge at Command relatively unscathed and the wormhole is disengaged successfully.
The klaxons are still blaring when they come to a halt on the ramp. Teal’c is watching Mitchell cautiously. His head is craned upward, looking over at the control room. General Landry is at the forefront and Teal’c can literally feel his eyes on Mitchell. He and Doctor Jackson anticipate the collapse, and they both spring forward, catching Mitchell under the arms as he goes down while the medical team sprints into Teal’c field of vision.
TBC
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