~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Primus In Orbe Deos Fecit Timor"
Translation: It was fear that first made gods in the world.
~ Statius, ‘Thebias’, III
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
// Prologue \ Present
SAM:
Janet gave me a clean bill of health. I was fine, she said. Bruises, cuts, a couple burns, but altogether, on the whole, I was fine. I accepted her diagnosis mutely. I’m fine, but I wish I wasn’t.
I think they call it Survivor’s Guilt, irrational feelings of blame for prospering, for enduring where others have not. At first, that didn’t make any sense to me... after all, no one’s dead. Battered, yes. Beaten. But we’re all here.
In some form or another.
Nevertheless, yes, I admit it, I feel guilty, and that guilt was magnified a thousand-fold when Janet told me in no uncertain terms that I was going to be okay. It’s only because of the sacrifices of my team members that I’m okay, that I came out in such good condition. If they hadn’t done what they had done, then perhaps I would be like Teal’c, withdrawn from everyone and everything. He’s on base somewhere, we know that - there’s no way he could have gotten past the guard unnoticed - but until he wants to be found, he’ll continue to hide wherever he’s hiding. He came back injured, and I’d be more worried if it wasn’t for the healing powers of the infant Gou’ald. Maybe I should be more concerned, anyway; Teal’c isn’t technically human, but he started out that way and he deals with these things in much the same way as we do.
Maybe, if things hadn’t gone the way they did, I’d be responding to the tragedy like Daniel is. Janet patched him up, sent him to his quarters on base... and he hasn’t come out since then, three days ago. Janet assures the General and me that this is natural, under the circumstances, and three times a day I bring him his meals... but he doesn’t speak, to me or to anyone. I don’t think he’s said a word since we returned.
If it hadn’t been for the others, maybe I would be in an even worse condition than either Danny or Teal’c. Maybe I would have ended up like the Colonel.
O’Neill... Jack... his name, the very thought of him, brings on such crushing feelings of fault that I become physically ill, nauseous even. I can’t blame myself for everything that happened to Teal’c and Daniel. But what happened to O’Neill was directly my doing, and I get sick every time I think about it.
I haven’t told Janet about these feelings. I haven’t told her that every night’s sleep is wrought with nightmares. I haven’t told her that sometimes I get this weird, disconnected feeling, like this is just a dream. I haven’t told her that I haven’t even been able to cry over this. That’s my way of dealing, I suppose. Teal’c runs away. Daniel becomes a mute. I... well, I lose the ability to shed tears. And that only makes me feel worse.
But I can’t tell Janet... I can’t. Because not only is she my friend, she’s my doctor. If I told her these things, she might put me in the infirmary. And I can’t go there. I just can’t.
Because that’s where the Colonel is.
DANIEL:
I’m sorry, Sam.
I’m sorry, Teal’c.
And GOD, I’m sorry, Jack.
Sam mentioned yesterday morning that they can’t find Teal’c. Not surprising. The base is expansive, with lots of rooms that aren’t used... that probably aren’t even remembered. I’ll bet the taxpayers love that. In any case, if Teal’c wants some time to himself, he’ll get it. He’ll be found when he’s good and ready to be found. Who knows when that will be? We all have to deal with this in our own way.
Maybe I’m not dealing with it all that well. Okay, I know I’m not. I haven’t left my room since Janet sent me there. I haven’t talked to much of anyone since... well, since my last conversation with Lornya, I suppose. I wish it were different. I wish I could be there for Sam, be her friend, support her through this; it has to be hardest of all for her. After all, she’s the one who...
I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I wish I wasn’t such a goddamned coward, but I am, and so the only way I’m leaving this room is after whatever’s going to happen happens. I don’t want to be standing there when it does. I don’t want to be surprised. I just want to be told.
I know what I’ll be told.
I’ll be told that he’s dead.
TEAL’C:
The darkness is calming.
I know that General Hammond is looking for me. A few Airmen came into my sanctuary earlier, and my name was mentioned. Thankfully, they did not bother to turn on the lights or inspect the shadows to their fullest extent. I regret putting General Hammond through this disturbance at such a difficult time, and I know that I could find some measure of peace in my own quarters, but...
It is irrational, but I wish to be someplace where I cannot be found. I do not wish to have to worry about being interrupted as I meditate, contemplate, and reflect what could have been done differently. I know, of course, that nothing that has already transpired can be done again, but that does not keep me from pondering over it. And from feeling responsible.
// Chapter One \ Six days earlier...
JACK:
"What? No welcoming committee?"
Daniel, who was just behind me coming through the Gate, caught my exclamation and smothered a grin. "Ah, Katrell offered to have an escort meet us here but Hammond declined."
Sam, right behind Daniel, heard the last of his explanation. "Your ego isn’t too badly bruised, is it, sir?" She didn’t bother hiding her amused smile or shading the teasing tone in her voice. I merely glared at her.
Teal’c, the last to step from the shimmering blue, said nothing.
"I don’t suppose Katrell said anything more about why we’re being dragged back out here," I continued.
I don’t know why I was complaining. Katrell’s planet - P4C-171, known by the natives as ‘Darciblaine’ - was a beautiful place, one of those words you land on and instantly fall in love with. Its rolling green hills, crystal, placid lakes and amethyst mountains reminded me that there are some perks to being in the army.
Sightseeing.
We’d been to Darciblaine before, several weeks ago, on one of our better missions. According to Daniel, the natives were of some European decent, maybe Scottish or Welsh or even Irish. There was a lot of red and light brown hair, blue and hazel eyes... and beer. Was there ever beer.
Katrell was the first person we’d met on that mission. He was a schoolteacher, not exactly the type of dignitary you’d usually find consorting with visitors from other worlds, but he’d been elected by his Directorate to be a bit of a diplomat between our two people... although if you ask me the Directorate was simply afraid of us.
To make a long story short, Katrell was a nice guy, the Darciblaine residents turned out to be perfectly friendly and even willing to be allies. They weren’t even close to our level of technology but they weren’t stone age, either. They had running water, insulation, and a pretty impressive scientific community that Carter’d immediately latched onto. As far as Daniel had been able to figure out, long ago they had somehow tricked the Gou’ald into believing that the colony had died off, moving to a more remote location in the mountains. Once reasonably sure that the ‘beasts’ would not return, their culture started to spread back down to its original location... but there was still a significant distance to walk.
"Maybe they need help with some of their equipment," guessed Carter before Daniel could answer my question. Our show of good will towards Katrell’s people had been a donation of rudimentary technology - telescopes and the like - to their sky-watching scientists. It had been a good deal. It was cheap, easy to transport, and had made the natives very, very appreciative.
"In that case," I answered as we moved away from the Gate, onto a narrow dirt path that winded across the hills, directly to Katrell’s home city. "They called the wrong team."
"Actually," said Danny, irked at being interrupted, "Katrell said that their Chaplain was, um, making the rounds, that he’d been nearby and seen the telescopes, and wanted to thank whoever had brought them." He paused, and noted my blank expression. "Um, the Chaplain sounds like their version of the Pope," he explained, and I nodded, as thought to say, ‘but of course’.
"So we’re basically being ‘dragged out here’ for a thank you?" asked Sam, glancing over at me out of the corner of her eye. "Doesn’t sound too horrible, does it, sir?"
I shrugged, carefully nonchalant. "Eh... if it’ll keep them happy, why not."
Carter fell into stride with me, and said, in a soft voice and with the most serious of expressions, "If there’s a party, however, sir, you... well, you might want to lay off the beer."
I stared at her, cautiously observant. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
Her eyes were wide, guileless. "That if the P3X-595 story ever gets out, I have a story of my own."
She picked up the pace, seeming not to notice as I stopped in my tracks. "Is that a threat, Major?" I asked, trying to level my voice and catch up with her at the same time.
"Threat? Nah," she assured me. "Just a friendly warning."
"It’s been almost four years since the 595 thing," I pressed. "If I was going to tell anyone, I would have told them."
She just regarded me with a smile of utter confidence. "Nice to know," she said glibly.
I narrowed my eyes and shook my head minutely - a warning of my own - and stalked off ahead of her.
SAM:
Katrell’s hometown was charming. I wished that I could find a better, more descriptive word, but ‘charming’ was the only one that sprang to mind. It was one of the most unique villages we’d ever visited... and we’d visited a lot.
The town of Jennica was one of the largest on the continent. We seemed to see that a lot - big cities close to the Stargate - and for a while I wondered why. Then I realized that of course, the over-lording Gou’ald wouldn’t want to have to walk too far to beat the slaves. Cities tended to cluster around the Gate; you saw only smaller hamlets and way stations in the outlying areas.
Jennica was open and airy, with a cobblestone promenade, shops affixed to the front of houses so that merchants could sell their wares without even having to leave their yards. There was a fountain in the center of the esplanade, marble and silver, shooting an elegant column of water high into the cerulean sky, and it was here that many people congregated, during lunch, in the mornings or evenings. A neighborhood circled the open courtyard in tidy blocks of spacious two-story structures that were home to two or even three family-groups, and further back is where you would find the farmers. They lived on modest plots, each growing a certain crop on his or her fertile land, and then bringing it to the square to trade for other goods.
The only government was the Directorate, a loosely-assembled group of townspeople that met now and again, for important events - like SG-1’s first visit - or to discuss things like taxes, tariffs, and laws. We hadn’t spent much time with them the first time around - they left most of everything up to Katrell - but what we’d seen of Jennica in specific and Darciblaine in general seemed happy and prosperous, so I assumed that the Directorate did at least an adequate job.
The sky was absolutely clear, the hillsides broad and green, the water cold and clear, and the air itself brisk and invigorating. In short, it made Argos look like a ghetto... and that coming from Colonel O’Neill’s own mouth.
Daniel and I gave little waves to farmers and then families as we approached the center of Jennica; I started feeling like some wayward movie star. Teal’c would give a little nod here and there; I never figured him for the waving type. O’Neill, who still seemed put off by my beer comment, ignored us all and made a beeline for the promenade.
That was where Katrell and several members of the Directorate were waiting for us, before the fountain, which still glimmered and gushed and perfectly as it had the first time we’d seen it.
I almost didn’t see Katrell, which wasn’t unexpected. He was a short, stocky man, with the same pale complexion, auburn hair and green eyes as most of the others, and it wasn’t until he dashed from the midst of the small crowd that I recognized the small gold patch on his shoulder that signified his position as a teacher. "Welcome back!" he announced joyously, drawing the attention of anyone who hadn’t already seen us approach. O’Neill finally cracked a smile at the excited expressions of onlookers. Yes, in a galaxy of people who wanted to shoot first and ask questions later, this place was truly a wonder to behold.
"We’re so happy you could make it," exclaimed Katrell, just as giddy and high strung as I remembered. "The Chaplain will not be arriving until early tomorrow - I’m sorry for the inconvenience - but we have planned a celebration, in your honor as well as His." I cast a quick look at O’Neill and found myself on the receiving end of a decidedly withering look. And I grinned.
"That sounds wonderful," said Daniel finally, seeing that we were too caught up in our own silent conversation to reply to the little man. "We’re pleased to be here."
"Some of my students will be showing you a place where you can rest your weapons and packs," he offered. "You will not being needing them."
DANIEL:
"Will you be leaving this here?"
"No," I replied, shoving the signaler into my pocket. The chubby, redheaded little girl that had asked the question frowned, and I hurried to explain. "It’s not that you don’t trust you... it’s just that this is VERY important. I don’t want to misplace it."
"Well spoken," announced Jack grandly, strolling through the doorway from another chamber. Katrell’s students - children approximately 10 or 11 years old - had taken us to an aerie on the fringes of the promenade, assuring us that our things would be safe here during the festival. "If you lost that..." he waited until the little girl had left the room - "Then we’d probably have to kill you."
I made a face as I shrugged off my jacket and tossed it into a pile with my backpack. Maybe I was ignorant about most things military, but I noticed the black Velcro bridle still adorning Jack’s leg, and the conspicuous lump within; he hadn’t totally disarmed himself, and no doubt Teal’c still carried his staff weapon and the community Zat gun. Again, it wasn’t that we didn’t trust these people, but... "Why are you in such a bad mood?"
"Bad mood?" he repeated. "Daniel, when am I ever in a bad mood?"
I rolled my eyes.
"I’m ready... are you ready? It’s chilly in here... and where the hell is Carter?"
At the Major's name I smiled. A-ha. "Oh..."
I received another glare. "Oh?"
I patted the signaler through my pocket. Okay, still there. "Is there an echo is here?" I wondered aloud.
"No," Jack replied testily. "I was just wondering what the ‘oh’ was all about."
Sighing exaggeratedly, I shrugged. "You know, sometimes I wish the two of you would just kiss and get it over with."
Jack’s eyebrow’s reached for his hairline. "What? Me and Carter?"
"No," I joked. "You and Teal’c. Of course you and Sam. Don’t give me that blank look, either," I warned. "I mean, come on... sometimes the sexual tension in the air gets kinda suffocating for the rest of us."
"You’re insane."
"So I’m wrong?"
"Yes, you’re wrong!"
"What am I wrong about?" I pushed, enjoying myself, perhaps too much.
Jack sputtered. "Everything! We... it... Anything that happened between Carter and me would be totally against regulations."
If that was his only argument, the man had no case. "Okay, Jack."
"Daniel..."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"If you bring this up again, so help me God..."
"Hey."
We both whirled to see Sam standing in the doorway, barely masking an impish grin. I wondered how much of the conversation she had overheard. "Are we going to stand around arguing all day, or are we going to go party?"
TEAL’C:
"You sure?"
"I am sure."
Perhaps it is my Jaffa training, or perhaps simply my personality, but I have never once been enticed by the prospect of joining the rest of SG-1 in partaking of the celebrations that we are so often honored with. I would rather stand back, away from the press of bodies and the noisy intake of food, and observe.
For a moment, Daniel Jackson stoped trying to convince me to ‘enjoy myself’ and observed with me. In particular, we observed Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter, who stood by the fountain, engaged in an argument about ‘beer’, which the Colonel consumed vast quantities of on our last visit to this world. Technically, I was not certain if this was considered an ‘argument’. She was obviously testing and teasing him, and he did not seem especially angry with her; he might in fact have been taking pleasure from the spat.
"Disgusting, aren’t they?" asked Daniel Jackson, and I glanced down on him. He was grinning and anxiously awaiting my reply.
There were days when I felt that he had not yet forgiven me for my part in the death of his wife. Thankfully, today was not one of them.
"I concur." I looked back up at the bickering pair, prepared to add that the cumulative amount of hormones being produced at this moment would rival the Gou’ald Hathor ‘on a good day’. But I had learned not to mention Hathor’s name in Daniel Jackson’s presence, unless I was reminding him that she is in fact deceased.
"You sure you won’t join us?" asked Daniel again, and I declined. He dashed off towards his friends, narrowly missing a collision with a pair of lamplighters preparing the plaza for nightfall.
I stood at parade rest, and observed.
// Chapter Two \
DANIEL:
"I wish you wouldn’t do that."
"What?"
By Darciblaine’s clock it’s almost midnight. We came through the Gate five hours ago.
And they were still at it.
Still.
"I don’t see what’s wrong with teaching them the Macarena," Sam continued indignantly. Jack made a face.
"Who knows what could happen? We could be irreparably damaging their culture by teaching them this dance... thing. It’s not even a native custom."
A man with a trayfull of drinks strolled by; Sam grabbed a decanter, swallowed the contents in one gulp, and replaced it on the waiter’s platform before he moved out or range. Jack made a big show of not being impressed. "This is coming from a man who gave a fully-loaded weapon to a bunch of Mongols?"
"Hey, if you remember correctly, I TRADED it to them so you wouldn’t have to be a part of some hairball’s harem. Though," he muttered. "Maybe if I’d known you better I would have reconsidered."
I knew he was joking. I just hoped Sam did.
I sighed and munched on an appetizer-sized pastry. These two were unbelievable. Tedious, they moved in circles, never really going anywhere, but at the same time you couldn’t help but watch them, and wonder just what they would do next.
A little like a Lava Lamp.
Sam shook her head, conceding. "My hero."
Jack snorted.
I considered starting a conga line.
Then I wandered off, leaving Sam and Jack snippily recalling all the occasions when one had rescued the other - Sam was ahead in that category - and found myself greeting Katrell and few of the Directorate... doing the Macarena. "Doctor!" the schoolteacher exclaimed, seeing me. "Why are you not dancing with us? You would be enjoying the party?"
"Actually, Katrell..."
He stopped himself in mid-gyrate. "You aren’t?"
"Well, I just..." The party was great, actually - great food, great music... beer - it was my own dear Colonel and Major who were the real moodkillers. But Katrell didn’t seem anxious to hear me out.
"Minstrels!" he shouted over the din. "Please, the next segment!"
The harmony of bells, strings, and winds paused, and I caught Katrell on the shoulder as he began to turn away. "Great party, really," I assured. "But there aren’t going to be any, like... fertility dances tonight, are there?"
Katrell stared. "What would be giving you such an idea?"
"I have no idea," I admitted, and roamed away, looking for Teal’c.
TEAL’C:
Sometime later that night, Daniel Jackson made his way back over to me. He appeared bored, and somewhat agitated. My gaze went immediately to the Colonel and Major, who were still absorbed in some volatile discussion. "Those two have serious issues," he declared.
Curious. "You believe they argue because of repressed sexual desires?"
Daniel stared at me. "Well, in so many words... You think so, too?"
I considered. It was true that there were many dissimilarities between Major Carter and Colonel O’Neill, many reasons they might fight about certain things. Still, as a man who had lived, by human standards, a long time, it seemed to me that such constant discord must have deeper roots. "Indeed. However, it would be against regulations-"
"For them to have a... relationship? Yeah," laughed Daniel. "When Hell freezes over."
Now it was my turn to stare. What did this have to do with Sokar?
He caught my confusion. "That just means it isn’t likely."
I said nothing. There is a phrase I have picked up from General Hammond: stranger things have happened.
The music, which had ceased, now began again, and one of the musicians stood on a platform above the ground. "Each man and woman, pick a partner..."
Daniel groaned. "First the Macarena and now square dancing..."
I declined to further question him as Major Carter, followed closely by O’Neill, came near. "Daniel?" called Carter in what I believed was an intentionally loud voice. "Would you like to be my partner?" I watched in amusement as O’Neill proceeded to appear hurt.
Daniel looked at me warily and then back at the Major. "Um, are you sure you want me?"
"I’m sure," said Carter brightly. She grabbed Daniel by his shirt and dragged him out onto the ‘dance floor’. Sighing heavily, the Colonel sat on the edge of the table where I stood.
"Women," he lamented, and then glanced up at me, perhaps remembering my wife, or the woman who had once been my wife. "Uh, sorry."
I simply nodded, remembering that the entire team had been unlucky in love. Colonel O’Neill was divorced. Major Carter had at one point been affianced to a man later labeled ‘psychotic’. Daniel Jackson had been separated from his wife for many years, before the incident that led to her death.
I had been correct in staring that any relationship between O’Neill and Carter would not be approved of. But perhaps, I thought, watching the Colonel watch the Major, that was not of great concern. Perhaps there were more important things than regulations.
SAM:
"You know," groused Daniel. "I really wish you wouldn’t drag me into this?"
"Into what?" I asked innocently.
Daniel didn’t fall for it. "You and Jack. The two of you make me sick sometimes."
Following the example of the other dancers, he raised our entwined hands above my head and twirled me around a bit. Some things never changed planet to planet. Slow-dance moves seemed to be one of them. "Really?" I asked, trying to sound offended.
Again, no luck. "Yeah. You obvious have..." he paused. "Repressed sexual desires."
I gasped, halting our dance. "Excuse me?"
"Hey, Teal’c’s words, not mine," Daniel insisted, flinching. "But you guys are pretty obvious about it."
"There’s nothing to be obvious about," I tried to convince him. "You’re insane."
He actually laughed at that. "Jack said the exact same thing."
"What are you doing? Conducting a poll?"
"Why else do you guys bicker all the time?"
"We don’t bicker all the time," I felt compelled to point out. "There’s just... certain times when he’s... particularly annoying."
"Hormones," he said, sounding pleased.
"Daniel, shut UP." If it hadn’t been for Sha’re, I would have suggested that he find a woman of his own so that he could stop trying to play matchmaker.
"You know I’m right."
I pushed my hands out of his, glaring impressively, and stalked back over to where the Colonel and Teal’c still stood.
JACK:
"So," I asked, trying to make small talk. "When you stand over here, all my yourself... exactly what do you DO?"
Teal’c seemed puzzled, but maybe that was just an act. "I do not understand."
Like hell. "Don’t you get bored?"
"I find observing others to be quite... entertaining." I didn’t like that glimmer in his eye. It was like he was saying that he found US entertaining, and I didn’t appreciate that. At least this time I was steering clear of the local brew. Didn’t want to supply Carter with any more ammunition...
Speaking of Carter... I glanced in her direction; she seemed to be snapping at Daniel even as she danced with him. The woman was a walking confrontation.
And, okay, maybe that was a little endearing. Maybe it was a bit - just a bit - amusing to play around with her, tease her, poke fun. Maybe, maybe, maybe. That didn’t mean I wanted to jump into bed with her or anything.
Didn’t mean I DIDN’T want to...
Being in the military had taught me to deny myself certain things: a full night’s sleep, a clear conscience, expectations of palatable rations. ‘Stunning, brilliant blonde Major’ was just one more thing to add to that list.
I toyed with ‘what ifs’. What if Carter felt the same way I did - here’s an attractive, single individual that I really know and really like - ? What if we acted on those feelings? What was the worst that could happen?
What if it’s detrimental to the team? Would we actually do that? Would we stoop that low, beneath tense flirting, to the point of actual spiteful quarrels? I didn’t think so, but then again, you never knew until you were actually at that point.
What if the brass found out? We could be split up, even court-martialled, for willingly and knowing breaking regulations. The military was under enough heat these days as it was, with sexual harassment suits and issues with the gay community. They would probably be less than understanding of our situation.
What if... oh, forget what ifs. They were pointless and stupid, because they never came around, and then you were left feeling empty and hopeless.
What if Charlie’s death was just a nightmare?
What if Sara comes back?
What if...
How long was this damn dance, anyway?
Carter had seemed to have tired of Daniel and was approaching; he followed, looking dopey, and I could just bet that he had brought up the whole ‘sexual tension’ thing. If that was so, I was surprised she hadn’t just smacked him silly out there on the dance floor. Sounded good to me. I mean, how dare he just waltz in and destroy my protective cover of restraint?
"Teal’c, you want to dance?" she asked blandly, avoiding my eyes.
I swear Teal’c smiled. "No."
"Oh, come on."
"No."
He was certainly adamant. ‘Black Jaffa Can’t Dance’, perhaps? Come to think of it I’d never exactly seen Teal’c cut a rug... though the image was amusing.
"Teal’c," protested Carter, and then she looked over at Daniel. "It’s a conspiracy, isn’t it?" she realized.
"I’m sure that if you wished to continue, Colonel O’Neill would be most happy to join you."
The words cut through my vision of Teal’c doing the Charleston. "Huh? No."
And as much as I tried not to catch Carter’s expression, I caught it, like a sock in the gut. That wasn’t any playful, mocking disappointment. That was real hurt in her eyes, and I almost recanted, just to wipe that look off her face.
But it was at that moment that Katrell sauntered up, unaware of the tension in the air. "Colonel, Major, Doctor... Teal’c." Even jovial Katrell was nervous around the Jaffa. "The Chaplain is arrived. We would like to take you to him." ‘We’ was a gathering group of Directorate members. Eager to escape the gravity of the situation, I nodded.
We followed Katrell and the others to the edge of the party and then beyond, to what I recalled was the meeting place of the Directorate. It was one of the more impressive buildings; ancient, we’d been told. It was stone, with small windows and turrets that reminded me of castle towers from children’s coloring books and fairy tales. We entered, right through the front door, down a dark and drafty hallway to a room big enough to warrant double-doors. Danny and Carter chatted quietly on the way, but the Major didn’t even glance at me. Wonderful. We weren’t even sleeping together and it was hurting the team.
We entered the door as Katrell held open the door; the Directorate members fanned out behind us.
Most of the space in the room was taken by a long, narrow table. We - SG-1 - stood at one end, and the robed Chaplain, hooded robe and all, surrounded by supplicants, was at the other. Slowly, so slow I almost didn’t notice, the equally enshrouded servants drifted closer.
Danny took the lead. "Chaplain, it’s an honor to meet you."
The Chaplain nodded, and then shook off the hood of his robe.
"Likewise," he said, in a deep, reverberating voice.
And his eyes glowed.
// Chapter Three \
SAM:
It was ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ all over again.
In two seconds O’Neill had his gun free from the holster at his leg. However, in one point five seconds the robed Jaffa had flanked us, and each had a Zat pointed at someone’s head.
My first inclination was to tell Katrell and the others to run. But of course...
The nearest Jaffa snatched the handgun from the Colonel’s grasp the moment he hesitated, and wasted no time in whacking him fiercely over the head with it. O’Neill groaned and fell to his knees, and instinctively I dropped next to him, supporting him, testing the trigger finger of the Jaffa nearest me.
The Gou’ald at the head of the table laughed raucously. "Cowering already? You learn quickly."
O’Neill pushed himself back to his feet in a show of mere stubbornness, and I rose. "I think not."
"In that case, you WILL learn," the unfamiliar man promised, and then turned to Katrell. "You promised that they would be unarmed."
"I tried," the teacher insisted, cowering along with the rest of the Directorate. "I could not be making myself obvious, and they were no match of you, Great One."
Daniel, standing frozen and forlorn, gawked at the other man. "Great One? Katrell, do you know who these people are? They’re monsters."
"Ex-nay on the onsters-may," mumbled O’Neill, mainly to himself.
The Gou’ald didn’t seem to care. "Katrell knows who we are: the Gou’ald, his rightful masters. And he knows that he is the beloved servant of the Gods."
Wrath churned inside of me. "Beloved... until you’re more valuable to them as raw meat, and then they stick a snake inside your head."
Despite himself, Katrell shuddered.
The Gou’ald angrily shed the worn robe, displaying for one and all his gold-encrusted raiment and accessorizing finery. "Major, at the moment YOU are worth little more than raw meat. I suggest you remain silent."
The Jaffa closest to him slipped out of his own garment in favor of a gray tunic. "Raw meat," he reminded. "With the knowledge of the Tok’ra."
The Gou’ald smiled a smile worthy of every sinister villain ever portrayed, and his sweeping gaze included us all. "And the Tau’ri." He began to strut around the table, basking in his own glory. "I have done today what Hathor, Aris Boch, even Apophis have failed to accomplish. I have captured SG-1." He made a sound like a giggle, absolutely giddy with the notoriety of it all. "Ieran, take care of our guests while I inform our master of these developments." He paused. "Make sure they are... uncomfortable."
JACK:
A Gou’ald with a sense of humor. Would wonders never cease?
Ieran, who appeared to be the nameless Gou’ald’s First Prime, retrieved his staff weapon - the Jaffa’s best friend - from some hidden crevice and motioned that we follow. Once more, choiceless. We’d been lead deep inside the citadel before stopping at this room, and even though I was reasonably sure we could find our way out again, the hallways were narrow and without any hiding places. If we made a break for it, all of us, someone would surely get hurt. And that just wasn’t an option.
So I motioned for the others to follow, and we were lead down the corridor. The Jaffa seemed to have deduced that I was the only one who’d brought a weapon to the party, and except for Teal’c staff, which he’d already been relived of, he was right. We’d been stupid, lulled into a false sense of security by these people, and unquestioningly left everything - our MKs, the Zat gun, everything - clear across the square.
Well, I amended, sneaking a look at Danny. Maybe not everything.
I glanced behind me, saw more guards and, to my surprise, Katrell.
They continued to lead us, in silence, further and further back, bypassing several staircases that I expected them to take. After all, who kept prisoners on the ground floor? It was like asking for trouble. And how far back did the place do? It had certainly seemed from the outside to be broader than it was long, which meant one thing:
If there was a back door, we’d soon be coming upon it.
Ieran started to chat with another one of his henchman buddies, and I took the opportunity to unobtrusively sidle up beside Daniel. "You’ve still got the signaler, right?" I mumbled, hardly loud enough to be heard. Daniel’s eyes flew open, as though he’d just remembered.
"Yeah."
"That Gou’ald probably thinks it’s back with the rest of are stuff." Which he had no doubt intentions to collect as a bonus to this prize. "We need to destroy it first chance we get."
Daniel swallowed hard, and Carter, who’d crept up behind us, became even more sober. Not simply because destroying the signaler meant no way home; we could have been marooned in a more unpleasant place. No, this order was especially terrifying when you remembered that the signaler was worthless without the code, a code that each of us knew. Sam, Danny and I remembered Sokar’s little retreat, and what Apophis had put us through, for information as much as for his own amusement. We were good, we were strong, especially Teal’c, but if the snakeheads wanted to torture anyone for information, I feared that he knew exactly where to turn: the scientists.
Carter and Daniel were good too, and strong, and it wasn’t as though I didn’t trust them... but I simply could not take the risk of the Gou’ald learning the code and dropping, uninvited, onto Hammond’s doorstep. One of the mantras of the military: go down fighting; go down protecting.
However, I thought glumly, glancing back at Carter. If we WERE going to go down, I wished I’d been on better terms with everyone. If we got out of this alive, I swore, things would be different.
And if we didn’t get out of this alive... think of all the people I’d get to haunt.
TEAL’C:
This was unsettling.
I did not recognize the face of the Gou’ald who had executed our capture. I did not recognize the symbol on the brows of the Jaffa that carried out his orders. This could, of course, mean only one thing: he was either a newly appointed System lord, or a Gou’ald who had elected himself to that position during the choas that had follwed Apophis’ death.
Assumed death.
That is another evil of the Gou’ald; not even death is a constant for them. They can jump over that barrier again and again, thanks to the technology they possess, and even having grown up with that technology, I am not comfortable with it.
I continued to ponder the situation as we were marched down the hallway, careful to note any sign that Colonel O’Neill was planning an escape; I was confident he would. In the meantime, however...
This Gou’ald had mentioned a master. If he was a lower-ranking System Lord, this title could have many meanings. It could also have one very significant meaning: Apophis himself. The Gou’ald Who Would Not Die.
If we were worth a great deal to Sokar, as we had learned from Aris Boch, we would perhaps be worth even more to Apophis, if only personally. We had thwarted many of his plans; many losses of the Gou’ald could be traced to us. I speculated on whether or not he would claim vengeance for the death of Hathor, which could be directly attributed to Colonel O’Neill. Gou’ald politics were often disregarded in such situations, in much the same way Apophis had promised retribution for the death of Ra, a man he despised.
The Gou’ald required a reason of some sort to declare hostilities. Reasons, however, were plentiful.
I overheard the hushed conversation regarding the signaler, and as much as it depressed Major Carter and Daniel Jackson, I recognized it was a wise precaution. No matter the outcome here, we could lot let our downfall lead to the downfall of the Tau’ri. Where we had failed, others would succeed.
Assuming we failed. I realized that I was putting entirely too little faith in Colonel O’Neill and the others. Surely we had found ourselves in more difficult circumstances, and we had prevailed. Why not once more?
DANIEL:
Destroy the signaler.
By destroying the signaler we were effectively admitting defeat, before the battle had even began, cutting ourselves off from salvation prematurely, trapping us on this world that had obviously NOT cut off ties with the Gou’ald after all.
On the other hand, the ‘battle’ would not be a battle. The agonizing truth was that we would either first have the information tortured out of us, and then be killed in some amusing way, or else we would be made into hosts.
All things considered, I’d rather just die.
Being a host... both Sam and Jack had been down that road, though his experience with a Gou’ald in his head had been relatively brief compared to hers. I wondered sometimes how Sam had assimilated all that had happened with Jolinar. Here you’ve got a Gou’ald who pulls a weapon on everyone, even threatens to blow the place up, taunts me with the prospect of my wife, taunts Jack with the promise of an unscathed Sam... Then it turns out to be a Tok’ra, a resistance member fighting the Gou’ald who ultimately ‘gives its life’ so that Sam will survive. How does she reconcile all of that? On a more basic level, how do you get over not having any control, being a prisoner in your own mind, forced to watch as your body does things that you would never do?
If you looked at it that way, the Gou’ald were half captor, half victim. I wondered if the mind of Apophis’ host was still sane, still recognizing all that it had been through and was going through. I sincerely hoped not, for his sake.
Back to the problem at hand.
Destroy the signaler.
Jack saw the hesitation in my face; no one could have missed it. Glancing around furtively, he held out his hand, and I slipped the little box into it. However he was planning on breaking the thing, he’d have to do it thoroughly, so there was no way that the Gou’ald could reassemble it.
"Any idea who this guy is?" murmured Sam, standing just behind me, and once more I sneaked a lot at the Jaffa. They weren’t wearing their helmets - the better to blend in -, which made them harder to identify, but the arcing symbol on their foreheads looked somewhat familiar. "I think that’s the symbol for Anubis, actually. A later period hieroglyph, maybe Demotic or Coptic..."
Jack appeared confused.
"Um, after the death of Christ."
Again, I looked around at our captors. Most of the surrounding Jaffa didn’t seem to be paying any attention to us, but every now and then, good old Ieran would glance back over his shoulder at us. Apparently he wasn’t too worried that we were planning an escape; maybe that infant Gou’ald also gave you spectacular hearing, and he was merely listening in.
"Waitaminute," hissed Jack. "Anubis... he’s the dog... the jackal-headed one, right?" I nodded. "Well, he’s dead. He was on Ra’s ship, remember?"
"Perhaps," rumbled Teal’c, "It is another Anubis."
"Another?"
"Yeah," began Sam, catching on. "After all, there’s only so many names of Gods and Goddesses... the Gou’ald would have to... recycle them. This guy chose Anubis, maybe taking on some of the reputation of the OLD Anubis... I mean, for these guys, names are titles more than anything else; they’re that committed to keeping in line with mythology."
"I concur," mumbled Teal’c.
"Well, that’s wonderful," groused Jack, and we fell back into silence.
Ieran and a cluster of Jaffa up ahead began to talk again, and the Colonel began to speak in a more conspiratorial tone, handing the signaler back to Teal’c. "Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You see the light of day and you run for it, but first priority is making sure this thing doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. I’d rather not demolish it, believe me, but we can’t exactly trust anyone around here to keep it safe for us. They obviously lied to us about not dealing with the Gou’ald."
"Can we hide it somewhere?" prompted Sam.
"Any suggestions?"
"Not at the moment," she admitted.
We turned a corner, and that was when I saw it. We all saw it.
The light of day.
// Chapter Four \
JACK:
Of all the silly things to foil a Gou’ald, plot, this had to be the silliest.
An open door that obviously shouldn’t have been left open.
Katrell - the entire Directorate - was sure going to catch it now.
Ieran stopped short, surprised by the sight of an open street straight in front of him, and the other Jaffa stopped short, too, and bumped into their leader. Teal’c, Danny, Carter and I, however, were all sufficiently on edge that we didn’t run into the guards.
We ran around them.
Of course, it couldn’t be TOO easy. Ieran recovered quickly and reached out to grab Daniel as he passed by. Thinking that it was time to enroll the kid in some self-defense classes, I let loose with a punch that caught the other man in the jaw. Yes, their armor might have just come in handy this time around.
Ieran toppled back and hit another Jaffa, who had just raised his staff weapon in Teal’c general direction. The man lost his balance and fell. I allowed myself a grin as Teal’c darted out the door after Daniel. Obviously the upstart Gou’ald hadn’t been invited to the Jaffa Draft Pick.
There were still two of them, however, one who seemed to have lost his weapon, but was steadily advancing on Carter, and another, Zat gun drawn, glowering at me. Time to see if Daniel was right. I focused my eyes on a point over the Jaffa’s shoulder. "Anubis!" I said brightly, and for just a second, the man seemed to freeze. With reflexes I was still rather proud of, I seized the Zat right from his hand and pointed it at him. "Hey," I said, as though in salutation, and squeezed. The bewildered Jaffa collapsed onto the ground. This was almost fun.
I looked over at the Jaffa still circling Sam, obviously wary and not inclined to engage her hand-to-hand; maybe they weren’t so stupid. "Yo!" I called, and the last thing the Jaffa saw before falling was my triumphant grin.
My eyes had just met Carter’s in an unspoken question - You okay? - when I remembered that it wasn’t just the four Jaffa we had to worry about. There had been nine of us... where was Katrell?
Oh. There he was.
"I’d be knowing how to use this," the schoolteacher assured us, steadying the Jaffa’s dropped staff weapon. As he spoke, the end split and crackled with energy, and I had no doubt that he was telling the truth. He had the thing pointed directly at me.
"Carter, go," I demanded, seeing her falter out of the corner of my eye.
"Don’t," Katrell commanded in the same tone. "I’ll kill him." There was fear in his eyes; he’d be punished for leaving the door open, and for allowing Daniel and Teal’c to escape. He had to at least be able to present Anubis’ ‘master’ with two prisoners, or he’d be dead for sure.
"Sam," I began again, in a warning tone, but it was at that minute that Ieran got to his feet, alternately rubbing his jaw and the back of his head; he must have hit it on the stone floor.
"Bad idea," he told Katrell, roughly grabbing Sam’s arm and pulling a Zat gun out of the folds of his robe. "We’d rather have them unblemished for our master."
Katrell lowered the weapon, pale face red with shame and fright. "I am sorry, my lord. I had been told that the manor was secured."
Surprisingly, the Jaffa appeared unworried. "They won’t get far. They can’t possibly make it back to the Stargate undetected and without their equipment. We’ll find them. And while we wait," he shook Carter cruelly and she glared brazenly at him. "We can start in on these two."
DANIEL:
I ran. Oh, boy, did I run.
It was several moments before I realized that someone was behind me, and a few seconds before I noted with relief that it wasn’t one of Anubis’ men, it was Teal’c. Fully confident that Sam and Jack could take the remaining, blundering Jaffa, we dashed out, finding ourselves in one of the neighborhood blocks.
"We have to hide the signaler," I gasped to Teal’c, well aware that we stuck out like sore thumbs and could easily be recaptured. I searched frantically for a good hiding place - garbage can, alleyway, sewer grate - and found nothing appealing.
An alarmed shout came from behind, from the other side of the citadel.
"Split up," I advised, and although I knew less about military strategy than anyone, Teal’c nodded. He went left down the street, and I went right.
I’d turned my third corner, counting carefully so as to not end up going in circles, when I saw her. A lithe, slender figure with a mop of carrot-colored curls piled atop her head. She wore a heavy green skirt, soft brown sweater, held an armful of empty woven baskets... and she was staring at me.
Another shout, this one not so far behind. I jerked.
The woman bit her lip in indecision... and then beckoned me with a hasty wave of her hand. I paused, wary, fresh with the memory of the betrayal of Katrell and the Directorate, but what else could I do? Where could I go?
"Come," the woman said, voice hushed and full of alarm. I went to her, not knowing what else to do. She opened the door of the building that seemed to be her home, and ushered me inside.
"I will be hiding you," she promised me.
TEAL’C:
I did not like this situation whatsoever.
Not only had I now been separated from Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter, I had left Daniel Jackson behind. A mistake. He was resourceful and intelligent, yes, but lacked something that the Colonel referred to as ‘street smarts’. I feared that he would soon be recaptured by the Jaffa that soon began to fan out over the streets.
Compounding problems was the darkness. It was now early morning on this planet: cold, windy, and with little illumination. The music in the courtyard had ceased. The party, it seemed, was over.
I analyzed the tactics of Anubis and the natives of Darciblaine. The Directorate seemed to have been working under the orders of the Gou’ald when they had invited us to their celebration. There could be many reasons for engaging in an actual festival, as well. Perhaps they had wished us to become inebriated, so that we could not fight. Perhaps Anubis had not yet arrived and they wished to stall. Perhaps they simply wanted us to let down our guard. In that goal they had succeeded.
If Daniel Jackson, Carter and O’Neill were indeed free, the most important thing was to rendezvous with them. If they had been captured, the only thing I was capable of doing was returning to Earth for help. One man alone could not rescue anyone from the clutches of the Gou’ald.
In either case, I had a specific objective.
Return to the Stargate.
SAM:
They didn’t take any chances this time. We’d fooled them one, taken advantage of the fact that they underestimated us. We’d benefited from a mistake on the part of the Directorate.
That wouldn’t happen again.
Ieran was smarter than he looked; at the very least he was smarter than his colleagues were. He’d already identified me as a weak link - I’d stayed when Katrell had threatened the Colonel; I should have run regardless - and he now seemed interested in seeing how far he could push O’Neill when it came to me. He retained his crushing grip on my arm - I’d develop some interesting bruises if I lived long enough - and every few minutes I could feel his eyes rake my body. Surprising how lewd one man could be without even saying a word.
My mind filled with all sorts of horrible thoughts as Ieran and the other battered Jaff led us roughly up a column of spiraling stairs. He said that he wanted us ‘unblemished’ for their master, but ‘unblemished’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘unharmed’. There were a number of ways to torment someone without leaving any noticeable damage, and rape, unfortunately, was one of them. And it was a useful tool of interrogation, especially if Ieran deduced that he could break down the Colonel by abusing me. The thought of that, of putting O’Neill in that kind of position, was almost as terrifying as the act itself. The Gou’ald had few - if any - compunctions.
At the top of the stairs was a door, and the door led to a room. It wasn’t your average room, either, at least here in Jennica. It had obviously been supplemented with Gou’ald technology.
The room was circular, the walls curved, and I realized that we were in one of the turrets. On one side was an array of blinking and flashing things, science we had seen on Gou’ald ships, and a large, milky globe that I recognized as a kind of viewscreen for communication. One bored Jaffa stood manning these inactive controls, his lupine helmet sitting on the floor. Gou’ald Central, it seemed.
At the other side of the room were a huddled collection of what I could only call cages. They weren’t cells: cells have bars that go ceiling to floor. It wasn’t a pen, because those are open on the top. These were cages, maybe five feet tall and twice as wide and long. It was somewhat humorous: Anubis was a dog-like god, and his prisoners were kept in kennels.
Well, it would be humorous if we weren’t the ones being thrown into two separate boxes, which were so low that we were forced to sit.
Ieran stalked across the room, flipped a switch, and the air was filled with humming. "The bars are now charged," he informed us. "I suggest you do not touch them."
And then he left.
A moment of silence passed, but only a moment. Then:
"Well, this is undignified."
I was too relieved that Ieran hadn’t tried anything with me to respond verbally, but managed a shaky nod, drawing my knees up against my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs, wary of the humming rods.
Another quiet pause. The Jaffa yawned.
O’Neill sighed. "This... this is embarrassing." I glanced up at him. "Not the cage," he said with distaste. "Just... this whole thing. Should have figured this place was too good to be true."
I shrugged, hoping to get my mind off our current situation by consoling O’Neill. "Every place has its ups and downs." After all, even Argos was populated by little sluts...
"Unfortunately, we’re in one of the ups right now," grumbled O’Neill, trying to crane his neck and see out the narrow window without touching the bars. I wondered just how far off the ground this turret was. Too far.
The Colonel sat back on his haunches, and sighed, cynical humor vanished. "I hope Daniel and Teal’c are alright," he said, doubt suddenly clouding his brown eyes. He was trying very hard not to feel responsible here, I could tell, but I knew that he usually considered any and all mission screw-ups to be his express fault.
"You know," I tried to encourage. "When we don’t come back, Hammond’s going to know this was a set up. He’s going to send a team in to find us."
"That’s exactly what I’m worried about," admitted the Colonel.
Besides, a lot could happen before then.
// Chapter Five \ Present
SAM:
I open my eyes and gasp at the familiar surroundings. My room. The SGC.
I had been back on Darciblaine for some time there, and I shudder, aware now that it was only a dream... a nightmare... a nearly perfect memory of what had taken place in Jennica six nights ago. Six? I look at my bedside clock. No, seven now. It’s three AM. Approximately seven days ago we were captured by Anubis. The NEW Anubis.
It’s late - or early - but after all that I know I can’t simply fall back to sleep. Can’t let the dreams return. But if I don’t sleep, what do I do? Teal’c is hiding. So is Daniel, in a different way. I can’t go to either of them. I could always go to the infirmary...
No I couldn’t.
Remembrance almost brings tears to my eyes - which delights me - but then the need to cry fades, and I find myself feeling just as tense and exhausted as before. Shivering, I lay back on my bed and close my eyes. The horror is all around me. At least in my own mind, I have some control. I know what’s going to happen.
CEASAR:
They gave me the name Caesar.
It’s a funny name, I think. It means Emperor or King, which is flattering, but it does not fit with the names of the others.
Maybe, if I do not die, I will change it.
DANIEL:
I can’t sleep. I won’t sleep. Not that it’s any different from waking. The memories are still there, but they’re more vivid when I close my eyes. So I don’t.
Hammond himself was by to see me, just a while ago. That was nice... I just hope he’s not offended that I couldn’t even look at him.
Nothing personal, but as much as I want to know, I don’t want to know. I refuse to know. And I was afraid that Hammond knew, and if I met his gaze there would be something in it that would tell me. And I changed my mind. I don’t want to be told.
Afraid.
I’m a coward. I’m an idiot and I’m the reason it ended this way. Because I was scared. All I wanted to do was run. Hide. Shut everything out. Not much has changed since Darciblaine.
JANET:
The silence of the base is frightening.
General Hammond’s own silence is worse. He’s sitting at his desk, seeming to be staring into space, but I know he isn’t. He’s thinking. I just wish that he would go ahead and SAY whatever he’s thinking.
Not that I’m eager to return to the infirmary. Not much waiting for me there.
"We sedated him... he went into a coma and hasn’t come out... don’t know if he will... don’t know if it’s HIM..." Those were the words I just spoke to the General. Words I never believed I’d say. Not about the Colonel. Not about Jack O’Neill, resident superman. There’s a surreal, dreamlike quality to everything now.
Dream? Did I say dream? I meant nightmare.
"The Colonel had a living will, didn’t he?"
I’m prepared for this. "Yes, sir."
"Then he made the decision for us, didn’t he?" The General’s voice is hollow.
"YES, sir, but it’s only been three days. And I believe that he still has a chance. We can’t give up on him."
"Is that a professional opinion?"
"Yes, it is, sir."
The General fidgets a bit; under other circumstances it’d be comical to behold. "What about the ‘next of kin’ issue? I know he’s divorced, but the Colonel still has family, right?"
"Yes." I’ve been debating exactly how to approach this, but now that the opportunity’s here, I’m just going to go right ahead and take it. "Only the Colonel listed SG-1 as his next of kin."
General Hammond blinks at me, as though not certain he’s heard correctly, and then sighs. I don’t think he expected anything else from O’Neill. "I believe he realized that in most situations that would entail notifying the next of kin, we wouldn’t want to involve civilians," I point out, and it’s very true, but it’s not the only reason. SG-1 IS a family. They’d have to be in order to survive everything they’ve survived.
"At the moment, Major Carter’s the only member of SG-1 that’s speaking to anyone," Hammond fumes, although I think his anger is just pretense. He doesn’t want me, or anyone, to see how much this has affected him.
"I realize that," I answer quietly. "But sir, I’m worried about her." Hammond looks more concerned at my grave tone. "She appears to be taking this better than Daniel or Teal’c but I’m starting to think that it’s just an act."
"Of course it is," snaps Hammond, and in his eyes I can see a hundred missions where he put on an act of his own. "Nevertheless," he adds in a softer tone. "This needs to be discussed."
I nod. He’s right. It does. I’m just afraid of what it could do to Sam. She’s so fragile already, hanging on to normalcy by a thread, maybe less. Having to confront and remember and speak on these things, things she’d rather forget forever, might just be the thing that snaps that thread.
She’s my friend, but she won’t even let me help her.
"Who do you think should talk to her?" Hammond asks gently; he isn’t immune to the gravity of the situation, after all. If anything, he’s right in the middle, not only having to deal with all these wounded people, but having to keep them moving, keep them functioning. It’s a duty that I can sympathize with.
"Do you want my profession opinion?"
"Actually, I’d like your personal opinion, doctor."
I lower my eyes to the ground. "I think perhaps you should, sir." He raises his eyebrows. "She might take it better as an order."
Hammond’s silent again, considering, maybe even trying to think of a way he can respectfully disagree with me. I certainly don’t envy the position he’s in, and couldn’t blame him for trying to get out of it... but finally, he acquiesces with a mute nod.
I go to find Sam.
// Chapter Six \ Six days earlier...
TEAL’C:
Finally, I realized that the night could be my friend, casting long shadows and covering buildings in darkness. Anubis’ Jaffa were out there; I could hear them. They were making no attempts to remain silent, to hide their position. And that was why I would escape Jennica.
After fleeing the city, however, things were more uncertain. It seemed apparent that Anubis would have a force at the Stargate, especially after finding out that some or perhaps all of his prisoners had escaped. And that the signaler, his one means of attacking Earth through the Tau’ri Stargate, was also missing.
The Gou’ald were arrogant, and when their omnipotence was challenged, they grew fiercely angry. The considered themselves the masters of the universe and became furious when the stars themselves did not bend to their demands.
Sometimes this could be seen as a weakness, leaving the Gou’ald so overcome with hostility that he could not see what was right in front of him. Other times, however, rage provided him with stamina, and a goal: to see those he hated brought to ‘justice’.
Only the Gou’ald have as much justice as they do mercy. None.
Once clear of Jennica, back on the road that lead to the Stargate, I would be utterly indefensible, open to attack from all sides and without even a human weapon to protect me. Odds were indeed against me.
But I had no choice.
DANIEL:
I followed the strange woman into her home, up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. Absurdly, I kept expecting to turn a corner and come face to face with Anubis and a platoon of angry Jaffa. But the only thing I found was...
"Baskets?"
The woman nodded, and I remembered the armload of woven hampers. This was probably her job, how she made a living. Making baskets.
And she made quite a few. There were round baskets, and square ones, and other odd shapes. There were baskets that were a natural off-white color, and others died a variety of cheerful shades. Some were filled with blankets or scraps, others were empty. Some were small with hinged lids, and others were big enough to hide a man.
I had the distinct impression that that was why she had brought me here.
She pushed me in the direction of one of the bigger bins, and pulled off the top. "Quickly," she told me, in her unusual, lilting accent. "If the Chaplain’s men come in here they must not see you."
I reflected that not even the ‘Chaplain’s men’ were stupid enough to not check one of these massive containers, but I climbed inside anyway. What could it hurt?
‘Chaplain’s men,’ I repeated to myself, as the woman flew from the room, closing the door behind her. Most Gou’ald took on the personas of gods and goddesses, but a chaplain was a far cry from a god. For one, he was mortal. This new Anubis was taking a different approach with the people of this planet, then. Respect rather than abject fear. Interesting.
System Lords: The Next Generation.
But even this new breed of Gou’ald wasn’t about to start singing songs and telling campfire stories with us. If he was a newer addition to Apophis’ big old family, he’d have low standing. And what better way to improve that standing than handing over Daddy’s most notorious enemies. How perfect for him, I thought dryly, crouching in the basket and praying that my new friend would turn out to be more loyal than Katrell and the Directorate.
The dark street was silent, and I could hear voices. There were the brisk, angry tones of Jaffa, the more subdued, downright prayerful voices of the natives...
"We’re looking for two men that might be in this area. One was large, dark skinned, wearing the mark of our master Apophis on his brow."
"I have not seen him." I swallowed hard. It was the basket-woman... they must be right out on the porch, just beneath the one window in the room. I realized that if the woman sold me out, I’d have nowhere to go but up... and then down.
"The other was smaller, with a pale face, brown hair, and glass circles on his nose. We must find these criminals, madam. They are very dangerous."
This time, she took longer to answer, and I started to sweat. She was well-intentioned, sure, but I was just some guy she'd come across, who was probably a ‘criminal’, and this Jaffa was presumably a holy man of some type.
"I believe I saw him. Would he be dressing in green?"
"Yes. That’s him." The Jaffa sounded excited.
"He would have been running by here just moments ago, towards the temple. Horrid, rude man... I’m hoping you catch him."
"We will, madam," promised the giddy Jaffa, and couldn’t help adding. "The Chaplain himself will deal with them."
"Good," said the woman, and she shut the door.
SAM:
A couple hours passed while I slept, curled up like a cat in my little electrified carrying case. When consciousness finally returned, I raised my head off my arm to see that the bored Jaffa was absent from his post, early morning sunlight was filtering in through the window...
And Colonel O’Neill was quite busy indeed.
I watched silently as he worked, trying to wedge a small knife - aha, the one kept in his boot - underneath the bottom wire of the cage. He was concentrating intently, little beads of sweat popping up on his forehead, and I noted several red spots on his hands. Obviously the bottom wire was not electrified, but the others were... he had learned that firsthand.
"Shit!"
O’Neill jerked his hand away and blew on it, waving it through the air with an exasperated grimace. Another burn. He’d probably been at it since... well, since whenever the Jaffa had left.
Groaning, I pulled myself into a sitting position, and he looked over at me. "Morning," he said dryly. I pursed my lips together and nodded.
"What’re you doing?"
He sighed, shoving the knife back into his boot. "I’m... not really sure. Trying to find some way to pass the time, I guess."
"Where’s the Jaffa?"
"I dunno... couple of hours ago he just got up and left." He cast his eyes down, and worry settled like a stone mask across his features. "I heard him talking with Ieran. They haven’t found Daniel and Teal’c."
Knowing there had to be something else - something bad - I controlled my relief, tempering it to a quick nod. "Good." I watched him carefully. "What’s the bad news?"
"They found that the singular wasn’t with the rest of our things. Anubis had counted on giving that to Apophis, as well as the code."
"If he can’t give him that, he’s going to have to give him something else," I noted.
"Yeah."
He shifted, obviously starting to cramp up in the small constraints, fell silent for a moment, and then began to speak again. "Remember the first time we went out... the four of us?"
It had been after Kawalsky’s death, I remembered that much, but we’d spent so much downtime together since then that all the dates kind of melted together. I nodded hesitantly.
"Remember we said? Better dead then a host for a Gou’ald?"
THAT brought back the memories. A solemn toast, a farewell to a comrade, a grave promise. "Yeah. I remember."
"You still feel that way?"
Now he watched me carefully, scrutinizing every flinch and tic and memories and emotions came flooding back at a time when I just didn’t need them. In some ways, he was a better observer than Teal’c. I wondered exactly what he could tell: if he knew how claustrophobic I was feeling, how exposed, how guilty and pitiful. "Yeah," I said again, and then cleared my throat. "I do."
"Me too," O’Neill assured me. His voice was kindly; even his eyes seemed softer. I guess maybe incarceration is good for the soul. "So here’s the deal. If it looks like things are heading... that way... we can’t stop it..." He stoped and swallowed thickly. He was like me; he never thought it would end like this. Maybe he never thought it would end. "If it gets that bad," he repeated somberly. "We do everything we can to..."
To try and kill the other. He couldn't say the words and I couldn't blame him. I could hardly think them, as logical as it is. Better dead than a host. We said those words four years ago, they helped us through the hardest times knowing, whatever torture we might be put through, our friends would never let us be put through THAT, at least not for long. And now here we were in cages in a tower on some Irish or Welsh planet, being held captive by a parvenu parisite who hadn’t even been around long enough to get his first Gou’ald merit badge, hours or perhaps minutes away from being turned over to our greatest enemy. And this enemy, naturally, wanted information that we had, and he wouldn’t use ‘the Blood of Sokar’ or any such interesting methods to screw with our heads. He’d make us hurt and if that didn’t work - hell, even if it did - he would probably make us hosts, unwilling obedient ass-kissers, just for the sheer amusement of seeing us - at least our bodies - genuflecting, exalting, consenting.
And that was how it was going to be.
That, or we died.
There really was no contest.
"It’s a deal," I said quietly.
// Chapter Seven \ Present
JANET:
It’s early. Sam’s probably tired. I’m certainly tired. But those are just excuses, and not even very good ones. I steel myself and knock on the Major’s door.
There’s no reply immediately, and I wonder - a bit desperately - if she’s still asleep. Then I’m answered with a much too cheerful "Come in", and I sag. It’s an act, alright.
And not even a very good one.
I enter and find Sam sitting on the edge of her bed, not doing much of anything, just looking up at me expectantly and with the tiniest glimmer of fear. She’s wondering if I’m here to update the Colonel’s condition. I shake my head. "He’s still in a coma."
The fear fades out into low-grade ambient apprehension, and I take a seat beside her. "The General needs to talk to you-"
She knows exactly where I’m going here, and the panic returns in a heartbeat. It’s more emotion than I’ve seen from her in days. "Janet, I can’t go through it all again."
"This is important."
"I can’t."
"Then talk to me," I plead. "Sam, you have to talk to someone. This is killing you, I can tell." She clenches her jaw. "What happened? What went on? You HAVE to get it out."
"You know what happened; I wrote it all down." She’s tense, to say the least, and I cringe to think how much it must have hurt to write that report.
I rephrase the question, and ask it carefully, preparing myself for some backlash. "What happened between you and O’Neill? In the turret? After you were caught?"
Sam freezes, and I know I’ve hit exactly on what’s tormenting her... one of the things, anyway. Her eyes are unfocused, staring ahead into... nothingness. Or maybe the past. Maybe she’s seeing it unfold all over again in her mind’s eye. "Please, Sam. You think you have everybody fooled into believing you’re dealing with this, but you’re not fooling anyone. There’s just no way you could come out of this unaffected. Maybe if you came down to the infirmary..."
"No," she says resolutely.
"Why not? The Colonel needs you."
Finally, as I knew she eventually would, Sam explodes. Not into violence, or tears, but into a cacophony of words that pour from her like blood. "No. No he doesn’t. That’s my whole point, Janet. This was my fault. My fault! He doesn’t need me. Maybe it would have been better if we’d never known each other. Janet, I haven’t even CRIED over this. I haven’t shed a single tear. What... what does that say about me?" She stands, paces away, paces back. "You want to know what happened? They took us to the turret, and we sat in our cages and we talked a little. We were both scared and trying not to show it, and we made a promise, a pact that one wouldn’t let the other be taken as a host, even if that meant murder." She puts her hands to her head, rubbing her temples. "After a while the First Prime and a couple Jaffa came back... they were moving us somewhere else; this place was only temporary. They didn’t take any chances: we were totally surrounded... Ieran practically had his staff weapon touching my head the entire time. I think they knew that Jack wouldn’t try to do anything - to fight or escape - if it was just to save himself." I try not to raise my eyebrows at her use of the Colonel’s first name, something I’ve rarely heard. "They took us to this older part of town, these ancient buildings that the natives were probably forced to build for their original Gou’ald slaveholder. Stone and marble... there was a huge temple and a kind of gathering place... a courtyard twice as big as the one in Jennica. And a stockade... some kind of penitentiary the Gou’ald must have used when the captives got out of control." Her voice is rough and dry. "They put us in the same holding cell, and..." she trails off, shuddering. "And Ieran said he’d be back later, with Anubis... to question us. And we knew what that meant..."
HAMMOND:
I’ve made it as far as the infirmary door.
I can see him inside, laying on that bed, eyes closed, machines all around, and I’m filled with disgust. Not towards the Colonel, and not towards the Major or Teal’c or Daniel. I hate the entire situation. I hate any situation that I’m not in complete control of, and this situation... I never had control of it.
Not that that’s unusual, but it’s a particularly sore spot when it doesn’t end up all okay, everyone’s fine, let’s shake hands and thank our lucky stars. When it ends badly. And this is bad.
And I’ve never been one to complain, or even vocalize my own feelings to people I work with, but this is difficult for me, too. I’m carrying a huge burden of guilt, a lump in the pit of my stomach accusing me: you should have know. You should have guessed. And because you didn’t... it all went bad.
No, my disgust isn’t directed at O’Neill, Carter, or any of them.
It’s directed at myself.
CAESAR:
Sometimes, sometimes, I can hear them talking. So can He. We hear the doctor, Janet. We hear other assistants. Never once, however, do We hear the others. The Jaffa. The man. The woman. Maybe they’re all dead... I do not know any more than he does. I’m in a worse place than I was seven days ago. At least then, I could see. Move. Live.
Now, I’m blind, trapped... and so weak. This encourages Him.
But, my friend, remember: if I die, so do you.
// Chapter Eight \ Six days earlier...
JACK:
They moved us from the turret to the cell, and it actually improved my spirits. At least here, I could stand up, move around. And Sam was here, too.
She was visibly afraid, even more so when Ieran entered the room, but hell, I shared that sentiment whole-heartedly. Fear was always there, always. She was controlling it, that was the important thing.
The cell was much less cramped than our tiny little jail back in the tower, but I couldn’t come up with any way in which it bettered our position. If anything, there were more guards here, it was further from the Stargate, more remote, and Anubis was on his way. Apophis would be here soon, if the Jaffa was to be believed. Not a good start.
And not too many ways to kill the time.
For a long while, I thought about the promise that I had made with Sam, and the knife stashed in my boot. If it came down to THAT, I could do the murder-suicide thing. Sure could. As long as we stayed close enough, a slice here, a dice there, and a hope that there weren’t any handy sarcophaguses around... no worries.
Damn sarcophaguses. Besides the fact that one had saved my life several years ago - not to mention Daniel’s butt on a few other occasions - I really hated those things. If someone was dead, then maybe, just maybe, they should stay that way.
After a while the horrible reality of the situation started to sink in -- no rescue, no hope, and here we were actually planning our own deaths.
Since when?
However, there was little we could do until we were brought out of the cell to meet Anubis or Apophis - whichever - and I decided that if Sam Carter and I WERE going to die, out here, like this, we might as well have things straight between us.
"I’m sorry," I started.
Sam glanced up at me from where she sat against the back wall of the cell, on a grungy, dilapidated cot bolted low to the wall. "For what?" she said with a bit of a sigh.
I jammed my hands into my pockets and strolled over from the open, barred wall of the chamber, where I’d been keeping an eye out for any approaching visitors. "For... for not dancing with you last night."
To my delight, she smiled. It was a sad smile, but it was there. "You think I’m upset about that?"
"You aren’t?"
Sam seemed to think about that for a moment before replying, "Maybe I was. A little."
"I was kinda rude."
"You didn’t have to say yes."
"But I could have."
"Then why didn’t you?"
Our exchanges came rapid-fire until that question, and then it was my turn to pause, and weigh the answer. "I don’t know... maybe it was Daniel. His playing matchmaker."
"Teal’c was in on it, too."
"I noticed," I said, sitting beside her on the bed. It creaked with the added weight, and we paused for a moment, waiting for us to snap beneath us, but it held.
"What did Daniel say to you?" I gave a questioning shrug, and Sam elaborated. "About... us."
"Uh... that we had ‘sexual tension’ that we needed to resolve."
A blush colored Sam’s cheeks a curious hue. "Yeah. Me too. ‘Repressed sexual desires’ I think was the exact term."
I chuckled at the ludicrousness of it all, and then stopped mid-laugh when something occurred to me. "What if he’s right?"
Her eyes went wide. "What?"
I felt a blush of my own starting to rise, and squirmed. "I mean, so what?"
"So what?" repeated Carter vacantly.
"I mean, so what if I think you’re..." I cleared my throat, trying to downplay this as best I could. "Attractive?" I rolled my eyes. "And smart. And..." I shrugged nonchalantly. And what? Wonderful? Remarkable? Sexy? "Fascinating."
Again, she smiled, and it actually exuded warmth. "You think I’m fascinating?" she echoed, sounding both incredulous and flattered.
And while I was out on this limb, I might as well go all the way, and see how far I could get before it snapped. "And attractive," I repeated matter-of-factly.
"And so what if I think so, too, right?" asked Carter glibly. I ignored the warm rush of feelings her words stimulated; this was hardly the time or the place. Actually, this wasn’t the time or the place for any of what was going on, but who knew if we’d ever had another chance?
"Right," I agreed. "I mean, there must be tons of beautiful, brilliant women out there... you don’t see me running out and... releasing my sexual tension with them, do you?"
"Well, I sure hope not," she answered with mock solemnity.
"And if we did... make all of Daniel’s dreams come true, that is... well, what would the General think?"
"I hate to even consider it," she replied in the same serious tone.
Outside, I heard voices. Not lead-iron Gou’ald voices, not even Ieran’s voice, but the jumbled words brought me back to reality, to the situation we were in, and why I was out on this limb at all. "So what," I continued, more pensive this time around. "If there’s so many things I wanted to do that I never got to?"
Sam held her breath, realizing the change in my mood and the reasons for it. This wasn’t casual flirting. This was an apology. "Like what?" she prodded tremulously.
‘Like what’? She wanted me to explain?
Okay... maybe I could demonstrate.
With my right arm I reached behind her, putting my hand on her neck and pulling her against me.
And she was ready for me, ready and willing, letting me in at the slightest request, letting me feel and taste sensations I never seriously thought I’d ever experience. My hand slipped down and my arm looped around her waist, and she braced herself against me with one hand clutching behind my shoulder. I’m sorry to say that our plight was in mind for every second of it, reminding me that this kiss might be our only, encouraging me to make the most out of it. Not that I could do much more, under the circumstances.
After far too brief a time, Sam released her hold on me and drew away. I let her go reluctantly, ending the kiss with a little sigh and pull on her bottom lip. Breathing erratic, eyes full of confusion, she searched my face. I don’t know what answers she expected to find there. I didn’t have any for her.
"Sir," she started, almost beseechingly, but I stopped her with a shake of my head. "What?"
"Do you think... you could call me Jack?"
DANIEL:
I spent the rest of the night in the basket, finally dozing off, surprised when I woke and found myself inside the wicker drum. Why couldn’t it have simply been some horrible, alcohol-induced nightmare?
The lid of the basket came off and I tensed, expecting to find myself face to face with a staff weapon. Instead, the svelte redhead, the weaver, the woman who had lied to save a stranger’s life, blinked down on me though morning sunlight. "Will you be staying in there all day?"
I shook my head, not entirely sure what to say, and clambered out, onto the floor. "Thank you," I finally sputtered.
"It’s no problem," she assured me. "As long as you wouldn’t be a criminal."
"I’m not," I assured her. "I’m a scientist, actually."
At that she smiled broadly. "My brother, he’s a scientist. One of those who watch the skies."
Skies reminded me of telescopes reminded me of the betrayal, and the unknown fate of my friends. "Listen, this was very nice of you... what’s your name?"
"Lornya," she supplied helpfully.
"This was nice of you, Lornya. But the... I’m afraid your Chaplain has... unfairly incarcerated some of my friends. None of us are criminals. We’re scientists, and soldiers."
"Soldiers?" The term seemed unfamiliar.
Thinking of the Jaffa, I amended. "Holy men. They serve our... directorate."
"That’s very strange," she informed me. I agreed. "What will you do now? Will you be going back to the Chaplain’s gate, back home?"
"Not right away." I wasn’t leaving Jennica, much less Darciblaine, until I knew what had happened with the other three. "I need to find my friends."
"You should appeal to the Chaplain," Lornya suggested.
"Uh... no. That wouldn’t be a very good idea," I informed her in a spate of nervous laughter. "I don’t think he’d listen to me. I need to do this secretly."
"I can help!"
"Lornya..." She was a beautiful, seemingly intelligent woman, this was true, but didn’t exactly seem to be the kind of person Jack would enlist as an operative. Then again, I doubted that the Colonel had ever spent a night in a basket.
"Really, I can be helping. My booth sits quite near the entrance of the Office of the Directorate. I may be able to overhear what they say... if they mention the fate of your friends I can tell you. You don’t need to risk yourself."
Sending a woman - a young, native woman - out to spy for me didn’t seem quite right. "Lornya..." I started again.
"Let me TRY to help."
Her eyes were unwavering; for one reason or another she was determined to defy her Chaplain and do this for me. Later, I would have to find out why... Hammond would want to know motivation. "Okay," I relented. I had a bad feeling about this. "But be CAREFUL."
SAM:
"Jack," I repeated, as he let me slide to a more comfortable difference, but kept his hand on my arm.
"Is that weird?" he asked, flinching a bit at my hesitancy.
In a way, it was. I hadn’t stuck to calling him ‘Colonel’ for four years just for the hell of it. I had my reasons.
In the first place, our relationship had gotten off to what I considered an inappropriate start. Sexually accosting your commanding officer - kissing him, straddling him, offering yourself to him - wasn’t a great way to begin a career on a new base, and it had certainly done nothing to quell my libido. Keep things neutral, I told myself after the whole Broca escapade. Safe. Uninvolved... at least until you get to know him better.
And in no time at all I felt that I knew him, quite well, in fact. He started calling me Sam, and I thought that perhaps I could return the favor, make things a bit more insouciant. But then...
"Jolinar," guessed O’Neill quietly.
I nodded. The Tok’ra had undoubtedly changed my life, making the Gou’ald wary of me, bringing into contact new allies like Martouf, not to mention salvation for my father. In the grand scheme of things, that one little outburst shouldn’t have made any difference. But it did.
"Because Jolinar called me Jack?" the Colonel prodded.
I sighed, not really wanting to bring this up. "In a manner of speaking. When you’ve got one of those things inside your head, I don’t think it matters if it’s a Gou’ald or a Tok’ra... not when it’s involuntary." I smothered a grimace. "I was... so afraid, afraid that no one would ever realize that it wasn’t ME, and that she’d escape back to wherever she wanted to go and I’d never see Earth again. Even after you knew, and were keeping her there, I was scared. I was scared about the assassin and just... never getting my body back again. Always being stuck in my own head, unable to do... anything about it. And then that one time you visited... Jolinar talked about letting me go... the Ashrak... and it was the truth. I couldn’t believe it... I wanted to tell you because I knew you’d trust ME."
Jack was staring at me unabashedly. "That was you?"
I shook my head and continued. "I started just... shouting aloud in my own mind, hoping that somehow I could break through, regain control... I couldn’t. But I think Jolinar picked up on what I wanted to say, and it worked for her. I guess she just... relayed the message. With a few alterations for dramatics. She wanted authenticity, and she got it. I don’t know... it’s ridiculous, but EVERY time after that, when I thought about using your first name, I’d remember Jolinar, and that awful, TRAPPED feeling."
He seemed unsure what to say to me, whether to be comforting or encouraging or simply say ‘it’s all in the past’, but he did squeeze my hand, and that one gesture was worth a thousand platitudes.
"What about you?"
"Me?"
I squeezed his hand back. The familiarity was strange, but I thought if I lived long enough I could just maybe get used to it. "Yeah. If we’re spilling our guts here I want to hear your story."
"Hathor?" He made a face, but I nodded.
"I don’t have as much to tell," he insisted. "Just... pain, killer headache. And this feeling like... like someone was trying to THINK for me. I mean, trying to take control of all my motor functions, even my breathing, heartbeat. And I just tried to keep thinking my own thoughts. Song lyrics, quotes from television, old conversations, just anything that came to mind that I knew IT wouldn’t know. Then I remember the Tok’ra, and that thing closing over me... cold..."
I nodded. I remembered the cold.
"And..." He narrowed his eyes, as though trying to pin down a particularly elusive memory. "I started getting so cold, and tired, but I could feel the thing still worming around, starting to get control. And I remember... it wanted Hathor." He gulped down revulsion. "It wanted to please her. And... it wanted to please her... by doing what she said." He looked down at me. "By killing you."
I closed my eyes.
"She HATED you, Sam," he said, as though it were a revelation. "The Gou’ald knew that better than anyone. Hathor was actually still kind of attached to Daniel, but you... you were the one to stop her when she tried to take over the base. You... you tried to get through to me, to all of us. And deep down, I wanted to listen to you. That’s what she hated. She wanted me... she wanted all the men. And you were competition."
‘She... who would challenge Us...’
"And that THING wanted to make her happy by killing you... not just killing you but by... HURTING you. And that, that was the scariest thing. I knew if the Tok’ra wasn’t right and this thing didn’t die, I wouldn’t be able to stop it - it would take over and it wouldn’t rest until..." He closed his own eyes and shuddered against me. "Until it heard you screaming."
Even worse than the mental images, the possibilities, the knowledge of what COULD have happened wasn’t as bad as listening to him relive that. "You don’t have to think about it any more," I whispered, leaning into him, letting him feel me and know that I was right here, I was with him, and I was okay.
"I don’t ever want that again," he choked, wrapping his arms around me like I was a favorite stuffed animal, here for reassurance and comfort. "I don’t ever want to want to hurt you again."
// Chapter Nine \ Present
TEAL’C:
Still shrouded by darkness, I stand, and pace my sanctuary. It is no longer a place for uninterrupted meditation and I can no longer make myself believe that it ever was. This is not a place for me to think. This is a place for me to hide.
I may no longer be a Jaffa in the service of Apophis, I may loathe the Gou’ald and all that they stand for, but during my time in their presence I came to expect something of myself. Something more than what THEY expected of their brethren, and something they did not want expected of them. Not perfection. Not supremacy.
Honor.
Pride.
Loyalty.
And during my time with the humans, more than three years now, I have learned something else: friendship. I have learned to bond with people over subjects other than battle. I have come to know types of people that I never would have, had I not been swayed by Jack O’Neill’s words in that Chulakian dungeon. I believe that I have changed since then. I am not that same man.
But I still expect certain things of myself. Honor. Pride. Loyalty. And, now, friendship.
And yet now I find myself hiding in an empty storage room, trying to justify my actions when there IS no justification. I failed my friends. Worst of all, I failed my leader, Colonel O’Neill. No amount of meditation, reasoning, or justification will change that fact. Now, I am failing Major Carter and Daniel Jackson. I am ashamed of myself, but that shame is not powerful enough to give me the strength to face the ones I have disappointed.
JACK:
I think that if I really put my mind to it, I could wake up.
It isn’t the pain that worries me... hell, pain and I are old acquaintances. We know each other well; he’s a bastard, but you can live through him.
No, pain, pain is no problem. It’s the fear...
My fear that I’ll try to wake, and I’ll fail. My fear that I’ll awaken to some unbearable truth, and have my worst suspicions realized: maybe Sam and the others are dead.
And most of all... my fear of Him.
He calls Himself Caesar, even though He doesn’t like the name. I don’t know why, it seems fine to me, but don’t try to tell Him that.
He’s just as confused as I am, just as in the dark, and just as helpless. He might be hurt, but it’s hard to distinguish His discomfort from my own. Personally, I think He’s just content to sit up there, biding His time by grousing over His name, patiently waiting for me to feel confident enough to regain consciousness, and then...
And then what? What if my waking up is just the boost He needs? What if I open my eyes, and then He’s there, taking over, threatening, detesting, frightening. Or worse, what if He takes control... and doesn’t do any of that? What if He does what Jolinar did to Sam, and pretends to be me? Tries to get away? Traps me?
It’s just easier, and safer for everybody if I just stay like this.
‘Easier for who?’ He asks. ‘You?’
‘Oh, would you shut the hell up!’ Can’t a man stew in private, in his own mind? Apparently not. He’s always there, making this worse, making it harder, my own private little Gou’ald shrink.
SAM:
"We’d never really had a chance or a reason to talk before, but now we didn’t have anything to do EXCEPT talk, and wait. Suddenly, there was this whole other man in front of me, a man I’d never approached because I was too afraid that... that I’d want him. And I DID. I mean, it wasn’t just the kiss, it was... it was actually holding his conversation with him, and seeing the pain, hearing it in his voice. And I was confused and relieved and even VINDICATED at the same time..."
I’m rambling now, I know, but Janet doesn’t seem to mind and it feels GOOD to get this all out, so I continue. "It was so stupid, that here we were probably minutes away from being tortured to death and all I could do was be thankful that... that at least we got to see each other like this before we went." I shrugged. "I really expected to die. I never expected to have to... come to terms with any of it. It would have been easier if we HAD died."
I feel ashamed for saying it, but Janet nods sympathetically. "Yes, it would have. But you DIDN’T. You’re still here and you need to come to terms with those things."
"But why?" Now I sound like a child. That’s okay... I’m not afraid to admit that I want answers. I want to be told what I have to do and feel.
No such luck. "You tell me why." I turn my head away. "No, Sam. Don’t do that. Look at me. I want you to look at me and say whatever you’re feeling. Just come out and say it, no matter what it is; I won’t judge you."
I press my lips together and close my eyes. God, this is too hard. I don’t want to do this, I’m dying inside.
But still no tears.
"It was like," I finally gasp. "That I’d just gotten to know this man, to really know him, to really FEEL something toward him... and then it was just all... taken away. No," I amend. "No one took it away. I did it. I took it away."
"If you hadn’t, he’d still be on that planet."
"At least he’d be alive."
"He’d be a host. Isn’t that the promise we all made that night? Better dead than a host? Sam, you DID the RIGHT THING."
Deep inside of me, something starts to tremble, to hurt. If I was a more romantic woman, maybe I’d say that it was my heart. I jump to my feet. "Do you know how long I’ve been trying to convince myself of that? How do you think I’ve lasted all these days without breaking down? We made a promise, yes. And maybe I did what I had to do. But it wasn’t the right thing! It didn’t end like it was supposed to!"
"Tell me," maintains Janet, fiercely, not backing down, not even flinching at my outburst. She just sits there on the edge of the bed and stares at me, and she repeats. "TELL me. I know the two of you were there alone until the next morning. Skip ahead. Skip ahead until the part where Ieran comes in." She’s obviously read the report, notes the wry, detached part of my mind.
I want to tell her that I can’t... but I can. I’m just afraid, that’s all. I can’t let fear take control, like I did on Darciblaine.
I skip ahead.
// Chapter Ten \ Six days earlier...
DANIEL:
"Lornya! Where have you been!"
Waiting for her to return with news wasn’t so bad, at least not until the rest of her family started getting up. I’d jumped back in the basket and watched through a crack in the door as people passed up and down the stairs, hollering for towels and water and breakfast. I must have counted twelve different people: two grandmotherly types, an old man who couldn’t get down the stairs without the help of four young boys, two school-aged girls with auburn pigtails, two men approximately my age and a woman in her late teens who bore a striking resemblance to Lornya. And I doubted that she had told anyone that she was hiding a criminal in her basket-room.
Thankfully, no one entered the room looking for me, or for anyone else for that matter. All the same, I was sitting on pins and needles - and a full bladder - when she finally returned an hour or so before sundown.
"What are you meaning, where have I been?" she retorted, closing the door of the basket-room behind her. The rest of her family was downstairs, eating. "I have been gathering information for you, about your friends."
"I didn’t think it would take all day."
"I am sorry," she recanted. "For my lateness and for what I must tell you."
My stomach lurched. That didn’t sound promising. "What did you overhear?"
"I’d be overhearing nothing, but I saw... I saw the Chaplain’s men with two of your friends."
I took a deep and shuddering breath, trying to quell the resounding urge to fly into a murderous rage. "A woman with blonde hair and an older man with gray?"
"Yes," Lornya confirmed solemnly. "They were taken in the direction of the old temple. I tried to follow but the men would not be permitting it... they stopped me at the outskirts. I also tried to discover the fate of your other friend, but I could not."
In this situation, at least, no news was good news. "Hopefully, he made it back home," I muttered, as much for my benefit as for hers. If Teal'c were captured - or dead - I didn’t think I could make myself do what I had to. I couldn’t count on Teal’c having informed the General of the situation, and a rescue team being on the way. "Lornya, I have to leave."
Her face fell.
If I had to guess at her motives for this, for all of it, I would have to say that she simply enjoyed the challenge, the excitement, of aiding and abetting. "If you must, you must. I’ll be getting you some food for you to take with you."
I didn’t feel much like eating, but I nodded, and she left with that same downcast expression, leaving me alone in the room.
No more than five minutes could have passed when there was a knock from belong. Holding my breath, I crept up to the lone window, peered down, and found myself staring at a Jaffa’s skullcap from two stories up. I cursed my bad luck, and jumped away from the window.
Still, I could hear Lornya’s welcoming, "Yes?"
"Madam, we talked to you last night..." This time the Jaffa’s voice was no so giddy, or respectful. It was downright angry.
Apprehension shooting pains through my chest, I walked across and out of the room, into the hallway. The stairs were to my left, and a continuing corridor on my left. From the first floor I could still make out the continuing conversation.
"I’m sorry if you didn’t find him there, but I’m not at fault."
"We’d like to search your home."
I hesitated at exactly the wrong moment. Through the stairwell I suddenly saw a young face, inclined in my direction. It was one of the boys. "Hey!" he called, surprised.
"No!" I heard Lornya shout, only a second later.
Ignoring the yelling and scuffling, I ran down the hallway to the right, thinking madly. Teal’c and I had run all around these buildings. Hadn’t they had some kind of fire escape in the back?
I tore through the house, into a room at the other end of the hall. It seemed to be a bedroom, but the only thing I took notice of was the window. I stuck my head outside, and was at once relieved and dismayed. There was ladder... but it was a long and rickety one. It hardly looked like it would support my weight.
"Dead either way," I reminded myself, and clambered out the window, into the dwindling afternoon.
JACK:
Nighttime again. Maybe even morningtime... Ieran had taken my watch when he’d relocated us, so I couldn’t be sure. I hoped he was enjoying it.
My stomach growled obnoxiously. Yes, it had been at least 24 hours since I’d last eaten... even rations were starting to sound palatable. The Gou’ald were doing this on purpose, of course. Making us wait. Making us starve. They wanted to break us down as much as possible for interrogating us. Not as fun, maybe, but maybe this Anubis had a different style. Maybe he just didn’t want to work as hard.
I started as Sam mumbled something in her sleep, and allowed myself a smile. Neither of us could bring ourselves to lie down upon the filthy mattress, but we sat on it, back against the wall, and she seemed to have found my arm an acceptable pillow. It was a little unusual, granted - Kawalsky had never slept on my shoulder - but this was a unique situation. And it was kinda nice. Besides, the cell was cold.
I closed my eyes again, drifting off into that special place I went when I slept off-world -- or, before the Stargate, when I slept on foreign soil. I was sleeping, but I was also aware, listening, prepared. It wasn’t exactly restful, but it worked.
When I opened my eyes again, Ieran was standing at our cell, watching us. He was still without his traditional Jaffa garb, decked out in the same old robe, but he had his staff weapon. I looked for Anubis, but found only another, helmeted, armed Jaffa standing in the sun-drenched doorway.
"Sleep well?" asked Ieran mockingly. The morning light caught the arcing, gold tattoo on his forehead.
"Great," I returned in the same tone. "But the accommodations suck; I’d like to talk to the manager."
"You are talking to him," Ieran assured me, setting his staff weapon up against a parallel wall. "My lord Anubis is busy interrogating your friends. He has left your fate up to me."
"That’s a load of crap," I snapped, feeling a sudden lack of pressure on my arm and knowing that Sam had woken up. "More than likely he’s out LOOKING for them. I know you can’t find them."
Maybe I DIDN’T know, but the look on the Jaffa’s face told me that I was right. I took the other man’s pause to look down at Sam, who was regarding Ieran with disgust. When I glanced back up, I saw him scrutinizing her, and I didn’t like the look on his face. Not all First Primes had the conscience that Teal’c possessed, I reminded myself. I stood, and so did Carter.
Actions infuriatingly slow and deliberate, Ieran withdrew a mechanical key from the folds of his robe - where I also glimpsed the metallic glimmer of a Zat gun - and turned it in the lock. The armored Jaffa moved further into the room, staff raised and aimed through the bars, and as Ieran moved to within spitting distance, I knew: one wrong move and we’d be flash-fried.
"I know I could always... separate you for this," Ieran began deliberately, looking from one of us to the other. "But we’re all civilized life forms, are we not? I know you know that we’re all better off if you simply answer my questions."
Sam just snorted. "I think not," I added for good measure.
Ieran’s eyes narrowed, and he worked his jaw. He moved away, back and towards the left... but first he grabbed Sam by the collar, and dragged her with him.
I opened my mouth in protest but no sound came out. Carter was more mobile, voicing her outrage and grabbing at his meaty wrist, but Ieran was stronger and bigger than he looked, a fact concealed by the loose robes. As though she weighed nothing, he hauled her across the ground and then slammed her up against the wall.
"Let her go," I demanded, my newly-found voice cracking. Ieran just grinned.
"I know what you were thinking yesterday," he told one or both of us. "And I was watching you yesterday morning. You shouldn’t tempt a man like that." His tone was reproving at first, and then yearning, as he reached up with his other hand and gripped her jawbone. "Especially one who has not seen a woman in SO LONG..."
"Well, you’re not gonna see one today," I informed him, my stomach turning, noting the loathing and dread in Carter’s face as well. I stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder, intending to yank him away from Sam before he got any bright ideas. Instead, Ieran threw my hand off his arm and, not releasing the Major’s jacket, gave me a hard push. I stumbled back a few steps, surprised, but not as surprised as I was when he reached into his robe and pulled out the Zat gun.
And shot me with it.
I collapsed on the ground, cursing and writhing, trying to keep from blacking out as the agony pulsed over me in waves. I heard Sam’s furious shout and looked up, expecting to see the worst and relieved when Ieran merely threw her down on the ground next to me. "Where are the others?"
"How the hell should we know?" returned Sam, hotly. I nodded my agreement with the sentiment, still trying to control my breathing.
"What is the code to open your iris?"
Carter pulled herself into a sitting position, keeping one hand on my chest, as though assessing and assuring me at the same time. Well, THIS was familiar. "Code won’t work without a signaler," she reminded him scornfully.
"We will GET the signaler! What is the code?"
I felt like telling Ieran that he wasn’t going to get anywhere by yelling, but I was afraid that he might go back to his previous technique. He could beat me up all he wanted, but Sam was my weakness, and he knew that. Maybe the same was even true for her.
Groaning, I sat, and then stood. The cell spun and for a minute I let Sam support me before regaining my balance and bearings. "Lets get something straight right off the bat. We’re not going to tell you ANYTHING." Not about the iris, not about the Asgard, not about Sha’re’s son. Not about the Tok’ra or the Tau’ri.
"Not willingly," agreed Ieran. He sent one final, all-encompassing sneer in Sam’s direction, and then he left.
// Chapter Eleven \ Present
JANET:
Sam’s voice trails off into silence and I close my eyes, wishing for a moment of respite. The First Prime could simply have been toying with the Colonel and Major, seeing how far he could push before he pushed back.
On the other hand, if it hadn’t been for Jack, Ieran very well might have raped her. One more reason for Sam to feel indebted... and guilty.
But still, she doesn’t cry. She just looks lost, alone, and empty.
CAESAR:
My Brothers and Sisters would spurn me, but I have been in this position long enough that I feel compelled to admit it: I am worried. About my fate. And about His.
He can remember that day in the cell as though it was perfectly recorded and stored in his brain for later use. And it does shake me. This is... is different than hearing about such sessions. I imagine that it’s even different than taking part in them. This time, I am a captive audience, forced to not simply watch but LIVE the interrogation, through the eyes of the victim. It was a new and stirring experience.
The rage, the terror, the unmitigated disgust... I had felt all these things for the Jaffa as though they were my own emotions. This was not right. A Gou’ald could exercise such force, but a host - an injured host - should simply not have that power.
He laughs at me.
And then He drags me back down again.
SAM:
"Then what?"
Janet is unrelenting, and I want to thank her for it. It’s the only way I can take myself back there: under orders. Even pretend orders.
Then what?
"Ieran came in a few more times that day. He’d ask the same things, and he’d get angrier and angrier... I always got the impression that he didn’t want to injure us, that maybe Anubis had told him not to, but eventually he started hitting. At one point he actually... actually hit Jack over the head with the end of his staff."
Well, that explained one wound. "Why?"
"Ieran was... making advances on me again."
‘You must think you’re strong. How long will SHE hold out?’
Not just the words, but the sick glitter in his eyes... "Jack... the Colonel warned him off."
‘You just stay the FUCK away from her.’
Tentatively, Janet reaches over and rests her hand on mine. "What about that night? When Anubis came?"
// Chapter Twelve \ Six days earlier...
HAMMOND:
"General?"
I nodded at the technician; I didn’t need to ask him to elaborate. I knew the schedule... and I knew my teams. SG-1’s ‘mission’ had been peculiar - an invitation rather then an actual assignment with an actual goal - and I’d asked only to be contacted in 48 hours. I had never met with any representatives from Darciblaine - there was never any reason for them to be brought to the SGC - but Colonel O’Neill assured me that they were reliable, and I trusted his judgement. Besides, he and the others deserved a little leisure time, even if it was on another world.
And because of the nature of the team itself, I’d even been ready to give them a little leeway on that report time. Now, looking at my watch, I was surprised to see that it had only been gone less than 40 hours.
The party must not have been up to snuff.
"Code?" I asked idly, strolling into the control room and peering through the window. The iris was closed, but I could see the reflection of the open Stargate on the back wall.
"SG-1’s," said the technician, and he opened the iris.
Teal’c was the first one through.
The only one through.
No sooner had he picked himself off the ramp - he must have thrown himself through on the other side - then he began to wave desperately, and to shout. "Close the iris!"
"Do it," I snapped, not about to question the Jaffa, not when he had such a look on his face. Pale and tight with worry, the airman nodded, and the metal shield spiraled shut... just in time, it seemed, as several muffled WHUMPS reverberated throughout the floor.
I burst into the embarkation room just in time to hear someone call for a medic. Teal’c was staggering towards the door, and I’d seen enough at this base to recognize the reason for his limp: burns from a staff weapon covered half his leg. His jacket was torn and sweat shone on his face. "Teal’c, what happened? Where are the others?"
"Still on the planet," the Jaffa gasped, his usually rich voice deep and hoarse. "Captured."
And then, message delivered, he tumbled to the ground.
DANIEL:
I was lost.
I was ready to admit it. I was even ready to ask for directions, except I didn’t know who I could trust.
The last person I had trusted... I shook my head, trying not to think of what could have become of Lornya and her family. If Anubis' Jaffa were anything like others we had encountered, they were either dead or dying.
How many of the residents of Jennica had been involved in this, I wondered. Was it just the Directorate? Had the others simply been instructed not to speak of the Chaplain’s visit to us? Or were they all a part of this... conspiracy? Would they all turn me in?
I had to find the temple, I had decided. I was one man, one small, unarmed, unmilitary man, but I couldn’t leave Darciblaine without Sam and Jack. Without at least knowing if they were still alive, or still themselves.
But I didn’t exactly blend in with the other residents, and Anubis was still obviously looking for us. So I had to be discreet. This was especially hard in the waning hours of that second day, when there was still just enough sun to illuminate the streets, so until the darkness fell I simply dashed from alley to alley. It wasn’t very expedient, but what could I do?
Finally, the sun set, and by moonlight, I scampered down the empty streets in no particular direction. Lornya had said that they’d been taken in the direction of the temple... but where the hell was the temple?
Get a hold of yourself, Daniel, I admonished myself. Think this through. Lornya hadn’t simply called it ‘the temple’, she had called it ‘the old temple’. Which could very well have meant that it was an ancient building, maybe a place of worship to another Gou’ald, or even to a legitimate Darciblainian god.
What else had she said? That she had tried to follow, but she had been stopped by Jaffa at the outskirts. So the temple was at the edge of town! I heard voices, ducked into shadows, but still felt buoyed. The outskirts. Well, from inside out, there was the courtyard, the market, the housing blocks, and the farms. The outskirts would probably be somewhere between the houses and the farms... rural estates often weren’t identified with the city itself. Besides, the plots were long... the Gou’ald wouldn’t want to walk that far.
We’d seen SOME of the outskirts on our way into Jennica, and I hadn’t noticed any ancient buildings, which meant that there was a good probability that my goal lay beyond the homes, in the opposite direction from that which we had come!
Hearing nothing but murmurs from within buildings, I zipped back out into the street, congratulating myself. At least now, I had a place to start.
HAMMOND:
"Why am I getting the distinct feeling of déjà vu here?" Makepeace asked me, smiling wryly. The expression had no humor in it; he was as upset about this as anyone.
And he was right. It hadn’t really been all that long ago that Jackson, Carter, and O’Neill had been held captive by Hathor, and had required the same kind of rescue. But this, Teal’c assured me, was an altogether different situation. This was a trap, but it had been sent for a different purpose, and by a different individual. AND it had been set on a planet that the teams - excepting SG-1 - were unfamiliar with. This time, there would not be the added advantage of knowing your surroundings. To make things worse, the road to the city of Jennica was long and open, with nothing but unsafe stretches of rolling green hills. It was at the end of this road that Teal’c had been attacked, in the last leg of his journey, by a group of Jaffa stationed just over a bluff. We’d sent the MALP through, it had picked up no such ambush, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
There was also the fact that the other three could be dead. Or maybe not on the planet at all. We knew nothing about this Gou’ald.
But Makepeace was willing to try. Others were willing as well, as willing as they had been in that other situation. This time, I didn’t even have to ask for volunteers.
On one level, it made no sense. The odds were against us, and by sending in more teams into such awful circumstances we were only ensuring ourselves more causalities. If I had to be objective, I would have to agree with a certain Major: they were a valuable asset. But how valuable?
I still stuck by what I had responded: we didn’t work that way.
Still...
How valuable?
As the commander of the base, that’s something I had I keep in mind, without thinking of the people themselves. Something I had to be completely objective about.
"Sir?" I turned to see Janet Fraiser hurrying into the Gate room. "Teal’c’s still insisting that he go with the rescue team."
I shook my head adamantly. "He’s injured."
She conceded that with a nod, but added, "He’s the only one who really knows the terrain."
At my side, Makepeace shrugged, strapping on his helmet. "He can stage with the others at the Stargate," he pointed out, opening his mouth to say something else, but then thinking the better of it. I believed I knew what he wanted to say, that Teal’c’s larva would help quickly repair the damage. Quickly, yes, but not THAT quickly. That young Gou’ald wasn’t a cure-all, either, as many thought it was. Teal’c wasn’t invincible.
Still, Janet had a point, and I reluctantly recanted. "Colonel, check out the situation first. If it doesn’t seem like you’ve got any kind of welcoming committee, we’ll send Teal’c through to assist you."
He nodded, Janet nodded, and they turned in opposite directions. I stayed where I was, nodding for the technician to start dialing up Darciblaine, and wondered if I was doing the right thing. If this was an acceptable risk.
If SG-1 would come home this time.
SAM:
I knew Anubis had arrived even before he ambled through the door. Our two Jaffa guards straightened and tightened their grips on their staffs, holding their canine heads high. I exchanged a brief look with the Colonel, who now sported a ugly scrape on one cheekbone and a sizable welt on the back of his skull.
Then Ieran strolled in, robe gone again, proudly wearing his silver tunic without the armor, Zat hanging on his belt and staff weapon in hand. He smirked at me and jeered at Jack, as though to say ‘Here’s where things go MY way’.
Anubis himself followed, draped in his royal robes and bedecked in gold and jewels, face smug enough to make any Gou’ald proud. He proceeded another Jaffa, this one clothed in the brown robes. "I’m told you haven’t been helpful," he accused us grandly, in the deep, sepulchral voice that sent shivers down my back. "I’m disappointed. I think I’ve been reasonable. More so than Apophis, or Hathor." He shrugged, and the cavalier gesture seemed out of place on him. "I’m willing to call off the search for your friends if you tell me what I want to know," he offered. I had no doubt that he was lying, but the proposal still surprised me.
"We don’t make deals with Gou’ald," declared O’Neill obstinately.
Anubis came closer to the bars of the cell. "You will once you are one of us," he promised coldly, and all at once I realized why the robed Jaffa was here. I steeled myself, refusing to give into a gasp or plea, and sneaked a look at the Colonel. He was motionless, unresponsive, except for the tiny tic in his face, an almost imperceptible, involuntary flinch.
"There are other ways," Ieran reminded his lord with a surly smile.
"Indeed," agreed Anubis. "You have many options, O’Neill. Many more than you deserve. I suggest you choose one now before I choose one for you."
// Chapter Thirteen \ Present
JANET:
"Earlier, before Anubis came, we’d talked more about the time that we’d been captured by Hathor. It made him uncomfortable, I could tell, but I didn’t want to... I wanted to bring up everything, in case this was our last chance. And there was something that had been bugging me. Why... why had he volunteered to be the host?"
I nod. After hearing the whole story, I’d wondered the same thing, and had simply come up with the conclusion that O’Neill had decided to be a martyr, to sacrifice himself to the fate of a living death so that his friends wouldn’t have to, and in the vain hope that they would follow through with that long-ago pact. But he’d had to have known that Hathor wouldn’t simply let the others go...
"He wanted to protect us, he said, and I knew that. He knew that he was the one Hathor wanted, and he hoped that if he made her happy, she’d leave us alone. I don’t think he believed that, though. He knew her. He knew how she thought and that she’d have something... equally horrible planned for us. Something that he’d probably have a part in." She clears her throat. "He said he did it... he did it because he thought he could control IT."
She breaks off and lapses into silence for a few moments while I consider this. It has to have some special meaning for Sam, since she was also the unwilling subject of a ‘blending’. She must know how hard, or maybe impossible, it would be to control a Gou’ald... or a Tok’ra.
"He thought that he could prepare himself..." she murmurs. "That he..." She trails off again and just sits there, face hidden in her hands.
It must have been a humbling experience, I decide. To feel that you had this power, and then to discover that you didn’t, and later to know that it was only by a stroke of luck and friendship that he survived at all, as a human, or as anything at all.
This time, I wonder, had he thought the same thing? That he could control the Gou’ald?
Could he?
CAESAR:
There are both advantages and disadvantages to this arrangement.
For one, as we both grow weaker, His already damaged defenses fall futher and faster, and I gain insight. It isn’t as though I can use His mind as a book, paging through memories as I please - as I SHOULD be able to - but I am privy to His every recollection, every thought, every pang of lonliness and regret. This annoys Him, and so I enjoy it.
At the same time, He enjoys the same freedom as me. As I think back, however briefly, on my short life, He is there. He’s with me through it all, from the pool where I was first born to the belly of a Jaffa to... to Him. And I maintain that I should have stayed where I was.
Strengths and weaknesses. Mainly the latter. He’s come to see that I am injured, and I am not in control. He is coming to know me better, and I Him, and this is an awful thing. Gradually, I feel myself being to listen, reevaluate, understand, even sympathize with the creature! Throughout my whole, albeit brief, time alive, I was taught to despise the enemies of the Gou’ald: the Tok’ra, the Tau’ri, and the few others that dared to defy us. I had been taught the greatness of the Gou’ald. Now, trapped and forced to see it through the eyes of my enemy, I could not prevent the changing of my own mind.
But, as I said before, we are both growing weaker. Soon, I will not have a mind to be changed. And He will not have a mind which with to change others’.
JACK:
There’s nothing as beautiful in all the world as a Gou’ald in the process of loosing his self-confidence.
Unfortunately, he’s right. We’re both slipping. He won’t let go, and I’m getting tired of hanging on for both of us. There was a time when I thought willpower alone could bring me back, but that window’s passing much too quickly. I just wish - I WISH - I knew what was happening. I wish that I could overhear something, just a short snatch of conversation that would tell me whether or not it was worth the trouble.
// Chapter Fourteen \ Six days earlier...
JACK:
"I grow tired of this," announced Anubis importantly, because of course in his tiny little ego-magnified world, nothing was more important than he... except maybe Apophis. "I promised information to my lord and if you will not give it to me of your own free will than our friend will extract it for us."
I’d heard that before - "Our friend" - from the lips of a very unfriendly woman, and I tasted bile in the back of my throat as I remembered. No. I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. I couldn’t go through that again. I wouldn’t let Sam go through it again, either.
Maybe Makepeace, or Ferreti, or even Daniel would have fought longer, harder, right up to the very end, as I’d always planned to do. But they didn’t know. They could imagine, they could empathize, but they couldn’t know, not like we did. I’d wanted to be brave, but maybe this was just another kind of bravery. I thought of the Tok’ra we’d saved from the bounty hunter Aris Boch, and how ready he had been to sacrifice himself to save the lives of his comrades. That was what we had to do.
I looked at Sam. There was fear in her eyes, but she caught the glance and gave a small, affirmative, nod.
Anubis gave a nod of his own. Ieran jumped into action gleefully. "Take them out," he ordered the armored guards.
"And," added the System Lord. "For the sake of the Gods take that knife out of his shoe."
I paled, but not as much as Ieran did. I could almost read the Jaffa’s mind: ‘He let me interrogate these people when he knew one of them was armed?’ At the moment, though, as a guard yanked the blade out of my boot, I was concerned with more inportant things. Like: how had he known? He he been watching us while we were in the turret? And how were we going to get out of this now?
That knife had, in a way, been our escape, our salvation. Now we had none.
So much for that promise.
MAKEPEACE:
It was clear. Eerily so. Last time it had been this clear...
I shook off images of Hathor’s planet, and the men I had lost there - this was a whole other mission - and concentrated on my surrounding. The cold, rolling hills were empty, totally devoid of life, alien or human. Now and then, I could see structures silhouetted in the darkness. Homes. Maybe barns or farmhouses.
We were fast approaching the glittering lights of Jennica.
Strapped near my mouth was my radio. I switched it on. "We’re nearing the city, Teal’c."
The Jaffa was back at the Stargate staging area with a third of my men, setting up some kind of defensible area in case some Gou’alds did show up for some fun. We weren’t taking any chances this time, or at least no more than we needed to. We learned from our mistakes.
Unlike certain other people.
Don’t get me wrong. I had the highest respect for Carter, Jackson, and O’Neill. They’d saved our collective butts enough times, and they were decent people. Decent people could be hard to find, and if I didn’t like them, I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to willingly take part in another rescue. Perhaps my exasperation simply had to do with the fact that SG-1 was half-scientist. Scientists and doctors, they were fine... back in their labs. What was so wrong with the MILITARY doing the scouting, and bringing STUFF back home, where the scientists could analyze it without the rest of us worrying whether or not they were in one piece?
And I’m sure if you got old Shrink MacKenzie out here, and had me tell him all this - which I wouldn’t - he would tell me that there were deeper roots to these feelings. Namely, he might mention the last rescue, the one to Hathor’s place.
Carter had claimed to need to go back to blow up the generator... and she did that, very well, I might add. But it wasn't the first thing she did. Not even close. Even though it could mean her life - thereby dooming all of us - she went looking for her beloved Colonel O’Neill, who I’d declared a casualty, first. It’s plain dumb luck that that Tok’ra’d had the good sense to stick him back in the freezer right away... or we’d all be dead. I guess I’m a little bitter about that, about being deceived, and I believe I was. But maybe I’m also a little jealous. If that had been me, would Carter have come back? Would anyone have? Maybe, maybe not, but I doubt it.
Teal’c voice was tinny through the small speakers. "The Colonel and Major were taken to a turret in a building lining the courtyard. However, before I left I witnessed them being led deeper into the village."
Deeper? Wonderful. "What direction? Where?"
"I heard talk among the natives that they were to be taken to ‘the ancient buildings at the fringes’."
So now we were going by gossip? I sighed. "I’m not seeing any ‘ancient buildings’ ‘round these fringes. They must be on the other side."
"I concur," said Teal’c, sounding tense. He’d wanted to join us, but his leg was too bad and the walk too long. He’d been upset about it. Hell, so had I. He was a good man to have in a fight.
I glanced back at the men I do have, two SG teams, and consider the situation. The city is quiet and empty. We could circumvent Jennica, looking for these ancient buildings, or we could punch right through to the other side.
I opted for the latter.
DANIEL:
The temple was hard to miss. It was at least four stories high, constructed of now-crumbling stone and rotting wood supports; it had to be a few hundred years old, at least.
The interior of the temple, as well as I could see through cracked and shattered windows, was dark. It was hollow and decrepit; no one was in there. However, it was only one in a cluster of buildings. I crept from the obscuration of the last house and towards the deteriorating structures.
‘This is it, Daniel,’ I told myself. ‘Here’s your opportunity to be the hero’.
Fat chance. I wasn’t even armed.
Hugging the mossy walls of the temple, I considered the situation. If Anubis WAS the new kid on the block, he probably wasn’t equipped with an army. When we’d been lured into the Directorate building, thinking that we were to meet with the Chaplain, Anubis had been flanked by six robed men, and two others had stood by the door. Ieran had been one of them. So at the very least, there were eight here on this planet, plus the Gou’ald himself. I couldn’t figure if that was a good or bad number, but I decided that less would have been more encouraging.
There had to be Jaffa patrolling the Gate area, especially after Teal’c and I had escaped. Anubis would be spreading himself thin, in any case, which boded well for the Jaffa, if he had indeed been able to escape Jennica.
I peeked around a corner of the building, chilled by the silence of the night. There, outlined by the moon, I could make out a massive courtyard, much bigger than the promenade in the center of the city. Small marble benches ringed it, facing the middle, and I reasoned that it had to have been some kind of meeting place.
On the other side of the vast circle was another building, shorter than the temple and narrower than the assembling arena. From this side, at least, it was windowless, but in the total darkness of the night I could make out a soft glow emanating from one side: perhaps firelight flickering through an open door or doorway. As I watched, an armored Jaffa walked around from the illuminated side, strolled the breadth of the building, and vanished around the other side. A sentry.
I held my breath and tried to think of what I could possibly do.
SAM:
Fear flowed ice-cold in my veins, and it would not be suppressed. This... this again, this same feeling of sick helplessness that did nothing more than tell me that the situation was now officially hopeless.
The two helmeted Jaffa entered the cell. Ieran stood just on the other side, pointing his Zat gun at us through the bars, and now I knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. That was fine, I decided. We had nothing to lose. Let him shoot.
The Jaffa herded us out through the door like sheepdogs, waving their staffs threateningly, and prodded us to stand before Anubis. My eyes flew over the room, searching for something, anything, that I could use to effect an escape. But the stone walls were smooth and unadorned, the guards all kept firm grips on their weapons, and the Gou’ald’s hand was laced with a deadly ribbon device. At the opposite end was a short hallway that turned a sharp ninety degrees and presumably lead outside, but there was no way that we could make it that far without being shot by SOMEONE.
I was distracted from my recon by a sick, slurping sound, and I shuddered, not looking in the direction of the noise. In time it ceased, replaced by the excited shriek of a mature Gou’ald parasite. One of the Jaffa, perhaps sensing the mood, circled behind O’Neill and held his arms tightly behind his back. Swaggering, Ieran circled around me and did the same, his touch sending a creeping sensation over my skin. I tried to yank away, but he just squeezed harder, and jerked me against him. "Let’s see how long you last without your champion to protect you," he whispered snidely.
I was too close to hit his groin but his unprotected calf made almost as good of a target. I raised my right knee and kicked back, hard.
Ieran stumbled back in surprise, letting out a grunt of pain. He reached down and grabbed his leg protectively, but not before pushing me forward with equal force. Thrown off balance, I landed on the hard floor, with no time to outstretch my hands to lessen the blow. The wind was knocked out of me, and for a moment, with no greater goal than to breathe again, I remained sprawled stomach-down on the floor, almost directly in front of Anubis.
A long moment of wheezing and gasping passed, and I had no sooner begun to draw in normal breaths than I felt it.
A small, sudden, sinuous weight on my back.
The parasite shrieked.
Frozen in horror, I felt the creature through my shirt and jacket. It slithered its way from its landing spot on my lower back, up my spine to sit between my shoulder blades. With a sense of deliberation, it squirmed there, brushing its moist, pronged aperture against my exposed neck. I stifled a gag that emerged as a small, choked sound, paralyzed as any hiker that had stumbled upon a rattlesnake, afraid to move, afraid to remain, afraid that, any second now, I was going to scream.
"Fine," I heard the Colonel say, voice taunt in desperation and dread, but also full of regret. "You want to know the code, I’ll tell you. Just get that thing off of her."
The Gou’ald shrieked despondently. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anubis lower an arm down to me, and the parasite leapt to it, curling around the man’s forearm like an obedient pet.
Still shaken, even with the immediate threat gone, I pushed myself into a sitting position, unable to stand. Looking up, I saw Ieran towering over me.
"You will tell me," agreed Anubis coolly. "But your chance to accomplish this easily has come and gone." He jerked his chin. "Bring him here."
// Chapter Fifteen \
MAKEPEACE:
Thankfully, surprisingly, we encountered no resistance as we barreled through Jennica. The only voices came from within buildings; light glimmered softly from the windows. The Gou’ald presence would be small, then, I realized, and the System Lord himself as inexperienced as Teal’c had thought. Anubis’ Jaffa, the ones who had attacked Teal’c, had any still been alive, and had they been of the normal variety, would have gone to their master right away. Anubis then would have been ready for us when my team came through the Gate, or at least wary of rescuers. The lack of any opposition told me that either the Jaffa had been too afraid to tell their master that they had failed, or that Anubis doubted we’d come back in search of the others.
On the other hand, there could also be an ambush in the making.
Hopeful and heedless, my team cut cleanly through the courtyard, using the splashing sounds of the massive fountain to hold a brief conversation. In the end, Jason Lowell - the other team leader - pointed out that the best course of action would be to split up. Four of us would go left of the center, and four would go right. We’d keep going until we hit the other side of Jennica, and then we would regroup, searching for the ancient buildings as we went.
Parting only made me more nervous. I was still connected with Lowell and the others via radio, but being physically cut off from them made me feel as though I was loosing control. And I didn’t like THAT at all.
Silent as ghosts, we flitted up and down the streets. The houses were cut into neat blocks, which made it easy to stay on our chosen path, and in no time at all I could see the end of the row, where soft lights melted away into total darkness. Slowing our pace, we carefully edged out into the gloom.
Fog had started to rise, but to our left we could see a tall structure with a rotting steeple, a circular plot of stone, and a squat building on the far edge. Looked ancient enough for me, I decided, and motioned to the others that they follow my lead, hugging the leading edge of blackness.
That was when I saw them, both at one time, two points of movement that I immediately recognized as something other than the second half of the team. One was huddled against the towered building. The other was confidently strolling around one corner of the smaller building, and then vanishing around another. Jaffa, I noted, recognizing the faint lines of the helmet.
I motioned for my team to pause, watching the other figure through narrowed eyes.
DANIEL:
Here went nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I weighed the heavy stone in my hands, trying to get a better grip. It had been a part of the temple, before crumbling away and onto the grassy ground, and breaking in half. It had been a lucky find; an entire boulder would have been much to heavy for me to carry.
I crouched against the temple’s side, waiting until the Jaffa turned the far corner again. ‘Stone knives and bear skins’, I thought fondly, a favorite line from Star Trek that referred to my condition: I was from a planet that specialized in new and interesting ways to kill people, yet I was armed only with a big rock.
The Jaffa vanished, and I ran towards the smaller building, determined to be waiting for him when he came around the other side.
MAKEPEACE:
From where I stood, I watched the unidentified figure, carrying something heavy in its arms, make a break for the low building. I’d just about had my suspicions confirmed, that this was a Gou’ald or, at best, a curious native, when I saw something that made me stand up straight.
I knew that halting gait.
Doctor Jackson.
JACK:
I let them drag me to stand in front of Anubis, and didn’t even protest when they pushed me to my knees. I could feel Ieran’s glower and Sam’s shock. But I had a sixth sense about things like this. This was what I had to do. For me and for her. For the woman I...
"Apophis did not want them taken as hosts," one of the robes Jaffa said, almost meekly. "He ordered that you merely extract the information from them, did he not?"
Anubis was nonchalant. "He was detained and will not be able to join us for... several days, important as this is for him. By that time, our friends will have told us all we wish to know about the enemies of the Gou’ald, and we can turn the prisoners over to the Great One."
"Liar," I accused. Anubis snarled, but that didn’t stop me. Things couldn’t get any worse; I might as well piss this guy off as much as possible before the bitter end. "You need us for bodies-" Raw meat, I reflected - "As much as you do for information. You don’t even have an army, do you? Just your little band of boy scouts here. You probably never even contacted Apophis. Why give him the glory, right?"
The parasite, still perched on Anubis’ arm, hissed at me.
"This may be so," said Anubis, his voice deceptively calm and quiet. "But in either case, you will tell me what I want to know. And then," the Gou’ald regarded the serpent fondly. "YOU will get her to tell me all that SHE knows." His gaze flickered in Sam’s direction. The Major, still on the floor next to Ieran, met his gaze unflinchingly.
Anubis lowered his outstretched arm.
And THAT was when things got out of control.
DANIEL:
I stood at the corner of the building, mentally counting off the seconds, the time I estimated it took for the sentry to make his round.
I was a little slow.
Gratefully, he was more surprised than I was, and nearly walked right into me. I jumped and few steps back, and hurled the rock at his head.
The wind-up, the pitch...
The heavy stone connected with a resounding thump and rattle of metal. The Jaffa fell back, encumbered by his own armor, giving me time to grab at the staff weapon held loosely in his hands. "Don’t move," I warmed the downed alien in my best Jack O’Neill impression.
I almost lost the advantage, and the weapon, when a burst of movement from the direction of the city made me jump. Luckily, I recognized the dark forms almost at once. Eight dark-clad figures, armed in the standard military fashion, led by Colonel Makepeace himself. I all but fainted in relief, letting one of the men - Jason something - take over holding the Jaffa at bay.
"Daniel," the Colonel hissed, relief showing in his face. "Where’s..."
I didn’t let him finish. "In there. I think."
Makepeace rolled his eyes at the ‘I think’ but motioned for the others to approach the doorway with him.
And then suddenly, from within, came a horrible racket.
SAM:
It all happened so quickly.
The parasite leapt from Anubis’ arm to the Colonel’s neck in one fluid motion. The two armored Jaffa held him tight at the scruff of his jacket as the thing lunged toward him. As unwilling and unable to watch as I had been months ago on Hathor’s planet, I turned my face away and found myself staring at Ieran’s leg. My eyes flickered up to his hip, and widened.
Shutting out the muffled exclamations and slurred epithets of the Colonel, my heart beating painfully fast against my ribcage, I stared up at the Zat gun at Ieran’s belt. It seemed fixed to his belt, but because it was continuous, with no enclosed areas to be looped through, it simply hung there.
Without thinking, I grabbed at it.
Ieran, perversely enthralled in watching the Colonel writhe, trying for a second time to control the inhibiting creature within him, didn’t even look down at me. All he must have felt was a tug at his waist. Unthinking, he merely kneed me away.
I fell back easily, taking the weapon with me, and looked back up just in time to see the Colonel, on his knees on the cold ground, face hidden as his shoulders shook. Bile burned in my stomach like a witch’s brew in a caldron. He wasn’t struggling so much, didn’t seem to be in so much pain, and that meant only one thing.
I activated the Zat, and shot the Colonel with it.
The flash of light and the report brought all attention back to me, but I focused on O’Neill. The Gou’ald’s control momentarily broken, he contorted in agony... but when his eyes met mine, they were still his. I could almost feel him trying to remind me of what he had said, convincing me that this - murder - was right, and was what I had to do.
‘I don’t ever want to hurt you again.’
Ieran was the closest, his arm reaching for me and the Zat gun. Quickly, I spun and shot him, quickly, not even pausing to watch as he fell. I had - HAD - to hit O’Neill before the Gou’ald took control again, and it was six to one instead of five to two.
I raised my arm to fire again, but at the same moment one of the helmeted Jaffa came to his senses and pointed his staff weapon in my direction. I corrected my aim slightly, and hit him instead.
But the Jaffa, even as he spun and fell with the force of the electronic blow, fired the staff. Not at me, or even at his colleagues. Instead, the fiery flash grazed Jack... to be more specific, his head.
Stunned at the sight of the blood and charred flesh, I let the weapon drop a millimeter.
And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anubis lift his hand, the one festooned with deadly wires. I lurched out of the way, and the distorting pulse only hit me on the shoulder, instead of dead-on. Even so, the force pushed me back, and with a rattle I was thrown against the bars of the cell.
I must have been unconscious for a second or two, and when I opened my eyes I was sure I was hallucinating. There was Daniel, Colonel Makepeace, and half a dozen others. There was Ieran, struggling to his feet only to be brought down again by a short hail of bullets. And there was Anubis, who was flung to the ground before he even had a chance to use the ribbon device again.
// Chapter Sixteen \ Present
JANET:
I watch Sam carefully as she finishes her story, knowing even more than what she has told me. Judging by the way she glossed over the last act of her imprisonment, when Jack was... infested... she’s blocked it out, somehow. She’ll remember more - her actions, her feelings - in the weeks to come, probably in dreams and sudden bursts of recollection. We can work on that later.
The rest of the story I know, from Makepeace and the others. Carter had been going in and out of consciousness, and the Colonel had been totally out of it. Not knowing that O’Neill had just been taken as a host - not noticing the small entry wound and not caring to do anything but get back home - Makepeace had had them carried back to the Gate, not an easy feat, he assured me. It would have been much more difficult, however if, on their way back through Jennica, they had not come upon a young woman named Lornya who seemed to know Daniel. According to Makepeace, the woman had sported some nasty bruises on her face, but had helped the SG teams steal a couple of horses from a outlaying ranch. As they’d parted, Daniel and Lornya had engaged in an almost tearful goodbye, though most of the tears were on her part. That was another story I’d have to get from Jackson later... presuming he took up talking again.
None of us had known about O’Neill’s infestation until the entire group - Teal’c included - returned to the SGC. Sam insisted that she’d been unconscious, but the look on Makepeace’s face spoke volumes. He wasn’t pleased at being fooled by her yet again.
O’Neill had started to come around and, panicked by this new information, we had sedated him. He lapsed back into the coma, and he’s stayed there, for four days now.
He’s not brain-dead - neither is the Gou’ald, as well as we can tell - but brain activity is dwindling. We’re loosing both of them. And even though O’Neill is burned, and lost some blood, he didn’t get an infection. The thing dragging him down is the parasite. It seems to be dying, and I don’t know why. Maybe it was young to begin with, and the shock from the Zat gun, and then the blow from the staff weapon injured it beyond repair. I don’t know. But we can’t count on another Jolinar, willing to give its life.
"Hammond wants to speak with you," I say.
Sam stares at me with wide eyes. "He... he’s not..."
"He’s not on life support yet, but that’s the way things are headed. We’re loosing him, Sam. Chances are he isn’t going to wake up. And even if by some miracle he does, we’ve never been in this situation before. There could be massive brain damage, and he didn’t want to live like that. Now, you and Daniel and Teal’c are listed as next of kin in situations like this; we can’t even find Teal’c and Daniel still won’t talk to us. I’m afraid this falls on your shoulders."
It’s not easy to say, and it never is.
"He’s like this because of me," she repeats hollowly.
I sympathize. I really do. Teal’c is ashamed of his actions, convinced that he could have done something else or something better to save his friends. Daniel is full of guilt for leaving the others behind. And Sam is trying to tell herself that she did the right thing, while the very presence of the man in the infirmary is telling her that she did not.
"Tell the General," she says finally, in a numb voice, "That if it gets to the point where YOU believe there’ll be irreparable brain damage, we’ll..."
She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t have to. We’ll pull the plug if it gets that bad. And we’ll pull the plug if we wakes up... and it isn’t him. "You need to talk to him."
"The General?"
"Colonel O’Neill," I correct.
She opens her mouth to protest - ‘I can’t’ - but thinks better of it. She can, and she will, or she’ll never forgive herself.
CAESAR:
‘Is it true?’
‘Is what true?’ He asks irritably. We’re both still locked in this face-off, but I might as well make the most of it.
‘The reason you offered let yourself be... infested.’ I’m uncomfortable with the term but it’s one he knows. ‘You knew you couldn’t keep me from doing whatever I pleased, but you didn’t want Sam Carter subjected to it. Why not?’
‘Because she’s a friend,’ He snaps.
‘Do not lie to me, my friend.’ I know when He’s lying, and He knows when I am. Another advantage and disadvantage. What I DON’T know is why I care so much about the answer. ‘You thought to yourself that you had to do this, for yourself and the woman you loved.’
Immediately He is defensive. ‘I didn’t think that’.
No, He stopped himself just short of forming the words in His mind. Still, close enough. ‘Do you love her?’
‘Why the hell do you care?’
‘Satisfy my curiosity,’ I say instead.
He’s annoyed, and beginning to wonder about my motives, but He does answer. ‘I don’t know.’
This time, He isn’t just evading me. I can feel His hesitancy. At the time, He had been at the end of His rope, and His feelings could have been clouded by that. On the other hand, He could very well feel something for her.
The Gou’ald have love, though if I had to put it into terms He would recognize, I would call it ‘pride-possessiveness-affection’. When a System Lord seeks a ‘wife’, in Her true form, he judges her by her personality. When He looks for a vessel for his wife, he looks for beauty and spirit alone. This much I know. And from what I have learned of the Tau’ri, humans operate much the same way, looking for some certain combination of attraction and computability. Fascinating.
He gives a long-suffering sigh. ‘You know, I think you would have been better off in Daniel’s head’.
SAM:
I balk in the doorway. My chest hurts. My limbs cramp. My very body is resisting my entrance.
But I take a deep breath and force myself into the room, force myself to keep walking, deeper inside. To the cordoned-off section.
There’s a guard standing by the partition, because of course Jack's a threat, but when he sees me approach he backs off. The SGC isn’t Cheers - not everyone knows everyone - but as a part of SG-1 I’m famous... or maybe infamous. And the average Joe Soldier has to know how close we all are. I believe that over the coarse of four years, we’re the only original team still intact. Many have died to save us, but we’re all still here. Sometimes I think that the four of us are seen as a kind of talisman... the sun will always rise, politicians will always philander, and SG-1 will always be around. Unless they’re like Makepeace, who probably sees us as a curse on the entire project.
I sweep back the partition and my breath hitches in my throat. God, he’s so pale... he almost looks dead. The continuous beepings of a dozen monitors are the only things convincing me otherwise.
Of course, every device has wires and tubes, and those are everywhere. He’s not even on life support yet, and already he looks like a component plugged into a machine. A battery that’s nearly drained.
But by far the worst part is knowing that behind that peaceful countenance is a monster. A hissing, shrieking, possessing parasite.
Early in the project, I actually had some remnants of sympathy for the Gou’ald. In their normal form, they were unprotected, exposed. They weren’t adept at moving, and their eyesight had to be awful. They were intelligent beings trapped inside the bodies of animals. Could we really begrudge them something as wonderful as being bipedal?
Yes. We could. Because since then, I had seen the alternative: the Tok’ra.
The infirmary seems empty - it’s certainly as silent as a tomb - but still I’m quiet as I take a chair and move it over to the Colonel’s bedside. There’s a hush in the air, like there is in churches; a feeling of reverence.
I sit and clasp my hands together, staring down at them, not knowing what to do, where to start. I think of my conversation with Janet, and how good it made me feel, and decide to go for the truth.
"I’m sorry," I start, haltingly. "I just... made so many mistakes. I should have kept a weapon, I should have gotten away from Ieran when I had the chance, I... I shouldn’t have been so AFRAID. That’s what it all comes down to, I think. I was afraid. Of Anubis and Ieran and of... And I know that I shouldn’t be ashamed of that, fear is a natural reaction to danger... but you’d think that after all this time, I’d be able to control it. I couldn’t. I couldn’t control it. It was stronger and it just... took me hostage." I bow my head. "I should have killed you," I say, feeling dirty just uttering the words. "I should have saved you from this. And now, now if you die, I won’t have saved you. I’ll have killed you."
I sit up a little straighter. "So you can’t die. We gave up so early on Darciblaine, resigned ourselves to dying so completely that we weren’t ready for the opportunities when they came. And now you’re like this."
Looking up at one of the monitors, I feel my anger set. The display shows two separated brainwaves, O’Neill’s and the Gou’ald’s. I’m not a doctor, not like Janet, but I know something about these machines... and the display above me isn’t good.
JACK:
If I had control of my body, I think I’d be crying. I don’t consider myself the type to burst into tears at the smallest calamity, but in this case, I wouldn’t be crying out of sadness.
Sam’s alive... I can hear her. Her voice is far away, somewhat distorted as though we’re underwater. But I can clearly recognize it... she’s alive. They didn’t get her.
My ‘roommate’, Caesar, is somewhat amused by this new development. On the whole, I don’t think He knows what to make of it. He matured inside a Jaffa, but the majority of His time in ‘the real world’ has been with me. And He’s gotten a pretty big dose of "The World According To Jack O’Neill". He doesn’t like to admit it, but He’s young, and His loyalties just might be changing.
I sober once I start listening to what Sam’s saying. She’s apologizing, for being afraid. And as I listen to her lament her inability to control that fear, I’m reminded of myself of a few days ago, upset that I hadn’t been able to control the Gou’ald on Hathor’s planet. I’d thought I was strong enough; turned out I’d been wrong.
So that’s something the Gou’ald share with fear. They start out small, and so you think you can underestimate them. You’ve seen so much of them, you’re sure you can handle whatever they throw at you. And then the actual time comes and you find that you’re not so tough after all.
I want to smile when Sam orders me not to die... it isn’t exactly up to me anymore.
// Chapter Seventeen \
SAM:
"At least do me the courtesy of saying goodbye," I plead, trying to bring some strength and pomp back into my voice. "I think you owe me that much, after all the times I’ve saved your butt." I try to smile, but my lips can’t hold the gesture, and I lean forward, closer to him. There’s the subtle sounds of breathing in the doorway; I know someone’s there, watching me, but I don’t bother to see who. "I need to start calling you ‘Jack’, don’t I? I think I could get used to it. And there’s more things we have to talk about... and there’s more we have to do. I... I feel like I just met you, met the real Jack, and I’m not going to let you get away this easily."
I’m rambling now, not even listening to myself, spewing random thoughts, but then a certain thought comes to mind, and I consider it before speaking it aloud. I remember being called attractive, smart... and fascinating. I remember a fast, hard, desperate kiss, and how slowly he pulled away from me, with something in his face, something akin to longing. I remember his fury at Ieran’s advances, and what he did, doing the small amount he could to keep the Jaffa away from me.
"I don’t know if I feel the same way about you that you do about me," I say in little more than a whisper. "But if you die... we’ll never know, will we?"
The very notion - never knowing - is what finally does it.
A familiar sensation begins in my nose and spreads out and up, towards my eyes; before I know it, I’m crying. Moisture spills over my lids and down my cheeks, and I cry. Weeping, sobbing, whatever you want to call it. Four days of pent-up EVERYTHING finally erupted, and I lowered my forehead against the cool metal railing of the bed, and let it all out.
Even when I feel a comforting hand on my back, I don’t look up. I know it’s Daniel; it was him standing in the doorway just a few moments ago. And the brief touch on my other shoulder is Teal’c, no mistaking it.
Finally, I sit up, wiping the wetness from my cheeks, trying to stifle the hiccuping sobs that threaten to overwhelm me. I go to tell Jack that we’re all here now, but then realize that he already knows; he must know.
SG-1 together again.
CAESAR:
I try to remain impassive as She speaks to Him, but it’s impossible to do, even if I am a Gou’ald. I’m a very tired, very sick Gou’ald... and if you listen to Him, I’m even a brainwashed Gou’ald.
For crying out loud, She’s... She’s crying over Him! Grieving for Him and encouraging Him at the same time. I listen to Her choked sentences and I know, no matter what She says, She loves Him. At least according to the human definition of the word.
That’s when I hear the Jaffa speak, the traitor Teal’c, and I know he’s speaking to me. He tells reminds me that, injured as I am, I will die - and he’s right - but that I don’t have to take Him with me. And he’s right about that, too.
‘Why haven’t you asked me?’ I query.
‘I didn’t think I could expect that much from you’, He answers.
I think about that for a moment, half-listening as the three at His bedside exchange emotional greetings and sentimental solace. ‘Tell me about my namesake... Caesar.’
He’s hesitant. ‘I’m really not all that sure... all I know was what I read in high school, in this play... He was a conquering Roman king, an emperor, a real high and mighty guy... but there was this prophecy... he ended up being murdered by people he trusted.’
I stew over that, even as I feel myself starting to drift...
"What’s going... Janet, what’s going on?"
"We’re loosing him... both of them."
... I think of the Gou’ald fascination for ‘sticking with the script’, and wonder if I would have ended my life in such a fashion, had I been blended with some other host...
"We’ve lost a heartbeat... Sam?"
Someone touches my hand.
Only it’s not my hand. It’s his.
‘Would you do me a favor?’ I ask Him weakly.
His voice seems very far away. ‘Um, sure.’
‘I hate this name. Think of another one for me...’
// Epilogue \
JACK:
It’s over.
But for how long?
We’ve had a lot of close calls; maybe this was one too many. Maybe good old SG-1 can’t be the steadfast rock forever. Maybe some things have to change.
Some things already have.
None of us are quite back to normal yet, but I was surprised to find that, of the four of us, I suffered the least psychological trauma. I don’t think that means that I’m stronger than the others, or that they’re weaker than me. We’ve been beaten, bruised, captured and rescued so many times that something eventually HAD to give.
Some things did.
"Jack? What the hell are you doing?"
I smile, both at Sam’s tone and her use of my first name. Most people wouldn’t exactly be giddy about a thing like that, but it’s gratifying, knowing all the hang-ups she used to have.
It’s been two weeks from our return from Darciblaine. I’m still bedridden; nothing like a head trauma to keep a good man down. Janet offered to move me to a nearby hospital, and at the time I told her I’d be fine here; a hospital room is a hospital room, no matter the view. However, if Sam doesn’t keep coming around here at inopportune times, I’m going to reconsider...
She walks though the infirmary as though she owns the place, and at first I can tell she’s just plain angry with me for sitting up as I am, on the edge of the bed. As she comes closer, though, and sees what I’m doing, her expression shifts to curiosity. "What are you doing?"
I indicate the thick volume. "Reading."
"But there’s no pictures."
I make a face, but she just grins. "Actually, this is one of Daniel’s books..."
Sam narrows her eyes suspiciously. "I was right; you ARE a Gou’ald."
"It’s for Caesar."
Sam sobers, and nods carefully. I think she’s the only person on the base who believes what I said about Caesar, how we came to a truce of a sorts, and how at the end, he realized that dragging me over the edge with him wouldn’t do anyone any good. Well, except for Apophis and the other Gou’ald, but by that time, he’d come to see his own people in a different light.
Besides, I REALLY don’t think he liked the name he was given.
"He wanted a new name," I explain to Sam, who leans up against the bed. I hand her the book and she leafs through it. "And I was trying to find something... symbolic. Something that described him. And I’m having a tough time finding many instances in mythology where a person... did what he did."
"The right thing?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe that’s why the Gou’ald will lose," Sam says, closing the book and replacing it in my hands. "They try to be Gods... and mythological gods never do the right thing. They always fail. I mean, look at Zeus. He was the King of Gods and even he got replaced."
"I’ll take your word for it."
Sam gives a wry smile, turning towards me and gently touching the bandages on the right side of my face. The glancing blow of the staff weapon just missed my eye, but from mid-cheek to neck is not a pretty sight. "You could get plastic surgery," she reminds me, as though reading my mind.
I shrug. "I don’t know... I’ve always heard that girls think scars are sexy."
Sam smiles a slow, delicious smile. "I’ve got a few of my own."
"I’ll show you mine if you show me yours," I tease.
The smile spreads... and then suddenly she spins away. She yanks the partition around the bed and returns to me, grinning.
This is one of the things that’s changed, that had to give way. I think we both realized how fragile a thing life was, and that in the grand scheme of things, military regulations didn’t matter much. I’m only glad that Sam realized it, too. Otherwise I probably would have spent the rest of my life trying to convince her.
Careful of my right cheek, we kiss eagerly, smiling as we do it. I have the distinct feeling that I’ve been given a second chance by Caesar; that all of us have. In a way, he gave us a taste of loss, teasing us with the prospect of - for me - dying, and - for the others - losing someone. I’m not going to squander the opportunity this time around. I’m going to enjoy myself, I resolve, and be grateful for what I have.
"Clarence," I say suddenly.
Sam pulls away, her face full of pretty confusion. "What?"
"The uh, the..." I squint as I try to remember. "That movie, "It’s A Wonderful Life?" The one with James Stewart? There’s that angel, the weird little one that hadn’t got its wings yet. His name was Clarence... he showed the guy what... what was really important." I shrug, feeling silly. "I don’t know... in a way, Caesar kinda did the same thing for me."
She initially rolls her eyes, but eventually the smile returns, soft and understanding. "Clarence?"
"You think I’m insane, don’t you?"
"As long as you don’t start going around talking about ‘Zuzu’s petals’ and ringing bells, no. One question, though." She licks her lips. "Why in the world were you thinking about James Stewart while you were kissing me?"
I grin, even though it hurts my face. "It’ll never happen again," I promise, and then embrace her, and my new life.
Alli
--
Story Notes: Dedication: To Heather and Ginamarie, who never called, giving me plenty of time to write :p and everyone on Samandjack still waiting for Suspension. And, of course, to Muse.
Notes: More insomnia fic, boys and girls. Fanfic is going to be the death of me... Enjoy, and if you do - or even if you don't - tell me!
Notes: More insomnia fic, boys and girls. Fanfic is going to be the death of me... Enjoy, and if you do - or even if you don't - tell me!
End Notes: "No, my country doesn't ask me to die in its service. My country asks me to FIGHT in its service, to keep it free. It doesn't want me to die, even though we all know that might happen. Dying for my country isn't my job. My job is to make sure the other poor dumb bastard dies for HIS country."
- Jack O'Neill, "Stargate SG-1: The Price You Pay" by Ashley McConnell
- Jack O'Neill, "Stargate SG-1: The Price You Pay" by Ashley McConnell
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]