The Quality of Mercy

Part 4

by

ELG

CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence. Language. Physical and emotional cruelty to SG-1. Attempted rape of a major character. Description of a medical procedure performed upon a major character. Mention of previous minor character(s) death(s). Some romantic implications in relationship between Sam and Martouf. Plus, Jack and Daniel hold a few rather dubious conversations. Basically every member of SG-1 is traumatized and/or physically damaged in some way during the course of this story. On the upside, Daniel is naked for one scene, and SG-1 do all briefly wear pyjamas

Click to see collage created by Bri

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Part 4

Jolinar was screaming a warning in her mind. No, ten years of combat was screaming a warning in her mind. Something was yelling at her anyway. And loudly.

She heard that snickering hiss she hated so much, conjuring an immediate memory of that sinuous form twisting in Hathor's taloned hands, eager to embed itself in the Colonel. There was a Goa'uld near at hand. A Goa'uld making for her. Faster than thought, her hand flew to the back of her neck, and as the creature dived, she rolled, its fangs embedded in her hand. She flung it away from herself in revulsion, blood dripping from her hand.

"Major Carter!" Teal'c was grappling with her, holding her still. She hadn't seen such torment in his eyes since they had found his house razed to the ground on Chulak. "You must not fight it."

"Teal'c?" she stared at him in disbelief as he held her wrists flat to the straw-covered floor. Twisting her head round, she saw the larval Goa'uld snaking towards her. "No!"

He was speaking rapidly and despite the fever doing its best to fog her mind fear had given her a clarity she'd been missing for hours. "There is no other way. Without it you will die."

"I'd rather die!" She gazed up at him imploringly. "Don’t do this to me, Teal'c. Don't make me a Goa'uld."

"It is very young. Its power to control you will be greatly diluted. You may well be able to fight it especially as you have the memories of Jolinar to assist you."

"No!" She twisted around trying to break his grip. The Goa'uld was close now, pale form bright in the sunlight, the sight of the veins pulsating beneath its transparent skin filling her with revulsion. It opened its mouth revealing a blood red maw which gaped at her hungrily. "Teal'c, please! Please !"

As it lunged at her he let go of her wrists, his hand closing around the symbiote's throat in one decisive snap of his fingers. It wriggled in his grasp as he stared down at her sorrowfully. "I have been unable to find a way out of this cell and I have not been able to persuade Harun to bring the medicine you need to survive. The fever you have is killing you. The Tok'ra would find you. They could remove the Goa'uld from your body. You would live."

"I'd rather die than live as a host to the Goa'uld." She scrambled backwards away from the squirming thing until she felt the cold stone against her back. "There has to be a better way than you dying because you don't have an immune system, and me being turned into a Goa'uld. Daniel and the Colonel will get here. We just have to hang on." Despite the fever mist blurring her mind she knew that she didn't want to be a Goa'uld despite the confusion swimming all around that thought, in the same way she could see that single shaft of sunlight cutting through the darkness of their cell. She also knew without any shadow of a doubt that she didn't want Teal'c to die.

The Goa'uld was squirming frantically now. If Teal'c didn't either put it back in his pouch or put it in her, it wasn't going to survive. It could suck oxygen from water or from a host but not from the air. She saw the conflict in Teal'c's dark eyes, torn between two possibilities that were equally hateful to him. When he met her gaze the sorrow on his face made her heart turn over. "I am sorry, Major Carter," he breathed the words as though they tortured him. "I cannot let you die…"

The tears sprang into her eyes too. "You promised you wouldn't leave me! You promised!"

The distress on his face tore at her. "I would never leave you."

"Dying is leaving me, Teal'c. If you do this I'll be all alone here with a Goa'uld in my head and you'll be dead. Don't do this to either of us."

"My lord!"

Carter jerked up her head, aware that the sunlight was blocked by something but unable to make it out through her fever-blurred eyes.

"Do not make her a slave to the false gods." Harun's voice.

She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but he was still just a shadow between her and the sun.

"You leave me no choice," Teal'c retorted.

"I have asked help from the voice of the Chosen One I hear inside my mind. He tells me I should do as you ask even though it may cost us all our freedom. Here is the medicine you asked for."

Something fell from the grating to land softly on the straw. She heard Teal'c gasp something in his own tongue which sounded very like a prayer of thanks, then he was shoving the larval Goa'uld negligently back into his pouch while it hissed and spat its indignation.

It was when she saw how his hands were shaking as he tried to undo the wrapper on the penicillin that she took it from him gently. "It's okay. Let me."

He wouldn't meet her eye as he said: "You know that I did it only to save your life…"

"I know." She couldn't read the instructions on the packet but took two tablets anyway. She reached out and touched his hand. "I know."

"Can you ever trust me again?"

Her eyes widened at the husky tone. She tightened her grip on his hand. "I've always trusted you with my life, Teal'c, and I've always known you'd sacrifice yourself to save the rest of us. That's all you tried to do. And the part of me that isn't scared to death of being turned into a Goa'uld is even grateful. The rest of me might need a few days to catch up."

Teal'c nodded and it tore at her that he was prepared to accept so little. This was how he had been with Daniel after Sha're's death: ready to be hated and feeling he deserved it.

The Jaffa turned to address Harun. "It was not Daniel Jackson's voice which prompted you to bring this medicine, Harun, it was the voice of your own conscience. You do not need any god to help you do the right thing. The good already lies within you."

"You are wrong," Harun told him quietly. "Good comes from without, not within. And by my actions I may well have condemned my people to a life of slavery under the yoke of the false god." Faintly, Carter heard the sound of his footsteps as he walked away.

Carter tried to speak, wanting to call after him and point out that there were other ways to obtain freedom than the method laid out on that tablet, but the coughs racked at her. Teal'c placed a hand on her shoulder, helping her to lie back down in the straw. "Promise me," she breathed hoarsely as he covered her with his jacket once more.

"Promise what?"

"Promise me you'll let me die if the penicillin doesn't work. Don't make me a Goa'uld, Teal'c. Promise me."

There was a long pause before he said quietly, "I promise."

***

Daniel looked at his watch again. Onuris had given them forty-eight hours to get back to the temple. Any way you calculated it they'd now used up thirty and as far as he could see all they'd done was get themselves lost.

Jack kept insisting they weren't lost, of course, because they were following the river. They had a point of reference and a means to return the way they'd come, therefore they weren't lost. But it still felt a hell of a lot like being lost to Daniel. It also still felt a hell of a lot like this was all his fault.

He glanced across at the older man, trying not to let his anxiety show as he did so but probably failing miserably. Jack was hobbling along at a pretty good speed but Daniel wished he would just let him help. He never knew where Jack got off calling him stubborn. He hadn't seen Jack looking this tired since he'd had the language of the Ancients downloaded into his brain: everything working overtime in that grizzled head of his, Stargate addresses, machinery for creating extra power, a cross-section of the DHD which was still their best reference for how that thing fitted together, while Jack's own consciousness trickled away minute by minute like grains of sand through a sieve. When Jack had come back from visiting the Asgard Daniel had been almost afraid to blink in case he vanished again or started speaking Latin. Jack had looked absolutely wrecked but so relieved to be himself again, and still taking a moment to try and comfort a very worried Daniel with his most reassuring smile. Jack had never actually said 'Thank you for everything you did for me. Thank you for believing in me when no one else did.' That wasn't Jack's style. He paid his debts in other ways. Paid them in full too. Not that Daniel had thought of it as a debt. He'd been so in hock to Jack for all the times he'd stood by him or risked his own neck or career on his behalf by that point he'd known he'd never be able to pay him back however many times he helped whisk Jack's frostbitten butt back from Antarctica just in the nick of time or interceded with General Hammond so Jack could go to a Stargate address using an eighth chevron.

"Damned bugs." Jack swatted at something irritably, lurching off-balance as he did so, and Daniel grabbed his arm to steady him.

He set him back on his feet gently. "How are you doing, Jack?"

"Peachy."

Well, Jack was never the best of company when he was hurting. If they got out of this he supposed he'd be on taking-care-of-Jack duty again. The least he could do under the circumstances but still not a prospect that was exactly inviting. Daniel winced as a fern hit him in the face then pushed it aside so Jack could limp past.

"Do you need to rest?"

"No. And stop asking me that."

He was afraid Jack might be running a fever. It was hard to tell because Jack wouldn't let Daniel examine his leg and got tetchy every time Daniel tried to see if he had a temperature; but Jack getting sick or his wound becoming infected was so much the last thing they needed right now it was starting to seem almost inevitable.

He knew Jack was trying his hardest to be optimistic and positive but it kept trickling away again; the fear they might be struggling pointlessly in the wrong direction overwhelming him. Daniel could definitely relate to that. Almost unconsciously they'd slipped back into the way they'd been on Netu; Jack a bit crabby but comparatively passive, leaning on him both physically and mentally, and Daniel trying to be reassuring. Except this time Jack wasn't saying 'We're not dead yet'; he wasn't really saying anything, he was just gazing around at the jungle like he hated it then looking at his watch and grimacing. For Daniel, even louder than the shrieking of the hyacinth-colored parrots and the alarm calls of the howler monkeys were all the things Jack wasn't saying right now. Not just 'This is all your damned fault, Daniel!' but also 'We can't possibly get there in time and we both know it.'

This little outing had come too soon after Netu, that was the trouble. There hadn't been enough of a time lapse for Jack to get his confidence back. Daniel knew that Sokar's artificial hell had been hell indeed for Jack. Separated from Teal'c; Apophis resurrected; people coming to take Sam away and there being nothing Jack could do about it. And then once Jack had been wounded things had got a whole lot worse. Then he couldn't even defend them physically. He'd been so exhausted with pain, blood loss, and the effects of the Blood of Sokar he'd pretty much been a passenger, totally dependent on the rest of them to get themselves home and take him with them. For someone like Jack that was not a good day.

Daniel had spent three years watching Jack's confidence get eroded bit by bit. He still seemed as optimistic on the surface most days, but there wasn't the same certainty in his gaze. In the beginning Daniel knew he, Sam, and Teal'c had probably all been equally guilty of sticking Jack on a pedestal. Thinking of him as a miracle worker. Someone who could solve any problem, right any wrong. And since then Daniel had been mortally wounded and there had been nothing Jack could do except leave him behind. Sam had been turned into what they had believed at the time to be a Goa'uld while Jack hadn't been able to prevent Jolinar blending with her, or keep the Ashrak from almost killing her. And Jack had been forced to stand on the wrong side of the river bank while religious fanatics hung a rock around Teal'c's neck and drowned him right in front of them.

When they'd come back from Chulak the first time, he'd seen someone in Jack who could achieve anything. The man had been through the fire and come out the other side of it. He'd hardly been able to believe this was the closed-off suicidal military hard-ass he'd met a year before. Even then there had been something about the man that made him believe in him; an instinctive reaction to Colonel Jack O'Neill that had made no apparent sense even to him. As a civilian he'd always been a little suspicious of the military, and back then Jack had seemed military down to his Air Force issue socks. Not trusting Jack would have been logical. Feeling from the first moment they met that this was someone who needed his help; someone who mattered; someone significant; someone he could feel safe around and trust, had not.

Jack had seemed capable of achieving anything he set his mind to back then. Daniel hadn't doubted for an instant that Jack was able to find Sha're, defeat the Goa'uld, save the world. He'd just worried the will might not be there, and designated it his job to keep Jack on the right course. Back then he'd seen his role as primarily one of gentle shoving in the right direction. Well, nagging, wheedling, pleading, and downright sulking, had also played a part in his armory of persuasive tactics at times, but he'd mostly seen himself as the means to ease Jack into doing the right thing. It had taken a long time for him to realize there were some things Jack just couldn't do. That he wasn't superman. He made mistakes. Was unreasonable. Made poor decisions some times. Was sometimes just plain wrong.

It had come as a terrible shock to him. Was he supposed to take Jack down from his pedestal, dust him off and interact with him on a different level? Or should he just blame him for not being who Daniel had thought he was? The latter option had been so much easier perhaps it wasn't so surprising he'd decided to choose that one. Because looking back he knew that some of the anger he'd felt towards Jack after Sha're's death had been not just because the man wouldn't believe in him, but also because Jack hadn't managed to make this all come right for him. Jack hadn't been in the right place at the right time. Jack hadn't got Sha're back.

That had been a very bitter pill to swallow at a time when fate had already been force-feeding him wormwood like it was going out of fashion.

"Daniel?"

Daniel gave himself a mental shake, bad memories of the past overcast by an awareness of the present. The jungle seeped back into his consciousness; dripping, screeching, howling and rustling a reminder of where he was now. But it was still a shock to look up and find Jack grubby, exhausted and wounded in a rainforest when he'd expected to see the man standing in a corridor of the SGC thwarting him paternally for his own damned good.

"Daniel, hang on a minute, I need to rest."

"Sorry."

Daniel hastened to help him; Jack swearing as he hopped over a trailing liana and stumbled. "This damned leg – I swear to God the next son-of-a-bitch who points a staff weapon at me…"

As Daniel propped him up against the tree he quickly put his hand on Jack's forehead. It earned him the usual glare and snapped, "Don't fuss , Daniel." But he still had to do it. The man's forehead was hot and sweaty but so was the rest of Jack right now. So was the whole of Daniel right now. But Jack didn't seem feverish. Just pissed off and hurting. Flies buzzed inquisitively around his leg and Jack swatted at them irritably. "Damned bugs."

"I wonder how Sam and Teal'c…" He hadn't meant to say it aloud. Daniel bit his lip. The question was going through his head on a continuous loop at the moment. He knew it was going through Jack's as well, but by mutual consent they weren't voicing it. He winced, "Sorry."

Jack took a deep breath and mopped his brow, catching trickles of sweat which he wiped off on his jacket. He didn't look at Daniel as he said quietly, "We're doing all we can."

"I know. I know."  Daniel also avoided his gaze, turning to look at the greenish waters of the widening river. A line of large moss-covered boulders gave them stepping-stones from this bank to the next; the rocks creating half a dozen tiny waterfalls which sent up a fine spray to cool his skin. He pointed to the stones. "We could cross here if we wanted to."

"What would be the point?"

Daniel winced at the same time as Jack. That had slipped out before the older man could stop it, the utter weariness in his tone speaking volumes.

Jack said quickly, "I didn't mean – "

"I know." Daniel gave him his most reassuring smile while inside knowing Jack was right. What was the point of any of this? They were only moving because it was easier than staying still. They weren't achieving anything and they both knew it. They would never find their way back to the temple in time or out of time. They'd never get out of the rain forest. They'd stumble around in this jungle until one of them got bitten by something deadly or contracted some tropical disease. One of them would die first and the other one would die alone. That was the reality of their situation. Whether they were on one side of the stream or the other, it didn't make any kind of difference.

He wished now he'd done what Jack wanted back in that cavern. If he'd just translated the tablet at least he'd know if this was it. If he knew they failed they could give up now. He could stop dragging a wounded man through this spiteful undergrowth and let Jack get his strength back. He'd been wrong about translating that tablet like he'd been wrong so many times before. Was it any wonder Jack hadn't believed him about the Harsesis? The real mystery was why Daniel had expected him to.

Daniel put a hand up to his head and tried to remember the way Harun had responded to their questions. Maybe he hadn't read the tablet, but Harun had. So had the worshippers of the Chosen One. The people in the temple had all seemed fond of Sam. Because she was Compassion? Or because they knew she was doomed to die? Every time he closed his eyes he could hear Onuris saying: "The woman who pretends to be a goddess is dying. The fever she was given will kill her."

For a moment despair threatened to overwhelm him and then Daniel fought back. He couldn't do this. If he did, Jack would have to reassure him and Jack was definitely entitled to a few hours off from trying to make him feel better. He was the one who needed to be coming up with the good news right now. He was also the one who needed to find a way back to that temple. It was his fault Teal'c was in such danger and Sam was dying of fever and…

And that wasn't going to help anyone so he'd better cut it out right now.

Daniel looked around helplessly. He was trying not to hate this terrain; trying to feel like Hiram Bingham following in the footsteps the fleeing Incas had taken four hundred years before; but it wasn't helping. He didn't want to find a lost city, however splendid or intact. He wouldn't have cast a second glance at a route map to El Dorado right now. He just wanted to get back to the temple of Onuris in the next…Daniel looked at his watch. The next fifteen hours.

"We can do this," he said determinedly.

He looked at Jack, trying to appear confident but probably just looking like someone in need of reassurance because Jack forced a smile for him then squeezed his shoulder again, saying very gently, "Of course we can."

As he took the wounded man's weight, stumbling a little on the uneven track, Daniel found the forest suddenly blurring all around him. For a second he thought it must be tears in his eyes and then he realized the noise around them was deafening. Rain falling.

Rain. That couldn't be right. Surely the equatorial rainfall would follow the same pattern as on earth. Surely it would fall every day at the same time? Daniel looked at his watch again but it was still stolidly telling him it was midday. Then he noticed the way the second hand wasn't moving.

"No!" he said it in dismay, shaking his wrist in annoyance.

"You okay? Did something bite you? Sting you? Let me look."

Seeing Jack's anxious face Daniel realized the man's nerves were still worn ragged; he was just hiding it better than yesterday. He said soothingly, "I'm fine, Jack. But my watch has stopped."

"Jesus, Daniel, don't do that!"

"Sorry." Daniel pulled his sleeve down over the temporarily useless watch.

Jack was muttering irritably as he limped along at a surprisingly good speed, "…place is crawling with Christ knows how many poisonous snakes and bugs and you're yelping like that…"

"I said I was – uh, Jack…?"

"…for all we know even the damned centipedes are – What?"

"Look." Daniel carefully turned the man around, trying to support his weight as he did so, and pointed.

Through the slanting curtain of rainfall they could see the other side of the river. The jungle had abruptly given way to stepped terraces, some cleared for planting, others bristling with a crop that looked very like half-grown maize. As they watched, the rain fell onto the red earth with such ferocity it ploughed up the soil like machine gun fire; the sound of the downpour hitting the maize leaves a new and welcome note in the usual jungle symphony. A green snake slithered across Daniel's boot but he only smiled wider, "I'd say that constituted signs of civilization, wouldn't you?"

***

O'Neill had to admit this terrain was slightly less annoying than the uncleared jungle. It wasn't somewhere he'd be planning to come back to for his annual leave or anything, but it was…better. And Daniel had certainly cheered up again. He'd been talking for at least an hour now without apparently needing to pause for breath. About how incredible it would be if they came across an inhabited Incan or Mayan city. How much they could learn. How they might be able to see some kind of ancient ball game actually being played. "… Tlachtli was so popular across Central America that I'm sure it would have survived in some form. That was a kind of hockey the Maya used to play, Jack. There are the remains of ball-courts all through the ruined cities of the Yucatan and Guatemala…"

"How about that: a hockey game you might actually want to watch." O'Neill sighed as his boredom with this conversation prickled up the back of his neck like an insect.

"…as far as we know, tlachtli was played with a very hard ball which had to be hit through a stone ring using a club…"

He tuned him out again. Only thing you could do with Daniel sometimes. That or kill him. The next time O'Neill tuned back in to Radio Jackson, Daniel had moved away from ball games and was talking about agriculture. With an inward groan, O'Neill realized that the ancient hockey conversation was probably as interesting as Daniel got on this subject. From now on, he was only going to get more boring.

As he picked his way through a field of waving crops, O'Neill swatted at an insect and tried not to sigh too heavily as Daniel stuck another unappetizing example of local agriculture under his nose.

"This is very similar to maize we know was cultivated in the Tehuacán Valley. It's interesting to see the way early MesoAmericans selected from natural mutations to propagate maize that gave more food per cob. We think domesticated maize probably evolved from something called teosinte which…"

"Daniel…"

Nope. Daniel was not in the mood to listen. Daniel was definitely in the mood to talk.

"…of course there's much better preservation of plant remains in the dry cave sites of highland Mexico and Peru, but even in the Tehuacán  Valley we're pretty sure they were eating domesticated maize by as early as 5000 BC – "

"Daniel!" O'Neill gripped his arm and squeezed it a little harder than was strictly necessary. "No one cares."

Daniel blinked at him in disbelief and spread out an arm to encompass the fields. "Don't you realize how fascinating this is?"

O'Neill wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Well, my overwhelming boredom is kind of getting in the way of my fascination at the moment."

"But, Jack, maize was of pivotal importance to the Maya, and the beheading of the Maize God by his counterparts in the underworld clearly symbolized the – "

"Daniel, can we have a little memory check? As in why we're here? What we're trying to do? How writing a paper on the agricultural habits of the people of the Andes is not what we're supposed to be doing right now?"

"Okay – okay, you're right, I'm sorry. I just – you know – "

"Just try and concentrate on one thing at a time."

Daniel nodded determinedly. "Yes. Will do." He dutifully helped O'Neill clamber over some furrows but O'Neill just knew Daniel was already wondering what kind of tools they'd used to do that fairly crappy piece of plowing. Without the trees overhead to filter it out the sun was almost unbearable. He was pouring sweat and his leg was itching and hurting simultaneously. He wondered again how he'd managed to go so many years without hitting Daniel. It was really quite a tribute to his self-control when he came to think about it. It wasn't that he actually wanted him to change. There were just days when he wanted him to be…a little less Daniel, that was all. He didn't think that was so much to ask.

"Did I ever tell you about the plant remains found at Guilá Naquitz?"

"No," O'Neill told him firmly. "And you'd better not try to if you want to keep your teeth."

Daniel darted an assessing glance in his direction. "I think maybe we should get you into the shade. You need to rest that leg."

"What I need is to find a way to get back to that freakin' temple."

There was another pause before Daniel said in a different voice. "I've been wondering if half of the reason why Onuris sent us here was as a…bribe."

O'Neill peered at him through his sunglasses. "Not following you. I remember threats. Like what you could look forward to if by some miracle you managed to get back there." He'd been wondering how Daniel felt about that little welcome committee Onuris had promised him so he wasn't sorry to have a chance to discuss it. It certainly wasn't going to stop him from going all out to get back to the temple and it didn't seem to be slowing Daniel up any either, but he would have liked some reassurance Daniel was going into this with his eyes open.

Daniel waved a hand dismissively. "He was just trying to scare me."

O'Neill sighed. Didn't work though, did it? Why? Because you don't believe anyone would ever really do anything that nasty to you? Because you don't think Onuris' Jaffa would want to? Because you think you'll be able to talk him or them out of it? Because you think I'll think of someway to stop it happening? What if I can't, Daniel?

Daniel continued thoughtfully. "No, I think this was a two-part plan: come back here and see what's waiting for you, but also look what a nice place I'm sending you to so why would you want to come back here." He waved an arm to encompass their surroundings. "I mean, look at it, Jack."

O'Neill did so blankly. "And so? I'm seeing jungle. Lots and lots of jungle. And some withered-looking crops which you had better not even think about cataloguing for me again."

Daniel gave him one of those long-suffering glances that always made O'Neill want to throw something heavy at him. I swear to God, Daniel, you give me that martyr-resigned-to-the-hideous-cross-he-has-to-bear look just once more and I am going to…

"No, Jack." And the weary resignation in that sigh was, O'Neill felt, an invitation to GBH all by itself. Daniel waved a hand to encompass their surroundings. "I mean there's food, water, shelter. You could almost call it…paradise."

O'Neill stopped where he was and took a good look at their surroundings. They were in an orchard of small trees now. He couldn't work out exactly what that fruit was but it was obvious it had been cultivated in some way. The trees were planted far enough apart that they could grow without throttling each other and the ground underneath them had been cleared in the past although it was now liberally strewn with fallen fruit. O'Neill scowled at the mercilessly blue sky through his sunglasses. "Yeah. Regular Garden of Eden." He reached up into the nearest tree and plucked one of the greenish fruit from the branches. Then he tossed it to Daniel. "Here. Have an apple."

Daniel returned his steady gaze for a moment while buffing the fruit slowly on his jacket then took a decisive bite.

O'Neill nodded, took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. "You know that's just one of the reasons I was never too keen on the idea of God – God. It's hard to like a guy who's against people having knowledge."

Daniel talked with his mouth full. "This from the man who keeps telling me he'll kill me if I don't shut up?"

"Now, be fair, I've been very careful to use the word 'maim'. Death was never an option."

Daniel swallowed and wiped a trickle of juice from his chin. He regarded the half-eaten fruit curiously. "I think this is definitely a – "

"Ah hah – " O'Neill held up a warning finger. "You can walk out of this orchard or you can limp out of it. Your choice."

"I was going to say 'bribe'," Daniel retorted. "And now we know there are definitely people here that makes even more sense."

O'Neill made a face. If he asked Daniel why, Daniel was going to tell him, and it would probably be a long and very boring explanation. But if he didn't he was never going to know and he had a feeling Daniel was probably right and this was important. He sighed. "Okay. Why?"

Daniel took another bite of fruit. "Well you have to remember that Onuris is perceiving me as a rival. Basically he is seeing me as another – Goa'uld. So he's judging me by his own standards. They don't have the same morality we have, after all, and despite borrowing our bodies for all these millennia I'm not sure they really understand the human psyche that well. If they did Apophis would just have held a gun to your head in Netu and told me he'd put a bullet in you if I didn't tell him what he wanted to know. But the concept of 'friendship' is, I think, completely alien to them. They make political alliances for mutual gain; and they take mates with which to produce more Goa'uld. And it's quite conceivable they have – or believe they have – feelings of affection for those mates. But they don't seem to have any feelings for anyone or anything else."

O'Neill had noticed the way Daniel had gritted his teeth as he conceded the possibility that the Goa'uld might care about their…mates. Apophis had told Daniel he loved Amaunet, and he'd certainly shown her nothing but tenderness in those crowded moments on Abydos after Heru'ur's departure, despite the fact she'd lost the baby he'd been hoping to use as a host, but he knew that wasn't how Daniel wanted to perceive that relationship. "And so?" he prompted quietly.

Daniel collected himself. "Okay – so if I'm a rival wannabe deity, what would I want? What could I be bought off with? Onuris doesn't know how much power I have on this world. You've convinced him turning me into a martyr wouldn't be the best idea he's ever had. He needs to get rid of me but it would be easier for all parties if I actually wanted to stay away. So he takes away what he perceives to be my First Prime – Teal'c, and what he perceives to be my mate – Sam. Then he sends me to a place where I can start over again. But to sweeten the pill he sends me to a part of the planet which is a lush paradise and he gives me you for – company."

O'Neill raised an eyebrow. "Company? What exactly is my role in your little entourage, Your Imitation Go'auldness?"

Daniel took another bite of fruit. "I never said he thought I was a Goa'uld, I said he is treating me like a Goa'uld, in that he is assuming my motivation and desires are the same. Basically, he is presuming I want the same things he does: a nice little kingdom to rule over and some slaves who will treat me like a god." He held out his hands and turned a slow circle. "Here's the nice little kingdom. The slaves are presumably around here somewhere. All I have to do is convince them I'm a god. If I can do that I can get another mate and another First Prime, meaning I won't need to bother him again. At least not for a few decades while I build up an army, and in the meantime my reputation on his part of the planet is ruined anyway because I didn't get back there in time to save Sam and Teal'c. Actually, you have to hand it to the guy, that's not a bad plan."

"And I fit into this equation – where?"

Daniel darted him an apologetic look. "Well, I presume he thinks you're my – protector and, um – companion."

O'Neill took off his sunglasses just so Daniel couldn't fail to miss how very little he liked that suggestion. "I liked Harun's version better. I was the brains of the outfit in that one. Being your bodyguard cum bedwarmer is not my idea of a good job description."

  "I'm just trying to imagine how he thinks I think."

"Well imagine it silently, will you?"

As he jammed his sunglasses back on his nose, he refused to notice that reproachful look Daniel was zinging in his direction. Yes, his temper was fraying and his tongue was consequently getting sharper but Daniel was being incredibly annoying and deserved to get a little snapped at.

The next two hours brought clearer and clearer signs of civilization and O'Neill couldn't help feeling a glimmer of hope flutter in his breast. Where there had once been Goa'uld there might well be the remnants of Goa'uld technology they could use. They had found more and more raised fields of…agricultural produce. Daniel had clearly been dying to tell him exactly what agricultural produce and what its significance might be, but he'd sent a quelling glare in his direction every time Daniel opened his mouth and that seemed to be holding him. Daniel was always easier to intimidate when O'Neill was wearing sunglasses, and when he was feeling guilty and O'Neill was wearing sunglasses he was almost manageable. They walked by the very edge of the field beside a tall bank, automatically trying not to crush any of the crops, the tall maize providing at least little shelter from the sun.

"I think this might be a civilization in decline."

"What?" It was so long since Daniel had said anything that O'Neill jerked his head round in surprise.

Daniel was pulling back a creeper to reveal grey stone set into the bank. "I think we missed the crowning moment of this civilization. Skipped the Preclassic, the Classic, and the Late Classic and are now into the Terminal Classic. I think the same thing has happened to them that happened to the Maya. A gradual disintegration for reasons no one really understands."

He tugged at the creepers and O'Neill watched him struggling with them for a moment before sighing and taking the knife from Daniel's pocket. "Try using this."

Daniel looked at the knife in surprise. "Oh. Thanks." He hacked through the creepers, gradually revealing a flat round stone so large even O'Neill had to stand on tiptoe to see the topmost pictograms. Daniel cleared the face of the stone carefully, fingers brushing creeper tendrils from the cracks as gently as someone easing a scab from a half-healed wound.

O'Neill leaned against a nearby tree to take some of the weight off his leg and looked at the stone without liking. Pictograms decorated the edge of the stone in the same way the glyphs decorated the Stargate but although the 'gate glyphs had taken on a kind of familiarity even for him these were all circles and dots. He was having trouble making sense of the picture in the center but there seemed to be bones and skulls in there, and he doubted that meant anything good.

He watched Daniel still carefully clearing the stone, and remembered that all this annoying information Daniel was always inflicting on him was sometimes invaluable information they needed to save their lives. He wondered just how many times Daniel was going let him tell him to shut up then still obligingly come up with the knowledge he needed afterwards. "What is it?"

"It's an altar stone." Daniel was running his fingers over the pictograms carefully. "Very similar to one found at Tikal. These people must be descendants of the Maya."

"And its significance would be?"

Daniel pointed to what seemed to be some kind of priest in the center of the stone. "The Quiche Maya went through a period of committing human sacrifice to propitiate the gods, which is what is being depicted here. So the people brought here may have been from that era or may have followed parallel cultural lines despite their separation from the Maya left on Earth. This altar presumably dates from that time. However, the fact it's been abandoned suggests they've probably stopped committing human sacrifice."

"You hope."

"I'm definitely hoping so, yes."

"Anything that would tell you who the resident Goa'uld used to be?"

Daniel reached out and brushed some dirt from the altar stone. "Well Mayan hieroglyphs are very difficult to decipher. It's not just a mixed system like Egyptian hieroglyphs that uses logographs for whole words but also has symbols for syllables and vowels and so on, it also has a variety of spelling conventions – "

"Daniel…" He put just a hint of warning into that use of his name. Letting him know he was on report here and if he didn't get to the point pretty damned soon he was going to be spoken to with a singular lack of patience.

"I'm not making difficulties, Jack. There are several different ways to write the same word. If it wasn't for Yuri Knorosov – "

"Daniel! Can you read it or not?"

Daniel gave him a reproachful look, turned back to the hieroglyphs, ran his finger across them and then obligingly translated: "Okay, according to this there were two Goa'uld, working together. I'll have to ask Teal'c how often that happens but I should imagine it was pretty unusual. They seem to have adopted the roles of Hun-Came and Vukub-Came."

I knew you could translate it if you put your mind to it, but you just had to get the damned lecture in first, didn't you? O'Neill swatted at a fly. "Is that good or bad?"

"Well Hun-Came and Vukub-Came were the lords of Xibalba, so basically these two Goa'uld seemed to have taken on the roles of the Mayan gods of the Underworld."

O'Neill grimaced. This was sounding like Sokar's second cousins to him. "Are we talking hell here?"

Daniel was still tracing the pictograms with his fingers. "Not exactly. Xibalba was the place of the dead but it wasn't necessarily a place of punishment for sin although it did contain punishment 'houses'. The word 'Xibalba' is actually derived from the root 'to fear', and from that same root you get the Maya word for phantom or ghost, so really Xibalba was the Place of the Phantoms."

"But these underworld god guys were presumably not up for any humanitarian awards?"

Daniel cleared a little more of the inscription. "Well on Earth they were seen more as opposers and annoyers of men. Here they seem to be a bit more of that. They're depicted as 'mighty' here and called 'slayers of the sons of Xpiyacoc' as though this is something to be celebrated by the populace. Which is interesting, as in Mayan mythology on earth Hunhun-Apu and Vukub-Hunapu are depicted as hero-gods who – "

"Daniel, I can't keep all these damned unpronounceable names straight in my head and what's more, I don't want to."

"And you know, Jack, sometimes it just isn't possible to tell you everything you might possibly need to know about a very complex four thousand year old civilization in three sentences." But as he took a last look at the altar stone, Daniel still automatically held out a hand to steady O'Neill.

As O'Neill limped along next to him he felt another twinge of conscience. Once again he was going to be very grateful for all the useful information Daniel had in that head of his. That information he would never let him share because he found it so damned boring. After a rather laden silence he said quietly, "Okay, tell me about the Maya. Tell me what we can expect." And this time he didn't say 'But give me the short version'.

Daniel helped him clamber over some fallen stones. "Well, they created the first comprehensive writing system in Pre-Columbian America. They had an incredibly complicated calendrical system – don't worry I'm not going to explain it to you, to be honest, I have trouble with it myself – they valued chocolate so highly that it became a form of currency. They loved saunas and ball games."

"My kind of people," O'Neill put in.

Daniel darted him a look. "They were originally believed to be a peaceful theocracy, but later evidence proves the lowland Maya city-states were actually in a constant state of warfare with each other. They sought tributes and captives from other city-states and used the captives as human sacrifices in much the same way the Aztecs did, although in far smaller numbers."

"Okay. Not my kind of people."

"They built cities containing as many as fifty thousand people, usually constructed around temple groups comprising pyramids, ball courts, temples and palaces, all linked by broad causeways. They prized jade and obsidian. They tortured their prisoners by removing their fingernails – among other methods."

O'Neill grimaced. "So, when their civilization – wound down, what happened?"

"As far as we can gather they gradually left the cities, which fell into decline, and moved out into the surrounding countryside. We don't really know why."

O'Neill looked around again. "Okay, so we’re hoping that's what's happened here. Breakdown of their society? Headed for the hills? Abandoned their city which will hopefully have a Stargate somewhere nearby which they've left unguarded?"

"How will a Stargate help us?" Daniel asked mildly. "You can't gate from one part of a planet to another. You just get a busy signal."

"Thank you, Daniel, the twinges in my leg on cold days do actually help me remember that. We could gate home and get reinforcements. Then gate back."

"Not if Onuris is blocking incoming as well as outgoing. We'd just end up over here again. And it's not like you could bring a jet through and fly it over to where Sam and Teal'c are."

"Look, I'm the one supplying the negativity on this trip, you stick with the relentless optimism, okay?"

Daniel moistened his lips. "Sorry. What was I thinking?"

There was a pause before O'Neill said, "How come no one is working in these fields anyway? Shouldn't they be – harvesting or whatever?"

"I've been wondering that myself. There was a lot of fruit on the ground in that orchard. I would have expected everything to be picked before now."

O'Neill nodded. "It's kind of quiet too, isn't it?"

"You're not going to say 'too quiet', are you?"

"Remind me again why I've never hit you?"

Daniel darted him a glance. "What about when you had the Touched virus?"

"I wasn't myself then, that doesn't count."

"Okay, what about all those 'self defense' lessons you keep giving me?"

"That isn't hitting you, Daniel, that's just teaching you to keep your guard up. Completely different thing. Believe me, if I ever hit you properly you would know all about it."

Daniel reached up and plucked a bluish-colored fruit from a tree. "You hit me and I'll tell Teal'c." He swallowed the blue fruit and then stuck out a mauve-streaked tongue. "So there."

O'Neill opened his mouth to make a counter-threat and then realized there was no counter-threat. Teal'c was a game winner. He held up an admonishing finger. "That's cheating."

"No, that's winning." Daniel tossed some more of the blue fruit into his mouth. "You should try it some time."

O'Neill was nothing other than pleased when Daniel tripped over something in the undergrowth and fell flat on his face.

He stopped smirking within seconds though when Daniel gasped, shuddered and rolled over. There was panic in his voice: "Jack…"

Remembering the snake that had slithered over Daniel's boot, O'Neill felt his heart give an unpleasant lurch. "Daniel - ?"

Daniel struggled to his feet and away from where he'd been lying so fast he practically threw himself into O'Neill's arms. "What's wrong?" O'Neill steadied him as well as he could while trying to take his own weight on one leg. Daniel looked bone-white and his heart was pounding so fast O'Neill could feel the reverberations going through him. "What - ?" That was when the wind must have changed and the smell reached him. He knew that stench all too well.

As he made to bend down and look at what Daniel had tripped over, the younger man held him back. "Don't."

O'Neill frowned at him. "Daniel, I've seen corpses before – "

"It's a child." Daniel's eyes were still too full of sorrow for him to disguise it. "A little girl."

O'Neill felt misery and rage lance through him. He'd never been able to resign himself to the death of any child, but at least most of them were buried and mourned. What kind of people left their daughter's body out in the fields to rot? He glared at Daniel as though it was his fault. "This part of their culture too? The only bury first-born sons or something?"

Daniel tugged him away, stepping over the undergrowth carefully and towing O'Neill after him. "I think I know why the fruit hasn't been harvested."

O'Neill turned to look back at the place where Daniel had tripped. "We have to bury her."

Daniel was reaching into his pockets for a wipe, and as O'Neill looked at him in surprise he wiped his fingers off carefully. "I think there may be a lot more like her. A lot more than we could ever bury."

O'Neill felt that all-too familiar sick feeling in his stomach get worse. "You mean you think the reason there's no one in the fields is because…?"

Daniel's face was bleak. "They're all dead, yes."

***

When he got stuck out on a mission he ended up reading anything sometimes. Daniel only ever had books on archaeological stuff while Carter had books on wormholes and those – string things; Teal'c was the only one who ever had anything a normal guy could read and even he never remembered to pack a Raymond Chandler. So he'd read some weird books since they started going through the 'gate. Especially on the missions where all they did was babysit Daniel while he chipped at things, or filmed things, or dug stuff up. O'Neill had already told Hammond the next time anyone found anything that needed excavating he should send another team to hold Daniel's hand. Hammond had reminded him he'd suggested that on the last two archaeological missions and O'Neill had overruled him, saying as SG-1 couldn’t go to any other planet without Daniel along for the ride they might as well go and keep an eye on him. Hammond had way too good a memory sometimes. The point was the last time they'd been stuck somewhere with nothing to do he'd had a choice between something astrophysical, some guy called Budge whose stuff Daniel was always bitching about while scribbling corrections in the margins, and a play by Jean-Paul Sartre.

A dead French philosopher had won by a nose. A short-lived victory as after a few pages of an eternal triangle in Hell's waiting room, O'Neill had tossed it and spent a far more profitable hour annoying Daniel instead. But that was when he'd read that Hell was other people. At the time he'd been skeptical; later he'd thought Sartre should have tried a few days in Netu; now he realized the guy was right, but he'd missed out one important word: Hell was other dead people.

Dead children. Dead women. Dead men. Livid corpses with the flesh gnawed off to reveal glistening shocks of bone, no eyes in their sockets; skin shriveled or bloated; colored stark white or mottled blue and green. The stink of putrefaction. Everything half-rotted by the unfeeling sunshine. He felt like putting a bandage across Daniel's eyes and leading him through it. Except he didn't want to see it either.

"I have to – " Daniel abruptly let him go and staggered over to the side of the track.

O'Neill flinched in sympathy as all the fruit Daniel had eaten was deposited an inch from his boots. He reached out and rubbed his back gently as Daniel heaved and kept on heaving long after there was nothing left in his guts. It was only that morning Daniel had been talking about how exciting it would be to find an inhabited city and O'Neill had been wishing he'd shut the hell up. Now he wished he'd been nicer about it, tried to take an interest. Daniel was probably never again going to be able to look at a Mayan artifact again without seeing bloated corpses with maggots hatching out of them.

After Daniel finally finished heaving, he said quietly, "You okay?"

"No."

He winced at the bleakness in Daniel’s voice and automatically rubbed his back again. He could see the city up ahead of them, just the way Daniel had said it would be, all temple pyramids and raised causeways, the grey stone rising out of the jungle like a myth. He peered through his field glasses but could see no one moving over there, but no corpses in sight either, and vines trailing over the causeways the same way that snake had slithered across Daniel’s boot. A ghost city. What was that Daniel had said about the 'place of the phantoms'? He wondered why when there was a city right there you moved out and lived in huts instead?

"I expect the Goa'uld told them to."

O'Neill started as Daniel read his mind apparently without difficulty then remembered that he’d been staring at the city through his binoculars, brow creased in puzzlement, and Daniel could always read him like a book. "You think so?"

Daniel wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Limiting our development is one of their primary objectives. A civilization with reservoirs, aqueducts, viaducts and steam baths is a civilization thinking along the lines of labor saving devices. Labor saving devices give you more time for things other than day-to-day survival. Time to invent weaponry. Time to – "

"Start thinking for yourself?"

Daniel darted a glance at him. "People can believe in a god without necessarily abdicating all independent thought, Jack."

"Maybe they can, but you have to admit more often than not they tend not to bother." O'Neill looked around. "So you think the last Goa'uld who was here told them to leave the city and go back into the jungle. To start all over again?"

"It’s a possibility. Most earth mythologies record periods when humans were cast down from previous achievements, their civilizations reborn or remade because they had become too proud or too wicked to continue in their original state. I’m presuming in the light of off-world evidence that this was the Goa'uld quelling rebellion and trying to keep their slaves from developing to the point where they became a threat. It makes a lot more sense than otherwise supposedly benevolent deities slaughtering their followers apparently just for the hell of it."

Talking archaeology seemed to have helped Daniel recover. O'Neill was relieved to see that unnerving greenish tinge fading from his skin. Daniel was still very pale but he didn’t look like he was going to dry heave himself inside out.

Daniel looked around at their surroundings. "We need to check all these huts. See if there are any survivors." He glanced at O'Neill’s leg. "I think you’d better wait here in the shade. I’ll do it."

"Daniel..." He started to protest but Daniel glanced at him sharply.

"I can handle it. You rest your leg."

"I know you can handle it. I’m just asking if it’s wise?"

Daniel moistened his lips. "Jack, whatever these people have could well be what Sam has too. I think we need to know what that is, don’t we?"

He grimaced. "Yes and no. Yes, it would be good to know what killed these people, yes it would be good to know if this is what Carter has too and therefore what medicine we need to get her when we get back there, but no it wouldn’t be a good idea for you catch it too. Having one teammate dying of fever isn’t exactly giving me a warm glow inside, having two of you coughing up blood definitely wouldn’t make my day."

"I’m pretty sure it’s a form of diphtheria. Something you and I have both been inoculated against."

“So, has Carter. I’ve seen her vaccination mark.”

Daniel blinked at him, clearly momentarily distracted. O'Neill sighed. "In Hathor’s little mock-up. I was the one who had to come rescue you two, remember? You weren’t exactly wrapped up warm. I saw your vaccination mark too."

Daniel continued evenly, "The difference being that you and I both spent time on Abydos and there was a variant of the diphtheria germ going around at the time of our first mission there. I’m betting you had a sore throat when you went home?"

"And I thought that was just from all that yelling at you I had to do."

"I caught it even though I was inoculated. A lot of people on Abydos had died from it in the past, but I was only ill for a few days. That's how diphtheria works, you get people who recover from mild infections who then carry it to people who have no immunity and it kills them. Our inoculations must have given us some immunity to the Abydos strain, and the Abydos strain we got in such a mild form must have given us immunity to the diphtheria strain on this world. But the people here clearly had no immunity at all, and Sam has obviously got it pretty badly as well."

O'Neill hated it when Daniel told him things he didn't want to hear which nevertheless sounded as though they were probably true. He pulled the sidearm out of his pocket and handed it over. "Just in case."

Daniel took it without a word and headed in the direction of the first hut. O'Neill opened his mouth to call him back and then shut it again. Daniel had seen dead bodies before. Lots of times. Daniel dug up dead bodies for a living if you wanted to be brutal about it. He was wounded and Daniel wasn't; that meant Daniel was the one who got to go and look at all those other corpses who'd died in their beds. That was the way things went sometimes. Daniel was a grown-up and he deserved to be treated like one. That meant listening to his opinion. It also meant letting him do horrible things that needed to be done. It wasn't possible to protect them forever. Some days it wasn't possible to protect them at all.

O'Neill closed his eyes as he heard that gunshot again. Saw the blood. By the time he opened his eyes, Daniel had disappeared into the first hut. He leaned against the nearest tree, needing the solidity of that bark at his back. He looked up and flinched from the sunlight splintering down through the canopy. And yes, he would admit it, this rainforest was beautiful; the blue sky was beautiful; even the sun overhead making his eyes water was beautiful, but everything smelt of rotting flesh. Carter was dying. Perhaps she was already dead. Teal'c was going to be executed. There were hundreds of dead people scattered all around them, possibly carrying a disease that would kill him and Daniel too. And for all he knew he and Daniel had been moving in the wrong direction for two days. There were some thing even really big trees couldn't make better.

All the time he was thinking he was aware of where Daniel was. First hut. Second hut. Third hut. Seventh hut. People thought being compassionate made you soft. But sometimes it made you harder than graphite. His compassion for Kira had made Daniel merciless to the rest of them. His compassion for the hosts who had been taken and might be taken could make Daniel merciless to the Goa'uld who would seek to enslave others. And his compassion for the people who might still be alive in the midst of all these dead bodies, was giving Daniel the strength to go into hut after hut filled with putrefying corpses –

They came out of the trees as silently as mist rolling in from the sea. One minute he was surrounded by jungle, the next there were people. Scores of them. With weapons.

"Daniel!"

Long spears with something wrapped around them, feathers trailing from them. Probably symbolizing something terribly significant but right now all he really cared about was how sharp those damned metal points looked.

"Daniel!" O'Neill cast around for something, anything, with which to defend himself and realized there wasn't even a stone he could throw. "Daniel!"

Daniel stepped out of one of the huts and even at this distance O'Neill could tell that what Daniel had found in there had been horrible. God they must know each other scarily well, because Daniel's body language had 'dead baby' written all over it. Probably lying near to a woman who looked a little like Sha're with its face rotted off. And Christ, wasn't it time fate decided to cut them some slack?

The locals were closing in now, converging on Daniel like hyenas on a wounded antelope. Daniel was still gazing around with his mouth open. He looked young and dazed, and as if he should be anywhere but here.

"Fire the gun!" O'Neill realized he must sound angry with Daniel. Screaming at someone hoarsely sort of gave that impression.

Daniel was turning a slow circle as the feather-helmeted natives surrounded him. Some of them wore circular masks, also topped with feathers, and showing bared teeth. O'Neill got a vague impression of green feathers, gold necklaces, yellow tunics, and smooth coffee-colored skin. Most of his attention was riveted on the spears they were waving, every point turned in Daniel's direction. Hostility in every straining muscle. As he gazed at them he saw a different form in the trees, a child with paler skin and fair hair. Just for a second he thought it was Charlie; a ghost come to tell him this time he really was going to die; and then he realized the child was real; a boy with unreadable blue eyes, dressed like these people but only with them, not of them. There was a whole story here O'Neill would never know. Right now he was more worried about his own story and if they had just reached the page marked 'The End'. He wrenched his gaze back to his teammate.

"Fire into the air!" Just for once, please God let Daniel do what he told him. "Daniel!"

Their eyes met and he saw that Daniel was at least keeping up on current events enough to be scared. That was something. Daniel pulled out the gun, the weapon looking awkward in his hand despite all those hours on the firing range. The damned things didn't belong in Daniel's hand, that was the trouble, and they never looked comfortable there. Daniel studied the human race; he didn't kill it.

O'Neill jerked his head round and realized there were people closing in on him as well. Daniel was the only help either of them had. "Daniel!"

Daniel pointed the gun in the air and fired.

As the natives fell back, O'Neill felt a surge of hope, which faded within seconds as the populace surged forward again, with redoubled purpose. There was even more determination on the faces of those not wearing masks now. As if their suspicions had just been confirmed. They were a few feet away from him now, a little more from Daniel. O'Neill yelled desperately, "Shoot one of them!"

He saw the shocked horror on Daniel's face but tried to find his gaze and hold it. "Damnit, Daniel, it's them or us!"

Clearly operating on automatic pilot, Daniel obediently raised the gun, leveled it, pointed it at a guy with a gold and green tunic and plumes rising from a helmet shaped like a jaguar's head. O'Neill felt the moment freeze; felt trapped in that instant like an insect in amber; he could see how long Daniel's fingers were as they were wrapped around that sidearm, see the pink raw flesh where Daniel had scraped off the skin from his knuckles as they struggled through the jungle. He could see the muscle clenching in Daniel's jaw; the collar of his jacket flapping in the breeze which was wafting the smell of death to everyone. He didn't know if he wanted Daniel to pull the trigger or not, he just knew that if he didn't they were both going to die. If Daniel didn't shoot someone, the last thing he ever heard would be his best friend yelling at him to kill someone. If he did, they might both still die, and the last thing Daniel saw would be look in the eyes of someone he'd just murdered.

O'Neill felt hands close in on him and attempted to push them away, trying to elbow off men with spears while standing on one leg. "Daniel!"

Daniel abruptly held up the gun and took a step back. "I can't. Jack, I can't. They're not Goa'uld. They're not Jaffa. I just – " As they closed in on Daniel, jabbing at him with their spears, their eyes met again and Daniel said desperately, "I'm sorry."

O'Neill closed his eyes. They were all dead then. Not just him and Daniel but Carter and Teal'c as well. All because Daniel wasn't a soldier, and Daniel would know that as well as him. There was only one thing left for him to do now. He didn't believe in heaven or in hell any more, but he could still believe in absolution. From somewhere he managed to drag up the words they both needed him to say. "You did the right thing, Daniel."

The words were barely spoken before pain exploded into the side of his head; white light blazed like a supernova then faded to a spiraling black hole which sucked him into its center.

***

Teal'c sat with his back against the wall of their cell with Major Carter in his arms. She appeared to be asleep again, but he could feel the fever overheating her body while her breathing was harsh and labored. The medicine upon which he had pinned so much hope had failed both of them. Her pulse was weak; she was restless, and seemed even more confused than before about where she was and who was with her. She was slipping through his fingers even as he tightened his protective grip upon her. No Jaffa might be able to tear her from him without a fight, but death was still taking her moment by moment; a thief who did not even trouble to hide the fact that he was stealing.

He had been raised to conceal his emotions. His mother had asked that he should grow up to be worthy of the name his father had given him; to be a strong warrior; a man of great courage and integrity, as his father had been before him. His mother had loved her son unconditionally, but she had expected much of him as well. It fell upon the son to avenge the father and he had been taught that from his earliest years. It had been required of him that he should be First Prime not only because to be less would have been to fall short of the standard his father had set him, but because only as First Prime of Apophis would he have any hope of contributing to the downfall of Cronos. Even within a system he despised he had been ambitious, and for all his suspicions, he had still been full of pride on the day that liquid gold had been seared into his skin. He had killed many men, not all of them deserving, to attain the position of First Prime, fighting misgivings as he did so which became more pressing with each injustice witnessed. The reward for keeping his doubts to himself had been many - a beautiful wife, a home that befitted his rank, and the honor due to him as the first servant of a god. But he had still been a slave to a parasite.

The birth of his son had softened him in ways that he knew might prove fatal, but how could he not care more for the death of another man's child when he knew what losing his own would do to him? More doubts had followed the birth of Ry'ac as crows followed farmers throwing seed into the sillions. Bra'tac worked from within the system he despised to try to temper the fire of Goa'uld injustice, but was it enough? Small acts of mercy constantly outweighed by other acts of savagery to which he was not just a witness but also a participant. If Teal'c left, another worse than himself would take his place, but while he served Apophis it could not be denied that Apophis was very well served. Was he still putting his own ambitions before what he knew was right? Was he letting his love for his wife and child affect his judgment; was his love for Drey'ac and Ry'ac making him a party to tyranny he would otherwise find another means to oppose? What would his father truly have wanted of him? That Teal'c served one monster in the hope of destroying the other monster who had murdered him or that he brought about the destruction of all tyrants of Cronos and Apophis' kind?

He had been riddled with doubts for so long, fighting to hold them at bay for a time while they grew stronger as his certainties grew weaker. He had missed that certainty, attempting to cling to it like a drowning man trying not to go under for the last time. If there was a better way Bra'tac would have found it, and Cronos had murdered Teal'c's father. Apophis would destroy Cronos. It was Teal'c's duty to make the death of Cronos his first priority whatever sacrifices it might cost.

But if his desire to revenge his father's death had been a sun blazing in his heart, O'Neill had been a one-man eclipse. In that moment when the man had asked for his help, Teal'c had realized there were more doubts in his breast than there were stars in the night sky, and that his hatred for the 'god' he served, who had made him deny his own humanity so many times, burned no less brightly than his hatred for the Goa'uld who had murdered his father.

He had lost and gained everything in that instant. Lost the favor of Apophis and gained the belief of O'Neill. Lost the respect and affection of his fellow Jaffa but gained the respect and affection of the Tau'ri who were now his teammates. He had lost one cause and found another. Lost one Teal'c and found another. But he had also lost his wife and child, albeit temporarily. He had put his new cause before them as he had put his old cause before them in the past. His mother had raised him to put duty over love and a part of him was grateful for it. Life was simpler when you knew what your priorities should be, feelings blurred certainties. But although he cared more for his teammates than he ever should have allowed himself to feel, and although he could have cared for General Hammond no more if he had been the father Cronos had stolen from him, living amongst the Tau'ri had many disadvantages.

Sometimes, for instance, it was very difficult to remember that emotions were a sign of weakness, something an enemy could use against him. Apophis had not completely grasped the human mentality yet but once he did, they would all suffer for it. Had Apophis realized on Netu how deep the friendships ran in SG-1, he would have dispensed with the memory device and tortured Teal'c's teammates by different means. The end result might have been very different. Teal'c respected O'Neill deeply but he did not entirely trust his ability to appear indifferent in the face of cruelty to either Major Carter or Daniel Jackson. Nor, if he was honest, did Teal'c trust his own ability to do so. He liked to think that he could do what was required of him in any given situation for the greater good. That he would remember all the evil the Goa'uld were capable of and strive to destroy them first, but if he was honest, that had not been his first priority on Netu. The Tok'ra, Aldwin, had remembered the importance of their mission; had kept in mind that destroying Sokar was more important than saving one's friends. Teal'c had not. Although he had told himself, he had not endangered their mission, only the lives of himself and one Tok'ra, he was afraid that he would have spared even Sokar to save his companions.

A part of himself was still the son his mother had raised, but there were other parts that were perhaps too much the father of Ry'ac, the friend of the Tau'ri, the warrior who could not bear to lose his teammates even if their sacrifice was necessary. It was a problem for all of them. He and O'Neill had never discussed it but he knew they were both growing wary of their own ability to do the right thing. They had lost too many loved ones and the loss was taking its toll. Three times now, O'Neill had thought Daniel Jackson was definitely dead and then, after a period of mourning, had him miraculously restored to him. There was nothing O'Neill did not know about the pain of such a loss. Was it likely he would court it if it were avoidable? Even if it should not necessarily be avoided? Teal'c still could not decide if the decision he had made in the tel'tak had been the right one or the wrong one. Not because of what he had done, but because of the way he had felt at the time. He had done nothing that he was aware of to endanger the Tok'ra mission to destroy Sokar in rescuing his companions. But he very much feared that even if there had been a chance his actions might have jeopardized more than his own life and that of Aldwin, Teal'c would still have done as he had.

As the door opened, Teal'c jerked his head up in surprise. He saw the lion guards briefly looming over another figure like pillars and then the smaller man in tattered robes came into the room. Teal'c registered the newcomer with relief. "Harun."

The man waited until the door closed behind him and then hurried across. "I have brought water. How – is she?"

Teal'c found it surprisingly difficult to say the words aloud. "She is dying."

"The medicine - ?"

"It did not help her."

Harun crouched down beside them. He stretched out a hand to touch the unconscious woman and then drew it back. "I have brought you some water. And here – " He pulled a cloth-wrapped object from inside his robe and handed it to Teal'c. "There is bread." His blue eyes held accusation as he looked at the Jaffa. "You said that your medicine would make her well again."

Teal'c met his gaze levelly. "It has not."

"Then nothing can save her. The prophecy is true. Compassion died and was mourned by all."

Teal'c shook his head. "Nothing must happen simply because it is written."

"But the prophecy foretold the coming of the Chosen One. The prophet spoke true."

Impatiently Teal'c drew an arrow in the dirt floor. "Do you think time travels like this? It does not. Sometimes it travels like this." He drew a circle in the dust. "I have been to the past and returned to the future. The prophet who foretold the coming of Daniel Jackson to this planet doubtless traveled from your future to your past. He foretold the past and not the future, and even then he may not have said what was true, only what was necessary."

"Necessary?" Harun frowned in confusion. "I do not understand."

"For what he desired to take place. Would you have believed an avatar of your Chosen One could die of the same illness as afflicts your children had it not been written that contact with your people brought about her death?"

Harun's eyes widened. "You mean the prophet may have lied?"

"I mean your prophet wanted the people of this world to throw off the shackles of the Goa'uld. If he knew the future he would know what needed to be written to bring about the defeat of Onuris."

Harun looked horrified. "This is terrible."

"Why?" Teal'c returned. "The Goa'uld have their lies. Your prophet had his. He wrote what needed to be written, not necessarily what was true. Do you think the writing on the walls of the Temple of Onuris is true?"

"Onuris is a false god, I know the words of his followers to be lies." Harun's gaze strayed uneasily to Major Carter. Once again he stretched out a hand as if to touch her and then withdrew it again.

"Daniel Jackson is also a false god," Teal'c said it gently. "Unlike the Goa'uld he does not claim to be what he is not. But the words of his followers are still lies." He met Harun's gaze. "Powerful lies with the power to effect great changes."

"Good comes from truth!" Harun protested.

Teal'c continued to look at him unblinkingly. "Not necessarily."

Harun rose to his feet and put his hands to his ears. "I will not listen to this. You bring only confusion where once I had certainty. A man is nothing without belief."

"A man is nothing without doubt," Teal'c countered. "When I believed Apophis to be a god, when I believed my first duty was to avenge my father's death, I had no doubts, and I was wrong. How can we learn if we never question?"

"How can we live without conviction?"

"What is conviction except what remains after everything else has been rejected? You know that the Goa'uld are false gods because you have chosen to reject their lies."

"I know the Goa'uld are false gods because the Chosen One is the true god!"

Teal'c shook his head. "You know Daniel Jackson is not a god, Harun. You know Major Carter and myself are not avatars. But you believe Onuris is evil and you wish your people to be rid of him so you have chosen to believe in us instead."

"If you are not gods, what should I believe in then?" Harun retorted.

"Yourself."

Harun backed up towards the door. "If the Chosen One is not a god, he will not arrive in time."

"Daniel Jackson may not be a god but he is both intelligent and determined, and Colonel O'Neill may not be an avatar of the Chosen One but he will do everything within his power to ensure that Major Carter and myself survive. They may yet arrive in time."

"Then you do believe in them?"

"They are my friends," Teal'c stroked a hand automatically through Major Carter's hair as he said the words. "Who better to believe in?"

Harun frowned in confusion. "You do not believe in the power of prophecy and yet you echo its words."

Teal'c met his gaze unflinchingly. "I do believe in the power of prophecy. All words have power. Even when they are not true."

"I will hear no more of this." Harun banged on the door sharply. "I am done with the false avatars of the false god. Let me out."

As the door closed behind him, Major Carter stirred in Teal'c's arms. Her voice was a harsh rasp: "Teal'c…?"

"I am here, Major Carter."

She gazed up at him blearily. "Hard to…breathe…" Even managing those words seemed to cost her a great effort.

He felt despair tighten its grip on his heart but he stroked his fingers through her hair as gently as if she was Ry'ac. "Colonel O'Neill and Daniel Jackson will return soon."

"Promise…you won't…"

It was so difficult for her to speak that he hurried to reassure her. "I will not turn you into a Goa'uld, Major Carter."

"Rather…die…"

"I know. I have given you my word and I will keep it." He put his fingers to her neck and felt how swollen her throat was. Her airway was clearly getting more constricted with each passing hour and the penicillin had either come too late or was not effective against her illness. He raised her up a little, hoping that might help her breathing but as she gulped for air he saw panic flicker in her blue eyes.

"So…hard to…breathe…"

He rubbed her back automatically, hoping it might help but in his heart he knew there was nothing that he could do except sit and watch her struggle for each breathe until the swelling closed her throat completely.

"I gave you my word," he said again, not just because she needed to hear that reassurance again, but because he needed to remind himself that this time he had no choice but to sit here and watch a friend die.

***

Daniel was reading the story of the Deathchild. It was painted on the walls of the Mayan version of hell into which he and Jack had been cast; laid out clearly enough in pictures that even someone who wasn't an archaeologist could probably understand it. The Deathchild was a boy banished from his own realm by the priests of the Otherland. Found wandering on the Sacred Mountain. Given shelter, given succor. Brought death.

The white skin and plumed markings on the foreheads of the cruel priests left Daniel in no doubt these were same priests who had tortured him. They had banished the boy because it was written that he would bring about their destruction. They had killed his father before his eyes, wrenched him from his mother's protective embrace, and sent him away to carry a terrible plague to the tribe which had adopted him.

Daniel had caught just a glimpse of a fair-haired boy half-hidden in the jungle when the warriors were closing in on him. He was evidently the Deathchild. The one who had carried diphtheria to the people on this side of the planet. The priests must have used the rings to send him to the caves. He had found his way down to the jungle and been taken in by the tribe. Probably immune himself but still capable of passing on the illness he had given it to the people who had rescued him from the jungle. They had evidently had no resistance to that strain of diphtheria and the results had been devastating.

All of which made perfect sense. What made no sense at all was the fact the child Daniel had glimpsed in the jungle had appeared to be about ten, whereas these paintings were several hundred years old.

Following the story of the Deathchild to its conclusion, there were paintings showing him piloting something that looked remarkably like a death glider in a war against the people who had banished him. But his story had no end and no real beginning. He had been banished because it was written that he would bring disaster upon his people; in banishing him they had probably sowed the seeds of their own destruction. Another self-fulfilling prophecy swallowing its own half-truths. And in the meantime, a child had been torn away from his own family, and hundreds of people with no immunity to diphtheria had been exposed to it.

Daniel crossed back over to where Jack was lying to listen to the rhythmic thumping of the man's heart again. He kept checking it and it kept beating. He just wished Jack would wake up. He could wake up and yell at Daniel for not having pulled the trigger if he wanted to. Just as long as he woke up.

In the meantime, he could see why they called this place the Freezing House. His breath was a white vapor, while the constant wailing of the icy wind that blew across the chamber was making his skin crawl. Daniel rubbed his arms again, trying to keep warm. He missed his jacket and vest. The sharp drop in temperature suggested night had fallen outside, but given how far underground they seemed to be, it was hard to tell. And anyway, according to Mayan mythology, this place was always bitterly cold. He wondered where the light was coming from. Some leftover Goa'uld technology, he presumed. At least it had enabled him to examine the murals on the walls, although he was still trying to make sense of the other stories.

Given the way these people's mythology had developed and the place he and Jack had been allocated in it, he supposed he should be grateful they hadn't been offered up to the gods in the usual way. That was twice now he'd narrowly escaped being sacrificed to an absent Goa'uld.

He glanced down at Jack again. Was the man stirring or was that just wishful thinking on his part? Time had trickled through his fingers like sand through an hourglass while Jack was lying there unconscious. He knew there were things he should be doing but he felt paralyzed until he knew if Jack was okay, and he wouldn't know that until the man woke up and talked to him.

He had tried to reason with the people who had dragged them along the causeway into the city, up into the main temple and then down into this icy chamber, pleading with them on Jack's behalf as well as his own. But they had ignored his words and hauled Jack down the stairs with his feet trailing behind him, down staircase after staircase until they reached a chamber whose walls were covered in brightly colored murals Daniel barely glimpsed before a trapdoor yawned open at their feet. He'd still been having a bad flashback to Netu as once again he and Jack were cast down into a Goa'uld version of hell.

Once they'd been thrown into this chamber and trapdoor above slammed closed and bolted, Daniel had done the best he could to make Jack comfortable, relieved to find that his limpness as he was dropped through the hole in the floor seemed to have prevented the older man from doing more than collecting a few bruises. Daniel had pulled off his vest and put it under Jack's bleeding head, listened carefully to his breathing, then put his head on his chest to check for a heartbeat and as an extra precaution – not that recent events were making him paranoid – had felt for a pulse at the man's neck. All confirmed that Jack O'Neill was alive but was probably going to wake up with one hell of a headache. Trying to remember everything he'd heard about head trauma and realizing he'd forgotten all of it, Daniel had wriggled out of his jacket and laid that over the unconscious man on the grounds that keeping him warm was bound to be a good idea. Then he had waited for Jack to wake up. And waited. And waited. In between he had tried to decipher the glyphs in the hope that they might shed some light on these people's history. Not to mention the trials he and Jack might have to face in this Goa'uld created version of yet another human hell.

He had begun with the far wall, trying to work out the timeline for when these people had been kidnapped by the Goa'uld. Some of the earlier stories were ones he recognized, but others – like their version of the Book of Popol Vuh – were so different as to be very confusing. Nor was he an expert on the complicated Mayan language or the even more complicated Mayan calendar, so wrestling with the Long Count while trying to work out if Smoking Skull was also Fire-headed Sun God or if they were two distinct underlords, had taken up a lot of his time. Going back to check that Jack was still breathing every five minutes probably hadn't helped his research much either but even allowing for the fact he was a little distracted there had been a lot of contradictions in the stories told.

It had taken him hours to identify the various glyphs being used. His Mayan had been distinctly rusty before this trip and it was only the fact he'd been taught the language so thoroughly by his grandfather when he was a child that he wasn't even further out of his depth. But once he'd managed to successfully identify the glyphs used to represent K'awiil, the snake-footed patron of kings, Chaak and Yoaat, the rain and lightning gods, K'inich, the sun god, and the local glyphs for fire, water, sky, jaguar, snake, turtle and so on, he'd found the murals and their explanatory glyphs much easier to translate. There was still the problem to cope with of the way the language had evolved over what was obviously a few thousand years; the murals becoming increasingly more colorful and complicated then beginning to degenerate again, the knack of mixing certain colors appearing to have been lost as the vivid blues and golds were replaced by earth tones of russet and cream.

There also appeared to be several stories being told at once, some overlapping others as later artists encroached upon the territory of previous ones. The Deathchild story seemed to have no connection with any of the others, but many murals depicted the adventures of Vukub-Came and Hun-Came, and these were the most brilliant and highly-colored of all. The gods of the Underworld had arrived in a 'pillar of light', which Daniel interpreted as the ring system. They had brought with them many followers who harbored 'ch'ok Chan' in their bellies to give them the strength of 'many Hix'. Daniel had banged his head against the wall for a while trying to make sense of that one, but once he had remembered that 'Hix' was jaguar, 'Chan' could mean 'snake' as well as 'sky' and that 'ch'ok' meant 'unripe' as well as 'noble' the glyphs made a lot more sense. And having translated the story of the coming of the Goa'uld, he found he now knew several words which he could recognize in this variant of Mayan at a glance, greatly assisting in the speed of his translation.

He still wasn't sure why the Goa'uld had left because there was less emphasis on them going than the certainty of their return. This was stressed over and over again on the older murals. Although common to many mythologies, in this instance he wondered if it had more significance than that here. The Goa'uld trying to ensure that there would still be a place for them in these people's mythology when they came back.

He had been a little…disconcerted by the last wall of murals. They might be useful in helping them through Xibalba, but they were also something he would really rather Jack didn't get to see. Being an anthropologist, they didn't bother him, but he had a feeling Jack wasn't going to take the implications of those pictures well.

Jack made an inarticulate mumbling noise and Daniel leaned over him, trying to keep a rein on his anxiety and going by the sound of his voice, failing miserably. "Jack?"

"Did the right thing, Daniel…Not your fault…Had to die sooner or later…"

"Jack!"

Oh that was clever, yelp at him hysterically, that would really show the guy everything was okay and he could wake up in his own time.

Jack jerked his head up like a soldier sleeping on watch snapping to attention. "What?"

Daniel winced at him apologetically. "Sorry."

The man put a hand to his forehead. "Ow." He peered at his palm, squinting at it in the dim lighting but he sounded far more compos mentis than Daniel had dared hope. "Situation?"

"They think we're gods."

"So no change for you. Promotion for me." Jack glared at the blood on his hand and wiped it off on the jacket lying across his chest. Then he looked down at it before glancing across at Daniel. "Damnit, Daniel, do you want to catch pneumonia?" He tossed Daniel the jacket irritably.

Daniel gave him a reproachful look as he pulled the jacket on. "You're welcome."

"If they think we're gods why are we freezing our butts off in a stinking dungeon?"

"It's not a dungeon, it's Xuxulim-ha, the Freezing House, and it has an exit." Daniel waved a hand at the doorway at the end of the room. "They think we're what in their version of Mayan mythology appear to be bad gods."

"Those underworld guys?"

"No. Hunhun-Apu and Vukub-Hunapu. Hero gods in our culture but apparently not in theirs. In this world the gods of the underworld are the good guys. We're corrupt and depraved."

"Nah, that's just a rumor put around by SG-6."

Daniel wondered why he'd been so eager for Jack to wake up. He wasn't sure how the guy managed to do this. When they were both conscious he knew damned well Jack wasn't the miracle worker he'd used to think, but somehow as soon as he was out of earshot or just out for the count, Daniel started kidding himself how much better everything would be if only Jack was around. "I told you earlier that the Goa'uld here were Hun-Came and Vukub-Came."

"I know you did. And it didn’t mean diddly to me then either." Jack put a hand up to the back of his neck and groaned as he evidently felt painful little clicks traveling all the way down his spine. "Christ, is there any bit of me that isn't bruised?"

"Jack…!"

"What?" the man retorted sitting up straighter. "I'm still waiting for you to tell me something that makes some kind of sense. Last thing I remember those guys were going to kill us. Why didn't they?"

"Well they sort of have. They've cast us into the Underworld anyway. According to their mythology Hunhun-Apu and Vukub-Hunapu were captured by the gods of Xibalba so I presume they feel they've done their part delivering us to them."