The amber disc in the palm of his hand glowed more brightly until a golden streak erupted, drilling into Daniel's forehead. Blue eyes crossed with the excruciating pain as muscles dissolved into liquid fire. The fatal beam trapped the writhing body in place. The handsome face contorted in agony, losing its innocence. Life drained away, leaving an empty shell.
"Daniel!" His victim's name screaming from his lips, Jack woke from the nightmare. Throwing back his sweat-soaked covers, he sat on the edge of his bed, the bile rising in his throat. Resting his head in his hands, he heard Hathor's pledge replay in his head.
"Once host to a Goa'uld, you will take the lives of your friends."
Through his fear, Jack managed to sputter a feeble protest. "We don't think so."
Hathor had merely smiled. "You will have no say in the matter. You will witness their deaths through your own eyes."
Risking her life, the Tok'ra operative had saved him from fulfilling the Goa'uld queen's prophecy. But she hadn't saved him from the hideous dreams the oath conceived. Even as he'd vowed not to be the instrument of his friends' deaths, Jack knew, once the Goa'uld took control of his body, he would be powerless to stop it.
Shaking so hard he could barely stand, he stumbled to the bathroom. Without taking off his boxers, he stepped into the shower. Twisting both knobs all the way open, he let the water wash over him, wishing it could purge the memories as easily as it did his fear soaked flesh. He shivered, the cold reminding him of the frigid void of the cryogenic chamber.
The water gradually grew warmer until it seared his flesh. Pain pulled him from his thoughts. Of their own volition, his hands turned the water off. Divesting himself of the sodden shorts, he dried himself, before padding naked into the bedroom. Finding paint-stained sweatpants and a faded sweatshirt, he slipped them on. It was no use going back to bed. He knew from experience he wouldn't be able to sleep.
Hoping there was an old movie or a hockey game that would catch his interest, he walked into the living room and switched on the television. At this early hour, most of the channels were broadcasting paid programs. He clicked around the dial three times before settling on a black and white western starring John Wayne. He watched as Henry Fonda's men, even knowing the fate awaiting them, followed their leader into a canyon to face the Indians. Like his dreams, the movie portrayed courage and loyalty against overwhelming odds.
***
The words blurred on the page, becoming illegible. Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the haze coating them. It had been a long day reviewing reports from the members of his own team and the others who had participated in SG-1's rescue. Men had died to save him. It was a fact Jack had difficulty reconciling with his conscience. It was no consolation knowing he would've done the same for them. As painful as it was, he hoped he would never grow accustomed to losing a soldier under his command.
He wearily raised his head at the soft knock on the door. Grateful for the interruption, he called, "Come in."
The door opened slowly, enlightening Jack to the identity of his visitor. Only Daniel seemed unsure of his welcome; everyone else barged right in.
"Do you have any coffee?" Daniel asked, holding up his empty cup. "I seem to have run out."
"Help yourself." Jack waved the younger man over to the half-full pot on the table in the corner. In all his years in the military, Jack had never had a coffee maker in his office, preferring to walk to the mess instead. It gave him an excuse to postpone the dreaded paperwork he never seemed to get caught up on. Daniel Jackson's arrival in his life had changed a lot of things.
Eager eyes focusing on the black liquid as important to him as air, Daniel limped over to the pot and poured himself a cup.
Frowning, Jack growled, "I thought Janet gave you some crutches?"
"She did," Daniel sheepishly admitted.
"Aren't you supposed to be using them?"
"It's not like the leg is broken. It's only a cut."
"Which won't heal if you don't follow doctor's orders."
"Right now, I'd say I'm in better shape than you are." Daniel solemnly regarded his friend. "You look terrible."
"I haven't been sleeping," Jack reluctantly revealed. The admission was as far as he was willing to go with his explanation. How could he tell Daniel his dreams were filled with the younger man's death?
Blue eyes glowing with surprise, Daniel asked, "Why?"
"I've got a lot on my mind." Feeling unworthy of the scientist's concern, Jack quickly looked away.
"Like what?"
"Like how to make a nosy archeologist mind his own business," Jack snapped, glaring at his interrogator. Uncomfortable with the wounded silence that greeted his outburst, Jack pointed out, "You've got what you came for; if you don't mind, I've a lot of work to do. Unlike some people, I like to go home at a decent hour."
Puzzlement, rather than the anger Jack expected - and deserved - shone on the ingenuous face of his friend.
Retracing his steps, Daniel limped to the door. "You know where I am if you want to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about." Even to Jack's own ears, the denial sounded hollow. Ignoring the skeptical expression on Daniel's face, he turned his attention to the file open on the desk in front of him and pretended to read. He didn't relax until he heard the soft click of the door closing.
***
Her shoulders back and her head high, Carter stood proudly before him. Looking deep into her eyes, Jack saw the fear lurking in the blue depths.
A finger flicked the switch, arming the zat'n'ktel. Jack waited, wanting to hear her plead for her life. When her unflinching gaze met his, he angrily squeezed the trigger. Electric current enveloped the slim body. Muscles spasmed as the stream fed on the energy surging along her nerves. Pain twisting the pretty face, she collapsed. He waited until the agony started to recede, before firing a second shot. Finding the peaceful calm of death repulsive, he fired a third time. The body disappeared, disintegrating all signs of Captain Samantha Carter's existence.
Jack sat up, burying his head in his hands. The dreams were becoming more real with each passing night. Though nearly comatose with exhaustion, he'd hesitated before climbing into bed. Now, he wished he hadn't.
The routine so familiar he didn't have to think, he climbed into the shower and tried to wash away his fear.
Then, he was back in front of the TV, searching the channels until he found a basketball game. He laid his head back against the cushion and tried to lose himself in the rapid play as the two teams ran back and forth across the court. One of the teams called a time out, giving the station an excuse to air a string of inane commercials. Disinterested, Jack closed his eyes, hoping to ease the burning fatigue.
His hand closed around Daniel's throat and squeezed until the flesh beneath his fingers was leached of color. Desperate hands clawed at his, trying to break his hold. Jack laughed at the ineffectual attempt to escape. Tightening his grip, he lifted the squirming body until the feet no longer touched the floor. Expecting to see fear and condemnation in the dimming blue eyes, he was disappointed to see compassion. Angry that a weak human would regard him in such a manner, he compressed his fingers until he felt a vertebra crack. It was quickly followed by another and another. With nothing to support it, the limp head flopped forward. Daniel's sightless eyes stared accusingly into Jack's.
"No!" Screams of denial woke Jack from his nightmare. His heart beating so strenuously he could feel it, he shakily rose and stumbled into the kitchen where he emptied his stomach into the sink.
He was wiping his face with a wet towel when he became aware of what sounded like a fist pounding against his front door. As he crossed to open it, he realized it wasn't the first time he'd heard the banging. He didn't even bother to check to see who his visitor was before throwing back the lock. There was only one person who would come calling at two o'clock in the morning. Someone with an even worse case of insomnia than his own.
"What are you doing here, Daniel?" Jack demanded, flinging the door open.
His hand raised, Daniel stopped the motion barely in time to keep from rapping on O'Neill's chest. "I thought you might want to talk now."
"I told you, there's nothing to talk about," Jack hissed, spinning on his heels. Crossing to the sofa, he flopped down, putting his feet up on the coffee table to complete the picture of indifference.
Limping along in the older man's wake, Daniel waved a hand at the TV. "If there's nothing wrong, why aren't you in bed?"
"Because I happen to like basketball," Jack snapped. Retrieving the remote, he clicked the button to raise the volume.
"Since when?"
"Since now."
"Because you can't sleep?"
Jack pressed the off button so energetically he almost cracked the plastic casing. "Yes. Are you happy?"
"Why can't you sleep?"
Though Daniel's voice was soft and understanding, there was a firmness that told Jack the younger man would keep pushing until he heard the truth. His heart beating as arduously as it had when he first woke from his nightmare, Jack rose. On legs trembling so violently they could barely support him, he stood directly in front of Daniel. "Because I keep seeing you die by my hand."
"Why?"
The puzzlement on the innocent face fueled Jack's anger. Barely able to keep his hands from Daniel's throat, he stumbled back in terror afraid his nightmare would become real. His anguish peaked, shattering the last shreds of his control. "Because Hathor promised I would witness your death by my own hands."
"But you won't. The Goa'uld is dead."
"Don't you understand?" Jack slapped his thighs in exasperation. "Before it died, I felt the Goa'uld's strength. I know I couldn't have stopped it from killing you or Carter."
"You wouldn't have killed us," Daniel gently assured him.
"It was my hand choking the life from your body."
"But it wasn't your spirit." Tears glistened in the bright blue eyes. "Do you think I blamed Skaara when Klorel tried to kill me with his ribbon device? Or Sha're for the baby Ammonet conceived with Apophis?"
Though he didn't want to hurt the gentle soul, Jack reminded him, "Something of the host survives."
"Enough to bear witness to the atrocities performed by their bodies. Not enough to participate in the act."
Every day, Jack realized, Skaara and Sha're were living his nightmares. He shuddered, realizing once again how lucky he'd been. How much he owed the Tok'ra operative who'd risked her life to save him from the unending horror as a host. As his mind healed, the dreams would diminish until they disappeared. With Daniel at his side to lend him support, Jack knew they would fade. With the truth uncovered, they'd already lost much of their strength.
Though he was exhausted, Jack didn't have the courage to go back to bed. Reclaiming the remote, he flopped down on the coach. "Do you want to watch the basketball game?"
Joining his friend, Daniel admitted, "Actually, there's a documentary on the Discovery Channel I'd rather watch."
"About what?"
"Not what - who, Hatshepsut."
"Bless."
© 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.