Chapter Text
Jack stared up at the ceiling of his holding cell. He'd lost track of the number of times he'd tried to count the pitted areas of the ceiling and gave up, but it had to be well into the double digits by this point. Ultimately, it was a brave but futile attempt to stave off boredom and distract his mind from his potential fate, which was to be decided within the next few hours.
A trial. That's what he was awaiting. If what Daniel had told him earlier was true, he was going to stand trouble for what the people of this planet considered a capital offense, but for him hadn't been much worse than littering (and regardless, it had been an accident).
As it was, he'd been locked in this holding cell for the last couple days while this planet's royal family prepared for the trial and the rest of SG-1 were doing their damnedest to build up a solid defense for him.
Jack turned he head to glance at his neighbor in the cell next to him. If Jack had to guess, said inmate stood at about six foot six and was as lanky as a string bean, albeit very muscular. Thick brown hair was cut in a manner eerily reminiscent of a mullet, and the inmate chewed away at a piece of straw.
Unlike humans (or even the Asgard or Unas), being bipedal and sentient was about where their similarities ended. A soft but noticeable layer of short, tawny brown fur covered evert visible inch of the inmate's skin. As far as Jack could tell, the inmate posessed no evident eyebrows except for two spaced-apart markings resembling an "11" that were parallel to the sides of the inmate's nose, beginning directly above the innermost corners of the eyes—in other words, where eyebrows would've begin on a human. From either side of the mullet, a pair of beige tufts stuck out from the place that corresponded to ears on a human, and the inmate posessed fangs that he would occasionally bare to Jack in a display of intimidation.
The most startling difference, however, was to be found in the eyes. Said eyes (or rather, the eye that WASN'T potentially concealed under his eyepatch) was a brilliant sulphur yellow color which sported a slotted pupil.
Like a cat's.
As a matter of fact, the inmate had an overall vaguely feline appearance, a trait that he shared with every sentient inhabitant of the planet that SG-1 had seen so far. Jack idly wondered what would happen if he were to take the laser pointer from a gun and point it at the wall, then shook his head as if to dismiss the thought.
"So, what are your thoughts on this season's winning streak for the Cubs?" Jack asked sardonically, knowing full well that the person opposite him didn't give a damn about baseball, let alone whatever winning streak the Chicago Cubs had going for them this season. Jack also knew for a fact that the inmate didn't speak any English, also a trait the inmate shared with the locals.
This revelation had baffled the entire team, none more so than Daniel. Usually it didn't take long at all for them to be able to converse with the people they encountered on the other side of the Stargate, Abydos notwithstanding. Then again, the beings they typically encountered (the ones that weren't Goa'uld) were nearly always human; they'd never before had to deal with a species that was, for all intents and purposes, humanoid cats.
The inmate made no response aside from a dismissive, defensive grunt, and he turned his back to Jack after doing so. The inmate then proceeded to walk over to the far corner of his cell and sit on the ground with his back to the wall.
Jack frowned and scratched at an itch on his head absently. From what Daniel had told him, things weren't looking too good where he was concerned. Jack considered asking his inmate for a light (if only so he wouldn't have to be alone with his thoughts) before reconsidering. He'd given up smoking anyways, five years ago. It had not long after coming back from Abydos the first time and soon after the divorce had been finalized. He wondered how Sara was holding up after all this time, though she was undoubtedly in a better state than he was currently.
Jack sighed. He wasn't going anywhere, and he wasn't getting anywhere; either—not with his thoughts, anyway. He decided it would be good to get a nap in before his trial; there was no sense in trying to defend himself when he hadn't slept well the night before. After giving one last look to his inmate, Jack turned away and walked over to the dug-out indentation in the wall that passed for a bed. He hoisted himself up so that he was sitting on it, laid down, and concentrated on his breathing in an attempt to relax. Mildly surprised that it was working, Jack felt himself drift off to sleep. As he did so, he reflected on the events that had transpired, the events that had led to him being in this situation.