Battlefields

by Ellen Caldera

Author's note: A honkin' huge thank-you to my betas for their immeasurably valuable and insightful input - Jb, Scribe and OzK. This story had the potential to be quite a minefield, but you helped me keep my eye on where I was putting my feet. I think I managed to emerge without blowing up too terribly much. Last year, I posted a story on my birthday, as a sort of reverse birthday gift to all of the wonderful people in SG-1 fanfic-dom - the writers who have inspired and entertained me and the readers whom I hope I have managed to entertain in my turn. This year, a "turning of the front digit" year for me, I'm also turning the reverse birthday gift story into a tradition. So without further ado, here it is. Enjoy.

Chapter 1
Lost and Found

Contrary to popular belief, SG-1 pulls its fair share of uneventful, even boring, missions. My team doesn't always come back with someone bleeding or Jaffa on our tails or aliens intent on mischief tagging along. Sometimes the natives are friendly, sometimes the ruins are as deserted as they appear, and sometimes there's nothing but plants and friendly critters.

P4X119 was just like that - plants and critters, that is. OK, so maybe the fauna wasn't all that cute and fuzzy in this case - scaly and warty for the most part - but at least they didn't try to slime, maul, bash, pummel or drag us off to be chew toys for their young. It was a quick and uneventful in-and-out.

I decided to dial home for a change, I suppose because I wanted to prove I was every bit as capable of playing "find the point of origin" as Daniel. I guess he was on to me because he didn't even twitch when I hesitated after punching in the first six oh-so- familiar symbols. OK, so maybe I don't know those glyphs quite as well as the Roman alphabet. It's not like I grew up crawling around tombs and squinting at old chicken scratches. So it took me a couple of seconds more than it might've taken Daniel. Not bad for a crusty old colonel.

Teal'c went first; then the MALP loaded with several pounds of glorious, oh-so-interesting soil and vegetation samples; then Carter the Keeper-of- Samples. Daniel went next, and I was just about to follow on his heels when the 'Gate flickered. In a word, shit. In three words or less, shit shit shit. I do not like it when usually reliable pieces of technology unexpectedly go on the fritz. Especially not when my team members just tossed themselves inside the piece of technology in question. Definitely not good.

Then the friggin' thing had the audacity to shut down completely. It kicked right back on again when I reentered the coordinates for home, but when I got there, I found one team member MIA. Daniel. Crap, shit, fuck. In that order.

Nine days he was missing. Not a big deal when you know where someone is and what he's doing. Hell, weeks had gone by before with Daniel offworld helping some other team dig some long-dead schmuck's remains and personal effects out of the ground, and I hardly gave it a second thought. But when you have no idea what kind of shit the person in question has landed in - and when he up and vanished on your watch to boot, when he was most decidedly your responsibility - it's more than a little difficult not to think about it. Constantly.

Outwardly, I managed to keep a lid on it for the most part, but secretly, my shoulders worked themselves into knots that would've done a Boy Scout proud and my stomach was doing an admirable impersonation of Mauna Loa. I thought nine months was a long time when Sara was pregnant with Charlie, but at least with a pregnancy, you have a reasonable expectation of ending up with a healthy baby at the end. In this case, the only thing I could be reasonably sure of was that every hour ticking away was that much closer to Very Bad News.

I'm not even going to try to compare this to the nine days I spent stranded in the desert in Iraq. Yeah, that was bad - very, very bad. But at least I knew where I was, what I had to do. Being a single-minded, goddamn stubborn son-of-a-bitch actually did some good in the end. With Daniel missing, though, I felt like I was running around in circles and getting dizzier and more nauseated every second.

But I'd be damned to hell and back again if I was going to give up. Daniel wasn't dead. I refused to even consider the possibility and was more than a little ruthless when anyone else tried to bring it up. Dammit, he couldn't be dead. Not the Spacemonkey. He was just...misplaced. Thrown off the path of breadcrumbs. Wandered away in the woods. Problem was, we had no idea what kind of creepy- crawlies might be lurking in those woods.

Past experience was getting us nowhere. There was no significant seismic activity at the time of the malfunction to indicate there might be yet another long-lost 'Gate hiding somewhere on Earth. There wasn't anything on either end of the wormhole which would indicate an overload on the order of the one that had sent Carter and me way, way down under - no Jaffa ambushes, no lightening strikes, no off duty airmen crashing the mainframe playing 'Quake.

Just in case, though, we tried working back along the route between Earth and P4X119, sending every available team on quick, down and dirty recon missions. Even headed up several missions myself, and temporarily assigned Teal'c to another team for ass-kicking duty. Not that the other teams really needed ass-kicking. We'd all grown close in a comrades-in-arms kind of way. Civilian, Marine, Army or Air Force - didn't matter. We all got a little bit nuts when one of our own ended up MIA. OK, I admit - I did eventually end up going more than a little nuts in this case. More like honkin' huge macadamias, if I'm really honest about it. The calm, cool, collected act only lasted so long and then I got thoroughly hacked off at the lack of results. Probably kicked a few asses that didn't need kicking, but sore butts heal with time. Dead people don't.

Carter tackled the scientific gobbledygook and did her damndest to figure out any possibility we hadn't run into yet that might explain how a person could step into a wormhole on one end and not come out on the other end along with the people who'd gone in ahead of him. I imagine she even thought about all the ways Daniel might've ended up dead instead of somewhere else, but she was smart enough not to mention any of those theories to me. She eventually settled on an explanation that had to do with some other 'Gate overloading and its wormhole going freaky and colliding with the one Daniel was in - ending up with a snatch and grab. One hijacked archeologist diverted to an alternate destination. Problem was, we had no idea how to take the idea and use it to narrow down our search in any appreciable way.

That's where the Tok'Ra came into the picture. Not exactly my favorite people, and I use the term loosely, to deal with, but at that point, anything was better than continuing to thunk our heads up against the proverbial wall. They happened to stumble across Daniel's location and, wonder of all wonders, actually decided to come to us and volunteer the information. I should've known right off the bat when Martouf arrived with the news that there was some kind of ulterior motive lurking behind the apparent goodwill, but I was so damned relieved to find out Daniel was alive, my suspicious circuit temporarily went on the fritz. And then I had to deal with the fact that "alive" was about the only good part of situation he was in.

He was on a planet called Torrhena, which just happened to be embroiled in the middle of a particularly nasty civil war. And it seemed for some unfathomable reason, he had decided to ally himself with one faction in this war. And had spent the better part of the last nine days making a hell of a reputation for himself. They were calling him "the Butcher," and not the kind that's friendly with the baker and the candlestick maker. He'd been captured by the opposing side just the previous day and was now slated to be put on trial for war crimes.

War crimes. Daniel Jackson. The Butcher. Had to be some kind of a sick joke. But Marty assured us it wasn't. His captors claimed they had evidence. Clear and irrefutable. The kind of horrors I've seen with my own eyes more than enough times in the past, but to think Daniel would even be capable of imagining that kind of shit, much less doing it, was beyond belief. I mean, we were talking bodies hacked and slashed and beaten to bloody pulps. Yeah, killing is pretty much part and parcel of war, and Daniel had seen more than his fair share of that in his time with SG-1, but what Martouf was talking about went way beyond shoot 'em between the eyes and move on. And there were some non-combatants involved as well, some of them children.

No way. Not Daniel Jackson. No goddamn way.

From where I was standing, this was a rescue operation - rescue Daniel from the idiots who had obviously mistaken him for someone else or who were using him as a convenient scapegoat. Simple enough. Break him out of the clink and head for the hills. But then Marty laid the ulterior motive right out in the open. The reason the Tok'Ra had found Daniel in the first place was because they had a delegation currently on Torrhena, hip-deep in some serious negotiations for a stockpile of weapons. Seems the Karievesh, the faction that had Daniel in their filthy mitts, were doing a side business as interstellar arms merchants. Special.

The Tok'Ra, bless their snakey little hearts, were initially far too concerned about securing their spiffy new arsenal to take any interest in one little unblended human, but Marty made a point of reminding them they pretty much owed us a favor for that jaunt to Netu. So they half-heartedly twisted some arms to get the Karievesh to allow us to send our own delegation. Great. "Delegation" does not equate with "jailbreak" in anyone's dictionary. So we were into politics and diplomatic maneuvering. One more "shit" for good measure.

Marty cautioned us it wouldn't be easy to get them to hand over Daniel. Yeah, the Karievesh were shocked to find out their prize p.o.w. wasn't even from their planet, but that didn't mean a hill of beans to them in the end. They were intent on crucifying him. There was no doubt we'd be met with a less than cheerful welcome. Like I really gave a damn. The thing I was most looking forward to was spitting right in the eye of whoever had tried to pin this crap on Daniel. And then I'd make sure the real culprit paid for his crimes. Slowly and painfully.

It took several hours of heated debate to bang out who would be going to Torrhena. The Karievesh had graciously allowed us a whopping three delegates, which to me meant Carter, Teal'c and yours truly. But then Marty sprang yet another shit-fuck on us by quietly suggesting Doctor Fraiser be included on the team. He hadn't been able to get in to see Daniel himself before he'd been sent off to deliver his message to us, but the Karievesh guard who'd taken him back to the 'Gate had apparently been a chatty little bugger. He'd gone on at great length about how the Butcher had gotten a hefty dose of his own medicine when he'd been hauled in, and he'd just have to lick his own wounds because no Karievesh medic would waste time and medical supplies on someone who was going to be facing the executioner soon anyway.

That little revelation resulted in a couple beats of absolute silence, which I quickly broke by making an official request for Fraiser to be on the team. Approved by Hammond. Over and done with. Move on. Next choice, next decision.

Marty was going along for the ride, too - not as an official member of our delegation, but to meet up with his fellow Tok'Ra and see what he could do about applying the thumbscrews to get them to consider Daniel's release as a condition of the arms negotiation. I wasn't holding my breath there, but what the heck. Every now and then when you grasp at straws you end up with a handful of something. Of course, it might be something you'd really rather not have within ten miles of yourself, but that doesn't stop you from trying.

So that left one slot to be filled. I was doing a quick run-through of the relative merits of selecting either Carter or Teal'c, but Hammond beat me to the punch. He announced with the kind of finality that makes you know it's an order even though he hasn't said it in so many words that Major Kovacek would be rounding out the team.

Great. Absolutely fucking wonderful. The Bootlick himself. He hadn't done diddly for getting my team out of Hadante prison, a fact which I couldn't help but point out. Hammond shut me down with a glare. Told me I could live with it, or I could stay home. Rock and a hard place. Damn, he had that one down pat. And I could tell he wouldn't budge. I decided it'd be wise to stuff a sock in it.

Carter wasn't happy about being left out. I was expecting that. Teal'c was his usual accepting self. Expecting that, too. What really shook me was the complete and utter faith they both put in me to bring Daniel back. When they saw us off in the 'Gate room, I assured them come hell or high water, I was going to get Daniel out of there. Carter just said, "I know," and Teal'c simply nodded. But the looks on their faces - they really and truly believed. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me, not after all we'd been through together. But the reminder was a real kick in the teeth - and made me even more brutally determined not to set foot back on my home turf without Daniel in tow.

Torrhena turned out to be a charming little vacation spot. The place was blasted to hell and back again, complete with charred what-used-to-be trees and smoking ruins, cold wind and the smell of rain in the air. And mud. Lots and lots of sticky gray mud. Seems one of the major issues in this happy-go-lucky land war was control of the local Stargate, and neither side had been gentle with the surrounding environment.

We were met by a representative of the High Council of Karievesh, a guy with a name that sounded something like "hock spit." He was wearing a spiffy little impersonation of a Chairman Mao suit, but looked every bit the perfect Aryan. Charming combination. I was more than happy to let Kovacek handle the pleasantries. So maybe sucking up did have its uses, and if there was a professional ass kisser handy, all the better.

After brief introductions, Hock-spit hustled us off to a waiting ground car, a sleek, steel-gray little number thrumming with some kind of high-tech propulsion, but the slick Buck Rogers effect was completely ruined by the crude, brutally spiked treads it had been outfitted with to get it over the rough terrain and busted up roads. Guess they weren't into antigravity. Funny because their planet really sucked.

The interior of the car was cool and uniformly gray, moderately padded seats on three sides and the door on the fourth. Hock-spit slid himself into the seat nearest a console decked out with fancy monitors and touch screens, tapped out a sequence on one of the screens, and off we went with a little jerk and a whir.

I felt like we'd been dumped into the middle of some drug-induced vision of post-apocalyptic wasteland, art deco museum, and fascist Disneyland all in one.

Fraiser spent the ride staring out the window and fiddling with the strap of her medical bag, Marty closed his eyes and pretended to take a nap - I could tell his ears were perked up the whole time, though - and I focussed most of my attention on trying to follow along with the gabbling duo of Bootlick and Hock-spit. It seemed the Karievesh were concerned Daniel's presence on their bass ackwards little mud hole of a planet meant we were taking an interest in their war and had, in fact, given our endorsement to the Feloren, the erstwhile opponents of the Karievesh.

"The Feloren are vicious savages," Hock-spit told us. "But this Butcher has taken 'savage' to new levels."

"His name is Daniel Jackson," I couldn't help but put in, earning me a glare from Kovacek.

Hock-spit inclined his head toward me and said slowly, "Jackson, then." Like he was doing me some kind of huge favor by using Daniel's proper name. "His presence among the Feloren guerrilla forces only became known to us seven days ago. In the six days between that time and his capture yesterday - at great cost of life to our own loyal defenders, I might add - this Daniel Jackson managed to single-handedly slaughter, with brutal efficiency, at least one hundred and fourteen Karievesh soldiers, along with a sizeable number of non-combatants. Reports are still coming in from the field, so the final total may be well beyond that. The evidence is quite definitive - video records, eyewitness accounts. There can be no doubt the trial will result in a finding of guilt. I'm afraid you've only come here to see your compatriot convicted and executed for his crimes."

Spiffy. Just absolutely freakin' spiffy. Nice attitude, bucko. The whole situation was nuts. Beyond nuts to completely out of touch with reality. Salvador Dali time. Oh, for a gun so I could shoot the smug bastard right between the eyes. But we'd had to leave our weapons behind. I'd argued for handguns or zats at the least, but the Karievesh had specified we come unarmed. I guess they thought we were all bloodthirsty maniacs like they were accusing Daniel of being. Heck, I probably could've done a pretty close approximation if provoked, but Fraiser? Not likely, although she can be pretty intimidating on her own terms. And Kovacek? Forget it.

It took us on the order of fifteen minutes to get out of complete wasteland and into wasteland haphazardly scattered with non-descript metal and concrete buildings vaguely reminiscent of Quonset huts. Drilling in formation in the muck and mire between the buildings were ranks of soldiers unlike anything I'd ever seen outside of a B-grade sci-fi flick. Medieval Mongol biker gangs from hell. They were wearing dull black breastplates and matching bits of armor on shoulders, arms and legs, the whole ensemble studded with some sort of silver metal and topped off with visored helmets. Some of them were brandishing long black swords topped by crowns of wicked-looking barbs, and others were carrying what looked like mutant assault rifle/staff weapon hybrids.

The car droned to a halt, and we piled out to face a twenty-strong unit of heavily armed bad-asses. Half of them peeled off to escort Kovacek and his newfound buddy Hock-spit to meet with the Right Honorable Thellok Tristan, the commander of this military outpost and also charged by the High Council of Karievesh with trying Daniel's case. Probably a trained government ape ready and willing to put on a circus trial for the sake of a few bananas.

Fraiser and I were herded by the remainder of the guards over to a nearby building, ostensibly so the doc could see to Daniel's medical needs. They weren't willing to waste their own time and effort on what to them was a walking dead man, but they seemed perfectly willing to allow us to do whatever we wanted in that department. "We are not completely without compassion, after all," Hock-spit had assured us. Yeah, right. Regular angels of mercy. So that would explain why several minutes and a maze of dimly lit cellblock corridors later, we found Daniel stashed behind an energy barrier in his very own gray and barren cubicle - shackled hand and foot, collared and chained to the wall.

He was more than a little ragged around the edges - matted hair, a too-large black jumpsuit rumpled around his body, bare feet, a wicked-looking scabbed-over gash across his temple and the scruffiness of a sparse beard straggling up his jaw line. His hands were tucked between his legs and chest, knees pulled up and eye sockets pressed into kneecaps, a chain trailing down his back and up to an anchor high on the wall.

The guard who had escorted us there said crisply, with more than a hint of a sneer in her voice, "I feel I should point out we do not treat civilized captives in this fashion. This one is particularly violent. He would not allow us to tend to him, although we insisted on cleaning the filth off his body." Yeah, right. Nice excuse. And if I know the first thing about battlefield prisons, that "bath" probably came either at the end of a high-pressure hose or in the form of a brutal dunking one step away from death by drowning. She couldn't leave it at that, though. She just had to add, "If you choose to enter, we will not be responsible for any harm inflicted upon you by the prisoner."

"Look, lady," I said, wanting to smash that upturned little nose right back into her face, "he's not gonna hurt me. Now open up and let us in."

"Very well. But you have been warned." I was sorely tempted to tell her where she could stuff her warning, but she had already deactivated the force field via a palm print reader next to the door. Besides, I doubted there was any room for her to shove anything else in there, what with the corncob already in residence.

"How about the shackles?" I asked, sure she was either going to laugh at me or ignore me completely. I got the "knock yourself out, buster" treatment instead. She squinted her beady little eyes sadistically at me while reaching down and unhooking a small device from her belt - a flat, silver oblong with a black button.

"Point this and press the button. But only after I've reactivated the energy field. I strongly caution you not to release him, but if you insist, I'll be back later to collect what's left of you." She stabbed a finger toward the opening into the cell. "In. Now. Or leave. I have more important matters to occupy my time."

Such lovely manners. Probably spent her spare time practicing her goosestep. Zieg heil.

I led the way into the cell, Fraiser right behind me. Little Miss Corncob-Up-Her-Ass slapped the palm reader to reactivate the force field, then turned sharply on her heel, clicked her spit-polished knee- high boots together, and clomped off down the hall. Give my regards to Adolf.

Fraiser was ready to get down to some serious doctoring business, but I held her back for a moment. Daniel wasn't moving, and I was getting that icecubes down the back kind of shivery feeling. I edged up to him carefully, calling his name. Still no movement apart from the slight shift of his shoulders as he breathed in and out, so I hunkered down next to him and reached out to touch his arm. Ended up with two fists slamming into my jaw. Knocked me flat on my keester. It took me a second to realize Daniel had actually hit me, then I was shoving myself back across the floor to get away from him as he lunged at me again. The collar hauled him up short, and with a strangled hacking noise, he bounced back into the wall and slid to the floor. His head rolled back, then to the side, and finally came to rest with his chin on his chest.

Fraiser offered a hand to pull me up, looking every bit as stunned as I felt, but I waved her off. I'd startled Daniel. That was all. He thought I was someone else. Probably someone coming to kick the crap out of him. Again. That must be how he got those bruises on his face, the black eye, the split lip. That's all it was. Had to be.

I shifted onto my knees and leaned cautiously forwards. "Daniel? It's me. Jack."

He slowly raised his head and blinked at me several times, obviously having difficulty focusing. "Jack?" It didn't sound like his voice at all, dry and harsh, barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, it's me. Doc Fraiser's here, too. We're gonna get you out of here, but for right now, how about you let her take a look at you. Make sure you're OK." Physically, at least. What we could handle at the moment. I was beginning to have serious doubts about his mental state, and what he did next didn't exactly boost my confidence. He let his head fall back to smack against the wall and closed his eyes. Then...he started laughing - choking, heaving, gasping laughter, desperate, almost hysterical, bordering on outright sobbing.

I honestly didn't know what to do. I was having flashbacks to padded cells and trashed storage rooms. Fraiser was rummaging around in her bag, probably looking for a sedative, but before she could find what she wanted, Daniel went dead quiet. He turned and looked right at me, and I swear I flinched. It literally hurt - physically - to look back at him. I had never seen shadows quite like that in his eyes, despite the couple dozen nasty experiences he'd been through just in the time I'd known him up to that point. Grief, pain, addiction - they can all do strange things to a person, turn him into something he's not. But this was different. This was the look of a man who would blow his own brains out without batting an eyelash if you handed him a gun. I'd seen that look before in other people's eyes, even seen it in the mirror, but it wasn't something I'd ever expected to see in Daniel Jackson's face. Not the original Timex Kid. But everyone has their limits. I suppose it was just a matter of time and circumstance.

I couldn't handle seeing him like that, but I also refused to look away - and he was just as determined as I was not to be the first one to blink. "C'mon, Daniel. Let us help you." It sounded completely trite and stupid, but it did have an effect. Not the one I might've hoped for, but something.

He shrugged his shoulders and laid his forehead back on his knees. "Whatever."

I looked up at Fraiser, but her eyes were locked on Daniel, every muscle in her face tense with concentration. Evaluating, assessing. She knelt down next to Daniel and set her bag down beside her. "Colonel? The shackles?"

Crap. I'd just about forgotten. The key thingy was still clutched in my hand. I pointed it at Daniel and clicked the button, one of my eyes twitching into an involuntary blink as the restraints around his ankles went clattering to the floor. Fraiser had to jimmy her hand between his chest and thighs to tug the loose manacles off his wrists, then she finished removing the loosened collar from his neck. Apparently, he was willing to submit to her care, but he wasn't going to do anything to help her.

Fraiser produced a blanket from her bag of tricks and spread it out on the floor. Then she looked up with a silent appeal in her eyes. This was going to take both of us, in more ways than one.

I went over and slipped my hands under Daniel's armpits while she grabbed his knees, and together we maneuvered him, now limp and unresisting, onto the blanket. I had no idea what signals I might've been sending out - I couldn't even begin to get a handle on what I was feeling - but she had at least a dozen different emotions playing across her face, chief of which was concern. Deep down in your gut, turn your world upside down anxiety. Yeah, that was definitely part of what I was feeling.

But practicality had to come first. Fraiser set about taking his vitals, then methodically began to check for broken bones, her strong and capable hands calmly running over arms and legs, a running assessment quietly muttered. For my benefit. Didn't seem like Daniel was taking any note. He wasn't doing anything other than staring up at the ceiling and occasionally flinching or sucking in a breath. Mostly pressing his mouth tightly closed or biting his lower lip. They must've given him a pretty thorough working over.

Fraiser's initial exam turned up a low-grade fever and a badly sprained wrist, but no broken arms or legs. She suspected a possible concussion even though he wouldn't respond to her litany of what's-your-name, what-day-is-it, how-many-fingers-am-I-holding-up questions. The knot at the back of his head was a big clue there. And if that hadn't done it, there was always the gash across his temple.

OK, so maybe it wasn't too terribly bad. But then she unzipped the front of the jumpsuit and eased it off of his shoulders, with me propping him up from behind since he was still doing his rag doll impression. I kind of hoped I was seeing things, but the light in the cell was sufficient for me to get a good, long, clear look.

Bastards. Absolute, complete and utter effing bastards. Oh, they'd done a number on him all right. What he was lacking in major injuries, he more than made up for in cuts, bruises and abrasions - some of them looking several days old and oozing from lack of attention. There was even some dirt still ground into a few of the slashes and scrapes. Must've been missed by the tender ministrations of the fire hose.

Fraiser pressed at the edges of one of the larger wounds, and Daniel jerked back against me with a barely suppressed groan. "OK, Daniel," she said softly, resting a reassuring hand on his bare shoulder. "I know this isn't very pleasant, but I need to check you for internal injuries. I'm going to have the Colonel lay you down, all right?" There was a slight twitch of his shoulder - I'm not sure whether it was an "I don't care" or a "let go of me" - but he did allow me to lower him back down to the blanket.

Fraiser set about poking and prodding his abdomen in ways I know good and well from too much experience can be downright uncomfortable when nothing's broken or ruptured or even bruised. She did her best to avoid the worst of the cuts and bruises, but in some cases, that just wasn't possible. The only sounds he made, though, were a few grunts and stifled groans, despite the fact that he had to be just about biting a hole in his lower lip and his eyes were squeezed so tightly shut he must've been seeing stars. When she was finally done, he let out a barely controlled, shuddering breath and let his head roll to the side.

She sat back on her heels and folded her hands in her lap. "There don't seem to be any internal injuries beyond some possible bruising. A couple of cracked ribs. He'll need a lot of suturing, but for the more serious wounds I'll have to do some thorough irrigation first, possibly some debridement, to be sure no infection sets in. I don't want to do any of that here. I'll give him an antibiotic injection for now, apply some antibiotic ointment to the wounds and dress them." She sighed and started pulling out the supplies she'd need. "A dose of morphine probably wouldn't go amiss either."

That finally got a reaction out of him. He hauled himself up to a sitting position and probably would have toppled right over if I hadn't grabbed him by the arms. His voice was steady enough, though. He said, "No," very clearly and firmly. "No morphine." I could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders tensing. Crap. I really didn't want to have to hold him down.

Fraiser set the medication aside and tucked her hands between her knees. "It'll help."

"No. It won't." It was the first sign I'd seen of the real Daniel since we arrived - stubborn as all get out - but damned if I knew why he was picking this particular battle to fight. I'd never seen him turn down a painkiller before.

"Why don't you think it will help?" Fraiser asked calmly, studying him intently with serious eyes.

"I want to feel the pain," he said, the slightest hint of a quiver in his voice. "It's the only way I can tell I'm still alive, the - only way I can tell what's real and what isn't."

Talk about a vicious kick in the gut - two-footed with steel-toed boots. I swear I forgot to breathe for several very long seconds.

Fraiser's eyes were flicking back and forth between me and Daniel. She obviously didn't know how to respond to what he'd said. But I did. I'd been there before. And nearly hadn't made it back with my sanity intact.

I forced a deep breath and tightened my grip on Daniel's shoulders, shook my head sharply at Fraiser. If Daniel said, "No morphine," there'd be no morphine. Anger snapped briefly in her eyes, but then this awful...shadow...passed over her face, and the outrage fizzled and died away. She understood.

"Daniel," she said gently, and I was amazed she was able to get the name out on the first try, "you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but it might help if you tell us what happened."

What really happened. Not the lies we'd already had shoved down our throats.

He didn't say anything right away. I guess I wasn't really expecting him to answer. But all bets seemed to be off as far as expectations were concerned at that point. "I don't...remember anything. I can't. I can't remember." His voice broke and he sucked in a deep breath, leaving me to wonder if he literally didn't remember, or couldn't allow himself to remember. Either way, it wasn't good. Not good at all.

Fraiser muttered some vague reassurances, told him it was OK, got him to lay back and close his eyes. Rest. Just rest and let it go for now.

Chapter 2
Zombies and Banshees

Even with my impromptu help as assistant, it took Fraiser a good two hours to get Daniel bandaged up to her satisfaction and safely tucked back into his jumpsuit. Not like her patient noticed how much time it took. For the most part he was in Zombie Land. Zonked out. Off somewhere else. Probably putting all his strength and effort into not thinking. And no, I don't read minds. But like I said, I've seen the looks before. Been behind the looks myself. The whole goddamn range of beat up, dragged down, wrung out, pushed to the limit looks and expressions - and lacks of expression. Daniel had undoubtedly been through some Seriously Bad Shit. And I intended to find out exactly what.

I was actually glad to see Miss Corncob come back to check on us. Even got the satisfaction of watching the smirk melt right off her face when she realized the Butcher's buddies had been spared the slaughterhouse. I seriously think she was hoping for some gore and carnage. And she would've gotten it, too, up close and personal, if it hadn't been for the force field. Not from me, though. Yeah, I'd been tempted to plant my fist in her face, but Daniel actually tried - force field or no.

He went from zombie to banshee in a split second, launching himself across the room with so much force my reflexes had me plastered against the wall before I could even realize what was happening. He slammed full tilt into the energy barrier, so hard he actually bounced back, but that didn't stop him from trying again - and again and again. Completely oblivious to the sizzling and sparking of the force field. God, that had to hurt.

And sure enough, he was yelling at the top of his lungs. But then I realized with an ice-cold sinking feeling that it wasn't from pain. It was the crazed, blood-thirsty scream of a man seemingly stripped of reason and intellect - pumped to the gills with adrenaline, wide-eyed with fear and hate and driven to the point of being able to do anything - absolutely anything.

Never in a million years would I have guessed Daniel Jackson had something like that inside of him. Yes, he's human. Yes, he gets angry. But always before it had been controlled, if only by the slimmest of margins. This - this was way, way out of hand.

I was stunned. No, that doesn't even begin to cover it. More like shocked shitless. Literally petrified.

I managed to work my jaw loose enough to shout his name, but that had about as much effect as spitting into a hurricane. I considered trying to wrestle him to the ground, but I had an awful feeling I'd have to hurt him - maybe badly - to manage that.

He was hurling himself at the barrier over and over again - frenzied, panting, grunting and growling, each impact leeching a bit of that sudden, furious strength away from him, but he was determined to break through to the impassive face on the other side. Coming close to frying his own hide just to wrap his hands around her neck. I had no doubt - then or now - that he would've snapped it right in two if he'd managed to get through to her.

And the double-damned woman just stood there, watching. Aloof. Slightly...amused. Me, I was so far from amused, my jaw clenched so tight, I don't think I could've produced a smile even with the assistance of a crowbar.

Movement out of the corner of my eye finally diverted my attention. Fraiser was kneeling on the floor, searching frantically through her bag. Of course, Jack, you stupid fuck. Sedative. Knock him out and figure out what the hell is going on afterwards. Priorities - keep 'em straight.

I crept forward a few careful steps, not wanting to distract Daniel and end up staring down the wrong end of uncontrolled fury. He'd be likely to take my head off before he even knew it was me. Hell, he'd just about shot me once before, and he wasn't even half as far gone. But he'd made it through that round of insanity, and he'd make it through this one, too. I just had to keep telling myself that. I had to believe it if I wanted to have any hope of convincing Daniel. And judging from the way events were going down - upending and spilling messily all over the place in the process - it was going to take more than a stern talking to. A hell of a lot more.

I glanced quickly in Fraiser's direction to check her progress just as her head shot up and her hands emerged from the bag clutching a vial and a syringe. She glared fiercely at me. "I just got done patching him up. Damned if I'm gonna do it all over again." Her words were all bravado and testosterone, a thin veneer of courage, but you take what you can get, use whatever you can muster.

"OK," I said, half my attention on her as she filled the syringe, the other half on Daniel - or the screeching blur of flailing limbs Daniel had become. How could he possibly go on yelling like that without spitting blood? The racket was curling my toes and frazzling my nerves into little knots of jitteriness. "I'll grab him and hold him down. You stick him."

Simple. Straightforward. Very often the best kind of plan. And it worked like - well, not really like a charm, but it worked.

Turned out it was actually a good thing I hadn't tried to tackle him sooner. Let him spend a good deal of his energy on the force field. If he'd had it all to turn on me, I seriously think he might've knocked me flat on my ass. As it was, I just about had my arms wrenched out of their sockets pinning his arms behind his back and then continuing to hold him while Fraiser ducked in and jabbed the needle into his arm, right through the sleeve of the jumpsuit. And then I hung on some more while the drug kicked in and his jerking faded into twitches and then into stillness.

We picked him up like we had before and got him back onto the blanket, then I turned to deal with the Corncob. She was still standing there, safe and untouched behind her sweet little invisible wall - hands tucked behind her back, eyebrows raised, still faintly bemused, but with a touch of disgust mixed in. I'd had quite enough of her frosty airs, thank you very much. She was obviously a jumped-up, pissant, too- big-for-her-britches errand girl. Time to get down to business and talk to the real movers and shakers.

Priorities. First priority of a prisoner is to escape, and the first priority of his commander is to assure the safety of his team members. In this case, that meant my job was to facilitate escape or release, by whatever means necessary. That goal wasn't going to be achieved by sitting in a prison cell. I had other fish to fry. Thellok Tristan fish, to be specific.

First, though, I had to get past the guard-bitch. Oh, she was perfectly willing to let me out, but damned if she didn't make us put the shackles back on Daniel first. Despite the fact he was out cold. Down for the count. Night night. But Corncob didn't care how many euphemisms for "unconscious" I threw at her. That was the deal. Shackles, then out. No shackles, sit your butt down and get used to staring at blank gray walls. So I did it, even though it galled me no end. I took one side while Fraiser did the other. I even managed to snap that fucking collar back around Daniel's neck, all without looking at his face. Or at Fraiser's, not that she was making any effort to make eye contact with me, either.

I gave her the key device, and I knew she could release the restraints as soon as the force field was back up, but still - it's the principal of the thing. I didn't want to believe Daniel needed to be tied up like that, but for the first time, I found myself dreading the evidence the Karievesh claimed to have. I hated myself for admitting there might be even the slightest grain of truth in their accusations, but what I'd just seen was...unsettling. Downright disturbing. OK, I admit - it was a complete and utter mindfuck. It made me wonder. And I felt nauseated - at myself, and at the unconsidered possibilities.

Corncob took great pleasure in marching me back outside and handing me back over to my ugly as sin honor guard, who bunched up around me in tight enough formation that I could smell what they had for lunch. Something with onions, evidently, or the local equivalent. Lots and lot of onions. They hustled me across the muck and mire to the tin can apparently serving as the administrative building or courthouse or whatever. Could've been their idea of an embassy for all I know.

Martouf was just emerging from the rectangle of the doorless entrance, along with a woman. I might've easily mistaken her for a man if it weren't for the persistent curves still lingering under layers of muscle and body-hugging matte black armor plating. Her head was bare and shaved as close as a raw recruit in boot camp, but there was just enough hair left to tell it would probably be a deep shade of auburn if allowed to grow long. Somehow I doubted she would ever consider something that frivolous. This woman was no-nonsense, all business, appraising gray eyes and stern jaw, with a rather ugly scar across one cheek. Looked like she had stitched the wound up herself - on the battlefield without the benefit of a mirror.

She gave me a thorough scan with one quick flick of her eyes. Made me feel like I'd just been subjected to one of Fraiser's poke, prod and turn you inside out complete physicals. Then she stalked off on some apparently urgent errand. She had quite an impressive backside. Yeah, I stared - just a little - but I refrained from whistling, even a low one under my breath. Just on general principle.

Martouf liberated me from the middle of my pack of guard dogs with a few muttered words to the head mongrel. They clomped and squished off to the side of the building with surprisingly precise and quick efficiency, then turned and ranked themselves in two neat rows. Waiting. Keeping their beady little eyes on me. Well-trained guard dogs. Gee, maybe they were even paper trained.

Martouf tried to smile reassuringly at me, but I didn't feel much like being reassured. All I wanted was to go toe-to-toe and nose-to-nose with this Thellok Tristan. I didn't think it would be a problem since I was sure Kovacek would be occupied with a rear approach, low to the ground - leaving the frontal attack for me.

"How is Doctor Jackson?" Martouf asked. Not the question I wanted to hear at that moment. I was trying my damnedest to keep my mind focussed elsewhere, somewhere more productive. It didn't help that Martouf was obviously and genuinely concerned. Damn.

"Alive," I answered. Short and abrupt. "And I intend to keep him that way, so how about you just point me in Thellok Tristan's direction."

He raised his arm and pointed where the woman had just gone.

"Whoa. Wait. That was - He's a she?" Oh, special. Way to go, Jack. Babble like an idiot. And besides, I doubted it mattered very much what kind of equipment Tristan did or didn't have stuffed in her pants. One look told me she was someone not to be taken lightly.

"Yes." Martouf smiled slightly. "Thellok is her title and Tristan is her family name. She was heading down to the communications building to speak with the Karievesh Council. I believe she may be willing to negotiate for Doctor Jackson's release."

"Uh-huh. Right. Just like that." Marty just looked at me, a slight frown on his face. He wasn't kidding. All right, I was starting to feel like a yo-yo, being yanked up and down at someone else's whim. "You're serious? You think she might let Daniel go?"

"Perhaps. At least she did not dismiss the possibility out of hand."

"Oh." So we were back to diplomacy. Or rather, Martouf and the Bootlick were back to diplomacy. I wasn't about to go there. But there was something I could do. Try and stack the deck a little, cover the bases, try and turn some stones. "Look, Marty. There's, uh, a bit of a problem with Daniel. Well, apart from having the shit beat out of him, but Doc Fraiser's got that under control. I'm more worried about his state of mind. He says he can't remember what happened to him since he's been missing."

Martouf's frown deepened, and he cocked his head to the side. "This is not entirely unheard of among humans in the aftermath of trauma, even among Tok'Ra hosts. If he were blended, his symbiote would be able to assist in reconstructing his memories."

"Well, he's not - blended, OK?" I suppressed a shudder at the thought. I'd take cuts and bruises over glowing eyes any day, thank you very much, both for myself and for my team members. "But there is something you might be able to do for him. The Tok'Ra, I mean. Something you could lend us - one of those memory thingies like you used on Carter on the way to Netu. Not to keep. Just to borrow. I'll give it right back when we're done." I don't know why I was yammering like that. I think I was reluctant to inflict Daniel's own memories on himself. But what if it came to a trial? We had to be ready for that, and at that moment, the only one who hadn't already judged and convicted Daniel and who had been there to witness the events of the past nine days was Daniel himself.

Martouf nodded without hesitation. "I believe that can be arranged, but I will need to have one brought from a Tok'Ra outpost. One of the diplomatic aides here with the negotiating team is an old friend of mine. He...owes me a few favors. I would go personally, but I think perhaps Doctor Jackson's interests would be best served by my continued presence among the Tok'Ra delegation. To ensure that other favors still owing are kept in mind."

I couldn't help but snort out a small laugh. Oh, Marty was a sharp one - tacks and knives and razor blades. And he knew exactly where to place the cuts - just so. No problem with leaving him to try and whip up a "get out of jail free" card. I'd work on rounding up the secondary defenses. And the last-ditch efforts. Sounded like a plan to me.

But first I had to wait for Martouf to find his friend - a mousy, gangly, bald-headed Tok'Ra who briefly stopped to introduce himself as Dasha and to let me know Martouf had been "detained" by some of the very same jerks who couldn't give a rat's ass about Daniel. I nodded sharply at Dasha, then watched with slight bemusement deteriorating into annoyance as he skittered over and tripped himself into one of the transport vehicles, finally zipping away to the Stargate after a jerky false start.

And then I waited. Alone, apart from the glaring and smelly company of my personal pack of guardians.

I waited outside in the cold wind, under a gray sky - perfectly suited to my mood. Waited because there was no way in hell I was going inside to meet the asshole Tok'Ra who had looked down their noses at the plight of one pitiful little unblended human, despite the fact he'd helped pull their chestnuts right out of Sokar's hellfire.

Waited because I couldn't bring myself to go back to the holding cell. If I wanted to go back in, the Corncob Bitch would make Fraiser put the shackles back on Daniel. And then we'd have to take them off...and put them back on again when Dasha returned with the memory device. Or I could stay outside the cell, on the other side of the force field, and stare at the decrepit heap of humanity who was my friend, without being able to do a damn thing about his condition but give him sympathetic looks - which in my book equals pity, which is something I simply do not give to people I have the slightest bit of respect for.

So I waited, thinking maybe I'd get lucky and the Valkyrie Tristan would be brief and to the point with her superiors and return while I was standing there - still waiting. Didn't happen. Oh, I have no doubt she was brief and to the point, but anytime you tack "council" or "board" onto the name of an authoritative body, you're bound to end up with a heap of bureaucracy. And politics. And factions and infighting and bickering and hidden agendas and backstabbing.

I waited, arms folded across my chest and staring off toward a smoky horizon, my nose wrinkling every time the wind shifted and brought me a whiff of onions, sweaty leather and something like sour beer. That was all the reaction those Baskervilles were going to get from me. No pacing, though my feet were about ready to jump out of my boots. No shifting my weight from side to side, even though my left knee was throbbing. Storm coming.

I waited for the hour or so - refused to even look down at my watch - it took Dasha to hop and skip over to the nearest Tok'Ra outpost - wherever the hell that might be - and return with a small black case which he held out to me with a slightly shaking hand.

"Do you require instruction in the use of the device?" he asked, his voice quivering, practically vibrating with something like fear. Jesus but I wished he'd calm the fuck down. He was making me jumpy.

I snatched the case impatiently away from him and said, "No. I've had one of these stuck in my head before, thank you very much." He paled and swallowed hard at my comment. Guess he must've had a bad trip down memory lane at some point in the past. Poor guy. Here, have some pity.

I made a shooing motion with my hand and ended up choking back a bitter snort of laughter as he literally jumped backwards and quickly shuffle-stumbled back into the admin building.

OK. Waiting over.

Turning the box over in my hands, I wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

On to round two of "Shuffle the Shackles." I suggested to the Corncob that if she wiped the smug look off her face, maybe the Butcher would be able to resist the urge to rip her head off and shit down her neck. Yes, I actually said that to her. In those exact words. I had her place in the hierarchy pegged. She was nothing but a lackey, so I felt pretty safe in saying whatever I wanted to her. Yeah, maybe it was a bit of a crap shoot. She might've refused to let me back into the cell. But somehow I didn't think that was within her purview to decide.

I was right. She apparently had enough leeway to glare at me and make me wait for a few extra seconds. I'd say she'd also been given the authority - or more likely, the directive - to insist the prisoner be shackled whenever the force field was deactivated. But Fraiser had already taken care of that as soon as she caught sight of me. Good job, Doc. Probably equally as unwilling to give the Corncob any opportunity to tell us what to do. A small victory, maybe, but wars are made out of battles and battles are made out of skirmishes.

Daniel was still out cold in any event, so it wasn't like it mattered to him whether he was cuffed or not. Judging from his behavior so far, it wasn't like he would care even if he were conscious. Well, at least not if the Corncob was out of his immediate sight. Otherwise, we might be in for an encore performance of Daniel on the vertical force field trampoline.

He must've been subjected to some kind of conditioning. That was pretty damn obvious to anyone who knew him even halfway decently. But it had to be extremely sophisticated to take effect so quickly - only a day or two if the reports that he'd been running amuck for six days were to be believed. And to provoke that degree of screaming and spitting fury toward one of his so-called enemies... He hadn't made any aggressive moves directly toward me or Fraiser apart from the first lunge when he hadn't realized who was there. There had to be some kind of trigger. Gee, maybe he'd been implanted with a corncob detector.

Fraiser already had the shackles off again by the time I crossed the floor and dropped down to sit across from her, Daniel between us. I spared a brief glance at his face and suppressed a shudder. Usually, there's a sort of peaceful quality to his face when his eyes are closed and you can't see the shadows that are a permanent part of him if you know where to look. Some people say everyone looks like that when they're asleep, but that's bullshit. I know I don't look anything like that when I'm sleeping.

This time, though, that fleeting hint of tranquility was missing. There wasn't anything there but pale skin and livid bruises. Like looking at a corpse. His eyelids weren't flickering, and there definitely wasn't any movement underneath. No dreams. A stupor devoid of nightmares. And there I was ready to wake him up and drag the memories out of him, no matter the bloody tracks that might be left behind.

"What's that?" Fraiser's soft voice interrupted my thoughts. She nodded toward the box still held tightly in my hands.

I looked down and popped the catch on the lid. Yup. Exactly as advertised. One Tok'Ra mind probe. Open wide and say "ahh."

"Is that...what I think it is?"

I looked up and met her cautiously questioning eyes. She'd never seen one before. Never had the pleasure of having an extra hole drilled in her head. But she had SG-1's reports and descriptions. Enough for her to put two and two together. I nodded.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," she said slowly. She was probably right. But I didn't know what else to do. It was worth the risk...wasn't it?

Daniel, damn him, must've been playing possum. Stupid-ass animals. Stare into the headlights of an oncoming semi until it splatters them to kingdom come. "What isn't a good idea?" At least he was asking a question, which indicated some level of normal brain activity, and he sounded almost like his usual self. Just a hint of huskiness in his voice. Fraiser helped him sit up and handed him a canteen, while I snapped the Tok'Ra box shut and discreetly laid it on the floor by my hip, out of his direct line of sight. He sipped some water before dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, wincing as he brushed over a particularly nasty abrasion at the corner of his mouth. "Jack?"

I returned his gaze evenly. Shadows, flittering rapidly around the edges. "Daniel?"

"What are you -" He paused and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "What are you doing here?"

Whoa. Wait a minute. I'd been expecting him to press the point of what Fraiser and I had been talking about. Not to ask what I was doing there. Oh yeah, Danny Boy. Saw you were in prison, said "screw it" and decided to split. Have a nice execution.

Fraiser jumped in and took over. Good ol' reliable Janet Fraiser. Always ready to sort through a mess of scattered pieces, no matter whether you were dealing with body parts or those proverbial marbles. "What do you mean, Daniel?"

He blinked at her for a few seconds, then said, "I mean how did you get here? How did you find me?"

That sounded somewhat promising, like he was taking some sort of interest in what was going on around him, what was happening to him. Much better than the horrible laugh and listless "whatever" we'd got from him before. Maybe the sedative had actually un scrambled his brain.

But then Fraiser asked another, more pointed question. "What's the last thing you remember, Daniel?"

He frowned, looked from Fraiser to me, to the ceiling, to the wall. "I, uh... I remember P4X119 - going back to Earth. Or trying to. But something happened. I got diverted...or something. But there wasn't any energy discharge, no staff weapons or anything like that. Was there?"

"No," I said quietly. "Not on 119. But there was here apparently."

"Yes." He inhaled sharply through his nose, let it out through his mouth. "Yes, there was. Some kind of battle going on. Energy weapons. Not Goa'uld, though."

"No. Humans."

"Feloren," he supplied, then added, "and Karievesh." A huge mother of a shadow slithered across his face as he said the second name - a cold and vicious shadow wrapped around a furnace of glowing coals.

I exchanged glances with Fraiser. She seemed to be seeing exactly what I was seeing - and she wasn't liking it any more than I was. She stepped in again, diverted him. "So is that how you were injured?" We both knew that wasn't likely. Maybe some of the bruises could be accounted for that way, but most of the cuts and abrasions were too fresh. They'd been inflicted more recently than nine days ago. But her question did manage to sweep some of that god awful darkness away.

He looked down at himself, turning his hands palm up then back over again, staring at the bandage wrapped around the gash in his left palm. "No. Maybe. I, uh... I don't really remember. The 'Gate threw me. I banged my head pretty hard."

"But you remember a battle?" I prodded, ignoring Fraiser's sharp glance. At least I had the presence of mind not to repeat the names of the parties involved. Didn't want to see that particular reaction again.

"Yes." He nodded, then frowned. "I think. I... I'm not sure. There was screaming. And blood." His voice quivered a little, then he shook his head quick and sharp and turned toward me, his eyes latching onto me. "But how did you get here?"

"Uh, through the Stargate." He stared at me blankly. Hey, ask a stupid question... "A little more controlled on the landing than you, though." Lame, Jack - really lame. Daniel didn't laugh. Didn't crack a hint of a smile.

Fraiser stepped back up to the plate. "Daniel, do you remember us being here before? I mean before right now?" See, that's what I like so much about her - direct and to the point. Combined with a certain knack to find the point in the first place.

He was silent for a moment, then said hesitantly, "No. Were you here? Before now?"

Oh, man. Just when I thought we were starting to get a handle on things. Fraiser patted his arm and told him it was OK. Wrong thing to say to Daniel just then. She probably knew that, but just like I sometimes try to hide behind stupid jokes, she retreats back into the rote world of bedside manner and doctor catch phrases. Sometimes it works. Not this time.

"No, it's not OK," Daniel said, sitting up straighter, his eyes darting from me to Fraiser and back again. "You were here before, weren't you? You wouldn't have asked me that otherwise. But I don't remember. Why can't I remember?" I reached out and laid a firm hand on his shoulder, hoping that would calm him down, but also wanting to keep his attention from Fraiser. She was shifting to her knees so she could reach her medical bag. Time for another jab of joy juice.

Normally, I wouldn't be so eager to see one of my team members stuck full of needles, but I also didn't want anything to happen to Fraiser. She'd already been tossed across a room once by an out-of-his- mind Daniel thanks to Shyla's damned sarcophagus. Somehow I doubted Fraiser had a spare doctor tucked into her bag, and it certainly didn't look like the Karievesh would be willing to help out in that department. It was for his own good. Really it was.

He was trying to jerk away from me, so I tightened my grip on his shoulder a fraction. I looked him straight in the eyes and said in the calmest voice I could muster, "You might have a concussion, Daniel." Duh, Jack. It was a dumb thing to say, more like a Fraiser line, but it just popped out. I briefly considered reassuring him the concussion was why he was having trouble remembering things - but I wouldn't lie to him. I doubted a simple whack on the noggin had rattled him so hard. Not to mention altering his normal patterns of behavior to that extent.

He stared blankly at me. I think I could've told him a giant alien mistook him for a Slurpee and stuck a straw through his skull and probably would've gotten the same reaction.

He blinked. "How long has it been?"

I didn't see how I could possibly beat around the bush on that one. It was a direct and straightforward question. "Nine days."

More blinking and staring. "That's crazy," he finally said, a trace of a smile pulling his mouth briefly upwards. "That can't be right. It can't have been more than a few hours, a day maybe. We were on P4X119. I remember that. And then we got separated, I ended up here." The smile vanished and confusion crowded into his eyes. "There was a battle. I was taken prisoner. No. No, that's not right. I was rescued. By the Feloren. Yes, that's right. I remember. They took me back to their camp. It was nighttime." His voice grew softer and his eyes lost their focus - looking somewhere else. Remembering. "Cold and windy. It must've been raining, the ground was soft. Muddy. Stuck to my boots. No, that's not right, either. That was later. When I - After I - "

His eyes started blinking rapidly and his face scrunched up. I don't think I can even begin to adequately describe his expression. If I had to pick one word, it would be "horrified," but it was much, much more than that. A chill went through me like nothing I'd ever felt, outside of the guts of the Stargate or a cavern in Antarctica. I had to look away - I couldn't help it, it was a reflex, a knee-jerk reaction - but he kept talking, his voice the barest of whispers, an auditory reflection of what I'd seen in is face. "It wasn't rain. It was - Oh God, it was blood. So much blood. All over me, all over my hands, all over the bodies. Dead bodies." There was a brief pause, then words so full of anguish they would've cracked a stone cold heart wide open. "Oh God. What have I done?"

My hands balled into fists, knuckles burning with the urge to pound someone or something to a bloody pulp. My eyes locked on Fraiser's hands as they pushed Daniel's sleeve up. The needle pierced his arm, the plunger going down and clear liquid vanishing. Not a single word of protest. He just kept muttering "oh God" over and over again.

Chapter 3
Blood and Broken Bones

Slight pressure on Daniel's shoulder was all it took for Fraiser to get him to lie back down. In fact, he went down so easily, unresisting and boneless, she had to put her other arm behind his back to keep him from smacking into the floor. I automatically leaned forward to help, but as soon as he reached the blanket, he pulled away. Rolled onto his side, facing away from me, and pulled his arms tight across his chest. My mind was rolling over a litany of repeated curse words, running the gamut of every single one I knew and back again. I guess I was trying to drown out the sound of his ragged breathing as the drugs pulled him under. Didn't work. Just made me angrier at what he'd been put through and, truth be told, at myself - for not preventing it from happening, for not finding him sooner, for being so goddamned ineffective even after we had found him.

I rolled to my feet, grabbed the box with the memory device and stuffed it into an inner jacket pocket. Time for a good pacing session in front of the force field, the almost subliminal whine of energy giving me a major case of the jitters, accompanied by a massive outbreak of Goosebumps. I half hoped the Corncob would come back so I could carry through with Daniel's aborted assault, give my own fists something to crack and smash and grind.

I probably would've gone on stalking back and forth for a good long while if Fraiser hadn't planted herself right in my path. I've stared down and knocked down muscle-bound mountains literally twice her size - but somehow, there's more force and unyielding substance in that compact body than you'd find in your average linebacker. I hauled up short, glared at her for all of two seconds, then went and slumped down in the corner across from Daniel.

She joined me and we sat side by side, backs to the wall - but she didn't press me to talk right away. Yep, she's got brains and good sense to match every bit of her pint-sized brawn.

Eventually, we did talk. Actually, more like she talked and I listened while she ran down the list of possible causes for Daniel's erratic behavior and memory loss. Head trauma - not likely, as I'd already guessed, since he didn't seem to have been knocked upside the head too badly - but still not to be ruled out entirely. Psychological trauma - could account for the holes in his memory, repression and stuff like that. A defensive reaction to whatever waking nightmares he'd been exposed to, whatever conditioning and outright torture he might've been subjected to. Residual chemical effects - hallucinogens or similar seriously mind-fucking crap. She even threw in the possibility of some kind of neural implant, like a Mr. Hyde version of Urgo.

She said she really had no way of knowing, nothing to provide a sound basis for a diagnosis - not without being able to run extensive tests, both physical and psychological, none of which was going to happen with the basic equipment she'd brought with her. She even made a crack about wishing the SGC was more like Star Trek, complete with medical tricorders and panacea hypos.

I actually listened to all of this, right down to the seriously scientific mumbo-jumbo. Made good and sure I had it all sorted out. Asked questions - perceptive questions evidently, judging from the way she looked at me like I'd just sprouted another head. Even followed along as she rambled through a fairly complex explanation of theories of memory which, under normal circumstances, would've had my eyes glazed over inside of two minutes.

Not that I knew the first thing about how to apply any of this knowledge. But I didn't know what else to do at the moment - other than wait and stare, and I'd already had quite enough of that, thank you. At least Fraiser didn't smell like beer and onions. Just the opposite, in fact - nice and clean, like soap. Ivory soap. A comforting bit of normalcy.

Marty showed up just as she was in the middle of telling me about a guy who had part of his brain surgically removed and was never again able to process anything into long-term memory. Good timing on Marty's part. I really didn't want to apply that particular example to Daniel's current situation - although even in a case like that, he'd probably be in better shape than most, already having enough crap stuffed into his head to last ten average lifetimes. But then again, he'd be stuck with nothing more than that, never able to learn anything new, frozen in his own little bubble of time. Yeah, that would probably be Daniel's version of a living hell.

I got up and walked slowly over to the door, noting the Corncob lurking behind Marty - just waiting, no doubt, to exercise her limited authority. I ignored Marty for the moment and curtly told Her High and Mightiness that Daniel wasn't available to provide any amusement at the moment, but if she came back later, he might treat her to an intimate encounter with severe body trauma. She tried to give me her version of a withering glare, but it came out more of a childish pout. Aww, poor baby.

Marty watched us stare each other down for a few seconds, then gently but firmly told her to deactivate the force field. She brightened a little at the request, crisply informing him the prisoner would have to be shackled before she could comply. She had her orders, blah, blah, blah. I waved a dismissive hand and told her to take a hike. Not that I had any particular aversion to Marty coming into the cell, but I didn't see any real benefit in his doing that. We could talk just fine through the force field. She made one more pitiful attempt at a baleful glare, then stomped off down the corridor.

The Corncob effectively disposed of, I asked Marty, as casually as I possibly could, "What's up?"

He gave me that slightly mournful, deadly serious look he did oh so well. "Thellok Tristan is still in conference with the Karievesh Council, but in the mean time, your Major Kovacek was able to persuade her second-in-command to allow him to view the evidence against Doctor Jackson."

Oh, shit. This did not sound good at all. "You saw it, too?" I asked, even though the intensity of mournful and deadly serious he was putting on made me pretty certain he had. He nodded. "And?" I managed to say after a hefty pause during which I heard Daniel's voice repeating "oh God," over and over again in the back of my mind.

"It is...disturbing." He looked like he was going to say more, maybe treat me to the gory details or at least an edited version, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he said, "Kovacek has asked that a copy be sent to Major Carter for analysis - to ensure there is no tampering or falsification. The recording technology is not especially sophisticated, very similar to your digital optical discs, so she should have no difficulty identifying any irregularities. I have offered Dasha's services as courier. He is...reliable, if nothing else."

I closed my eyes briefly, realizing that somewhere along the line, I'd gone from not believing - no way, no how - Daniel had actually done what he was accused of doing, to wondering what the hell could've possibly turned the normally calm and collected, if occasionally excitable and scatterbrained, Doctor Daniel Jackson into a stark raving homicidal lunatic. Screw all that stuff about blood lust and battle rage and the heat of the moment. Didn't apply to Daniel Jackson. Sure, he'd killed before, but I'd be willing to bet the family jewels he'd never actually enjoyed it. More of a necessity, a defensive measure. But something had happened to him on Torrhena to turn him into...something else.

"OK," I finally said. "Thanks for keeping me updated. Just let me know when Tristan gets back. Maybe there's some way we can avoid having this go to a trial."

"That is my hope as well," Martouf said with a note of stubbornness and finality in his voice. He didn't turn to leave, though. Instead, he shot a pointed look over my shoulder, to where Daniel was lying. "Have you used the memory device yet?"

"No. Haven't really had the chance. He's pretty much turned inside out and upside down."

Marty pulled his gaze away from Daniel, looked me straight in the eye, stern and serious. Another one of those looks perfectly native and natural to that long and dour face. "Perhaps you should use it soon, while you have the chance. There may be extenuating circumstances. Anything might help...should we fail to prevent a trial." With one last, quick glance back into the cell, he said, "I will let you know as soon as Tristan returns." Then he left, his feet making no sound as he strode down the corridor with his back ramrod straight.

I went over to Fraiser, pressed my back against the wall and slid down to my haunches. There was still the possibility the Karievesh Council would relent and turn Daniel over to us. Wasn't holding my breath there. Maybe there was some way to cut a deal with Tristan or at least get some useful information out of her. Couldn't do anything about that until she got back from the pow-wow with the muckety-mucks. There was always the jailbreak idea. Wouldn't be much of a challenge to deal with the Corncob, but the Mongol biker gang was another matter altogether. Not to mention the risk of seriously pissing off the Tok'Ra's favorite arms merchants, and by extension, the Tok'Ra themselves. And leaving Marty and Kovacek in a sticky situation. Marty could handle himself, and even Kovacek would probably manage to muddle through, but that smacked too much of leaving someone behind.

Then there was the option of going through with the trial. Hey, we'd pulled a kinda sorta win right out of our asses with Teal'c when he faced the Cor'ai. Why not here, too? Of course, now we were dealing with fresh blood and a whole slew of pissed off people instead of one stubborn son-of-a-bitch holding onto a decades-old grudge. Well, OK, we did actually lose that trial, but Teal'c proved his integrity by helping to defend the villagers from the Jaffa who paid an unexpected visit. Maybe if we could just arrange... Yeah, right. Forget it. We needed to avoid the trial.

Not much to go on. Too much left to chance, left in other people's hands. I sighed and scrubbed my hands through my hair. Charlie Foxtrot. Big time.

Just as I was beginning to think it was a coin toss as to whether it would be me or Fraiser to break the silence, Daniel stood my expectations on end yet again. Damn but he's got a talent for that. All he had to do was say my name, but that was enough to set me and Fraiser to exchanging startled looks. How long had he been awake? And listening? "Yeah, Daniel," I said, pushing myself back up, wincing as my knee groaned and cracked.

He was still turned on his side and didn't move or respond right away, so I thought maybe, just maybe, he'd been talking in his sleep. No such luck. "Martouf's right. I have to remember. I need to remember. There's so much...all mixed up, fragments. I have to know. I have to. No matter what happens in the end, I need to know."

Crap. That at least answered the question of how long he'd been awake. He levered himself up with one arm and turned to sit cross-legged - moving slowly and stiffly, his face rigid.

"OK, Daniel," I said, wary, knowing I'd never get Daniel to accept an out-and-out "no." "But how about you let Fraiser give you another quick once- over first? You've been acting... kind of flaky." Probably not the most sensitive or diplomatic way to phrase it, but I couldn't think of another way to put it. Besides, it probably would've freaked him out if I'd started acting all mushy and touchy-feely.

"Yeah, I know," he answered - simple, direct and matter-of-fact. He lowered his head and pinched at the bridge of his nose, just like he'd done before. For the first time, it occurred to me to wonder what had happened to his glasses. "My head hurts," he added, and left it at that.

"How about some aspirin, Daniel?" Fraiser said as she got up and went over to him, snagging her medical bag along the way.

"No. Thanks." Concise, emotionless, without looking up. Nice try, Doc.

"OK." Her voice was shaded with her very best soft and reassuring, accompanied by a hand on his arm for good measure. She could get away with that. Standard operating procedure for her. "But I still need to check your vitals before I let you anywhere near that memory device." With an undeniable hint of steel, that special Fraiser touch. No bargains to be had there.

Daniel had the presence of mind to recognize he'd have to concede the point. That was a good sign. A small sign. OK, minuscule, a no-brainer to anyone who's been a patient of Fraiser's even one time. But still, it was something in the middle of a whole lot of nothing good.

Her exam got no more reaction out of him than a flinch when she subjected him to the penlight. The rest of the five minutes or so she took to poke and prod were spent in silence punctuated by the rustle of her slight movements, the gasp of the blood pressure cuff being pumped up, the beeping of the thermometer. He still had a low-grade fever and his blood pressure was slightly below normal, but she gave me a nod. Daniel got a gentle squeeze on the shoulder as she moved back to give me space to get in next to him. Not that much space, though. It was clear she was going to be keeping her eagle eyes on him every step of the way.

I fished the box out of my jacket, opened it and extracted the contents. Nothing but a small metal disc and a stubby metal cylinder. Such a deceptively simple and harmless looking device. I guess it might've been mostly harmless if you were a person with mainly happy memories and no major tragedies. That sure as hell didn't describe Daniel, and that's only taking into account the shit I'd personally seen him wade through. Probably doesn't describe anyone who's managed to live past childhood and isn't completely self-deluded.

I knelt on the floor next to him and gave him a long look - eyebrow raised, asking him if he was sure without needing to say a word. No words were needed for his answer, either. That look of stubborn determination is a Daniel Jackson classic, and there's only two possible responses. Give in and do what he wants, or tell him "no" realizing full well that he'll go and do it the second your back is turned. I wasn't about to turn my back on him at that point.

His temples were both pretty badly bruised and scraped up, but there was a clear patch behind one of his ears, just about where Martouf put the device on Carter before we launched ourselves in the escape pods to reach the surface of Netu. Descent into Hell.

A quick press of disc to skin, a flinch - from both of us - and it was in. Nothing left to do but turn it on.

"Ready?" I asked as I settled back on my knees, the activation device grasped between my fingers. I was holding on just a little too tight - the tips of my fingers were turning white, almost as pale as his face - so I forced myself to relax and give him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, tilted his head side to side, sat up a little straighter, tucked his ankles a little tighter into his cross-legged position. Nodded once and turned his eyes down, looking at his hands, clasped together in his lap, knuckles as white as my fingers had been.

No reason to wait any longer. What was done, was done. It was in the past and couldn't be changed. No reason to be afraid of it. It was only terrible because it was still unknown. Or so I kept telling myself.

He was silent, motionless, for a good long moment after I waved the activator over the disc. "Daniel?" I said hesitantly, wondering if I'd done it right. "Still with us?"

He gave a sharp nod of his head.

"Do you remember anything?"

There was a long pause. "No. I mean, I'm not sure. There's something there, but I can't quite..." His voice drifted off, and his forehead wrinkled up then smoothed out again.

"OK. How about we go back to P4X119?"

"Why?" His voice was softer now, drifting, somewhat dreamy. "There's nothing there but lizards and plants. Lots and lots of plants."

"I don't mean literally go back there, Daniel. I mean think back to when we were on P4X119."

"Lizards," he said again, "black lizards with bright blue stripes down their tails."

"Uh, yeah. That's right. Go forward a little bit, to when we went back through the 'Gate. There was an energy surge and you got separated from us. You ended up here on Torrhena."

"Yes. I remember." His voice shifted to crisp and clear, and he looked up, his eyes wide open and gazing steadily forwards, but not looking at what was in front of him. Seeing something else entirely. In his mind, in the past. "There was shouting, smoke. Cold. My head hurt."

"Yeah, you banged your head. You told us. The Feloren took you back to their camp after they...rescued...you." I hesitated to use that word because I had sincere doubts that was what had really happened, but that was the word he had used and I was hoping it would trigger something.

"Yes. There was a...a building. Clean and white, but cold. Very cold." His arms wrapped across his chest and he rubbed absently at the sleeves of his jumpsuit, shivering a bit. "They gave me something for the pain. A shot. Here." One hand snaked up behind his head and gripped the back of his neck. He started to blink rapidly and sucked in several quick, panting breaths.

"Daniel? What is it? What do you remember?" I leaned forwards, trying to keep my voice as calm and even as possible, not wanting to spook him, but still gently prodding.

"I - I don't remember. I - No. God, no. Oh please, no." Both hands were on the back of his neck now and he was hunching forwards, rocking slightly back and forth. Moaning. Trying to pull himself into a ball.

Jesus Christ. The things - horrible things - that were worming their way through my head. Torture, brutality, mind-fucking made into a science. Anything and everything imaginable to get you to break, to turn, to crumble. I knew the possibilities all too well. Gagged at the memory of those things being done to me, wanted to scream bloody murder at the thought of those things being done to Daniel. He wouldn't have gone down easily. Not without fighting, tooth and nail.

The urge to yell my anger at the top of my lungs was so strong it didn't register at first that Daniel actually was screaming - starting with a strained and choking groan, but quickly degenerating into something so raw and ragged, I honestly thought he was going to spring at any second. Attack us, blindly and in a rage, like he'd tried to attack the Gestapo bitch.

My body tensed defensively, but my brains kicked in a split second afterwards - and flashed back to Carter screaming, begging for Martouf to turn it off, to stop the memories of Jolinar's torture on Netu. Thought instantly translated into action and I reached out and deactivated the memory probe.

The howling trailed off into a gargling sob, but he was still doubled over, his hands laced together behind his head and clenched so tightly the creases across his knuckles stood out stark red.

"Daniel!" I shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him, hard. Anything to get him to stop making those noises - awful noises, choking and gasping, alternately groaning and keening like an animal in pain. "Daniel! C'mon, snap out of it!" I tried to pull his hands apart so I could get him to look at me. It took more effort than I really wanted to apply. I didn't want to hurt him, but I finally had to shove my thumbs under his wrists and dig into the tendons until his hands let go.

With the release of the downwards pressure, his head snapped up - and he was silent. Thank God. His eyes were squeezed shut - Christ, his whole face was squeezed shut - but he relaxed by degrees, the creases in his forehead evening out, his eyes slowly opening.

Fraiser was hovering with a hypodermic, ready to grab and stab if I gave the sign. Hell, probably ready to grab and stab even if I directly ordered her not to - if she felt it was necessary. She's always right about these things. So I've been told, time and again, and so I've witnessed, time and time again. I turned to meet her eyes, steadily, evenly, and shook my head. She hesitated a moment, then put a cap on the needle. We were in agreement. He'd had enough already, and it wasn't like the stuff she'd already given him had worked very well. Yet another weirdness to worry about, added to the pile.

"Jack?" Daniel's voice was so soft it was barely audible, but it made me whip my head around like he'd shouted in my ear in the middle of a deep sleep. He was looking down, at his hands. At my hands. I was still gripping his wrists. Crap. I let go, muttered an apology.

"It's OK," he said, without conviction - just hollow, empty words. "I - I'm sorry I...reacted that way."

That should've been my cue to respond with some nice, empty platitudes, but I just didn't have the heart. Fraiser was saying something to him about lying down and resting again, but he shook his head. "No. I can't. Not now. I - I think I may be starting to remember...something. I'm not sure. It was dark. Completely dark. No light or sound. Not cold, not hot. No sense of feeling." He looked up, his eyes darting between me and Fraiser. "Nothing at all. But I was there. I remember being there. Wherever it was."

Fraiser cleared her throat, a soft sound that seemed unnaturally harsh in the cool gray hush. "You may have been subjected to some sort of sensory deprivation. Possibly as part of a brainwashing procedure." The voice of reason, hypothesizing, trying to make sense out of the senseless and brutally inhuman. But it was what Daniel needed. It was a lifeline to him.

"Brainwashing?" he repeated, drawing the word out as if he were turning the idea over in his mind. "Is that what you think happened to me?" A simple question, plain and without emotion. With a hint of disbelief, but mixed with something like hope.

"It's possible, Daniel."

He turned his head to the side, to stare at the wall of the cell, and was silent for a long moment. I quashed the urge to say something, let him have that moment to collect whatever it was he was collecting - his thoughts, his emotions, his composure. When he turned back, he had that look again - the one that says, if you stand in my way, I'll walk around you like you're not even there. "Possible isn't good enough. I have to know. Without that, it doesn't matter if I walk out of here or not."

I knew exactly where he was coming from. I know what it's like to be so twisted around you don't know which way is up anymore, to have memories you don't want to - can't - face, to have nightmares that drive you away from sleep until you're so exhausted you can collapse and sleep without dreaming.

There have been times in my life when there was no way I could've possibly sorted out all the horrors I'd witnessed. The orders I'd carried out in the name of God and country, things that would've been called crimes or even atrocities under other circumstances. Times when there was no way humanly possible to put it in perspective. The horrible, dark times when all I could do was cram it so deep down inside it would never see the light of day again, drown it with alcohol, obliterate it any way possible, no matter how much collateral damage occurred in the process.

It absolutely cut me to the quick to think Daniel might be facing something like that, the kind of experience that no matter how you turn it, no matter how long you look at it and think about it - and try not to think about it - there's no way through. No way around. No way under or over. Attempting to do any of the above ends up being a huge, fucking exercise in futility. But that doesn't mean you don't try. Even if you turn around and walk away in the end.

So I reactivated the memory device, just like he wanted. Fraiser didn't object. She just sat there, clutching her med kit, exchanging anxious glances with me as the seconds ticked by without a peep or a stirring out of Daniel. His entire body was so tense he was practically thrumming with restrained energy, and his eyes were focussed so intently I wouldn't have been surprised if the spot on the floor he was staring at had burst into flames.

He let out a gasp, sucked a shuddering breath back in. Jesus. He'd been holding his breath. And now he was doing it again, his mouth tightly shut, his lips quivering and an intermittent tic tugging at his cheek. I grabbed his arm, shook gently. "Daniel." God, it was so hard to sit there and watch him pushing himself like that, trying so hard to break through the nothingness into light and color and sound.

His jaw momentarily unclenched, long enough to pant, "Turn it up."

"Daniel..." I squeezed his arm tighter, thinking the pain would divert him, jar his single-minded fixation just enough to get him to take a step back and regroup. Yeah, right. Not when Daniel Jackson is hell-bent on figuring something out. No way, no how. Damn him for that anyway.

"Turn - it - up," he said again, each word forced out on the end of a wheeze.

I felt Fraiser's hand on my arm, looked over at her, saw equal parts fear and determination in her face - her own brand of hell-bent stubbornness, bound and determined to do what needed to be done, to hack and slash and cauterize if that's what it took, but sensible enough to be scared shitless in the process. But she wasn't saying anything. She was letting it be my call. Oh, Christ.

"Jack...please." A breathy whisper, his body shaking with the tension, sweat dribbling down the sides of his face. And those eyes... No shadows, wide open, pure spirit and determination, everything out in the open and scaldingly bare. There was no other answer to give to a plea like that. I did what he asked.

There was no screaming this time. I would've preferred the screaming.

His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. His nostrils flared, the tic started up again. Still no sound, other than an almost mechanical clicking noise - his breath catching in the back of his throat. His hands clenched into fists, his shoulders hunched forward, straining to bring up the scream that wouldn't come.

It couldn't have been more than a handful of seconds. There's no way I would've let it go on any longer than that. No way in hell. My hand flashed out to turn the device off, before my brain had even formed the conscious thought.

He ducked. Goddamn him. He flinched and pulled away. A reflex - quick and sharp. Had to be. I grabbed at him, somehow managed to get a fistful of that too-short hair and yank his head hard to the side, giving me clear access to shut down that goddamned piece of shit. Turned it off, decided for some screwy reason that wasn't good enough, and extracted it, roughly. Let him go, sat back and numbly stared at the small trickle of blood running down his neck. Tried to catch my breath. Tried to keep my hands from shaking. Somehow managed to catch him as he doubled over, held his shoulders as he threw up what little was in his stomach. Kept hanging on while he heaved and gagged, then collapsed against me with a final shudder.

Fraiser was on him in a flash, taking vitals, her face grim, her hands firm and steady.

He was trembling - exhaustion, fear, shock. I don't know. Probably all three and some other feelings that don't even have names. He was muttering something, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his head pressed hard against my chest, so hard it hurt. I leaned forwards slightly, trying to make out what he was saying. Something about blood, bones breaking. Death. Not being able to stop. Trying so hard, trying to fight it. "No use, can't, can't do it." Then a string of words poured out, agonizingly clear. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. Please forgive me."

Whether he was actually praying to God, or begging for someone else to forgive him, I have no idea. I never asked him. And I never will.

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