• Spoilers: The Devil You Know, In The Line of Duty, Serpent’s Song, Pretense, 1969, Urgo, Serpent’s Lair, Children of the Gods, Cold Lazarus, Within the Serpent’s Grasp, Secrets, The Tok’ra, Fair Game, Jolinar’s Memories, Thor’s Hammer, and Forever In a Day. I think that’s it. Quantum Leap spoilers: The Leap Back, M.I.A., and Quantum Leap the pilot ep
• Summary: A time traveler from the near future gets a taste of Daniel’s life and things just get complicated from there. A crossover with the TV show ‘Quantum Leap’
• Rating: R [V][D]

Important note: I try to refer to Samantha Carter by rank or surname for less confusion—Sam Beckett will be referred to (for the most part) by ‘Sam’.

“The more extensive a man’s knowledge of what has been done, the greater will be his power of knowing what to do.”—Benjamin Disraeli

“This view is amazing. Wow,” Daniel Jackson murmured breathlessly. “Jack you gotta come look at this!”

Jack looked up at his friend who was perched rather precariously atop the thin, crumbling partition and swore softly. It was bad enough that Daniel walked headlong into danger everyday, but did he have to tempt the fates by dancing on a freakin’ pile of badly preserved bricks?

Daniel was right though, at least this time, the view was spectacular. The team had taken up positions on a craggy ruin-covered hill that did nothing for the scenery but it looked down upon a lush green valley with a winding river so blue that it rivaled the brilliant blue sky that was spotted with soft billowy clouds. It’d be a great vacation spot, Jack thought, as if they ever got vacations. “Just be careful up there, Daniel!” he shouted.

“I am, I am…” Daniel murmured. And then Jack watched, horrified, as his friend gasped and looked around wildly. The extra movement sent him off balance, tumbling down the hill gaining speed at an alarming rate before barreling into Jack who had tried to halt his descent. Ass over teakettle they bounced and rolled down the hill before skidding to a violent stop, a combined mass of bruised appendages.

“Daniel! Colonel!” Carter yelled and began to run down the hill towards her teammates.

Dr. Samuel Beckett, disguised in the body of Dr. Daniel Jackson, groaned and pushed himself up on his elbows and came face to face with a very angry Jack O’Neill. “Oh, boy,” Sam wheezed.

Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the quantum leap accelerator and…vanished. He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own. And driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al, an observer from his own time, that appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. So Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong. And hoping each time that his next leap…will be the leap home.

***

Jack hauled himself to his feet and began to brush the pale dirt from his uniform sending puffs of dust swirling around them. Jerking his hat back on his head he glared at Daniel. “For crying out loud…!” he fumed. A look of resignation flitted across his face as concern for his friend outlasted his anger. Limping over to his fallen teammate, Jack extended his hand. “You okay?”

            Sam Beckett nodded his aching head and reluctantly allowed the stranger to help him gain his feet. “Think so.” Oh, Al, where are you?

“‘Think so’?” Jack parroted.

As if cued, Carter and Teal’c arrived at their side. “That looked bad. Are you guys alright?” she asked slightly out of breath, overrun by Teal’c’s, “Are you badly injured?”

“I’m fine,” Jack answered for himself, pointedly looking at Daniel.

Sam, noticing the three concerned faces around him, stuttered out, “I-I’m okay.” He took the proffered spectacles the woman handed him, dusted them off and perched them upon his face. They hung slightly crooked but they weren’t cracked or otherwise broken. Apparently he wore glasses.

            “Well, I’m so glad. Back to work kids,” Jack announced as he made his way back up the hill with a slight limp not quite hidden by his swagger. “Coming, Daniel?” he asked tersely.

Through the haze of confusion, Sam realized that he must be ‘Daniel’ seeing as how he was the only one not already hiking back up the hill. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Sir,” he added belatedly, as he noticed that everyone, including himself, was wearing combat fatigues, and that the angry man seemed to be in charge. Sam did not miss the peculiar look the man shot in his direction, though he was at a loss as to why. Now would be a really good time, Al.

“Alright, Daniel, do your thing,” Jack said waving an arm at the ruins. Sam just looked around, confused.

“Hit your head on the way down, did you?” Jack asked in a sarcastic drawl. “You did say that you could read this, right?”

Sam turned to look at the crumbling ruins the soldier was pointing at; the writing looked like Egyptian hieroglyphics. For a moment he was excited, he could do this, he could read this. “Y-yes, Sir.” He was treated to another inscrutable look.

With an exasperated sigh and a wave of his hand, Jack said, “So go to.”

Nodding, Sam moved off to gaze at the massive structure before him, it was at least twenty feet high and covered in the fading writings. He pretended to study it further while surreptitiously watching the three people that he was supposed to already know.

Where was he? Who were these people? Who was he? They all wore field uniforms and carried weapons, but while the grey haired man and the woman had automatic assault weapons, he, ‘Daniel’, only had a side arm. The tall black man carried some strange sort of staff but no guns. Wow, was he something different. He looked like a human imitation of a mountain--strong, foreboding, immovable—and he had a strange golden tattoo-type thing on his forehead. Otherwise, he would say they were Americans, especially the angry looking man. He wished they were wearing nametags, it would make his job so much easier if everyone just wore nametags. Dog tags! Military would have dog tags. He felt under his shirt and jacket for the metal ID but found none. Well, there goes that easy answer.

            Behind him Sam could hear the distinct sound of the imaging chamber door opening. “Thank you God.”

            “Uh, no, just me actually,” Al deadpanned.

            “Where have you been?” he snapped angrily while trying to remain quiet and not attract unwanted attention.

            Al looked up from studying the smoldering tip of his ever-present cigar. “Uh, well…we couldn’t find you.”

            “Why? Never mind, never mind. Just please tell me who I am, where I am, and what I’m doing here. Tell me you know, please?”

“Well…hey! You’re an Egyptologist. That’s a plus. Your name is Doctor Daniel Andrew Jackson.  Thirty-five years old. And you have a double doctorate in…” Al hit the flashing hand device and it screeched loudly. “…In, oh, well, Egyptology and linguistics. And you are…where are you?” Al asked looking around him.

Sam rolled his eyes.

The hand device squealed again as Al knocked it around. “Ziggy, where is he?”

Sam watched for a moment as Al consulted with the temperamental computer before his friend turned back to him with a sheepish look on his face. “We, uh, we have no idea where you are.”

“Daniel.” The two men had been so intent on their conversation that they didn’t here Jack approach, the single word caused them both to jump; though the hologram recovered first.

“That’s you, Sam,” Al reminded him.

Sam shot Al a glare but turned to the soldier with a tentative smile on his face.

“Daniel, how’s your head?” the man asked in a tone that seeped annoyance rather than concern.

“Uh, fine. I’m fine.” Sam’s smile widened.

Jack smiled back but it looked an awful lot like a sneer.

 “Uh, oh, Sam, what’d you do?” Al asked.

“W-why?” He tried not to squirm under the other man’s intense gaze.

 “Well, Daniel,” Jack drawled, “either you’re really excited about these rocks, or you’ve found an invisible playmate. What’s going on?”

“Little does he know…” Al quipped.

Sam ignored him. “Sorry, just excited.”

The grey haired soldier did not look impressed. “Hmm.”

 “O’Neill!” The black man called, interrupting.

With one last puzzled glance at the young scientist, Jack stomped off to Teal’c some yards off.

“Oh, I don’t think he likes me.” Sam muttered as he watched him stalk off. Careful not to attract Jack’s attention again, he asked Al, “Who is he anyway?”

“Oh, yeah.” Al remembered his job and began jabbing at the glowing buttons on his controller. “He is Colonel Jonathan O’Neill in the United States Air Force. And…” he consulted the beeping box.

“And..?” Sam prompted.

“…And he’s, boy, this guy’s file is locked up tight. Can’t get much…Ziggy, come on…okay. He’s 43 years old, divorced. After his ten year old son, oh...”

“What?”

Al glanced up at Sam distractedly,  “Oh, um, his son shot himself with his sidearm, dead on arrival. That was about four years ago. Career military, he’s been with the Air Force for twenty-five years. Apparently he retired not once, but twice, returning each time.” Al broke off, a dark look clouding his face.

“Al? What? What happened?”

Without looking at the device he answered, “He was declared MIA, KIA and later an official POW during the Gulf conflict. He spent four months courtesy of Hussein and his gang. Lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado. And that’s pretty much all I can get.”

“Is he the reason I’m here?”

“What makes you say that?” Al asked with a squint.

“I don’t know—just seems…”

“Well, actually, we don’t know yet. Ziggy’s working on it, but…”

“Well she had better hurry it up,” Sam muttered.

***

“Daniel, isn’t this fascinating?” Carter called out from her perch high on the wall.

“It is,” Sam Beckett agreed, awestruck at both the archeological find and the breathtaking view.

Jack just grunted and kicked at a loose rock. “Alright, kids, back to work.”

Carter laughed. “Yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sam echoed.

“Daniel, would you knock that shit off!” Jack yelled.

“What?”

“That ‘Sir’ shit. If you’re pissed at me fine, but stop that—it’s annoying.”

“Sorry, O’Neill?”

At Jack’s glare Al suggested, “Try Jonathan, Jon, Jonny…”

“Jon?” Sam tried meekly.

“Fine be that way, Jackson,” he spat, stomping off.

“Are you really okay?” Carter asked Sam, concern creeping into her voice.

“Uh, yeah, just a little…confused.”

“’Bout what?”

“Him. Why’s he so mad at me?”

“Well, gee, Daniel, I think he wants to know the same thing.”

“Uh, oh,” Al sang.

“Look, just call him Jack like you usually do—it’ll go a long way to fixing whatever your guys’ problem is--.”

“Jack!” Al crowed.

“—and maybe you can forgive each other for…whatever your thing is with him.”

“Thanks…”

“Sam, Samantha Carter,” Al provided.

“…S-S-Sam,” Sam Beckett finished lamely.

“Sure. Oh, and Daniel, try not to knock him down any more mountains,” she added with a smile.

“Right.”

“If she wasn’t military…” Al practically drooled.

“Don’t start. So she is?”

“Is what?”

“Military!“

Reluctantly Al pried his eyes off her and down to the handlink. “Major Samantha Carter, also Air Force, thirty-six years old, single--.”

“Stop that!”

“What?” Al asked innocently.

“That, that dating profile thing.” He took on a high pitched sing-songy voice, “Thirty-six, single, likes long romantic walks on the beach--.”

“Hey, I’m just reading what’s there. Now do you want me to continue, or not?”

Sam glared at Al but motioned for him to continue.

“Alright...she’s got her PHD in astrophysics.”

“And? That’s all?”

Al shrugged, “She worked at the Pentagon before being assigned to some deep space telemetry program code named ‘Stargate’. That’s it, that’s all I have.”

Sam sighed and looked around at the expansion of rock and crumbling ruins before him. ‘Jack’ was standing off to one side overlooking the green valley below them while Sam Carter was talking with the tall black guy.  “So what about him?” he asked Al.

“Who? Oh, him?” Al cocked his head to one side as if listening to someone before he yelled at the sky, “What do you mean we don’t have anything?”

Sam chucked a rock down the hill in disgust as he listened to Al rant and rave at Gooshie. This has got to be one for the record books, he thought sourly.

Hearing Al finally quiet down, Sam turned expectantly to see him smoothing the creases out of his brilliant blue sports jacket and straightening his mustard colored necktie. In a calm and almost apologetic manner Al said, “Ziggy can’t get anything on him. Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Sam repeated to himself. “Sorry. And does Ziggy still not have any idea about why I’m here?”

Al winced and shook his head.

“Great!” Sam snapped, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “So, I don’t know where I am, what I’m supposed to be doing, or why I’m here, but hey, that’s okay. It’s not like this could be a life or death situation or anything!” he hissed.

Al sucked on his cigar and waited until Sam was finished with his tirade. “Done?”

“What am I doing with all these soldiers, Al? He’s, Daniel’s, an Egyptologist for Pete’s sake!”

“He’s also a linguist, Sam, maybe he’s here to translate or something. Colonel O’Neill already ordered you to translate that…” he waved his arm at the wall, “…stuff. You can right?”

The time traveler scrunched up his face and pulled at his hair. “That could be a problem, Al.”

“Why?”

“It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before. I mean it’s…well, it’s…” He raced to the wall and began pointing at it to emphasize his point. “These are hieroglyphics and some of it’s familiar but it’s almost like it’s…well--.”

“Daniel! Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem S-Sam,” Sam Beckett called down to the major. He smiled falsely and waved a reassuring hand. “Oh, I am so over my head here, Al,” he murmured through his smile. Turning to face the wall he spoke quietly to his friend. “Alright, Al, you do…whatever it is you have to do, but I need to find out what is going on here! Someone could be in danger and I have no idea what to do!”

“Hey, don’t yell at me. It’s your brainchild that can’t--.”

“All right, all right, I know.” He swiped an angry hand through his hair. “Look, maybe you can try talking to the real Daniel Jackson. Maybe he can fill us in.”

“Right. Good idea.” The handlink beeped and whirred as he began pushing the colorful buttons. “Hey, wait—what are you going to do?” he asked worriedly.

“I’m going to try to amend the situation with, uh, Jack.”

Al snorted. “Watch your step, Sam.” Then, muttering to himself he said, “This could get ugly—maybe I should stick around, watch a bit.” He grinned maliciously and with a final push of a button, he vanished.

“Thanks for your confidence, Al.”

“Jack?”

“What, Daniel?” he sighed and turned to Sam with a look of utter weariness. For a moment the two men said nothing as they studied the other. Then, with surprisingly genuine concern and compassion, Jack asked, “You okay? I mean are you really okay?”

With a slight nod and a careful smile, Sam tried to reassure him. “I’m okay. Really.”

Jack scrunched up his face and studied Sam like a specimen under a microscope. His expression screamed liar but he dropped the topic with a rueful shake of his head. “Have you made any headway on those translations? You got it on video yet?”

Thankful that he had taken the time to read over some of it, Sam says, “Well, actually, it’s taking me a bit longer than I, uh, planned because the dialect’s a bit unusual but…Um, I’ll go start video taping it right now.” He mentally crossed his fingers that the camera was user-friendly and somewhere obvious.

“Come on then, you can enlighten me,” Jack said with a grin that quickly faded into a grimace as he rose to a stand, his knee buckling out from under him.

 Sam reached out to keep him from falling. “Are you okay, Jack?”

“Just peachy,” he muttered, shaking Sam off. “Let’s go.”

***

“I’m not falling for it this time. So why don’t you just toddle off back to whatever megalomaniac’s posing as your god this week and tell him the game’s up. I’m not falling for it,” Daniel said evenly, calmly, suppressing the rage and fear churning in his insides.

“Toddle? Kid, I’m an Admiral in the United States Navy, I do not toddle,” Al returned, unsure whether to be insulted or impressed.

“Well, goody for you. But your costume leaves something to be imagined, or did you not get that memo.” My God, what am I saying? I have definitely been hanging out around Jack too long. Daniel shook his head. This whole idea was just preposterous, even for the Goa'uld. Time travel! Well, yeah, so he’d done that himself when they accidentally gated during a solar flare and ended up in 1969, but still, they didn’t seriously think that he’d fall for this, did they?

Turning his back on the strangely dressed Goa'uld he forced himself to walk over to the nearest wall in the equally bizarre room where slid down into a sitting position. He would tell them nothing.

***

“That is incorrect, Daniel Jackson.”

Sam did a double take, huh?

Teal’c (Sam had finally overheard his name) continued, “It is not ‘as the sky’, but rather ‘as the sun’, the two are measurably different. The two self-called gods are vastly different in nature.”

“A Goa'uld's a Goa'uld,” muttered Jack.

“As a Tau'ri is a Tau'ri,” countered Teal’c.

“Point taken,” he conceded.

Sam’s head spun, there were those terms again, Tau'ri, Goa'uld, Tok'ra, stargate… he didn’t have a clue and yet these people tossed the words around like everyday conversation starters. So, how ‘bout those Yankees—how ‘bout those Goa'ulds? Toss me another beer.

“Daniel?”

“That’s you, Sam.”

Flashing a relieved smile at his holographic friend’s return, Sam turned toward the concerned voice of Sam Carter. “Hmm?”

“The colonel’s been trying to talk to you.” Her voice held equal parts concern and irritation.

Sure enough Sam caught a glimpse of Jack’s stormy face as the man turned his back and stalked away.

“That’s it, we’re outta here. There’s something wrong with Daniel—even more so than usual,” he added with a scowl. “Pack it up.”

“Oh, Sam, what’d you do?” moaned Al.

***

The team marched in silence, Teal’c in the lead followed by Carter and Sam, with Jack bringing up the rear. Al was catching Sam up on the situation with the real Daniel Jackson, while Sam was trying his best not to talk back or even nod, least Jack see and get even angrier. Needless to say it took all of his concentration to do that and keep putting one foot in front of the other at the expeditious pace that had been set. So he was surprised when he was tackled from behind, a furious Jack yelling in ear.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed, Daniel!” Jack screamed. He reached down and jerked Sam’s sidearm from its canvas holster and pushed it into Sam’s hand, forcing his fingers to curl around it. Sam was suddenly aware of the sound of weapons being discharged above the background noise of Al’s shocked commentary and harried instructions.

“Run back to the gate, it’s right over this next crest. Dial home, I’ll be right behind you. And stay low!” Jack hissed, shoving Sam forward.

Oh, boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

“Sam, duck, now!” Al yelled and Sam ducked, barely missing being hit by a large bolt of fire. “To your left, to your left!” He swerved and ducked at Al’s direction, finally topping the crest and would have stopped dead at the sight if it wasn’t for the fact that somewhere, some part of him deep down inside was still very aware that he was being chased and shot at. He ran towards the large stone ring where he could see Sam Carter and Teal'c pinned down behind a pillar, being shot at by armor clad soldiers. “Use your gun, use your gun!” Al yelled. Ducking behind a rather convenient tree trunk, Sam emptied an entire clip on the advancing soldiers, surprised at how many of his bullets had found their target, shocked at how many hits it took to take one down.

“What the hell is going on here, Al?” he yelled, then ducked as his ‘convenient tree’ burst into flames.

“I don’t know!”

“Damn it, make Daniel tell you!”

“I already told you, Sam, the kid’s convinced it’s some kind of trick being played on him by ‘golds’—duck!”

“Goa'ulds,” Sam corrected, rising and returning fire.

“That’s what I said—behind you, Sam!”

He turned and emptied what was left of his last clip into the metal-coated enemy. It dropped with a satisfying clank. “Al, I’m out. I’m out!”

“Then you use his,” Al lectured, indicating the dead opponent.

“I don’t know how to use that! It’s a, it’s a--!”

“Daniel! Go, we’ll cover you, go!” Carter yelled from across the field as she and Teal’c let loose a hail of bullets and fire.

“Where?” he yelled back and dropped to his knees to avoid another blast.

“To the gate, Daniel!” a ragged voice sounded behind him.

“Jack?”

“The Easter Bunny,” Jack croaked tumbling out from the thick bush.

“Jack!”

“Yes, you keep saying that. You have any ammo left? I’m out,” Jack said with a wince as he tore off his pack and dropped it heavily to the ground. “Don’t need this crap,” he muttered. Sam noticed the large smoking hole in the center of the green canvas backpack.

“Jack!”

“What?” Finally O’Neill turned around to face him, but never actually looked at him as he busied himself with the fallen armor plated soldier.

“You’re-you’re bleeding and you’re—.”

“Duh, Daniel. I’ve been shot. Repeatedly. Something I’m surprised hasn’t happened to you, yet. What the hell were you doing out there? You could’ve gotten someone killed—you could have been killed!” he hissed, pushing his face within inches of Sam’s own, finally meeting his eyes.

Staring deep into his friend’s eyes, letting his own fear and pain shine through, Jack hoped to finally get it through Daniel’s thick head--the risks and consequences of his actions, or inaction as the case may be. And for a moment, one horrible, gut-wrenching moment, Jack had the distinct feeling that it was not the deep blue eyes of his friend that he gazed into, but somebody—or something—else. He shook his head, this could not be happening; he couldn’t lose Daniel, not like this. Not to the Goa'uld.

***

Sam gasped in shock as Jack unexpectedly rushed toward him and pushed him to the ground. He heard the distinct thwack as the back of his head collided with the trunk of the tree and his vision blurred. Al was yelling at him or Jack in this strange high-pitched voice that Sam couldn’t quite understand and he could see Jack’s mouth moving in large exaggerated movements as if he were screaming at him but Sam couldn’t hear him. He felt the world tilt as Jack flipped him onto his stomach and felt the other man’s rough hands on the back of his neck. And suddenly his brain and body got on the same track and he whipped his head back catching Jack in the nose, but it wasn’t enough to knock the larger man off. Years of martial arts training kicked in as he fought for his very life.

***

“Enough! O’Neill, Daniel Jackson, stop this fighting at once!”  Teal’c bellowed. He and Major Carter had fought their way across the battle field to reach the young scientist, fearing the worst when they saw that he had remained behind rather than escaping to the gate as instructed. When they arrived at the wooded area where they had last seen Daniel Jackson, they were greeted with the sight of the two men rolling around on the ground, heedless of the fighting around them.

Teal’c reached into the writhing mass of arms and legs and plucked O’Neill out by the back of his jacket. The man’s grey haired head lolled to one side and he could barely keep his eyes focused on Teal’c’s face, close as it was.

“Go’ud. Snake, he’s, he’s a snake,” O’Neill mumbled before passing out.

Alarmed, Teal’c whirled to face Daniel Jackson who was still sagging against the trunk of a scorched tree. “Daniel Jackson, do not move.” Could this really be? It was true that Teal’c had felt a little uneasy around the young man today but it was not the same feeling that he usually got when around the Goa'uld. But there was something amiss with his friend. And it was not like O’Neill to accuse his closest friend of such a fate, or to fight with him. Without taking his eyes off of Daniel, he lowered O’Neill’s limp body to the ground as gently as if he were made of spun glass.

“Teal’c, what’s wrong?” Carter called over her shoulder as she kept watch for any foolish Jaffa who wandered too close.

“O’Neill believes Daniel Jackson to be a Goa'uld.”

“What?!” she practically screamed, and it was only years of training that kept her eyes on the field before her. Daniel a Goa'uld? No, it was too horrible to even think of. “Are you sure? I mean, have you, uh, checked?”

“I have not, but I will do so now.”

She nodded her head and wished that she could turn around and see what was happening, see for herself–prove to herself, that Daniel hadn’t been turned into one of Earth’s greatest enemies.

Sam was tired, physically and emotionally—utterly tired, but he was relatively unscathed. Though Jack had wrestled him to the ground and done his damnedest to keep him there, scaring the shit out of Sam by the look on his face alone, the man had actually done little damage.

“What the hell is going on here?” Al screamed to anyone and everyone, though only his friend could hear him.

“I-I don’t…” Sam tried to answer and think at the same time but it didn’t quite work. Why do they think I’m  a Goa'uld? And what the heck was a Goa'uld? And just…what the hell was going on?

“Sam, we are in deep ca-ca.”

No shit, he wanted to scream, but held his tongue as he saw Teal’c approach him warily, almost as if he were afraid of Sam.

“Do not move,” the large man’s voice was edged with something Sam didn’t really want to put a name to.

“Not moving,” Sam said, slowly raising his hands palm up. He watched as Teal’c moved closer pointing a strange gun-type thing at his chest.

“Turn around slowly, I will not hesitate to shoot you.”

“Somehow, I don’t think he’s the joking type, Sam,” Al warned, his cigar forgotten as it dripped ash on the floor of the imaging chamber.

Baffled and more than a little scared, Sam complied and again felt hands on the back of his neck, fingers tracing the skin as if searching.

“Teal’c?” Carter called again.

“I do not see or feel an entry wound, Major Carter. And while I do sense something odd about Daniel Jackson, I do not believe that he is a Goa'uld.”

Sam sighed in relief, not exactly sure what a Goa'uld was, he was still very glad that he was not one.

“And what about the colonel?”

“He is injured, but also, not a Goa'uld.”

Sam heard Carter whisper up a ‘thank God’, and silently echoed her sentiment.

“Can-can I get up now?” Sam found it hard to talk or even breathe; he was very aware that he was not out of the fire yet.

“You may, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c said and even offered his large hand in assistance.

“Thanks.”

“You are most welcome.”

***

It wasn’t as if they had a choice, not really.  It was either run to the gate now and take their chances, or wait here behind these pitiful trees for the Jaffa to pick them off one by one. So really, there wasn’t a choice, Sam Carter told herself as she dumped her pack and prepared herself for the sprint ahead. Teal’c was planning to carry Colonel O’Neill despite his protests. She almost smiled as she remembered the way that he had shut the colonel up with little more than a look. He was seriously kidding himself if he thought he could walk on that leg, let alone run.

 If she led point and Teal’c was carrying the colonel…well, that left Daniel covering their six, a prospect she was none too thrilled with. Even if he was not a Goa'uld, there was something seriously wrong with her friend and she worried that he would endanger himself or the team with his behavior. It’s just a concussion from his humpty dumpty act, she told herself again, nothing too serious. Please, God, nothing too serious. She swore that she’d drag him to the infirmary the moment his feet touched the ramp if she had too. If they ever got back—no, when they got back, Sam. If she let Daniel take point…damn it, command sucked.

As if reading her mind, Colonel O’Neill spoke up, “Okay, here’s the plan. Carter, you take point. Daniel…” she saw something flicker behind his eyes as he watched the younger man, then he shook it off and continued. “Daniel, I want you close on her tail, the minute you get to the DHD I want you to dial it up. Carter you provide as much cover as you can, Teal’c and I will be right behind you and we’ll have our zats. Daniel, once you get the gate open I want you to go through.” He paused. “Got it?”

Sam saw Teal’c and Carter nod as Jack turned to him. “Got it, Daniel?” he said the name as if caught in his throat.

“Sa-am, tell ‘em. Tell ‘em you don’t have a clue, tell ‘em…tell them you must have hit your head harder than you thought and you don’t remember what’s going on. Sam they’re trusting in you and you could get them all killed. Do it. Now!”

“No. Jack, wait. I-I…” he glance at Al and saw him urge him on with a near desperate gleam in his eyes. “…I don’t think I can do what you’re asking me. I-my head hurts and I can’t remember,” he finished quietly.

As if Jack had expected this all along he nodded once, slowly. He sighed heavily and struggled to sit up straighter. “Okay, change of plan. Physically, how you feeling, Daniel? Can you run?”

Sam nodded.

“A’right. Teal’c, you’re taking point, Carter you follow and dial it up. Danny, you’re with me. That’s it, no arguments. Let’s go.” And with that he raised an arm in indication that Sam should help him up.

Sam winced in sympathy as he helped Jack to his feet and felt like a complete ass for not being able to do what they needed him to. “I’m sorry, Jack. Really, I just…I’m sorry.” He wanted to tell them the truth but knew that they probably wouldn’t believe him.

Eyes screwed up tight, Jack waved a hand in his direction. “We will so talk about this later. Actually, there’ll be yelling. First there will be Fraiser, then there will be yelling. But for now, let’s just go.”

Awkwardly, Jack slung his left arm up and over Sam’s shoulder and Sam tucked his own arm behind the other man’s back to support him. Immediately he caught the scent of blood and felt his shirt dampen where Jack’s soaked and torn uniform made contact with his own. Not for the first time, Sam wondered why God, or fate or whatever the hell it was, thought that he, Sam Beckett, could do a better job at this than Daniel.

***

It took them longer than they planned to get back to the gate. The Jaffa were everywhere and SG-1 was running low on ammunition. In the end they were down to a few ‘borrowed’ zats and staff weapons, their guns spent and discarded in the race for the gate. “Go, Teal’c, Carter, we’ll cover you!” the colonel ordered, though the actual act of providing protection seemed laughable even to himself as he tried to keep his feet under him. He didn’t think Daniel was doing much better and Jack tried to take some of his weight off the kid. 

“Don’t, Jack. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Sam tried to assure him even as his knees threatened to buckle when Jack tripped and all of the man’s weight fell to Sam’s shoulders. Pulling him to his feet, Sam half-led, half dragged Jack behind a squat stone table of sorts and propped him against it.

“That’s good, Sam. Stay there,” Al ordered around a mouthful of a new but forgotten cigar. “Holy crap!” Al swore, and nearly toppled over in surprise when a stray bolt of fire blew right through him. At once grateful for his status of hologram, he nevertheless ducked down beside his friend. He immediately noticed the spreading bloodstains and haggard breathing of the Air Force colonel just a foot away. “He doesn’t look too good, Sam.”

“No kidding,” Sam snapped back.

Jack glanced up at him. “Huh?”

“What? Oh, nothing.”

“Right,” Jack muttered as he fired on a pair of Jaffa that came within range. Sam hadn’t a clue as to what the plan was—but whatever it was, he hoped it worked, and he hoped it worked fast.

“One, two, three, four…” Carter counted to herself as she depressed the glyphs that would send them home and the hell away from here. As she extended her arm for the sixth glyph a jagged lance of heat and pain burned through her left shoulder, spinning her in a 180 degree arch before knocking her roughly to the ground.

“Carter—Sam—Major Carter!” The various titles echoed around her in stereo as her team cried out in panic and frustration.

“I’m okay,” she tried to assure them though not at all sure that she really was. She couldn’t move without pain flaring up and down her entire side and lying still was almost as unbearable, but she had to get up—they had to get home. “Sir, I didn’t finish dialing.”

“It’s okay, Carter. I got it.” She was surprised to hear his voice so close, to feel his hand resting on her back.

“Daniel, get over here and help Carter,” Colonel O’Neill ordered. Then softer he murmured to her, “You’ll be okay. We’re gonna get home.” He was closer, his soft exhalation tickling her ear as he placed a reassuring hand on her head. “Everything’s gonna be fine.

“Damn it, Daniel,” he was yelling before he realized the young man was at his shoulder. “Good, help her.”

“Where’ you going?” she heard Daniel ask.

Carter could almost feel the determination in the colonel’s voice when he said, “To get us home.” His boots moved into view as he struggled for a moment, pushed himself to a half-rise and moved around to the front of the DHD. She tried to sit up, to move out of his way, but her body, unwilling or unable to follow orders, slumped dejectedly back to the dusty ground.

“Crap!” She heard him curse as he dropped back to the ground beside her just in time to miss a round of fire that spewed over their heads and the ground around them. And then Teal’c was there, the sounds of his staff weapon discharging loud and yet comforting to her ears.

“Damn it, they hit the DHD. It’s fried. Fuck, it’s fried! We gotta get outta here; we’re sitting ducks. Back to the trees, damn it, let’s go. Back to the trees.”

She could feel someone’s strong grasp as they prepared to lift her up, but before they could go anywhere they were under attack again and they were all forced to the ground. Lying with her face pressed into the dirt she noticed a slight disturbance in the dust as it swirled and danced into the air as if being sucked up or displaced. Oh, shit! She didn’t have time to form a warning before a soft humming sound filled the air and a set of large transportation rings dropped down to encompass them all. 

***

The interrogator was back and, Daniel noted with satisfaction, he looked a little frayed around the edges. His technicolored suit was still as impeccable and still just as garish as the first time he’d appeared, but now his hair was mussed and tumbled as if nervous fingers had been run through it a few too many times. The man’s face was lined with frustration and his mouth set in a grim line. Good, thought Daniel with a rather predatory smile.

“What?” the interrogator asked sharply.

Daniel’s smile widened just a touch. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re damn right there’s a problem. My friend—Your friends are out there getting shot at and you won’t tell us what the hell is going on!”

Daniel said nothing, his insides quivering at the other man’s words, though the haughty grin barely wavered.

“What’s a Goa'uld?”

No response.

“What is going on out there?”

Daniel just turned his head away, unwilling to show his mounting doubt. The clothes, the language, the foul smelling cigar—this really wasn’t like any Goa'uld trickery he had ever experienced. But it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. Could it?

“Where was the last place you remember being?” Al paused for an answer he didn’t expect to get. “What were you doing there?”

“I won’t tell you anything,” Daniel said quietly. “You can do whatever you want to me, but I still won’t tell. And even if you could get me to talk…” Daniel swallowed hard at the possibility. “Even if—all my codes are locked out automatically upon my disappearance,” he lied, knowing it would be a minimum of 24 hours. “Besides, people will be looking for me,” he murmured at last, more for himself than his interrogator. “They’ll come for me.”

Al sighed. “Not if they don’t know you’re missing.” He saw the kid’s head jerk at that. Yeah, no rescue party—not that you’re the one that needs it.  “Daniel, I’m not going to torture the information out of you.” What kind of world does this kid live in? “I think you’ll do a good enough job of that yourself when you see the whole board. Look, come ‘ere. Come here,” he commanded in his best admiral’s voice. Surprisingly it worked as the kid slowly rose to his feet stopping about a half-dozen steps away from Al who gestured him closer. “You see that table?”

Daniel nodded.

“It’s top is a mirror. Go look in it.”

The look Daniel shot his way was skeptical at best, down right antagonistic at worst, but he complied.

***

            “Of course,” spat Jack. “Murphy’s gate.”

            “Murphy’s gate?” echoed Sam, thoroughly confused.

            “Daniel, you have seriously got to get out more. You’d think with all your reading…” he trailed off as his attention turned toward Carter and Teal’c. “You two okay?”

            “Been better,” was Carter’s reply followed closely by Teal’c’s affirmative nod.

            “Goody. Now what? Something tells me that we just got yanked out of the frying pan and thrown smack into the fire.”

            Sam frowned in confusion. Jack sounded angry—but surely if the plan was to get them away from danger, strange as the method was, it had worked. Hadn’t it?

            Jack continued, “So if we’re the barbeque-ees…who’s the barbeque-er?”

            “O’Neill, I do not like to be the one to inform you, however, I do believe--.”

            All four heads turned toward the front wall as a door slid open and a squad of guards walked in trailed closely by a very ostentatious man dressed in gold and red robes.

            “Crap.” Sam heard Jack mutter. “Apophis.”

            “Indeed.”

            Instinctively and with a sudden clarity, Sam realized that no matter how much trouble they were in five minutes ago, things were so much worse now. He just wasn’t too sure on how or why and wondered if his ignorance was a brief blessing or a debilitating hindrance.

            And then the robed figure’s eye’s glowed.

***

            “So where’s my body supposed to be?” Daniel wasn’t so sure that he still disbelieved ‘Al’, but he knew he didn’t believe him. There was just no way that this could all be real.

            Al opened his mouth to explain yet again when Daniel raised a hand. “I know, I know. But that’s just not possible. I mean…” Daniel trailed off as he realized what he was saying. No one believed that interstellar travel was possible either, and yet that’s exactly what he did day in and day out. Not many people believed in aliens either and he’d seen those up close and sometimes rather personal. “Okay, let’s just say that this is real. Hypothetical and all.”

            Al squinted. “Of course, hypothetical and all.”

            Daniel opened his mouth but closed it before anything could escape. He could feel the sarcasm and impatience just dripping from the older man and it reminded him of Jack. His stomach twisted into a billion little knots as he thought of them. If Al was right and his team was in danger, then he was risking their lives by not believing his story and cooperating. On the other hand, if this was all just a ruse and Daniel talked he was not only putting his friends in danger but the base and even the planet as well. He needed to make a decision.

“The Goa'ulds are a parasitic race of alien life and we are at war with them,” Daniel began.

***

“I am most pleased that you are here to join me.”

            “Oh, I just bet you are,” Jack O’Neill drawled.

            O’Neill’s remark barely registered with Apophis, because, for the first time in a long time, he was in a good mood. But he nodded to the closest Jaffa to punish the colonel anyway. It was a matter of principle at the very least. At the Tau'ri's grunt of pain Apophis' already manic grin widened. Yes, today was indeed a good day.

            Apophis could not believe his good fortune. For years he had been after these Tau'ri, and now today they just walked right into his hands. If he had not been monitoring this planet for signs of resources…well, it did not even bear thinking. His crooked grin nearly split his newly reconstructed face. Today was the day. This would not be like those other times. No, this time, this time he would win and they would lose. His leer faded marginally as he thought of the times that this team had escaped from his grasp. Of the suffering he had endured at the hands of Sokar because of these four. The disfigured face, the murder of his mate, the concealment of his heir, the loss of Klorel, the disgrace…it would not be allowed to happen again. Most days he just wanted to kill them all and be done with it. But he was not one to overlook their potential usefulness, no, their necessity. He needed that child. He wanted those codes. And this time he knew exactly how to get them. It had taken much sacrifice, but he now had the key that would unlock those secretive doors that abided deep within those cursed Tau'ri.

***

            Al rocked back on his heels in shock, though why he was still surprised he didn’t know. The kid kept spewing forth fantastic tales of aliens and transplanetary portals, of mythical gods and battles that rivaled the best science fiction films and novels.  Either the kid was a remarkable liar, which Al doubted considering that every emotion flashed across the kid’s face like a neon advertisement the moment he was feeling it, or it was all too terrifyingly true. The emphasis being on terrifying, or at least for Al, a military man who considered inaction, his or anyone else’s, to be the eighth deadly sin. It was a lot to take in.

            “You don’t believe me, do you?”

            It took moment for the words to register with Al. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, kid. It’s just that…” AL trailed off with an emphatic motion of limbs as if the gesture could some how convey what his words couldn’t.

            “I know, I know. You want to but…you can’t.” Daniel said quietly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

            Al nodded, deep in thought. “Well, I guess that could explain…a lot. But not everything.” He rubbed a hand over his face, felt the stubble scratch his palm and realized just how long he’d been without sleep. Between the basketball game the night before, a very late night with Tina, the early morning meeting, and Sam’s leap, Al figured it was time for a nap or at the very least a very strong, very large, cup of coffee.

            “Like what?”

            “Hmm?” Al tore himself away from his meandering thought and focused on the young man.

            “What do you need explained?”

            “Oh. Yeah. Well I just can’t figure out—look, Daniel—can I call you Daniel?” Al hurried on without waiting for consent. “Daniel, usually, like I explained before, usually we have at least some vague idea of what Sam’s there to fix. You know, save a career, save a life, ya know, whatever. Only this time we didn’t even know where he was, let alone what he’s supposed to do. And well, we still don’t know. I don’t suppose you have any--?” Al’s hoped plummeted at one glance at the kid. Daniel’s head was bowed as he studied the floor, his arms crossed protectively over his chest, then came the noncommittal shrug that Al was dreading. Guess it was too much to hope for. “Yeah, well, okay then. I’m gonna go check with Sam. See how it’s going.” Al frowned and rubbed at his neck. He could feel a massive knot beginning to form. “Who knows…maybe he’s figured it out or something.” He offered a tired and utterly empty smile before turning away towards the room’s only exit.

            Daniel’s subdued voice stopped him in his tracks. “Tell him…tell him Jack’s not such a bad guy, okay?”

Al stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “Neither is Sam,” Al assured him.

***

            “Take those three to the cells. Bring Daniel Jackson to my chambers.”

            Orec pulled Daniel Jackson roughly to his feet and was rewarded with a small cry as the Tau'ri’s arm was yanked in an unnatural angle.

            “Watch it,” O’Neill spat as he turned on the guard, easily sweeping the Jaffa off his feet. Apophis watched on in fascination as Teal’c, the shol'va, took out another two.

            “Enough! Kree, Jaffa!” he ordered, and snapped his fingers. Immediately there were another half-dozen Jaffa surrounding them, staff weapons primed and ready.

Finally gaining his feet, Orec swiped absently at his bloodied nose and glared at O’Neill. In a swift but sure movement he brought his staff up in and arc before bringing down to land hard across O’Neill’s back and wounded shoulder.

Apophis heard O’Neill’s muffled scream, but chance had him watching Daniel Jackson instead and saw the young man’s open wince as the blow landed. And suddenly, as if a door had been opened, Apophis realized for the first time exactly what these Tau'ris’ weakness truly was. Especially Daniel Jackson. His scarred flesh puckered and pulled as the corner of his mouth turned up in a viscous sneer. Perhaps he would not need the drug after all.

“Bring Daniel Jackson and O’Neill.”

***

The door made a small hissing sound when it opened, as if it operated on an airlock. It was a sound Daniel both hoped for and dreaded. But when it came he was ready, his pacing put on pause for the moment as he awaited the news. “Are they okay?” he blurted before the figure could even get in the door. A figure that was oh-so-definitely not Al.

“Excuse me,” the woman said as she entered, placing a covered tray on the mirrored table.

“Where’s Al?” Daniel winced at his accusing tone. His arms fluttered at his side for a moment before he wrapped them securely around his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t…I mean--.”

“It’s alright. I understand.” And she smiled gently, almost sadly. “I thought perhaps you might be hungry.”

Daniel nodded and began to move toward the tray before stopping, torn between his hunger and his embarrassment. “I’m-I’m sorry I snapped. It’s just I--.”

“You are worried about your friends. I know. Believe me, I understand.”

And Daniel realized that she probably did. She wore the same look on her face that he saw nearly everyday in the mirror. He wondered who she was missing. Who was taken away from her? He wondered if she would have better luck at getting them back; he hoped so. For her sake.

She moved to the table and began to set out the food that lay hidden beneath the white plastic cafeteria dish. “Do you like meatloaf, Dr. Jackson?”

“I, uh, yes. Meatloaf is just fine, thank you. And uh, it’s Daniel. You can call me Daniel.”

Her smile was broader this time. “Nice to meet you, Daniel. I’m Donna.”

***

            Well this keeps getting better and better, Jack thought sourly as he awoke to find himself dangling from the ceiling. His hands were manacled together above his head straining every muscle in his back and shoulders as he hung like a broken marionette. It took him a moment to realize that the chain was just long enough that he could stand and upon awareness, he did so immediately. Unfortunately, while that took the pressure off of his shoulder, it only added to the discomfort in his leg. Can’t have your cake and eat it, too, Jack.

            “Jack?”

The tentative voice was unmistakably Daniel’s and Jack couldn’t help the small sigh of relief that escaped his lips at that one word, at that one reassurance. He twisted about on the chain until he was facing the opposite direction and the slightly dazed face of his friend who was strapped to a rather ornate chair thingy. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

Jack studied him for a moment but couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or not. He saw the worried eyes and the tense set of Daniel’s body, but had to admit that other than that he looked all right. Scared, but okay. “Oh, I’m just great, Daniel. Just great.” On an impulse he tested his restraints once more and was rewarded with absolutely nothing, which was about what he expected. “Well, this is nice.”

“Oh, yeah. Comfy.”

Jack choked out a laugh and took a second look at his friend. He was hanging in there, even making jokes. Yeap, Daniel would be just fine. They could get through this. Yeap. And Apophis really was a god.

***

            Al stood still, his bright blue suit nearly obscene in the dark chamber where his friend was bound and waiting. A dozen or so scattered torches provided what little light they could, but they were no match for the vast size of the room. The golden walls seemed to swallow up the light rather than reflect it and it gave Al the creepy feeling of being in the center of a black hole. But that wasn’t what really worried him because, as he got his first glimpse of O’Neill hanging limply from the ceiling, Al caught a glimpse of Sam’s true purpose for being here. It made his knees week and stomach rebel, but mostly it made his heart hurt. Please, no.

            Working hard to suppress any of his own memories and nightmares, Al cleared his throat. Sam raised his head slowly up from where it had rested on his chest and craned his neck over his shoulder in hopes of glimpsing Al.

            Not entirely sure he wanted Sam to see the bleak truth in his eyes, Al was hesitant to move into his line of vision. But the desperate look of hope on his friend’s face proved to be too much and Al forced himself forward. “Hey.”

            Sam nodded, his smile small but genuine. With a tilt of his head towards a marginally conscious Jack, Sam let Al know why he wouldn’t be talking. Al nodded right back in understanding.

            “That’s okay, you just listen, I’ll do the talking.” Not sure how long he would have Sam as an audience, Al began to reiterate everything Daniel had told him. He was careful to hit all the major points without going into time consuming detail, hoping he wasn’t leaving out anything Sam would need for future reference. As he talked, Al’s gaze kept drifting to O’Neill’s limp form, even that was preferable to looking at his best friend, to see him trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, to see the hope in his eyes. But what Al really dreaded was that moment, and he knew it would come, when that one last spark of hope was snuffed out. And the odds were that Al himself would be doing the snuffing. Preoccupied with denial, Al continued to talk as he paced the small area of the imaging chamber. Before Al was ready, the explanations were through and he wracked his brain for something more to say, something to delay the inevitable, maybe even something upbeat or at the very least not the dark knowledge that was running around in his head. But his dry mouth wouldn’t produce the words, not that his mind provided any.

            “So that’s the situation,” Al finished slowly. And finally he forced himself to turn towards his friend, whose reaction was not what he had hoped for.

            Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head from side to side in a rueful gesture, not needing words to get his point across: Daniel’s pulling your leg, Al.

            But he wasn’t; instinctively, Al knew he wasn’t. He just had to get Sam to see it, too. “Sam, I know it sounds...implausible. But I also know that time travel seemed pretty damn implausible, too. Until one boy genius sat me down one night, drunk as I was, and told me about a theory of his. I believed you then, it’s time you believed me.

            Sam’s reluctance was stamped across his face as his features twisted and morphed in concordance with the battle being fought in his head and heart. Logic. Faith. The two rarely went hand in hand. Eventually his heart won out, though a little part of his logical self shouted and screamed and basically threw a fit at the total unfeasibility of it all.

            Al watched as a dozen different emotions flitted across Sam’s face, watched as that last, dreaded one settled into place. The one that said: Oh, crap. Now what? And Al was afraid that he had no answer.

            Right then any opportunity Al might have had slipped right through his fingers as the door on the far wall opened with a soft scrape. Back lit by the brighter hall lights, the newcomer was little more than a silhouette, a faceless, featureless form. The status of friend or foe was no clearer than his identity, but Al would bet dollars to donuts that this guy was most definitely not on their side.

***

            Carter blinked hard and tried to stay focused on the task at hand, she just wished she could remember what the task was. She was tired, she knew that, and her shoulder hurt--no, make that her whole body. And the ground beneath her was shaking. Perhaps this was an earthquake. Perhaps, but then again she didn’t really care. It was getting harder and harder to care, let alone stay awake. So she went to sleep.

            She awoke an hour later when the ground shifted again. With a great effort Carter managed to open her eyes, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Besides the excruciatingly bright light, the room was spinning, too. Or she was. Carter didn’t really want to think about either option at the moment because if at least one of them didn’t stop moving she was most definitely going to puke. She snapped her eyes shut once again.

            “Major Carter?”

            “Oh, god. What? Don’t yell.” Or at least that’s what she intended to say. But it came out more like, “Mhmmphll.”

            Apparently Teal’c, however, got the idea as when he spoke again his voice was barely above a whisper. “Major Carter, you must drink this.”

             And then the ground shifted again. Would it stop doing that! I am so not in the mood for an earthquake. Wait a minute, what the heck am I saying. Suddenly there can’t be an earthquake because I'm not in the mood for one? Well, why the hell not? The colonel always--the colonel! Daniel! And in a flash she remembered everything. Or almost everything.

            “T’l’c?”

            “I am here, Major Carter.”

            With renewed determination Sam cracked one eye open. The light wasn’t so bright anymore and apparently the room had stopped spinning, so she slowly opened the other eye as well. And suddenly she was looking directly into Teal’c’s face. He was leaning slightly toward her, his frown deeper than usual. It was then that she realized that she was lying in his lap. The ground wasn’t shaking after all and there were definitely no earthquakes. This revelation was just too much and Samantha Carter, major in the United States Air Force, doctor of astrophysics, was reduced to a round of hysterical giggling. Or she would have been if it didn’t hurt so damn much. The slightly pathetic attempt at laughter sent her into a fit of coughing that melted into some very painful hiccups.

            With her upper body splayed out across his knees, Teal’c felt Major Carter’s body quake with each jarring gulp of air as she struggled for control. Ever mindful of her shoulder, Teal’c pulled her into a semi-sitting position in hopes of easing her discomfort. Encircling her again in his arms, he pulled her against his chest. Presently her breathing eased and she once again yielded to unconsciousness.

            Teal’c didn’t quite manage to suppress a growl of frustration. He was furious with himself for allowing the team to be captured by Apophis yet again. It is not your fault, Teal'c. There is nothing you could have done. It was as if Daniel Jackson was in his head, so clear was the message his young friend would voice. But he was wrong; today he would most definitely be wrong.

             Why had Apophis managed to escape a justified death so many times over? Why have I been unable to kill the false god as I long to? Teal’c tensed in anger as he thought of everything his new friends had suffered because of Apophis. Friends. He paused slightly at the expression. It had been quite awhile since he had used such a term for anyone beside Bra’tac, and even then, as it was now, it seemed inadequate. The depth of feeling he had for O’Neill, Major Carter, and Daniel Jackson went deeper than mere friendship it was more like...family. Feelings. Now there was another unused term, and one he would never say aloud--not even to his new family.

            He made a silent vow to his family that he would not let them down again. Apophis would die. And this time he would stay dead.

***

            Sam Beckett watched as Apophis and his armor-plated entourage made their grand, if not overly dramatic, entrance. The man used a god’s name and, as Al had said, apparently believed himself to be a god. Sam figured he’d have a hard time thinking about ancient Egypt the same way again after this...adventure. Fiasco?

            “Well if ain’t the Energizer Bunny himself,” Jack scoffed.

            Sam tore his gaze from Apophis to turn to Jack, surprised to see him fully conscious and even standing tall.

            Apophis, however, did not seem as pleased. Perhaps unsure of Jack’s remark, he must have known it to be an insult as a deep scowl settled onto his countenance. “You are only here for my amusement, O’Neill. I assure you that you will soon outlive your allure.”

            “Oh, that’s what they all say.”

            Sam felt his mouth drop open in astonishment and immediately snapped it shut. He wanted to tell Jack to just shut up but he doubted Jack would listen to him, he seemed to be on a roll. Besides, Sam didn’t really want to draw anymore attention to himself than necessary.

            But Al didn’t have the same worries as he scrunched up his nose and waved his cigar at the newcomers. “Who the hell dressed those guys?”

            Sam’s brow furrowed in an effort not to roll his eyes. He saw Al take a quick step back as the Goa'uld came forward. For a hologram, he sure was nervous. No, not nervous, protective, Sam realized as Al took a stance at his side, his jaw set in impotent fury.

            “Daniel Jackson,” Apophis said almost pleasantly in that deep, reverberating voice, “Where is the child?”

            “What child?”

            Apophis smiled and hit Jack with a vicious backhand, the sharp edge of his golden jewelry drawing blood.

            Sam was too shocked to even make a token outburst.

            “What of the child?”

            “I-I don’t know what you’re--.”

            The next blow found Jack’s gut and had him hunched over in pain, the chains binding his wrists not even allowing him to do that properly.

            “The Harsesis child, Daniel Jackson,” Apophis enquired again. And once again, Sam had no answer. Jack got another punch to the gut.

            Even if Jack didn’t so much as protest, Sam sure as hell was going to. “Hey! It’s me you want to hit--not him. Leave him alone.”

            “Sam, shut up,” Al warned.

            Apophis laughed, a dry, humorless sound that sent Sam’s nerves on high alert. “You seem to be missing the point, Daniel Jackson. Tell me how to breach your chappa'ai’s defense systems.”

            “I-I...” Sam hesitated to say the words, knowing all too well the ramifications. “I don’t know.” The words were barely out of his mouth when the blow landed. This time Apophis was rewarded with a small grunt, the first sound out of Jack since this torture session had begun.

            Oh, God, Daniel, don’t look at me like that. You’re doing such a good job, don’t break now.

            “I don’t know.”

            All right, Daniel! Jack’s relief was short lived, however, and he couldn’t stop the grunt form escaping as the air was forced out of his lungs in retaliation. Damn! He had been trying so hard not to give the snake the satisfaction of so much as a wince. But more importantly, he was trying to hide it from Daniel. Jack had long dreaded this day, when their friendship would be used against them. Well, it seemed like the day had finally, and regretfully, arrived.

            He knew that either one of them would go smiling to their death before they would even give Apophis the time of day, but he also knew that neither one of them was ready to watch the other die, especially when there was something they could do to prevent it. He wasn’t saying that he, or even Daniel, wouldn’t make such a sacrifice, after all it was for the greater good and all that.  Jack just didn’t want to be the source for the pain and guilt his best friend was sure to be facing.

***

            Why wasn’t this working? Why were these Tau'ri so hard to break? Apophis scowled as he felt the impact reverberate up his arm as his fist collided with O’Neill’s cheekbone. The action was not painful for him, just disappointing. This was not as enjoyable as it once was; it was taking far too long. Normally he would have one of his Jaffa, perhaps even his first prime, be performing this messy task. But not for this team, not for this man, this annoying, bothersome, entirely too brave and foolhardy man. No, breaking O’Neill and Daniel Jackson would be his pleasure. Even if it took everything in his power. They would be his. And after they broke, they would serve him in other ways. If he remembered correctly, and he always remembered correctly, three of his Jaffa had Goa'ulds nearly mature enough for hosts. What luck that he had three suitable persons in his possession. And if they would not yield to the torture inflicted upon their bodies and minds, well, there was always the drug--the drug of wonderful and insanely brilliant design. It had been necessary to trade three of his fastest ships and two dozen of his best Jaffa, not to mention the lowly inhabitants and potentially gainful supply of naquada on Seoru’ush, but Apophis felt it had well been worth it. A drug that will force its victim to tell the truth no matter what the will, was something that Apophis was willing to trade anything for. Or at least pretend to. Apophis had every intention of going back to Ma’at to reclaim what was his and more. It was his right, it was his destiny. I will be the god that all others will bow down to; there will be no others. Only I--only your Lord Apophis.

            With one, last brutal punch that sent the other man swinging, Apophis turned away, his face split in a menacing grin as the new plan formed and blossomed in his mind. He would give these two time to think about the consequences of their misactions, to intensify the already mounting doubts and fears they were surely feeling now. Like water beasts left in the sun, the two willful Tau'ri's spirit would soon wither and fade.

            “This work makes me thirsty,” Apophis began conversationally. “I think I shall retire to my banquet hall, have some,” he turned back to favor them with a smile, “cool, refreshing, water, and wet my parched throat.” The sudden constriction of throats and the wetting of lips told him he had succeeded yet again with that simple comment. “Pity you will not be joining me.

            “Razi,” he barked to his serving guard. The man started at the call and leapt forward, his head bowed, his eyes downcast. “Come, we are taking leave.”

            Continuing in his bowing and scraping, the young man nevertheless looked towards the captives with eyes bright as he was swept along in the train of Apophis' followers. The door shut with a horrible finality as the last guard exited, leaving the two bound men and the hologram alone in the dim light.

***

            “How long have I been out, Teal’c.” Though she was now conscious and more or less aware, Carter made no move to straighten up from where she leaned against Teal’c. She had no doubt that he was indeed holding her aright, keeping her form a rather undignified three-point dive to the cold floor. “How long have we been here?”

            “It has been over two hours from the time we were first brought to this cell, Major Carter. You have since been in and out of consciousness.”

            “Oh. I take it you haven’t seen Daniel or the colonel since then, huh?”

            “I have not.”

            She wasn’t sure what to say to that. She really hadn’t expected otherwise, but she had hoped. Teal’c thrusted a small tin cup towards her.

            “You need to drink this, Major Carter.”

            Knowing that Teal'c would never give her something tainted, she nevertheless brought the cup to her nose out of shear habit.

            “It is water.”

            “Sorry, Teal'c. I just....” She trailed off at his nod of understanding. She drank in tiny sips though she desperately wanted to gulp it all down. It was water, dirty water, but water all the same. She stopped her self when the cup was half-empty, realizing that this could very well be their only water for the duration of their imprisonment. Which, as things were going, could be a very long time.

            “Thank you, Teal’c.”

            With another nod he took the cup back and placed it by a sizable bucket on just the other side of him, a bucket which she hadn’t noticed. What other things had she let escape her attention? What else was she missing that could mean their lives?

            Heaving a sigh heavy with anger and frustration she tried to force her mind into action. Think. We need a plan. “Do we have a plan as of yet?”

            “We do not.”

            Carter thought she saw the smallest of grins tug at his mouth as he said ‘we’. And she had to agree.

            He continued, “However, if the opportunity arises we shall see it and take full advantage.” His eyebrow crept heavenward. “So I suppose we do have a plan of sorts.”

            She nodded. “’Kay then. We wait.”

            “We do.”

            As if they had much of a choice.

***

            “Charming, isn’t he?” Jack snarled after the last of the retreating footsteps had echoed away and it became fairly obvious that Apophis was going to leave them alone for the time being.     

Finally allowing his body to relax from its rigid mold, Jack tried to distract Daniel with a smile but failed miserably as his half-formed grin melted into a grimace. And of course the kid had to have been watching him like some damn vulture, just waiting for a wince or any sign pain so that he could feel even guiltier.

            “Oh, God, Jack; I am so sorry.”

            “Oh, for crying out loud, Daniel; it’s not your fault.

            But Sam couldn’t help but think--know--it was. He had leapt in here to...well, he still wasn’t a hundred percent clear on that but he was fairly sure he wasn’t here to get someone beaten to death.

            “Jack, if I--.”

            “Daniel,” Jack snapped, just hard enough to get the guy’s attention before he could so much as breathe another word of apology. He watched the younger man’s lip quiver and wondered if perhaps he didn’t start off just a bit too harshly. Quickly backpedaling he tried again, this time using the softer tones of a friend and leaving behind the colonel’s voice that so rarely worked with him anyway. “Daniel.” He waited for that damn bottom lip to firm up and that mouth to stop moving in the embarrassing fashion of a landed trout. Ah, there. “Daniel, you’re doing a great job.”

            “I’m getting you killed.” And gone was that kicked puppy look, replaced by that sardonic, stone faced expression of guilt Daniel Jackson was getting far too into the habit of wearing. Jack hated that look.

            “No! No, Daniel, you’re not. Look at me damn it! Daniel, I can stop this anytime I want to. Apophis can stop this anytime he wants to. You know how important this is; don’t let him or anyone else ever use me against you. You’ve got to promise me.”

            Ah, great. Jack wasn’t sure which Daniel Jackson look he hated more--that guilty ‘it’s all my fault’ look or that watery eyed ‘I’m gonna bawl’ look. Snuff it up, Jackson!

            “Daniel, promise me.”

            Finally Jack was rewarded with a nod. “I-I promise.”

            “Good. Now tell me you know this isn’t your fault.”

            “But--.”

            “Ah, Daniel!”

            “It’s not my fault,” he said softly.

            Ha! Good. Jack really didn’t want to resort to ‘dying wishes’ or anything so low. But this was surprisingly easy for a Daniel argument. Oh, well. Jack didn’t exactly feel up to the whole ten-round Daniel title match anyhow.

            “I’m getting you killed,” the truth was out of his mouth before he could reign it in, sure that he at least owed the colonel that. And now Jack wanted him to promise that he’d behave in the same injurious manner for as long as it took. The unspoken ‘until he stops or I die‘, clear in the air between them, not so clear in his head. How could he promise that?

            ‘You know how important this is.’ And perhaps therein lay the problem, Sam didn’t know. Or at least he didn’t understand. Or maybe he just didn’t want to understand, to believe. Because to believe that Jack was willing to die to prevent Apophis from getting this information meant that this was all too true. That they really were on another planet, that this guy really was an alien, that Earth’s future was at risk, and that so much of that risk was in his hands.

            ‘Promise me.’

            Sam could see Al over in the corner; his arms wrapped around his chest, as the hologram nodded, dark eyes boring into Sam’s own. “You have to do it, Sam. This is serious stuff. It’s not just God and Country. Promise him and don’t you dare cave in.”

            Pinned beneath twin beams of such fierce desperation and determination, Sam conceded. “I-I promise.”

***

            As far as Jack could tell it had been a little over twenty minutes since Apophis had left them, which suited him just fine. For as much as he wanted this whole damn thing just to be over-- the sooner the better--Jack couldn’t exactly say he enjoyed being beaten to putty by the damn snake head. He’d feel a whole lot better though if Daniel would stop acting so strange. Their conversation had rolled to a halt some time ago, and the ensuing silence had been as much a comfort as it was a blessing. He was glad Daniel hadn’t forced him into one of those touchy feely type talks that just ended up with Jack telling really bad jokes and embarrassing himself more so than usual. But now Daniel was staring off into space as if he was watching a TV that only he could see, and frankly it was ticking Jack off. Every once in a while Daniel would nod his head or shrug his shoulders, sometimes he’d make a face or flap his hands uselessly at his sides, heedless of his bound wrists, as Jack had seen him do thousands of times in countless conversations. Leaving Jack to feel that not only was there an invisible television, but that Dr. Jackson, master linguist, had somehow managed to communicate with it. Briefly, the colonel wondered who was more tanked, Daniel or himself and established in short they both were and apparently equally so.

            Finally, when Jack could take it no more, he blurted out, “So, Daniel, what’s on channel 6?”

            And the doctor had fixed him with his most bizarre look yet. “Huh?”

            “Great linguistic skills, there, buddy.”

            “Jack, what are you talking about?”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I have no idea.”

            “Thought not.” Jack wasn’t too sure how the conversation had gotten away from him or even if this rapid and bewildering exchange could even be considered conversation, and he was confused. And that made his head hurt, well, worse than before.

            “You feeling all right, Jack? I-I mean, I know that’s kind of a stupid ques--is there anything I can do or, or...uh, Jack?”

            “What?” His voice sounded odd to his ears.

            “Al.” It was whispered but Jack heard it.

            “What?” He asked again, as his body made an unauthorized slip to the left and slightly forward. “Whoa.”

            Sam squirmed futilely in his chair in an attempt to free himself. It didn’t work, as it hadn’t worked the hundred other times he had tried. His wrists were chaffed and bleeding, though not nearly so much as Jack’s were. The metal cuffs of the manacles doing far more damage then the course leathery bindings Daniel wore, especially now that the colonel was slumped over, forcing all of his weight on his wrists.

            “Al,” he hissed again, not at all sure why. It wasn’t as if a hologram could do much of anything for Jack anyhow, especially when he couldn’t even see him.

            Mirroring Sam’s frustration, Al stood next to Jack, his shoulders hunched, his face grey and drawn.            

            “Sam, he’s still conscious. See if you can get him to stand up. I don’t know how--yell at him or something. Order him to get up. He’s putting too much strain on that shoulder and wrists are getting pretty cut up.”

            Sam could all too clearly see the damage being inflicted and didn’t need the running play. “Jack. Jack, you need to get up. Stand up.” Throwing a frustrated glance in Al’s direction, Sam tried again. “C-Colonel, O’Neill, stand up.”

            “Oh, that’s good, Sam, But next time try it without the stammer and make it forceful!” Al demonstrated as he growled out instructions.

            Sam bit back a retort, instead turning his full attention to Jack. “Colonel O’Neill, stand up now! That’s an order, soldier!”  Surprisingly it had the desired effect, as Jack slowly straitened to a stand. He looked disoriented and it wasn’t a full, upright position or anything, but it would do.

            “Good job,” Al granted.

            “Jack, you okay?”

            “Peachy. Just damn...peachy.” Sam heard a weariness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

            And that’s when Sam made up his mind that he was going to tell Jack the truth. All of it. Consequences be damned.

***

            “How long has he been doing,” Daniel waved his arm in a vague motion, “this?”

            Donna gazed rather intently at a black scuff mark on the floor, refusing to meet his eyes, refusing to see the gentle warmth and that haunted look of pain in eyes that should have been her husband’s, looked just like her husband’s, but weren‘t. She should never have started this conversation, should have never told him who she was or who Sam was to her, and she should definitely not look into those green eyes. If she did that she’d cry, and she’d like to have thought she was beyond that now. Beyond the capacity to cry in front of strangers over a husband that they had never met and never would meet. Sometimes, late at night, after a particularly harrowing leap or on an anniversary or birthday she would go to Al and they would talk and cry. He was the only one now that she allowed to see that, to see the raw anguish that could creep up so suddenly and leave her so utterly breathless. And so alone.

            “Donna?”

            Oh, God, she shouldn’t be here. She couldn’t be here.

            “Donna, wait.”

            She felt his hand close over hers before she could gain even two lousy feet. And now he was holding her back, away from the door, away from escape. “Dr. Jackson, don’t,” she breathed

            “Don’t what?” He asked, but he let go of her hand, letting his own drop forlornly back to his lap. His next words stopped her cold, spoken so soft and quiet. It was as if he was reading her heart. “I know what’s it like. To not know, to fear everyday, every waking moment what’s happening to the one you love. I know what it’s like to be helpless and, and afraid. I know you get to a point where you just want to be with them so much that you’d do anything. Anything, to get her back. I know, Donna. God, I wish I didn’t, but I do. I just...I just thought maybe...hell, I don’t know.”

            “Five years. He’s been gone for five years.” She wasn’t sure what made her tell him. Or why this one was special, but she did. And then, strangely mortified and grateful, she realized that she couldn’t stop. “He’s everything to me. And I miss him. I miss his laugh and his smile and the way his eyes light up when he’s got a secret. I miss his touch. S-sometimes I, I think I'm forgetting him. I mean, not him, but parts of him. I forget what he smells like. Not his cologne, but him. O-or, or...oh, God.” She was crying, nearly hysterically so, she realized. But she couldn’t stop and that frightened her. And then she felt Daniel put his arms around her, hesitantly almost warily, and she melted into his embrace. He eased her to the floor before she fell there and they stayed like that much of the night, long after they had both drifted into an awkward and troubled sleep.

***

            “Daniel, why are you doing this now?” Jack asked, trying to wrap his fuzzy brain around the nonsense Daniel was spewing about.

            “That’s what I'm trying to tell you. I’m not Daniel. My name’s Sam. Dr. Samuel Beckett. And I'm--.”

            “A time traveler. I gotcha. No, actually, I don’t. Are you completely cracked or is it just me? Because I thought it was just me, but-.

            “Jack!”

            “What, Daniel? Or Sam or whatever the hell you wanna be called? I can’t really take this right now, okay? I mean...damn. This is just entirely too much for me at this point. I think I'm concussed, which would go a long way to explain this little chat.”

            “Jack, I'm serious.”

            “Fine. Be serious. Why don’t you just jump into your little time machine and leap ahead a few days when I'll either be not-the-hell here or dead so I won’t have to listen to this crap!” He saw Daniel flinch when he said ‘dead’. Jack felt bad about it, knew it was wrong the minute it was out of his mouth, but he couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t even entirely sure he wanted to take it back. Maybe the harsh reality of the situation would scare some sense into Daniel.

            “Jack, I told you it doesn’t work that way.”

            Then again, maybe not, Jack thought morosely. “Pity.”

            Sam tried hard to ignore Jack’s comments. The sarcasm he could handle, he was used to that. But the truth was a little harder to ignore. When I'll either be not-the-hell here or dead. Sam shook his head in an effort to clear the words that hit a little too close to the surface of the matter.

            “Jack, this device is...I don’t know, unique.”

            “You could say that again.”

            Working hard to ignore Al, Sam almost missed it. “That’s it!”

            “That’s what?” Jack and Al asked simultaneously.

            “You!”

            “Me?” croaked Jack.

            “No. Al.”

            “Al?”

            Sam rushed on, heedless of Jack. “Al, you can get Ziggy to program you into Jack’s brainwaves. Then he’ll see you; he’ll believe me.”

            “I will?”

            “Sam, Ziggy can’t do that.”

            “Why not? Seems easy enough to me. We’ve just never tried it before. Have we? Look just talk to Ziggy about it.”

            “Well, that proves it. I definitely have a concussion. Or else I'm insane. I thought you were insane, but I think now it’s me,” Jack said mostly to himself.

            “Jack. You’re not insane.”

            “I’m not?”

            “No, and I'm gonna prove it. Right, Al?”

            “Saaam,” Al said, drawing it out and adding a glare for good measure. “I think Jack’s right, you’re insane. This will never work.”

            “I don’t wanna hear it, Al. Just try. If it doesn’t work, fine. We’ll try something else, but I don’t see what it’ll hurt if you try.”

            “Except that Jack thinks you’ve lost it!”

            “No, he thinks he’s lost it. Besides, I have a feeling Jack already thought I lost it.”

            “Well, you’re proving his point,” Al said angrily as he punched the small glowing buttons on his handlink. With one final sulking glance in Sam’s direction, Al stepped out through the imaging chamber door leaving the room a little duller for his absence.

***

            Apophis practically glided into the room, his ruined face aglow with malicious mischief. Like before, he had an entourage: a wide-eyed, thin, rod of a man that seemed to serve no purpose other than kissing the false god’s ass, and a pair of Jaffa that could have been twins, so close was their resemblance.

            “I am feeling so refreshed,” Apophis announced. “So...satisfied. What could not be bettered with a cool drink and soft bed?

            Ten minutes ago Jack swore he was finally getting a handle on everything. Daniel wasn’t helping much, but still, Jack thought he was handling this all pretty well. And then one tiny remark from the snakey s.o.b and Jack was back where he started from, broken, bleeding, and incredibly thirsty. His mouth went dry (well, drier), his tongue suddenly felt twenty times thicker, and he swore someone had shoved cotton balls in there when he wasn‘t looking--either that or a cat. Funny, but he hadn’t been all that thirsty or desperate for a drink, and now, well, now he’d sign away the contents of his savings account for just one sip of water.

            Jack forced himself to ignore it all, but it was about as easy to ignore as Apophis, who had planted himself directly between Jack and Daniel. And that was something else Jack wasn’t too thrilled about. He wanted to be able to see his sneezing scientist, thank you very much--even if he wasn’t able to do anything for the guy at the moment. Strung up like a housefly in a spider’s web and unarmed as he was, Colonel Jack O’Neill was painfully aware that he was about as useful as a three-legged hamster.

            For once, without a smart remark or sarcasm, Jack resorted to giving Apophis ‘The Look’. The Look--perfected over the years, was capable of drawing blood, freezing newbies in their tracks, and was quite often responsible for the reaffirmation of faith in God--was remarkably less effective when one eye was completely swollen shut. But Jack was never one to admit defeat.

            Jack didn’t allow his glare to slip when Apophis laughed, or even when the Goa'uld stepped over and patted Daniel’s head, if anything, the glare intensified.

            With complete confidence, the self-proclaimed god leaned in towards Daniel ignoring Jack’s apparent fury, and began to whisper into the younger man’s ear. The doctor’s eyes widened until more white showed than blue and his skin flushed red before turning a sickening shade of grey. He turned those scared eyes and dead man’s face towards Jack who tried valiantly not to flinch or turn away.

            And then Apophis stood abruptly and laughed again, a loud barking sound that echoed around the chamber with the sound of a dozen crazed lunatics.

            Jack urged a smile to his lips in an attempt to assure Daniel the best he could, and tried not to think about what the Goa'uld had said to get that reaction from Daniel. He didn’t want to know. He really didn’t.

            Apophis sauntered over to his skinny lackey. “Razi,” he purred. “I think our friends would like a drink.”

            Razi gulped hard and practically jumped into action. He was out the door before it had a chance to even fully open. When he returned he was carrying a rather large and ornate pitcher and a pair of matching goblets. His hands shook so badly that it was a wonder the contents of the pitcher hadn’t spilled a thousand times over.

            Apophis took the pitcher and poured a generous serving of liquid into one of the goblets. He handed the vessel back to Razi and turned his back to the gofer in an effective dismissal. Razi slinked off back to his corner.

            “Daniel Jackson, you are thirsty, yes? You would like a drink?”

            Seeing the expressions of doubt and longing on Daniel’s face, Apophis chuckled before pulling a face of his own. Jack didn’t think it was possible, but Apophis actually looked hurt.

            “It is not tainted, Daniel Jackson.” As if proving this, Apophis brought the cup to his lips and took a long drink. “Ah,” he heaved a contented sigh and wiped away any excess moisture from his lips with the back of his golden sleeve.

            “Daniel Jackson?”

            Daniel gulped and looked away.

            Absently, Apophis took another sip as he stared at the two men. Soon the cup was empty. “Razi,” he snapped irritably, as if it vexed him dearly that it took the man all of two seconds to cross the room and refill his drink. With a wave of a jeweled hand, Razi the Rod was dismissed again.

             “Do you not long for this, Colonel O’Neill?”

            Jack did, but he’d be damned if he was gonna let on. He said nothing.

            “Oh, come now. Do not be stubborn.”  In two steps he was abreast of Jack, the goblet held in his outstretched hand. “A drink.”

            O’Neill forced his eyes to remain on Apophis' and not to drift traitorously to the proffered cup.

            The Goa'uld tut-tutted. “Colonel, it does not bother me any if you do not drink.” He pressed the goblet closer to Jack until it was mere inches away from his lips.

            Come on, O’Neill, a human can go days without water. You have gone days without water. It’s been merely hours. So what’s your problem now, huh? You’re an officer of the United States Air Force for cryin‘ out loud! .

            His eyes never wavered.

            “This is not the battle, O’Neill. Have a drink, and then we shall continue.” Apophis raised the cup the last three inches until Jack could feel the cool metal of the goblet pressed against his closed lips. “Drink.”

            Jack pulled his head back away from the cup and watched on in anguish as Apophis shrugged and upturned the goblet, emptying the contents on to the ship’s floor.

            “Now we shall continue,” Apophis said softly as he whirled around and backhanded Daniel hard across his right eye and cheekbone.

            Sam wasn’t quite sure how or why, but time seemed to have stretched to an interminable crawl. Perhaps it could be explained away with a complex theory or a postulate or some other scientific whatever, but he just didn’t have the frame of mind to figure it out. God, but his head hurt. He had been shocked and totally unprepared when the fists had turned on him. Admittedly, he shouldn’t have been, but he was so used to being the bait for Jack he almost forgot what it was like to be the target.  And here we go again.

            “Where is the child?”

            Where is the child? Where are the Tok'ra? What is the code? What, what, what. Where, where, where. Whatever.

            Sam opened his mouth again to tell Apophis again that he had absolutely no idea to the what’s or the where’s. The resulting glare and sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh told him that he had once again given the wrong answer and Jack had suffered for it. But it was the only answer he could give. He truly did not know.

            The question, at least in Sam’s mind, was whether or not, if he actually did know, would he tell Apophis? He used this to keep his mind busy and away from drifting about on matters that were better left overlooked. He would have liked to be able to answer with a firm and one hundred percent  ‘hell no’. But he wondered. Jack was getting beaten to death. Literally. As a doctor, Sam knew for a fact that even if they were able to leave right now and get him to the nearest hospital, Jack would have a slim chance of survival. Apophis was using him like a workout bag, with about as much sentiment as well. Jack wasn’t human to him, or perhaps there lay the truth, to Apophis Jack was merely a human. Nothing more. Definitely nothing to have concern over.

            But if Jack was willing to die for this, who was Sam to impede the process. That, Sam knew, was over simplification and totally unfair to the colonel. This was obviously a cause that the man was prepared to sacrifice anything for. Sam would do the same of himself. But Sam wasn’t prepared to kill Jack and that was precisely what he was doing. Even if it was for the safety of billions of people. That was selfish, another mark to add on the long list of Sam Beckett shortcomings.  Sam laughed at the irony; here he was having a total moral argument for a subject that was pretty much moot. He didn’t know. He would likely never know. And it all really didn’t matter all that much because most likely Apophis would kill them all anyhow.

            “I find it amusing that you find this amusing, Daniel Jackson. I myself am having a grand time, but I would have thought that you and O’Neill, would not be so entertained.”

            “He’s laughing at you, shit face,” Jack slurred.

            Oh, God, Jack. Not now.

            “You know, I bet a bit of make-up could fix that for you,” Jack remarked of Apophis' ruined face.

            Shut up, Jack! Sam waited for the attack he knew was coming, praying that the beating wouldn’t be too severe. But Apophis never made a move towards the colonel; he remained planted in front of Sam, his glowing eyes fastened on his victim.

            Jack continued to slur out his insults. “I hear Michael Jackson’s had the same problem. ‘Course, he’s had many problems. The King of Pop. You like pop, Apophis? A-POP-fus. Weird name.”

            Apophis clenched his jaw.

            Oh, boy. Here it comes. Jack, what the hell are you doing, here? Are you trying to get yourself killed? It’s like waiting for a volcano to erupt or a bomb to go off.

            “No. You probably like Rap or something. I myself never really cared for it, but then there’s a lot of things you do that I don’t particul-partic-really care for. Like the clothes and the decor. And then we....”

            Jack was silent for so long that Sam feared (hoped?) he had fallen unconscious, though he didn’t dare take his eyes and attention away from the threat that loomed ever-so close. Too close. Far too close. Where the hell was Al? Doing what you told him to do, you idiot. Oh, yeah, that. Doesn’t really seem all that important anymore.

            “...Haven’t really touched on the whole snake thing.” Jack continued, though his words were so slurred now that it was nearly impossible to understand him. “Don’t like that.”

            Not for the first time, Sam wished he at least knew enough to spin a convincing lie. Or any lie at all for that matter--anything that would buy Jack a break. Freedom would be better, but a respite wouldn’t be refused.

            “Pop, pop, fizz, fizz--oh, what a relief it is! A-pop-fizz. Fizzle...” Jack actually giggled. “Fizzzzz.” It was drawn out into a hacking cough.

            Apophis rolled his eyes and abruptly stepped away from Daniel, marching over to Razi and the awaiting water pitcher.

            Sam nearly laughed himself, seeing Apophis exhibit such a human gesture. It seemed so out of place on someone--something--that had thus far shown himself to be anything but human. The simple action sent Dr. Beckett’s mind reeling, and he struggled to stay focused on the situation at hand.

            Apophis snapped him back. “Your friend,” he sneered the word, “is dying. Look at him.” The Goa'uld strolled over to stand next to the soldier. Jack attempted to straighten but failed miserably. “Tsk, tsk. The tough warrior.” He circled back around Jack and slung an arm around the man’s trembling shoulders. “How much longer, do you suppose he can survive? Knife wounds can be quite deadly.”

            “Knife?” Sam repeated foolishly, confused and wary of the answer. The word was barely out of his mouth before Apophis drew the blade. The metal glinted gold in the dim torchlight before disappearing deep into Jack’s chest.

            His arms still wrapped obscenely around O’Neill, Apophis twisted the blade further until it was embedded up to the hilt in flesh and cloth. Unable to move away, Jack slumped heavily against Apophis who grinned sadistically, heedless of the blood that slowly saturated his golden sleeves.

            “Knife,” he hissed.

            “No,” it was more breathed than spoken, a small word that meant so much, but did so little. No. Oh, God, no.            Sam couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All he saw was that knife stuck in Jack’s chest and ever spreading darkness that enveloped the soldier’s already torn and dirty uniform. And his eyes, oh, God, his eyes. It was all Sam could do not to look away. Wide with pain and fear, but also acceptance and the last remnants of defiance, Jack’s brown eyes bore into Sam.

            “Yes.”

            Sam realized with a muted jolt that at some point Apophis must have stepped away from Jack as the Goa'uld was now standing next to Sam. He was aware of the snake-like hissing in his ear as Apophis whispered fervently. He wasn’t really listening, catching bits and pieces, his attention riveted on the dying man before him, his ears only open to Jack’s haggard breathing.  Must’ve caught a lung, he thought, absently shifting to doctor mode, hearing the now wet wheezing. Not long now. Not long enough--.

            “...I can save him.”

            Brought up short by the only words he wanted to hear, Sam flicked his gaze to Apophis.

            “I can save him,” the Goa'uld repeated quietly.

            But at what price? Sam shook his head: he already knew.

            “He will die. But I can save him, you can save him.” He bent down closer. “ I can heal him. I am, after all,” he grinned, “a god.”

            “Not my god,” Sam said turning his gaze back to the colonel.

            Apophis laughed, the sound loud and grating on Sam’s nerves like broken glass.

            “Your god,” he scoffed. “Yes, where is your god?”

            Sam didn’t even bother with a response, not at all sure that he had one to give.

            “He must be a very powerful god. Look how he saves you, keeps you from harm, heals your injuries, smites your enemies. Yes, I can see why you follow him and refute me. I stand in awe. Tsk, tsk, Dr. Jackson. You are a stubborn man. And selfish as well, to let a friend die...I wish to help. Just give me the codes for this,” he said, throwing a black rectangular object in Sam’s lap.

            “What is it?” Sam asked, squinting down at it in an attempt to decipher its purpose and finally recognizing it to be the strange device that had earlier been removed from his forearm. But that didn’t really help; he still had no clue as to its function.

            “Do not mock me, Daniel Jackson. Time runs short for your colonel.”

            Sam shrugged.

            “Tell me the codes.”

            “No.” Flat-out. If the dumb schmuck wouldn’t believe him, fine. He was tired of this. Jack was as good as dead anyhow, Sam was sure he would be quickly following. He just wished he knew whether Major Carter and Teal’c were still alive. “Go to hell.”

***

            “I don’t suppose we managed to escape while I was out, huh?” Carter asked, her eyes refusing to open in case they saw the suffocating walls of her prison once again.

            “The opportunity has not presented itself as of yet, Major Carter. You may go back to sleep; I will awake you when it is time.”

            Teal’c was so sweet. Asleep, yes, she liked that much better than unconscious. Course, she didn’t want to be accused of sleeping on the job, either. She opened her mouth to ask how long she had been ‘asleep’ this time when Teal’c beat her to it.

            “Twenty -three minutes.”

            “Oh.” She turned to look at him, her eyes finally relenting and giving sight. “You still have your watch?” Her own had been taken along with anything that could have been even remotely useful.

            “I do not.”

            “Oh.” Well, that sounded intelligent, Carter.

            “Neither do I have the GDO.”

            She clamped her lips shut lest ‘oh’ make a reappearance. Let’s try for something a little more with it, Major. Yes, Sir. “We’ll think of something, Teal’c. It’s not like there aren’t dozens of other friendly planets we could gate to.”

            He nodded.

            It really wasn’t the missing GDO’s that worried her, or the lack of a decent arsenal (or even a measly zat gun, for that matter), but rather, what of her teammates? She was relatively certain that Apophis wasn’t having them over for tea.

            “They are strong willed.”

            It was her turn to nod, not sure that a strong will would be enough to get them out of this in one piece. Of course Daniel and the colonel were two of the most stubborn people she had ever met, impossibly so sometimes. And that usually got them into trouble. And out of trouble too, she firmly insisted.

            “Yeah,” she sighed. “We’ll get out of here. All of us,” she said, borrowing a bit of that O’Neill optimism.

            “Indeed we will, Major Carter. They will not be left behind.”

            And right then it was so simple.

            “Rest now.”

            She obeyed, closing her eyes. SG-1 never left anyone behind. Not ever. But--. Unconsciousness claimed her before she could finish the traitorous thought.

***

            Al stomped down the hallway at a furious pace. This was taking far too long. If they couldn’t do it, they couldn’t do it, but Al wanted to go back and be with Sam.

            “Gooshie,” he growled, catching the programmer's arm in a painful grip. “What’s taking so damn long!”

            The small man winced and looked down the corridor as if in search of rescue. Who knew Al would be stalking these halls? In retrospect, it had been foolish to even emerge from the computer room; Al wasn’t likely to frequent that particular room--well, unless Tina was there.

            A sharp jerk of his arm brought Gooshie back to the situation at hand, so to speak. “I-I-Ziggy’s working on it.”

            Al released his grip with something akin to a snarl. He was headed, Gooshie vaguely noted, to the waiting room. Well, that was just fine with him, let the guy vent on someone else. He had seen Al in this state of mind only a few times, but those few times were enough to cause Gooshie to send up a prayer of thanks after the admiral’s retreating back.

            Al paused in front of the waiting room door; having burned off a fair amount of anger on the assault of Gooshie, he was left feeling drained and anxious. Rather than acknowledge the whispering thoughts that crept along unchecked in his caffeine addled brain, he slapped his palm on the admittance pad beside the door and waited impatiently as the door whisked open.

             The lights had been dimmed, casting soft grey shadows about the sparse room and leaving objects subtle and indistinct. Never having it occurred to him that Daniel might actually be asleep, he was brought up short at the sight before him. Curled up against the far wall, arms entwined in a strange, yet comfortable looking embrace, were Daniel and Donna--asleep.

            For a moment Al only saw Sam and Donna as they were years before. Back before the “success” of the maiden voyage. Back when Sam remembered her. Back, back...such a long time ago. He shook it off. This was Daniel Jackson, PhD, explorer of strange worlds, not Sam. Sam who was--stop it!

            Not wanting to disturb them, but needing the peace, Al crept over to the table and sat down to watch the two as they slept. He hadn’t seen Donna so relaxed in years. She always looked tense, her forehead creased with fine lines born of worry and... grief, he supposed. The light was too low to tell if those lines had smoothed any, but her posture spoke volumes. He expected he had Daniel to thank for this.

            With his first smile in hours, Al picked up the discarded fork and began to poke and pick at the remnants of the “meatloaf special”. He ignored the slight tremors that ran through his hand.

            At first he was able to concentrate on eating and watching the sleeping pair, but eventually worry and anger won over. Damn it, Sam! Why’d you have to be so damn smart? So damn nice? Why couldn’t the project have failed? Bombed. Tanked. If it had, you’d be here right now with Donna instead of bound and tortured on some alien spaceship. If it had...Al sighed in disgust. How many lives had they--had Sam--affected because it had worked? So many. I just wish...I wish I could do something. Hell, trade places with you if I had to. Permanently this time. I just feel so damn helpless, Sam. Do you know that? Do you know how many times day in and day out I wish I could step in and rescue you? Sometimes even from yourself. You care too damn much, that’s your problem. Hell, I care too damn much. Al scrubbed a hand over his face trying to erase the images of torture, past and present.

            “Crap.”

            He halted the fork mid-bite. Why was he eating this junk? Warm it tasted like cardboard; it was even worse cold. No wonder the kid barely touched it. Disgusted by more than just the food, Al shoved the plate away.

            Enough of this; it was time to light a fire under Ziggy’s main frame. With one last glance at Donna and Daniel, Al forced himself erect and strode out of the waiting room intent on doing some rescuing, any damn way he could.

***

            Expecting a blow, Sam was shocked to receive a smile in its stead. It was the toothy smile of a sadistic ass, and Sam would have preferred a good gut punch. He was quite sure that a smile from Lucifer here, would bring anything but good luck. With that in mind, Beckett stared right passed him to where Jack was hanging, miraculously still alive. Miracle, yes, or nearly so, but merciful it was anything but. If life was fair, and by now Sam was almost totally convinced that it was not, the man would have been put out of his misery.

            “Tell me the location of the Tok'ra.”

            Sam ignored him.

            “Tell me where I can find the child.”

            Sam had a few suggestions, but did not lend them voice.

            “Tell me the codes.”

            He wasn’t even listening anymore. What was the point?

            God, Jack, I am so sorry. The red stain had spread across his entire front.

            “Do not think that this is over Tau'ri,” spat Apophis. “It has only begun.”

            Jack tensed as a tremor wracked his body.

            “I have been preparing for this very moment.”

            Jack was moving his mouth in an effort to speak but no sound came out.

            Apophis droned on, oblivious to the dying soldier. “I possess a...drug. Once introduced to the body--your body--you will be unable to continue in these lies. The drug will render you to my complete control. You will tell me everything.”

            It’s okay, Jack. Just go all ready. Get some peace. I won’t tell him a thing. I promise. Hell, I don’t know a thing. But even if I did...It was finally, and firmly, clear to Sam. I wouldn’t tell. I promise. “I promise.”

            With that, Jack’s mouth, black with blood, turned up ever so slightly at the corners in a faint grin.

            Sam couldn’t help but smile back.

            And then Jack’s smile faded, his eyes closed and Colonel Jack O’Neill was gone.

            The grin still stuck to his face; Sam finally turned to Apophis. “I made a promise.”

            “YOU WILL TELL ME EVERYTHING!” Apophis screamed.

            “I will tell you nothing.”

            Apophis whirled and struck out at Jack’s body sending it swinging on its chains. Immediately the Goa'uld stilled, as if perhaps he had just realized that the colonel had finally died. And then the fury resurfaced. With an angry swipe, Apophis yanked on the nearest chain, snapping it from its bracket.

             O’Neill hung by one arm like a broken marionette, but still, Sam did not allow his smile to slip: Jack was gone; the fight was over. He watched as Apophis made short work of the other restraint until the crumpled shell of the fallen warrior was lying on the floor in a puddle of its own blood. The self -appointed god kicked the limp form.

            “Take it away,” he commanded.

            It. Oh, God, Al. It. Despite himself, Sam felt his grin waver. Jack.

            Guard # 1 stepped forward, his broad face emotionless as he bent down and grabbed the colonel by the collar of his ragged t-shirt and proceeded to drag the body out of the room.

            Jack. It is a person--was a person. Jack O’Neill.

            “Jaffa!” Apophis snarled, before spitting out a string of bastardized Aramaic.

            Bowing in an attempted apology, the guard released Jack’s collar and instead hoisted him up by his arm in order to sling the body over his shoulder. Apparently Apophis did not like It leaving a smeared blood trail all over his golden ship.

            Jack.

            The Goa'uld waved an angry hand and Razi scampered out after the retreating guard. Guard # 2 moved three steps to the left to cover the door.

            Sam flinched as the water pitcher went sailing past his head before shattering on the far wall. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the glistening red that marked Jack’s death. Jack. He has name. His name is Jack. “His name is Jack.” He hadn’t realized he had spoken it aloud until he heard Apophis snarling in response.

            “His name is nothing! He is nothing! And you,” his dual voice was quivering in fury, “You are nothing!”

            Sam barely had time to register the hand coming toward him, the bright glow emanating from the strange bracelet on Apophis' outstretched palm, or the pulsing wave of intense energy, before he was struck in the chest by what felt like a freight train. He was knocked back by the extreme force of the blow, taking the heavy chair with him as he toppled over backwards. His skull smacked painfully against the ship’s floor and he felt a bone in his left wrist snap, but that was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. It felt like he was slowly being crushed to death.

            Just before he lost consciousness he thought he heard Apophis leave, but he wasn’t sure and soon it didn’t matter as he lost to the darkness that promised oblivion.

***

            He knew he had made a mistake the instant he had turned the hand device on Daniel Jackson. But it was too late. Gods do not make mistakes.

             <Oh, please do not tell me you now believe your own pitiful lies>.

            Silence! I am a god. I am The God! With little more than a thought he had his host silently screaming for mercy. I. Am. Your. God.

            His host did not challenge.

            This was not a mistake, merely a show of force. Pain would do the Tau'ri well, and if by chance the hand device had done more than just caused minor injury, well, he did have a sarcophagus.

            His eminence once again secure in his thoughts, Apophis strode from the room to retrieve the drug. And perhaps he would take rest; it would not do for him to lose his temper a third time.

***

            Admiral Al Calavicci desperately wanted--needed--to punch somebody. Recognizing this, he made the effort to relax his hands and dropped them neatly at his sides. Feigning control, he stood still and listened to Ziggy ramble on and on about brain waves, proximity references, and how unfair Sam’s expectations were to the poor, over-taxed computer. It was then that Al realized it was Ziggy that he wanted to flatten. If only it weren’t a computer...

            “I thought you said you could scratch your head and rub your tummy!” Al accused, his patience far too gone to be worrying about offending the temperamental computer.

            “I can,” Ziggy said, taking on an air of defensiveness. “But you are asking the impossible.”

            “Try harder,” Al snarled.

            “I either can or cannot do something, Admiral. This task is impossible.”

            “And how long did it take you to figure this out?” His voice was calm to the point of madness, each word enunciated precisely. Aged nitroglycerine was not nearly so dangerous. “Sam is out there. He will be killed. You have wasted my time.” Short and to the point, an explanation to the half-bright child.

            Knowing, and not liking, the answer, Al made an about face and strode out of the room, careful to keep his hands deep within his pockets.

            Ziggy’s voice followed him out into the hall. “I can not be expected to perform miracles, Admiral.”

            “I only wanted one,” Al muttered back, but the door had closed. He made it about five feet before he had to stop. One fist had escaped from its pocket prison and slammed into the nearest wall with a reverberating impact Al felt all the way up to his shoulder. Such an easy target. He wished it could hit back, but made do with the throbbing pain that shot up from the damaged knuckles. That was stupid. Embarrassed, Al straightened up and pushed away from the wall. It was funny, but his little inner voice sounded a lot like Sam.

            Al had long ago made a deal with God. The young boy who had lost everything to the so-called benevolent deity promised to hate Him until the very day he died and likely well passed that. God, in return, had shared the sentiment. It left little room for hope, even less for faith, and as a result, life for Albert Calavicci was often mysterious, complicated, and even downright frightening. This particular moment was more so than usual.

            And while Al and God had an antagonistic relationship, he very much doubted that God felt the same way about Sam Beckett, Mr. Integrity. It left him to consider that perhaps this violence was aimed at himself, that Al Calavicci was the target for this unjustifiable wrath. Al pondered this as he stepped into the imaging chamber, unsure of what he would find, or in what condition. The fury and fear re-ignited in full force. Sorry, Sam. I am so damn sorry.

***

            It was no larger than his little finger in either length or width. This miniature miracle--small, so small. Held lightly between his thumb and index finger, Apophis raised the vial to the light. The glass was red. It varied in tone, from the bright shade of luminous pink when the light caught it, to the darker tint the color of blood where the liquid cloyed to the fragile glass walls.

            It was deceptive, really, this key to the universe. The key to his future. Such a marvelous design. Power, it seemed, was not contingent to size. Much like the child. His child. The vast amount of knowledge and power disguised in such a tiny bundle of mortal flesh. It amazed him. The tingle of excitement at merely the thought of the Harsesis child was what impelled him to disregard the laws and conceive a child with Amunet. It was a risk. If the other System Lords were to discover his crime, not only his status, but his very life, would be in danger. Not to mention the competition for possession of the child. Though rightfully his, Apophis did not for a moment believe that he would go unchallenged. It was imperative that he find the Harsesis, and first.

            His excitement swelled until he could no longer contain it and a sharp barking laugh erupted from his mouth startling his Jaffa.

             “It will not be long now, Daniel Jackson.”

***

            Words did not come. They stuck somewhere in the back of his throat, choking him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. And Al was sure he was having a heart attack. He lost his grip on the handlink and it fell to the floor of the imaging chamber with a resounding crack that went unheard. It bleated and squawked for a moment before a warbling cry signaled its death.

            There was blood on the floor. Too much blood for it to mean anything but death. And among the puddles lay the body. Sam was still strapped to the heavy chair, flat on his back, his feet sticking up in the air. Al gasped for breath that wouldn’t come. Sam! His feet carried him closer to the body where he dropped to his knees. Soft hiccupping sounds tore from his throat as he struggled to drag air in to his desperate lungs. No! Al clawed at his necktie that seemed intent upon strangling him. He’s not dead. He’s not! Damn it, he can’t be. Not Sam. Please, not Sam. Freeing himself from his yellow noose, Al moved closer to the body intent on proving a pulse. His hands sank through the soiled green uniform, through his neck, to the sterile white floor of the imaging chamber. Nothing. He could do nothing. He couldn’t even touch his friend, not to comfort him, definitely not to save him. And finally a strangled cry tore past the blockade in Al’s throat.

            “Admiral, I have the--Ohmygod.”

            Al turned dull, lifeless eyes to the man that had entered behind him. “Go away, Gooshie.”

            “Dr. Beckett.” Gooshie looked up from the motionless body before him to the equally motionless admiral. “Wh-wha-what do I tell Dr. Elesee?”

            “Nothing.”

            “But--.”

            “You tell her nothing.” And his voice held the cold, sharp edges of both a warning and a threat. “Go. Away.”

            The programmer gulped once, hard, nodded his assent to the admiral, his eyes heavy with grief and a touch of fear, before stepping back through the door and disappearing from view and thought.

            Al was crouching in a sea of blood, and yet it never touched him, physically. It felt so odd-- so wrong--to remain so clean, so untouched when he was surrounded by all this gore. He kept expecting to see crimson staining his electric blue suit or bloody handprints of his own making on the thighs of his pants. Or anything, anything, but this sterile detachment.

            His breathing had evened out, his chest had relaxed, and he had come to the conclusion that he was not having a heart attack. No, it was worse. He was, instead, mourning the loss of his closest friend. His brother. Sam’s death rocked Al to his very foundation. And it hurt.

            With a trembling hand Al reached out as if to smooth Sam’s rumpled hair, matted as it was with the dark blood. He let his fingers hover lightly above his friend’s head, careful not to touch, not to shatter the illusion that the two men were in fact on the same plane of existence instead of present and past, alive and dead.

            “Hey, Sam.” His voice cracked and he paused for a moment to suck in air before continuing. “You did good, kid. You did so much good.” And now his fingers were tracing the outline of Sam’s face, hidden by the image of Daniel Jackson.  He realized now that Jack O’Neill was no longer there, neither was there another body. For a moment he mourned the lot of them: Sam, O’Neill, Jackson, Donna...himself. Everyone had lost so much today. And yet they didn’t lose Earth. A small consolation that. “Real good, Sam,” he ground out.

            He ignored the movement, attributing it to fatigue and wishful thinking. At the sound of the shallow gasp, Al closed his eyes, squeezing them shut in an effort to block it out. Don’t go there, Al. The quiet exhalation “Oh” was breathed and Al’s eyes popped open wide, wider as he took in the weak struggling of a corpse trying to free itself from the shackles and rise.

            A cough. A groan. And suddenly Sam’s eyes opened, slitted against the glare of the lights.

            Al forgot himself for a moment and reached forward to aid his friend at once delighted and disbelieving. He fell forward, his hands splayed out where his friend’s chest should have been, would have been, if he weren’t a hologram. As if burned, Al jerked his hands back and away. He stared at them, again amazed at their cleanliness. He shoved them into his jacket pockets.

            “Jack?”

            “Sam? Hey, buddy.” His voice sounded odd to his own ears. “Sam, can you hear me?”

            “Jack?”

            “No, it’s me. Al”

            “Al.”

            “Yeah. Hey, you scared the crap outta me, there, guy.”

            Sam was silent for a moment. “Al, h-he killed him. Jack, he killed Jack. Jus’ threw ‘im a-away. Like trash. Dragged him. Awe jeeze, they just...they just...and he’s gone. Dead. Al, he’s dead. Dead.”

            “Oh, Sam.”

            “God, Al, why? Why?”

            “I don’t know,” he lied, not ready to explain the truth about war to a man that still believed that right outmatched might.

            “No, no.” And Sam was shaking his head, the tears running down the side of his face to pool under his neck and blend with the blood that Al belatedly realized wasn’t all his. “I-I mean why am I here? I haven’t--I don’t... I wanna know. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

            With an almost audible ‘click’, Al’s mind was jerked awake and everything dropped into place. He frowned slightly, disconcerted that he knew the answer when Sam did not. Sam always figured things out before he did; it was damn near law. A niggling thought dug at Al, whispering that he had known all along. And Al realized that he probably had. Ever since that talk with Daniel, when the world as Admiral Calavicci knew it had slowly unraveled, he had known.

            Al swallowed hard, trying not to wince under the imploring eyes of his soon to be sacrificial friend. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s time to save the world, Dr. Beckett.” He smiled, but it was weak and they both knew it.

            Lying on his back, bound to a chair and traveling at who knows what speed on a spaceship, his hair and clothes saturated with blood, Sam thought that those words were surely the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his entire life. And that scared him. What scared him more was that Al believed them to be true. He laughed. It was a loud, harsh sound barked into the silent room, ricocheting off the golden walls and coming back a dozen times over.

            Al was staring at him, oddly, fearfully, and Sam realized that he was crying through that unfamiliar laughter. Fat tears were springing anew, washing tracks down his face, cold before they even met his collar. He shivered and continued laughing.

            “Sam, I'm serious. You--.”

            He paused in his laughter, unaware that the tears still flowed. “Absolutely. You’re right. Because there is just so much I can do right now!” He flopped one hand, somewhat encumbered by his bound wrist, to better prove his point.

            “You’ve already done more th--.”

            “No! No, Al, I have done nothing. Nothing! Jack is dead.”

            “That--.”

            “I didn’t stop it--I could have, but I didn’t. I watched that...that thing walk right up to him and shove an eight inch knife into his chest...all the way up to the hilt. I watched the blood--.”

            “Sam, don’t.” And Al’s voice was so weary. “Please.”

            “There was blood everywhere.”

            “Stop it.”

            “It took him awhile; he didn’t just die ri--.”

            “Knock it off!” The brutal desperation startled them both. Al recovered first, though marginally.  “Just shut up. Please. Just shut up and listen to me. Okay?”

            Sam’s jaw clenched and his eyes burned defiantly but he made no move to speak.

            “Good.” Al ran a trembling hand through his hair, his quiet voice matched it tremor for tremor. “Jeez, Sam.” His fingers fumbled and searched his coat pockets. “It was not your fault. None of this is your fault. Don’t interrupt.” His search yielded one last cigar hidden away in his breast pocket.  “Dr. Beckett,” he paused and Sam heard the click of a lighter igniting and Al’s sharp intake of breath.  “What do you think would happen if the real Daniel were here right now, in this chair, in this situation?” Another pause, another inhalation.

            When no response was forthcoming, Al continued. “Daniel Jackson knows the answers to that guy’s questions. He knows Jack O’Neill. They are,” puff, “close friends. From what I gather Daniel would die for Jack. And Jack would die for Daniel. It’s how this friendship thing works, see?” It’s like us, Sam. Too damn much like us. “But Daniel, he’s something, he’d let one man die to save a billion. Just like you did.” A well-aimed glare silenced the impending interruption. “But I hardly think you’ve seen the bottom of this guy’s bag of tricks. And you can not tell what you do not know.” Puff. “Get it?”

            Apparently he did not, as the first words out of his mouth were: “Does Daniel know?”

            Al sighed. “Know what, Sam?”

            “That Jack is...dead.”

            “I just found out myself.” Though I had long suspected as much. How long could the guy hold out against all that? “No, Sam. He doesn’t know.”

            Sam nodded. “Someone should probably tell him I fucked up and got his friend killed.”

            “Sam, for the love of--this is not you’re fault. You didn’t fuck things up. They came that way all by themselves.” Al sighed, studied his cigar. “Whether you or Daniel were here on this ship, Jack would have died.” Just please, please, leap before you get killed as well.

            “Ziggy said that?”

            “Huh? No. Ziggy doesn’t know shit. And if she did know anything she wouldn’t tell me anyhow. She’s pissed at me and won’t even speculate.” Paranoid piece of crap that she is. “She doesn’t want to risk being wrong.”

            “So how....”

            “How what, Sam?” Time’s running short buddy.

            “How do you know?”

            “Sam, I'm sorry but I'm not following you.” How do I know what?”

            His voice was shrill with exasperation. “God, Al, how do you know Jack would have died if I wasn’t here to screw things up!” It wasn’t a question, more like an accusation.

            “How do I know that Daniel Jackson would have chosen billions over one?” Because he’s like you, Sam, too noble for your own damn good.  But he didn’t say that. “Because it is the only option.” Somehow, when he wasn’t watching, his cigar had burned down to a nub. He tossed it away. “It was the only option,” he murmured, again.

            “But Jack died.”

            Al sighed. “Yes, he did.”

            “I could have stopped it. But I let him die. And do you know why?”

            Al closed his eyes, certain that he did.

            Sam continued, “Because he made me promise. I gave my word. And now he’s dead. Al?”

            More tired and sick than he had ever been, Al forced his eyes back open.

            “Al, was I right? Because I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if I ever did.” He paused for a moment, sucking in air, trying for composure. “Was this what I was here to do--or was --is this this what Daniel did the first time around? I could have prevented this. I could have saved him. How do you know I did the right thing? How do you know you’re right? What if I've just repeated Daniel‘s mistake? What if I was supposed to choose Jack? What if this was all for nothing? Jack died for nothing.”

            “No, Sam, not for nothing.” He thought of all the people back on Earth, all those kids, all those little people who lived in blessed ignorance. They never knew that their lives were in danger. Not like this, not at the hands of some megalomaniac alien. We never knew.

            “Al.”

            “I know, kid.”

            “How do you know?”

            “Trust me on this. Please. You did the right thing.”

            “I did the right thing,” the words left Sam’s mouth, but his heart wasn’t in it.

            “Yes, Sam, you did. You’re still doing the right thing.”

            Sam’s frown dug itself a little deeper, there for the long haul. “I’m not doing anything.”

            “Sure you are, Sam.” Al lifted a hand to pat his friend’s shoulder, let it drop when he remembered.

            “No, I'm not,” and the guy sounded so confused. It beat Al down a little more.

            Sam sighed. “I’m not doing anything. I'm just...I feel...God, Al. I just feel so useless!”

            A muscle in his jaw twitched and Al reached into his jacket.

            “What are you doing with that?” Sam asked, more than a little worried and confused when Al had withdrawn a handgun.        

            The admiral held the Glock in the palm of one hand, the fingers of his other hand lightly tracing its dull black features. “I have no idea.” He cleared his throat. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? Broke six damn good regulations just having it on me and I couldn’t even use it if I had to. Not even when my friend’s life is in danger. Useless?” Al laid the gun on the floor between them and extended his hand towards Sam, letting it rest just slightly above the handcuff that could easily have been removed with two free hands. “Useless?” He repeated. “Not even close.” He stood abruptly and turned away from Sam’s searching eyes.

            “Al.”

            “Uhm, Sam. I think that maybe I should--.” The slight rumble stole his words away and Al spun around to see the door sliding open. As if by magic the useless gun was back in Al’s hand. As the Goa'uld entered the room Al tightened his grip on the weapon, all too aware of the absurdity of his action.

            The Goa'uld stopped a few feet short from Al and Sam. He was silent for a moment as he cocked his head to one side and rocked back on his heels. Then he smiled. “I see that you are not dead, Daniel Jackson. That is fortunate I suppose. For you at least.” He turned to one of the men behind him who produced a small golden box. “I have brought a gift.”

***

            “P3X-974.”

            Teal’c opened his eyes, effectively ending his Kel No’reem, and looked to his team mate. “Excuse me?”

            “It’s our only choice, Teal’c.” She spoke slowly, her mind still busy considering options and consequences.

            “P3X-974,” he repeated, attempting to remember this designation out of hundreds.

            “Cimmeria,” the two blurted simultaneously.

            “Uh, huh. Even if we somehow managed to get back our GDO’s we still can’t risk letting a Goa'uld loose on Earth.”

            “I agree.”

            “We’re just going to have to figure out how to get them there.”

            “Get whom there?” He asked.

            Teal’c felt Major Carter stiffen beside him. “Colonel O’Neill and Daniel, of course.”

            “I do not understand.” Ah, but he was beginning to. “You fear that O’Neill and Daniel Jackson have been made hosts.”

            “Well, yeah. You don‘t?”

            And she was angry now and confused.

            “I do not.”

            “But I...why?”

            “I will not attempt to deceive you; there is that possibility. However, Apophis will not be so foolish as to infest you three before he has what he wants. He would not risk the competition.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “Apophis wishes domination above all. From us, he hopes to attain the means. We know, or at least he is convinced that we know, the location of the Harsesis child, the codes to our iris, and even the home world of the Tok'ra. Were these not the questions he asked of you when you were prisoner to him last?”

            “Yeah.” It was a quiet sigh that tugged at his soul.

            It was a moment before he dared continue. “There may even be more information that Apophis wishes to gain. He would not risk letting these answers be learned by someone else first. The Goa'uld are paranoid, and rightly so. A Goa'uld, even a young one within its first host, can soon become a formidable enemy if given the means. Children have often been the cause of their parents’ downfall and even demise. Of this, I am sure you are aware. Apophis knows this. If he makes you hosts he will likely do so after he has obtained his answers and acted upon them.”

            “So if he’s not using--I mean...what? Good old-fashioned torture? The colonel would sooner die.”

            “As would Daniel Jackson.”

            She nodded in agreement but it was clear her thoughts were elsewhere. “They probably already have, Teal’c. Apophis has a sarcophagus, right?”

            “Yes.” He knew his voice to be heavy with anger and disgust.

            “So he could just keep killing them and bringing them back over and over again until...what? No one can take that, not even those two.”

            “He has the two of us as well, Major Carter.”

            “Yes, he does.” Her tone suggested that she was eager to encounter the false god.

            His brow quirked in amusement.

            What she did not voice was her fear that Apophis would use them against each other, especially her. Major Sam Carter knew her strengths. She also knew her weaknesses. Until this moment she had never thought to list her friendship under ‘weakness’.

***

            Apophis' hand twitched and the two guards sprang forward as if jerked by an invisible string. As one they moved across the room and righted the chair, its occupant still bound and terrified, but marginally grateful to be right side up.

            Once this task was completed the two watchdogs did not return to their spots by the door, but rather took up positions on either side of Sam. At that point Razi, the beanpole lackey, stepped up right on cue, reinforcing Al’s suspicion that this was all, somehow, derangely choreographed.

            Razi then began to rummage through his shoulder bag with unsteady hands, producing a length of tubing and a small ball. The churning acid in Al’s stomach tripled in intensity until he was sure someone would be cleaning vomit off of the imaging chamber floor before too long.

            “Hey, Sam,” his voice was low and thick. He coughed and his next words came out strangely high-pitched, “Just hang in there, okay? Don’t worry.”

            “Yeah, right.”

            Al turned to see a sickly smile on his friend’s sweat slicked face,

            “Tell Donna I love her.”

            Al closed his eyes; 99.9% of the time Sam didn’t remember that he was even married. Why’d he have to choose now to remember what he chanced to lose? “She knows. God, Sam, she knows. She always....” He couldn’t finish.

            “She’s not watching is she?”

            “No.”

            “Good.”

            “Yeah.”

            Sam sighed. “Thanks, Al. You know, for ev-- .”

            “What are you doing?” Apophis barked, the simple question carrying the clear tones of annoyance, fear and curiosity. “Who are you speaking to?”

            They had both jumped at his voice, unaware and yet uncaring that Apophis had been watching Sam, intent on this strange, seemingly one-sided, conversation.

            “Search him. Again,” Apophis ordered his confused guards, obviously worried that Daniel had secreted a communication device.

            Perhaps the guards hesitated a moment too long, perhaps Apophis did not approve of the accidental emotions that flitted across their faces. Or perhaps, and this was highly likely, Apophis just lost his temper. It did not matter. Neither one had any time to react before his wrath was turned on them. Guard #1 quickly found himself writhing on the floor in agony as he was pinned down with a steady, and unfortunately deadly, stream of energy from his lord’s hand device.

            Guard #2 stared in undisguised horror for a half-moment before bolting into action. He searched Sam with an embarrassing thoroughness that yielded nothing but pocket lint and a crumpled chocolate wrapper. Frustrated and scared for his life, the guard searched him again. The third run of his search was halted with a growl from Apophis. In a language Al didn’t have a hope of deciphering, he ordered the surviving guard to get out and to take the carcass with him. The guard seemed more than happy to comply.

            “It does not matter,” Apophis said, striving for nonchalance and failing. “You will not be able to withhold the truth from me. You will be unable to withhold anything from me!” He paused for a calming breath. Silently cursing this Tau'ri and the unwashed Tau'ri he sprung from. His next words were once again spoken with the ballsy overconfidence the Goa'uld were known for. “It is time for your world’s defeat, Daniel Jackson. I believe it will be my pleasure.” The Goa'uld smiled. He was back in control.

***

            When Razi approached, Sam remained motionless. When Razi prepared the ball and tubing, Sam struggled. When Razi attempted to insert the tubing into Sam’s mouth, he fought and tried to bite down. Prepared for this, Razi threw a hard jab to Sam’s temple that brought him dancing on the brink of unconsciousness. The thin tubing was then easily secured; nearly gagging Sam as it snaked its way down his throat. He tried to scream when Razi squeezed the ball shaped plunger, needed to scream as he felt the liquid burn a path down to his stomach. His attempt was muffled, pitiful, and short lived as he quickly passed out. Mercifully, he was unconscious when the tubing was roughly jerked back out.

            Unfortunately, the darkness did not last long, and Sam was soon overly alert to the effects of the drug as it shot through his system. It had gone down like molten lava, emptying into his stomach and coating the linings with ice. He shivered, coughed, struggled not to puke, sure that it would feel just as horrid coming back out. The liquid hadn’t looked thick coming in, but it felt like molasses going down as it clung to the walls of his esophagus, burning and aching and destroying everything in its path. Oh, god, it hurt.  Please, no more, god, no more. Then the questions came.

            The questions were spewed in a rapid fire, the same ones he’d been asked before. Where’s the child, the code, the planet? Sam didn’t know, didn’t really care anymore and told Apophis so. He just wanted to make that awful burning go away, he just wanted to sleep, he just wanted to die, he didn’t care, just get it over with.

            More questions, or the same ones, Sam didn’t pause to think about them, just let the truth spill out of him like so much blood; bleeding to death couldn’t have hurt more.

            Fire ants, Sam concluded, his throat was full of fire ants, biting him on their way to his brain, to his stomach, filling him with their poison. Filling him with pain. He wanted a drink, but didn’t want a drink, vaguely remembering how the fire ants had gotten into his throat in the first place. He had drunk them. He would not drink another drop, not ever. He’d sooner die.

***

            Razi watched surreptitiously as Apophis slowly lost the battle to remain calm. It was advantageous, at times like these, to melt into the background, so to speak. Or, even better, to leave the site entirely. Which is why, when given the opportunity, Razi exited quickly and quietly. Daniel Jackson was as good as dead. Why remain by a wrathful hand?

            They had been so sure that this would work. Getting their hands on information like this was not an opportunity that they were willing to pass up. And yet, strangely, regrettably, Daniel Jackson was proving to be uncannily willful. It was either that or he truly did not know. But how would that be possible?

            Taking full advantage of Apophis’ preoccupation, Razi made his course.

***

            The footsteps startled him out of Kel No’reem. It had been hours since their imprisonment and though the footsteps could mean their death, a prospect that had his insides churning in fear, it nevertheless piqued his curiosity. Before he could alert Major Carter, a crash of Jaffa armor sounded down the passageway. Though muted, it was enough to awaken the major. The electric sizzle of a zat gun discharging had them hoping for the best. Perhaps O'Neill and Daniel Jackson had managed to get free?

            The face at the bars, however, was definitely not that of a missing team member. The face was dark with a matching swath of dark hair and large dark eyes that reminded Teal’c of a startled child. The youthful face and startled expression seemed at odds with the reverberating voice of a Goa'uld. And it immediately set Teal’c on edge.

            “We must hurry.”

            Neither Teal’c not Major Carter made a move. They merely stared at him, unblinking.

            It was only after he had unlocked the lock and turned to sneak back the way from which he had come that he seemed to realize that they were not following him. “If we wish to escape we must leave now. And quickly.” He made to leave again.

            “Where’s Colonel O’Neill and Daniel?”

            Razi glanced at Carter. “Dead. Or as good as. Come.”

            “No.” This time it was Teal’c. “ We are not leaving without our friends.”

            Razi gaped. “We can not risk it. We have to hurry!” The last word was as much a plead as anything else.

            “We do not have to risk anything. Major Carter and myself will retrieve them alone. You will tell us where they are being held.”

            “I-I.” Who was this Jaffa to be ordering him around? He was trying to save their lives. “We have to--.”

            “Hurry, we know. Tell us where they are.”

            First a Jaffa and now a woman? He opened his mouth to protest yet again, when they leaned in towards him. They looked as if they would eat him alive. He sighed and nodded reluctantly. “Follow me.”

            One small battle won, Teal’c bent down to assist Major Carter to her feet.

            “You know that this is probably a trap, right?” She whispered.

            “Most likely.”

            “Just so we’re clear.”

            “Indeed.”

            As they made their way through the door, she paused. “He’d have to know that we’d suspect something. We’re not idiots. We’re not going to just follow a Goa'uld to parts unknown.”

            She caught the quick raise of his eyebrow.

            “Okay, so that’s exactly what we’re doing. But--.”

            “Quickly!” The Goa'uld hissed, beckoning them with a wind milling arm.

            The teammates exchanged a wary glance but picked up their speed.

            Teal’c considered attacking the Goa'uld right now, jumping him from behind, wringing his neck, and zatting the body into oblivion. It would be quick and relatively silent. He did not, however, know the whereabouts of Daniel Jackson or O'Neill and refused to risk such a thing. He also considered beating the needed information out of their ‘rescuer‘. The appeal of that idea increased with every step until Teal’c was primed to leap. That’s when the Goa'uld stopped walking.

            Razi gestured towards the door. “Your O’Neill is in here. Quickly get the body and let us be on our way.”

            Teal’c forced himself not to react to the man’s words though he noticed the major flinch and grit her teeth.

            “False god’s first,” Teal’c growled, pushing the Goa'uld ahead and through the doorway.

            Too shocked to even consider raising his weapon, Razi found himself entering first, a prime target if ever there was one.

            “That was not necessary,” he sniffed, attempting to look down on the taller Jaffa. “As I have said, I am here to assist in your escape.”

            “Mmhm. I bet. And when--.” The angry words died on her lips when she saw him.

            “Oh my...no.” Despite Razi’s forewarnings, she had never quite allowed herself to even consider it to be true. Not really. To see the colonel lying there, broken, bloody, discarded...dead. No, he couldn’t be dead.  Colonel Jack O’Neill was amazingly hard to kill. It was just impossible. Right?

            “Teal’c.” She begged him for the reassurance she could not give herself. Please, God, don’t let him be dead. He’s just unconscious. He’s just unconscious.

            Teal’c shouldered his way past the Goa'uld and bent down towards his friend’s prone body. With trembling hands he searched for a pulse he knew was no longer present.

            “Teal’c?”

            He shook his head, incapable of meeting her desperate eyes.

            “No. Unacceptable.” She shook her head, stubbornly refusing to let her pain or emotions get the best of her. “A sarcophagus.”

            “What? No.” Razi gasped as he felt himself hauled roughly against the wall, before his only weapon was removed from his person. She was quick. Even with one useful arm, she was quick.

            “You have a sarcophagus on board.” It was not a question. “ Where is it?”

            “Do you not understand? It is not worth the risk. Apophis will catch us and kill us all. Or worse.”

            And now Teal’c was back in the game, adding his weight to that of the major’s. “It is not Apophis you must worry about.”

            “It is not worth the risk,” Razi tried again, but this time with little conviction. He had no doubt that the Jaffa would kill him, nor the woman. She had the fire in her eyes.

            “Very well.” He made a show of straightening his tunic and pressing out wrinkles. “May I have my weapon back?”

            “No.” Ignoring his expectant palm and petulant glare she released him and turned to Teal‘c. “Can you manage?”

            “I can.” He tilted his head as if to say ‘and you?’

            Her head was pounding, her shoulder was on fire, and her vision swam, but she nodded. “We’ll go first.” And with that she forced the pouting Razi forward, the zat lowered but clearly still a threat.

            Teal’c lifted O’Neill’s body, cradling him like a sleeping child, and rose to a stand. He tried to ignore the welts and half-formed bruises, forced himself not to see the blood and gore, denied the broken bones he felt under his touch, and instead concentrated on seeing his friend home. In all hopes he would be alive when they got there.

***

            They met absolutely no resistance in the halls; a fact that was as unsettling as it was welcome.  But by the time they had rounded on what Carter figured had to be their billionth unguarded corner, she stopped, roughly pulling their Goa'uld guide with her.

            “Okay, what’s up?” She hissed, forgetting herself.

            Razi stole a glance towards the golden ceiling, his face an image of abject confusion. Teal’c beside her, took the strange words in stride, knowing not to take the Tau'ri words at face value.

            Suddenly realizing her error, Carter corrected herself. In a voice hard and cold and barely above a whisper she asked, “Where is everyone? The Jaffa? The slaves? What the hell is this? And exactly who the hell are you?” She added with a none too gentle prod with her stolen zat.

            “Time runs short,” he said as he attempted to wriggle his way out of her grasp, all the while looking this way and that.

            But was he looking out for enemies, or searching for a savior? she wondered. “Then tell me what I want to know, and maybe we can move on.”

            His large eyes searched hers and, apparently not finding an answer to his prayer, answered her reluctantly. “I am Razi.”

            “Well that clears it right up then, doesn’t it,” she snarled. ‘Time runs short’. You’re damn right it does, she thought, throwing her own nervous glance at the hall behind her then at the colonel’s limp and bloodied form. “Tell me.”

            “I--.” But he was cut off as the sudden sound of booted footsteps carried down the corridor towards them. His wide eyes grew even wider and Carter gave him another threatening prod with the zat before he could do anything stupid. He gave a brief effort to appear affronted before caution got the better of him. “Quickly,” he whispered, and drew them on ahead at a speed Carter could appreciate, even if her aching body did not.

            Carter puzzled at the ‘coincidence’ of the sudden proximity of the sarcophagus, but was nevertheless relieved when Razi led them stealthily into a room just around the next bend. Closing the great door behind them, the party held with bated breath as the footsteps passed and soon died away.

            She released her grip on Razi, more out of weariness than of trust, but he neither noticed nor cared about her reasons as he skulked over to the nearest corner. He opened his mouth, probably to tell them their need for haste, but closed it with an audible snap when he noticed the zat still pointed unerringly in his direction.

            “Where’s Daniel Jackson?” Carter asked a little louder than necessary in an effort to block out the scuffling movements behind her as Teal’c moved over towards the sarcophagus. But his answer came too slow, her senses too alert to miss the soft scraping sound as the lid slid open.

            “With Apophis,” Razi answered distractedly, entranced by the motions of the Jaffa as he lowered his friend’s damaged body into the healing machine.

            Carter forced herself not to follow his gaze, too aware of what she would see. “Where?” She asked again, the familiar bite edging back into her strained voice.

            The lid closed, the show was over; Razi turned his attention back to the woman. He stared at her for a long moment, studying her, taking in her scorched shoulder, hunched frame, and squinty eyes. “No,” he said, and his petulant voice had a taken on a slightly defiant tone.

            “It was not a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question,” Teal’c thundered.

            Razi did not answer, but to his credit he did not look away, either. He had momentarily forgotten about the looming threat that was the Jaffa.  

            “Where?” The question was accompanied by one long stride, and now Teal’c looked down upon Razi who was still valiantly trying to remain upright and defiant.

            Dragging in a steadying breath, Razi fixed Teal’c’s shins in a rebellious stare. “It is a foolish and dangerous sentiment to worry for the dead. And completely Tau'ri.”

            “Yes,” Carter breathed, “it is.” But she was no longer looking at the Goa'uld, having finally let her eyes take that first traitorous glance at the unmoving sarcophagus. How long does it take to heal injuries like those? How long does it take to cast off death?

            Sensing her distraction and fighting off his own, Teal’c leaned in closer to growl in Razi’s ear. “Tell me where he is or I will take great joy and amusement in breaking every bone in that body before tearing you loose and crushing you to death. It will be slow. It will be painful. It will be much like what you and your god did to O’Neill. And it could possibly be my pleasure. Now...tell me where he is.”

            Razi closed his eyes against the hot breath blowing threats in his ear but could not block them out. He knew the Jaffa would do as he promised. But he also knew that he could not let this chance slip him by, too much was already spent on this endeavor. If they got away from him...if they escaped...

            “I-I will take you there.” His new found defiance shattered, he slumped dejectedly against the wall the Jaffa had him backed into and nearly wept with relief and frustration when Teal’c stepped back a pace.

            Though Teal’c stepped back, he did not step off. He would press this Razi for the exact location, he was too wary of a trap not to. He could think of no other reason why a dissident Goa'uld would willingly or even grudgingly risk facing the master he just betrayed. And that was the question, was it not? Had Razi betrayed Apophis in assisting in their escape? Or was this an elaborate trap? Despite is own defection, Teal’c was realistically reluctant to assume that Razi--or any other Goa'uld for that matter-- would do so as well.

            “That is unacceptable. I wish the exact location. Now.”

            “But-I-No. No.”

            Teal’c lifted an eyebrow and leaned in closer but said nothing. It was enough.

            “Apophis is with him!” Razi wailed in frustration. “Look...look, I'll take you and we can try to get him back, but--.”

            “And be led right into Apophis' hands. I think not,” Carter snapped, her eyes still glued to the sarcophagus.

            “So instead I am supposed to tell you his location and let the Jaffa kill me? I think not.”

            That’s the plan, you little shit. “Teal’c won’t kill you. Not without cause.” But we could use a diversion, and that’s where you come in.

            “Now, the location. Please.” And it was an honest to God snarl.

            Razi blinked once then narrowed his wide eyes into a dreadful scowl. “You have no chance without me.”

            “Funny, I think we stand a better chance without you.” Carter swung her piercing gaze back his way. “What exactly are your motives anyway? I mean, you’re so intent in letting us believe you’re on our side, and yet, all I smell is a trap. Pretty soon I might feel like zatting you right where you stand and taking my chances,” she lied, swinging the zat gun to point once more. “Time’s almost up.”

            And indeed it was. Before he could talk, if ever that was intention, and before Carter could zat him, if ever that were her intention, a faint rumbling alerted them to the opening of the sarcophagus. And immediately three sets of eyes were intent upon its golden surface, though their attention was more for what lay inside.

***

            For a moment he allowed himself to believe it was Sha’re, folded up asleep in his arms. But just for a moment. Reality came crashing back soon enough. This wasn’t Sha’re; Sha’re was dead. To prove it to his unwilling heart, Daniel opened his eyes. His sight caught upon the dark wavy hair and his heart stopped for a beat.   

            “Mmm. Sam,” the dark haired woman murmured sleepily.

            His heart thudded back into action. Donna. Donna, husband of Sam Beckett. Sam who was where Daniel should have been--literally. He didn’t feel like he was in someone else's body--and he wasn’t, he firmly reminded himself--but it felt weird to look down and see somebody else’s arms, somebody else’s hands. Donna shifted in his arms. For that matter, it felt weird to see and feel somebody else’s wife wrapped in his comfortable embrace. Perhaps too comfortable.

            He didn’t want to wake her, but decided that for the sake of sanity alone he should probably not remain in this position. Besides, he had to talk with Al and find out what had happened. While you were asleep. It might have been Jack’s voice, strange as it was to have another man’s voice sound as his conscious, but it definitely was his own words. Jack would never berate him for that. Didn’t mean he couldn’t do it himself though.

            It quickly came to his attention, however, that she was wrapped around him as completely as he was around her. Which inexorably meant that to move would mean awakening her as well. Resigned to the less than horrible fate of having a beautiful woman asleep in his arms, Daniel leaned back to let his head thump noiselessly against the unnaturally white wall behind him and tried to keep his thoughts from declaring apocalyptic ends for his teammates or the SGC. It didn’t work. And soon he was positively desperate to talk to Al, or anyone for that matter, who knew what the hell was going on.

            Daniel realized, belatedly of course, that tension probably did not make that great of a pillow. He winced guiltily as Donna stirred in his arms before blearily opening her eyes. The sleepy haze did not last long, and soon she had bolted upright, quickly backing away.

            “I’m sorry. Oh my...I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and hung her head until it rested on her bent knees as she sat drawn up across from him. But across from him might just as well have been miles as withdrawn as they now were from each other.

             “I can’t believe--I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled as it strained through the layers of hair that now veiled her face.

            “No. Don’t be sorry.” Daniel sighed.

            “I can’t believe I did that.” Was that loathing he heard in her quiet voice?

            “What? Fell asleep? I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to do--.”

            She was shaking her head. “I didn’t just fall asleep; I fell apart.”

            “You’re allowed to do that, too, you know.”

            She gave him a long look but said nothing.

            “And besides,” he continued, “I don’t think that last night really counts as falling apart. That was maybe just a little crumble. Sometimes crumbles can help.”

            “And sometimes crumbles are just a slower method of destruction.”

            Daniel opened his mouth but realized he didn’t have anything to say to that.

            “That’s okay, Dr. Jackson,” she said at his loss of words. “Your perpetual optimism will just have to forgive my bit of pessimism.”

            “D-Daniel. You’re supposed to call me Daniel.”

            “Right. Daniel.”

            “I’m not a perpetual optimist. Not really. Jack says I’m pessimistic. Well actually, Jack says Sam’s--Samantha Carter--is a pessimist. He says I'm hopeless.” Daniel grinned. “And for the record, I don’t think you are either. A pessimist, I mean. I don’t think someone in your position can afford to be. Especially not you, and especially not when you’ve made it this long. Everyone has bad days.”

            “How ‘bout years.”

            “Those, too.”

            She smiled appropriately but she was already miles away. When she spoke again her voice had taken on a sort of pensive quality as if she was speaking to herself or to the scuffmark she seemed intent upon rubbing out of existence. And though it soon became clear she was addressing Daniel she never once looked up at him. “For years it has been what’s kept me going, forcing me to wake up in the morning and function. Forcing me to give a damn. Just that chance, no matter the odds, that he’d come back. And every time he leaps I think This is it. This is the leap that will bring him back to me, that’ll bring him home.”

            Daniel swallowed hard, again seeing the bizarre similarities he shared with this woman. For years he had traveled through the stargate with hopes that the next planet, or moon, or whatever the hell they gated to would bring him to Sha’re.

            “It happened once.”

            “What? He came home?” That startled him.

            She nodded, and in a quiet but rather matter of fact tone said, “But he had to leave again. A--” She paused. “It would have meant the death of...someone he cares deeply about. But I think--no, I know he would have done the same for a stranger.”

            “You let him go.”

            “I let him go.”

            “You’re a very strong person to be able to do that.” And this, too, he knew from experience.

            “Perhaps too strong. If...if that was our one chance...if he can’t come back.... I’d never forgive myself.”

            “What about him, could you forgive him?”

            “If he never came back again?”

            Daniel nodded. “Could you forgive him?”

            She raised her head and finally met his eyes. “I doubt it. No.”

***

            He didn’t sit up; he didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t move--at first, no one did. No one wanted it proven that their one slim chance at his survival hadn’t worked. And then almost as one the trio moved in and stood shoulder to shoulder at the now open sarcophagus as they stared down at Colonel Jack O’Neill.

            Come on, Sir. Open your eyes. Razi forgotten for the moment, Carter cradled the zat in the crook of her injured arm and leaned forward into the sarcophagus. Her trembling fingers found his neck and searched for a pulse. His skin was pale and cold to the touch but the wounds that had marred his face and neck were closed and healed over. The only sign of violence being the blood soaked hair and uniform. It was still wet she realized, horrified, as her hand grazed the short greying hair at the base of his neck. She wanted to pull away but bit back the urge as she had still not found a pulse. There. The slight skitter across her fingertips. That. What was that? It had to be a pulse. It had to have worked. She closed her eyes and focused everything on that small sensation. Yes. It was there. Barely, but it was there. She grinned but did not open her eyes or remove her hand now wet with the colonel’s blood. She allowed herself the smallest sigh of relief as she sent up a thanks to whoever was listening and hoping that somebody was.

            But, as moments do, it did not last long and, as she struggled to bring herself back to the situation at hand, she had to wonder. “Teal’c, did we uh, was it set for the right amount of time? I mean...he’s not--he’s not...”

            A reassuring hand touched her un-injured shoulder with a feather-light touch. “There is not a timer on these things, Major Carter.” He paused and chose his next words carefully. “The sarcophagus can close wounds and even revive the dead, but it takes much of the user.” And O’Neill did not have much left to give, he thought. “He will recover fully, but it will take time.”

            They didn’t have time.

            “I will assist him, Major Carter.”

            If assisting means carrying.... Carter nodded.

***

            Never let them see you cry. It had been one of the first lessons Al had learned as a kid. It had served him well then on the streets, and it had served him well through all those years in the military. He had considered it commandment numero uno during his enforced stay in Vietnam. And he swore by it when he finally came home to live a life without Beth. Al had thought there would never be anything else--anything worse--that he couldn’t handle. And if there was, well, just don’t let them see the tears. In fact, don’t let there be any tears. And it had worked up until this day.

            This day was the worst goddamned day of his life. 

            Al had taken up a permanent stance by Sam’s side, but beyond that he knew of nothing else that would help his friend. As it was, he wasn’t so sure that Sam was even aware of his presence, but that was okay. Hopefully that meant he wasn’t aware of too much else, either.

            He had briefly entertained the notion of bringing in Donna to sit with Sam. But Al quickly gave that up, as he could see no good thing coming of that. Sam was most likely oblivious to anything but the pain and Al figured Donna would be better off not seeing him this way. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he shouldn’t make that decision for her, but he would and he did.

***

            The pain had nestled itself somewhere behind his eyes, so when he awoke and the light filtered its way through his closed eyelids, the effect was excruciating. The pain was no longer dormant.

            The man whimpered pathetically and tried to cover his sensitive eyes with his hands. After several painful attempts to move his arms he gave up. He never wondered as to the reason of why his arms refused to move, nor did he make the effort to discover why. The pain did away with anything more mentally taxing than breathing.

            So he resigned himself to just sitting and breathing, which even, after awhile, became too challenging and he passed out. Again.

            “...now would be a really good time to wake up,” the voice said. “Sa-am. Buddy, come on. Wake up.” Someone coughed. “He’s gone. He left. Come on, wake up.” The voice was closer now. Far too close. “Talk to me, Sam. Tell me you’re still somewhere inside there. Open your eyes.” The voice was getting impatient now, worried. “Sam! Please, come on, buddy. Just...just wake up. Now damnit! Sorry. Sorry. Shit. I...Sam, I can’t tell--I can’t touch you, remember? Help me out here. Just...let me know you’re still alive. Please.” A sigh. “Damnit, Sam. I can’t...I can’t--don’t leave me, okay?  Don’t you dare leave me, don’t you fucking dare.”

            The man in the chair listened to the voice, not having much else to do. Since regaining consciousness his breathing had evened out; the task becoming less and less arduous until it became almost the involuntary act it should have been and he no longer needed to concentrate on every breath. He wouldn’t have to worry about passing out again--of course, he wasn’t actually worried about that. Being worried about anything was a little beyond him at this point.

            The pain having also mysteriously decreased; his previously occupied brain was rather unoccupied at the current moment and he began the rather slow attempt at putting it to use. First things first: Who the hell was talking? And why the hell didn’t they just wake up and answer the man?

            Irritation, evidently, was one of the first emotions to thaw from his gradually functioning system. Apparently following only after curiosity.

            After awhile, it occurred to the man in the chair that he was eventually going to have to open his eyes and risk the pain if he was actually going to see anything. Unless of course he had some sixth sense he was unaware of. Which could very well be the case, his muddled brain reminded him. Intrigued, he wasted a few moments trying to rouse this advanced perception that would allow him to see through closed eyelids and perhaps leap tall buildings. Who knew how these things worked, after all?

            Discovering that he either didn’t remember how to operate this superpower, or simply did not have it in the first place, he reluctantly gave up the taxing undertaking and opened his eyes.  They were slitted, barely even open, but the light was bright, an intensity that had him blinking back tears. He slammed them shut so quick he saw multi-colored star fields. The man in the chair figured he should get an ‘A’ for effort, but closed they would remain. At least until someone turned off the sun or gave him a pair of sunglasses for cripe’s sake.

            “Sam!” The voice cried, loud and happy.

***

            Carter supposed there was a good reason why the halls and various chambers were unpopulated by so much as even a servant, let alone a guard. Like maybe it was a trap. Or, she supposed, maybe it was possible that Apophis hadn’t quite had the time or the resources to build up a proper legion since their last run-in with the false god--the last time when they were sure he was dead. Or maybe it was a trap. Or maybe everyone was at the local Bingo game. Or maybe it was a trap.

            Colonel O’Neill who, while a pragmatist to the bone had a definite optimistic streak, would not be pleased if he knew what she was thinking. Of course he would be thinking along the same lines (maybe not the Bingo thing), but thinking it was apparently one thing--yet saying it aloud another. But at the same time, she felt guilty for assuming the worst. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have reason. They had underestimated Apophis many times before. Carter had begun to think that perhaps they had over-estimated the Goa'uld considering the fact that SG-1had emerged if not victorious, then at least with their lives. But each time, certain that Apophis was dead, he came back stronger, meaner, like some cruel and twisted cosmic joke.

            In retrospect, it seemed, at least to Sam Carter, foolish that they had believed him dead at all. The man simply did not die--or if he did, he certainly never stayed that way. She knew he wasn’t a god, just a Goa'uld, a parasite. And she knew that Goa'ulds were just as mortal as she was. But she was becoming irrational despite herself, and began to think that maybe what they really needed wasn’t a zat or a P-90, but rather a wooden stake or a silver bullet, for Apophis clearly wasn’t your run-of-the-mill Goa'uld. Clearly the snake was a monster of the preternatural order, a loup-garou, or at the very least a practioner of the black arts.

            Carter, this had so better be blood-loss and fever talking. I know you wouldn’t be working yourself into hysterics, convincing yourself that Apophis, an enemy, is an immortal aberration, right before a possible confrontation. Right? Right? Oh, great, Major. Way to keep your head in a crisis. Teal’c’s isn’t thinking such things, and the colonel certainly wouldn’t be thinking such things.

            Carter felt a burning blush flush her already fevered cheeks. Get a grip, Major.

            Teal’c, observant as ever even while burdened by the weight of the colonel and the stress of the situation, noticed the creeping flush to the major’s cheeks; so in his deep musical rumble of a voice he asked, “Major Carter...?” He wanted to inquire as to her health; she was obviously fevered, but was there more he was unaware of? If she was more ill than he previously had knowledge of and was unable to perform the difficult tasks needed of her, well, he would prefer to know now rather than later, in the midst of a battle. But he did not say anything further. The Goa'uld did not need knowledge of her weaknesses, nor did she need Teal’c’s distracting concern. If she had a problem, surely she would inform him.

            None of his concerns went unnoticed or unappreciated by Carter. And it made her cheeks burn brighter. Glancing once in his direction she managed to catch his eye and offered up to him what she dearly hoped was a reassuring smile. And that was all she had the strength for. She turned back to their prisoner in her lead.

            It was getting harder for her to concentrate; random thoughts jumped into her brain at will. Whether the random thoughts were themselves the culprit to her dwindling concentration, or her dwindling concentration was the cause to her random thoughts, she didn’t know, didn‘t really care. And they were absurd, these thoughts. Beside the embarrassing notion of Apophis as a vampire, there was the sudden remembrance of garbage day and the long overdue laundry that was piled in her hamper. And then of course there were the flying turtles. It wasn’t a hallucination, just a brief but ridiculous image played across her mind’s screen. But it was enough to freak her out. The mere possibility of insanity--even by shock--left her shaky.

            With a resolution she thought she no longer possessed, Carter forced these silly and disturbing thoughts out of her head, and instead focused on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping Razi in her sight line, and most importantly, on not screaming aloud in fear and frustration.

            And it worked, quite well. Arguably too well. As she marched behind the Goa'uld she studied his bobbing head, watched as it tipped noticeably to the left with every step of his right foot, and noticed that he could use a good wash behind those slightly Spock-ish ears. Every step, every movement, was permanently ingrained in her feverish brain.  At this point, if Razi so much as twitched, Carter’d probably end up zatting him into oblivion, her finger continually pressing the trigger, on reflex alone.  It would be hard, if not impossible, to stop her trigger finger from convulsing after just three pulls. Which is why, really, it was damn near a miracle that she didn’t shoot him when she heard the gasp.

***

            It was as if he were trying to breathe in the whole world, his body straining and convulsing with the effort to draw the air into his desperate lungs.

            “O’Neill, calm yourself,” Teal’c commanded, as he lowered his friend’s shuddering body to the floor.

            To Major Carter, in an effort to keep her calm as well, Teal’c explained, “O’Neill is awakening--.”

            “But....”

            “The sarcophagus can often impair one’s functions. It can force the body to...read things as they are not. Right now his body thinks it needs more air. Perhaps he does. But if he does not slow his breathing and calm himself, he will damage his already weakened body.”

            “He’ll hyperventilate or....” Major Carter seemed confused as she uncharacteristically searched for the right words.

            “Indeed. At the very least, it will send him unconscious once again,” Teal’c said, as he gently slapped O’Neill’s face. His brown eyes were opened wide but unfocused.

            “We can not do this here,” Razi whispered fiercely, edging slightly away from Major Carter’s good arm and the weapon it held.

            “Well, where do you suggest we do it?” snapped Major Carter.

            Teal’c sighed, still not getting the needed response from O‘Neill. “He is correct,” Teal’c admitted somewhat reluctantly, silently apologizing to Major Carter for agreeing with a Goa'uld. Teal’c glared at the Goa'uld while he puzzled out a solution. This ship was newer than the one he had served on under Apophis so many years ago. Logic and experience told him that the floor plans would be quite similar to that of the old.

            The Goa'uld found an answer Teal’c again reluctantly agreed with, and the four moved off at a quick pace, Teal’c once again carrying the now struggling O’Neill.

***

            He couldn’t breathe. Lord help him, he couldn’t breathe. His arms thrashed out into space in absolute panic, seemingly of their own volition, before some part of his brain kicked in and he began to grasp and claw at his throat trying to draw air into his desperate lungs. Before they could complete the task, his hands were forced away from his throat; his struggles intensified as he was denied the precious oxygen.

            Things were a bit fuzzy still in the brain of Jack O’Neill, but of the few things registering on his faulty screen, it was clear to him that he was going to die. After over forty years of being alive he was kind of used to breathing and living, and was very much adverse to not doing so. So, more out of long time habit and stubborn insistence for his existence, Jack fought back. Hard.

            Just as the edges of his vision began to darken, and he began to fade back into unconsciousness, Jack realized that he actually had vision. Everything was blurry, the colors muted and growing more so, but he could see. Come to think of it, he could hear, too. It was mostly just rumbles, but they were familiar rumbles. And that big dark blur wasn’t just a sunspot, but Teal’c.

            It dawned on him, as he stared rather dumbly up at his friend, that he could breathe. So he did.

***

            They had found a secure room a short distance away, though Teal’c had found himself wishing it had been even closer. O’Neill was not a small man, and carrying him while he fought for his very life Teal’c compared to carrying a struggling hopuk. Twice, Teal’c had nearly dropped the colonel as he fought off O’Neill’s attacks at the same time attempting to keep the colonel form injuring himself.

            Now, watching his friend take his first easy breath, recognition slowly forming in those dark eyes, Teal’c felt the first faint stirrings of hope. Perhaps...yes, just perhaps.

            “Houffgh--.” Jack cleared his throat and tried again, this time with a simpler word. “Hi.”

            “‘Hi’ to you as well, O’Neill.”

            “It’s nice to see you you again, Sir.”

            “Me?” One word, nice, simple, and still practically unintelligible.

            “Indeed.”

            Jack decided he’d try for more words, bigger words. “Who...else...?”

            Carter kinda laughed. Kinda. May have been a groan or a cough or maybe a hiccup; his hearing was still sorta wonky. Teal’c just stared at him.

            “I do not understand.”

            Carter, past his line of vision, said in a rather quiet voice, “He wants to know who else he would have been, Teal’c.”

            “Joke,” rasped Jack. I think.

            Teal’c inclined his head. “As I now realize, O’Neill.” And unless Jack’s vision was more whacked than he thought, he could have sworn Teal’c smirked at him.

            “Right. So where we?”

            Teal’c rocked back on his heels, expanding Jack’s line of sight and revealing Carter to his left. “Don’t look so good. A’right?” Jack asked before anyone could answer his first question.

            Either the words never made it out of his mouth, or she ignored him, instead, choosing to reply to the first question. “Well, Sir, it’s like this.... Hell, there’s no easy way to say this....”

            “Cat not on the roof?” Even to his own ears he sounded drunk.

            “Huh? What? Forget it. Sir, we’re on Apophis' ship.”

            “He’s dead.” Jack looked from Carter to Teal’c, not liking what he saw in their eyes. “Right?”

            “Unfortunately not, Sir.”

            He closed his eyes. “Shit. Screwed.”

            “Pretty much.”

            And then a horrible realization forced his eyes open. “Where’s Daniel?”

***

            The urn, a gift from Sareana, his second and much loved queen, was a blessing to the eye, and had, on many occasions, provided Apophis with a sense of serenity and well-being just by setting eyes on its beauty. On this day, as he gazed at the magnificently crafted vase, with it’s etched pictograms and inset jewels casting off their red light, he felt none of its calming effects. For the first time he saw not the beauty and charm that reminded him of his Sareana, but rather the small but glaringly noticeable imperfections scarring the surface. It now repulsed him, this small hand-made, flawed object of Tau'ri design. It was flawed as all things of the Tau'ri were, including the people--most especially the people.

            The urn, held aloft between thumb and forefinger as if contaminated, even felt ugly to the touch. It amazed him that he ever found such an object appealing. An angry flick of his wrist sent the vase hurling across the chamber before crashing against the unyielding wall. Apophis watched the urn shatter into a thousand useless shards, wishing instead that it were Daniel Jackson.

***

            There was a long exhale followed by a sharp bark of a laugh. “Sonofabitch. I swear you probably scared another good ten years outta me.” The words were a crude cover up, given away by the quivering emotion behind the reprimand. “Damn, Sam. It’s good to see you alive.”

            “More ’r less,” Sam slurred, gradually allowing his eyes to open and adapt to the light. His sense of awareness had come back in a nearly overwhelming tidal wave and now, though the pain and confusion had not yet abated, he felt, more or less, like himself again. Sorta.  Of course there were still memory holes large enough to drive a Buick through, but that was pretty normal on a good day, which this wasn’t.

            “Yeah, more or less.” Al grinned his ghost’s grin again.

            “Feel l’ke shit.” His mouth was so dry.

            “Well you look like shit, too, Sam.”

            Sam’s mouth twitched into a semi-smile. “Thanks.”

            Al nodded and glanced to the floor. When he looked back up the grin was gone, his eyes a little more serious than sad now. “You didn’t tell him squat.”

            “Didn’t know squat.”

            Al frowned. “Sam....”

            Beckett sighed. “I know.”

            “I’m serious.”

            “You’re always serious.”

            “Damn it! Look--.”

            “Al, there’s nothing we could do.” Sam winced inwardly at the accidental burn at his friend’s uselessness. “I mean it.” And he did. He knew his chance of surviving this leap was pretty much zero. Hell, Sam was surprised he had survived this long. “You should...you should probably go back. You don’t need to be he--.”

            “Fuck you!” Al exploded.

            Sam grinned, straining his abused facial muscles. “Shoulda figured.”

            But Al was furious. “Yeah, you should of. The hell, Sam! I'm not going to leave you here to die alone.”

            “No. Sorry Al, of course you wouldn’t. It‘s just....” He shrugged painfully.

            Al blew out a breath, his anger gone or at least buried.  “I know. I know.”

            Sam nodded. “Thanks.”

            “Yeah. Hey,” Al forced a tired grin. “It’s not over yet. We’re not giving up. Hell, Major Carter and Teal’c are still out there somewhere, right?”

            “Right,” Sam said, wondering if Al actually believed any of what he was selling, wondering if he did either, for that matter.

***

            “Where’s Daniel?”

            Carter closed her eyes against the panicked colonel leaving Teal’c to answer.

            “Apophis is holding him.”

            “What! Oh, jeez. Course he is,” the colonel muttered throwing his hands up over his face. “This keeps getting better and--.” He froze.

            “O’Neill?”

            Colonel O'Neill didn’t answer, but his hands curled into tight fists as he bunched them against his eyes. He remembers, Carter realized grimly. It should have been a good thing, it should have. But she doubted it was. She couldn’t imagine what Apophis had done to the colonel before finally killing him. Well she could imagine, graphically so, but she didn’t want to. God, but she didn’t want to.

            “Sarcophagus?” He asked from between fists.

            She nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see her, forgetting her shoulder. Pain danced through her nerves, lighting fires as it went.

            “...alive?”

            Carter clenched her teeth and tried to focus more on what was being said.

            Razi coughed behind her and she silently cursed herself for forgetting about him as a threat. “He-he was when I last saw him,” he said, and she realized they were talking about Daniel.

            The colonel pulled his hands away from his face, looking for the source of the new voice.  

            “You!” Spat Colonel O’Neill, lunging up awkwardly from the floor. Amazingly he made it to his feet. Never underestimate the power of hatred. He swayed mightily but Teal’c stepped in to lend aid. “You sonofabitch,” he growled, and though clearly relying on Teal’c for support, the colonel nevertheless made a move for Razi’s throat.

            “Sir!” Carter called, wondering why Teal’c wasn’t trying to stop him. “Sir!” She tried again.

            Apparently Razi was wondering the same thing as he backed himself into a wall trying vainly to override the laws of physics so he could pass through the solid surface. But the colonel kept coming and the wall kept solid. His wide eyes looked to Carter beseeching her to stop this, to preserve his miserable life. She wondered if she could even if she wanted to.

            “Please, please,” he pleaded miserably in the face of vengeance.

            From the look on Colonel O’Neill’s face, Razi was more than just any Goa'uld. This was clearly personal and Carter had to ask herself what kind of role Razi had in all this mess. Suddenly she was sure she wouldn’t stop the colonel from doing whatever he pleased, as long as it didn’t put Daniel’ life in greater risk.

            But O’Neill stopped inches from Razi, his drawn grey face inches from the Goa'uld's wide-eyed pale one. “If Daniel’s dead,” the colonel said, his voice quiet and unreasonably calm, “then you will be, too. That’s a promise.”

            Razi nodded unhappily and foolishly opened his mouth to speak. “I am here to assist you.”

            O’Neill cocked his head to one side, his hard eyes narrowing, reminding her of a predator studying its prey. And then he nodded. “You’re good at assisting,” he snarled the word assisting, clearly mocking the other man. “Though I’m not too sure that I like your brand of assist.”

            Swiveling his head first in her direction then in Teal’c’s, the colonel asked, “Do we really need him?”

            She didn’t have an answer, her distrust warring with her concern for Daniel. Apparently Teal’c hadn’t an answer either, or at least not an easy one. They were both saved from deciding, for the time being, by Razi and his infinite opinions.

            “Yes! I can help you. I know the ship. I can get you out. Please, let me help you.”

            Razi could read the utter disbelief and bafflement on O’Neill’s features. He was coming on strong, he knew. But he had to get them to let him help, to let him remain with them.  If they got separated, or please forbid, O'Neill or the Jaffa killed him, then it would be over and he would have lost the one chance his people had.

            “I know where Daniel Jackson is,” he tried again. “I can take you to him.”

            He looked to their faces, hoping to find at least some give in the woman’s. She would after all have the most sympathy to his plight. He got nothing but three stony glares.

            “Please, let me help.”

            “Why?” Demanded O'Neill.

            Good question. It was one Razi was hesitant to answer. But he really had no hope of getting what he wanted if they continued to believe him to be the enemy. It was rounding on time to give them the truth. More accurately, it was rounding on time to get out of Apophis’ realm. “Because I am Tok'ra.”

            He couldn’t have given a more wrong answer if he’d tried.

            Everyone froze as they stared at him open-mouthed. In Carter’s case it was just plain disbelief. Not that she doubted that he was who he said he was, it did make a sort of sense, but she simply couldn’t believe he hadn’t said something sooner. His life had been on the line. She knew she had nearly killed him, she figured Teal’c had most likely entertained such notions himself. By all rights he should have--would have--been dead by now if they had truly followed their guts and not been so scared for Daniel. This was insane.

            “Why-why didn’t you say something before?” Carter accused. And before he could answer, a more pertinent question struck her. “Why didn’t you help Daniel and the colonel before? Why...?” Her voice was full of quiet horror. “Surely there was a time...?”

            “Of course there was, Carter,” the colonel answered quietly, and there was something in his voice she didn’t recognize but nevertheless sent a shiver down her spine.

            Turning away from Razi who was looking more and more like a cornered rat, she looked to O’Neill. “But why--?” She stopped herself as she saw his face.

            The cold fury that had twisted his features just moments before was back, a hundredfold. Color had finally come to his face, turning the once sickening shade of grey into an unnatural dark red. His brown eyes had gone opaque making it difficult to read what was behind them. But it was clear enough in his overly tense posture and the grim set to his mouth. He was pissed. Beyond pissed. She had never seen him--or anyone for that matter--so furious.

            “Why?” He hissed dangerously. “Because this piece of shit here, our ally, wanted some information. And he was willing to let Daniel die in order to get it!” he said so forcefully spittle was flying with the angry words. The colonel had taken another step forward as he spoke until he was practically standing on Razi’s toes. He apparently needed Teal’c’s support no longer; fury gave him strength.

            “So what was it?” His voice was calm again, though the rage was still there, every word fairly dripping with it. “Let’s see if I remember what those questions were.... Oh, yes. Where is the Tok'ra home base? I’ll assume you know the answer to that stumper. The GDO? Your people already got yourselves one of those. And gee, we seem to find ourselves stuck with the last question, the whereabouts of the kid.”

            Carter tried to swallow the lump that was forming somewhere in her throat. The kid most likely meant the Harsesis child. Hidden away on some unknown planet, they hadn’t even told the Tok'ra about the boy’s existence. And why should they, Daniel and the colonel had made their case. He was a child not a weapon, not really, she told herself. The Tok'ra obviously found out somehow, but she couldn’t believe that they would do this, that they would risk Daniel and Colonel O'Neill's lives over this. The betrayal had a nauseating effect on her already queasy stomach.

            “Well, guess what?” The colonel said, jamming one longer finger into Razi’s chest. “We don’t know where the kid is. “We”...jab...“don’t”...jab...“fucking”...jab...“have”...jab...“a clue.” He let his hand drop still at his side for a moment before he had another idea.

             Still locked with Razi in the glare of death, he held out an expectant palm towards Carter. “Give me the zat.”

            She didn’t move, not out of unwillingness or even disagreement, just shock.

            “Carter,” he said, this time giving her the benefit of a glance.

            “I can’t-I can’t believe the council would sanction this.”

            Razi didn’t answer.

            “Carter,” Jack tried again. She looked bad. She looked shocky. For the first time he allowed himself to look outside of his hurt and anger for what had been done to Daniel, to what had been done to himself, and he didn’t like what he saw.

            “I don’t--Sir, I think....” She never finished her thought, instead her eyes rolled up back into her head and she just crumpled as if all of her bones had melted.

            Jack amazed himself by beating Teal’c to her assistance and catching her before her head could hit the floor. “Carter. Major.” As his fingers traced her neck in search of a pulse he noticed, up-close and personal, the damage that the staff weapon had done to her shoulder. “Jeez, Sam,” he murmured, silently cursing his selfish preoccupation that caused him to overlook his team.

***

            “I need to find Al.” Daniel rubbed a hand through his gritty hair. Hell I need a shower. He looked to Donna who had remained her careful distance, though at least she had slowed the guilt trip. “I need to know what’s happening...” He waved a gesturing arm. “...out there. Back there? Hell, I don’t know. There.”

            Donna smiled. “I understand what you mean, Daniel. I’m rather curious myself.” Actually frightened was a better word, but she kept that to herself. Pushing herself up from the floor, she smoothed her skirt and said, “I’ll see if I can’t find something out. Maybe even get you some breakfast. And coffee. Do you drink coffee, Daniel?”

            “God, yes.” And his smile was brilliant.

            She returned his grin and his enthusiasm for the drink. Sam had always preferred tea to coffee and though she’d drink it with him out of convenience, it was not one of the things she missed about her husband. All the same, she’d drink gallons of the stuff if it would bring him home. She shook her head clear of the irrational thought and placed her palm on the admittance pad beside the door. It beeped quietly and the door whisked open. “I’ll be right back,” she assured Daniel before stepping through.

            Rounding the corner Donna collided with Gooshie who squealed and jumped back as if burned. The extreme speed of the action combined with his less than stellar coordination, knocked the little man to his butt where he sat for a moment taking in big shuddery breaths and avoiding Donna’s eyes.

            “I suppose I should watch where I'm going. I’m sorry, Goosh,” she said with a small laugh. Gooshie was an extremely smart but also nervous man and, used to his oddities, Donna considered this reaction a bit extreme but still within the normal range for the Project’s head programmer.

            When he remained on the floor Donna extended a hand down to him. He didn’t take it. “Gooshie? You okay?” She asked, crouching down beside him.

            He whimpered and turned his head away.

            “Gooshie, come on what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Look at me.” As she said this, she cupped his chin in her hand and turned his head toward her. The teary eyes did not surprise her, but the wretched misery behind those salty puddles did.

            “Dr. Elesee....”

            “Ohmygod.” She didn’t stop to hear more, though she doubted Gooshie had more to say. Running down the hall she burst into Accelerator Chamber.

            “Ziggy!” She yelled, scared and furious.

            “Good morning, Dr. Elesee,” the computer purred, her usual chipper self.

            “I want life stats.”

            “Anyone in particular?” The cheerfulness was gone, most likely the computer felt slighted at the fact that Donna had not returned the morning greeting.

            Donna resisted the urge to scream at the computer. Nevertheless her voice carried an rare edge to it when she said, “Sam’s.”

            “Very well,” Ziggy answered, still miffed.

***

            Newly resurrected, thoroughly pissed, and now armed, Jack O’Neill took up the task of keeping Razi in line as they made their way down the hallowed halls of hell. He didn’t trust the Tok'ra and, truth be told, he still itched to zat him in the ass, but without Carter fully operational they could use another man. Even if that other man was only used as a diversion.

            If he was honest with himself, Jack felt a little guilty about the Tok'ra's likely fate, but only a little. Less than a little. Maybe even less than less. Time was of the essence here, and Daniel’s fate also hung in the balance. So did Carter’s. Call him a sonofabitch, but he valued the lives of his teammates a helluva lot more than any damn Tok'ra's--even Jacob. They needed to get home to Fraiser like yesterday. And this was the only plan he had.

            What’s more, Jack would have liked to have been able to get his hands on a few more weapons. One zat, three people. Four if they counted Razi--which Jack didn’t. Not yet. Either way the math sucked. They couldn’t risk a run to the local armory, or whatever Teal’c had said it was called. So far their freakishly uncanny luck was holding as they hadn’t so much as seen a hint of a threat, but Jack didn’t want to test it, nor did he truly believe in it. Jack thought that most likely one of them could get a weapon off a guard during the assault, but that still only left one weapon for the initial attack.

            And then there was Carter. Jack had suffered a few panicky moments before she regained consciousness, but now she was back on her feet and she assured them she was fine. It wasn’t as if Jack doubted her word, but she looked...well, bad. When he voiced his concern she had pronounced it the pot calling the kettle black, so he had relented. He hoped he was right--not that he had a choice really. It wasn’t like he would leave her behind.

            “We are near,” Razi stated, unknowingly interrupting Jack’s thoughts.

            “Yeah? Well, that’s what you said about the last corner.”

            Razi ignored the remark. “Normally I would take the sa’evek, but we can hardly do--.”

            “The what?”

            “A suitable translation would be an elevator, O’Neill,” supplied Teal’c.

            “Uh-huh.” Jack seemed to think that over for a moment before shaking his head. Then, reaching out a halting hand, he grabbed Razi’s shoulder. “‘Kay, that’s far enough.”

            Razi came to stop, staying where Jack put him. Occasionally his fingers jumped and skittered at his sides; Jack figured it was for want of a weapon. Well, tough stuff.

            “Carter, you with us?” Jack whispered over his shoulder, and then, as if on a second thought, turned around and looked at her.

            “Ready when you are, Sir.” She flashed a quick grin that was merely a shadow of its former self but spoke of a fierce need to kick ass. He nodded in agreement and flashed his own weary grin in return.

            “Teal’c?”

            “I am as well, O’Neill.”

            “Glad to hear it.”

            But Jack still did not make a move. “We’re comin’ to bring you home, Danny,” he whispered. And then louder, “Okay, kids. Let’s do this.”

            Taking a deep breath, he nodded to Razi who in turn depressed the door lock.

***

            Al had so much to say, but there weren’t words enough to convey his true meaning--or if there were, he didn’t know them. He wanted to say thanks, Sam; thanks for taking a chance on a sorry old soul and being my friend. Thanks for giving me a reason to crawl out of the bottle and face real life again. Thanks for...thanks for so damn much. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn’t save you. I'm sorry I couldn’t bring you back home.

            “Sam....” But his words died in his throat, paling in the very face of the enormity of gratitude and regret they were meant to express.

            On his end, Sam looked as equally lost for words as Al was. He laughed and Al joined in, until their desperate chuckles became little more than echoes. And then the silence resumed.

            Sam fidgeted in his chair, opening and closing his mouth as if he intended to speak, but never letting the words escape. Then finally he said, his voice quiet and pensive, obvious in the manner and speed in which he spoke, “I think, maybe you could get Daniel back to Colorado Springs. It’d take a lot of explaining, but maybe it would work. We’re only, what, a year or so off?”

            Al cleared his throat. “Um, seven months I think.” He grimaced and shrugged.

            Sam nodded and it took a moment for him to say what was on his mind. “He um, he--they seem to care a lot about him. Jack--.” He broke off.

            “He’s a good kid. Kinda reminds me of you.”

            Sam grinned ruefully. “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”

            “So you’ll make sure he gets back? I can’t...it’ll be pretty hard on Major Carter and uh, Teal’c, I would uh, think. You know, with Jack....”

            “I’ll make sure he gets home,” Al promised, even as he thought of the magnitude of shit this would bring down on both programs.

            “Good. And um, Al? Uh, maybe you could, you know, tell him I'm sorry. God, that sounds...inadequate, doesn’t it?”

            Al found himself nodding once more, very aware of the inadequacy of words.

            “I um, I--.” Sam broke off upon hearing the sound. The telltale hiss of the door stealing both men’s attentions, as in unison their heads swiveled to face the front wall and the maddeningly slow opening of the room’s only door.

            But this time it wasn’t Apophis who walked through that door, it wasn’t even one of the many guards, instead it was Jack. Alive and seemingly hole, though still very bloody and grey-faced, it was Jack. It was a miracle. Or something. Sam really didn’t put forth the effort to figure it out, but merely basked in the very rightness of it. Jack was alive and so was Carter and Teal’c and they had come to get him the hell out of here and just in time, too.

            “Hey, Daniel. Long time no see.”

            Jack didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried when he burst in the room only to find Daniel, alive, and with no guards, and especially without their good buddy Apophis. So Jack did what he usually did when faced with conflicting emotions, he made a wise-ass comment.

            Despite his near over-whelming need to get to Daniel, Jack led his team through the room in one extremely thorough check, just to be sure. Then, tossing the zat gun to Teal'c, left him to cover the door while Jack made a beeline for the still trussed up Daniel.

            Crouching down next to the bound man, Jack tried for a grin and found it came harder than he would have expected. “Hey, buddy,” he nearly choked on the words. “Let’s get you out of here, huh? You look like hell.”

            Rather than meet his friend’s eyes, Jack began to work on the leather cuffs, his nervous fingers making the task more difficult than it had to be. Still, he managed to undo the right cuff and quickly moved on to the left. He winced when he saw the swelling and discoloring that marked Daniel’s left wrist, but forced himself to continue, ordering his trembling fingers to be gentle. Daniel never made a sound, actually come to think of it, Daniel hadn’t so much as uttered a word since they’d arrived. “You okay, Daniel?” Stupid question, O’Neill!

            Reluctantly, Jack made eye contact, more than a little scared at what he would see behind those blue eyes. But it wasn’t hate or accusations, not even the nothingness that Jack had most dreaded, it was just...surprise, maybe awe, and something else--something Jack couldn’t quite lay a finger to. Jack shivered as he remembered that it was this ‘something’ that had caused him to accuse Daniel of being a Goa'uld. He knew now that he had been wrong, but there was still something behind those eyes that sent Jack’s antennae twitching.

            He froze when he felt Daniel's hand on his chest. The touch was tentative, gentle, inquisitive, probing.

            “Daniel? Whatcha doin’?”

            The hand paused in its journey as its owner looked beseechingly up at Jack, who was more than a little confused, not to mention more than a little freaked out. But he didn’t say anything more and Daniel’s hand continued to probe, before finally halting its movement about an inch or so below Jack’s sternum where the cloth of his t-shirt was still bloody and torn. Curious blue eyes looked up at Jack’s and he finally understood.

            “I’m fine, Danny.” Which wasn’t a total lie. “All healed up.”

            And Daniel nodded, finally convinced, it seemed, that Jack was indeed alive and in good health.

            “Sir?” Carter called from somewhere behind him.

            “He’s good, Carter.” And then to Daniel, “Right?”

            Daniel nodded once more and then seemed to find his voice. With a tentative grin he said, “I’m good.”

***

            Carter knew she was messed up, she knew things were bad, but she just didn’t think that she was this messed up. Flying turtles were one thing, men in electric blue suits entirely another. Well, make that man not men, but still.

             It was rather obvious that no one else was seeing him; you did not ignore a full-grown adult male dressed in eye-searing blue, it just wasn’t possible. And if Colonel O’Neill or Teal’c or, God help her, even Razi had seen him they would have done something or at the very least said something. But then again, she had seen him and she wasn’t exactly announcing it either.

            Carter wanted to ask Sir, you don’t by any chance see a guy in a blue suit, do you? Or flying turtles? But she didn’t. All her soldierly pride would allow was, “Sir?”

            Which he of course took as how’s Daniel doing? Which is something she should have asked, would have asked, if her head was on straight, which clearly it wasn’t. To be honest she hadn’t even looked at Daniel since they’d all trooped in. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; she had caught a glimpse of him as they’d first entered, just enough to ensure her of his continued existence, but she hadn’t seen much more than boots and knees as the colonel had been blocking her view. Her attention had been unevenly allotted to the blue-suited guy and on something, anything, that would have kept her from really looking at Daniel and the grievous injuries she imagined Apophis to have wreaked. She didn’t know what had been done to Daniel, but she had seen the colonel’s wounds and didn’t fancy seeing the same on Daniel--or anyone for that matter.

            As if on cue, the colonel moved to one side leaving her view clear and unobstructed, but what she saw was much worse than she had expected.

            “That’s not Daniel!” She couldn’t help it; the words were out of her mouth before her shorted-out brain could stop them.

            “What?”

            “Nothing, Sir.” What else could she say? Uh, yeah, gee, Colonel, seems to me we’re rescuing the wrong guy--only I'm the only one that could see it. Oh, and by the way, I'm seeing little blue men. No, she’d given the colonel enough to worry about already. She wouldn’t say anything.

            But apparently Daniel, or whomever the hell she was hallucinating, had other ideas. “You can see me?” And it didn’t sound like Daniel.

            “Ah, shit, Danny,” the colonel said, but his voice was gentle and it cracked when he spoke his name. “Of course we can see you.” He traced a hand through Not-Daniel’s hair. “Shit.” He glanced at Carter and she caught something flash across his brown eyes that could have been fear or sorrow but was probably both.

            And then her Smurf hallucination spoke up, thoroughly panicking her. Again, it was one thing to see them, another thing to hear them.

            “You can see him? I mean for who he really is? Can you see me? Hell, are you even hearing me?”

            She refused to answer, but anguish was stamped clear on her face for anyone to read. Dear God, I’m having an Urgo moment.

            “You can hear me,” Al crowed. “Sam, she can see us. Why can she us?” He was being ignored. Well, maybe not ignored, but he definitely wasn’t getting any kind of response from Sam, and the response he was getting from Major Carter was less than encouraging. She was wincing every time he spoke and trying to look anywhere but in his direction. But what did he expect? He couldn’t imagine what Carter was thinking upon seeing him, probably nothing that encouraged good health. And Sam, short of getting the three of them alone for an explanation session, could hardly help the situation. Sam had to be Daniel. He had to get the hell out of here.

            “‘Kay kids, time to get the hell outta Dodge.” Apparently Jack was thinking along the same general lines. “Teal’c? How’s it look?”

            “It remains clear, O’Neill,” he said, though he didn’t seem too happy about it. It made Al wonder if Teal’c knew something that they didn’t.

            But Jack seemed to get it because he said, “I know.”

            Al only wished he did.

            Jack leaned down to help Sam to his feet. “Can you walk?”

            Sam nodded and Jack looked skeptical, then he threw the skeptical look to Carter. “Carter?”

            He got no response from the major who had her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Walking over to her, Jack extended a hand, lightly touching her right elbow. She jumped. “Carter?”

            “Sir?” It was barely above a whisper. And Al noticed that she had added the colonel to her list of people not to look directly at.

            “You okay?” Jack’s voice was equally low. He moved until he was in her line of sight, forcing her to look at him even if she would not meet his eyes.

            “Not really, Sir.”

            Al silently cursed whatever had allowed her to ‘see’ them. Couldn’t things ever just stay simple? Just once?

            “We must make haste.”

            Al turned to see who spoke, recognizing Apophis’ lackey. What was that slimy little shit’s name? Rafi? Ronny? Whatever. Why the hell was he here? Alive, for that matter.

            “Shut up,” snapped O’Neill. After a silent exchange with Carter, who had finally managed to meet his eyes, Jack grinned. It was a sickly looking grin that was probably meant to reassure but did nothing of the sort. Al got a sinking feeling. The cavalry had arrived but they looked like shit and didn’t seem to be armed. Between the three of them, Sam, Jack, and Carter didn’t look like they could wrestle themselves out of a damp paper bag, let alone fight their way off an alien spaceship.

***

            They marched down the hall with Teal’c in the lead, Jack bringing up the rear with Rafi, or whoever the hell he was, in his sights. Al was relieved to see that they apparently didn’t trust the guy, even if they didn’t keep a weapon trained on his head. There being only one weapon, Al understood, even if he didn’t like it. He was just happy to discover that they at least had a weapon, even if it was small and solitary in number.

            Sam and Carter were in the middle of this strange procession, with Al floating beside Sam. It was a miracle that Ziggy had been able to maintain Sam’s position. It was also rather miraculous that the cracked handlink had managed to function after all. All it had taken was a few good smacks with the heel of his hand to get the little squawking calculator to do its job.

            Al had tried to explain the situation to the major, but with little success. For some reason ‘I’m a hologram from the future’ didn’t seem to cut it. Throughout his babblings, she had looked dead ahead, it seemed Major Carter was intent on ignoring him, second choice to not seeing him at all, he supposed. He tried not to take it personally.

            Then, remembering that she was a physicist, he tried to explain how it all worked, but ended up just giving himself a headache. This was Sam’s field, not his. If he was confusing himself, he couldn’t imagine that the major would understand any of it. Then she surprised him by looking at him, it was just once, and it was quick, but it had happened.

***

            Carter wanted to stop walking and just lie down and sleep. She didn’t care if she got captured and killed she just wanted to stop. Bleeding to death was preferable to this nightmare. Unfortunately, she was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen. She figured that if there was internal bleeding and if it was going to kill her, she’d have been dead by now. She was also pretty sure that the colonel wouldn’t let her stop, even if it meant carrying her himself, he’d done it before. Actually, Teal’c would probably end up carrying her, as Colonel O’Neill looked like he’d have a hard time carrying a daypack. Either way..., she thought miserably, as she forced herself to take another step and then another. She had to help get the team home. She could die on the ramp as soon as everyone was through safely, but she was seeing them home.

            More than she wanted to stop walking, she really wanted that hallucination to shut the hell up. She had screamed at him in her head, but he ignored her. She briefly entertained the notion of his reality, but shut that thought down as she heard him spouting ‘technobabble’, as the colonel would call it. Only her hallucination would be ranting about quantum physics. Of course he was doing it badly...so maybe--no.

             But then, to her horror, it began to make sense, and she found herself actually listening to him instead of actively blocking out his voice.

***

            As far as Apophis could remember he had never before been in such a foul mood and, being around as long as he had, that was saying something. These...these Tau'ri ruined everything for him. They couldn’t even torture properly. The plan had been perfect, the opportunity--perfect, the drug...well the drug had been promised to be perfect. Restitution would have to be made of course--or taken.

            By all rights he should have had the Tau'ris’ knowledge and been on his way to the first world already. But was he? Noooo, Apophis fumed, his robe billowing behind him as he stalked down the halls. Enough was enough. This would be Daniel Jackson’s last chance, then Apophis would move on to the woman--something he should have done long ago. It was these cursed Tau'ri meddling with his mind, interrupting any real path of logical thought. For generations he had ruled supreme, striking down the impudent, amassing an incomparable empire, and then, in the span of mere seasons, these Tau'ri had managed to turn his First Prime, steal not one but two of his heirs, murder his queen, and place him in the hands of his worst enemy.

            Little was left of his original empire; Sokar had wasted it away. Of course Apophis had absorbed Sokar’s holdings after the Goa’uld’s rather untimely death, but much had been squandered. And worse, Apophis had needed to spread out his great armies to near uselessness just to reinforce his old positions and to ensure his denizens that he was still a live threat who must be obeyed. Being a god was no easy task, especially when dealing with willful Tau'ri--these willful Tau'ri.

            Apophis was not sure what made this particular team of Tau'ri so indomitable. He had annihilated entire planets full of more formidable warriors, and yet these three, now four, backed by that loathsome outmoded First World had done more damage than even Ra. But at least Ra had been a worthy adversary. These Tau'ri were laughable. Or they would have been had they not been such an awful, incessant nuisance.

            It could have been the fates toying with him, if he believed in such things, but Apophis, after much deliberation, had instead come to the conclusion that it was his own fault. He had underestimated the Tau'ri time and time again. Though still quite primitive, they were no longer the dirt scratchers he and Ra had quibbled over. They had become a threat in their own awkward way and it was time he dealt with them accordingly. For too long he had worried over their knowledge instead of just killing them, but that was all in the past. By dining time tonight, either he would have their secrets or not, but they would all be killed. Executed and then their bodies burned, they would pose no more threat. He would not use them as hosts; he would not--no matter how he yearned to--toy with the shol'va Teal’c. He would not give them a moment’s chance.

            Apophis smiled. They were already dead; they just did not yet know it.

***

            “Okay, so which way, wise guy?” Jack asked with a slight nudge to Razi’s shoulder.

            The Tok'ra pulled a face but cooperated by pointing to the right fork in the corridor.

            Teal’c nodded, deducing as much, and led the party off down the passageway and ultimately, hopefully, toward the stargate.

            It had not gone unnoticed by Jack that Carter and Daniel had gone unusually silent. Quiet was one thing, while completely mute totally out of character for the two. Jack knew that they really hadn’t taken the time to check Carter out, but just taken her word for it. And he was beginning to regret it. One look told him she was anything but okay. Her normally pale complexion was damn near translucent and she walked all hunched in on herself as if she were holding herself together. But most noticeably she looked terrified. A look he had seen only once before on his 2IC’s face, back after that goddamned snake Jolinar had jumped her. Realizing this, he edged a step closer to her; she was anything but fine--no matter what she said. He didn’t know what he was going to do about it, but damn it, he’d do something.

            His resolve, and despite his training, his feet, froze as the sound carried toward them.  The muffled clanking of boots did not give them nearly enough warning, and before he knew it Jack was seeing the one face he hoped never to see again.

            “I do not believe it,” Apophis’ snarl, laced with something akin to awe, managed to travel the dozen yards or so to Jack’s ears urging him to move forward, around the bend to his team. But for a moment he paused, locked in a staring match with Apophis who seemed equally frozen, until one of the Jaffa came out of his shock and fired a zat.

            The shot came close enough that Jack felt the hairs on his head rise with the kiss of static electricity, but that was enough to get him to move his ass. Being Jack he took the time to flip Apophis the bird before ducking out of site around the corner.

***

            Jack was tired and every muscle ached, but he ran for all he was worth, quickly catching up with his team. Whatever pain or discomfort he needed to endure to get them all the hell out of here was nothing compared to what he figured Apophis would do if he caught them again. The wounds might have healed without a hint of scarring, but that was on the outside. It had still happened and Jack still remembered it. He wasn’t likely to ever forget that. He wasn’t going to let Apophis do it again--to him or his team.

            “Run!” Jack urged needlessly, the team having already picked up its pace as much as possible.

            Behind them they could hear Apophis issuing orders, the loud infuriated voice ricocheting off the ship’s walls. He sounded close, but was still out of sight.

            “Now would be a good time for another weapon,” Jack muttered. “Or seven.” He ducked reflexively as he heard zat guns being discharged behind him. Thankfully, the Jaffa seemed to be poor shots. Or not, he thought as he caught Razi’s body before it could hit the floor. “Damn it.” Reluctantly he heaved the unconscious Tok'ra over his shoulder, staggering under the weight. This was not what his back needed.

            “Major Carter...?” The concern in Teal’c’s voice brought Jack’s head up in time to see her stumble. Teal’c and Jack both made a move toward her but were beaten by Daniel.

            “Sam?” He put an arm around her waist, pulling her away from the wall and back into motion.

            She winced and recoiled away from his touch, but then, reluctantly it seemed, allowed Daniel to help her down the hall. Ten steps later it was tough to determine who was relying on who.

            Jack contemplated dumping Razi, but just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. But he would if he had to.

            “Does anyone know where we’re going? Never mind.”

            Teal’c paused in his flight to fire behind them at the Jaffa that were closing in. Thank God for all these damn turns, thought Jack. No one was foolhardy enough to run back to the fallen Jaffa for a dropped zat. Though it was tempting.

            “The stargate will be heavily guarded now that Apophis knows of our escape, O’Neill.”

            “Prob’ly the rings too, Sir,” Carter added breathlessly.

            “Great. So now what? Any ideas?”

            “I-I know of...possible.”

            “Ah, sleeping beauty. Tell,” Jack ordered, relieved to be able to set the Tok'ra on his own two feet, though he lended an arm for the guy’s recovering balance.

            “Ship.”

            “And you don’t think those’ll be guarded? Forget the fact that we’ll be shot out of the sky in about two seconds!”

            “No. New ship. Jaffa do not know about it. Apophis would not tell them,” Razi explained, finally getting his mind back on track. “Apophis is paranoid. Extremely. Everything that has been happening with the System Lords.... He has put together a type of...an escape pod, for lack of better translation. Stole and traded technology until he got what he wanted. It is extremely fast--perhaps four times the speed of his ha’tak. Last option--he would get away to safety.”

            Jack allowed himself a little hope. “An Air Force One sorta thing.”

            “What?”

            “Nothing.” Jack shook his head. “Do you know how to fly it?”

            Razi shook his head. “I have never been in it; Apophis would dare not let me or anyone else. It is only by chance that I know of its existence or whereabouts.”

            Jack pulled Razi out of the line of fire, silently applauding Teal’c’s marksmanship.

            “Yes, how do you know about it?”

            “Apophis brought me on trading trip. It resulted in more of a thieving trip, but--.” Razi caught the look Jack was shooting his way and quickly got to the point. “He had too much of the local wine. Strange stuff. Potent. He boasted--about the drug as well. That is how we, the Tok'ra, knew of it.”

            “Drunk? That doesn’t sound--are you sure it wasn’t just a set up?”

            “We can stay here and quarrel about it in the corridors if you prefer.”

            Jack glared at him. “Okay, let me ask this again. Do you know how to fly it?”

            Razi shrugged. “Much is alien technology, but Apophis would want it familiar...I believe so.”

            “You believe so.”

            “Yes.”

            “God help us.”

            “Rushing the stargate would be suicide.”

            Jack agreed, but...“What do you think Teal’c?”

            Teal’c, who had been keeping one ear to the conversation, nodded his head. “Neither option is a guarantee for survival, O’Neill. But attempting to force our way to the stargate with our limited resources would be a guarantee for death or capture.”

            “All right. Change of plans, kids. We’re heading for that ship. And we’re going to get home.”

***

            She knew it wasn’t a dream, dreams don’t hurt, not like this. God, not like this.

            Carter sagged against the wall, relishing the cool feel of metal beneath her cheek. She knew she shouldn’t have stopped, she should have kept walking, kept moving. But she couldn’t get her legs to cooperate.

            Her hallucination was still talking though she could no longer understand him; her brain refused to filter the sounds into individual words. Fine. She didn’t want to hear him anyway. Audio-video hallucinations were over-rated.

            Whoa. She felt her legs slip out from under her and the ground rush up. She was saved a spectacular nose-dive by an unseen hand. Looped lightly about her waist it still tugged painfully at her jacket and consequently on her scorched shoulder. But what was worse, the arm belonged to the Not-Daniel. Carter tensed and tried to pull away. She didn’t want him touching her. She didn’t want him to get to go home. Because if he left with them, where would that leave the real Daniel? Where was the real Daniel and why was the colonel just going to leave him there? Why wasn’t the colonel seeing this imposter for who he really was?

            “Don’t...touch...me,” she managed to rasp out. The words were barely even a whisper, but the disgust was loud and clear.

            “Please. Let me help you,” The Not-Daniel pleaded, his voice little more than a breath in her ear.

            “Carter?” The colonel sounded worried--worried about her.

            Don’t. Please don’t. I’m not the one you need to worry about, Sir. Daniel. God, Sir, worry about Daniel.

            “Sam?” It was the Not-Daniel again, and he looked worried, too. But it was for the colonel and Daniel that she allowed the imposter to help her down the halls.

***

            This maze of corridors was dizzying, to say the least. If they all suddenly ended up back in that damn room, Sam Becket wouldn’t be surprised. And yet turn after turn he followed after Teal’c and that Razi person--who by the way was here why? Those electric ray gun thingies were blasting everywhere, Al was trying to tell him something, his wrist throbbed, and he was pretty sure Major Carter hated him. All in all, Sam was not having fun and desperately hoped they would get out of here soon.

            “Sam! Duck!”

            Automatically, Sam pulled Major Carter down with him as a bolt of fire shot over their bowed heads impacting against the gold wall beside them. “Where the hell did that come from?” Sam shouted.

            “Guess they’ve given up on the little zapper things,” Al answered. “Now move!”

            “They’re called zats,” Major Carter informed them quietly before her face melted in a scowl.

            Oh, that’s right, Major. You weren’t talking to us, Sam thought, recognizing the origin of her expression.

            Sam gasped as a strong arm hauled him, and therefore Major Carter, into an alcove. Teal’c. Thank God. Sam was bumped into roughly as Jack dove into the recess as well, his left boot smoking.

            “You okay?”

            Jack didn’t spare Sam or the boot a glance. “Yep, just a graze. No problems. You? Carter? Teal’c?” The snub of Razi’s name form the list did not go unnoticed.

            “I’m okay,” Sam answered. Scared shitless, but alive. That’s ‘okay’, right?

            “Not dead, Sir.” This came from Major Carter, quite possibly her first completely honest answer to the question.

            “It is nothing, O’Neill.”

            This jerked all heads toward Teal’c.

            “What!”

            There was a six-inch singed path of burned cloth and flesh tracing the back of his right shoulder. Though it didn’t seem to debilitate him much as he still wielded the ‘zat’ with dead-on accuracy, even if he now held it in his opposite hand.

            “The Jaffa are gaining. We cannot remain here.”

            Jack sighed. “No, you’re right Teal’c.” And Jack pulled himself away from Teal’c’s injury and back to the more pressing situation: Getting the hell out of here. “Razi, how much further exactly? And don’t pull any more of that ‘almost’ crap.”

            If Razi was offended, he had the grace not to let it show. “Two corridors. The entrance will be locked, but...” He waved at the ‘zat’. “...I do not think that will be a problem.”

            Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and behind him heard Al do the same.

            Jack nodded and asked Teal’c, “You want me to....”

            “I have it under control, O’Neill.”

            That caused Jack to laugh for some reason, and Sam felt his own smile fall into place. He really liked these people--well, maybe not that Razi guy. He had yet to make his mind up about him. Sam still had the memory of Razi forcing that damned tube down his throat. He shuddered.

            “Okay?” A quiet voice asked.

            “Gee, Major. Didn’t know you cared.” Sam wanted to kick himself the minute the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late, the damage had been done. He felt her stiffen under his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--.”

            “Where’s the real Daniel?” She whispered fiercely, her voice all steel. Cold steel.

            “He’s okay. He’s back on Earth. Safe. I promise.”

            “What’s up guys?” Jack asked, saving Sam from explaining--for good or bad.

            “Nothing,” Major Carter answered a little too quickly. “We ready?”

            Jack looked at the two of them for a moment, as if deciding something. “Yeah. You two stick with me, okay?” He finally replied; apparently the decision had been made.

            Sam nodded. “Sure, Jack.”

***

            Apophis stepped over a corpse, it was unavoidable, dozens of them strewn about the halls. They must have been that of Sokar’s forces, my Jaffa never would have been taken down so easily.

            Pointing at a body closest to his feet, he spat, “Consider him one of the lucky. If any of you allow the Tau'ri to escape your fates will not be so fortunate.”

            The Jaffa around him nodded and murmured their various ‘Yes, my Lord’s’, before racing off in diverse directions to follow out their orders to seek and destroy--annihilate.

            One particularly brave Jaffa came near enough to inform Apophis that the Tau'ri were headed toward the hangars.

            Apophis bristled at the news, but relaxed, as he knew that even if they managed to escape in a glider or a cargo ship it would be but a simple task to shoot them down. Their pathetic bodies would blow around space like so much refuse and he would win. They would be finally dead. His face lit up into a fantastic smile at the image.

            And then, abruptly, it faded. He felt the blood drain out of his host’s face, and for a moment he worried that his legs would give out. The ship. My ship. But surely they couldn’t...His legs found strength as he bolted down the corridor, his robes flapping behind him. He snarled an order over his shoulder, directing all the guards to the hangars.

***

            Zzzztttt. The current from the zat shot towards the keypad, dancing about its surface where fat tendrils of smoke began curling out from behind the casing. A louder crackle, a small explosion from the electrical overload, and suddenly the door to the hangar opened an inch and then two. As soon as the opening was wide enough to permit passage, Jack began stuffing people through it.

            “Any way to lock this after we’re in?” He asked Teal’c before the larger man squeezed through.

            Teal’c grimaced as he considered the options. “I do not believe so, O’Neill.”

            Jack nodded and opened his mouth to ask Carter if she had any ideas, but thought better of it. He figured she already needed all of her attention focused on moving, she didn’t need him asking the impossible again. Instead he grabbed the zat out of Teal’c’s hand and gently shoved him the rest of the way through the doorway.

            “Go get that thing ready, Teal’c. Something tells me we’re not going to get a going away party--least not the kind with the good food.”

            Teal’c paused as if he wanted to say something, but must have though better of it as he turned away to follow the others.

            “What?”

            Teal’c simply looked at him.

            Jack nodded. “I will. Now go.”

            And Teal’c went. Wary of leaving O’Neill to fight the Jaffa off by himself, Teal’c nevertheless went, relieved that the other man knew what he could not bring himself to say.

            “Teal’c, where’s Jack?”

            “He will be following us shortly, Daniel Jackson.”

            “He’s back there?” The young man’s voice rose in panic.

            “He is providing us with cover while we make our way to the ship.” Teal’c caught Daniel Jackson’s arm and propelled him back into motion.

            “It is this way. Hurry!” Razi shouted, his voice echoing around the cavernous room, not quite blocking out the sounds of zats and staffs discharging in the halls behind them.

            The Tok'ra led them to yet another door.

            Teal’c, knowing that Jack now had possession of the zat, realized that they no longer had a way to get through a locked door.

            “Damn.” Apparently Major Carter had come to the same conclusion.

            “It is not a problem,” Razi said, squatting down on his haunches beside the door. He reached out one long arm and began feeling around in the darkness. “I have spent much time down here, first looking for the ship--oomph,” he grunted as something came away in his grasp, “...And then for this.” He extended his hand up towards Teal’c. Lying neatly in his palm was a grey triangular shaped device with three glowing red buttons on his surface.

            “What is it?” Major Carter asked.

            “A key,” Razi said simply, as he rose to his full height and pushed one of the buttons. Nothing happened.

            Teal’c felt his heart lurch. Knowing Apophis, Razi could have very well have just armed a bomb lying in wait.

            “Oh, um. Sorry.”

            Teal’c felt like strangling the Tok'ra.

            “This is it,” Razi said. And he pushed another button. The door slid open. There was no explosion. Teal’c allowed himself a breath.

            “Shit! Look out!” O’Neill’s voice sounded behind Teal’c an instant before the staff blast. “Sorry, it was getting too heavy,” Jack rasped, as he ducked through the open doorway.

            Razi hit a button and the door began to slide shut.

            “Don’t suppose we can lock this one, huh?”

            Razi’s answer was another push to another button. “Consider it done.”

            O’Neill nodded, still trying to regain his breath. “Okay, let’s get this bird in the air, shall we?”

***

            The ship was bigger than Jack expected, roughly about two and half times the size of a cargo ship. “Guess Apophis really likes to travel in style. God forbid there not be enough room for the Jacuzzi,” Jack murmured.

            Razi glanced at him in confusion. “I do not know about a...Jacuzzi, but Apophis certainly expects to travel in comfort. I understand there to be plentiful room for servants and Jaffa--if he so wished. And there are many weeks worth of supplies.”

            “Sweet. Munchies. So where’s the door?”

            Another look of confusion passed over Razi’s face, though this time it was directed at the ship. “It should be...” Razi broke off as he moved away in search of a way on to the ship.

            “Well find it quick, huh?” Jack yelled after him, worried about what he was and wasn’t hearing on the other side of the hangar door.

            “It is here, O’Neill,” shouted Teal’c, just as the hangar door burst open and Jaffa came spilling out with their weapons blasting.

            Jack was happy to see his team already piling in, Razi on their heels. Jack decided not to stick around either and quickly leapt after Razi. But not before catching a glimpse of Mr. Fun himself.

            Apophis was standing in the doorway bellowing orders to the mess of Jaffa, as if the guys couldn’t figure out what to do on their own.

            Believe me, they know, Jack thought, as the bolts of fire struck around them. “Move,” he hissed. But it was too late. Razi caught a hit at the hip and would have rolled off the platform if it weren’t for Teal’c’s fast actions. Snaking an arm out the gaping door, Teal’c caught Razi under one arm and began to pull him up to safety while Jack pushed from behind, struggling to get up himself. “What, you have a target hanging around your neck?” Jack muttered as they heaved him on board.

            “Shields,” Razi gasped.

            “Yeah, yeah. Teal’c?”

            Teal’c nodded and moved off. Hopefully he’d find them and turn them on soon. Very soon, Jack thought as he heard the explosions outside.

            “Who the hell shoots at his own ship!” Jack shouted, oblivious to the fact that with the door shut Apophis couldn’t hear him. “It’s gonna have horrible resale value!”

            Leaving Razi where he was on the floor, Jack hurried to the controls. The lights blinked and glowed in their various colors and Jack hadn’t a clue what any of them did. Well, at least Teal’c got it turned on, he thought.

            “Jack?”

            “What?”

            “Nothing.”

            “What, Daniel?”

            Daniel lifted a hand to his own forehead.

            Jack stared back blankly at Daniel, not understanding nor noticing the bleeding gash at his own hairline.

            Daniel dropped his hand and shook his head. “Never mind.”

            “Whatever.” Jack squinted over at Daniel where he stood almost defensively in front of Carter who was sitting slumped up against the ship’s wall. “She okay?”

            Daniel looked down at Carter. “Um.”

            Carter waved a tired hand in his direction before using it to grip at the wall as the ship rocked beneath them. Jack and Daniel both stumbled.

            “What the fuck was that?”

            Daniel shook his head, his blue eyes wide.

            Jack raced to the window where he saw Apophis standing below. Something was up. Something very not good. “Uh, Teal’c buddy, we really need to get those shields up.”

            Teal’c grunted as if to say duh, and resumed pushing buttons.

            “Well can we just shoot them or something? This ship has guns, right?”

            Teal’c didn’t even bother responding.

            “Oh, right. Big boom.”

            “There,” Teal’c said, smiling triumphantly.

            “Yeah? They’re on? Cool. Good job, big guy. Now what?”

            “Now...we need to get out...of here,” Razi answered from over his shoulder. The Tok'ra hobbled rather ungracefully over to where Teal’c was at the controls. Jack had to admit he was impressed that the guy even made it up off the floor.

            “This is not what I expected,” Razi commented upon seeing the various gizmo thingies.

            “Yeah, well...” Jack started to bite off a sarcastic comment.

            “O’Neill.”

            “Gotcha, I’ll go...watch and...keep an eye on,” Jack twirled a finger in Apophis’ direction, “Things.”

            “That would be good,” agreed Teal’c.

            Through the large windshield type thingy Jack watched Apophis and the Jaffa with growing concern. Below them, Apophis’ troops moved with a singular purpose, no longer firing their staffs at the ship, they were nevertheless mounting an attack. Jack was missing something.

            “Uh, what are they doing?” Daniel asked worriedly from over his shoulder.

            “Hell if I--oh, crap!” Jack swore as he saw the Apophis and his Jaffa running away from the ship and back through the hangar door. “I don’t know what they’re doing, but by the looks of things we are in some deep trouble here folks. Teal’c, Razi, we gotta get out of here NOW!”

            “What, Jack? What’s going on?”

            “My guess, Daniel? My guess would be a bomb, a big honkin’ bomb,” he said, spreading his hands for emphasis.

            “But wouldn’t it damage his ship, too?”

            “I don’t know. But you give me another explanation for why all of sudden Apophis suddenly hightailed it,” Jack snapped. And then, “Teal’c?”

            His response was a sudden lurch as the ship rose off the ground.

            “Thank God,” breathed Daniel.

            Jack scowled out through the window. “Not yet,” he muttered.

            The explosion rocked the ship just as they exited the docking bay, knocking everyone to the floor none too gently.

            Climbing gingerly to his feet Jack called out, “Everyone okay?”

            For a moment the only answer was groans and curses, the curses being particularly colorful and multilingual.

            “How about the ship?” He asked then as he squinted through the windshield once more. They must have been traveling pretty damn fast because all Jack saw was a blur of black with tiny streaks of color. “I take it we’re still moving,” he muttered.

            “The ship has been damaged. However...” Jack saw Teal’c’s graceful fingers fly over the commands. “Most everything seems to be in working order, O’Neill.”

            “Most?”

            “The shields took the force of the hit and are working at only 15% capacity. I have needed to cut back on our velocity to conserve the engine power.” Upon seeing Jack’s anxiety, Teal’c supplied: “Do not worry, O’Neill, the readings show this ship, damaged as it is, to be traveling at twice the speed of Apophis’...” He chose a word Jack was familiar with, “...Mothership.”

            Jack nodded but remained skeptical. “We’d pick him up on the uh, radar, right?”

            “Yes, O’Neill.”

            “Before he shot us down?”

            “Yes, O’Neill.”

            “Just checking.” Speaking of which, he thought as he found his way over to his teammates. Crouching down beside Daniel and Carter he didn’t like what he saw.

***

            For real life, this sure read like a science fiction movie, thought Sam Beckett. Of course, in the movies, it’s not you running around getting tortured and shot at, that’s part of the appeal.

            “This is like a fucking nightmare, Sam,” muttered Al.

            “I was thinking more of a bad sci-fi flick,” answered Beckett with a tired smile. He missed Al’s grimace as his attention was tuned in to Jack and Teal’c’s conversation. Sounded like they were safe. Hopefully. “‘Attack of the Gods’ or ‘Gods In Outer space’.”

            Al snorted.  Carter groaned.

            “You okay?” He asked the woman beside him.

            “Don’t...go into the film industry. Awful titles.”

            Sam grinned, thankful that she had finally accepted him, or at least was too tired to hate him. “Well, what would you suggest?”

            She opened her mouth as if to answer, but said, “Hey, Sir.”

            Sam glanced up to see Jack approaching.

            “Carter.” The colonel nodded and hunkered down beside them. “Well you two look...” he grinned, “...Alive.” His smile faded into a frown. “Barely.”

            “Thanks, Sir. Always...enjoy a compliment.” She winced as she shifted her weight, the two men beside her unconsciously mirroring her grimace in sympathy.

            “You should let me take a look at that. And you, too, Daniel. That wrist looks broken.” Pivoting around he hollered over at Teal’c and Razi, “How soon until we can get them to Fraiser?”

            “Malo’ik is the closest planet with a functioning stargate. We should reach it in....” He mumbled a few words to Teal’c.

            “Approximately 35 minutes, O’Neill,” Teal’c translated.

            Jack closed his eyes for a moment and then, opening them, turned back to Sam and Major Carter. “How far until the next planet?” He asked Razi, still looking at Carter.

            “Fifty minutes, O’Neill,” Teal’c answered.

            Jack’s eyes softened and he appeared almost in pain. For a moment Sam wondered if the man had an injury they didn’t know about. He opened his mouth to ask but Major Carter beat him to it.

            “Good idea, Colonel.”

            Huh? What is?

            “Carter...Sam.” Jack touched her knee. “You and Daniel--.”

            “We can hold out, Sir.”

            Jack’s gaze turned to Sam who, for some reason nodded. He didn’t know what he was agreeing to, but it felt right.

            Abruptly Jack stood, his eyes and face hardening into an unreadable mask that made Sam more than a little nervous.

            “We’re going to that second planet,” Jack ordered.

            “What? Why?” spluttered Razi.

            Jack turned on him, his cold brown eyes flashing hot and angry for a moment. “Because I don’t want any nasty surprises from Apophis.”

            “But--.”

            “But nothing. I know you Tok'ra like to think of yourselves as strategists, start acting like it. We need to get home as soon as possible. Apophis would know this. He wants us dead, in case you missed that little show back there. If there is any way he can, he’s gonna be at that planet waiting for us. I don’t plan on being there, do you?”

            Razi shook his head. “You are right. I apologize.”

            “There’s a first,” muttered Jack.

            Razi flushed. “I know you do not care for us--the Tok'ra--me in particular, but--.”

            Jack waved him off. “Let’s not get into this right now.”

***

            He had failed again. They had won and he had lost. They had stolen his new ship and gotten away with their heads still atop their shoulders. Apophis buried his head in his folded arms. He hated those Tau'ri. Hate wasn’t even a strong enough word. He despised them, loathed them with every fiber of his being.

            The stolen ship, as it was supposed to be, was faster than his own large ha’tak--even damaged. He had chased them for awhile but knew it to be useless. Apophis had even sent three dozen of his Jaffa to Malo’ik in case the First World team sought passageway through the chaapa’ai. But he would not rely on the prospect. No, they had gotten away.

            What he wanted to do was amass all of his Jaffa, all of his slaves, all of his allies, and launch an attack on the puny, nearly defenseless, First World. He knew it was an Asgard protected planet--to a point. What he wondered was if those spindly little creatures would truly defend the Tau'ri, if they would risk the loss or cut and run. How important exactly was this world to the Asgard? Apophis toyed with the idea. The more he considered it, the more he liked it. Of course it would take time to amass such forces, especially after the day’s loss. He frowned at the thought of all the Jaffa he would have to have executed due to today’s fiasco. But he was a god--he couldn’t have anyone thinking otherwise, couldn’t have anyone alive to know of such a horrible defeat by four such loathsome creatures as the Tau'ri team.

            Apophis shrugged and brought himself up to his full, dignified height. Yes, it would take time, but it would be so worth the wait.

***

            Despite a severe lack of bandages, everyone had been patched up and seen to. They hadn’t glimpsed a sarcophagus on board, though they were all pretty much in agreement that there likely was one around. Despite the fact that Jack had been, and still was, worried about Carter, she didn’t seemed to thrilled at the prospect of being put in one so he didn’t push. Besides, no one really seemed bent on hunting around for a sarcophagus anyway. Jack wondered for a moment how much deliberation had gone in to the decision to stick him in a sarcophagus. It wasn’t as if he weren’t grateful, he was alive and with his team after all, but...Jack shrugged and tried to shove the thought out of his mind.

            “Hey, Daniel. Carter asleep?” Jack asked, sliding down the wall to sit with his friend.

            “Yeah.”

            “Good.” Jack nodded and toyed with the strings of his torn T-shirt. “Razi?”

            “Asleep, too. Says his um, uh you know....”

            “Snake.”

            Daniel looked grossed out and confused all at the same time. “Yeah, anyway, he says it’ll take care of everything eventually,” he said, though it sounded more like a question.

            “Good.” Jack surprised himself by actually caring. Looking for a different topic he said, “Didn’t know you knew so much first aid. Thanks.”

            Daniel looked embarrassed and Jack for once gracefully dropped the subject.

            “I’m glad you’re alive, Danny.”

            Daniel looked up at Jack and smiled. “I’m glad you’re alive, Jack. Scared me.”

            “Scared you?” Jack chuckled. “Well, let’s try not to do that again, shall we?”

            “Sounds good to me.”

            “Yeah.” Jack stood, stretched. Yawned.  “I’m gonna go check on Carter.”           

            “Wouldn’t hurt you to sleep, either,” Daniel pointed out.

            “We’re almost there. Twenty, thirty minutes tops,” he threw over his shoulder as his way of response as he continued on to where Carter was sleeping.

            Sam Beckett watched him leave. “I haven’t leaped yet, Al,” he said quietly.

            Al nodded from his cross-legged position on the floor next to Sam. The colonel had come precariously close to sitting on the hologram on his last visit. “Nope.”

            For a minute neither spoke and then, “I’ve been thinking about why Major Carter can see me, er, us.”

            “Yeah?” Al asked, not surprised.

            “I’m not sure, but the only reason I can think of is her injury. I mean she was pretty out of it for a lot of the time. One minute she’d be fine--okay, well not fine, but...and the next.... She was hurt pretty bad, Al.”

            “I think she’ll be fine, Sam. Don’t know,” He waved the handlink in Sam’s direction, “But I think so. Ziggy still isn’t giving me squat.” Al grimaced. Though Ziggy did tell me Donna was pissed at me for not telling her what was going on. Don’t know how she found out, but I am in some serous trouble. Sorry, Donna. I am so sorry.

            “I’m not leaving until you leap, Sam. Not for anything.” Who knows if I’d even be able to locate you again.

            Sam’s grin was a little wobbly and a lot tired, but one hundred percent genuine. “Thanks.”

***

            The landing was surprisingly easy with Teal’c at the helm, though Jack had never been so happy to be back on terra firma. “Well it’s been fun, but...you know.” He clapped Razi on the shoulder perhaps a little too hard. “Good-bye. Have fun with your new ship”

            Razi caught himself before he could fall and put on a smile. “Again, I apologize.”

            “Two in one day, things really are looking up.” Jack began walking toward the gate where his team was waiting.

            “Colonel, we were desperate for that information, surely you can understand.”

             Jack stopped mid-stride and whirled on the Tok'ra. “No,” he hissed, “I can’t.” He breathed deeply for a moment and when he spoke next his voice was calm, quiet, almost friendly. “You do realize that this harpses kid really is just a kid? So he may know the secrets of the universe or whatever. He’s still a kid. He still deserves a life. He’s just a damn kid.”

            “No, he’s not. As much as you or I would like to pretend otherwise, the Harsesis is still a powerful weapon to whoever has him in their possession.”

            “He’s not a possession,” Jack muttered sullenly.

            Razi continued, “If we have to sacrifice one man, even if he is just a child, or even if he is a friend, or an ally...” He looked Jack hard in the eye. “...Then that is what must be done. One, two, ten, twenty, a sacrifice for the good of many.”

            “There are other ways,” Jack countered. “There are other ways. The fight’s not over. The kid can still be just a kid.”

            Razi shook his head. “Do not tell me you are as naive as that, Colonel.”

            “No.” Jack’s shoulders slumped. “No,” he repeated. “But sometimes I’d like to be.”

            “As would I. As, I think, sometimes we all would.”

            “Well, it’s hypothetical anyhow. We don’t know where the kid is.”

            Razi studied Jack as if searching for the truth. He got it. With a defeated set to his shoulders, Razi said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He looked away for a moment before squinting over at Jack. “Have my actions put our peoples’ alliance in jeopardy?”

            “Your actions?”

            Razi didn’t defend himself and Jack doubted it had been one man’s decision.

            “I don’t have that kind of power,” Jack answered after awhile. “But if I did....” Hell, I don’t know. Don’t ask me to forget about my team. Don’t ask me to forget about what happened.

            “I understand.”

            “Do you?”

            “I have friends as well, Colonel. That is why I did what I did. For my friends, my people, our children. I will do whatever I, or the Council, deem necessary. My people will know freedom and peace.

            “I hope they do.”

            “As I hope yours will as well, Colonel.”

            “We have freedom.”

            “But do you have peace?”          

            Jack glanced over at his team. “Sometimes. And that’s enough for me.”

            Razi nodded and reached into his shoulder bag. “I believe you will be needing this.”

            Surprised, Jack took the GDO. “Thanks.”

            “Go well, Colonel.”

            O’Neill waved the GDO at him. “You, too.” With that he turned and jogged over to the stargate and his awaiting friends. He couldn’t wait to be home.

            “Let’s go home kids.”

***

            Sam couldn’t believe they were really going to travel through a wormhole. He was excited, he couldn’t help himself. Beside him, Al looked nervous.

            “I don’t know, Sam. What if I lose you again?”

            “I’ll be on Earth; it should be easier,” Sam said out the side of his mouth. He watched Jack depress several panels on a stone table thing he had called a ‘DHD’. Sam deduced that it was some type of control device for the ‘Stargate’ which in turn produced the wormhole. It was confusing. It was great.

            “You look like a kid on Christmas morning.”

            “Feel like one,” Sam whispered back.

            Both man and hologram stumbled back when a wave of, well, energy, Sam supposed, erupted from the metal ring. “Cool,” Sam breathed. Even Al had his mouth hanging open when the energy wave snapped back to form a wall of blue water-like substance.

            When Jack walked up beside him and clapped him on the shoulder, Sam barely even noticed, his attention focused so intently on the sight before him.

            “Ready to go, Daniel?”

            “What? Uh, yeah,” Sam answered unable to suppress his grin.

            Jack smiled back. “Sight for sore eyes, isn’t she?”

            Sam could only nod as Jack led him up the steps where Teal’c and Major Carter, who had insisted upon walking on her own two feet thank you very much, were waiting. The walking however, had taken its toll, and the Major did not decline Teal’c’s offer of a supporting arm.

            Sam glanced quickly over at Al who didn’t look too happy but waved anyway.

            “See ya on the other side, Sam. Enjoy the trip.”

            Feeling his throat tighten all Sam could do was nod and hope to God Al was right.

            Jack draped his arm casually over Sam’s shoulder, dropped his other arm on Teal’c and the team marched their collective way to the stargate.

            Just before they went through, Sam could have sworn he heard Jack say, “There’s no place like home.”

            They arrived just the way they left--together. But instead of four, there were five. Squeezed in between Jack and Sam Beckett was a person Sam had only seen as a reflection before. Which meant....

            Sam looked down at himself seeing hands he had almost forgotten, and then used them to rub and feel at his face. “I’m me. I’m Sam Beckett. I’m home!” He cried triumphantly to the shocked faces around him. “I’m home.”

Epilogue

            The blacktop spread out before them, Al and Donna sped down the highway in their piece-of-crap-rent-a-car, away from the airport, towards their future. Dawn had long since broken and even with the windows down the temperature rose to questionable levels; they neither cared nor noticed. This close to a miracle, they probably wouldn’t even have noticed if the sun had dropped in their laps. Al glanced at the mis-folded road map and switched lanes for the off ramp. They were almost there.

            They drove in silence, each thinking back to yesterday, to that one phone call that had changed their lives yet again--this time for the better.

            The telephone operator back at the Project hadn’t recognized his voice, understandable considering how long he’d been away, and had patched the call to Al’s line.

            “Hello?” Al had answered.

            “Al?”

            “Sam? My God. Sam?”

            Al smiled. He had nearly dropped the phone that day, would have if Donna hadn’t overheard him and come running. She had screamed with joy and all but strangled Al with a fierce hug all while holding on to that phone--that lifeline to Sam.

            And now they were in Colorado Springs in search of a house that belonged to one Jack O’Neill, or more aptly, in search of a lost--but now found-- friend and husband.

            Al turned the car onto the wide residential street lined with trees and family sized cars. Beside him he could hear Donna counting the house numbers under her breath as they passed each one.

            “There,” she said pointing, and her voice shook.

            The yard was well kept and very suburban, it just needed a kid and a dog. Pulling to a stop at the curb behind a beat-up sedan, Al put the car in park and waited for his heart to start again.

            “This is it,” Donna said, as if reading his mind.

            “This is it,” he agreed and took her hand in his. “You ready?”

            “For years,” she answered, getting out of the car. She waited for him as he climbed out and then reached for his hand again. Together they made their way up the walk.

            They hadn’t gone ten steps when the deck door opened and Sam burst out. Al squeezed her hand once before letting go, and she ran up the walk towards her husband.

            “Sam,” she sobbed happily.

            Al couldn’t help but watch as they hugged and kissed and cried. Husband and wife, together again. He gave them another moment, not wanting to intrude, and then could wait no longer and he too joined in the hugging and the crying, though he refrained from the kissing.

            “Hey, Sam. Who knew all it took to get you home was to have you leap in a stable wormhole? Hell, we wouldn’t done that years ago,” he joked, ignoring the way his voice cracked.

            Sam just laughed and tightened the hug.

            Jack, Daniel, Sam, and Teal’c watched on curious but happy as the scene unfolded before them. Four faces pushed up against the glass door did not make for an inconspicuous presence, but they weren’t noticed.

            Carter smiled. “That is so....”

            “Sweet,” Jack finished. Three amused faces turned his way.

            “‘Sweet’, Jack?”

            “Oh, bite me, Daniel.”

“Count me o'er the earth's chosen heroes, they were souls that stood alone...”

--James Russell Lowell - ‘The Present Crisis’

It’s been said that it takes an entire village to raise a child. In the case of The Present Crisis, my baby, it took an entire legion to raise it to what now sits before you. If you enjoy it--or even if you just don’t hate it--you can join with me in appreciation of that legion. If you despise it in every form and feel it not even fit for nanny goat fodder, the blame is mine entirely. But just in case you never read further than this paragraph, allow me to give thanks to my well-staffed army. To Mother Goose, without whom this story would not even exist, for better or worse. Thanks for catching those many, many mistakes and helping me find better ways to say what I had to say. I don’t have enough room here to adequately express my appreciation for all that you have done. To Sudz for being there and catching those early typos everyone else missed. To Spaz for humoring me and not plugging her ears when I ran through the drafts time and again. And to all my loyal readers over at ASciFi for encouraging me even at my deepest moments of despair and frustration. Thank you

© 2002 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.