TITLE: Undercurrents (although it will always be Bunnies On Ice to me)
AUTHOR: ELG
AUTHOR PAGE: ELG
DATE: August 26, 2000
CATEGORY: Slash.
RATING: NC17
WARNINGS: Attempted rape of major character. Violence. Language. Broken bone.
SEQUEL: Sequel to Alter Ergo. (This story will make no sense whatsoever unless you have already read Alter Ergo and quite possibly not much even then.)
SEASON: Takes place in Season 4 at some point after Window of Opportunity. Minor mentions of The Other Side
SUMMARY: An AU response to the spoilers for Beneath The Surface. Jack and Daniel are enslaved by an alien race who wipe their memories and set them to work in a dangerous ice mine. Drawn to one another despite themselves, when the mine collapses they are both left stranded in an unstable trap with Jack injured and the memories from the events of 'Alter Ergo' leaving them ever more confused about their own identities.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some people asked me if I would write a sequel to 'Alter Ergo' with a happy ending and this is it, basically. It was written for She Knows Who She Is and I hope it helped a bit with the ten days from hell she was having. Thanks as before to the sinsisters who shall remain nameless but know who they are and how wonderful they are and, of course, to my long lost twin and superbeta, Brenda, sine qua non etc. Brenda, I think you've still got that last naked archaeologist I sent you? Let me know if you need more whipped cream. And if Jack does ever get posted on to you can you tell him from me he'd better start being *damned* nice to Daniel in future episodes or I'll be giving his bunny rations to Teal'c.
Note: Sequel to Alter Ergo. This story will make no sense whatsoever unless you have already read Alter Ergo and quite possibly not much even then.

He had no idea who he was.

In fact he had no idea what he looked like. He seemed to be tall, around six foot two; his physique suggested he worked out regularly because he had no fat and some pretty good muscle tone, not bulging, or anything, but definitely there. He'd pulled out a few hairs and been disconcerted to find they were grey. Was he old then? He didn't feel old. Well, his knees maybe, they didn't appear to be in the first flush of youth, but apart from that he felt pretty fit. He wondered if he was a good person or a bad person. If he had a family. If he loved someone. If he was a murderer. He felt as though all those things were true and yet not true. He decided he couldn't be nameless even if he was faceless for the moment, unable to see his own reflection in the unfeeling ice wall in front of him. He grabbed a name at random. John. That would do. It almost felt as if it could be his own name but he wasn't going to chase the echo of his own identity. It was gone. A name he hoped people would have said with affection in the past was buried somewhere too deep for him to find it or else erased like writing on a blackboard. The present began here and the past was a locked room he couldn't get into. For the foreseeable future he would think of himself as 'John'.

And for the moment perhaps all he really needed to know was that he was a prisoner. Somewhere underground where there were crystals in the ice for which he had to dig. He suspected that putting a pickaxe in his hands might be a decision the guards were going to regret later, but for the moment he was keeping his head down and doing what everyone else was doing: standing in front of the ice wall with a chain around one ankle, swinging that pick into the ice.

As he worked he was taking stock of his surroundings. Six guards, with guns, but a large area to patrol and tricky because of all those little ice chambers. This was a fairly large cavern compared with some of the others. There had to be exits beyond, places the guards went to and from. The food came from somewhere, such as it was. Going by the dull eyes around him, everyone else had lost their memories as well. Of course, the ones who'd been here the longest would have new memories. Their memories would begin and end with this underground network of ice caverns; the mush they served as food; the cold bite of the chain around the ankle. Those were the prisoners who looked dangerous. The ones who had forgotten the ties that bound them to the rest of humanity; the memories that might have softened them; the people who might have reached them. They were like prisoners everywhere; they'd stopped believing they were ever getting out of here and with that resignation had come a dangerous acceptance. And when you believed you were going to spend the rest of your life digging for crystals in an ice cavern you started looking around for ways to make it bearable.

At the moment a lot of the hardened prisoners were looking at one of the other new arrivals and John could just imagine the ways they were hoping that boy was going to make their lives better.

He'd been trying not to notice him because he didn't want to get involved in any one else's problems, but the kid looked so damned - dazed. He kept wincing and putting a hand up to his head, obviously chasing memories that just weren't there any more; making his brain hurt with the effort and achieving nothing. He swung the pick clumsily too and John winced in sympathy as it reverberated against the ice clearly jarring him all the way up the shoulder. He wasn't sure of the younger man's age but he looked much too young and fresh-faced to be unprotected in a place like this. He had short brown hair and by the way he was blinking, John suspected he probably usually wore glasses. His eyes were very large and very blue and he looked intelligent. The way he was deliberately not making eye contact with anyone else suggested he was aware of the vulnerability of his situation. John suspected there might be some rapid thought going on in that handsome head, but rat on a wheel stuff, trying to find a way out that didn't exist while fighting suppressed panic. The young prisoner had a good physique and was only a couple of inches shorter than John, but he didn't look as though he knew how to fight. There was a clumsiness to the way he moved which suggested a degree of separation from his body. Someone who lived in his head too much; someone who would try to find the words to defuse a situation that in a place like this could only be solved by brute strength.

John was trying not to think about the young prisoner; trying to tell himself he was making too much out of nothing. Jumping to all these conclusions when the guy could be a black belt in karate, but the impression persisted that the guy was all but defenseless in a place where his looks were going to get him in serious trouble and his brains weren't going to be able to supply an escape route.

Not my problem, he told himself sternly. Determinedly, John focused on the ice wall in front of him, the pick in his hand, the crystals he needed to mine if he wanted to eat at the next rest break.

He'd sunk into a kind of trance state where he just swung the pick, hooked out the block of ice, searched for a crystal, swung the pick, hooked out the block of ice, searched for a crystal. Thinking hurt too much, both physically and mentally. Chasing memories that weren't there any more was an exercise in futility he just didn't want to start. And there was no point in thinking about how much his muscles ached, the singing pain in his shoulder, down his spine. He could do this. He suspected he'd done this before because his body seemed to have fallen into this rhythm very naturally. His hands weren't particularly callused so he clearly didn't do this for a living, but he had done it at some point. Perhaps he'd been a prisoner before. He felt as though he knew more than he should about prisons.

The grunt of pain jolted him out of his work trance, and he looked around in surprise. The young prisoner was pressed face first against the ice wall, eyes closed as he obviously gasped for breath. The guard was standing over him, a weapon in his hand. By the way the young prisoner had a hand clasped to his back, John gathered the guard had just jabbed him hard in the kidney with his gun.

"You rest when I tell you to rest and not before." The guard growled it ominously.

The prisoner nodded, clearly not able to trust himself to speak yet. He made to straighten up and the guard immediately slammed the side of the gun across the prisoner's shoulders, knocking him back into the ice wall. "Do you understand?"

"I – understand." The young prisoner responded breathlessly.

As the prisoner turned his head to the side, trying to breath around the pain of those two blows, John saw the expressions chase themselves across that surprisingly mobile countenance: resentment, fear, and - surprise. A hint of shocked bewilderment that someone had just hurt him so senselessly. John grimaced. He had a feeling this kid didn't know the score at all. Which made leaving him to his fate that much harder.

The guard grabbed the prisoner by the hair and jerked his head back. His voice was soft. "Like I told you yesterday, you have to mine six crystals in every work period. If you don't, you don't eat. Got it?"

The prisoner swallowed and nodded.

The guard threw him back against the ice. "Get back to work."

John swung his own pick so that as the guard turned to look in his direction all he would see was a man completely intent on his work. He felt the guard's gaze rest on him for a moment suspiciously and then the guard was moving off towards the next cavern.

He glanced across at the young prisoner and saw that he was struggling. He handled the pick badly and he could almost feel the pain still radiating up from that bruised kidney. John opened his mouth to ask if he was okay and then closed it again. Not his problem. This kid was definitely not his problem.

John swung the pick and it sank in deep, tugging out a good sized block of ice as he yanked it out of the wall; a crystal glimmered in the center of the block and he hacked it out with a few swings of the pick, tossing it into the basket provided. He'd glanced across at the young prisoner before he could stop himself and saw he had only a couple of crystals in his basket. Like the guard kept telling them all, you had to have six to get fed and the guy had missed the last meal because of it. He just couldn’t seem to get the hang of the action. He was swinging the pick and it was biting into the ice, but then he was tugging it back out again without really dislodging anything. He didn't seem to have any real idea how to do what he was doing and he couldn't seem to learn. Lousy coordination and near-sightedness were a bad combination in his situation. John winced as the younger prisoner jarred his shoulder again, tugging at the pickaxe to pull it back out of the wall without dislodging more than a few ice flakes.

"Aim lower," John said to him quietly.

The prisoner started and flashed him a wary look over his shoulder. "What?"

John gathered he must look reasonably mean because the kid was clearly scared of him. He'd probably noticed John looking his way and thought it was for a whole different set of reasons. John moved a little closer, swinging his pick into the wall so it looked as though he was working. "You're aiming too high which is why you're not getting any weight behind each swing. Aim lower. See?" He demonstrated and the younger prisoner gave him another wary glance then tried to mimic his action. The swing was still clumsy but it was a little lower and it didn't jar his shoulder this time.

John swung the pick into the wall again, jerking his wrist to pull a block of ice out of the wall. It fell to the ground and crumbled, revealing a crystal. John bent and picked it up then after a fractional hesitation tossed it into the younger prisoner's basket.

Another wary glance from oversized blue eyes. "You don't have to do that."

"It's okay. I've got more than you." John met his gaze. "And don't worry, I'm not expecting any payment in kind."

The sound of the guard approaching forced him to turn his attention back to the ice wall in front of him. He made sure he was swinging with a will as the guy approached. This one was way too quick to slam that gun into your back if he thought you were working too slowly. But as the man's gaze raked over them all, John was aware of the young prisoner swinging with his pick with at least a degree more efficiency. He darted a sideways look at the guard as he completed his downswing, imagining the point of his pickaxe penetrating the guy's skull. The guard was standing behind the young prisoner watching him work. He wasn't making any attempt to disguise the way his gaze was roaming freely over the young prisoner's body. John gritted his teeth as the guard put his head on one side and looked pointedly at the kid's butt. He didn't know if the guy with the gun really had a hard-on for this boy's ass or if he was just trying to put him off his stroke so he could hit him again for slacking. John suspected this guy probably got as much sexual satisfaction out of hurting the young good-looking ones as he would from actually screwing them.

When the young prisoner swung the pick without even faltering, John felt an obscure flicker of pride, as though the kid was his protégée or something. He gave himself a mental shake. The boy was nothing to do with him. But he couldn't help darting a sideways glance at the young prisoner and saw by his expression he was very aware of that guard standing behind him; the kid had his teeth gritted but the expression on his face was all defiance. John felt a smile tug at his mouth. Despite the big blue eyes and full lower lip, he was clearly one stubborn little s.o.b. And he had brains enough to know this guard was trying to rattle him but wasn't going to give into it.

John swung his own pick again as the young prisoner did the same. By the way he slammed it into the ice wall so hard it made his whole body judder from the force of it, John guessed the boy was probably picturing it going into that guard's head as well.

At the sound of a scuffle in the next cavern, the guard jerked his head up and moved in that direction, but as he passed John he slammed his gun into his lower back, sending John smashing into the ice wall. His voice was soft. "Keep your mind on your work, tough guy," he breathed into John's ear.

As the guard moved away, John peeled himself painfully off the ice cavern. "Son of a bitch."

"Yes, he's a barrel of laughs, isn't he?" the young prisoner murmured.

John darted him a glance. "Do you remember anything?"

The young prisoner didn't look at him. "No."

His tone was very bleak and John flinched from it. He couldn't stop his immediate reaction which was an urge to make the younger man feel better. "The process might not be permanent." As that didn't get any response, he shrugged. "Guess there's not a lot of point in us introducing ourselves then, is there?"

"I don't think the human brain can really deal in vacuums." The young prisoner swung his pick again. "By which I mean we'll have to start thinking of ourselves as something because that's what the human race has always done." There was a pause before he sighed. "At least I think that's what it's always done. I seem to remember knowing about…" He broke off with a shrug.

"I'm calling myself 'John' until I find out what my real name is."

The prisoner glanced at him. "You don't look like a 'John' to me."

"What do I look like?"

The prisoner frowned, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He shook his head. "Sorry. It's gone. John's fine." He swung his pick again but it was clearly costing him something, the weight of it pulling at his shoulders painfully. The pick head struck the ice at a sideways slant then bounced off and the prisoner had to jerk his head out of the way to avoid being hit by the rebound. He let the pick hit the ground and bowed his head, snatching a breath. "I don't think I can – "

"Yes, you can." John said it urgently. "You can do this. You have to do this."

He was a little disconcerted by how the boy immediately responded to his tone. He could see the resolve flowing back into him and the prisoner straightened up with new determination, teeth gritted again. "You're right." As he swung the pick again, accurately this time, a clean bite into the ice, he spoke without looking at John. "What do I look like?"

Way too pretty for this place. John bit down the words and shrugged. "I don't know – Samuel, Benjamin, David. Something like that."

"I must look very Biblical." The young prisoner half-smiled.

John swung his own pick and grinned. "Well you don't have a long white beard or anything so I don't know why I should – maybe you just look like someone who knows about the past."

The boy shot him a sideways glance and John was thrown a little off-balance by the intelligence in those oversized eyes. When that kid looked at you, he really freakin' looked at you. Like he was seeing straight into you, through you. For the first time John wondered if they had known each other before the process had rendered them people without a past. He'd been assuming they must be from completely different places, strangers meeting here for the first time, but he had a feeling he'd felt that gaze on him before. Like he'd looked into those eyes and lied right at him and it had damned near killed him to do so.

"Funny you should say that. I feel as if I did know a lot about the past." The boy turned back to the ice wall and swung his pick again. "Not much of an attribute given our circumstances, is it?"

As John turned back to the wall in front of him he was already cursing himself. He wasn't going to get involved, right? And now they'd conversed. He'd offered reassurance, advice, introduced himself. Well that was the last time. He was not putting his head on the block for that kid. From now on the boy was on his own.

***

John was hungry enough to smell the food from a distance. He glanced down at his bucket even though he knew what was in there. Only five crystals. Damn, he needed that food. If he didn't get it, he wasn't going to be able to get through another work period, which meant he was going to get knocked around by the guard, maybe badly damaged enough that he couldn't get through the next work period. That was how quickly you could go from being one of the strong to being one of the weak. He should never have given that kid one of his crystals. It hadn't helped him; the boy still only had four in there.

He swung the pick with redoubled vigor, hacking blocks out of the ice with real savagery. The food was coming closer and he really needed it. As the third block of ice hit the ground and shattered it spilled a crystal. John exhaled in relief. He picked it up, squeezing it tight for a second before tossing it into his pail as the guard arrived.

It was the one who'd hit him in the back earlier and John couldn't help giving him a 'screw you' look as the man looked up from his pail. The guard scowled but jerked his head at the guards coming behind with the rations. "Feed this one." He took the crystals from John's bucket and put them in the pouch at his waist.

John accepted the bowl of unappetizing grey mush with more enthusiasm than he would have believed possible. This stuff smelt like something he'd scraped off his shoe in the…in the past. Correction, something he thought he might have scraped off his shoe in the past because he damned well couldn't remember. But it had nutrition in it. It had warmth and energy and he needed it to stay alive. In a place like this staying alive was everything. He dug his fingers into it and scooped a handful into his mouth, closing his eyes with the relief of it as the gnawing pain in his guts turned into enthusiastic acceptance.

The young prisoner cried out as the guard hit him across the lower back again, knocking him into the wall. "Lazy son of a – " The young prisoner cracked the side of his face against the ice wall and his knees buckled at the impact.

As the guard lifted the gun to hit him again, John shouted, "Stop it!" before he could bite it down.

The guard turned on him murderously. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

John held up his hands in a placatory manner. "I'm just thinking of you, pal. I'm presuming you like it down here about as much as we do. You want to get promotion I figure you need to keep your bosses happy."

"So?" The guard still had the gun raised but he hadn't actually hit the young prisoner again.

John determinedly didn't look at the kid, who was trying to cling to the wall, gasping oxygen back into his lungs as the pain from his back obviously thrummed through him. Addressing the guard with a shrug, he said, "Well I'm assuming the way you keep your bosses happy is to keep the crystal production high. Beating up on your work force so badly they can't swing a pick isn't going to do that."

The young prisoner was moving now, fingers clawing at the ice, slowly turning his head to listen to the conversation.

The guard glanced back at his victim. "Examples have to be made. Everyone makes his quota or else he doesn't eat."

John shrugged. "Fine, you've made your example and I'm sure he's learned his lesson, but if you don't feed him he's not going to be able to make his quota next time either. And then when you don't feed him to punish him for that he's not going to make his quota again. In three or four days you're going to have a corpse on your hands and be a digger short. Which means you're going to be shy a good fifty crystals per week, something I shouldn't think would go down too well with your bosses. If I were you, I'd try to keep my workforce alive for as long as possible. You have too many prisoners die on your shift, you might find you're working along beside them in a couple of weeks time."

It had been a shot in the dark but it seemed to have found its target. John had to stop himself showing his satisfaction as he saw the flicker of fear in the bully's eyes. The guard looked between them and then jerked his head at the guard doling out the food. "Half rations for this one." He grabbed the young prisoner's hair and jerked his head back. "But you make the next quota or I'll take the skin from your back. Do you understand?"

The young prisoner swallowed but then nodded. "I understand."

The guard threw him back against the wall with casual brutality then turned away. The guard with the food tossed a bowl with one dollop of the unappetizing mush down next to the young prisoner before following his fellow into the next cavern.

The boy pushed himself off the wall and turned around stiffly. He'd scraped his face on the ice and Jack grimaced at the sight of it. He was going to have a bruise on his right cheekbone and on his forehead.

"Thank you." The young prisoner spoke breathlessly as he reached down for the bowl of food. "You didn't have to do that."

John kept his face as unreadable as he could make it, determined not to show the anxiety he was feeling. "Are you okay?"

The boy nodded. "Thanks to you."

John winced inwardly. Damnit, what was that he'd told himself about not getting involved? And hadn't someone once told him something about the Chinese or some people, how if you saved a man's life you were responsible for it, forever? Was his memory coming back then? No. Just his general knowledge. Perhaps that had probably never been erased, just – traumatized by having the important stuff scooped out from along side it. Still, any knowledge was good and he was grateful for it. "You'd better eat that while it's hot," he said briskly.

The boy nodded, moving carefully as the pain from his kidneys clearly gave him twinges. He scooped a mouthful of food into his mouth and John winced again at the way he sucked it from his fingers so ravenously. He'd forgotten the kid had missed the last meal. The whole damned cavern had probably been spinning even before that guard had cracked his head against the wall, and it was no wonder his coordination with a pick wasn't all it could be. John had to fight the impulse to give the boy some of his own food. In the short term it might help him a little, but in the long term this kid was going to need John to be strong for both of them. John suspected that if they didn't break out of here soon that boy wasn't going to make it.

The young prisoner licked every scrap from his fingers and then ran his tongue around the bowl before saying, "David."

"What?"

He looked up at John. "I think I like 'David' best out of the names you said."

David and Jonathan. John frowned. Those names went together almost too well. Like he'd heard them before somewhere. "Maybe those really are our names?"

The boy shook his head. "No. It's not my name, but as I don't know what my name is any more, it's one I can live with."

"If you don't know what your name is, how do you - ?"

"Because I know what it isn't, and it isn't David. Or Samuel. Or Benjamin." There was a stubborn set to his mouth which John rather liked. The boy added pointedly. "And you're not called 'John'."

John shrugged. "I am now."

The young prisoner's face fell and he looked around the cavern. "This can't be it. This can't be where we – "

"It isn't." John said it firmly. "This is a – temporary situation."

The boy hauled himself back to his feet and wearily picked up his pick. "For you maybe, but I have a feeling that for me it's going to be permanent."

John knew this was the point where he could tell the boy he wasn't going anywhere without him. That if the chance came to escape he'd take him with him, that whatever happened he wasn't going to leave him to the mercy of men like this. But he didn't say anything and he saw the young prisoner give a little nod as though it was no more than he'd been expecting.

Gritting his teeth, John snatched up his pick and swung it at the wall with all his might. Even when it dislodged a block of ice the size of his head, it didn't help.

***

John had been trying to ignore the conversation for a while. The one those prisoners in the next cavern were holding at a volume that the boy next to him was meant to hear. The one which speculated as to whether or not the young prisoner had ever had to take it up the ass before, and if so how often, and how much he'd enjoyed it. One of them was insisting he was pure as the driven snow, you only had to look at him, while another was saying he was sure he'd had to give it up before now and he just bet he'd squealed like a stuck pig.

'David' was swinging his pick into the cavern wall with dogged determination but the way he was yanking those chunks of ice out suggested he would have liked to put his pick through a few skulls.

John was feeling the same way. He was getting more and more of a sense of…connection to this boy. He found himself looking over at him again and again. It was starting to make his own muscles ache in sympathy every time the kid faltered, his stomach rumble when the boy's protested its emptiness. He could see what those guys were seeing, certainly, he wasn't blind or stupid. The boy was a looker. Nice bone structure, good body, those big blue eyes. His skin had that glow which only youth and health bestows upon the fortunate and still looked near-flawless despite the cold and the hunger starting to leave sores at the side of his undeniably beautiful mouth. And yes, as those sons of bitches kept mentioning, the kid had a nice, firm ass as well. But there was so much more to this guy than his outer wrapping. Something internal. Something special. Something that made you want to defend him, keep him safe from harm, protect his inner core because inside of that very attractive packing there was something valuable and fragile John really didn't want to see get broken.

"Hey, pretty boy!"

John saw 'David' tighten his grip on his pick and then swing it into the wall with everything he had, levering out a lump of ice the size of a football. Football. He remembered figures on a screen, commentators talking very fast, linebackers, go deep, touchdown…

John blinked. The boy was crouched down by the block of ice holding the pick behind the head to chip delicately at the ice. Suddenly all his lack of coordination vanished and he looked as though he knew exactly what he was doing as he excavated the ice carefully. John hadn't had the patience to do it that way and he'd broken a crystal in two with a careless swing before now, but this kid looked like he had patience to burn.

At least this time it was rewarded. That was one hell of a crystal. John wiped his hands on his clothes. "That should count for two."

The boy held it up to the dim lights. "It's beautiful. I hadn’t realized how beautiful they were. What do you suppose they need them for anyway?"

John shrugged. "Some kind of power source or weapons technology, probably."

The guy looked dismayed. "Then by mining these crystals we could be helping to kill people?"

"Hey," John said it quietly. "We're staying alive, any way we can. That isn't a crime."

"Pretty boy! I'm talking to you!"

'David' gritted his teeth then darted a glance over his shoulder at the prisoners in the next cavern. One of them was the big guy with a beard John had already marked out as being the ringleader of that little group. "Later," the bearded prisoner said thickly. "You and me." He blew the younger prisoner a kiss and the boy turned his head away quickly, a shudder going through him.

He swung his pick clumsily and it bounced off the ice wall.

"Hey," John said quietly, "just hang in there. It's going to be okay." He didn't know why he'd said that.

"Is it?" The younger man swung his pick again, managing to get it to sink into the wall in a downward motion this time.

As he went to tug at it, John said, "Lever, don't pull. You're trying to get a chunk of ice out, remember, not just get the pick free."

"Oh, you mean there's supposed to be a point to this?" The boy gave him a brief tight smile but he did push up on the handle and lever out a block of ice. It fell to the floor at his feet and broke open but there was no crystal inside.

"Better luck next time," John told him.

"Don't you think there has to be a time limit on how long we can keep swinging pickaxes into what is effectively holding up the ceiling?" He asked the question conversationally.

John glanced up at the roof instinctively. "Good point." He gave the boy a glance of surprise. Not just a pretty face then.

The prisoner with the beard took advantage of the guard being temporarily out of earshot to hiss across, "Blue Eyes is spoken for and you'd better remember it. No point in making nice with him. He's mine."

John gritted his teeth and swung his own pick. He felt rather than saw the boy darting a glance in his direction, hoping against hope that he might be able to help him. Why the hell had he ever started speaking to him? The last thing he needed was some near-sighted uncoordinated geek screwing up his escape plan by tripping over his own feet at the crucial moment. This kid was clearly dead weight. But John had a horrible suspicion that he was the kind of guy who wasn't going to let that boy get taken without a fight, which meant he was clearly the kind of guy who was going to get pounded to a nasty stain on the ice unless he had some combat training. He guessed that was something he wasn't going to know until he swung the first punch.

He looked across at the guy with the beard like he wasn't worth wasting any words on. Threats were useless in a place like this anyway. Actions needed to speak louder than words. He swung his pick into the wall with all his might then jerked up the handle, dislodging a big chunk of ice, which fell to the floor with a thud. When it spilled two crystals John could have done a little dance with the relief of it, but he kept his face a blank mask, just giving the guy with the beard a long look as he bent and picked up the two crystals tossing one into his own basket before deliberately throwing the second into the young prisoner's.

The big guy with the beard scowled in annoyance and John gave him another slow look before turning back to swing his pick again.

The young prisoner murmured, "Thank you," too low for anyone else to hear.

Not looking at him, John said, "You're welcome."

***

He really hadn't meant to fall asleep, but he was so damned tired his eyelids had gone from heavy to closed before he could help himself. One minute he was sitting there thinking that kid was going to need some protection to get through the night, the next he was being sucked down into an exhausted slumber as deep and cold as death.

He dreamed of a room with a stone circle at the end of it. Men with guns who seemed to be on his side. A big guy with a gold tattoo on his forehead. A blonde woman. And someone else. Someone…Being swirled through a vortex of blue light. Capture. Pain. A white light burning into his brain. Feeling his memories slip through his fingers like minnows in a stream. Trying to hang onto who he was, trying to hang onto his name, but losing it, losing...And all the time the rage because they weren't just doing this to him they were doing it to – the name was almost there, he could almost taste it. He'd said that name so many times he knew it as well as his own. They were hurting him; the someone else John wanted to protect. He tried to call out a reassurance but then…

Then he was here. Without a past or a future or a name. And now there was someone else on the edge of his vision in need of his help, someone trying to call out to him, to call for his help…

John awoke with a gasp and realized at once that there was something unpleasant going on in the darkness nearby. He could hear the sound of heavy breathing, cloth being torn, and someone trying to make a sound and being stifled.

Suddenly he was wide-awake and reaching for his pick. Only when his hand felt only ice against its fingertips did he remember the guards took away their tools every night. They were stacked out of reach of anyone's chain in the next chamber. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and by the faint bluish glimmer of the ice light he saw the guy with the beard wrestling with the young prisoner. David was lying on his back with the big prisoner sitting on his chest and holding his wrists flat to the floor. Two other prisoners had hold of the boy's ankles. The boy was putting up a hell of a struggle but the other guy was so much stronger than he was and he had those two friends helping him.

As John managed to get the scene in focus, the bearded prisoner backhanded the boy so hard across the face John was afraid he might have broken his neck. The struggling stopped and then started again but weaker, undirected; the kid was clearly hanging onto consciousness by a thread. He managed to spit out what John realized was a gag and manage tautly, "Don't – " There was a warning in his tone but he didn't have any way of making good on his implicit threat.

The bearded prisoner said softly, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way but either way you get to bend over and take what’s coming to you."

"No!" There was panic as well as anger in the boy's response. He kicked out wildly and caught one of the two holding onto his ankle in the midriff. The guy gasped as the breath was knocked out of him. Undercover of the guy trying to grab some oxygen, John quietly got to his feet. As he walked towards them he was running the links of the chain from his ankle through his fingers. As the one prisoner rolled on the floor, wheezing for breath, John stamped down hard on his groin. His scream of pain cut straight through the cavern. John kicked his buddy under the jaw while he was still gaping at him in disbelief. As the guy hit the ice with a crash, John wrapped the chain around the bearded prisoner's neck and pulled it tight, wrapping the links around his hand so he could twist it into the soft flaps of flesh beneath that ugly face.

As John yanked on the chain tighter, he breathed in the bearded guy's ear, "Tell me, what part of 'No' was it you couldn't understand?"

The bearded prisoner slammed his elbow into John's ribs so hard the world almost went black but he hung onto the chain and tightened his grip. The elbow was jerked into him again, almost as hard, then more weakly, more weakly still.

"You'll kill him." He could see the young prisoner's face in the dim bluish light, see the bruise on his cheekbone and forehead, the blood trickling from his mouth where the son-of-a-bitch John was throttling had hit him.

John met his gaze. "That's the idea."

"But – "

John yanked on the chain harder. "Like the guard said, sometimes you just have to make an example. This is a prison. Normal rules don't apply."

"Oh God…" The boy turned his head away so he wouldn't have to see the bearded prisoner's face going blue, his eyes bulging, the tongue lolling in his head.

That was when something hit John in the back so hard the whole cavern tilted. And then a foot collided with the back of his head. He saw the boy throw himself at someone. Heard a cry of pain. Felt another blow. Then there was the sound of running, guns fired into the air, guards shouting a warning, the rumble of something like an earthquake, the sharp sound of ice cracking. Another blow landed and this time he slipped into the land of near dark.

***

He awoke to pain. Lots of pain. In his head, his ribs, his jaw, his back, his ankle was just numb but for all he knew his foot had fallen off. He rolled over, groaning, "God, did anyone get the number of that truck?"

"Shush, don't move. You might have broken your back." The voice was low and soothing.

John blinked and then focused. His first thought was that it was going to be as easy as eating pie to get those crystals out of the walls. You could see right into the ice in this cavern and there were the crystals glistening and glowing like starlight, giving enough illumination to see by. He blinked again and this time he could see the anxious face of the young prisoner looking down at him. John realized he had his head in 'David's lap and the kid was staring down at him all aquiver with concern for him. That boy was way too soft. "I just rolled over," John pointed out to him. "If my back was broken that would be a little tricky. And look – I'm wriggling my toes."

He couldn't help thinking the way the kid automatically looked was too cute for words. He was wearing boots after all. He smirked. "Made you look. Made you stare. Made you lose your – " Suddenly he remembered what those guys had been trying to do and his jubilation dissolved. He caught the boy's arm. "Shit – I passed out. Did they - ?"

The young prisoner looked at him blankly for a minute and then his face cleared. He spoke in a whisper: "No. And you didn't 'pass out', you were knocked out. That one guy kicked you in the head and then the guards were hitting you to make you let go of the chain, but you wouldn't."

"That fucker deserved to die."

The boy moistened his lips and John noticed how the bottom one had a cut across it and that was a nasty looking bruise on the kid's jaw. "Keep it down. And I don't know if you killed him or not. He certainly wasn't looking very healthy by the time they clubbed you into unconsciousness."

"Well either way I bet he thinks twice before he tries that again."

"Oh I think you made your point pretty well."

John reached up and touched the boy's face. The young prisoner flinched and then held still, letting John's fingers touch the bruise on the side of his face, the red mark on his jaw, the cut across his mouth. "Looks like you took a bit of a hiding yourself."

"I hit the guard who hit you. I was afraid they were going to kill you. They weren't pulling their punches."

John flinched as he remembered hovering on the brink of consciousness, blows being rained on him, and then someone throwing himself across him, yelling at the guards to stop before they killed him, shielding him with his body, the blows still landing…Then the crack of the ice coming again, deafening this time; the thunder roaring like a tidalwave…

He looked up at the boy sharply. "Let me see your back."

"There's nothing to – "

He reached behind him, pulled up his jacket and shirt and saw the purple marks where the blows had landed. The boy's whole back was patterned with them. He grimaced. "Shit – "

"I think you've broken some ribs." David bit his lip. "And your ankle looks as though it might be broken as well. We fell a long way and I landed on top of you. I'm sorry."

John looked up in surprise and saw the hole in the ceiling above them. A long way up, definitely. Twenty-five feet perhaps. Maybe more. He blinked. "Well yes, you would have landed on top of me. You'd thrown yourself on top of me to stop them beating me to death. You couldn't know the floor was going to give out." He twisted his head round to meet the boy's eye. "I'm presuming the floor gave out?"

David shrugged. "The floor. The walls. The ceiling. You name it, it pretty much gave out."

"So, where are we?"

The boy moistened his lips. "We're in the next cavern down."

"Why haven’t they got us out?"

"Because they evacuated everyone. The whole structure is incredibly unstable. To be honest I'm sitting here afraid to sneeze in case the rest of it falls down on top of us. I have this little problem with the idea of being suffocated under a ton of ice."

"A problem I share." John looked around, the reality of their situation starting to sink in. "So, you're saying no one is looking for us?"

"No one cares," the boy said it quietly. "Whether we’re alive or dead doesn't make any difference to them. This mine is no longer stable and therefore no longer viable. I don't think they're coming back."

"Right." John nodded emphatically. "So, we're free then?"

"Not exactly." David pointed to the chains still around their ankles. "We're just lucky the wall we were chained to came down with us or we'd be hanging upside down by our broken legs round about now. My chain snapped off, luckily for me, but yours is still attached to the bit of wall it was welded to."

John saw one of the guard's guns lying next to them and reached for it. "Problem solved. I can just shoot through the – "

David took it from him like a parent confiscating a toy from a difficult child. "That might bring down the ceiling."

"So – " John looked around the cavern. "You're saying we're stranded in an unstable underground ice cavern with no food and no water, not to mention no heating, and no way out of here. And we've been abandoned by people to whom it is a matter of the most complete indifference whether or not we're alive or dead?"

The boy nodded. "I think that sums it up pretty accurately. Yes."

John looked around the cavern again and grimaced. "Peachy," he said.

***

He was glad the boy was finally getting some sleep. He'd worn himself out today. Finding that pick, chipping down through the ice to try and get to the end of John's chain, trying to break the links to free him. Failing. Trying. Failing. John had tried it too but whatever these links were made from they seemed to pretty close to unbreakable. Then David had moved onto attempting to climb up those impossible walls. They bent inwards so sharply you had to hang upside down for the last bit and there was nothing to hang from; but the kid was a trier, he'd say that for him, he'd tried cutting steps into the ice, trying to make handholds, using the pick to anchor himself…Every attempt had ended in the boy losing his grip and hitting the ground hard but that had only slowed him down a little, it hadn't stopped him. In the end John had pointed out it wouldn't help for them both to have a broken ankle and anyway, night must be coming in because it was getting even colder and they needed to huddle together for warmth. The boy was burning energy doing that which they had no way of replacing. If he used up too many calories too fast he was going to have nothing left…

He'd been a little taken aback by the trust the boy had shown in snuggling up against him. Christ, it was only the night before those guys had tried to rape him. But David seemed to have made a decision that whatever the rest of the human race was like, John was okay. John was someone he could trust. And perhaps more importantly than that, John was in need of his body heat to survive the night. The boy had arranged himself next to him carefully, very concerned about not putting any weight on him but John had told him he wasn't made of porcelain, and besides, he needed the warmth. The ribs on his right side were painful where that guy's elbow had connected, but he was still very glad of the way David curled up against his left side. It had seemed almost worryingly natural for the boy to fall asleep with his head on John's chest, his left arm wrapped around John's body, John's left arm around his shoulders; the fine soft hair just tickling John's neck…

The last thing he'd thought he would need to worry about in a place this cold was getting an erection but he'd had to concentrate pretty hard on the throbbing in his ankle to cool down that throbbing starting up in his cock. That would be a great way to repay the kid's trust, of course, get a hard-on he could hardly fail to notice.

As David slept, John had a chance to think over the day's events, not to mention their current situation. He reckoned if that didn't douse any possible fires in his groin nothing would.

John's ankle was broken from where the chain had yanked on it so hard when they'd hit the ground. It had been numb because of the swelling but that was starting to go down now and the pain was really starting to bite. The boy had taken off his t-shirt and used it as a bandage. John had protested they were both going to need all the heat they could get in a place like this but David had just put his stubborn face on and ignored him. They'd both been a little disconcerted to find that underneath the prison jackets and shirts they were wearing the same kind of t-shirts, pants and boots.

"We might come from a planet where everyone dresses the same way?" David talked as he bound up John's ankle with an efficiency that suggested he had done this before.

John had a flash of a crowded street, people in multi-colored garb, no two people dressed the same. A huge stadium with everyone watching the same ball fly through the air but all wearing different colors, different styles. He shook his head. "I don't think so. Last night I dreamed about a place with people in this uniform. I think I might be a soldier."

"Well what does that make me?" David tore the last piece of his makeshift bandage in two and tied it around the anklebone. John couldn't help noticing what beautiful hands he had, those long sensitive fingers had managed to slip the cloth underneath the cuff and tighten it around the break with deft skill. But the knuckles of the boy's right hand were bruised, the skin broken, and he realized with a jolt that David must have done that defending him from those guards.

With difficulty John lifted his gaze from those fingers and found himself staring into curious blue eyes. "What?"

"Well I'm not a soldier. I didn't know any means to get those guys off me last night. And when I hit that guard it jarred my hand all the way up to the elbow." He gave his hand a rueful shake.

John moistened his lips. "No, I'm sure you're not a soldier."

"Right." David darted him a sideways look, a flicker of hurt in those expressive eyes. "Why?"

"You look much too intelligent."

The boy had a nice smile. The kind that made you want to see it a lot more often. A quick pleased little grin, surprised out of him and which he couldn't quite repress; that was definitely a sight for sore eyes. John smiled in response then collected himself, trying to be brisk when a part of him was just itching to ask this kid if he had any idea how cute he was. Well, duh, given what those guys were trying to do to him last night I think he might have a clue…

And now he was back to having to battle that burgeoning erection again. Not helped when David begin to move against him, slowly at first, and then with increasing urgency, little gasps coming from his open mouth, fingers closing convulsively in John's shirt. Oh crap. Not a wet dream, kid, not now. I'm not made of stone you know… Too late. The boy was clearly accessing some happy memories.

"Oh yes…oh God…"

John grimaced. Married, the boy was probably married. Any minute now he was going to be whimpering some woman's name. God, that was a point. Perhaps John was married too. Perhaps he had a wife back home going nuts with worry about him while he was sitting here enjoying having this boy rub up against him even though he didn't even know the kid's real name and the guy was thinking of someone else anyway. If they ever got out of here that might take some explaining:

Darling it must have been dreadful for you.

Well, you know, it wasn't so bad. There was this boy who fell through the floor with me who I swear was so hot I'm amazed the ice didn't melt all around him. That kind of helped.

What? You mean you…?

Well, no, unfortunately not. It was too damned cold for one thing and anyway the kid kept dreaming of someone else but I have to say I was more than game…Honey, why are you crying?

No, definitely not something he would be sharing with the little woman, supposing there was one, which round about now John definitely hoped there wasn't. And God it was so difficult not to just reach down and help that boy get where he was going. He'd only be offering a helping hand to a friend wouldn't he? And if the kid came in his pants he'd be all cold and sticky down there in no time.

Feeling like someone stealing coins from a blind man's pail, John reached down and unbuttoned the boy's fly. Then he tugged down his boxers and felt a slippery and very eager erection immediately spring into his hand.

"Oh boy…" His own cock was already protesting about the tightness of his underwear but the kid was lying on top of him and he couldn't get to his own cock to alleviate its suffering. David was making little jerking motions against him now and John couldn't resist getting a firm grip on that rosy cock and starting to stroke it. Okay, maybe the kid was thinking of someone else right now, but at least this way there would be one climax he'd helped give him. He tightened his grip, pumping him firmly now. The boy was jerking against him harder and harder, giving gasping little cries that were sending an electric current straight to John's cock.

"Oh please – yes! – don't stop – don't ever stop – yes – Jack - !"

John automatically reached across and wiped his hand clean on the ice. That hot fluid hitting his fingers should have been the biggest turn-on in the world, but the boy gasping out that other man's name in ecstasy had sure as hell ruined the moment for him. And to think he'd been worried about how he was going to hide his own erection. Well that certainly wasn't a problem he was going to have now.

David was gasping his way back to full consciousness and John quickly reached down, shoved his flaccid cock back into his boxers and then buttoned up his trousers. Inside he could feel a strange sick sensation settling in the pit of his stomach. Like someone had just force-fed him a mouthful of lead.

"Oh God – " David jolted back into wakefulness, panting breathlessly and staring at John's chest like he had no idea where he was.

"You okay?" John tried to keep his tone even but it came out a little ragged and breathless.

"What did I just – I dreamed – "

John made himself say it. Made himself focus. "Try and remember. I don't think they are 'dreams', I think they're memories. They might help us to remember who we are."

He wanted to know the boy's real name. Wanted to whisper it once in his ear before the cold carried them off. A name with resonance. A name said with love. Yeah, by someone else. Said by 'Jack'. John had a strong suspicion he really wasn't going to want to hear anything David could remember about this Jack character, but he couldn't be selfish about this, for all he knew their way out of here might lie in something from their past. They needed to remember who they were and how they'd come here. Even if it killed him.

David was still trying to recover from the double whammy of an orgasm and all those memories. He seemed embarrassed about lying on John's chest and sat up. "Did I - ?"

"No." John said it firmly. "Must just have been part of the dream. What did you remember?"

David swallowed and darted him an embarrassed glance. "It was pretty – "

"Steamy?"

"Yes."

"Well at least you had some fun before you got your memory wiped, that's good to know. Given the name you said I'm presuming this was fun with a 'he'?"

David blinked. "What name did I say? I couldn't remember."

" 'Jack'." He tried not to let his dislike for this unknown rival show but the name definitely came out with a little venom wrapped around it. "What do you remember about him? What did he look like?" How old was he? Was he younger than me? I bet he was, the son of a bitch. Some young stud with a twenty-four hour erection and a six pack stomach.

"Jack…" David said it softly and something stirred inside John. He supposed he just wanted to hear the kid say his name like that, so wistfully. David ran a hand through his hair. "I can only remember bits and pieces – I didn't see his face."

Why the hell not? Did the son of a bitch make you bend over and take it doggy style every freakin' time? He had to do something about this jealousy. This was insane. The kid trusted him. He thought he was a friend. A protector. Someone who'd helped him and tried to keep him safe. He had to get a grip and fast. "Well what do you remember about him? Anything that would tell you what kind of guy he was? What he did for a living? What your relationship was? If you were living together?" Yes, that sounded reasonable. Someone who wasn't being eaten up inside with jealousy would probably ask those kind of questions as well.

"We were – " David darted him an embarrassed glance.

John moistened his lips. "Now would probably be a good time for me to mention that I have no problem whatsoever with you being gay, okay? For all I know I am too. And I've never had any hang-ups about – well, actually, I have no idea what kind of hang-ups I used to have, but if I ever did have any problem with two guys doin' it I sure as hell don't now. So, just spill what you remember and let's see if we can do the jigsaw puzzle with some of those pieces."

David's relief was obvious. "Okay – thanks. We were – having sex in a really big bed which had these – um black satin sheets." He grimaced apologetically and John couldn't help pulling a face as well. "I had my head back because he was – biting my neck – "

Fucking vampire is he?

"But when I opened my eyes I could see him reflected on the ceiling – "

Mirrors on the ceiling and black satin sheets? How tacky can you get?

"Just the back of his head and his – body – his hair was sort of – grizzled."

John raised an eyebrow in surprise. Not some young stud then. No, actually that made sense. Some older guy with money and no taste. Well no taste in bedroom décor, damned good taste in boyfriends obviously.

"Older than you then." He nodded. "I can see that."

David looked hurt. "Why? Do I look like the houseboy type?"

"Well you could bring me a mint julep any time." It was out before he could stop it. John coughed quickly as the boy's eyes widened. "I'm kidding. I was just thinking that black satin sheets and mirrors on the ceiling suggest the taste of an older guy, that's all. Young guys don't usually go in for those kind of – props because they've got youth on their side so they don't feel the need for them. Were you – having fun?"

Tell me you were bored. Tell me you were just waiting for it to be over, that it didn't do a damned thing for you.

David swallowed. "Oh boy, yes."

Shit.

John couldn’t pretend he hadn't seen the way the boy's tongue flickered over his lower lip as he savored what had clearly been one hell of a memory. "So. Not so bad for an old guy then?"

"I don't think he was old." David defending the prick didn't make him feel any better. "His body was very – nice. And he had lots of ener– " He broke off in embarrassment.

"Okay, let's call him fortyish, shall we? Questionable taste in bedroom décor but other than that apparently an okay guy." He looked at him interrogatively. "Anything else? Apart from his first name? Anything on the bedroom walls that might tell you where he worked? Anything belonging to you that might tell us where you worked?"

David was shaking his head. "That's what's so strange. The place didn't feel familiar, at all. And yet later in the dream, I did feel like I knew it, but I didn't feel – safe there. And none of those things were mine. I know they couldn't have been mine. The pictures on the walls were awful and the carpet was hideous. And the Jacuzzi was unbelievably vulgar –"

"Jacuzzi?" John raised an eyebrow. "The guy had a Jacuzzi?"

"Apparently." David gave another of those apologetic grimaces. "With gold taps. In the shape of leaping dolphins. And a mock mosaic floor of a Roman orgy."

"Jesus, did that guy get a taste bypass or what?" John collected himself and held up a hand. "Sorry. This is your – other half we're talking about. I keep forgetting." No, I don't keep forgetting. I can't think about anything else. He knew he shouldn't ask the question – what was the point in torturing himself after all? – but he couldn't stop himself. "So, you have any memories of the Jacuzzi?"

The boy ducked his head and John wondered if there was any point in telling him that even if he was blushing he certainly wouldn't be able to see it in this light.

"Yes." The response was muffled.

"Well – spit it out. It could be relevant."

"It's not." David grimaced again. "We were just – you know."

"Oh I can guess. So did you get a look at his face in that part of the dream?"

David shook his head. "No. He was – soaping my back."

John closed his eyes as he thought of David sitting in a Jacuzzi in front of him, reaching up to gently push the boy's head a little further forward so he could squeeze the sponge of soapy water down the back of his neck. Watching the suds cascade down that glistening naked skin, soaping those strong shoulders, the knots of his spine; wrapping an arm around his chest and easing him back gently. That little gasp at the moment of penetration. The ecstasy of sliding inside that silky heat so slowly. The boy pressing back against him, welcoming him in, beads of sweat trickling down his cheekbone which John could lean forward and lick off, savoring the soap and shampoo flavor of him. Oh God, shampooing his hair, running his fingers through those short strands, rinsing the soap off, watching the water run clear, but buried inside him the whole time, tightening his grip around that smooth chest to ease the boy back onto his cock, not thrusting, just letting gravity works its magic as he eased in slowly deeper and deeper until he was buried in him to the root, the boy sighing with satisfaction as the last inch slid home…

"He kept giving me whiskey."

"What?" John jolted himself out of the little daydream into which he'd been drifting so pleasurably.

"And there were a lot of beer bottles rolling around the edge of the Jacuzzi." David was frowning as he remembered. "Actually I think I was pretty drunk. I felt sort of – reckless. He kept holding the whiskey bottle to my mouth and telling me to have another swig. He said I had too many inhibitions and it was his job to do something about them."

Son of a bitch!

David darted him an embarrassed look. "It's not sounding too good is it?"

John was starting to build up a real dislike for this 'Jack' character. "Well – maybe there were mitigating – did you and him do it just the two times, I mean was it a – ?"

"One night stand?" David shook his head. "No. There were lots of times. All mixed up and confusing, but all in the same house." He pulled a face. "The house with the godawful décor."

"And were you drunk every time?"

David winced. "I – I think I was."

"But you were okay about what you and him were - ?" John couldn't seem to stop the anger building up inside him "You knew what you were doing?"

David ran a hand through his hair. "I think I did say to him a couple of times that maybe we should stop. But he – he sort of talked me round. He was very persuasive and – " He grimaced. "I think I must have been infatuated or something. Every time I started trying to reason with him he just – stuck his tongue in my ear or started nibbling behind my ear, or kissing me or started – feeling me up again – and I'd cave. My knees just went weak and I couldn't remember why I didn’t want to when it felt so good. I don't know why I couldn't see his face. It's as if my mind wouldn't let me remember it." He turned his head away as he said it, the last words coming out muffled, and just for a second John wondered if he was concealing something.

John gritted his teeth. "He could have drugged you."

"I think I was just – drunk on him. I think perhaps I'd been in love with him for a while without any real – hope, and I was so pleased he wanted me I couldn't seem to say no to him."

Bastard! John ran a hand through his hair. "It sounds like he was nothing like good enough for you to me. Did he do anything – kinky to you?"

David pulled a face. "Oh Christ, I must have been out of my mind. Those ties were just awful."

John blinked. "What?"

David shook his head. "Okay – this is really humiliating. He tied me to the bed with silk ties – with playboy bunnies on them. Really dreadful taste. And then he blindfolded me with another one. And he – ate food off me, ice cream, and honey, and maple syrup, and he put things in my mouth and made me guess what he was feeding me. God he made me eat squid. I hate squid. And oysters. Lots of oysters. He said I needed to crank up my libido to the same level as his."

"Arrogant manipulative exploitative son of a bitch." The words were out before he could stop them.

"I don't think he meant – " David broke off. "Okay, there's no point in me kidding myself here, is there? The guy was obviously a macho prick with a permanent hard-on and a serious taste deficiency who just used me for sex while I thought I was – in love."

The way he wrinkled his nose in disgust was so cute John couldn't help grinning despite his anger. A thought occurred to him. "Christ, maybe that was your first time – with a guy, I mean. It sounds like he was really taking the lead. Maybe you'd never done it with a guy before and didn't – know any better. Maybe he just dazzled you."

David managed a smile. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Trying to make me feel better."

"I'm serious. And you have other memories of this guy, right?" As the boy looked blank, John said encouragingly, "He must have taken you out to dinner? Taken you to a game?" As he was still getting a blank look, he grimaced. "Held a conversation with you? Something? Anything?"

David shook his head. "All I remember is lots and lots of sex, most of it of the fairly rough and tumble variety." He forced a smile. "Guess the love of my life wasn't much of a conversationalist."

John's fingers had curled up into a fist. All he wanted to do right now was find that guy and start punching. Christ, he'd had this boy right there, so in love with him he couldn't even see straight, and all he'd done was use him like a freakin' blow-up doll. How could a kid this beautiful and – special have ended up with a guy like that? Wasn't there any kind of cosmic justice out there that looked out for the innocent and the vulnerable?

David ran a hand through his hair and then shrugged. "Well I think that guy is a dead end as far as trying to remember things goes. I can literally only remember his bedroom ceiling." He wrinkled his nose again. "His mirrored bedroom ceiling." The look he exchanged with John was rueful, his smile brittle. "Well that's something we now know about me – I obviously have lousy taste in men."

John wished he could think of something reassuring to say but nothing was coming to mind. "Let's get some sleep," he said after a pause. "Maybe we'll remember something else."

"What if losing our memories was the best thing that ever happened to us?" David forced a smile. "Until I had that dream I thought I was a scholar of some kind. Now I'm wondering if I'm just some rich guy's piece of fluff."

John reached out and caught his arm, squeezing it. "Look, maybe you got involved with someone who didn't treat you with the – respect you deserve, but that doesn't make you a  - piece of fluff." He could only say the last three words through gritted teeth.

"Thanks." The boy lay back down again.

As he lay down next to him, John said, "For what?"

"Trying to make me feel better." There was a pause before he added conversationally, "Of course, if we ever get out of here and I go back to that guy I'm not going to need to worry about my memory returning. The type he obviously was I'm sure he has everything we ever did together on film."

John couldn't stand it any longer. Rolling over carefully, he clasped his hands to the boy's face and pulled him in for a kiss. He'd thought the boy would struggle but instead David melted at his touch, mouth opening in response to his lips, eyes closing. As John slipped his tongue tenderly into that moist warm welcome, he wondered why this seemed so familiar; why it was making him ache inside with such longing, like he'd had this once before and then lost it. Knew in his heart this was something fate would always snatch away from him.

"Oh God…" He breathed it into David's mouth, already feeling the loss of that warmth even before it was gone, his fingers carding through the boy's hair. He felt such incredible tenderness for him it was hard to believe they'd only known each other a couple of days. He felt as if he already knew every atom of his being; like this boy was an extension of himself; his soul mate; his destiny. He didn't believe in love at first sight, but if he was honest he'd been drawn to David from the first second he'd laid eyes on him. And now they were together, finally alone in the darkness, kissing, it just felt so damned – right.

And David was responding with the same raw desperation. Body pushing against him urgently, sucking on John's tongue with real hunger. John kissed him deeper and harder then soft and so gently, his tongue exploring, tasting; fingers tightening in the silky perfection of his hair. David's long elegant fingers were tugging at his jacket, trying to burrow under cloth to find flesh to touch, and although his fingertips were cold John loved the feel of them against his skin. John pulled out of the kiss to grab some oxygen and then brushed his mouth across David's moist kiss-swollen lips as softly as a butterfly alighting on a flower. John snatched another breath, desperately trying to hang onto some self-control as his cock swelled painfully against the confines of his pants; but the close proximity of David's body, not to mention the undeniable proof of David's attraction to him, proved more stimulus then even the cold could counter. "We shouldn’t do this – You deserve so much better than this."

David moistened his lips, that intent gaze fixed on his unblinkingly. His breath was a white vapor in the darkness. "Do you see any mirrors on the ceiling?"

John automatically looked up, despite knowing the answer to that question. "Uh – sorry, can only offer you a big hole in the roof."

"Well I think that is just one of the many things that proves I'm definitely trading up."

John opened his mouth to articulate some of those good reasons why they shouldn't be doing this but the words foundered in the way David ran his tongue across his full lower lip, clearly not even knowing he was doing it, just an instinctive reaction to looking at John's mouth. John stared in disbelief at those wide set blue eyes, those sculpted cheekbones, that incredible mouth…

"Oh boy…" John swallowed hard. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life."

David swallowed too, then his fingers were furrowing through John's hair as he pressed his mouth hungrily against John's. He whispered it softly: "That's because you haven't seen your own reflection…"

And then in the midst of all this ice there was an inferno; fingers tracing trails of fire down skin already slick with sweat; mouths desperate to taste salt-flavored flesh; bodies grinding together to a chorus of groans, pants, and whimpers; hips rocking to the same frenzied rhythm. It was too much. Wherever they touched there were fireworks. They couldn't last. They cried out as they came but with a tinge of sadness wrapped around the ecstasy because they had no true names to call each other.

As he slowly came back to some semblance of awareness, John tightened his grip on the shuddering, panting figure in his arms and kissed the top of his head, enjoying the aftershocks of pleasure flowing through him. David was still convulsing soundlessly, only gradually coming down from his orgasm high to something approaching sanity, and John couldn't help feeling a tinge of pride. When that boy came, he really came. "You okay?" he murmured gently as the boy finally stopped moving.

There was a pause before a sweat-streaked face was tilted up to look at him. David was still breathing heavily but there was humor in his blue eyes. He moistened his lips, that tongue darting out enticingly. "So, did the earth move for you too?"

As John was still grinning, they heard the ominous crack of ice preparing to shift, then a threatening rumble. They stared at each other aghast and John spoke for both of them. "Shit," he said softly, before the sky seemed to fall on their heads.

***

He was dreaming of a room. His office. It was behind his head, spread out in a familiar clutter, dull duties waiting for him patiently in their respective in trays; but he didn't give a damn because right now he had other things to do. Other things he had to do because if he didn't he was going to explode. He was kissing paradise but it kept arguing with him. He kind of liked that about this particular wriggling six-foot slice of heaven, it gave him the perfect excuse to keep shutting him up with another kiss. Oh God but he loved it when this boy just melted under his touch like chocolate left out in the sun…Chocolate. Yes. He was going to reprise that time when he'd licked chocolate ice cream from his navel then sucked it from his cock. In fact, to hell with the ice cream, he was going to get this squirming protesting piece of pie out of his damned clothes and swallow him to the root right now. If that didn't shut the boy up nothing would.

"John…?"

Something was tugging him away from here, damnit, he didn't want to leave this moment; he was kissing hot smooth skin and the arguing had been reduced to a delicious groaning noise, long fingers furrowing through his hair, the body he was nibbling to submission going boneless beneath him. Damn but he was good at this.

He pushed up the boy's t-shirt and then blinked in surprise at what he found there. This was way too familiar. He'd explored this strangely sexy blemish only a few hours before. And on somebody else.

"Please, John…please…?"

John realized there were several things wrong with this picture. He was in uniform; he had some insignia, a rank. He was seriously contemplating doing the show right here even though he knew damned well there was a guard standing right outside that door who was going to be able to hear every stifled moan and grunt. The guy he had jammed up against his wall was in different clothes, no insignia. Christ, he was fucking someone of lower rank; someone he'd –

He got a glimpse of his own hand closing on this guy's sleeve, practically dragging him down the corridor while a soldier followed behind with a gun. God in heaven, perhaps he was some kind of military junta who liked making free with his subordinates. Perhaps this wasn't playful resistance, after all, perhaps this boy really didn't want John touching him like that. Perhaps John was just some arrogant rapist who figured everyone he fucked was begging for it really.

No. This guy was really melting when John kissed him. His knees were going weak. He wanted this. He definitely wanted this. John might be full of it and he might be pushing this boy towards something he was a little reluctant to do but he was definitely responding to John's touch.

It was very important he looked at the face of the guy he was kissing. This was the lover who might be waiting for him somewhere. The one he had to get back to. Except he didn't want to, he was moving on to someone else, to David…As he was snatched away from that office and that warm body, he realized it had already happened. As he looked up into those dreamy blue eyes, he realized it didn't matter who that guy was any more; David's face had been grafted onto his. Whoever he might once have loved, David was obviously the only one for him now…

John awoke inside an igloo. He blinked a few times but sure enough there could be no other explanation, he was within a rounded white cave, walls shimmering with bluish light, crystals glistening at him from inside their ice prison. He not only knew this was called an igloo, he also knew Eskimos lived in them, on Earth, the planet he was from. His general knowledge really was coming back with a vengeance now. He just wasn't sure why he was here. And oh god that really hurt. John looked down at his ankle in surprise. Oh yes, he'd forgotten that cuff, not to mention the chain. He reached down and tugged at the links but they seemed to disappear into the smooth sides of his igloo. The piece of ice wall he'd been chained to had obviously decided to come for this little joy ride to the lower floor as well. Wasn't that touching?

"John!"

The voice was faint, muffled. Desperate. The kind of desperation that usually accompanied frantic activity but there was only the slightest scraping noise. Something delicate was happening, something careful.

"John, please…don't be dead, please don't be dead…"

He returned to the here and now with a jolt that jarred all the way down his ankle as he realized that was David up there. "Here!" he called. "David, I'm over here."

"Oh thank God - !" The faint scraping got closer, it sounded hollow on the ice above him. Like being inside a tin can. John was hit by another memory. An airplane. Motor chugging, the door open and the darkness reaching up to embrace him like a lover, to pull him down into a welcome he just knew he'd almost succumbed to once before. Like waltzing with death every time; that adrenaline high which came from the accompanying terror. Impossible not to speculate on the way your body would look if the chute didn't open. But he'd never expected Teal'c to be the one to wimp on him…

Teal'c? What kind of a name was that?

Damnit, he'd almost had something then.

It was such a quiet noise. Delicate as a mouse nibbling its way around a husk. John remembered the way David had excavated that crystal, all the previous clumsiness forgotten, using the pick head as skillfully as though it was a scalpel and he was a surgeon. John put a hand up to his head. He'd seen him do that before. Lots of times. But no, the memory was gone. Perhaps he'd just seen it done by other people, lots of times. But by whom?

The word popped up unbidden: archaeologist.

It had resonance for him, all those conflicting associations: affection, exasperation, boredom. Someone he liked a lot but who irritated and bored him? That sounded like a wife to him. Perhaps his wife was an archaeologist?

Hello? Why do you think you have a wife? You have a memory of going down on some guy in your office, and you wanted to start getting to know that boy up there a whole lot better about ten seconds after you met him. I really don't think you're the marrying kind.

Okay, not a wife then. Perhaps the guy in the office who'd been arguing with him when John just wanted to have fun. He'd been exasperating in a lovable sort of way. If John's subconscious hadn't decided to transplant David's face and body into that scene, he might have found out whether or not his taste had stayed the same, but his mind had been too sneaky for him. He'd found himself licking the silver-pink smoothness of that appendix scar for the second time in a couple of hours and known at once there was something wrong. Unless he was kinky for guys who'd recently undergone appendectomies, that other sweet young thing had been obliterated from his psyche by the wonder that was David.

"Almost there…Can you hear me, John? Are you still there?"

"David I'm entirely encased in ice and I have a broken ankle. Where else would I be?"

The tip of a pick emerged no more than a millimeter beneath the ice above his head; a tiny glint of metal penetrating all that chill blue-white fire.

"You are such a smartass." The guy was trying to grumble but the relief couldn't help breaking through. "And keep your voice down. That ice you're sitting on is incredibly unstable. If I don't get you out of there quickly you're going to be doing a very good impression of a cable car in free fall. And, trust me on this, it's a hell of a long way down. I threw a crystal down there ten minutes ago and I haven't heard it touch bottom yet."

John grinned. "And you're just unstoppable, aren't you? Tell me, do you ever give up?"

"I'll let you know." Another delicate intrusion from that pick.

John waved an arm above his head to calculate the distance. "Uh – Daveyboy, you've got about two feet of clearance between my skull and the ice you're chipping at, you don't have to be quite so careful."

"I told you, it's very unstable. And stop talking. And what did you just call me?" A piece of ice was cut out with the pickaxe tip as skillfully as a chef slicing Camembert with a cheesewire. It was withdrawn to let in a blast of clear cold air. But the face above his looked puzzled. John recognized that expression. David was chasing fleeting memories again.

"Let 'em go," he said gently. "I'm not sure anything we did before now is worth saving." I used to fuck guys up against my office wall, and you used to be the plaything of a macho piece of shit. We're both better than that now. Why ever we did what we did before, we're doing this because we love each other.

Through gritted teeth, David said, "Call me 'Daveyboy' again."

John blinked. "Daveyboy."

David shook his head. "No, it's gone. But I definitely got a flicker of something before."

"Shall I try it again?"

"That depends."

"On what?" John enquired.

David leaned forward and looked down into the hole. "On whether or not you fancy wearing this pickaxe for a hat."

John saluted. "Message received and understood."

Another piece of ice was meticulously chiseled out, lifted, placed carefully out of sight. And another. And another.

"Do you think you've done this before?" John couldn't help thinking David was doing this at twice the speed that he could have done, which was strange given that he'd been so bad at the hacking and slicing kind of ice excavation.

David paused as he chipped at the ice. "I don't know. I haven't thought about it. The other just seemed so – pointless. This is different."

"Not uncoordinated then. Just insufficiently motivated."

David moistened his lips and two blue eyes were turned upon John in a withering stare. "If you want to spend the rest of your life down there, you're going the right way about it."

"I can shut up too. In fact I can do that really well."

"Really?" David meticulously removed another piece of ice. "How odd when you practice so rarely."

John swallowed down the snappy one-liner and stifled a grin. He'd been in love with this boy for a while but he was really starting to like him now. "Do you think we would have been friends?" he asked.

David grunted as he picked up another block of ice, turned, and carefully lowered it again. "I doubt it."

John felt hurt. "Why?"

"Because you're a – tough guy and I'm a – well, let's just say, I'm not. I don't suppose we'd have had much in common."

"Apart from overwhelming physical and emotional attraction?"

David glanced down at him as he blew on his fingers. "Apart from that, yes."

John cautiously got to his feet, his fingers clawing at the ice to pull himself up without putting any weight on his throbbing ankle, the ice fire burning his fingertips. That fall hadn't done his bruised ribs a lot of good either. "What makes you say I'm a 'tough guy'?"

David shrugged. "The way you handle yourself, the way you dealt with those guys, the way you look."

"I have a broken nose or something?" John felt it cautiously.

"No. You just look – "

"Like an old boot? What?"

David half-smiled as if to mock what he was saying but his gaze was serious. "Like a hero."

John felt the moment and the silence hang there, suspended. The boy was in love with him. Not infatuated. Not attracted. Not physically drawn to. Head over heels, hook, line and sinker, in love with him. He'd been fighting it from the first minute their eyes had met in that damned cavern. The kid had never been afraid of him. He'd only been afraid of the emotions John was eliciting inside him. "You feel it too."

David was busying himself with the pickaxe, ducking his head down to conceal his expression. "What?"

John reached up and put his hand over David's where it rested on the ice. As he did so he had a strange sensation of déjà vu. He remembered taking someone's hand; holding it too long; his unwillingness to release it; the sense of loss when the hand was removed from his grasp. When he stared up at David he saw the same shock he was feeling in those blue eyes. "I remembered – " John shook his head as the vision vanished again. "Something. Damnit!

"I remembered something too."

It was as they were still gazing at each other that the floor beneath John's feet gave way and he plummeted into the chill darkness below.

***

For a second he was falling to what was inevitable death and the terror was paralyzing, but then he was brought up short with an agonizing jerk that went from his wrist all the way through his arm to his shoulder where it whiplashed straight down his spine. Then a heavy weight jolted through his broken ankle and he cried out in agony. The otherwise insistent pain in his cracked ribs was negligible beside it. Looking down he saw how the cuff around his ankle was now being pulled tight around the break by the chunk of ice wall to which the chain was still attached. The ice itself was swinging over an abyss so deep and so dark it looked as though it was an elevator shaft straight to hell.

Swinging painfully from his right hand, John looked up and saw why he hadn't fallen any further. David had hold of his wrist. There was a look of absolute determination in those blue eyes but John could see the effort it was costing the guy to hold onto him. John snatched a breath. "What's keeping you up there?"

"Pickaxe." David said it tersely. The exertion of holding onto him, leaving his voice ragged.

John thought about how fast David must have acted, grabbing his wrist with his left hand while simultaneously slamming that pick into the ice with his right. "That was pretty quick thinking." John tightened his own grip on David's wrist. He could feel the bones of it through his sleeve. He had hold of David and David had hold of him, but that didn't change the fact he was swinging over an abyss and David had no real purchase to try and pull him up. He moistened his lips, trying to lighten the grimness of the situation. "Like I said, not uncoordinated then."

"If sufficiently motivated." David found a smile for him, but there was panic behind the determination in his eyes. "Can you climb up me?"

John tried to reach up with his other hand, but it made his body twist like a corpse on a gallows and set the big chunk of ice swinging agonizingly below him. He felt horribly aware of the chill space all around him. And his actions were dragging David towards him; there was a slight but inexorable movement there. "I'm going to pull you over."

"No." David tried to haul him upwards but John could see it was futile. David had jabbed the pickaxe into the ground next to him and he was now spread-eagled between that handle he was clinging to with such determination and the John's body hauling on his left arm. The weight of John's body was pulling him towards the edge while the pickaxe held him anchored to the ice; David stretched in between the two like the victim of some medieval torture device, while John was locked in his own particular rack between David and the heavy weight of that ankle-tormenting ice. David couldn't pull John up because the pickaxe wasn't far enough away from the edge to give him any real purchase to take so much weight. And John couldn't pull himself up without dragging David over the edge.

As there was a jolt and he found himself hanging another two inches further into the abyss with his heart apparently fighting his tonsils for room, John realized he already was pulling David over the edge.

"We can't do this," he said quietly.

"Yes we can." There was warning in David's voice. And desperation.

"I'm just going to pull you over as well."

"No, you're not. You're going to think of something, damnit!"

John looked up at him. David's eyes were begging him to think of something, anything and his mouth was set in the kind of stubborn line that told John better than a speech that he was going to have to break all David's fingers to make him let go. He felt a flash of anger at the futility of it. He could feel them moving, little by little, certainly, but the pickaxe was clearly cutting a slow furrow through the ice. "There's no point in us both dying!"

"Think of something!"

The anguish in the boy's voice galvanized him even better than his own off-the-scale-terror of plummeting into that darkness. He twisted his head around looking for something, anything, that might help them, but the walls were smooth as glass, there was nowhere he could get a foothold, a toehold, anything. Then he saw the gun lying on its own little plateau about five feet to the left of him. The ice rock it was hanging from would have been spectacular under different circumstances, like a stalactite soaring up from the depths of a hell that really had frozen over. John felt his brain kick into gear, old strategies turning wheels oiled by the conviction that whatever he might have felt in the past, he didn't want to die.

"Swing me over there. Where the gun is. Do you see it?"

David nodded, and then swung John back the other way to try to build up some momentum before grunting with exertion as he yanked him towards the gun. John reached for it, but was a good two feet short. "Harder."

"I know." David could barely get the words out, and John wondered if he had his fingers wrapped around that pickaxe head, the frozen metal cutting into his flesh where he was having to hold it so tightly. And that was without even starting on what this must be doing to him, having the weight of John and that big chunk of ice dragging him closer and closer to the edge.

"Hurry!" John urged.

David swung him again, his eyes speaking volumes about the bad things he would have liked to say to someone urging him to hurry when he was already performing one superhuman feat and was now being asked to perform another one. This time John was only a foot shy. "Again."

"I know." David said tautly. He swung John back in the other direction and as he did so, John felt their fingers begin to slip, sweat and exhaustion weakening their previously unbreakable grip. Another jolt told him the pickaxe had cut a furrow in the ice another few inches closer to the edge. He had to get the gun this time or they were both going over. As he swung through the air like a trapeze artist, he was already reaching, throwing himself at that damned gun; willing himself to reach it somehow. His fingertips brushed metal, were sliding back, then they felt nylon and closed, dragging the gun into space by its strap. It felt like an extension of him, something he'd held in the crook of his arm for so long it was as familiar to him as a nursing baby to a mother. He yanked it up and under his arm in an instant, had his finger reaching for the trigger even as he reached the lowest point of his pendulum swing.

The bullets chattered angry music against the chain; dashing themselves against it like hailstones against a window. Blue sparks glittered like fireflies in the dim white darkness beneath him, and then the weight was suddenly gone from his ankle. He cried out with the pain of that relief and David gave an echoing gasp of surprise as the pressure pulling him towards the edge was abruptly halved.

John was suddenly aware of that silence which precedes disaster. He must have skied once because he knew that sound; the mountains shrugging off a fresh snowfall in a way that stilled your heart for two endless beats, because coming behind that light powdering could be an unstoppable white wave of soft enveloping death. As he looked up, he saw the smooth walls which had proven so unhelpful to David's attempts to scale them beginning to shift; shimmering like mirages as they started to dissolve.

They jolted again and his hand slipped. He grabbed convulsively, losing his hold on David's wrist to gain an inferior grasp on his palm and thumb. "Hurry," David breathed it quietly and John knew the pickaxe must be very near to the edge now. It occurred to him how odd it was that there was such faith in the boy's tone. He wondered if David was right and he was the kind of man who could get himself out of predicaments like this, or if it was just the belief David had shown in him which had inspired him to think of something.

As the cavern crumbled all around them, John shifted his grip on the gun, throwing it up one-handed and catching it in the same hand so he held it like a spear, then he jammed it into the ice as hard as he could. As David hauled back with the last of his strength, Jack got a foot onto the gun and used it as a foothold to push himself off towards the edge. He felt it go as he sprang upwards but by then David was pulling him with all his might. As John landed on that warm pliant body, he grabbed the front of David's jacket in both hands and rolled them both the hell away from the edge.

As they slammed into a chunk of ice, John looked up in time to see the place where David had been lying drop out of sight, the pickaxe going with it. He looked down and realized he was on top of David who was staring up at him, mouth open in a way that just made you want to kiss him. John did so, but quickly. "Time to go," he said.

He got to his feet so fast he forgot about his ankle. "Fuck!"

David pulled a face. "Not sure this is the time or the place."

John grabbed him by the arm. "Smartass yourself."

"It must be contagious." David looped John's arm around his neck and put a hand around his waist like he'd done it before. John suddenly realized this boy was a lot stronger than he looked, because he was moving them forward at quite a lick.

"Any ideas for how we get out of this place?" he enquired.

The walls were dissolving all around them now, the crash of each collapsing wall begetting another ice slide. The air was powdery with chill white shavings; crystals raining all around them. With his hair full of ice flakes, David met his gaze as they stood beneath the gaping hole in the ceiling, still an impossible twenty-five feet above them. "Nothing's coming to mind."

John felt suddenly calm. He didn’t want to die, but if he had to die, at least it could be like this. He put his hands to David's face, looked him in the eyes and said, "Whoever you are, I love you." Then he kissed him.

David opened his mouth to him at once and their tongues curled together tenderly, John looking for that sweep of long dark eyelashes as David closed his eyes in the ecstasy of that kiss. He might have gone his whole life and never been loved for all he knew; but here and now, in this moment, in this eternity, he knew what it was to love and be loved. Words came back to him from some forgotten echo and he breathed them aloud into the warm haven of David's mouth. "This is a good day to die."

David's fingers furrowed through his hair as he murmured, "That's what the Sioux used to say before they rode into battle."

They blinked at each other as they realized this was something they both knew. A little indistinctly because of the tongue in his mouth, David said, "I wonder – "

"O'Neill!"

"Colonel?"

They sprang away from each other like naughty children at the sound of those two voices; one male; one female; both sounding as worried as hell. They shot each other a quick glance of mingled apology and explanation, then realized they were on the same page here and turned their attention to the hole in the ceiling above them.

They were just in time to see the two figures appear, but their gaze went at once to the rope that snaked down to meet them. They stared at it like men in desert who'd just been offered a glass of water. Wanting to believe but it being so much what they wanted and needed they were sure there had to be a catch.

"You must hurry!" That was the man. Glancing up at him, John saw he was wearing the same kind of uniform they were, looked friendly, and most importantly of all looked plenty big and strong enough to haul them up and out of this crumbling cavern. He clapped David on the back, "You first. No arguments. The way this chamber's going, one second's delay and we both die."

David shut his mouth with an audible clicking of teeth and sprang for the rope with alacrity. John nodded in satisfaction. Okay it had taken him a few days but he definitely had the hang of managing this boy now. He held the end of the rope, pulling it at a slight angle to make David's task easier, and was impressed by the way the guy went up that rope hand over hand so quickly like a gibbon after fruit, the chain trailing from his ankle like a silver snake. That's my little Snowmonkey. John realized he might have a doting expression on his face and coughed quickly, trying to look stern. But he couldn't stop his relief showing as David was helped off the rope and onto the floor by the blonde woman with the gun.

Relief which quickly turned to a scowl as she hugged a somewhat bemused David so hard it seemed a miracle his ribs didn't crack.

Hands off, girly, he's mine.

John grabbed the rope and started to climb it. It was a lot harder without someone to hold the end for him, and the ice and crystals raining down upon him were a little distracting as well. The rope spun him around in circles as he hauled himself up it. He was robbed of the use of his feet by his broken ankle and so had to rely on arms which were already aching unbearably, each twist punctuated by some new rapid burst of incomprehensible information from the blonde woman. John decided he preferred the big guy with the gold tattoo on his head. Definitely the strong but silent type.

"We thought you were dead…It took us days to find this mine…Because the procedure didn't work on us they ran all these tests to try to find out why…were going to kill us but the Tok'ra arrived in time to…By the time we managed to get the coordinates the whole mine was deserted…obvious there'd been some kind of cave-in…motion trackers…heat sensors…finally got a reading…"

"It is good to see you again, O'Neill." The big guy grabbed his hand and hauled him up onto the ledge beside him.

"Well whoever you are, I'm very glad to see you too."

The woman blinked at him in surprise. "Don't you know who we are, Colonel?"

"We don't even know who we are." David explained.

"But then – how were you together?" she asked.

"You mean we knew each other – before?" They both asked it in such perfect unison they darted each other glance of surprise.

"There is no time," the big guy warned.

John didn't remember too much about the journey to the surface. Well he remembered that it hurt one hell of a lot despite the big guy having an arm around his shoulders and helping him along. Those strong arms hauling him forward helped considerably but it was the way the guy kept looking at him like he was this close to just slinging him over his shoulder and running with him that kept John limping at a speed that was way past painful and was getting perilously close to agonizing.

He didn't think of himself as particularly macho but there was no way he wanted someone carrying him in front of David, for crying out loud. The kid thought he was a hero. The kid was almost certainly wrong, but John didn't want him to know that yet. He really wasn't into shattering anyone's illusions, particularly illusions about him.

The rumbling got louder and louder as the ice caverns dissolved behind them. If it hadn't been for David he would probably have decided it was impossible and given up. After all, he knew he was utterly exhausted, hadn't eaten in so long it was frightening, and had a compound fracture of his ankle; there was no way he could outrun what was basically an avalanche happening beneath his feet. But although David was being pulled along by that blonde woman with the gun – and the way she had her hand proprietarily on his arm was bugging John even in the midst of their situation – David kept looking over his shoulder for John, reassuring himself the man was there. If John gave up, David was going to come back for him, that was obvious. And actually looking up at the man beside him – the very large, very determined-looking man beside him – John had a feeling this guy wasn't going to let him give up either.

As the guy with the tattoo on his head snatched up a pit prop and jammed it under the lintel of the exit just before the walls around it started to shiver, then ushered the rest of them through it like an adult seeing the children out of danger, before catching up with John and putting an arm back around his waist to help him forward, John couldn't help stealing another sideways glance at the guy. If he was honest he was feeling a little tongue-tied. This man really did look like a hero. He was so calm, self-possessed, strong, brave, handsome. Damnit, there wasn't a hero box you couldn't check for this guy. John darted an anxious glance at David who was darting another anxious glance at him over his shoulder. John managed a watery smile but it was forced. John might have looked good in an ice cavern full of the scum of the galaxy, but how was he going to look now? That blonde woman was pretty good looking and she was acting like David was her own personal property, while this big guy was just so damned… impressive John was having to work hard to stop from getting a bad case of hero-worship himself. And David was so impressionable. And young. And unbelievably beautiful. Everyone who saw him was bound to want him. John had after all.

As they caught up with the two in front, John heard the blonde woman speaking into some kind of communication device. "Meet you at the ship, Dad. Did you get through to Aldwyn? Okay….Understood. ETA at the tel'tak about five minutes. The way this planet is going I think you're going to want it prepped for take-off." She turned and looked over her shoulder. "Teal'c, my Dad says there are some ships from the mining company coming in to do a salvage operation. They're probably going to try and vacuum up the remaining crystals. Apparently they can be very hostile to any craft they think is muscling in on their territory so we might need some fancy flying to get out of here. Are you happy to take the controls?"

Christ, was there anything this guy couldn't do?

John stamped down on another little burst of embryonic hero worship as he darted a look at the big guy. He was nodding imperturbably as he said, "Of course, Major Carter."

Of course 'Of course.' John glanced quickly at David who was glancing quickly at him. He saw his own anxiety reflected in those expressive blue eyes. He raised an eyebrow and mouthed 'What a guy!' in a semi-mockery while jerking his head in the direction of the one the blonde woman had called 'Teal'c'. David gave him a rather sickly grin, mouthing back, 'I know!'

The ship with the funny name was an odd metallic-looking object, stark against the snowfields. From a distance it looked like a child's toy, but as they drew closer, John realized the damned thing was huge, like a beached whale that hadn't quite started to rot. As they reached the ramp, there was another guy there waiting for them, older and with seriously receding hair but the kind of wiry fitness that wouldn't have looked out of place on someone half his age. He clapped first David and then John on the shoulder saying in obvious relief, "Daniel. Colonel. That was too damned close. Really thought we'd lost you this time."

Daniel. David was 'Daniel?' John realized how right that sounded. He'd been close with his 'Samuel', 'Benjamin', and 'David', had got bits of the boy's name scattered through those other three names but none of them had been quite right. 'Daniel'. He liked that. That was a name that trickled right down to all the cold crevices inside of him and filled them with warm honey. That was definitely a name he could live with. Would have been a bit of a passion-killer if the kid had turned out to be called 'Eustace' or something.

Beside him the blonde woman was saying gently, "Um – Dad – Daniel and the Colonel got their memories wiped. They don't know who any of us are."

"Really?" The guy stared at him in surprise while the blonde woman ushered David quickly up the ramp and into the dark interior. "But Sam said you two were together when she and Teal'c found you."

"Well we sort of – found each other." David looked over his shoulder at John.

John gave him a reassuring smile. "We certainly did."

The guy who seemed to be the blonde woman's father took John's arm and helped him limp up the ramp while the big guy strode in past them, presumably to take over the controls with the same consummate skill he got people out of crumbling ice caverns. John didn't know whether he wanted to stick a picture of that guy on the inside of his locker or just kick him really hard.

He settled for saying, "Who's Sam?"

"I am." The blonde woman said over her shoulder as she helped David over to a seat with way too much touching for John's liking.

"The big guy – the one with the tattoo – he called her 'Major Carter'."

"Okay let's start this from the beginning." The guy hit a button and the ramp folded up behind them leaving them inside the sudden silence of the ship. John realized how quiet it was with the sound of the planet crumbling abruptly muted. The other guy helped John over to a seat on the other side of the ship from David and held out a hand. "I'm General Jacob Carter, previously of the United States Air Force, now of the Tok'ra. You're Colonel O'Neill of the SGC, team leader of SG-1. Let's shake."

John did so a little bemusedly. Jacob turned and indicated the front of the ship. "The guy who just saved your butts is called 'Teal'c'. He's a Jaffa and there will be plenty of time to explain what that is later."

John glanced through the doorway at the 'Jaffa' who was preparing for launch