Nor Iron Bars a Cage

by Lex

page three, of three

Part Eleven

General Hammond snatched up the handset angrily, determined to stop its discordant trill. Hell, couldn't everyone just leave him alone for once? This day had gathered phenomenal speed as it hurtled downhill. To his utter vexation he was at a loss; there was no action he could take that would resolve this problem without causing the death of at least one member of his best team. And that kind of situation could really piss a commanding officer off.

"Hammond." He injected the word with every ounce of intimidation he possessed. His caller was not discouraged.

"Sir, it's Dr. Fraiser. There's an issue with SG-4 that I need to discuss with you."

Hammond forced calm into his response. "Doctor, unless it's urgent then I'd rather we discussed it tomorrow."

"Actually, sir, it may be extremely important. Could you come down? I'm in my medical lab at the moment with some results that you need to take a look at immediately."

"Fine. I'll be down in a minute, Doctor." He wearily dropped the handset back in its cradle. His head hit the back of the chair and his eyes slipped closed for a few seconds; the breathing exercises his daughter had taught him couldn't possibly battle the stresses of his job. These days he wondered more and more why he was here, what was he doing that somebody else couldn't improve on? Would it really be so bad to let those that wanted this position finally take it? He opened his eyes, his gaze falling first on the snapshot of his granddaughters, then trailing down to his bottom drawer and his 'secret stash'. Every commander had one; each one of them determined and able to resist its temptations except in the most dire and frightening of circumstances. That extra boost needed when all the positive thoughts and stern self-reprimands in the world didn't have the power to move you past the despair. He let his fingers ghost over the polished brass of the handle, knowing full well now wasn’t the time. Later, maybe, when the base was quiet and he finally reached bottom, perhaps then he could indulge.

He pushed his chair back, and his 'in charge' face slid into place. Grabbing an apple from the bowl in the briefing room as he passed, he absently polished it on his sleeve and took his first bite as he nodded to the ever-present SF at the doorway. He headed for the infirmary with purpose, the slightly overripe fruit somehow serving as a barrier between him and any personnel who might otherwise waylay him in unnecessary conversation.

Hammond entered Dr. Fraiser's lab, not surprised to discover Major Carter and Teal'c waiting for him. He closed the door.

"Sir," Carter overran with nervous enthusiasm. "We think we know where Daniel is."

Hammond looked at her with professional expectation, hope not permitted to show its face. Carter flicked through a sheaf of paper, pulling one out at random.

"Teal'c found this." She pointed awkwardly with one finger, the rest occupied with gripping the apparently extraneous printouts. "It’s the name of a company that used to make airplane parts, before they went under about six months ago. The company was small; they had only one set of premises consisting of a few offices and a medium-sized warehouse-come-manufacturing plant. The location is approximately thirty minutes from here, sir. SG-1 could be geared up and ready in fifteen."

Hope curled back into its hole, unconvinced. "Major, this is extremely flimsy evidence."

"We do not believe so, General," Teal'c argued.

Carter grinned. "Actually, sir, we think someone left that there deliberately. The other crates are unmarked," she waved the sheaf demonstratively, "and it seems to us that someone left that clue on purpose."

Hammond considered the information carefully, then shook his head. "I just don't think it's enough."

"No, sir," Carter agreed. "But when you add in the other Stargate, it convinced us that--"

"Back up there, Major. What does this have to do with the Russian Stargate?"

"The gate that Orlin made," she corrected. "The NID took it from my basement, and it looks like someone has managed to get it working."

The words wouldn't come for a second. "Uh, how do you know this?"

"We have pictures, sir," she said triumphantly, reaching for a second sheaf sitting on the bench behind her.

"Of course you do." He blinked stupidly at her.

"Are you well, General Hammond?"

A snort escaped him, "I'm fine, Teal'c, just a little bemused by all this. The pictures..." he left the floor open.

"Someone left them on my desk, sir, I have no idea who. But Teal'c recognised the labs we saw at Area 51, and the pictures definitely show the mini-gate with an active, and apparently stable, wormhole." She frowned, "Didn't the colonel tell you?"

"Colonel O'Neill has been a little busy," Hammond said.

Carter grimaced. "Right. Well, at first we just thought the two were totally disconnected. But then everything seemed too coincidental. The fact that someone left us a clue to Daniel's whereabouts indicates that someone is working against whoever has him. Add in the gate pictures, and we think there's someone out there who has it in for the NID."

"Assuming it was the NID who took Dr. Jackson." He searched around for a waste basket, dropping his half-eaten apple into it.

"Honestly, sir, it seems more and more likely."

"Which leaves us with someone who knows about both the SGC and NID involvement, and... doesn't like what the NID are doing?" He took one of the photographs, a new feeling settling in his stomach at the sight of the wormhole manifesting itself somewhere other than in his gate room. "Permission granted," he rumbled.

"Sir?"

"You have a go, Major. I want you to find Dr. Jackson and bring him back." He fixed the two with a determined glare. "I'll have Colonel O'Neill meet you at the front gate. Take a staff car and be discreet, I don't want anyone being suspicious."

"Is O'Neill still in his meeting?" Teal'c enquired.

"Not exactly. Don't worry; he'll meet you both up top in ten minutes. You'll have to brief him on the way." Hammond snatched up several more photographs and turned to the door. Carter's voice stopped him.

"What are you going to do, sir?"

The feeling in his stomach transformed into full-fledged fury. "I'm going to make a phone call, Major. I don't like being a pawn in someone's chess game."

The general's hand moved unconsciously to the bottom drawer of his desk. He was pulling it open before he realised, and dipped in to pull out his stash. He placed it reverently on the desk, smoothing his fingertips over the worn leather cover. He longed to spare himself the inevitable pain, but knew he needed the succour that lay inside the pages. With a long sigh, he opened the album.

Grinning out at him from the first page were Jack O'Neill and Daniel Jackson, gathered around the barbecue at O'Neill's house two days after Daniel had returned from his incarceration with Nem. The next few pages held further snapshots of SG-1, then moved on to SG-2. As he moved through the pages, Hammond could name every one of the men and women who stood in groups, sat at tables, played softball, tended bar or carried out any number of ordinary tasks at countless get-togethers held over the years either at his or the colonel's house. His heart was heavy with the knowledge that nigh on a quarter of the people could no longer be found around the base, victims of the fight against an enemy that only a select few on the planet even knew existed. Yet here, in his album, was the reason they fought. In the pictures, his teams played with their children, chatted with their husbands and wives; families came together knowing that time was precious and every moment like this was to be savoured.

He closed the album, shutting the memories inside but keeping his renewed determination intact. Nobody was going to deliberately and maliciously destroy what the men and women of this command had fought so hard to create. He reached into the desk cubby to pull out the final listening device Major Carter had identified, dropped it to the floor and crushed it beneath his heel. Then he picked up the red phone.

"This is General Hammond; I need to speak with the President... Yes, son, it's urgent."

"Evans."

"We're out of time," the female voice stated. "You need to complete the task immediately."

"We don't have all the data--" Evans protested.

"It doesn't matter," the woman snapped. "The project has been compromised. Take what you can and get rid of the evidence."

"How long?" The disappointment came loud and clear down the line.

"I'm not sure, three hours at most. Be thorough; I don't want anything left that can be rebuilt."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And Evans, make sure you get out of there -- we need your expertise more than we need that gate."

O'Neill focussed on the warehouse, ignoring the icy rain that burrowed down the back of his jacket and showered off the front of his cap. Two vans and a truck were parked haphazardly at the entrance to the open loading bay. The light that spilled from the doorway scattered as it hit the torrential downpour, making it hard to see clearly. But details weren't necessary; the colonel could discern enough to make his assessment.

"They're bugging out," he stated, "We don't have much time." He took his eyes off the warehouse long enough to check his watch. "I want to be in there in two minutes. Assuming the layout hasn't changed, we each have several places to check. If at all possible, we get in and out with nobody noticing a thing. However, the team comes first -- if you meet with resistance, take it out quietly or return fire if needed. You are authorised to use lethal force if absolutely necessary. Clear?"

He accepted Carter and Teal'c's acknowledgements with a nod. "Let's move out."

O'Neill waited until the two had slipped away to the north before he moved around the perimeter to the west. His boots squelched in the mud, his breath crinkled in the air, and his heart hammered loud enough to wake the dead. Within sixty seconds he had reached the entrance he'd assigned himself, facing the woodland at the back of the warehouse. The door was locked. The colonel reached into a vest pocket and retrieved his picks; the flimsy security measures were only a brief hindrance to his undertaking. He moved silently inside and gently closed the door behind him. The rain changed from a constant spit-spit on his cap to a louder echo on the corrugated roof.

The corridor was dimly lit, but bright enough for him to ensure it was clear. He turned left and moved purposefully towards his first section, listening intently at each door he passed before pulling it open to confirm no hostiles. His grip on his sidearm was becoming loose with moisture. He paused inside the empty office to rip off his soaked gloves, reaching inside his sodden jacket to dry his hands on his t-shirt.

The cold at his neck made him freeze.

"Drop your weapon and kick it away," the voice behind him commanded.

O'Neill complied without question.

The sound of something being pulled awkwardly from a pocket combined with a slight relaxation of the pressure in his neck gave him the opportunity he needed. He spun around, his fist powering directly into the man's nose. The spatter of blood stayed in the air longer than the enemy, but the unconscious man reflexively squeezed his trigger. The sound of the discharge was deafening, and O'Neill had no doubt it would be heard by others.

He grabbed his own radio. "The mission is compromised. Find Daniel, defend yourselves. That’s it. O'Neill out."

He retrieved his weapon and headed out to retrieve his archaeologist.

An annoying popping intruded on Daniel's dream, as if someone had set off firecrackers down the street. He didn't want to wake up; there wasn't anything happening for several miles around that he wanted anything to do with. The irksome noise had absolutely no place in his miserable existence. A rhythmic thumping joined the percussion and sleep abandoned him, the world apparently determined to deprive him of what little peace he had managed to find.

It was only when the door slammed open that Daniel realised something was definitely up. Two men stormed into the room, neither of whom he recognised. They didn't wait for pleasantries, merely dragged him to his feet and spun him round. One squashed his face into the coarse stone of the wall; the other zipped plastic cuffs callously around his damaged wrists. He was turned back, his arms crushed between him and the wall, then the lights went out as a strip of duct tape was plastered across his eyes.

Shit, shit, shit. He twisted his head, trying to get a glimpse of something -- anything -- at the edges of the makeshift blindfold. "What's going on? Where are you taking me?" Was that panic in his voice? No fucking wonder; they'd let him see their faces -- this had to be the end of it.

He struggled wildly as they pulled him forward, intent on stopping them from taking him from the cell only because that was what they wanted. A fierce kick connected with his injured knee and his legs folded underneath him.

"Get up!" The command was growled angrily.

"No," Daniel breathed, "I'm not helping you kill me."

A voice very close to his ear spoke softly, "You'll get up and you'll walk. You'll do exactly what you're told. And if you behave yourself, there'll be one shot to the back of the head, everything over so fast you won't even notice." The voice dropped even lower, "But if you piss me off, I'll start with your feet and work my way up. I have thirteen bullets in this clip, and I'm very inventive. Are we on the same page now?"

Daniel nodded into the darkness, unable to speak. Hands went around his upper arms and drew him firmly to his feet. The pain in his body taunted him as he limped along, each ache, throb and spasm a cruel demonstration that his survival was merely a fleeting presence in the world. And in his last minutes, he couldn't think of a single thing that would make his death worthwhile.

Part Twelve

Frank Evans checked the last of the connections to the Stargate. Everything was in place. He took one last look at the... well, let's face reality, it was merely a prototype. The real tour de force would be his own creation -- a Stargate to be built to his specifications once he triple-checked his calculations and verified the design. His boss had already promised him control of the project. He knew she considered it a feather in her cap, one more step on the way to becoming the first woman president, but that was insignificant compared to the scientific achievement.

He gave a thumbs up to the project leader staring possessively out at him from behind the illusory safety of the control room's toughened glass window. The man barely nodded in return, apparently too busy sharing more of his pompous crap with the group of sycophants surrounding him. Some people really were a waste of oxygen. So from that perspective he was doing the world a favour, reducing the demand on scarce resources. He grinned; his mother would love that -- he was finally a true environmentalist.

Evans picked up the pile of CD-ROMs he'd left on a table. He shoved them into his backpack happily, knowing they would soon be the only copies of Stargate Construction for Dummies in existence. He walked steadily from the lab without looking back, and headed for the exit. The exit process took about five minutes, but he wasn't concerned. The guard ribbed him about his taste in music for the second time that day, too stupid to realise the cases no longer contained Britney Spears or the Backstreet Boys. Jesus, the security force's opinion of the scientists that worked here must be unfathomably low if they really believed he had the musical tastes of a ten year old girl.

He reached his car, opened the door and threw his pack across to the passenger side. He slid smoothly into the driver's seat, started the engine, switched on the headlights and hiked up the stereo. Led Zeppelin blasted from the speakers, setting up a comforting vibration to accompany his final journey from the base.

His fingers searched blindly for the remote in his bag as he navigated the dark roads. He pulled it out and flicked the switch in one fluid motion. He didn't expect an instant reaction -- the naquada would take a few seconds to build up enough charge -- but... ah, there it was. The noise of the explosion eclipsed even the power of his wickedly expensive speakers. He glanced in the rear-view mirror long enough to see the tower of flame and debris shoot up from what used to be the NID's Stargate project. As the night returned and the dust began to drift down onto his car, he activated the wipers to clear the windscreen.

The man who used to be Frank Evans shifted gear, put his foot down and sped off into the desert.

O'Neill catalogued the scene in front of him with increasing dread. He'd gone past the initial terror that it was Daniel's body lying on the floor, and pushed down the bile that rose in his throat at the thought that he was too late. It was obvious when you looked for more than a second that it couldn't be Daniel -- this guy was built like a house, probably around 6'4" standing up. Which, of course, the unfortunate man was unlikely to do ever again. He slowly surveyed the room, taking in the cage, the blood, the bucket, the body, the blood... and the godawful smell. He recoiled, not taking the time to check the corridor. He just had to get out of that room and get some air. A rat slunk past him into the room, clearly not quite as averse to the odours that emanated from the small space.

He pressed a hand against the wall, leaning into it as he thumbed his radio.

"Carter, Teal'c, I've found the room they were keeping Daniel in." He paused; he tried to swallow against the foul taste in his mouth, but ended up spitting on the floor.

"Sir?" Carter's concerned tones forced him back into action.

"He's not here. Either they're planning on taking him with them, or... not. There's a dead guy here -- it's possible Daniel's managed to escape and is hiding out somewhere, which may explain the evacuation." Even as he said it he knew that wasn't the case. No matter what the provocation, the archaeologist would never shoot someone in the back of the head. But the other options flooded his gut with acid. "Whatever's going on, I'm assuming he's still alive until I hear otherwise. Carter, check the loading bay. Teal'c, finish your sweep then take the second of Carter's sections. I'll finish off here and meet up with whoever needs me first. Out."

O'Neill adjusted the grip on his weapon and headed down the corridor, pushing all emotion from his mind with well-practiced skill. When he found Daniel, that would be the time to unleash the fury inside, wreaking vengeance on all those who dared to mess with his team.

Daniel knelt on the floor awaiting the end. The cold that seeped through the thin cotton somehow soothed his inflamed knee, and he grasped at the sensation desperately. The feel of the floor, of clothing against his skin, would all be lost to him very soon. He hoped something else -- something better -- would replace it, but right now he just wasn't sure. His terror and regret were overwhelming rational thought.

The snap of a safety being flicked off boomed in his ear. The gun touched the back of his head lightly, wandering aimlessly through his hair as his executioner contemplated the perfect spot.

"What do you think you're doing?" a voice snapped.

The gun vanished; he somehow mourned its loss -- couldn’t they please just get it over with?

"You're supposed to be filming this," the voice continued.

"I thought you were filming it, Morrison," the second man said.

"I thought you were filming it, sir," the first berated.

"We don't have time to argue about this, Major."

"Just take the damn camera and obey orders for once," the major said, exasperated. There was a shuffling as the two men moved about, apparently changing positions. "You know how to work that?"

"Uh... yes, got it."

"So, we'll make this a little lesson for all involved, shall we?" Daniel heard a slight squeaking behind him. "The silencer used in a professional execution serves two purposes: to keep the kill from being discovered for as long as possible, and to string out the tension for the victim."

"There's nothing professional about it -- you're just a fucking murderer," Daniel snarled. "Don't try to pretend you're anything else."

Morrison brushed over the interruption. "Never stand too close to the victim. The resulting spatter has a tendency to stain your clothes and it's always hard to get out."

The snicker from the cameraman was cut short by a low 'phut'. Daniel flinched as the camera smashed on the floor beside him, pieces of metal and plastic skittering randomly across the concrete. Then he heard the dead man follow it down.

"And don't let them know when it's coming," the major finished crisply. "It's more humane that way."

The world had stopped turning. That was the only explanation for what he'd just heard. Or maybe he was dead and the first thing that happened in the afterlife was your vengeful fantasies being played out in front of you until you repented. But that couldn't be right, because surely he'd be able to--

"Dr. Jackson, are you listening to me?"

He had no idea how long the voice had been trying to break through to him. He croaked out a "yes" that was apparently loud enough to reach the man behind him.

"It's your lucky day, Jackson. Your death at this time would be inconvenient to my boss, so you get to continue running around annoying the hell out of everyone you come into contact with. It was nice meeting you, but for your sake I hope we never meet again." The voice faded as Morrison moved away. "Be careful out there, it seems to be turning into a battle zone."

A door opened somewhere off to his left, letting distant sounds of running and shouting into the room. He knelt for a while, shaking and bewildered. But nobody touched him; no footsteps came close with their promise of pain.

That proved it. He was definitely dead. Or hallucinating. But just in case he wasn't... Daniel tugged pathetically against the plastic cuffs, knowing full well it would do him no good. Right, try something else. God, how was it possible to feel so utterly vulnerable when you were alone in a room? He needed to see, needed to at least be able to look death in the eye when it came for him. He bent his head and raised his shoulder to rub at the tape across his eyes. The awkward position was doing him no favours, and he shifted to sit more comfortably. He raised his less damaged knee and scraped his face across the bony joint, hoping that the material of the sweats might catch a loose corner of tape. The effort quickly wore him down; his breath came faster and louder.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he reacted violently. His foot connected feebly with something warm, damp and solid.

"Daniel Jackson."

"No! Leave me alone!"

A hand touched the side of his face.

"Please..." he whispered, despairing.

Another hand held his face still and the tape was pulled away in one swift motion. He almost screamed at the shock of it, the pain unexpected and fierce.

"Daniel Jackson, calm yourself."

The voice and the out-of-focus face dampened his panic. "T..t..teal'c..." he stuttered, "I thought... I just..." He struggled to get his breathing under control. "You're here. And you're wet," he finished stupidly.

"We are all here," Teal'c confirmed, holding him firmly by the shoulders. "What is your condition?"

Daniel sank down, leaning into the support his friend was giving him. "Oh, you know, a bit battered but basically fine," he shrugged. He looked into the Jaffa's eyes and saw the concern mixed with disbelief. "Okay, possibly not totally fine, but I can make it. We are leaving, right?"

"We are," Teal'c assured him. He pulled a knife and reached behind Daniel, snapping through the bindings around his wrists.

"Thanks," Daniel mumbled, grateful for the pins and needles that proved his blood hadn't abandoned his fingertips as a lost cause. "Just don't lose that tape -- I'll want my eyebrows back later."

He saw Teal'c relax slightly at his poor attempt at humour.

The Jaffa reached for the radio. "I have found Daniel Jackson alive. We will meet at the RV. Out."

Teal'c moved to his side, hoisted Daniel's arm across his broad shoulders and lifted them both to their feet. He wordlessly passed the archaeologist a weapon, then set a careful pace towards safety.

O'Neill crept behind a stack of crates, as close as he dared to the few men still packing. He watched carefully, trying to memorise as many faces as he could. The apparent leader was fastening a tarp down tightly on the back of one of the trucks, his face obscured. Occasionally he spoke softly into a radio, his words not loud enough to carry across the loading bay.

A raised voice cut through the activity. "Colonel, the charges are all set. Ready to go on your signal."

The leader turned to acknowledge the news, his furious features finally coming into view. "Where the fuck is Morrison?"

O'Neill had his P-90 up and sighted without thinking. Why the hell wasn't that two-faced rat bastard rotting away in maximum security, passing the excruciatingly boring time he had remaining on this Earth playing poker with his treasonous cell-mates?

"Colonel, don't!"

The hissed word came from right beside him. He ignored it; he wouldn't let his conscience get in the way of what needed to be done.

"Sir!"

Sir? His conscience never had that much respect for him before. Sighing, he glanced at Carter, not surprised to see his own rage reflected in her eyes.

"We need to get back to the RV," she whispered pointedly.

His finger twitched on the trigger -- his subconscious was obviously just as desperate to put several fatal holes in the ex-marine. He flicked the safety on, not trusting any part of himself to resist the temptation.

"Agreed, Major. We have what we came for." He gestured for her to move out.

She nodded once, then led the way through the random piles of crates to an unguarded exit. They moved silently out into the deluge, taking only a few moments to sneak back to the truck. Teal'c was in a defensive position at the rear of the vehicle, alert to their arrival. As they got closer, he merely nodded to the truck, not taking his eyes off the potential danger down the road.

O'Neill peered through the steamed up windows and spotted a figure sitting on the back seat. He pulled the door open with a trembling hand, not simply caused by the cold.

Daniel was huddled under a blanket in the darkness, both hands wrapped protectively around a steaming mug of coffee. He startled at the sudden inrush of cold wind, blinking blearily through the rain still dripping off his hair.

"Hey, Jack." The voice was quiet, slightly hoarse.

"Hey yourself." O'Neill tore his gaze away and called over his shoulder. "Carter, get in the back with Daniel and see what you can do about his injuries. I'm driving -- let's go."

He turned back to find Daniel staring into his coffee. He reached out and rested a hand on one hunched shoulder, heartened to feel a slight lessening of the tension at his touch.

"It's over, Daniel, we're taking you home."

Part Thirteen

In the last tranquil moments before sleep deserted him completely Daniel snuggled under the fresh-smelling sheets, relishing the soft warmth. The cushioned feel of something other than frigid concrete underneath him was a luxury he didn't want to take for granted just yet. Warm, clean and comfortable -- three things he hadn't been in a while. And most importantly he was safe; Makepeace could never get to him in here.

Fingers touched his wrist. His eyes flew open as he yanked his arm away with a cry, instantly fully awake. His racing heart slowed a fraction when he saw the nurse looking apologetically down at him.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jackson, I didn't realise you were awake. You've managed to sleep right through every other hourly check."

He nodded his head numbly and rubbed his hands over his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. His fingers reached lower, feeling the beard growth he hadn't taken much notice of when he was... away. Other things to occupy him, most likely, such as when his next beating would come or whether he could risk going to sleep for a while with only a stinking bucket to keep his one-time cellmates away.

The nurse broke into his thoughts. "Would you like some breakfast, Dr. Jackson? Dr. Fraiser has you on a light diet, but I could bring you some toast and juice."

He opened his eyes. Food? As long as he could convince himself the feeling in his stomach was hunger, not nausea, he could eat.

"Please." The word came out as a croak, and the nurse swiftly poured a glass of water from the jug on the nightstand. She handed it to him, let him take a few sips then put the glass back down.

"Take it slowly, sir." The nurse moved around the other side of the bed. "If you're going to eat and drink, the doctor said I can remove the IV."

Daniel lifted both hands to inspect them. Yep, there it was, the clear tube snaked from under a small dressing on his left hand up to an all but spent bag dangling from a pole. The nurse clamped off and removed the tubing from the cannula in his hand, simultaneously juggling a small syringe and plastic cap. Daniel was convinced they did this kind of confusing activity on purpose just to prove all nurses could do three things at once. She breezily informed him she was leaving the cannula inserted "just in case", wrote some notes on a clipboard and generally fussed around, her energy vaguely annoying.

"All done. I'll be back in a short while." She flashed him a quick smile, hung the clipboard on the end of the bed and walked away.

Daniel's "okay" followed her out of the door. He scratched his face again wearily, fingernails scraping over three-day-old stubble.

"You want to do something about that?" The voice at the doorway was a welcome distraction.

"Jack," Daniel smiled, forcing some life back into his exhausted limbs. "Definitely. Help me up?" He pushed back his sheets and started to carefully swing his legs over the side of the bed.

"Ah ah," Jack was at his side in an instant. "Doc said no strolling around yet."

Daniel made a face. "I wouldn't call walking to the bathroom a stroll. Anyway, I need to go."

"Go?"

"Don't be obtuse, Jack. Are you going to help me or not?" Daniel asked in frustration.

O'Neill regarded him for a moment, then held out a hand. "Compromise -- you get to pee, but the shaving happens right here. And can we move this along? The doc had almost finished her breakfast when I left, and I don't want her pissed off at me this early in the morning."

Daniel accepted his partial victory and slid off the bed into Jack's supporting hold. The pain in his knee spiked at the pressure, but he grimly ignored it. His bandaged feet slipped on the linoleum, so he took slow shuffling steps to the bathroom. Jack stopped at the door, letting Daniel move forward unaided. A quiet "please don't" stopped Jack shutting him in the windowless little room alone.

"Sorry," Jack looked guilty. Daniel waved him away, no explanation given. He knew none was needed. Confined spaces were something you simply didn't do after... well, you just didn't.

A few surprisingly difficult minutes later, Daniel went back to the door, electric razor in hand. "I think this is the safest way to go this morning," he said. Jack helped him back to the bed, his face not giving anything away at Daniel's little grunts and gasps of pain.

Daniel leaned back against the pillows, tired from the simple exertion. He eyed the razor, then tested the bandages wrapped snugly around each wrist.

"Uh, Jack?" he started, slightly embarrassed. "Can you..." he held out the razor. "You'd better do it; I'm having a bit of trouble manipulating my wrists in these bandages."

Jack practically snatched the razor, profoundly grateful to be able to do something useful. "Rope burns?" he asked conversationally, tilting Daniel's head to one side.

"Cuffs. Both varieties," Daniel responded, equally nonchalant, as if he couldn't still feel the indentations from the shackles under the tightly wound gauze.

Jack nodded, in the manner of co-workers acknowledging the everyday hazards of the job. His forehead wrinkled in concentration, his eyes intent on the surface beneath the head of the lightly buzzing razor. He positioned Daniel's head where he wanted it, moving around the bed to reach the other side of Daniel's face without too much shifting on his shavee's part. Finished, he stood back to study his handiwork.

"Better?" Daniel rubbed his hand across the fuzz-free surface in relief.

Jack's face scrunched up like he'd smelled something nasty. "Uh, not exactly."

"You're a regular comedian." When Jack's expression flicked to one of guilt, Daniel snatched up the mirror from the nightstand. Okay, so perhaps 'better' wasn't quite the right description. With the beard gone, the cuts and bruises decorating his features stood out clearly. Not to mention the charming rash around his eyes and the ragged state of his eyebrows and eyelashes. "Oh."

There was an awkward pause.

"I'm sorry, Daniel."

"For what?" he asked absently. His gaze lingered on the purple and yellow area darkening his cheekbone, the memory of Makepeace's fist all too clear. The silence made him look up. "Jack?"

The colonel gestured helplessly at his own face, waved vaguely at Daniel, then shoved his hands into his pockets. He stared at his feet.

Oh.

"You didn't do this, Jack," he said gently.

"I didn't stop it, either," Jack mumbled to the floor. "You--"

He cut his comment short as the nurse swept into the room, breakfast tray in hand. Her look of suspicion at Daniel's newly shaved face changed to one of approval as she spotted the razor still clutched in Jack's hand.

"Glad to see you're more awake now, Dr. Jackson." She plunked the tray down on an over-bed table and rolled it over to Daniel's side. "There's toast with raspberry or grape jelly, apple juice and milk. Would you like some help with the spreads?"

The matter-of-fact way she asked the question didn't stop Daniel feeling like he'd regressed to the first grade.

"He'll be fine," Jack jumped in. "If he needs a hand then I'm here." The colonel gave her his 'I'm giving you the chance to back off before I have to order you' smile, then watched her all the way to the door, as if ensuring she was really gone.

Daniel eyed the tray in disgust. The toast was still warm, as evidenced by the melting butter, but that was the only thing that looked edible. The raspberry jelly looked as if it had congealed several months earlier, and the grape jelly looked... dusty. God, what was wrong with him? Since when did any sane person let overwhelming hunger get overruled by a fussy palate? He reached for the apple juice and sniffed it cautiously -- at least it smelled fresh. He took a sip.

"You want me to--"

"Don't." Daniel warned.

"You don't know what I was gonna say," Jack pouted.

"I know exactly what you were going to say, Jack. I don't need help with my toast." Daniel retorted.

"But I could cut it up for you," Jack offered.

"No."

"I'm great at that."

"Jack..."

"You know, Charlie always loved his--"

"Jack!"

"--soldiers." Jack finished evilly.

Daniel put down the juice and picked up the knife, determined to retain some measure of control. He gripped it awkwardly and sliced into the first piece of toast, trying and failing to ignore the flash of pain that spread from his wrist up his arm and down into his fingers. He sighed in defeat.

"Fine, you win."

"I do?" Jack said, gleefully pulling the knife from Daniel's lax grip. "You want jelly?"

"Uh, no." Daniel closed his eyes, not wanting to witness the desecration of a perfectly innocent piece of toast. When he heard the knife clatter onto the tray, he spoke up. "I'm not playing airplanes with you." He opened his eyes to see Jack holding one of the soldiers, looking offended.

"I was just going to pass it to you," he said. Daniel's eyes narrowed as he reached for the toast. "Okay, okay. But you're missing out on a great tradition," Jack pointed out.

Daniel took a bite of the now cold toast, savouring the feel of solid food in his mouth. His stomach growled, as if only just realising it was empty. He chewed slowly, prolonging the thrill of this private religious experience. Finally he swallowed, picked up the juice with his other hand and took a gulp to chase the last crumbs down.

"It wasn’t your fault." He gestured at Jack with the remaining half of his soldier. "That video they took of, uh, well, when they..."

"Kicked the crap out of you?" Jack suggested helpfully.

"Thank you," Daniel nodded. "Yes, when they did that. I don't know what they were trying to make you do, but whatever it was I'm glad you refused."

"You should look in a mirror and try to say that again with a straight face." Jack said glumly.

Uh uh. No way was he letting Jack fall into the guilt trap. "Jack, you remember Bedrosia?"

Jack scowled. "That was different."

"How was that different? Rygar wanted something from me that I couldn't give him, and I ended up getting you and Sam zatted."

"That wasn’t your fault!" Jack protested.

"Thank you for making my point," Daniel said gently. When Jack scowled at him, he asked, "If Makepeace had wanted something from me instead of you, do you think I'd look any different now?"

Jack was silent for a moment, studying his boots again.

"Jack?"

"I get it, Daniel." He raised his head. "And it wasn't just Makepeace. This whole thing goes a lot further than we can figure out, and way further than we can prove."

Daniel crammed the rest of the soldier into his mouth. God, he'd missed this.

"You're going to get indigestion," Jack observed.

"Thash no' twue," Daniel said, the words squeezed around his mouthful. He swallowed the mass down. "The way my stomach's rumbling, it's gonna take about two seconds to digest that completely." He licked his fingers in satisfaction and reached for another soldier. "You're the expert on these things -- which end's the head?"

"The thinner end, I guess," Jack said, after some thought.

"Excellent." Daniel held the soldier up in front of him seriously. "Well, Colonel Robert, it's been fun." He clamped his jaws down and effectively decapitated his captive.

"You're sick, you know that?"

"Isn't that why I'm in the infirmary?" Daniel teased.

"Don't be facetious, it doesn't suit you."

Daniel's anger finally broke free. "Oh? And what does suit me? You want me to play the abused little civilian? Let everyone else take care of me? I've got news for you, Jack, I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself!"

"I know that."

"And I don't need protection all the time." He ignored the twinge in his ribs as he leant forward, hands waving to emphasise his point.

"Daniel, I know, you don't have to--"

"And since when am I a walking encyclopaedia? Huh? Answer me that, Colonel. Where the hell does everyone get off acting like I'm only useful as talking reference material? Sorry, make that a walking, talking, smartarse punching bag!" He slammed his hand down on the table, regretting it instantly. "Fuck."

There was silence for a while. Jack pushed the table aside and perched on the edge of the bed. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Daniel said, staring intently at his hands while they played with the blanket. Just a minute ago he'd told Jack that none of this was his fault, and now he was throwing blame in the man's face himself. He really needed to get his head sorted out.

"Okay."

No, it wasn't okay. Didn't even come close. And avoiding the problem wasn't going to help, any more than it had the dozens of times before. "It was..." He paused, took a breath and ploughed on. "I was scared. Terrified."

"I know." Jack said quietly.

"How could you know?" Daniel demanded, looking up into Jack's eyes. "Oh, right. Of course. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Daniel. It was a long time ago, and it means I can understand this."

"It's all jumbled up at the moment, like I can't clear my head. There's just anger and fear and pain vying for control of the memories. Those bastards took my clothes, locked me in that cage and left me there for hours. Maybe hours -- it certainly felt like it." Something occurred to him. "How long...?"

"You were gone for two days before we found you."

"Just two?" The laugh threatened to turn into a sob. "Two days. Makepeace tried to mess with my head, kept me awake most of the time, told me all this crap about what was happening to you guys. They would drag me to these little chat sessions with him, waste a bit of time then throw me back in my room. Sometimes back in the cage, sometimes not; there was no pattern to it. I couldn't figure out how to stay out of that thing." He started picking at the skin on one thumb with the ragged nail of the other. "Every time I was in the cell that damn thing was still there, threatening me. Like it was pretending to be innocent or something, but I knew better." He retreated from his memories with a shudder, not wanting to be anywhere near that cell even if it was only in his own head.

Jack's voice penetrated his thoughts. "The cage?" It almost wasn't a question.

Daniel nodded slowly. "I know, I sound crazy."

"No more than usual," Jack said. Seeing the look on Daniel's face he moved swiftly on. "It's the fear manifesting itself, nothing more. You're projecting your fear of what might have happened, your expectation of more pain or more of that psychological crap you were getting from Makepeace, and putting it all on something that was there the whole time. Something you had a chance of getting your revenge on." He shrugged, "Or so I was told."

"Who told you? Did this happen to you, Jack?" He was surprised.

"Well, not with anything as big as a cage," Jack admitted. "I took my frustrations out on a defenceless pewter food dish. Stupid bastard thing was always empty, and I hated it."

Daniel tried to wrap his mind around an image of Jack O'Neill yelling imprecations at a small metal dish -- somehow it wasn't hard to do.

"So, me having some kind of anthropomorphic delusion is normal."

"I dunno about that," Jack said with a tiny grin, "It sounds pretty nasty to me."

Daniel ignored him. Sometimes Jack's refusal to admit he understood any word longer than three syllables really pissed him off. "You know what really scares me? That you guys didn't get there in time."

Jack looked confused. "We did get there in time, Daniel. You're here, aren't you?"

"Teal'c didn't..." He trailed off, stunned that Jack didn't know. "Jack, when Teal'c found me I was alone. The guy who was supposed to... he killed one of his own men instead. Then he left me there to get out by myself."

Oh hell. Jack had gone pale, obviously shocked. Way to blow the guy's self-confidence, Jackson. He leaned across to grab the juice and offered it up. "Do you want a drink?" The colonel took the glass and slugged the remains back like a shot of whiskey. Finally his eyes focussed on Daniel.

"We were too late?" the throaty rumble wasn't quite his usual tone.

"No! That's not what I meant." Daniel said quickly, trying to fight his way out of the hole he'd just dug. "It's just... there was obviously a lot more going on than I know about. There's no question that you guys got me out. Without Teal'c I could never have got free of those cuffs. Probably would have blundered blind into the middle of some fire fight." Oh yeah, rub it in why don't you? Might as well abandon the shovel and just bring on the mechanical digger. "God, Jack, you can't imagine how grateful I am you guys were there."

"But you saved yourself," Jack said flatly. "Dr. Jackson charmed the locals again."

"It wasn't like that -- they didn't give a shit about me. The executioner was so clinical, like it was just another day on the job. Things happened a certain way and I got to live, but if his boss had wanted something different then I'd be dead, no question. It's all so, so..."

"Fragile?"

He was surprised by his friend's insight, though he knew he shouldn't have been. "We have such a tenuous grip on life, and there's nothing we can do about it. We try so hard to make a difference, but what if we're getting it all wrong? Maybe it would be better if these people had their way, and--"

"You don't really think that."

He sighed, no. "A lot of things went through my mind in those last few minutes. There was the fear and the anger, not exactly unexpected. But surrounding it was utter despair at the unfairness of it all. Who gave that guy the right to take away my chances, to steal my future?" He stared at Jack, willing his friend to have the answers. "I've never met anyone with so little soul before, as if someone had ripped it from him at some point and he didn't care enough to fight for it. What creates a man like that?"

"A lot of little things that add up," Jack replied, sadly. "Or big things. Depends on your perspective, I suppose. It's not something you can understand without having been where those people have been."

"Walk a mile in their shoes," Daniel murmured.

"Kind of. But even that's not enough." Jack said. "I've probably been where he's been, done some of the things that he's done. But I had other influences too, ones that kept me grounded, that reminded me what it was all for. And it's possible he was a psycho even before he had those experiences -- sometimes that was a requirement in covert ops."

"You're definitely not a psycho, Jack."

"No. But I'm just saying, I can understand where he's coming from. Though if they'd shot you, I don't know that I'd have been able to control my need for revenge."

"The soldier thing," Daniel acknowledged.

"The friend thing," Jack corrected.

Daniel paused a second to let that sink in, to let the warmth of the simple statement chase some of the residual terror from around his heart. "I'm still afraid, you know. Afraid of what people think of me, afraid that trying hard to do the right thing isn't enough and that one day my failures are going to add up to the sentence that was almost carried out. Afraid that I'll deserve it."

"That's bullshit, Daniel!" Jack was outraged.

"Is it? How can we be sure that we're doing the right thing?"

"We feel it, Danny." Jack said softly, sincerity flooding his features. "I'm not exactly one for accessing the inner mensch, but that instinct's all the proof I need. Those bastards out there, they're just after glory and power; they want the adulation that comes from 'saving the planet' and making sure everyone knows about it. You and I, we don't give a shit that the world has no idea what we've done, as long as billions of people continue to live long and happy lives in their ignorance."

And that was exactly the point. Even eloquent in a jaded Air Force colonel kind of way. "Thanks, I needed to hear that."

"You're welcome," Jack smiled. He pushed himself further onto the bed and started his legs swinging. "Wow. I thought I'd left all this self-questioning behind in covert ops, but it never goes away, does it?"

"Same shit, different day," Daniel said sagely.

"Why, Dr. Jackson, you've been hanging around me far too long if you're coming out with such unsavoury phrases."

"I agree completely," came a disapproving voice from the doorway.

"Sam!" Daniel grinned, beckoning his other two team-mates into the room. "Hey Teal'c."

"Daniel Jackson. You look rested."

Daniel smiled again. "Yeah, apparently I slept like a baby."

Sam's gaze drifted to the discarded breakfast tray and her eyes lit up. "Oh wow, soldiers! I haven't had these in ages. May I?" She looked to Daniel for permission.

Daniel shook his head at Jack's smug look. "Help yourself, but they're cold by now."

She waved her hand dismissively. "That's not the point, Daniel. It's the principle of the thing. Soldiers are--"

"Little slices of toast, specially cut to entertain children?" Daniel suggested.

She made a face. "You have no sense of fun."

He watched in fascination as she bit into a slice of cold toast, butter congealing on its surface, with an expression approaching ecstasy. He caught Teal'c's eye -- the Jaffa obviously shared the same perplexed thoughts. Time for a team hug here.

"Teal'c, I wanted to thank you for getting me out of there, it was much appreciated. Actually, I want to thank all of you -- you gave new life to the phrase 'in the nick of time' last night."

Jack and Sam exchanged slightly guilty looks. Teal'c simply waded in.

"You were alone when I found you, Daniel Jackson."

"I know. Well, apart from the dead body. I was kind of... uh, panicking. I didn't exactly fancy my chances of getting any further on my own, what with being tied up and blindfolded. I still don't understand why that guy helped me instead of killing me. Exactly how many people were involved in this, anyway?"

"Kinsey, for starters," Jack shot back. "And Simmons, I'll bet.

"Definitely Makepeace," Daniel said. "But Kinsey? He's a senator, for God's sake! Are you sure?"

"Totally."

"No, Daniel." Sam shot her CO a warning glare. "We have no proof of anything right now."

"Okay, fine. We don't have proof." Jack conceded. "Look, we're due to debrief in ten minutes, we can finish this discussion there. The doc says you can come as long as you use a wheelchair, Daniel, and as long as we don't tire you out."

"I don't need a chair, I can walk just fine."

"Humour us. Please?"

"Don't you have any crutches? I'm great with crutches."

Daniel heard the click-click of heels just before another voice joined the argument. "If you want to get out of that bed, Daniel, you use the chair. Or I could tell the general to move the debriefing to the infirmary, if you prefer?"

Daniel narrowed his eyes. She'd do it, too. He could feel the embarrassment at the thought of spending the entire meeting dressed in nothing but an infirmary gown. And then embarrassment turned to fear.

"Can I at least get some clothes?" he asked quietly, suddenly fascinated by his blanket once more.

Janet's tone gentled. "Of course. Colonel, why don’t you give Daniel a hand getting dressed -- there are clothes in the bottom of the nightstand -- and the two of you can meet everyone in the briefing room when you're ready?"

"Good idea." Jack's voice was just as calm, just as understanding. Daniel felt a flush of heat in his cheeks. How many things were going to bite him in the ass before he was over this?

He mumbled a "thanks", keeping his head down until the room was quiet once more, then watched as Jack knelt down and inspected the available clothing. Underwear, chinos, shirt, sweater and socks landed in a heap on the bed. Civvies?

Jack obviously read his confusion. "Sam figured you'd appreciate something comfortable. Non-military. I understand how it is to want something that's entirely your own after, you know..."

Daniel nodded, a little awed. He did know, but until now he hadn't recognised his need. Check another thing off the ass-biting list, then. He looked up at Jack's face, read the hopeful but unsure expression. It was going to take a while, but his team would make sure he was okay.

As silence fell in the room once more, O'Neill was enormously grateful for the general's apparently bottomless well of patience when it came to his teams. Daniel was sitting motionless and silent, having apparently simply run out of words. He had talked through everything that had happened to him, starting with his abduction on the mountain road and finishing at the moment Teal'c had found him bound and blindfolded, alone with a still warm corpse. He volunteered only the facts, plain and unadorned, with none of his usual detailed observations sprinkling the account. Neither was there any comment on the whys and wherefores, no theories, intuition, ideas or special Jackson hunches. It was obvious to everyone present that he was leaving certain details out -- specifics that would make no difference to the upcoming investigation but would undoubtedly affect Daniel's recovery.

Throughout his monologue the archaeologist had kept his gaze firmly on the table in front of him. He expended energy only on taking occasional sips from a glass of water. In a room full of carefully controlled military bearing, Daniel stood out as unnaturally still. He was seated awkwardly in a briefing room chair to the general's left, having shucked off O'Neill's argument that he would be far more comfortable in the wheelchair. He had resolutely abandoned his transportation in a corner as soon as he arrived, leaving it deliberately out of his line of sight as if the fewer reminders he had of his current state the better.

When it became apparent Daniel wasn't going to speak again, Hammond broke the painful silence. "So, Dr. Jackson, you had no opportunity to visually identify anyone?"

Daniel met the general's eyes for the first time in fifteen minutes. "Makepeace. I saw Makepeace. But every time I was with anyone else I was blindfolded or they wore balaclavas. I heard a couple of names, though I don't know if they'll help -- I expect they're fake."

"That's probably true, son, but one of your abductors may have mistakenly used a real name without realising it."

Daniel frowned into his water, then braved a glance around the table. "Major Morrison. He was the dangerous one... possibly following an entirely different set of orders. He was the one who killed the lieutenant. I think Makepeace said his name was Dixon? Dickinson? Something like that."

"It'll come back to you," O'Neill reassured him.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather it didn't." Daniel muttered. His eyes widened as he realised he'd spoken aloud, and he dropped his gaze once more.

Hammond broke the second uncomfortable silence in as many minutes. "What makes you think Morrison had his own agenda?"

Daniel turned his glass on the table, making damp rings on the polished surface.

Hammond raised his voice slightly. "Dr. Jackson?"

Daniel's head shot up in alarm.

Hammond gently repeated his question.

"Oh. Uh, he said he had orders from his boss, but the fact that he didn't shoot me was also a bit of a giveaway."

"That fits with what we know, sir," Carter spoke up, attempting to deflect attention from Daniel's blatant sarcasm.

"Major?"

"The deliberate clues to Daniel's whereabouts in the video point towards a second group, as well as the evidence of Orlin's Stargate being used. Whatever Makepeace's agenda, someone or someones above Morrison wants something else."

"Terrific, so now we have even more uncontrolled lunatics out there?" Jack groaned.

"Actually, sir, I think the second group may be on our side -- for the moment at least. Whoever they are, they wanted Daniel to keep on..." she faltered, her face flushing.

"Annoying people," Daniel finished flatly.

"Daniel, I didn't mean--"

"It's fine." Daniel gave her an almost-smile. "I know what he meant now, and he wasn't talking about people at the SGC. It looks like there's some kind of power struggle going on within the NID, and we just happened to have the privilege of being pawns in that game. I don't understand though -- aren't any of the kidnappers talking?"

Daniel's confusion pushed O'Neill into ground he really hadn't wanted to cover in this session. "We, uh, we didn't catch anyone last night, Daniel. We kind of had other priorities. The general sent more people in once we had you safe, but the place had been burned to the ground. It's going to take a while to sift through the ashes for any evidence."

The archaeologist tried to hide his mounting panic. "Which means they're still out there? They could do this again?"

"They won't do it again," O'Neill said firmly. "We'll find them and stop them."

"How? How will we do that, Jack? And what about the second team -- Morrison and whoever he works for?"

"I do not believe anyone is in danger, Daniel Jackson." All eyes focussed on the previously silent Jaffa. "The second team's behaviour suggests that they wish for SG-1 to continue as usual; the first team does not share this goal. However, it is unlikely that either group will make such an attempt against you again -- we are aware of their existence and can take precautions against them."

Daniel looked like he was about to respond, then thought better of it. O'Neill tried to smooth the worry over. "I agree with Teal'c -- I don't think they can risk reprisals. If the scheme had worked then they'd be in a much stronger position, but right now they've been sent packing with their tails tucked between their legs. And I'm betting we have a lot more information on them than they suspect, even if we don't have any of them to verify it for us."

"We do have one man," Hammond reminded him.

O'Neill stared stupidly at the general. "Oh hell, the delivery boy! Sir, I have a confession to make..."

"You left it to your CO to organise his retrieval."

"I did?"

"You did. He's in a holding cell on level 25."

The colonel opened his mouth to give Daniel an explanation, then changed his mind. The archaeologist simply wasn't paying attention any more.

"I have a couple of updates for you all. First of all, there's been an accident at Area 51. The Stargate that was constructed in Major Carter's basement has been destroyed along with most of the building it was housed in. Sixteen people were killed in the explosion." He let that news sink in before dropping the second bomb. "Also, following our discussion last night, the president has ordered an independent investigation into the whole affair, particularly NID's part in it."

"As long as it isn't led by Kinsey, we might get somewhere."

"Colonel..."

"I know, sir, no proof. But there are still a lot of things I want to know. Such as exactly how Makepeace got out of a maximum security lock-up, and who inside this base is planting sophisticated bugs?"

"It's interesting you should ask about the base, Colonel. I'm putting you in charge of a complete security inspection. I want everyone in this command investigated, from myself down to the cleaning staff and cooks. I want all histories that we have on file verified separately, and I want the person who bugged my office found as soon as possible."

"It'll be my pleasure, sir."

O'Neill glanced Daniel's way again; the man was yawning and doing a particularly bad job of hiding it.

"In addition, I'd like all of your reports on my desk by the end of the day. Dr. Jackson, as per Dr. Fraiser's instructions, someone will type up your verbal report from this meeting and you can dictate any additions or corrections this afternoon." The general gave O'Neill a meaningful look when there was no response from Daniel. Oh yeah, message received loud and clear -- Daniel would receive a gentle guiding hand from his team leader to ensure the preliminary report was completed with the minimum of pain. And when Daniel was ready, when he'd had plenty of rest, when briefings were again able to hold his interest, only then would they would ask those difficult, probing questions.

Hammond shuffled his papers into a pile, stood up and walked across to the telephone on a side table. "One final thing. As there has been an NID investigation into SG-1 for the last day or so, I feel it only fair to share the good news that said investigation is no longer necessary." He picked up the phone. "Sergeant, please find Colonel Simmons and have him join us in the briefing room."

The room lapsed into another uneasy silence, significant looks passing between the members of SG-1. Carter gained her courage first.

"More water, Daniel?" She picked up the jug and waited patiently for a response.

He glanced over at her a little dazedly. His eyes drifted to the jug in her hand, and he slowly made the connection. The glass was pushed down the table for a refill.

"Thanks."

As he pulled the full glass towards him a little water spilled on the table, but Daniel didn't seem to notice.

O'Neill spoke up. "How are you feeling? Because if you don't want to stay, I'm sure--"

"I'll stay."

"Son, I know this is difficult for you--"

"I'm fine. I'll stay." Daniel's gaze landed on them all in turn, his eyes surprisingly clear and bright. "While everyone's here and this is going on record, I want to say thanks. Thanks for getting me out of there; thanks for not giving up."

"But we--" Daniel's sharp look cut O'Neill off.

"Morrison or no Morrison, something must have happened to precipitate a change in strategy. They'd gone to so much trouble not to let me see them, yet suddenly they wanted me dead? It doesn't make sense, unless someone had done something to spoil their plans. And since I wasn't exactly in a position of influence, it must have been you guys. Apparently I'm not the only one with an uncanny ability to piss people off." He met Jack's assessing look with a tiny smile. It wasn't much, but then it was early days yet.

They had a few seconds warning as footsteps approached the door before Colonel Simmons swept into the room. As soon as he spotted O'Neill he began his rant.

"General Hammond, I must protest. I gave specific orders that Colonel O'Neill be detained until I was satisfied with the investigation."

"The investigation is over, Colonel."

"That's ridiculous. You have no control over NID activities."

"Take a seat, Colonel."

"General--"

"Sit!"

Steaming quietly, Simmons pulled out a chair at the far end of the table, openly defiant of Hammond's authority. As his eyes swept the table he finally spotted Daniel. In the space of a couple of seconds his face ran the gamut of expressions, from astonishment to fury to suspicion. He finally settled on a twitchingly polite attempt at a smile.

"Dr. Jackson, this is a surprise. It was my understanding you were missing."

Daniel icy response was out before anyone else could open their mouths. "It doesn't appear so, does it? And I'm fine, by the way. I can see you're concerned."

Simmons turned his indignant attention to Hammond. "General? Perhaps someone could explain?"

"That's why you're here, Colonel," Hammond said. "I'm afraid your investigation has been a bit of a sham. Dr. Jackson was abducted three days ago by persons unknown. The doctor was held as a bargaining chip over Colonel O'Neill to ensure he lied to you during your investigation and admitted culpability for a fictitious series of events."

Simmons barely had time to draw a breath in protest when he was silenced by a stern look from the general -- he was not accustomed to being interrupted.

"As you can see, SG-1 successfully rescued Dr. Jackson last night as a result of some basic errors on the part of the group that held him. As I'm sure is obvious to you now, you have sadly been duped by someone within the NID into running this contrived investigation."

This time Simmons managed not to rise to the bait.

"You'll be glad to know," Hammond concluded, "that those responsible will be found and dealt with -- the President has ordered his own independent inquiry into this indefensible criminal act."

Simmons did an admirable job of schooling his expression into the expected surprise and sympathy. He wasn't quite so successful with his autonomic reactions, though, and by now his face had drained of colour.

O'Neill gleefully waded right in. "Colonel, are you feeling alright? You look a little pale."

"I'm just a little disturbed at being used in this manner. By all parties involved, it would seem." Simmons said pointedly.

"The only people who knew the truth were SG-1 and myself, Colonel," Hammond said. "There was no way of determining whether or not you were involved."

Simmons narrowed his eyes. "No, I'm sure you did the right thing. After all, somebody's life was at stake."

"I'm glad we agree. As you can see, your assistance is no longer required at the SGC, Colonel, and I don't want to keep you from your legitimate duties. Someone from the President's team will be in touch with you shortly. And if I were you, I'd be careful who I took my orders from in the future."

Simmons nodded curtly and rose to his feet. "I'll do that."

"Sergeant, please escort Colonel Simmons directly to the front gate."

They watched the man leave in silence. But this time there was no awkwardness to be found in the quiet, only a sense of warmth and solidarity. And maybe, just maybe, a little closure.

"We still don't know if he was involved," Carter commented.

"No, we don't." O'Neill agreed, unable to keep the grin from escaping. "Yet somehow I feel so much better."

"SG-1, you're on downtime for a week, to be reassessed at the end of that time. I know I don't have to remind you to stick to the facts in your reports -- no unfounded speculation or allegations. I don't want there to be any hint that the inquiry was unduly influenced by the SGC in this matter." He softened. "I want to extend my sympathies to you all that this incident occurred. You all did a good job, especially you, Dr. Jackson. Dismissed."

Carter and Teal'c each laid a reassuring hand on Daniel's shoulder before they left, though who was the actual reassuree wasn't entirely clear. Hammond gave them a smile before retreating into his office, leaving the colonel to help Daniel with the wheelchair. It was only when the archaeologist was seated in the unpopular contraption once again that he voiced a question.

"Jack, explain to me how getting yourself kidnapped is considered a good job?"

O'Neill let off the brakes and pushed the chair towards the elevators. "You're forgetting we saw the videos, Daniel. It's not the easiest thing in the world to keep your dignity in that kind of situation, but you managed it."

"I think you're imagining things. Most of the time I was either bored and in pain or terrified and in pain -- I don't see much dignity in either of those conditions."

"I know you don't." O'Neill said quietly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we're glad to have you back, Daniel."

Epilogue

The man moved silently through the underground car park, keeping to the shadows and staying out of range of the pitifully few cameras watching the area. He moved to a maroon Mercedes, pulled a strong wire from his pocket, popped the lock and opened the door. He slid the envelope under the passenger's seat, closed the door and melted back into the gloom.

Almost two hours later, a woman approached. She unlocked her vehicle and settled herself elegantly into the driver's seat. She placed her purse beside her, reached under the seat to retrieve the envelope and drew out the single sheet of paper inside. Scanning the contents rapidly, she smiled in predatory satisfaction. All had gone as planned; that idiot Kinsey had left a trail of evidence even the CIA could follow. However, she knew O'Neill was no fool. For the time being SG-1 were working to her agenda, but it wouldn't last forever. At some point in the future, Morrison was going to have to finish what he started in that warehouse.

The woman took a matchbook from her purse, lit one of the stubborn little stems and held the flame to the paper. She pressed the button to lower the window. As the fire began devouring its meal, she let the remains flutter to the concrete floor.

Her mind already moving on to bigger things, she shifted the car into drive and headed for home.

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