Creation Myth

by Corby

Chapter Three: New Life

Part One

The smoke wafted upwards in lazy spirals, as elegant and deadly as a hawk on the hunt. It reached a point a foot above Jack's head, then picked up the currents from the air conditioning vent and spread itself in voluptuous waves out upon them, its purpose no longer predatory but whorish. Jack followed the white until it disappeared into the blandness of the ceiling, then sucked hard and blew another hawk into the air.

In front of him, his computer screen sat with infinite patience. Two doors away a General sat with somewhat less, and Jack slumped a little as duty and demand began their tuneless jigging upon his shoulders. Thousands of mission reports lay behind him, but it was the one before that had caused him to reach for the cigarettes he kept locked away in the bottom drawer of his desk. In some corner of his mind he had pegged them as emergency supplies for a moment of great stress, and if asked would have nominated the funeral of a teammate as being the likely occasion. The faint buzz would have dulled sensation. The actions required would have comforted his hands. And the damage to his throat would have bowed towards the urge for self-harm amidst the blame he would inevitably have wrapped about himself like a flag.

Blame? he asked the smoke as it escaped him and rose towards debauchery. Grief?

Yeah, sure, youbetcha.

He leaned back and watched the latest swirling effort slide across the ceiling. Smoke had danced across the Tezhka ceiling too, he suddenly remembered. The ceiling had been vast and high, black with a lacery of cloud or smoke that continually shifted across the surface. He'd looked up with exaggerated awe as Daniel had bounced over to him, Tigger on steroids.

"Jack, this is incredible! These people are speaking a sort of - sort of patois based on Mam. It's amazing!"

"Mam?" He'd given Daniel one of his vaguest looks, knowing how much they frustrated him. "As in 'Mam, you forgot the cheesy poofs'?"

"Yes, I sup - what?" Daniel had been generating electricity, he would've sworn to it, and why Jack got a kick out of watching that spark sputter was beyond him. Still, that was his style. A smile, a snarl, a South Park reference to keep the egghead short-circuiting.

"Nothing, Daniel, nothing. Just a cultural milestone that slipped beneath you in your ivory tower." He'd waved generously towards the roof. "What d'ya think of the décor? Good thing no-one's trying to quit."

Daniel had leant back, his mouth opening in astonishment.

"Oh!" Then he'd grabbed Jack's arm, sizzling again. "Oh! Jack! This is - I have to ask them. Do you know what this could be?"

Jack considered it. "Early Shaker?"

But Daniel was ignoring him, always a good policy when Jack was in one of his obstructionist moods. A spinning on his heel and he was gone, fizzing towards the small group wherein Sam was ensconced and trying to subtly signal for help.

Daniel in his element. They weren't to see him again for ninety days. They were yet to see that joy of discovery, that intellectual high fuelled by communicating with the unfamiliar.

Wearily Jack stubbed out the last of the cigarette, his companion in mourning. He placed his fingers upon the keyboard and began to type. He'd already completed the preliminaries. It was the main event that turned him towards that bottom drawer.

The weather conditions and geography were as indicated by the MALP, with clear visibility for a radius of 3 miles.

Bitching wind that knifed beneath jackets, flat landscape covered in grey, dry reeds. Lumps of rock looking for all the world like giant turds dropped by monstrous cows.

"Nice," he'd said, teeth bared into the gale. "Club Med should check this out."

"They could be structures over there." Daniel, pointing towards the Spires of Scat.

"Yeah, and I can blow Trump Towers out my ass."

Doctor Jackson surveyed the rock formations visible on initial MALP transmission.

"I'm not climbing up there."

"Come on, Jack, I'm not asking you to scale Mount Everest. Just give me a boost."

"These are rocks, Daniel, not buildings."

"I don't know, sir. There definitely appears to be some kind of artificial restructuring here. See how these boulders have been re-positioned? The heavy grooves along here show they've definitely been moved about."

"To provide protection. A shelter, a fortress, a lookout?"

"Could be, Daniel."

"Okay. Tell you what. Let's go downtown and ask them."

Daniel had looked at Sam and shrugged.

"We could -

" - do that," they'd finished together.

The inhabitants appeared to be receptive to our visit.

The inhabitants had overwhelmed them, patting arms, shoulders, and hair. Especially his own and Carter's. They had dragged the team forward, all the while chattering in the peculiar language that had Daniel begging them to "Wait - er stop! Wait, can you repeat that? What was - " even as they rounded on him and fired off another salvo of spit and gargle.

Doctor Jackson found a means of communicating that pleased the inhabitants.

The locals went nutso when Daniel's Pick 'n' Mix approach to language finally lucked out.

"I know it doesn't look like it, given their weaponry and clothing, but I think this culture was initially a Middle-Eastern one, specifically Hebrew." Daniel had blinked as the more exuberant youngsters had grabbed his arms and virtually danced him to the village centre.

"Nicely done, Daniel," Jack had drawled, and it was true. Somehow their linguist had mentally manoeuvred his way through the cascading clicks and clacks to find meaning. It never ceased to amaze Jack, and often pinched at his ego, prompting macho posturings that even he didn't recognize for what they were. Not that day, though. That day was Daniel's first back with the team on a mission, and Jack felt nothing but pride and a swelling sense of gratitude. Dr J was doing all right. Maybe he wasn't lit up like some kind of intellectual Christmas tree, but he was functioning, moving amongst the people with an air of gravity and concentration that reminded Jack of Charlie on his first day at school.

The inhabitants invited the team to a feast.

It was a paltry display. The people, thin and grey as the wind that swept through them constantly, gestured SG-1 towards a meagre shelter of woven reeds, propped up against clumsily arranged rocks. Even as they watched, children had picked up extra rocks to fortify the unbalanced heaps. On the ground, spread out with pathetic pride, were clumps of vegetables and more reedy arrangements, each looking dirty and a little shrivelled.

"The Waldorf buffet it ain't."

Teal'c gazed at it with a severe eye. "Indeed. I am reluctant to partake of these people's rations. It seems they have little to spare."

Daniel had nodded, considering. "We may be able to work a compromise here." He bowed to the man who had seemed most self-important, and began speaking. From the expressions on the elder's face, Jack had been uncertain as to Daniel's success; but then, when Daniel rummaged in his backpack and produced foil wrapped cookies and candy bars, the hunger in the man's eyes spoke for him.

"I suggested that we share our food, as is the custom with our people," Daniel explained sotto voce.

The team shared its rations and relations between the parties progressed well.

Relations.

Sam Carter with a group of the women, exuding a subtle aura of utter boredom as they showed her their woven blankets, smiling like the good- natured trouper she was.

Teal'c, majestic and menacing in his own special way, standing amidst a sea of adolescents who were all secretly measuring themselves against his height and musculature.

He, Jack, smiling in a way that he'd hoped wasn't patronising as the warriors showed him the latest to come from their version of the Pentagon - the double pronged spear with throwing attachment, doubly reinforced with cowhide strapping and a nifty feather woven handle.

And Daniel, flitting from one group to the other, translating…

It was there, right there, that Jack's gut had started to twist in a way he'd come to know only too often.

The first we knew of trouble was -

Sonofabitch. His fingers had just stopped typing, as if denying the words would somehow deny the reality. Some kind of sympathetic magic, Daniel would say, and laugh at him.

No. Not laugh. Daniel wouldn't laugh. Daniel was done laughing.

How much do you want, General? The whole, operatic truth? All the details, all the pain? A good man is dead and gone and we didn't even offer him a decent burial.

Hell, we didn't even notice when it happened.

The first we knew of trouble was a call from the lookout at the far end of the village. There were large smoking holes in the ground at approximately 500 yards distance that we had expressed an interest in investigating but were refused permission to do so. From these holes a number of warriors came. They were armed with projectile weapons fitted with projectiles that burst in a wide scatter pattern upon impact, in effect creating damage similar to that of explosive tipped bullets.

"Get down!" he'd yelled, diving for Daniel and Sam. The villagers were crying out, but there was something strange about their response to this unheralded attack.

"These people appear used to this," muttered Teal'c, and Jack immediately knew it was true. Looks of set fear, of determination, of submission. But not surprise. He'd raised his head from where he'd sprawled in the mud, choking as a projectile exploded less than ten feet away and sprayed him with clods of dirt and broken reeds. The villagers were all scattering, leaving piles of belongings behind them. They fled into ditches that lined either side of the central space, an architectural feature that Sam and Daniel had both commented and speculated upon without coming remotely close to the truth. Trench warfare brought right to your door, Jack had spluttered, then grabbed at Daniel's shoulder and bulldozed him head over heels into the depths of one.

Sam Carter was already in place, weapon raised, awaiting his word. Jack had positioned himself with his own gun at his shoulder and felt that atavistic thrill that always accompanied the first retaliation. That blinding burst that said, "You'll earn my blood, you motherless fucks."

The leading line of warriors was advancing without taking any special precautions, and Jack briefly wondered how often they did this. Given the level of intensity, or lack of it, he began to suspect that this was nothing more than thugs on a deadly spree. At his elbow he felt a movement, and turned his head slightly to see Daniel peeking over the edge of the ditch, and frowning.

"You get the feeling this is just another day at the office?" he'd murmured, and Jack nodded.

"My thoughts exactly." Jack signalled to Carter, heard the spine-tingling buzz of a staff weapon being cocked. "Let's change the routine a little, shall we?"

"You think we should? We shouldn't just - wait it out?"

"Daniel, I get kinda fussy about people taking out folks I've just broken bread with. And I don't want Hell's Angels here on my tail when we head back to the 'Gate." A sharp back and forward, and his weapon was primed. "Someone's gotta take out the trash."

The first streak of gunfire cut the leading line of raiders as if they were no more resilient than the tired reeds encircling the town. It had been almost funny, in a grim sort of way, to see the shock on the faces of those brought down, those left standing.

"Surprahs, surprahs, surprahs." Okay, Gomer Pyle wasn't one of his best ones, but anyone other than Daniel would've got it. He had fired off another burst, watching with satisfaction as the warriors broke and fled towards the nearest pile of rock turds. "Could be they'll think twice before stomping around here again."

"Could be they'll come back and wipe out the lot."

There was no time to answer; to Jack's dismay another crowd of warriors had come roaring from the underground lairs, firing with significantly more precision than the first group.

"Damn." Jack cleared his P90 and steadied for the fresh assault. "Heads up, people."

The ground in front of them burst open as concentrated fire raked their positions, and Jack had finally been forced to pull back down into shelter. He'd heard the staff weapon firing continuously to his right and Sam's gun chattering close by and to his left. After a minute of brutal exchange the warrior's guns fell silent, and Jack had begun to breathe again.

And noticed Daniel.

There was something wrong with him. Something almost eerie. He was so calm, so still, that for a moment Jack had darted terrified eyes over his body, expecting blood and flesh and death to be spurting out of his jacket. Nothing. No mark. Just that expression on his face, as if - as if listening to something far away, and vaguely irritated by what he heard.

Daniel had cocked his head, slowly.

"Hear that?"

Jack could hear his own harsh breaths, the roar of his heartbeat in his ears, the moans of the wounded in the village and beyond. He frowned, shaking his head.

"It's a child." Daniel had swung around and was leaning against the side of the ditch, edging forward.

"Stay down!" Jack had hissed, reaching for him, but Daniel had jerked free.

"There's a child out there, Jack! Someone's left a child behind."

And then Jack had heard it too, the thin, plaintive wail, buried beneath the rags and reeds lying jumbled in the centre of the village 'square'. Almost at once an answering cry came from far across the open space, a howl that raised the hairs on the back of Jack's neck.

"Oh, too late," Daniel murmured.

We engaged in several exchanges of fire with the warriors.

The warriors had obviously regrouped behind the rocks, and a concerted barrage once more pinned Jack down. Uncanny, he'd thought, how the child's wailing seemed to pierce even the noise of the warrior's projectiles as they shrieked to earth. He saw Daniel still perched too high up the ditch wall, seemingly fixated upon the small bundle now sitting up and giving vent to its feelings of abandonment by bawling its lungs out.

"Don't even think it!" Jack had snapped, before checking on Sam's situation. Though only yards away she'd managed to wangle a neat piece of cover behind a boulder apparently intended for seating, and was able to maintain almost continuous fire.

A child had been left in the open during the rush for cover and Doctor Jackson –

Jack pushed back from his desk and stood up. Abruptly, as if hoping to avoid a sudden ambush by the words lying in wait. He headed for the water-cooler in the corner of his office, and the thought came to him that he'd like to fill the cup and dash it across his face, letting the water slap him into another reality where ugliness was something for fairytale trolls, and smiling faces held only good things behind their façade.

He gulped the water, then crushed the cup. Long time since he'd believed in fairytales.

A child had been left in the open during the rush for cover and Doctor Jackson –

Wailing. It penetrated Jack's gut, urged him to his feet, but he did nothing. Every cell of his body that had responded so quickly to the first hint of pain or danger for his own son was belling for action, but he crammed his hat tighter to his head and spat into his radio.

"Teal'c, what can you see?"

A brief pause, then Teal'c's calm voice. "They appear to be readying for a frontal assault."

"Stupid sons of - " Jack shook his head, signalled to Carter, big-eyed and steady further down the trench. She nodded, checking her clip, hunkering deeper into the mud at the base of the boulder.

The woman's sobs were loud in his ears, a hellish counterpoint to her child's screams, but Jack could put them aside. Daniel was back down where he should be, muttering.

"It's okay, Daniel. You got that big boy of yours ready?"

Daniel gestured with disgust towards the source of the noise echoing in their ditch.

"How can you stand that?"

"There's nothing we can do, Daniel." Jack had made it into an order, fixing his gaze on Daniel as if planting him on the spot through sheer mental effort. He knew how impulsive the young man was, how generous of heart, how heedless of personal safety. "I need you to stay put. Okay?"

"That screaming, Jack - "

"I know, I know. We'll get to him as soon as we can."

A child had been left in the open during the rush for cover and Doctor Jackson attempted a rescue.

"Oh, screw that."

And Jack had known it was going to happen, knew it as soon as Daniel even began to move away from him in order to scramble over the top. This was Daniel, this was what he did. An innocent was out there and Daniel could no more sit by and watch him destroyed than fly to the moon. It was the measure of the man, and Jack should've seen it coming.

"Daniel! No!!"

But he was gone, and Jack's gut was tightening and spiralling like a symbiote in terror as he threw himself up to the top of the ditch and sighted along his gun towards the enemy.

Who were watching Daniel in open astonishment.

The archaeologist was walking - walking - towards the centre space. Shaking his head, muttering to himself.

In the sudden silence, Jack could hear every word.

"Stupid, stupid bitch… yeah, yeah, I hear you now. Not much good crying though, is it?"

Daniel had walked right over the bodies of the fallen to where the child was sitting, still shrieking, and Jack had seen -

Had seen an alternate reality unfold, right before him.

Had seen Daniel Jackson lean down into the child's face and say, "Shut up."

Had seen him grab at the child suddenly, by one arm, and swing it up, shaking it towards where the mother's wails had been abruptly cut off.

Had heard the impatience in his voice as he yelled, "Hey, Mom! Dad! Your baby boy got left behind! He's hurting! Are you even listening? God!"

Had seen the warriors gesturing to each other, had seen one taking careful aim.

"Daniel! For God's sake - !"

Had not even been sure who yelled that - himself, Sam.

Had seen Daniel pivot, displaying the child like a lamb for sacrifice to the unseen watchers in the trenches opposite.

Had cringed as the child suddenly blossomed into a mass of red petals, spraying outwards as the bullet-bomb tore through it.

And had seen something on Daniel Jackson's face - something so terrible, so damned that for several heartbeats he wasn't sure just who or what he was looking at.

Unfortunately the child was killed, but Doctor Jackson managed to return to the safety of our position.

Muttering still as he dropped over the side, unscathed. The warriors had not attempted to fire at him. Perhaps madness was sacred.

Sam Carter and Teal'c had both scrambled along the trench to be there when Daniel returned. Sam had clasped his arm, shaken.

"Daniel, are you okay?"

Daniel had shrugged, still irritated. "Better now that's stopped."

Teal'c's voice was grave. "To what do you refer, Daniel Jackson?"

"That noise. God. How could you people even think with that going on?"

"You mean…" Sam was blinking, stunned. Not close enough to hear the words Daniel had said beforehand. Too close now. "The child?"

"It's okay, Sam, don't apologise." Daniel had rolled his shoulders, as if working out knots in his spine. "After all - "

After several further volleys, the warriors approached with what the locals assured us were emblems of peace. SG-1 remained to help negotiate the ceasefire, which Doctor Jackson believes will be upheld in the foreseeable future.

Recommendation: That two teams are sent back within the next week to establish full peace agreement. One team to be diplomatic, one to provide military backup.

Recommendation: That Doctor Jackson be ordered to undergo psychiatric evaluation prior to any further missions.

Jack typed in the last words, including his name and rank, and hit print. A one page report to outline the details of the death of Daniel Jackson. The body was still wandering the corridors of the SGC, but the heart of the man had stopped beating long, long ago.

He noticed as he leant down to put his signature to the report how his hand shook. It had been doing that ever since yesterday afternoon, and Jack wondered when it would stop. He shook out the fingers, absently, knowing he could hardly blame his body for expressing the grief that kept him silent, even when the chance presented itself to unburden his soul to Hammond.

What would the general make of that last recommendation? With no supporting evidence for his - not concern, no. Not professional opinion.

Despair.

Jack opened his mouth as if to share the truth with the last of the smoke still drifting down onto his shoulders. The truth that was revealed in the bottom of a trench, on a cold and ugly planet a million light years away, right next to his heart.

"It's okay, Sam, don't apologise." Daniel had rolled his shoulders, as if working out knots in his spine. "After all - " and he sent her a faint grin, so charming, so bitter, "I guess it really was my turn to take out the trash."

Part Two

Daniel carefully finished the last stroke of the marker pen and set it aside.

The book beneath his fingers was thick, and heavy with knowledge. A tome, Daniel thought, and enjoyed the way the word appeared in his mind. The book held pages upon pages crammed with everything Daniel knew about the subject - and wouldn't you know it. Turned out he knew quite a lot.

There's a thesis or two in that, he promised himself. A paper I could write on the outside. Of course, one always wrote on the outside of paper, but -

That's not what I meant, he said, and frowned.

With equal care he picked up the book and carried it towards his balcony doors. The glass poured with light. It was morning after all, and Daniel felt the faint distaste steal upon him again. Such lack of restraint. Such excess. There were skirmishes and battles, wars and annihilations, but surely even in the midst of the most full-blooded hostilities a balance of sorts survived. This - Daniel gave the smallest shudder - this was uncivilised.

He set the book down upon the floor, in one of the puddles of light, and pulled out the knife from his shirt pocket. It unfolded with a deeply satisfying click, flashing blue and deadly in the stream from the window. Daniel watched it briefly, wondering which side it was on. Hard to tell, and the fact irked him.

With a sigh, he leant down upon the book, and brought the knife towards his wrist. Letting so much of his weight rest on that one small joint brought a trembling to his forearm, brought the veins pulsing to the surface. The tip of the blade found one, the stream beneath the skin, and followed it with idle pleasure as it roped alongside bone and snaked between tendons; until at last the journey brought it to splayed fingers and tensed knuckles. Daniel smiled slightly. Those fingers had followed their own journeys, onto flesh, into bodies, around pens and guns and hair and meat. Now they were mere anchors, awaiting the work of the swifter knife.

The first cut was savage. The tip found the spine and rendered it. A second, third, and the pages were adrift but held firm under his hand. So quickly can you destroy a thing, Daniel marvelled. So simply.

He sat back on his haunches, releasing the book as he did so, watching it rise slightly in defiance of its new status. No longer a book. A bunch of paper. With important writing, granted, but the words alone would not be strong enough to keep these multiple parts as a single entity. The first challenge and they would fly apart, feckless and fragile. He picked up the top page and held it to the light. It became transparent almost at once, and he frowned again. Two. It would take two or three of each before their task was done. It didn't matter, he supposed, but it would take time, and the ever-presumptuous light was waxing.

The hours passed, pasted and folded and pasted again, building a wall of words against his foe.

A knock at the door. Daniel blinked. Should he be expecting someone? Was this another thing he'd forgotten? No, he assured himself after a quick scan of his internal diary, there was nothing due today. Whatever stood outside the door had no business being there, and with that thought he turned back to the paper.

Another knock, louder, and a voice to match. Calling a name and a command. A tiny twitch of Daniel's lips at the combination, and he shook his head slightly. Whatever was making that noise had forgotten a very simple but fundamental law. A man's home is his castle. My drawbridge is up. There are no commands but my own.

A solid bang. Now that was a kick. In more ways than one.

Squinting, Daniel pressed another piece of paper into place.

But then an ominous rattling caused him to turn, and suddenly the light was on two fronts - snarling through the front door, sneaking through the back.

The person who had washed in with the frontal wave stopped mere feet into the room, and Daniel grinned to himself as it lapped about the stupefied man's thighs. Those who live by the sword, Colonel. He turned back to his task.

"Jesus."

The voice sounded horrified, and that would have surprised him. Whatever mental resources he was devoting to this irritant had expected anger, thanks to the introductory spray against the door. But it seemed the light striking his features had absorbed the man's energy, and if he could find it within him, Daniel would offer sympathy. Light would do that to you. He knew only too well.

"What have you done?"

"Hmm? Oh, hi, Jack. Come on in." Daniel spread the thick paste across another sheet, this one detailing the use of boxes in Coptic religious festivals since the sixth century. He made sure to go right into the corners, slathering every square inch. These pages had a lot to withstand.

"Daniel…" The man sounded wretched. "What… where's all your furniture?"

Time enough to answer when his defences were secure. Even such a one as this would appreciate the military imperatives here. Daniel slid the sheet onto its brother, darkening the room a little more. He heard the man cross to the other room and try to open the door, being stopped almost at once and grunting with surprise.

"It's full, Jack. Can't go in there."

There was silence for a moment, before the reply came ghosting through the half-light.

"So I see. Everything's in there?'

"Everything."

Footsteps, and the man was behind him. Closer now - close enough to smell tiredness, and defeat. Daniel was quietly pleased.

"And now you're…"

Wouldn't you like to know. Come to think of it, Daniel reasoned, he already did know. He was the one who breached the front defences after all.

"Think you could close the door, Jack?"

The man didn't move, and Daniel felt a flicker of irritation touch him.

"Jack? The door?"

For almost a minute the man stood there, in defiance of the request but not defiantly. Almost, Daniel thought as he placed another page, as if he didn't know what to do. Quite absurd, really - just turn on your heel, walk to the door and close it. At last, the man seemed to come to his senses, and did as he was asked.

"And thank you," muttered Daniel. In his distraction, however slight, a hand had become stuck to a page about the Ark of the Covenant, and it was with increasing annoyance that he flapped it and scraped it to free himself.

"You're covering the glass doors."

Daniel finally managed to peel the paper away, and reached for the paste again. "As a statement of the obvious - " and, re-glued, the recalcitrant page found its home upon the bulwarks, "that is particularly gifted."

"Why?"

"Let's see." Another page prepared, another layer added. "Perhaps I wanted to improve the view? Or possibly I was concerned about skin cancer when dancing naked to my favourite mariachi music. Or could it be that given the average IQ of any randomly sampled airforce officer I was worried a test pilot might mistake my windows for sky like some stupidly suicidal sparrow and plough into my living space with - "

"Daniel! Stop it!" There was a kind of chopping motion accompanying that growl, and Daniel grinned again.

"No, you're right. I'm sorry. I should be patient with you, shouldn't I?" Daniel closed his eyes, and held up one finger. "Alright. Just - pay attention, because I'm not explaining this twice. There's a lot that needs doing here."

Although, he reflected as he opened his eyes, the truth was that he was almost done. A frisson of excitement accompanied the realisation. The doors were almost completely covered, with only one thin beam of light still shining in through the last gap.

"Look at that, Jack," Daniel said, his voice hushed. "One tiny ray of light, and the whole thing's ruined. Darkness gone. And you know, there are people that will say that's a good thing, Jack, but let me tell you -" he held up his hand into the stream, noting how the details of skin and bone disappeared in its brightness, "- light will burn."

"Daniel…" A strangled sound, and Daniel squinted across the beam to see the man. For a moment it seemed to him that Jack was kitted out in battle gear, armed, primed, ready to engage the enemy, a creature of flesh and bone. He felt a shimmer of apprehension somewhere inside. But then he blinked, and the effect was gone.

A trick of the light. Nothing more.

"So - if I may…" Daniel got to his feet in one fluid movement. He preferred lecturing in an upright position - it added impact to one's words, and it was easier to duck. "What we are talking about is, of course, God. Do you believe in God, Jack?"

Such a strange expression on the man's face, as if he'd eaten something that disagreed with him.

"In some form…I guess… probably."

" 'In some form, I guess, probably'. Thank you for that lucid comment, Colonel. 'In some form, probably'. Well, in however ham-fisted a way, you have 'probably' managed to sum up all of anthropology's findings in this area. Human beings believe in a Supreme Being, in some form, across all cultures, continents and time spans. We have of course seen how the Gould have used this to their advantage. Are you still with me, Jack?"

"Still here."

"Good. So. For many of these cultures, the divine presence has been allied with their conception of good and evil, and this in turn has been expressed as light and darkness. We can see this most clearly in Zoroastrian religious beliefs, for example, where God is quite literally, Light, and the Devil, darkness. This opposition of good and evil, light and darkness, has been expressed with more subtlety in the philosophy of the Tao, and most coarsely in Christian mythology - although it is interesting to consider that 'Lucifer', the original fallen angel and subsequent Bane of all mankind, has a name that means 'light'." Daniel had begun to pace, skirting the fringes of the brightness, occasionally allowing his fingers to flicker in and out of the stream. "Now, the Egyptians, as you'd expect, understood that both elements of the heavenly and the hellish, darkness and light as it were, co-exist in humanity's reality, and thus they named and knew their own shadows. Still with me, Jack?"

"Daniel…"

"Ah ah. You wanted to know what I'm doing here. I'm explaining. I'm sorry I don't have any pictures, any diagrams, nothing bright or shiny to attract your attention - "

"I'll cope." The voice came from lower down, and Daniel realised his audience had seated itself on the floor, one boot spotlit by the beam, the rest of it hidden in semi-darkness. That was good. Didn't take a genius to recognise submission.

"Well, I think you'll see where I'm going here."

"You want to live in the dark."

"Well - no. No." Daniel frowned. "It's not a matter of what the dark is, Jack, but rather what the dark is not. Or rather, what the light is. People think of darkness as being an absence of light, but in truth, light is an absence of dark. Do you understand?"

The weariness of all the world floated through the dust motes caught between them.

"No, Daniel. I don't. And I've got a feeling there's nothing you can say to make me understand either. Here's the thing. There's people I can trust. There's actions that are conscionable. There's the mission report I left with Hammond yesterday, and there's the fact that I didn't include one tenth of what I should have said in it." The boot shifted, disappearing into the darkness. "There's a mission tomorrow to P39X2H that a certain archaeologist should be coming along on to rummage around in old bones, and there's the fact that's not going to happen. Because he's off the team. As of right now."

Daniel stood over him, across the light. "Jack? Why would you - "

"No, actually, as of 28 hours ago when you dangled that kid like a piece of meat and convinced me finally that you have more than the odd screw loose."

"Jack." And now he couldn't help smiling. "Of course I'm not going to P39X2H. And neither are you."

"What? What do you mean?" Such wariness there, and Daniel felt another stirring, somewhere in his groin. Was Jack afraid of him? Delicious thought.

"I've spoken to Hammond, and we're all set. I would've told you but I - " he turned, surveying the almost obliterated doors. "There was so much I had to do. Get this place the way I want it. The age-old war, Jack, between eternal foes, and I had to prepare. You can understand that."

"No, I damn well d - "

"I needed a place where I could relax. I guess," and he laughed a little, "this is my bunker."

"What did you say to Hammond? What have you done?"

"We're going back to the Cell, Jack. You know you promised me, and I intend to hold you to that. A lot of stuff got left behind, and there's a lot we could find out. They're sending a MALP through today. Oh," and he peered carefully at his watch, "right now, as a matter of fact."

"The hell they are!"

"So, I came home and got ready. Needed to have my rear secured." Daniel squatted down and spread out three sheets of paper before reaching for the paste. "If the Tezhka aren't at home we'll do a little venturing of our own. There's no denying it may be tough - for some of us more than others," and he quirked a smile at Jack, wherever he was over there, "but Hammond agrees that the benefits outweigh the risks. And there you are." With a flourish he held the three pages over the gap and brought them in against the glass. For a brief moment a surge of blinding brightness made a corona around the edges; then his quick, sure motions spread them flat, and the darkness was complete.

Silence from the man, now a brother in the dark. Daniel smiled again, more warmly this time, and drew closer. He thought he heard a sigh, shaped like "Danny," but it was lost as he touched the man's hand.

"It's okay, Jack. You're safe now. Don't be afraid of the dark."

Part Three

He knew there'd been another time, another existence, when blood had thrummed through veins in hot and needy haste and he had made mistakes to the tune of its pulse. He had been wrong, and others had suffered the cost. It was the fact of flesh, the measure of its existence, and reparations of guilt and sorrow were buried in each cell. But now, a shadow amongst shadows, mistakes had no meaning and the price of a misstep was nothing more than the roll of a weightless shrug.

All was as it should be, and a khaibit knew no fear; so why was he trembling before the circle of light?

This was not the first time he had faced its brash threat. He had dreamed of a mission, only days ago, and taunted the general, the colonel and the doctor with his dreamings full of warriors and wailing women. And children, perhaps. They had sparred and danced in ever more delirious circles, a trio of fools lead by a dance master who knew they boxed at shadows.

Why did you walk towards that child, Daniel?

No, not walk, Doctor Mackenzie. There was debris on the ground, I was careful as I moved into the open.

You held that kid like a piece of rotten meat!

He'd soiled himself, Jack. And I guess I thought they'd shoot for me, not him.

Are you certain that the Tezhka are no longer present at this site?

You saw the MALP visuals yourself, General. It's been abandoned. I can't speak for the rescue party that came for me, but I'd be surprised if it's been disturbed at all since they left.

What do you hope to gain from this return to the planet, Daniel?

This is an outstanding opportunity to study the remains of a technologically superior civilisation, Doctor.

Oh, yeah, right. What they put out in the garbage, you mean.

Jack, when anthropologists study primitive cultures they are very careful not to leave anything at all behind. Can you imagine the possible impact of even one plastic bottle on the minds and technology of a less technologically developed society? But the Tezhka had no reason to be quite so scrupulous in their packing.

Are you saying we're looking for plastic bottles, Doctor Jackson?

In a manner of speaking, General. We know that there was a great deal left behind, scattered about.

Which could be a damned good reason not to go! If something scared the hell outta those Tezhka studs…

Did you sense they'd left in panic, Jack?

Maybe.

That's not what your report stated, Colonel.

Look, all I'm saying is I don't think Daniel's fit to leave his goddamned apartment, let alone waltz back to that place. He's stripped the walls, you know. Sealed up the doorways.

Daniel - ?

As I tried to explain to Jack, Doctor, I am re-decorating. Re-painting, re-carpeting, and the window frames are going to be rendered too.

What colours are you choosing, Daniel?

Tuscan Sand with trims of Moroccan Gold, as a matter of fact.

Who the hell cares what colours he's painting? He could be doing the Sistine Chapel in his bathroom for all I care. That's not the point.

Actually, I *was* thinking of a Lascaux Caves effect in the bathroom, J -

Okay, stop it. Just stop it. You know this is all so much bullshit.

Colonel?

Look, sir, Daniel's not recovered.

But you said -

I know what I said, sir, and I was wrong.

Where *is* my diary? 'Jack O'Neill admits mistake'.

Oh, right. You're loving this, aren't you? Look at him, sir - just look at him. Does he seem all right to you?

Doctor Mackenzie?

Well, my evaluation of him this afternoon revealed what I would categorise as an excellent re-constitution of mental self-balance. I saw no indication of the kind of socio-pathological behaviour Colonel O'Neill hinted at this morning.

Mackenzie, you couldn't find your butt with both ha -

Colonel!

Sir, I'm tellin' you -

And I'm telling you, Colonel. That's enough.

General, if I may…?

What is it, Doctor Jackson?

Sir, I think that - well, we had a lousy mission two days ago. It was - awful. I'll admit it shook me up. Shook all of us up, to some extent. I think the reason Colonel O'Neill is so upset now is because of that. Because he is still feeling - well, responsible I suppose is the best way to put it - for what happened to me on P87X65. I suppose when we had such a traumatic time, first mission back, all those feelings of anxiety and over-protectiveness just blew up again. At least, that's what I think.

You little …

Colonel, I'll admit I'm concerned at your attitude, and the fact that you don't seem to trust Doctor Jackson. It bothers me that you and he are in such obvious disharmony, and I trust you as team leader to see that the situation is rectified. However, it is also apparent this mission can reasonably be classified as low risk. Doctor Mackenzie has assured me that returning to the planet is something that will assist in Doctor Jackson's complete recovery from what occurred there previously, and I have Daniel's own requests to reassure me on the point. So the main stumbling block is your attitude, Colonel.

Hey, happy to be of service. Sir. Consider me an immovable object in the way of this mission.

Colonel, in the face of the MALP readings, the hope of significant technological gain, Doctor Mackenzie's report and Doctor Jackson's willingness, can you give me one concrete reason why this mission should not go ahead?

It had been a pleasure born of mental agility and humanity's age-old willingness to lie with a smile, and the cold glow of it had sustained him to this point, where he was kitted out and standing before the circle once again. He had stepped into the light only days ago and it could not hold him, a thing and no thing of darkness. The light had pulled at him, tried to disintegrate him into wisps of smoke. But the darkness had cradled him along the strange rush, and the light had sought flesh and found less than memory, a ghost slipping through its blue fire to smile into sunshine and defy its brightness.

The circle of light could not harm him. And yet…

And yet there was a throbbing in his throat that pummelled a jaw he knew to be nothing but umbrae. There was a heaviness in his gut, and the hollowness in his chest spoke not of wraiths but cages, imprisoning a tripping heart. When he shook out his legs, looking for numbness, they shouted their substance in earth-hungry boots, and terror began to needle him as awareness grew.

It was possible he had made a dreadful mistake.

Today, the light knew his destination. It ripened with the thought, fecund, bursting, rotten with the fact of it. The Cell was calling Khaibit Daniel home, as all tombs call their spawn, and therein lay his fatal weakness. How ironic, then, that it was a weakness he had fought for and flaunted. For the first time since he began this battle, he wondered if the light was too strong.

Others were entering the gateroom now. The one called Teal'c, the other, Sam. She no longer looked at him with the kind concern he'd come to despise. He had known the lie of kindness before, and gave it no credence. Now, she turned large eyes towards him that were closed even in their bright beauty, and he saw the shadows on her face that should have signalled kinship. But there was no comfort for him in that knowledge. The blue light was rippling across her face and killing the shadows even as he watched.

"We ready?"

That was Jack, entering the gateroom, eyes flicking across the team to singe Daniel's briefly before moving on. "Let's go."

Permission echoed above Daniel, the impersonal bray of an executioner. Sam and Teal'c started up the ramp, its steel bones glittering before him. Jack began the climb himself; pausing when he was unaccompanied.

"You coming?" The voice was harsh, the mouth tight. A small victory there, thought Daniel; the faux compassion, the ersatz guilt that had sickened him for so long was finally gone. Anger swirled inside this creature, disgust and despair racked its frame. These emotions were allies in the darkness, bones to build a resistance upon, and Daniel welcomed their company even as his feet refused his bidding and stayed planted on the gateroom floor.

"What? You were hot for this. You did your little lapdance for the General to get this." The creature was close, in his face, hissing the words. "Bit late to go all coy, isn't it?"

Menace pulsing in waves from the light meant Daniel could barely see the man's features. He shivered, and tried to wet the lips that were no more than swelling dust.

"Maybe we should - "

"Maybe we should get our asses into gear." Black eyes, inches from his own, and they were betraying their heritage and attacking him without mercy.

"It's too strong," Daniel whispered, suddenly knowing the truth of it. He took a step backwards, but Jack grabbed his jacket.

"Excuse me, Doctor Jackson? Second thoughts? I don't think so." The hands were dragging him up the ramp, up to where a million gleaming blades were flashing and turning in a circle of stone.

"No!" Daniel struggled, gripping the hands on his jacket, the battle too private and intense to be seen from behind.

"Is there a problem, Colonel?" The executioner's voice echoed in his ear, and Daniel looked up to see inevitability drawing him closer to a kind of destruction he could not imagine.

"Please…" the word a ghost, a prayer to the dead, because O'Neill was turning the fist with which he anchored Daniel, was waving one hand in invitation.

"No problem, General. Daniel wants to go first."

Sweat. He couldn't sweat, couldn't shake like this. He was khaibit, shadow, he was upright darkness, he had no name, no body, no mind, no soul. He had laughed in sunlight, only days ago, and he could not be touched. Yet now he clawed at the hands holding him and read the implacable knots of flesh. Here was obliteration. Here was death.

"Jack…" and the name was echoed by Sam, doubt in her voice. And compassion.

Still? For this?

He looked at her as if in appeal, even as he cursed his weakness. This is nothing but shadow play. There is no substance here. They have as much compassion as you do. Fool. Coward. Khaibit.

"Be right with you, Doctor Jackson," and the one who had always plagued him, an endless curse of company and quiddity, was swinging him forward.

Light, knives, an arching mouth bellowing for shadow to feed its endless hunger.

And Khaibit Daniel gave a soft gasp, all that he could find to mourn his passing, as the creature lifted him off his feet and flung him into the brightness of a thousand suns.

Part Four

There was a child, in a city that was made of new ugliness overgrowing ancient beauty. Smells of gasoline and dust, smoke and sizzling fat. He was swinging madly through the late night air, seeing a dizziness of crowds below him, hearing the creak of wooden beams badly lashed together that whirled him high in the sky. Somewhere in the mad dash of faces sweeping past him he knew his father was watching, laughing, yelling encouragement. His own mouth was wide open in terrified joy, and he swallowed the stream of stars that blazed on the upward ride of a tiny carnival ferris wheel on the outskirts of El Uxor. The stars, the stars, a billion arcing over him, dancing with him and through him until he fell back towards earth, shrieking "Daddy! Daddy!" and burning with the excitement of his fear.

The stars fell away, and as they did so they stretched out their knife-like points and shredded him through and through.

He could hear his own cries in his ears as he tumbled down. His father's arms were dust, and they could not hold him as he burst out of the circle, a thing lacerated by the heavens until he was streaked with blood, sodden with it, wet and cold and shivering in a coat of tattered red. Daddy?

Time was up-ended. He was sprawled on a hard floor. His hands were spread as if to ground him to its shiny solidity, and his legs were moving feebly against its sudden resistance. The stars had stripped him of strength in the wild ride, and now he could do nothing more than mewl like a newborn as his eyes fought to find a way back towards the light. Yet even as he lay there, disoriented and helpless, a single thought pounded in his mind with the age-old cadence of mortality.

Blood.

He felt it. It sang to him, rushing through his limbs, pulsing into sinews and fibres, feeding bones and filling cells empty for as long as he could remember. Memory was a thing of flesh, and he had lacked it for such a time that he flinched as he recognised its demands anew. This was the song of the khat, of the body, and now it was his to sing.

"Blood," he said aloud, feeling the word as it bit his tongue upon leaving. "Blood."

"Where?"

Another voice, close, harsh. He tried to open an eye, but the trembling that possessed him demanded all his energy.

"You hurt, or do you just plan on lying there for the duration?"

He squeezed his eyelids tightly, remembering how a body behaved. The shadow self was gone, flayed to a thousand strings of darkness by the relentless stars, and now he was bereft in this prison of blood and bone. A child of the circle, alone and afraid. Because this was the legacy of the body, this was the forfeit that shadows owed to no-one but bodies were born to admit.

Feelings.

They were chemicals, nothing more. The body pumped hormones in response to stimuli, and therein lay the difference between a coward and a hero.

A hand was on his shoulder, gripping it.

"Rise and shine, Doctor Jackson. The weasel has landed."

In sudden fear of being upright and sightless, his eyes clattered open of their own accord.

High above him a deep black ceiling swirled with grey. He remembered another lifetime, when he had categorised those wraiths as smoke or clouds. A smoking mirror, and that fact held resonance for his own conclusions as to the provenance of this culture. But now he knew the shapes were the distressed writhings of khaibit trapped like eels in the obsidian surface, forever doomed to watch the warm bodies below them, forever to mourn the compulsion that led them back to their place of first awareness. He shuddered, and brought his gaze downwards, to the fingers that held him still.

They were weathered and blunt, and he followed their unconscious prompting up the arm that anchored both them and him to a strong shoulder looped with black webbing. And beyond that, the creased neck, the firm jaw, and a face he hadn't truly seen for more than half a year.

"Jack…?"

Sunglasses hid the eyes.

"So - plastic bottles. We're looking for a rubbish dump, full of goodies. That right, Doctor?" The face was staring at him, vaguely insect-like with its bulging black eyes, its thin mouth, its lack of concern.

Doctor. Was that his name now? For a ghostly moment he heard his father's voice, calling "Danny!", and it fanned a long-forgotten ember briefly to life in his chest. A flicker of warmth. Nothing more.

Sam was standing nearby, staring at the magnificent walls with obvious mistrust.

"Daniel, do you have any ideas about who the Tezhka are?" she asked, and he realised at once that she was not looking at him for reasons more personal than strategic.

"Others have scavenged here," boomed Teal'c, pointing to where dust scuffed in a series of paw like patterns across the floor.

The fingers eased their grip and Jack stepped away, towards the nearest wall. "But they haven't touched this. What do you think, Carter?"

He was approaching a small prism-shaped device set into the alcove, gesturing at its dull surface with an impatient hand. Sam Carter hurried to his side.

Children of flesh and bone, both. But not newly born as he was, Daniel guessed. They had been solid for long enough to move in their bodies with ease.

"Perhaps it needs a scanner of some sort to operate it," Sam was murmuring as she examined it.

Daniel held up his own hands and stared at them. The fingers were long and pale, and ached slightly as he flexed them. The blood he had imagined to be coating them was instead trapped beneath the skin, pulsing around knuckles and into padded palms. He curved his hands into a circle, and gazed through it at the stone ring that had delivered him.

"It's 'I Spy' now, is it?" Jack had wandered back to his side, and Daniel could feel his body tingle with the hostility that flowed from the other man. "Any chance of you even trying to earn your pay on this one?"

The wraiths above him wove their dance of captive shame and wept at the temerity of these intruders.

"Jack… I - "

"Holy shit!" And Jack was staring past him, mouth agape, causing Daniel to spin about and join him in silent terror.

Half of the magnificent stateroom had disappeared. In its place was a vast opening, jagged and uneven as if naturally made, that led through a series of black pillars to a vista of jungle and mountain, a thousand feet below. Wisps of cloud or smoke hung about the distant treetops. As they stared a flock of jewel bright birds burst into the air, looking like nothing more than a handful of scattered rubies at this distance.

"Carter… what did you do?"

"I have no idea, sir," Sam replied, her own voice faint with shock.

"What the hell is this place? Daniel?"

"This - this place?"

"Yes, Daniel, 'th-this place'."

This place.

He closed his eyes, because this flesh reclaimed was suddenly burning wherever it touched. Clothes, boots, air, mockery. All were crisping his bones with a heat he had not forgotten, but had simply never learned before. The Cell's teachings were founded in cold emptiness, and though this flame would finally scour him hollow, it was born of a dreadful fullness.

This place, you son of a bitch, is where you left me to rot.

"I don't know, Jack, " he said mildly, and oh, even through the confusion and fear that blood always brought, he was beginning to love what this body could do. Deception, it seemed, was not the sole province of shadow, and with bones came strength to wield this deception ever more surely. "I could tell you about the people, the cultural seed. But I have no idea what this place is, beyond the obvious."

Sam flickered a sideways look at him, still facing the extraordinary expanse of green and blue before her. "I thought you didn't know the genesis of the Tezhka?"

"Oh, let me guess. Doctor Jackson is playing little games with us again." Jack swung about on his heel to curl a lip in Daniel's direction. "Didn't bother putting a theory in your report, did you?"

"I have some ideas. Not what you'd call a properly constituted theory."

"Let's hear your 'ideas' then," snapped Jack.

Ideas. So many ideas, burning in his mind. To take these newfound muscles, to flex and stretch and run across the tawdry floor, into the arms of Jack O'Neill; to feel the glorious momentum that comes with mass and velocity, that would careen them both around the pillars and into the sky, over the leprous edge.

"I think these people were originally Mayan."

"Yeah." Jack waved one arm in a vicious parody of agreement. "Oh, sure. This looks Mayan. I can see that."

Daniel smiled, feeling his cheeks give with motion, remembering how the action was once a friendly one. "Their language is a kind of patois based on Mam, the Mayan tongue. In Mayan legend, the forces of darkness and light were joined in endless battle. Eventually Tezcatilpoca, the God of Darkness, defeated Quetzelcoatl, and began a reign that was chiefly characterised by massive human sacrifice. I believe the Tezhka are descendants of the worshippers of Tezcatilpoca. His name means 'smoking mirror', and he was supposed to have one that allowed him to see across time and space." He pointed upwards. "I think we've found that."

"This doesn't look very Mayan," Sam said doubtfully. Daniel noticed how contempt felt when it rung within his stomach.

"The Greater London Council buildings don't look Tudor. The UN building doesn't look much like a log cabin. Trump Towers is hardly a tipi. Cultures never remain completely static, even if outside forces don't exist to pressure change."

"So you're saying that this culture has evolved - which would mean that the Gould aren't hanging around."

"Even if Tezcatilpoca himself was originally a Gould, yes," Daniel agreed. "This is probably a sister culture to that of the Tollan. That was the name of the place where Tezcatilpoca finally kicked Quetzelcoatl out of Mexico. My guess is Quetzelcoatl and his followers fled to Tollana, and progressed significantly. The Tezhka found their own way off world and founded a new civilisation here."

Teal'c lifted his head from where he had been studying the tracks in the dust. "Are you suggesting that Quetzelcoatl was of the Tok'Ra?"

Daniel shrugged. "Maybe."

"Some civilisation." Jack nodded his chin towards the jungle.

"Sir - maybe this is just a meeting place." Sam began to glow with discovery, and Daniel realised that jealousy was leaden, and tasted of sourness. "Perhaps they can use rings, or some other form of technology, to transport themselves and meet with those who come through the Gate, far from their actual cities. It would make perfect strategic sense. That would explain why we thought it was deserted when we returned. It wasn't deserted - just not in use."

"And why not? When we came back through, why didn't they fire up the welcome party again?"

"Because we represent no more threat to them than that of a Tauri child," Teal'c said simply, and Sam nodded.

"Based on their level of technology, sir, they would have no fear of us."

"Huh." If Jack was impressed with their combined reasoning, he didn't show it. "Well, that's all very swell, but meantime what say we do what we're supposed to and check this place out?"

The darkness had won at Tollan, but here Daniel's new body was proof that the light had flayed the darkness into nothing. An ocean of it welled outside the cavern edge, calling to the child of stellar violence, and for a long minute he hesitated. Nerves were sparking in his fingers and toes, sending shocks into the spine that held him upright as surely as a young sapling. What would it feel like to be spread upon that body of light, soaring out for a precious second before plummeting down to a death of brilliant savagery?

"Doctor Jackson? You coming?"

To what? For what? He remembered, with vivid suddenness, how the khat was plagued by curiosity. It itched with questions, burned with desires, shuddered with questions that were its endless damnation. There was always more to discover, and each answer was fuel to the fires that raged in the belly of the beast.

A question came to him now. A demand in essence, but framed to gull an answer from the clumsy children around him.

"What happened when you came to find me?" A peculiar smile twisted his mouth, and he recognised its ugliness. "When you eventually came to find me?"

The others stopped, in the way bodies did when thought had once more crippled them.

It was O'Neill who answered, finally, and Daniel admitted to himself a faint respect for the courage of that fact.

"Place was much like it is now. We came, found nobody home, ran - " his voice faltered for a moment, thickening. "Ran down those stairs there."

Daniel considered him. "Why?"

"Why? Oh, you're right, first we had a picnic and admired the paintwork. What was I thinking?"

"No." A body could be patient after all, even if it was the patience of the spider. "I meant, why did you go down those stairs? How did you know where to find me?"

Jack hesitated. "Because it made sense."

"Why?" Daniel repeated, and gestured to the corridors that opened off in some profusion from the rear of the main chamber. "Why did you know to go straight down?"

Sam moved closer, her face perturbed. "That's a good question, sir. How did we know?"

Teal'c cocked his head slightly. "Indeed. The entrance to the lower levels is poorly lit and not immediately apparent. And yet we all went towards it at once."

"Well, hell, I don't know!" Jack spread his hands angrily. "Maybe we've watched too many horror flicks. The bad guys always have a dungeon, right?"

It was obvious that idea was not met with any kind of approval, and Daniel ducked his head to smile. Jack saw it, and snarled.

"What? You think you've got a better reason?"

But Daniel simply kept smiling, and shook his head slightly. How surprisingly sweet it could be, to stand in the fullness of the khat, to feel the solidity of the rock beneath his feet and the emptiness before his eyes, to smile at other flesh and swell with knowledge they cannot possess. The last of his fear was gone, sucked away by the power of a secret.

"I'd like to see the Cell," he said simply, and smiled again at the expressions that could not be hidden on the faces surrounding him.

"Why don't we do some exploring first?" Jack offered gruffly, averting his eyes from Daniel's. "Earn our keep for once."

Daniel shook his head. "I'm going down to the Cell," he stated, and turned on his heel towards the small archway that led to the stairs.

"Doctor Jackson! I'm still in charge here!"

And that was risible, so ridiculous that a flush of annoyance rose inside him, demanding release.

Daniel whirled back, letting the anger show because there was power in this body and these feelings, strength in allowing a sliver of truth to sharpen to a spear. "You've never been in charge, Jack! You screwed up, Colonel O'Neill! You have no right to command anywhere. Least of all here!"

And Jack knew the strength of anger, Daniel saw that at once. The colonel's face was pale, but he was striding over to him, grabbing the front of his jacket again.

"That's enough!" The hands shook him, and Daniel laughed.

"Come on, Colonel. Come with me to the Cell."

"Carter, dial us home," Jack ordered.

"Yes, Sam, let's do that. Let's all go home and forget about it. Just leave it behind. You're all so good at that."

Jack's face was inches from his own. "Damn you! Just shut up!" He called over his shoulder, never taking his gaze from Daniel's face. "Dial us up, Carter. Now!"

Daniel grinned again. "How long did you spend in that Cell, Jack? Thirty seconds? Why don't you come with me and let me show you what the place has got to offer. Hate you to make a decision in haste."

Jack's breath was on his skin, hot and fierce, as if vehemence equalled veracity. "I was in that damned Cell long enough to pick you up and get you the hell out of there. End of story. I ran back up those stairs carrying you. Those days, I thought you were worth saving."

A long, slow blink. "When you found the time."

"Aagh!" Jack went to fling him away in disgust, but Daniel gripped his wrists and held on.

"Come with me to the Cell, Jack. Or are you too afraid to find out the truth after all?"

Sam was hovering, unsure. "Sir? Maybe we should - "

"Dial us home, Major." It was little more than a rasped breath, and it brought an almost carnal glow to Daniel's long-forgotten flesh.

"Is that wise, O'Neill?" Teal'c voice, dark as molasses, stupid with years of obedience. Even now, it resonated with slavery to a moral code laughable in its rigidity. "Should you not see this Cell as DanielJackson insists? Is he not owed at least that much?"

And oh, such joy to be found in justice, such delight. Daniel could feel it bubbling inside him, shivering from his very core. Jack O'Neill was hesitating, trapped.

Jack O'Neill was lost.

Daniel released his grasp gently, and took two steps towards the stairway. He held out a hand, mirroring the invitation that had delivered him here.

"Follow me, Jack. I won't bite." He laughed again. "I've got so much to show you."

Part Five

The door slammed shut behind them both.

And if he had closed his eyes, the most futile action of all, he would still know this place. It held the smell of sickness. It whispered of despair, a sibilant wail echoing through the stone, and he knew it as the sound of childhood reclaimed in this very air.

The boy leaned once upon the crossbar, feeling the cold metal that defined him.

"Now," he said, softly. He pushed away and swayed in the darkness that flowed through him and from him, a miasma with the limitless black of a mourner's veil. He stretched out his arms, the testing of wings stripped to the bone, jangling in mid-air to the tuneless dirge of the Cell, to the firebugs' danse macabre.

He was home.

Darkness gave him safety, as it always had. He was the boy of the stairwell, the cupboard, the bushes that hid a den of bewilderment. He was the child of basements and attics, of libraries, storerooms, drainpipes, of under-the-bed and behind-the-curtains. He was spawned under vast Egyptian nights, and in cramped ungodly tombs. Darkness was his blood, his meat and drink, and here was a feast of carrion flesh, a sea of inky despair. It filled him to repletion, until he threw open his arms and eyes and mouth and let the darkness shape his words.

"This is my place. This is mine."

This is me.

Someone else was here, again, and he knew exactly who it was and how far away he stood. Almost to the Endless Other. Almost into infinity. But too close, always too close.

"What do you think, Jack? How do you like it?" A turn on his heel, because he could dance slowly or quickly here, cotillion or tarantella, he didn't mind. This was his home, and the choices were limitless, and his to make. Fate had brought him a dancing partner, but he would lead.

"Bit dark, right? You get used to it. I did, at least. At first, you know, I'd check my watch every hour, every fifteen minutes actually, because I was anxious. And angry. Oh, boy! Was I angry! I mean, how dare they? We were talking, that's all, just negotiating, and they locked me up here without so much as a word of warning."

He stretched to stroke one wall, remembering it as his bedroom.

"And that's all I had, Jack. Words. I talked out loud to keep myself focused, because I knew you'd be here soon, you'd be bursting through that door all fired up and I needed to be ready. Didn't want to let you down. Know I need to keep my wits about me in combat, so I was ready, Jack. 'Cos the alternative was that you were prisoners too, and that would mean no hope at all. Couldn't think about that. Couldn't bear the thought of you guys in the same way. And that was the only possible alternative, wasn't it?

"So I paced, and I argued, and I was ready, Jack, so ready for so long. And when I slept I let you down, and when I needed food too badly I let you down, so I worked hard, Jack every day. No, not day, not day at all, just every hour because there are no days here, Jack it's just one long, long hour. And it's always midnight. Always midnight…"

He stopped, breathing hard, and wondered at the fact. He felt the air reverberating as he reabsorbed this space. There was no sound from the Other.

"I kept watch. With my watch." A snort, almost a giggle. "I stayed ready. Wasn't going to let you down. Worked hard at holding on. Now, I admit, the firebugs freaked me out, and when they started biting it got kind of freaky. I hurt, all the time, all that long hour, but I stayed angry and I stayed ready for you, Jack. I was ready."

Was there a sob from Ultima Thule? Did infinity weep?

"I played games, Jack. I set myself challenges. I wasn't handing my sanity over without a fight, you'll be proud to know. I went down hard, all the way, because I knew how hard you were fighting for me. I knew you'd be spending every one of your hours working to get me out. You and Sam and Teal'c and General George - every minute of that midnight you'd be planning and plotting and trying to figure me home. I worried for you. I knew you'd never give up, so neither could I. But it was so hard. So hard.

"I did lose my grip, just a little. But forgivable in the circumstances, don't you think? You came and saw me, and I knew it wasn't you, because you didn't take me home. It was just the - just me, maybe, or the Cell, I don't know. Seemed real. But you told me how to make it. You knew. You were there for me. You told me to make the box, because that's what you did to survive."

Fingers reached out to stroke the wall again, feeling the impossible seams of stone. A kind of stability to the world after all, and that was good, because these words were so black they were eating the breath inside this new body, like a disease of the lungs.

"Of course, I have to be honest - you thought I couldn't do it. You thought I wasn't practical enough. Me!" He shook his head. "I've been practical all my life. Wasn't practical to go to the funeral. Wasn't practical to live with Nick. Wasn't practical to go to the Principal, to charge those kids. Wasn't practical to expect clothes that fit, to keep my parents' most precious things.

"It wasn't practical to hate Teal'c when I had to work with him every day. Wasn't practical to hope that anyone else gave a good goddamn about rescuing Sha're. Oh, no, I'm eminently practical, Jack. I'm a survivor. But I will admit, you showed me the way this time."

He took a step forward. His bearings were back now. He knew every inch of this place, his home.

"I made the box. It was beautiful, Jack. It was perfect! You - " he laughed a little, "you'd probably be surprised just how well I made it. I mean, given I had no tools and all, I think I did a cracker-jack job. Strong and sound and nothing was getting in or out once I'd finished."

It was so different this time. His words were flying into something other than the immensity opening at the far wall and there were other breaths in the Cell. He heard them coming hard, and thick, as though struggling through something. The darkness, perhaps? He knew well how that clogged every cell of the body, how it weighed a man down until he couldn't move, or think, or feel.

"You still there, Jack?"

Something like a clearing of a throat responded to him, and he started. Despite knowing of the other presence, this was not a place he ever expected to hear answers. It had only happened once, after all.

"Yeah. I am." So soft, those words, and he was surprised again. "What - what did you put in the box, Daniel? What did you lock away?"

A good question! And he was pleased, as if a hitherto troublesome student had suddenly made unexpected progress.

He lowered his own voice, as if in confidence.

"Everything I could find, Jack. Everything that mattered."

The response was even softer.

"You put it in the box?"

"Everything," he agreed. "I put - well, let's see. The sound of my mother, singing. Always off-key, she didn't even realise she was doing it most mornings. But I'd hear that sound and know the world was okay. Um - all my childhood treasures. Hapshut, and the birthday card, and Fido, and that night in the tomb with Mum and Dad, listening to the stars. My dad's bad jokes. The time Nick read to me, even though he didn't know it. He - " a chuckle, "he was translating under his breath, working away on some piece of Assyrian script, and I crept in under the table and listened to the words for the sheer music of them. The first Christmas at your house. You calling me some stupid name and hugging me, right there in the gateroom. Sam forgiving me. Teal'c daring to be my friend, risking my hate. George being pleased to see me back, as if I wasn't the biggest pain in his ass any given day of the week." A wave of the hand, invisible but necessary. "Everything."

The soft groan from Jack could have been the "Why?" he wanted to hear, and he gave a grin of sympathy.

"For safekeeping. It was my ba, my soul, I guess you'd say. You know, the Egyptians believed that it looked like a human-headed hawk, but mine didn't. Maybe it wasn't big enough. Just glowed when I held it up, and when I locked it in the box, everything got so dark, it - I was almost afraid. But then I realised there was nothing left to be afraid of, and that was perfect timing. I've learned from your instincts, Jack. Timing is very, very important."

There was a knock at the door, and he was certain they both jumped.

"Sir? Daniel? You okay?"

From somewhere ahead of him he heard the answer.

"We're fine. Just give us a few, Carter."

He shook his head, the words scattering inside his mind. Some kind of connection had been broken, and he blinked to bring it back.

"So." By the sound of his voice the man had regained his mental footing as well. He couldn't read the emotions here, and he suspected that was something he had once done well, in order to survive. "What did you do with the box, once you'd put your bar inside it?"

He shifted on his feet. "I hid it - let it go… " For the first time he stumbled in his speech, but he recovered at once. "Over there. Over there somewhere, but God knows where it is now." He laughed again. "Probably stored away with my dad's journals. You know, I tried for years to find them, but no-one can remember where the hell they shipped everything after they put me into personal storage. Sometimes I get so frustrated, Jack. I mean, all my grandmother's things, my mum, dad - all boxed up somewhere and rotting away. Like me. I would've looked after them if they'd just given me a chance. Just listened to me one time. And now we're all lost in storage together. Ironic, don't you think?" Another laugh to echo off the walls. There had been no echo before. Maybe two hearts were needed to make a laugh rebound.

"Or should that be 'pathetic'? No, no, I've got it - bathetic. That's the word. There's always words, Jack. Even in midnight."

"Daniel - "

"No, now, wait a minute. That's something else we need to discuss. I have to say, I feel a little strange taking that name in vain. I mean, let's be honest. Really, I'm not 'Daniel' any more, am I? The ren, the name. That got put in the box, too. 'He' got put in the box. This is just - this is just the ticket stub from lost property. Waiting for collection."

Silence, some would say, but he could hear the newly-won blood pounding, the firebugs dancing (scuttle, scuttle, scuttle), the Endless Other breathing harshly. A busy, busy silence.

"Okay." Agreement, in the dark? How strange. "No more Daniel for now." He heard the man tapping against the wall. "But you know me. I'm the kinda guy who needs to be up and doing. So I'm just wondering here - what would happen if I found the box?"

"It's gone," he answered, dismissively.

"How can it be gone? Closed room mystery here. You left the box here - where? In this corner?"

A heart. Hammering. Hard in his chest, in his ears, almost pounding out through his eyes at the thought.

"It's gone, Jack. Over. Lost. Things get lost. Hell, civilisations get lost."

"Here?" The man had moved away again, and was kicking at the bottom of the far wall. "You think it might be here?"

"How many times do I have to tell you? There's nothing left."

"Oh, now, I don't know that's right." He knew that tone, that inexorable quality. "You've been on my case, minute we got you back. 'Gotta go get the box, Jack'. So, okay, now I'm here and I'm looking. And I'm asking - is this where you left the box?"

"I don't know - what's the point? You can't find it, Jack. You haven't got the answers. The Tezhka - the Tezhka, now, they're the ones who have got all the angles covered."

"Oh?" Another kick at the wall, and a casual tone he somehow knew to be feigned. And dangerous. "Why do you say that?"

"Because they told me."

"When?"

"Right after I let the box drift away. Like I said, timing is everything. They had the answers, but they didn't get my soul."

"No. No, they didn't." Was that voice sad, a quiet lamentation for the soul that was lost anyway? It was a grief that lasted only seconds, because the next words he heard were full of promise. "So that means it's gotta still be here? Just waiting to be found."

"You can't find it." Irritation felt like bugs under his skin, and he shuddered. It was a dislike born of a tingling unease he refused to call fear.

"Hell I can't. What is this place? Three by three? How long can it take to search it?"

And this was more than irritation, this was murderous. He gathered all the venom he possessed and flung it at him. "Ninety fucking days!"

A beat or two, three, then the reply came back smoothly. "Oh, no. I don't think it'll take nearly that long." The man brushed past him, knocked on the door. At once, the lock was disengaged and the door was opened to show an anxious Sam. "Carter, I'm gonna help Da - the archaeologist formerly known as Daniel find something he left here. Won't take long. Why don't you and Teal'c have a look around? That is - if that's okay with you?" This was directed over his shoulder, towards the khat, the one without soul or name or spirit. He felt the fear rise in him, chilling his stomach, his bowels, snatching the breath from his throat.

"No - no, don't let them go."

The man cocked his head at him.

"Why not? Your place, right? We'll be fine."

"Sir, I don't think that's - "

"Carter? Look around, that's an order. Him and me are gonna kick back, see if we can't dig up a bit of lost property."

Light from Carter's torch was blazing through the portal. There had never been light in here, and it scared him. Light brought ugliness the kinder shadows covered. Light made depth shallow, made infinite distance a matter of feet. He recognised the dark, but this harshness of light was foreign to him, and no kind of home he remembered. He made to push past the man, but one arm shot out and stopped him.

"Ah, ah. We're going hunting." Was the man grinning? So little light reached the man's face it had become no more than a death's head rictus, and he gazed straight into the khat's eyes as he reached for the door's edge. "Check back in thirty, Carter."

The sound of hell opening, and the door was closed fast again.

Panic, instant, overwhelming panic.

"No! No, no, no!" Nobody out there to hear him, nobody to let them go, and the loss of control was absolute. He scratched and fought, his body bucking, twisting, flailing in fear, but the man held him fast, against the door.

"You want this, Daniel? You want this?" So loud, so unforgiving, spat into his face.

"You son-of-a-bitch!"

"Yeah? On my resume, Daniel. "

"Fuck you!"

"Never on a first date, Daniel. "

"You fucking, miserable, motherless piece of shit!" And he was howling, beating at his captor with all the force this body had, knocking him backwards, bringing his elbow up to smash into that rigid face so close to him in the night. "You left me here! "

Hands were grabbing his wrists, holding him, absorbing the fury.

"You left me here! Days, they told me, the Tezhka, a day and their children would overcome the mind control. No will, they said. No will to find me. They laughed so much, Jack! They laughed so hard!"

"Daniel - Danny - "

He wanted this gone from him, and he tore his heart open to find the worst of the poison he'd carried so long. "It was a joke. It was a practical joke. They watched me, they waited for you, and they finally came to tell me when they knew the buttons had reached their limit. They thought I'd be home in a week, tops. A week! A fucking week! Couldn't believe - had such contempt - so shallow, so useless, so faithless - "

"God - Daniel - "

"All that time, and you could have come for me. You just - " he sobbed, suddenly, catching a breath and almost choking, "you just didn't want me badly enough."

The hands released his fists, and he swung at the man - Jack, it was Jack, here at last and oh, too late - with all the force he could find. But the treachery of the darkness fooled him again - again and again and always, always, waiting in the dark, trusting, hoping, so afraid, so alone, and darkness offering him dreams of hope and belief in the love of brothers. His aim went wide and he found himself toppling onto his knees, landing hard against the stone floor, feeling a sharp pain different to the one searing his chest. Sobs sounded in his ears, and tears ran from his eyes, his nose, as he hunched over and cried out his grief in the never-ending midnight hour.

He heard movement beside him, but no touch came. Instead, there was a sigh, as old and weary as God, and Jack was sliding down to sit against the wall, his gun clattering to rest on the floor.

For long minutes nothing was said. He stayed on all fours, rocking slightly, remembering somewhere in his mind how the women in labour rocked to ease their burden of agony. What hell child was being brought to life here?

"Daniel…" The familiar voice, but empty. It was the end of their journey, and Jack was sorry for it, he could tell. "Daniel. Ah, Christ!"

His head dropped low between his shoulders. He was nothing but a mute beast lost in the uncomprehending mirk of a stable. What else was a creature without a soul? All the words he had accumulated as avidly as a miser hoards gold were revealed as merely the grunts and brays of the farmyard, an endless stream of profanity and denial. The history of mankind had never been so clearly expressed to him who was now lost to it forever.

Jack was stirring, and if a beast could mourn, he would have. Jack's leaving meant the lesser of two great terrors was about to be visited upon him. He knew, suddenly, that even as a khaibit he had feared the foulness he carried within himself. He had feared the spread of his own contamination to those who came to him in the half-light of Earth. This was the truest place for it, here in isolation and madness, and he nodded an invisible acknowledgment of Jack's justice.

There was a scrape of boots, then he sensed Jack had become upright.

"Well, Uncle Sam's paying, so I guess I better get moving."

He didn't bother to raise his head, but his blood was ice and acid.

"Yes."

"So - think I should start back here?"

He blinked, slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"Think I should start looking back here?"

And more justice, he had to admit. After all, he had taunted and toyed with the minds about him for as long as he could remember. This was only fair. A pound of this shiny bright new flesh before leaving.

"Daniel?"

"You know it's not here." He said it dully, recognising his part in this grotesque beck and call.

"I am going to find it." Jack the invincible.

"You can't."

"Just watch me."

"Jack." It was a whisper. "Just end it."

"Look at me, Daniel. Look at what I'm doing."

From somewhere in his beast's body came a choking laugh.

"Little dark for that, don't you think?"

"I can fix that."

No! In sudden alarm he raised his head. "Don't - "

"Look at me." A flare of brightness as Jack's torch was switched on, and his eyes screwed shut against its arrogant invasion. "Bringin' light into this shithole. Just watch me."

The beam swung about, as clumsy and dangerous as a bullying child.

"No! Don't!"

"Let there be light… "

"Please - I don't want that."

In sad submission he looked up at Jack's face, underlit into shadows and haggard lines. He couldn't read the eyes, so buried in the black of their sockets. "Jack, please - please don't."

But he saw the signs in the set of the shoulders, the way Jack was spinning on his heel now. He had lost the energy to lead the dance, and Jack had stepped into the role.

"Well, lookee here." The light painted the walls, joining their steps. "Not so big now, is it? Hard to see how something could be lost in here."

It would be useless to protest, so instead he brought one foot to the floor, then another, and pushed himself up to stand as the punishment was meted out.

"Look at this, Daniel. Walls, floor, ceiling - hey, you're right, there's one of those Tezcaterpillar panels in there. What did you call it? Smoking Mirror? Guess they're watching right now. Wanna wave to them?"

"Please, Jack…"

"Please what?"

"I'm the one who has to live here. You're ruining it."

"What? Your bolthole? Your hideout?"

"My home."

"Home, huh?"

And he deserved this, he knew it, but the dreadful pain in his chest wouldn't go and he knew he lacked all courage.

"What will make you go? What do you want to hear?"

Jack stopped the dizzying inspection of the Cell at that. "You want to leave?"

"I want you to do what you've wanted to do all along."

The other man took a step towards him, the light steady.

"And what would that be?"

His words were blood in his mouth, the taste of mortality and desire and injury, and in the beam of the torch he could almost see it spilling from his lips.

"You want to leave me here."

"Like I did before." And so gently could abandonment be worded, so softly could it echo in the place of its most perfect creation.

He nodded, beyond penitence, beyond supplication, and he heard a sound that was strangled before it could take breath come from behind that implacable light.

"And what did you leave here, Daniel?"

A graveyard wit prompted the reply. "Like you said. A rubbish dump, Jack. Just rubbish."

For a full ten seconds there was no response; then the light whirled again, and Jack was no longer facing him.

"Remind me, Daniel - how big is this box again?"

Flesh was resilient, he knew that now. An anger he thought spent was firing the belly of the beast, and he raised his voice to give it breath.

"Stop it. Just stop it. There's no need -"

"Oh! Well, well, well, what have we here?"

He startled, the panic spiralling into his bones once more.

"You can't - I don't have - "

"I found it, Daniel!" All cheeriness and cackle, a De Farge in military gear. "Right here in this corner!"

He took a lurching step forward, remembering too late that he never did learn how to dance properly. "No! Don't!"

"You're right, Daniel, you did a great job. It's a beautiful box."

He couldn't see. The light was propped against the wall and Jack's body hid his discovery. His impossible, terrible, damning discovery.

"No! This is - this is ridiculous. Stop it, Jack!"

"Picking it up, now, Daniel." And the man before him was bending over, scooping something into his arms before straightening with a grunt.

"Don't! Don't!"

"Turning round now. Look at me, Daniel. Look at me."

No, no, no, no. Panting echoed in his ears and his chest was burning with a terror too great to be real. Not real, not real, not real. He would not look.

"Can you see it?" Jack's voice, full of feeling, but he couldn't translate it any more. The emotions were hidden from him. Meaning was hidden. He was dancing blindfolded, and disaster was a step away.

"Look at me, Daniel. Open your eyes."

Not that simple. Never that simple.

"It's right here. Right here. Looks amazing, Danny. Incredible."

The box? Oh, please, no…

"I know you can do this. I know you're as stubborn as I am, but you want to open your eyes now."

"I don't! God, I don't!"

"Look at me, Danny. You gotta do this. Look at me."

And it was the voice of Jack in the storeroom, bleeding for him. He knew it, understood it, could name it 'anguish'; and in the shock of discovery, his eyes flew open.

Nothing.

Jack was holding nothing.

Breath escaped him in a roar, and one fist smacked against the wall.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Look at it, Daniel!"

"There's nothing there!"

"It's right here, Danny."

"There's nothing there, there's nothing there - God! Why are you doing this?"

Jack was almost silhouetted by the abandoned light as he took a step closer.

"You need to look harder." His arms were open, as if holding something heavy. "It's here."

"I can't! Don't you get it? I can't!"

"Why, Daniel?"

"For fuck's sake, don't you know what I did? What I am?"

That voice, so implacable with pain, would not let him go.

"What are you?"

"God!" How could he tell this, how could he make the words tear his own flesh the way they had to? "A monster! I'm a fucking monster!"

"Because you couldn't keep hold of the box?"

"Because of what I did! "

Why was Jack shaking his head? Why was he coming closer?

"Jack, don't! Listen to me! Why aren't you listening to me?"

"But it's okay, now, Danny. I've found the box. It's right here."

"Fuck you! "

All the energy, all the hatred and fear, spinning out along sinews and muscles to crackle into a fist, and this time his aim was true. He felt the jar of impact, saw the head snap back, the legs stagger. He saw them all, then; all the armies of cowardice, all the mouths that shrieked with malice as they judged him and found him wanting. All the bringers of pain and bewilderment, the ones who taught him so long and so well. All his fathers and mothers.

"You never listen to me! " Such savage sweetness in this anger, such release in the gathering and spending of this black power. He reached back to strike again, but this time his fist was caught and held. No matter; he brought his other with vicious speed, catching Jack's midriff. There was a grunt, and his right fist was dropped, allowing him to crash it back into the face that was nothing but a blur of grey before him.

And something darker. Something smeared across the mouth and nose, dripping from the chin. Something that spoke of other battles, in schoolyards and alleyways and spaceships and fortresses, and the language was always red.

He lifted his throbbing fist to the light and saw the scarlet laurels of a victory both tarnished and hollow. As he opened his fingers Jack's struggle to straighten up was clear between each one. He waited, gasping, bereft, for the last rites to be sounded.

A cough, and the sound of spitting, and splotches of dark red hit the floor.

His limbs were trembling. He felt the quaking through to his spine, saw it in the way his fingers danced in the light. The imaginings of a small boy, surrounded by love and starlight; the visions of a young man, scenting truth and daring to grasp it; the sacrifices of an older one, finding courage in family; he understood, then, how deep his mourning for their loss had been. It racked his body even now, even as he waited for the end of this myth that was Daniel Jackson. That it would come through the words of a friend was both blessing and damnation, and he bowed his head to hear it as the voice was cleared.

It croaked as it came. "Look at me, Danny. The box is right here." Wavering, but undeniable, the arms were opening again. "It's been here all along."

His hands flew to hide his face, as the awful words found their target.

"Don't! God, don't!"

Another cough, and spit, then the voice continued. "Right here."

He shook his head, the trembling giving birth to sobs that heaved his body.

"I killed him! I killed him!"

"I know."

"Too much. Too much."

The voice was at his ear, soft and dreadful with forgiveness. "I know, Danny." He could feel the nearness of the other flesh, almost touching. "I know. Two people dead, by my count. But you can bring one of them back."

"I don't - "

"Don't want to? Don't deserve to? "

He nodded, because Jack had the Words now, and he knew he'd keep them safe.

"Danny, you're the only one who can." So close, now, so warm. "It's okay. I'm right here. Open the box, Danny."

Through the shuddering that blurred his vision, he looked down. Nothing but two arms, held open, waiting.

He blinked, the tears scalding his eyes, and reached forward.

Nothing. Something. Hard. Edged. Woods of all the world entwined, the scent of wind and waves, of greenness and sunlight.

And the tears were unbinding them, freeing them to fly apart, through his body, through the cell that was nothing but stone and misery, through the months of pain, the days of grief, the long cold hour of solitary midnight. The box was releasing its secrets, and the Words, Jack's words, were telling him they were beautiful, and forgiven, and his to take.

He fell forward, and the arms of the Endless Other closed about him.

Go on to the Epilogue

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Within the context and limitations of the site Disclaimer, Any and All original characters, situations, story line, dialogue and narrative © July 15th, 2001, the author