TITLE: The Wine of Dionysus
AUTHOR: ELG
AUTHOR PAGE: ELG
CATEGORY: Drama/Angst/Action/Adventure
SPOILERS: All episodes up to S3 episode "Legacy".
SEASON / SEQUEL: Season 3, directly after "Legacy".
RATING: R
CONTENT WARNINGS: Character rape possibly occurs and is discussed (although it is not shown). Major angst. There is life-threatening violence to two members of SG-1; minor injuries to the other two; also minor injuries to various secondary characters. Mention of past violence. Some minor language from Jack, and Daniel makes a very dubious joke.
SUMMARY: After the events of 'Legacy' an exiled Goa'uld tries to use Jack's feelings of guilt and Daniel's feelings of inadequacy to persuade them that Daniel should leave SG-1.
STATUS: Complete
DISCLAIMER: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Especial thanks to the world's best and most long-suffering beta, Brenda. Many thanks to Cathy for all her helpful suggestions and encouragement; to Sue and Rowan for the invaluable medical beta; to Bead for additional archaeological suggestions and advice, and to Lisette for the wonderful pictures of Mycenae. Thanks as well to Bri for all her assistance in the shape of detailed spoilers. 

Daniel was standing on a beach watching the tide come in. There were white birds shrieking overhead that might have flown in from a poem by Yeats, while the sea air was sharp with salt and the promise of winter. The sea was grey-green and lapped idly, barely caressing the sand as a milk skim of foam unfolded at his feet…

That damned faucet just kept dripping. He could hear the sound of it, hollow, metallic, insistent. The first proper wave took him unawares, washed over his bare feet; shocked him with its coldness.

Why were his feet bare anyway?

Why were his feet bare and his glasses missing and why was there a white band around his wrist? He had to squint to read it: Doctor Daniel Jackson. Yes. That was correct. That was his name. But why had he been labeled like an artifact? And what was that other word? That defining word that told the world what Doctor Daniel Jackson was? Headcase.

The wave hit him so hard it knocked him over; filling his mouth, his ears, his eyes, dragging him down into the cold wet hollow where insanity waited for him. The sea was blue now, shimmering. No, please, not this, not this; any moment the hand would reach out and…

The hand came out of the wormhole, grabbed his jacket and dragged him forward. He knew what was waiting for him in there; not the dead Goa'uld, this time, but the room. The white room. Please God, no, don't send him back there…

He woke up crying in the corner of the white room. He was so frightened. It was coming. Not the footsteps, although the footsteps were echoing in his brain. Insanity was coming. His mind was dissolving and once it was gone he would never get it back. He would stay here forever. Don't go, Jack! Don't leave me! They were leaving him because he was crazy. Because no one could reach him or help him. Please, Jack, please! Sam! Teal'c! Don't…The door closed. He slept. He dreamed. The beach. The dripping faucet. The birds screaming. The waves crashed over him.

He woke to find himself curled up on the floor of the white room. Not crying this time. That must be better. He was better. It was all so much clearer now. The room might still spin a little but the insanity was receding, the tide going out again. He could explain it to them and it was perfectly reasonable. The relief was overwhelming.

Daniel got to his feet and stumbled over to the door. All he had to do was open the door and then walk out of here; but when he tried the handle he realized the door was locked. And when he peered through the glass, the corridor was empty. There was no one there; no one waiting for him. He banged on the door, shouted, tried to tell them that he was better now. All better. That he wanted to go home.

No one heard.

No one came.

Daniel woke up with a gasp and fumbled for the lamp by his bed. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest with residual fear. Stupid. Stupid to be so frightened of something that would never happen again. He wrapped his arms around his chest and rocked backwards and forwards, reminding himself that it was over. Everyone knew he was sane. No one was going to send him back there. It didn't matter what he said or did, they wouldn't send him back there. He knew that all he had to do was turn the handle on that damned door and open it; just picture it in his head. Picture it unlocked and the door opening…

No! He had never been insane. He'd heard things and seen things that weren't there, but he had never been insane. So they would never send him back there. And Jack had come for him. And the door had opened. And why the hell couldn't he just step through that goddamned doorway, go out into the corridor, and leave that terrible white room behind…?

 Part One

"You know, it doesn't matter how many times I get my molecules ripped apart and then thrown back together, I just can't seem to enjoy it." O'Neill stepped down from the Stargate as the wormhole disassembled behind him and took a careful look around at their surroundings. As this particular Stargate had been built on the top of a rise, he could see for some distance, and there was so clearly nothing at all in view to worry him he found that worrying by itself.

The landscape was hilly rather than mountainous, a patchwork of different shades of green and brown, red earth speckled with baked stone, lush valleys like giant punchbowls held by fingers of dark forest or ridges of grey rock. Tranquil. Inviting. It seemed to be afternoon here. There was a drowsy feel to the day, the lazy sunshine, a few white clouds barely troubling to make their way across a halcyon sky. Birds twittering, bees humming, things growing. All of it so self-consciously peaceful it immediately made O'Neill's antennae twitch.

"It looks very fertile, Colonel, so I'd lay money that there will be people around here somewhere." Carter was already taking a soil sample to confirm, but, gazing through his field glasses, O'Neill didn't feel he needed a laboratory to tell him that this mixture of streams, groves, pastureland, and forest was an environment tailor-made for transplanted Homo sapiens.

O'Neill looked across at Teal'c who was also gazing around at the landscape, and said, "Seems quiet enough?"

"It does appear to be so, O'Neill," Teal'c responded in the manner of someone who was nevertheless taking nothing on trust.

"It feels…Mediterranean." Daniel was turning a slow circle. "Like Greece or Turkey."

O'Neill handed him the field glasses so he could see for himself. "How's your Greek and Turkish?"

"Not too bad." As always Daniel had to alter the focus to see through them and O'Neill made a mental note to change it back when the binoculars were returned. "I can see deer," Daniel announced. "There's a herd of them over there. See, Sam, just on the edge of that wood."

O'Neill took the opportunity to take a look around at his team. The team he had damned near lost half of only a fortnight before. It might give O'Neill the heebie-jeebies just thinking about that snake inside Teal'c, but given how essential Junior was to the Jaffa, it was no wonder it had come to matter to them all that his larval Goa'uld should stay alive. Seeing Teal'c standing there now with his staff weapon in his hand and every sense alert for any possible danger, you'd think the man had never been ill in his life, let alone damned near dead. So, at least O'Neill had no worries there and Carter was clearly having fun taking readings and collecting things in her little plastic pots…

Which left only Daniel.

Apart from being a little quieter than usual, Daniel seemed 'fine'. That was the word Daniel was currently going with when asked how he was feeling, and the word O'Neill had picked to describe him to Hammond and Doctor Fraiser when they asked how the younger man was coping before allowing him back on active duty. So, despite having spent far too many hours locked up in a padded cell with only his hallucinations for company, Daniel was 'fine', and SG-1 was 'fine', and everything was just fine and dandy.

Except that O'Neill didn't feel he could make a joke or call Daniel by any of the various nicknames he had given him over the years, or do or say anything that referred back to an intimacy and ease between them which might no longer exist – because that would be like laying claim to something they both knew he'd forfeited.

He'd asked Daniel if 'they' were okay and Daniel had said 'Of course.' But O'Neill didn't feel there was any 'Of course' about it. You didn't stand aside while they carted your best friend off to the asylum and then just slip back into the same old friendship like you were pulling on a pair of favorite slippers. It was ironic that for perhaps the first time in their relationship, O'Neill was there, ready, waiting, and willing to 'talk it through' and Daniel didn't want to do it. Daniel seemed to want to pretend that there was nothing to discuss. And every time O'Neill had tried to start the conversational ball rolling in the dangerous direction of the younger man's wrongly diagnosed 'schizophrenia', Daniel had side-stepped it somewhere safe with a skill that O'Neill couldn't help admiring in a guy who readily admitted to having consistently sucked at all sports.

He failed to avert his eyes fast enough as Daniel turned back to hand him the field glasses and O'Neill saw the archaeologist register that he was being watched, an almost imperceptible flinch. Damn. Just what he'd wanted to avoid: Daniel thinking they were all still looking at him sideways waiting for him to become irrational.

"Venison for supper tonight sound good to you?" O'Neill said lightly, glancing through the field glasses to establish that they were indeed now temporarily completely useless to anyone with normal vision.

As he turned the dial to change the focus back, he waited hopefully for Daniel to tell him that the deer might be sacred or part of the local population's fertility rituals or something equally Daniel-like. But the younger man just said, "I think they're gone now anyway," as he shoved his hands into his pockets and deliberately didn't meet O'Neill's eye. A minute later Daniel had turned away and gone to walk next to Teal'c: always the best member of SG-1 to choose for company if you really didn't want to talk.

O'Neill grimaced. This was clearly going to be a long – and very quiet – day.

***

They had walked two miles from the Stargate and O'Neill was starting to think the place was unpopulated when they saw the regular outlines of possible habitation halfway down the hillside up ahead of them. From a distance it looked like a low wall describing a circle on the green rise; something a parent might build from papier mâché to enclose a child's farm. Within it were patches of shadow, soft as spilt coffee grains, and here and there faint horizontal lines in the distance that could have been stone steps.

"Some kind of town?" O'Neill turned to Daniel. His eyesight was a lot better than the younger man's, and those buildings were still only a stone shimmer in the sunlight even to him, so it wasn't really Daniel's opinion he was looking for. What he was looking for was some sign of that spark of enthusiasm he'd got so used to seeing in Daniel's blue eyes; that almost childlike openness to new experiences that seemed to have been temporarily banished and which O'Neill was really starting to miss.

Daniel shrugged. "Could be." Was that interest? No, it was evidently hunger because the archaeologist was digging out a PowerBar and unenthusiastically unwrapping it. He pulled a face as he chewed it but did swallow the first mouthful down. Well, at least Daniel was eating, O'Neill thought. There were times when the guy didn't even remember to do that. Admittedly he was probably only eating this because he'd overslept again and had to miss breakfast in order to be only his habitual five minutes late for their pre-mission briefing, but hey, it was sustenance going into Daniel and that was always a good thing in O'Neill's book.

He'd never thought that he would actually want Daniel to be running around talking too fast about things nobody else even began to understand, but right now that was what he would have given a month's paycheck to see. Daniel…being Daniel, rather than Daniel being this rather reserved young man who thought twice before he opened his mouth instead of just diving in head-first; someone whose smile wasn't reaching his eyes, and whose eyes were…watchful. Basically, O'Neill kept seeing someone left wary by the experience of being committed to a mental institute when what he wanted to be looking at was someone who'd forgotten all about it and was back to who he'd used to be. Someone who didn't blame O'Neill for not believing in him would have been nice too.

O'Neill didn't know how long it took to get over an experience like that. Not the physical incarceration, not the drugs, not even the hallucinations, but having everyone you cared about ready to accept you were a headcase who needed to be medicated and locked up, when what you really needed was for people to know it had to be some outside influence making you behave this way because you were so palpably sane it couldn't be anything else.

Damn, he'd always known that calling Daniel 'flaky' was going to come back one day and bite him in the ass.

Darting another glance at him, he saw that Daniel was still attempting to eat the PowerBar, jaw working with more determination than pleasure, but was also scanning the dusty road they were following, and yes, O'Neill thought there was a definite spark of interest there. Daniel said, "There are no wheel ruts here so either the population hasn’t invented the wheel yet or else they've died out."

"Were there people who never invented the wheel?" O'Neill enquired. "I thought everyone got that one – kind of like fire and the urge to kill the next tribe along?"

Daniel was looking around at the landscape now. "Well the Olmec never did, and people who lived in really mountainous places, like the Incas or some of the people of Tibet have never found a use for it as a means of transportation. But this is the kind of topography where one would expect it to be in use."

As they drew closer, the patches of shadow revealed themselves to be the entrances to buildings and archways, the regular lines became the geometry of semi-ruined staircases, that toy wall a towering fortification of massive stone blocks. O'Neill could also see odd beehive-like structures scattered upon the hillside outside the wall, but there were no signs of any life here and the unfamiliar buildings looked as though they had been abandoned centuries before. Basically, O'Neill thought, they were looking at a bunch of old ruins, dull stuff to most people but to Daniel…Darting another glance at Daniel he was relieved to see that there was definitely a gleam of interest in the archaeologist's eyes. He had stuffed the half-eaten MRE back into his jacket pocket and was already scrambling in his pack for the video camera.

"Looks Helladic," Daniel muttered, switching on the camera. "In fact, it looks a lot like – but it can't be. This is incredible…"

"Looks like ruins to me," O'Neill returned. "Lots and lots of ruins." Time to play it cool, he decided. A yawn, a shrug, a "But, I guess we could take a look round if you want to."

Carter was also gazing at the fallen city and wondered why she was so surprised by it. She supposed it was inevitable that there would be worlds where the civilization transplanted there by the Goa'uld had not survived and prospered, where the population had withered over the thousands of years since, but the thought of an entire planet being empty was an eerie one. Although not, perhaps, for an archaeologist. In fact, looking across at Daniel, she thought he looked remarkably like a small boy set loose in a candy store. She suddenly realized that Daniel hadn't looked like that for weeks. She quickly glanced across at O'Neill and saw that he was also covertly watching their archaeologist with close attention. She and O'Neill exchanged a relieved glance and then quickly looked away before Daniel noticed what they were doing.

But Daniel was oblivious of everything except the ruins. The nearer he got, the more exciting he realized this find was. "The Lion Gate!" he yelped.

"Did a bee just sting you, Daniel?" O'Neill enquired mildly.

"Look – up ahead. It's exactly the same, Jack!"

"Exactly the same as…?"

Daniel turned to him in bewilderment, as though it was inconceivable that even he couldn't know something this obvious. "The Citadel of Agamemnon at Mycenae."

"Oh yes, of course," O'Neill nodded gravely. "What else could it be?"

"Where's north?"

As O'Neill frowned at him in perplexity, Daniel repeated urgently, "Where's north? Left? Right? Up? Down? Where?"

O'Neill took Daniel by the shoulders and turned him around. "There's north – and I can't believe you didn't know that."

But Daniel was already lost in his calculations, digging out his notebook to sketch a rough map. "Okay, so if that's the Lion Gate, then the tomb of Clytemnestra would be over there – Jack can I borrow your field glasses again? And we must have already passed the oldest Tholos tombs. I guess the rise of the hillside must have hidden them and – yes!"

"That's Air Force equipment you're waving about there, Daniel. You break them you pay for them."

"Look, Jack, look!"

O'Neill found the binoculars being shoved back into his hands by a Daniel who was trembling with excitement. "See, there – over there, do you see? The Tomb of Clytemnestra!"

Adjusting the focus – he really needed to get Daniel some field glasses of his own before the next mission – O'Neill found himself looking at another distant ruin and wondered how anyone could get this excited about something so derelict. "Very nice," he offered.

But Daniel was already rushing ahead, stumbling over the uneven ground as he tried to trot while simultaneously filming everything at once. The others followed him at a slightly more sedate pace although O'Neill noticed that Teal'c was taking even longer strides than usual so that he could keep up with Daniel's more erratic progress without appearing to be hurrying. O'Neill smiled as he realized how over the years they had all honed their own strategies for keeping a protective eye on Daniel without making it too obvious. And then he thought of Daniel in the padded cell and his smile faded. None of their cute little ploys had been able to save him from that. None of them had been able to do zip about those voices in his head or the dead Goa'uld he kept seeing once Machello's killing device had gotten under his skin.

"Look at the size of those stones," Carter murmured. The citadel was surrounded by massive defensive walls built of grey blocks almost as tall as she was. She wondered how the people who had built this place had ever been able to move them. The gate Daniel had mentioned was also huge and imposing, a relief of a lion towering above the square gateway. As they passed through it, Carter wrinkled her nose at the smell of corruption, of death, dust, and decay; an odor almost immediately overtaken and cancelled out by a musky perfume of almost unbearable power.

"Hey, size isn't everything," O'Neill put in.

"The Greeks called these kind of walls 'Cyclopean'," Daniel was turning circles as he tried to video the gateway and the walls, "since they were built of stones so large only a Cyclops could move them. But if this is a copy of what I think it is, we should also be seeing polygonal walls and ashlar masonry and…"

O'Neill began to hum quietly to himself, and for once it wasn't to drown out the sound of Daniel going scientist on him. He just felt happy enough to need an outlet for it. Daniel was spinning around so fast trying to videotape everything at once that he was almost certainly going to get dizzy and fall over in a minute, which would prove that the man was back to normal and also be mildly amusing to watch. Teal'c also seemed to be aware of that possibility and was hovering close enough to catch Daniel before he actually hit the ground when the inevitable occurred.

"This place has a bad atmosphere," Carter said.

O'Neill frowned at her. "Now don't go raining on Daniel's parade, Major. The boy's having fun here."

"I'm sorry, sir, but something just feels…off to me."

Overhearing Carter's last comment, Daniel briefly stopped turning circles to beam at her. "But it's supposed to be like that, Sam." He inhaled and then nodded. "Yes, definitely a smell of corruption in the air, just the way Robert Payne described it."

"And this is a good thing?" O'Neill prompted.

"This is a copy of the Citadel of Agamemnon, Jack, which was supposed to be the home of the mythical House of Atreus." As O'Neill looked simultaneously both blank and impatient – and Daniel had never worked out how the man managed to do that – he hurried to explain: "Atreus, who fed his brother, Thyestes, his own children for dinner."

"What lovely people you know, Daniel."

"Atreus was the father of Agamemnon and Menelaus. Menelaus was the husband of Helen of Troy. Agamemnon was the husband of Clytemnestra who killed him on his return from the Trojan War to pay him back because he'd sacrificed their daughter Iphigenia to propitiate the gods and gain favorable winds. Clytemnestra herself was later murdered by her son Orestes who was forced to avenge his father's death even though it meant committing matricide, and was subsequently pursued by the Furies for his crime. Mycenae was never a happy place, Jack. It ought to smell of death."

"And flowers."

As they turned to look at her, Carter shrugged. "It also smells of flowers, Colonel."

"Schliemann didn't mention any flowers, so they must be – Oh my God!"

"Daniel Jackson, are you hurt?"

Teal'c was there in an instant and O'Neill allowed himself a superior smile, having successfully identified Daniel's strangled yelp as denoting excitement rather than the pain it might suggest to the uninitiated. Daniel's usual yelp of pain, as he remembered it, was about a half-step lower in tone.

"Grave Circle A!" Daniel bounded across towards a sunken stone circle pitted with open shafts.

O'Neill said conversationally, "Maybe next time out we should bring one of those retractable dog leashes. Probably save a lot of trouble."

Tearing her attention away from Daniel's headlong rush towards what appeared to be a series of bottomless pits, Carter focused her attention on the flowers whose perfume was overlaying the scent of decay. The blooms were heavy, sensual, a musky mauve against the pitted white pillars, delicate stamens rich with golden pollen. They coiled around the ruins seductively, leaving faint gilt stains where their pollen touched the stone. The perfume was dizzying in its intensity, so rich it was almost unbearable. Carter automatically looked across at Daniel to see if he was sneezing but oddly enough, he wasn't. It was impossible not to pluck one of the blooms and hold it up to her face. She gasped with the sensory shock of that wonderful smell but then felt something stir inside her: warning, resistance; the memories of Jolinar awakening protectively within her. For a reason she didn't quite understand, she threw down the bloom and backed away from it, taking the sterile wipe from her pack as she walked and wiping every trace of pollen from her fingers.

Daniel was peering excitedly down into echoing square shafts. Ashamed of her irrational action and pocketing the towelette, Carter hurried to catch up with him. "Daniel, take it easy, we don't know how stable this place is." One look at his face told her that he wasn't even listening.

"Sam, this is uncanny. I mean, this place is bigger and there's a lot more of it left intact, but these are the same burial chambers, the same enceinte wall. I have got to get a look at that palace in a minute – see if it still has its megaron. But these burial chambers are just incredible…" He fished out his flashlight and leant in even further. "This one's already open, it doesn't even need excavating…!"

Carter looked across at O'Neill who wiped the Cheshire cat grin off his face and came over to them, saying, "Daniel, you're going to be in that burial chamber in a minute."

Daniel's voice bounced eerily off the walls as he called up to them. "I can see golden death masks. You know that's exactly what Heinrich Schliemann found when he first uncovered the site at Mycenae. He telegraphed the King of Greece to tell him that he'd 'gazed upon the face of Agamemnon'." Small chips of stone were trickling from the top of the shaft he was leaning against.

"Daniel Jackson, you should listen to Colonel O'Neill," Teal'c warned. "This site seems to be in an advanced state of decay." The Jaffa was taking careful stock of their surroundings as he spoke but as she hovered protectively herself, Carter noticed that Teal'c was also staying close enough that he could grab an ankle if Daniel did take a header into the shaft.

O'Neill was too good a poker player to still be smiling but he felt like it. Daniel was being reckless around old ruins and not listening to a word anyone said to him: things were definitely getting back to normal. With a lighter heart, O'Neill reached down and hauled the archaeologist up by his jacket.

Daniel didn't even seem to notice O'Neill's action, still talking excitedly as he was pulled back into the daylight. " – Of course, that was poetic license on Schliemann's part because the site was from around 1600 BC, while the Trojan War – if it ever did take place at all and wasn't just a metaphor – couldn't have happened any earlier than 1300 BC but the point is that this is – well unbelievably similar. It's a mystery that's never been explained why they suddenly started building these elaborate burial chambers apparently for no reason. There's no transitional period, it just seemed to happen overnight that the wealthiest citizens of Mycenae would inter themselves in these incredibly elaborate graves stuffed with treasures and we have no idea why." He noticed his flashlight still shining faintly in the sunshine and switched it off.

"Well if everyone here wasn't already dead you could have asked them." O'Neill waved his free hand to encompass the ruined temples and crumbling walls.

Daniel noticed the lack of life for the first time. "Oh." His face fell. "I was hoping someone could tell me about it. Maybe although this citadel fell into disrepair, there will be others. Or they may have left some writings…"

His attention caught by something on the side of what appeared to be a palace wall, he made to dart away but O'Neill was still holding onto the back of the younger man's jacket and now tightened his grip. "Whoa, Daniel. Slow down. Nothing here is going anywhere and like Teal'c says, this place is a ruin and ruins have a habit of falling down suddenly. You getting crushed by falling masonry isn't going to help solve any interesting archaeological mystery." A millisecond after he'd finished speaking, O'Neill remembered how Daniel's parents had died and saw Carter wince beside him as she also evidently recognized his faux pas. For once he was actually relieved that Daniel wasn't listening to a word he said.

Daniel absently disentangled himself from O'Neill's grasp as though he was a thorn bush he'd got snagged on, said, "Linear B!" and scrambled over several pieces of broken pillar to peer intently at a tablet of inscription.

Carter saw Daniel push the purple blooms away impatiently to examine the script; the aurum pollen staining his fingers making him look as though he'd been struck down with the curse of Midas. Again, she waited for the inevitable sneeze and felt slightly disconcerted when it didn't come.

"We are never going to get him away from here," O'Neill said with satisfaction. He gave Teal'c the usual 'stay with him' look and the Jaffa followed the archaeologist without needing a word of explanation.

Carter was still looking around at the ruins, not just within the walls but the tombs outside that were now clearly visible. "Sir, the thing that strikes me about these burial chambers is how many of them there are. And presuming that only the wealthiest families could afford these elaborate funeral rites and that therefore those dead buried here must be a relatively small percentage of the population as a whole…"

"You're saying – whole lot of dead people, right?"

"Yes, sir. And if what Daniel says is true, and this particular method of interring the dead happened over a relatively short period of history on Earth – and if this society mirrors the one on Earth – then that suggests a high death rate over a possibly compressed time period."

"So - whole lot of dead people in what could be a very short space of time."

As Carter nodded, O'Neill said, "Maybe we should stick with Daniel. He might find some kind of record of what happened here."

As they came up, Daniel was excitedly running his fingers across a stone tablet. "This is a variant form of Linear B I haven’t seen before."

"Who or what is Linear B?"

Not taking his eyes from the tablet, Daniel said absently, "Oh, it's a very early form of Greek writing, probably derived from the Minoan Linear A. It was actually in use for a comparatively short period of time, from maybe 1450 BC until about 1200 BC when the Greeks appeared to have reverted to illiteracy – again, we don't know why." Daniel reached up and ran a finger across the inscription, tracing it gently. "The Greek alphabet proper didn't turn up until about the ninth century BC. Linear B was primarily a kind of administrative script, there's no evidence it was ever used as a spoken language, but this is a different form of it from anything I've come across before. It seems to be a richer, more expressive version…"

He was oblivious of them for the moment, O'Neill could tell, lost in yet another lost language. He tried to coax him back to reality. "Daniel, I'm not saying this isn't fascinating, but could you please try and find out what happened here? There are a lot of dead bodies in those – Mynezian graves and I'd kind of like to know how they got there."

"Mycenaean, Jack, or Helladic if you prefer, and that tends to be what happens with graves, isn't it?"

O'Neill frowned as he finally became aware of the heavy perfume enveloping them and noticed the purple blooms. "Why aren't you sneezing?"

"What?" Daniel made a half-hearted attempt to turn his head in O'Neill's direction but his gaze was so unwilling to leave the inscription that it was the barest gesture towards paying attention.

O'Neill reached forward and lifted up the trailing stems, the drooping flowers perfuming the air, the pollen coating his skin like Christmas card glitter. He made to wipe his fingers on his jacket and then reached across and wiped them on Daniel's instead. "You should be sneezing."

"What? Why?" Daniel noticed the flowers for the first time. "Oh." He leant forward and inhaled tentatively then waited for the sneeze to hit him. It didn't. Mildly surprised he shrugged. "Well, I guess they don't affect me."

"We ought to take some back – could make a million. Flowers that even the most allergy-ridden people can sniff in perfect safety."

Daniel gave the older man a look of mild irritation. "Jack, can you forget the flowers and look at this tablet – there are way more than ninety signs here, I've already counted over a hundred."

"And this is good or bad?"

"It's proof that this form of Linear B didn't fall into disuse, it developed beyond anything we've found on Earth. Don't you see what that means? There could be a much more complete record here of a civilization that used to exist on our world." Daniel peered at the tablet. "My God, I think these could be isolated consonants…"

Carter said, "Daniel, does it mention anything about a war? Any reason why the population died out?"

"I haven't found anything about that yet."

"Well, what have you found out?" In his desire to have Daniel restored to his usual self, O'Neill had forgotten what a pain in the butt Daniel's usual self could be. Too often in the past he'd found himself thinking that if you could just keep the archaeologist away from all things archaeological, he was perfectly good company, a little vague, perhaps, and inclined to wander into trouble if you didn't keep an eye on him, but otherwise a reasonably efficient member of the team who had saved all their bacon more than once; but give him a sniff of an artifact or something incomprehensible in cuneiform and you just knew you weren't going to get any sense out him for at least three hours.

Also, Daniel was no fun when he was like this. You couldn't hold a conversation with him without first waving your hand in front of his eyes to get his attention; he would just take root somewhere and then stare at scratchy writing for hours at a time, making pages of notes in his unintelligible personal shorthand and going "Mmm?" or "Yes," or "If you say so, Jack," every now and then in an unconvincing attempt to prove he was listening to you. You couldn't even tease him, however fed up you got, because he didn't notice you were doing it – which rather defeated the object of the exercise.

O'Neill much preferred a Daniel he could benevolently tyrannize for his own protection to one he had to tiptoe around like an unexploded bomb while that astonishingly agile mind rummaged around in its memory banks. Daniel the Archaeologist was practically a stranger to the rest of them, and an unpredictable stranger at that. O'Neill had never liked the way he could blink a couple of times and then turn back to find himself completely excluded from the younger man's consciousness. Hell, show Daniel a couple of pictograms and nothing else in the world even existed for him.

Realizing he still had some pollen on his left hand, O'Neill wiped it on Daniel's shoulder again, ignoring the raised eyebrow that earned him from Teal'c as he did so. One day, O'Neill thought, he was really going to have to give the Jaffa a crash course in Why Picking On Daniel Is Not Only Fun, But Good For Him. Instead he cleared his throat, "Uh – Earth to Doctor Jackson? What does it say?"

"Well, like I said it's a variant of the script that I haven’t come across before. However it does bear some resemblance to several Mycenaean Linear B tablets from around 1250 BC that mentioned Dionysus – and incidentally confirmed his status as a divinity, because originally Dionysus was thought to be something of a latecomer to the pantheon of Greek Gods, maybe a foreign god imported into Greece from Phrygia or Thrace even whose cult actually met with violent resistance. However, that was another theory that got blown out of the water by the tablets they found in Mycenae…"

"And it says…?"

"I don't know, Jack. It's full of new symbols I don't recognize and it's going to take me a while to work out what they are."

"So, basically you're saying it's a variant of the script you haven't come across before?"

Just for a moment, Daniel wondered if Jack was making fun of him and he darted the man a suspicious glance. But the older man stared back at him stolidly, no hint of mockery in his face, and Daniel decided he was being unfair. Jack was obviously just being a bit slow today and needed to be humored. "Um – yes, that's right."

Teal'c had been staring fixedly at the archway to the ruined palace and now said flatly, "This is the symbol for the Goa'uld known as Zagreus."

They all looked up at that. Daniel said, "Zagreus? That was the Orphic god who was supposed to have been the giver of 'blessed immortality'."

Carter raised an eyebrow. "Sounds about right for a Goa'uld. They could be said to bestow immortality of a kind. Can you remember anything else about him?"

Daniel frowned in concentration. "Well, in mythology, Zagreus was the son of Zeus and Persephone, and he was torn to pieces by the Titans at the urging of Zeus's jealous wife, Hera. Zeus arrived in time to stop the Titans devouring Zagreus and gave his heart, still-beating to Semele to eat. Semele being, of course, the mother of Dionysus. But although there's a kind of a father and son link there, I think the significant point is that they shared the same heart and the two cults often overlapped. They had a lot of the same associations." He looked back at the symbol on the palace wall, his brain visibly working. "Of course, what the myth might actually be referring to is the transference of a Goa'uld from one host to another interpreted in our mythology as the 'heart' of Zagreus being reborn in Dionysus..."

O'Neill had stopped listening minutes ago. There was a limit to how many words he didn't recognize he was prepared to allow per sentence before he gave up on the conversation, and Daniel was well over his quota. And besides, the word 'Goa'uld' was enough by itself to tell him all he needed to know. This place might look like paradise lost, but more likely if there was a Goa'uld involved, it had been paradise deliberately destroyed.

Carter pointed to a picture on the wall. "Is this Zagreus?"

Daniel peered at it. "That's Dionysus, the Greek god of wine, intoxication and ritual madness. Homer called him a 'joy for mortals' because he introduced wine to men. According to Greek mythology, he was the twice-born son of Zeus and Semele, snatched prematurely from his mother's womb when she was burnt to death by Zeus' thunderbolt, then stitched into his father's thigh until he could be born full-term. He was dressed as a girl for most of his childhood so that he would escape the vengeance of Hera, and he was generally portrayed as an androgynous character, occasionally even as a hermaphrodite, and he was always described as a god with a dual nature."

Daniel glanced across at Jack and saw that he was wearing that glazed look again. Trying to get his attention back, he decided to cut to the summary but he sighed inwardly as he did so. There was no way he was ever going to be able to give a paper again; it would be automatic now to try and encapsulate all the information he had into a five minute gabble with all the long words cut out of it. Speaking faster, he said, "The Bacchae calls him a god 'most terrible and most gentle to mortals'. A lot of his cults were orgiastic and although his rites usually started with something fairly harmless like drinking too much, and singing and dancing, a form of madness was supposed to overtake the revelers so that in their ecstasy they would degenerate into sparagmos and omophagia."

"Which means?" O'Neill prompted, tuning Daniel back in again now the younger man was clearly winding down. His fingers still felt a little tacky from the pollen and without thinking he wet them with his mouth then absently rubbed them off on his chest.

"Oh – tearing live animals – or occasionally humans – to pieces and eating the flesh raw."

Carter pulled a face. "And he looks like such a nice boy."

"He was supposed to be divinely beautiful and is generally portrayed as young, beardless and either naked, like here, or half-naked. He never used brute strength and ignorance like most of the Greek Gods to get his own way, but he was merciless about persecuting those who refused to recognize his divinity – driving people insane so that they'd commit infanticide was a favorite trick." Losing interesting in Dionysus, Daniel turned to O'Neill. "Do we have any rope with us? You know – all this equipment we carry around with us, is there likely to be any rope?"

Torn between annoyance and relief that Daniel still didn't know what they had in their packs after all these missions, O'Neill stalled as casually as he could. "Why do you want it?"

"Well before I start looking around the palace, I really want to get into one of those burial chambers and have a look at the artifacts. If they're the same as the death masks Schliemann found in Mycenae that would not only give us a good idea when the people who lived here were brought through the Stargate but we might actually be able to learn something about our own history as well."

"Daniel, quite apart from the other considerations, that's grave robbing."

"Well, that's kind of what archaeology is, Jack. Burial chambers are often the only things that survive. That's where most of our information about past civilizations has come from. What do you think the pyramids are?"

"Uh – no."

"No what?"

"No, we don't have any rope, and no you couldn't have it if we did. Daniel, try to keep your mind on the essentials. There was – and maybe even is – a Goa'uld on this planet. Everyone in this city died and we don’t know why or how or when."

"Well if you let me go take a look at some of the skeletons I might be able to tell you that. I mean that is actually what I do. For instance, if there was weaponry buried with the corpses that would suggest that it was warriors who died. As this seems to mimic Mycenaean culture pretty exactly, I could have a guess at the era, and if I could get a look at the skeletons I could probably have a reasonably good idea of whether they died in battle or of some other cause."

"It's the 'some other cause' that's worrying me." Mentally O'Neill sighed, Come on, Daniel, show some sense and just this once don't make me have to play the heavy with you. He was waiting for the day when instead of him having to put his foot down, Daniel would say, "Jack, you know I think you could be right, that might be a little risky mightn't it?" But given the way Daniel was staring at him with that familiar mixture of exasperation and bewilderment because once again crabby old Jack was inexplicably refusing his perfectly reasonable request, O'Neill figured that day was probably still a long way off.

He was grateful when Carter intervened before Daniel got irritable. "Daniel, what if they all died of bubonic plague?"

"Well there are certain burial patterns that are established when people die of contagious disease, there is a marked deterioration in the funeral rites. One would expect to find a lower level of corpses that had been interred with due ceremony and then maybe others just dumped on top of them. There would be mass graves that would almost certainly be marked by some kind of warning. If you just let me go down there I could see if there are any indications…"

"And what if they did die of plague and the spores are still active?" Carter indicated the city. "Look around you. Everyone died. There was no one left to rebuild, to repopulate. Whatever killed these people did it very efficiently."

Daniel looked between O'Neill and Carter in annoyance. "Isn't this just 'don't touch it, it's dead and you might catch something from it' dressed up as military strategy? If archaeologists had never examined any bodies over the years for fear of what diseases they might have we'd know almost nothing about our own pasts."

Daniel looked thirty seconds away from trying to climb down into the shaft even without any rope and recognizing the all-too familiar signs of an archaeologist poised on the brink of outright defiance, O'Neill sighed inwardly. Okay, damn, going to have to play the heavy after all.

In a way that he hoped would brook no argument, O'Neill said, "Daniel, no, okay? No, you can't go and pick over some three thousand year old corpses that might have died from some extremely contagious disease. No." It was on the tip of his tongue to add: 'Do you remember what happened the last time you got too close to some really old corpses…?' But there was still too much unresolved between him and Daniel about the aftermath of their finding the dead Linvris and he still had enough misgivings about his own behavior in that affair to make it something he wanted to bring up. All the same, the urge to say 'Daniel don't you ever learn?' was almost overwhelming.

Daniel was staring at him with that now familiar expression of frustration in his blue eyes. "So why do you even bother bringing me along with you if you're not going to let me do my job when we get here?"

Oh well, O'Neill thought, at least he's definitely back to normal: annoying, argumentative, and lacking even a vestige of common sense. He said mildly, "Getting killed isn’t actually your job, Daniel – good at it though you are. Translating and communicating is your job."

Daniel stared around at the dusty ruins. "Well excuse me but I don't see a whole hell of a lot of people around here for me to communicate with. And what would be the point anyway? You and I are supposed to be speaking the same language and I can't even get through to you, can I?" He moved off to look at another tablet and O'Neill shook his head wearily. The last thing he'd wanted was to get into a fight with Daniel. He'd been hoping they could build some bridges on this trip not blow up the damned riverbank.

Carter looked torn between the two points of view. "Sir, what if Daniel put on protective clothing? I mean he does have a point – archaeologists have been digging up dead bodies for years without too many ill affects."

"And, once Daniel's got clearance he can dig away to his heart's content, but I'm not letting him lower himself into a crumbling grave with only a flashlight for company. However, I am quite happy to go ask General Hammond if it's okay, get the proper equipment, then come back with a team of people who can tell us if those chambers are stable enough for Daniel to go down into them and if there's likely to be any risk of infection from the dead. I mean look around you, Major, these ruins are going to be here for a little while yet and it’s not like there's some rival archaeologist going to beat him to it, now is there?"

"You're right, sir."

"I quite often am. It would be kind of nice if people occasionally remembered that."

"I'll go and tell Daniel."

Carter found Daniel angrily translating a tablet, the point of his pen making vicious indentations in the page of his notebook. Teal'c was watching him with mild disapproval. "Daniel Jackson – O'Neill is correct. There could be much danger in – "

"I don’t want to hear it." Daniel pulled off his glasses and stuffed them irritably into his top pocket then collected himself and gave the Jaffa a look of apology. "Sorry, Teal'c, but sometimes I just can’t see the point in me even being here." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn, now I'm getting a headache."

Carter came up behind him. "Daniel, the Colonel's just said that he's very happy for us all to come back with a proper team who can assess the stability of the ruins and the likelihood of any danger and if they say it's okay you can dig up as many bodies as you like."

Trust Jack to go ahead and be reasonable about it, Daniel thought irritably. He was trying to hang onto his anger because he was afraid that if he let go of it he would become horribly aware of how much like a spoilt kid he was acting. He knew damned well that the man would have given in to him if he could. Jack probably gave in to him way too often if he was honest about it, like that time when Daniel had been so adamant they had to try and grab Apophis that he'd steamrollered Jack into agreeing to it and had gotten them all killed…

He saw the staff weapon flare, the bolt strike Jack squarely in the back; saw Jack fall and lie there, lifeless, that terrible wound still smoldering. Saw Sam blasted in the abdomen as she jumped up to go to Jack's aid…

Daniel winced as he felt his headache immediately get worse. Those damned flowers were drugging his senses, their perfume so pervasive it was like having purple velvet wrapped around your brain. Hell. He'd seen that weariness wash over Jack's face so often: how many times had they had variants on the Want-to-go/No-you-can't conversation? How often had he been right? Well, gee, that was a tricky one; wasn't it…never? And how often had him going ahead and doing what he wanted got everyone into trouble? Well now, that was too many times to count, wasn't it? Daniel groaned inwardly. Damn. Damn. Damn. Now he was going to have to apologize to Jack and he really didn't want to.

Teal'c's words came as a welcome distraction. "I still do not understand why the long dead are treated with so much less reverence than the recently deceased on your world."

"It's an archaeological ethical dilemma, Teal'c, that we're still in the process of resolving." Daniel did have the grace to look slightly abashed by the Jaffa's expression as he put away his notebook and pen, absent-mindedly licking the pollen from his fingers as he realized they were still sticky. "Well, okay, basically we try not to think about it otherwise we couldn't do what we do, but – "

"Hey, kids." As O'Neill came up, Daniel looked at him awkwardly over his shoulder but O'Neill saved him having to apologize by nodding at the tablet. "Does it say anything interesting?"

"Not really, it's just some more of the same: Blessed are the followers of Dionysus, for they are protected by his love."

Carter looked around at the ruins. "Well his love didn’t seem to do a lot for these people."

"On the contrary. It gave them many centuries of perfect contentment."

The voice was rich, musical, and oddly compelling. As they all turned around, Teal'c primed his staff weapon and O'Neill raised his MP-5. The young man who stood before them was as tall as Teal'c and almost inhumanly handsome. His expression was pleasant and welcoming but although he nodded slowly to both O'Neill and Teal'c, O'Neill noticed that his gaze rested with a slightly unnerving satisfaction upon Carter and Daniel. He was dressed in a tunic-type garment that revealed rather more than it concealed so it was possible to see that his body also appeared to be inhumanly perfect. The only thing about him that suggested he had not stepped straight off a Greek vase was the thin coronet around his head decorated with a single red jewel.

"And you are?" O'Neill prompted.

"The Goa'uld, Zagreus," Teal'c said flatly.

The newcomer looked at the Jaffa without a hint of irritation. "The god, Dionysus, in these people's culture."

"Actually, that isn't specifically our culture," Daniel explained conscientiously. "Dionysus was a god to the Ancient Greeks but in our era he's considered a – uh mythological character."

"Mythological?" Zagreus leaned forward and blew gently on the archaeologist's cheek. "Do I seem like a myth to you?"

Seeing Daniel looking a little dazed and remembering Hathor's powers, Carter said quickly, "Daniel, move away from him."

Zagreus smiled at her as though her words had pleased him greatly. "You are fond of the boy, then? You would protect him even from one who means him no harm?" He stretched out a hand and touched her hair. "Although we sense you are a warrior of great courage, we perceive that you are also compassionate as you are beautiful. We have always been a friend to your race and are most pleased that you have visited our world. We would offer you our friendship and protection."

Carter opened her mouth to tell him to get away from her, now, but found herself distracted. He had golden eyes, not glowing, a soft gold, sympathetic, compassionate. He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she had ever seen. With an effort she reminded himself that this outer shape was just a husk; whoever he once was, this body was now only host to a Goa'uld.

As he gazed at her, the jewel on his forehead began to glow and then flickered and died. He frowned. "You have been host to a Goa'uld?"

"To a Tok'ra," she made the distinction pointedly.

"You are then as…unusual as you are beautiful." But he seemed disconcerted and she was glad to see it. She wondered if he knew that the host in which he lived might have powers over any human female with a fully functioning libido that no alien parasite ever could. Just pheromones, she told herself firmly, but she still took care to take another step backwards. She had vivid memories of Daniel and Colonel O'Neill making idiots of themselves over Hathor and had no desire to follow in their footsteps.

His MP-5 had been nestling comfortably in the crook of his arm, but now O'Neill lifted it a little higher so that even a very unobservant and complacent Goa'uld could hardly fail to notice it. "Well, no offence, Zagreus or Dionysus or whoever you are, but none of us are exactly champing at the bit to pal up with a Goa'uld."

"We perceive you have been unlucky in your god," Zagreus addressed himself to Teal'c. "The one you once served was always evil. He had no love for humanity. He would never interact with them. We are not all like Apophis."

"I have found that you are."

O'Neill added, "And to be honest with you, Hathor interacted with some of us for all she was worth and we didn't much like her either."

"We remember Hathor. She was always predictable." As he spoke, the Goa'uld was gazing at Daniel with the expression of one who has rediscovered a favorite son.

O'Neill reached across and caught Daniel's arm, pulling him back a couple of feet while still addressing the Goa'uld. "You want to tell us what happened to these people? How did they die?"

Hathor? Daniel gave his head a shake to clear it, but that name was still echoing through his aching brain and he took a rapid couple of steps backwards as an automatic response to it, stopping only when Jack's fingers tightening on his arm halted his retreat. Hathor's dead, he reminded himself firmly. Jack had turned her into a Popsicle and they were obviously just talking about her, not saying she was somewhere around. Zagreus was the Goa'uld they needed to worry about now, the one wearing a khiton, sandals, and nothing else, and who was looking at him with that oddly affectionate gaze. But perhaps the guy was just really pleased to see some humans after so long by himself? That was probably it. Damn, this headache was really screwing with his concentration. Something was really screwing with his concentration anyway. He was sure he'd just missed a big chunk of a discussion he should have been listening to and now Jack was asking something else and he definitely ought to try and understand the answer. Oh yes, the citadel, the corpses. How had everyone died? Good question, Jack. At least one of them still had his brain in gear.

Zagreus shrugged regretfully. "Their blood grew thinner. We sought to bring fresh codes of life to strengthen them, but the newcomers brought illness. All withered and died. The others of our kind exiled us here in punishment for our love of your race. Heartless as they are, they would not allow us to send our people through what you call the Stargate lest they carried the plague to their worshippers."

"It must have been a very virulent plague to wipe out the entire population?" Carter frowned. "Even with the worst diseases on Earth there are usually survivors."

"Your world is large. This planet is small, there was but this one citadel and the germs had nowhere to go except into our people."

Carter looked at O'Neill. "Well I'm not a microbiologist but that does ring a vague bell. The Ebola Virus was supposedly activated by overcrowding. On the whole viruses don't want to kill the patient because it means they die as well but in cases where human beings have encroached on new areas they sometimes force the virus to infect them almost in self defense."

Daniel was still gazing at Zagreus thoughtfully, but when O'Neill nudged him to see if he was still with them or had been mesmerized in some way, Daniel came out of his reverie at once to murmur, "Jack, I was just thinking – the Goa'uld know things about ancient civilizations on our world that nobody else ever could. I mean – they were actually there. If this Goa'uld is friendly then that would be like being able to sit down with Apollo and ask him if his fiery chariot was a death glider – which, incidentally, I bet it was. This Goa'uld might know if the Trojan War took place, if Achilles ever actually existed - "

"Just slow down a little," O'Neill told him. "We've only got this guy's word for it that he's friendly and I don't remember Ra or Apophis ever offering to fill you in on all those little grey areas in the Book of the Dead."

"If you accompany us to our palace we can offer you refreshment." Zagreus leaned forward and plucked the half-eaten PowerBar from Daniel's jacket, sniffing it curiously. He smiled at Daniel, and Carter thought she had never seen a smile so alive or so charming. "Poor child, if this is all they feed you, it is no wonder you are so pale. Come with us, we will offer you far better fare than this." As Daniel appeared uncertain, the Goa'uld threw the bar onto the floor, adding beguilingly, "We can tell you why the people of Mycenae changed their burial rites."

At once Daniel was reaching for his glasses, hurrying to put them back on before fishing out his pen and notebook. "Really?"

O'Neill caught Teal'c's eye, saying in an undertone, "What do you think? What does he want from us? Is there anything strategic we could gain from going along with him for a while?"

"I do not think that we should trust him but that does not mean that there is nothing we can learn from him. He was reputed to have unusual powers not common to the other Goa'uld which suggests he may have developed technologies unknown to them."

"What kind of a reputation did he have in Goa'uld circles? Is anything he's said so far likely to be true?"

"Some of it may be. I heard that he was accused of being corrupted by too intimate contact with your race many centuries ago. And it was rumored that he had been exiled by the System Lords for some crime that was never spoken of."

"Well someone the other Goa'uld don't like might be a useful ally."

"Sir, I think he could be dangerous," Carter murmured. "And I think he wants something from Daniel. And given how much reason Daniel has to hate the Goa'uld don't you think the way he's just gone off with this one is a little suspicious?"

Daniel was already accompanying Zagreus along the road, scribbling rapidly into his notebook as he did so. The Goa'uld was almost a head taller than he was, but was bending down to speak directly into the archaeologist's ear. Although Daniel was clearly intent only on the information he was being given, nodding as he wrote, Carter disliked the intimacy of the Goa'uld's body language. He seemed only a moment away from putting an arm companionably around the archaeologist's shoulders.

"If the guy's been here by himself for centuries, he's probably lonely, wants someone to talk to." O'Neill was also observing them. No one could have been warier of the Goa'uld than him, but if Zagreus had really been here alone then he would have had no opportunity to produce any more Goa'uld larvae with which he could infect anyone, and as his host certainly seemed to be in excellent shape, it seemed unlikely this mature Goa'uld would want to jump ship to any of them. And presumably even aliens who thought they were deities could get lonely over a couple of millennia by themselves. All the same, a Goa'uld was a Goa'uld when all was said and done, and that meant however friendly they appeared to be, you couldn't trust them worth a spit. He raised his voice: "Daniel! Wait up a minute!" O'Neill turned to Teal'c. "What do you think?"

"If we accept his invitation, we must not relax our guard but we might lose more than we would gain by passing up this opportunity to question him."

"Okay, we go but we stay alert. The first sign of anything – Goa'uldy and we're out of there."

They quickly reached the palace of Zagreus – a wonderfully elaborate structure whose walls were covered in molded carvings of the life of Dionysus – where, somewhat disconcertingly, they found fruit and dried venison already piled on platters in readiness for their arrival. Just for a second, O'Neill wondered if he had made the decision to come here unbidden or if the Goa'uld was influencing him in someway. Why, after all, should they accept the hospitality of one of their sworn enemies? Determined to keep a hold on himself, he refused the wine the other offered. "Thanks, but I have my own." He took a bottle of water from his pack and ostentatiously sipped it.

For the first time Zagreus looked disconcerted. "But we are the god of wine, all drink in our honor. We gave your race the fruit of the vine." He proffered a goblet to Daniel. "You shall drink? You, I know, would not offend us?"

With an apologetic look at O'Neill, Daniel dutifully took a sip from the goblet before helping himself to fruit, sitting down on a silk cushion as he chewed. He seemed to have recovered from his earlier disorientation and of all of them appeared the most at ease in the Goa'uld's presence. He was clearly fascinated by the paintings on the walls depicting the various myths relating to Dionysus. Carter was trying not to be too impressed by the magnificence of the Goa'uld's palace, but there was something very beguiling about the mosaic-tiled pools in which golden fish circled lazily through the clear blue water. The mosaics also depicted the life of Dionysus and as the deity was naked in every picture, what little was concealed by Zagreus' tunic was no longer left to the imagination.

Quickly averting her eyes, Carter darted an enquiring glance at O'Neill who nodded towards Daniel pointedly. She went and sat next to the archaeologist, asking him about the stories depicted in the mosaic to make it less obvious why she had done so. As she spoke, she was getting her own bottle of water out of her pack. As the Goa'uld turned his attention to O'Neill, Carter quickly emptied the bottled water into the fish pond and picked up Daniel's goblet, tipping half of its contents into the bottle before quickly screwing the top back on and replacing it in her pack. Absorbed in telling her the story of Pentheus and his grisly fate, Daniel didn't notice.

Zagreus seated himself beside Teal'c and O'Neill, saying to the latter, "You are the father of this tribe?"

"I'm in charge of SG-1 if that's what you mean."

Zagreus indicated Daniel and Carter. "Then will you sell your children to us? The boy and the girl? We would have their company."

O'Neill almost choked on the second mouthful of water he had taken and spluttered for a moment before Teal'c reached across and thumped him on the back. "Thanks," he managed.

"You are welcome, O'Neill."

Recovering, O'Neill looked at the Goa'uld, saying in a low but determined tone, "No. One – I don't own them. Two – they're not for sale. And three – you can't have them." He felt he should add something forceful about the repugnance of slavery and perhaps try to impress upon Zagreus that Daniel and Carter weren't his children – God forbid! If that was indeed what the Goa'uld thought they were; it was difficult to know how a several thousand year-old alien who believed himself to be a god would be thinking; but Zagreus was simply looking puzzled.

"They would be well taken care of. Indeed, they would be loved and protected. No harm would ever come to them. Can you promise as much?"

O'Neill got to his feet. "Carter! Daniel! We're out of here."

Daniel swallowed a mouthful of fruit before saying, "So soon? I wanted to ask uh – Dionysus about Euripides' source material for the Bacchae."

"Another time."

As Daniel put down the goblet he was holding and began to get to his feet, Zagreus said, "Will you not even ask them?"

"What, if they want to be sold into slavery? I kind of think I can speak for them on that."

"There would be no slavery. Indeed, we can promise you they would be treated with great kindness. Can you say as much of your world? Can you say as much even of yourself?"

Although he knew he should just keep walking, O'Neill paused. "Meaning what exactly?"

Zagreus crossed over to where Daniel was standing with a half-eaten piece of fruit between his fingers. The Goa'uld waved a hand before the Daniel's eyes and O'Neill caught sight of the jewel in the palm of his hand, which he could have sworn hadn't been there a moment before. Thinking it must be a ribbon device, he started forward, but Zagreus held up the other hand to stop him. "We give you our word we will do him no harm. We want only to confirm what we already know."

"Colonel, are you going to let him…?" Carter looked to O'Neill for guidance. All her instincts were telling her to reach across and knock the Goa'uld's arm down quickly before he got Daniel in the grip of the hand device, but the Colonel was looking curiously indecisive, like he'd had a blow to the head and hadn't quite got over it yet.

Zagreus waved the glowing jewel before Daniel's face and Carter noticed that the jewel in the Goa'uld's coronet was now also glowing red. Daniel looked oddly peaceful. He seemed to be fascinated by the light, but certainly not hurt by it. And she could feel an odd complacency creeping through her, something telling her that Daniel was perfectly all right, that nothing was injuring him, that she should just sit down and enjoy the wine because there was nothing at all to worry about. Even as she tried to fight it, she found herself sitting back down next to Daniel. It was very hard not to look at the light, but she made herself stare fixedly at the floor. She was aware of people talking but it was happening a long way off and it seemed remote and unimportant. Carter struggled valiantly against the peculiar calm seeping through her. She shouldn't be calm; there was danger here, Daniel was in danger, that Goa'uld was doing something to him, to all of them. She had to tell the Colonel to stop this. But in a minute, when this odd faintness had left her, she would tell him then.

Concealing a smile, Zagreus glanced over his shoulder at O'Neill. "The boy has been lost or damaged while under your protection, more than once. Indeed, we would say on many occasions you and your people have failed to keep him safe." He waved the jewel near the left side of Daniel's jaw and it glowed a little brighter. Zagreus looked at O'Neill accusingly. "You yourself have struck him on occasion."

"On one occasion, okay? One. Don't make it sound like it's a hobby or something. I just wasn't myself that day. And anyway – I don't have to defend my – "

"O'Neill, I advise you not to listen to him."

"It was at the time that the primitive people took him, he was dragged through the forest for many miles. Though he has never told you of it, they treated him brutally while he was their prisoner. He was injured and afraid. He thought that you would come for him, but you did not. Not until the boy had been lost to himself." The Goa'uld's eyes glowed and the words seemed to hang in the air for an eternity.

"Well I was kind of busy at the time…" O'Neill tried to fight back but he could still hear the echoes, could feel those unwanted truths slipping under his defenses like an assassin's blade. And it was no good. He was back on P3X797. The Touched were now the Untouched again, everything was hunky dory and they were heading back for the Stargate. Daniel was limping. He could see it out of the corner of his eye but he didn't want to make a fuss in front of SG-3. For Daniel's sake or his own?  Both, perhaps. Back then he'd still been a little embarrassed by how worried he'd been about their wayward civilian. He'd still been thinking that emotions weren't something you showed; concern wasn't something you admitted to. So he'd let Daniel limp back to the Stargate unaided. It had been quite a long walk.

Then once they were back through the Stargate he'd sent Teal'c, Carter and Makepeace off to fill in Hammond on their success story, while he hauled Daniel straight to the infirmary. He'd yelled for Doctor Fraiser as he sat Daniel down on one of those uncomfortable beds, patting him down to see if anything was broken, checking out those scrapes on his legs where the damned Touched had dragged him through the forest and seemingly left half of it in his clothes, hair and skin. Letting the anxiety he'd been masking bubble up like a hot spring.

Daniel had been vague and sleepy and kept trying to lie down on the bed – which O'Neill had thought was a sure sign of concussion although Doctor Fraiser had later assured him it was simply overwhelming fatigue. He'd had to keep pulling Daniel up while helping him peel off his shredded uniform, the exhausted archaeologist trying not to yelp as every movement sent pain jarring through his scrapes, cracked ribs and multi-colored bruises. So many bruises. Some of them ones O'Neill had made himself but the rest from the fists, feet, and clubs of the Touched. He remembered Daniel had rested his head on O'Neill's shoulder while still only half undressed, murmuring, "So tired…Just want to go to sleep, Jack. Just really want to go to sleep…"

That was when Daniel had closed his eyes and drifted off, his jacket trailing to the floor where he'd had pulled it off one arm and then given up, boots unlaced but not yet removed and still wearing his ripped T-shirt and trousers; Daniel so dirty and bedraggled but his breath warm and sweet as a child's against the older man's neck. The archaeologist had obviously needed somewhere secure to rest after the ordeal he'd been through and had unhesitatingly picked O'Neill for his safe haven. O'Neill had marveled at the time at Daniel's continuing faith in him, felt honored and scared by it, because it didn't seem to matter what he did: Daniel just trusted him regardless.

Doctor Fraiser had come in and found them like that: Daniel fast asleep on his shoulder, O'Neill awkwardly cradling the younger man in his arms, uncomfortable and embarrassed and yet also moved and oddly touched by Daniel's trust. That was probably when that damned protective pyre had been lit inside him: the one that flared so agonizingly whenever Daniel was lost or hurt.

Fraiser had said, "How is he?"

"Beat. In every possible way. But alive, Doc. Definitely alive." He'd ruffled Daniel's blood-matted hair and let the relief soak into him.

Now, O'Neill wondered if Daniel would ever do that again: just fall asleep on his shoulder knowing that 'Jack' would look after him and everything would be okay. In the shadow of the padded cell that had come between them, would Daniel ever trust him like that again?

He realized Zagreus was still staring at him intently and that jewel on his forehead was glowing brighter than comet fire. "Have you no defense?"

"O'Neill!"

"Colonel!"

He was vaguely aware that Carter and Teal'c were trying to get his attention, had been trying to get his attention for some minutes now and Carter had a hand clamped to her forehead like she had the worst migraine in history, but for some reason he could only concentrate on one thing at a time. For his own peace of mind he had to answer Zagreus, had to prove to both of them that he could take better care of Daniel than any Goa'uld. "I don't need to defend myself," O'Neill retorted. "Look Daniel doesn't have a problem with – Daniel, tell him – "

O'Neill turned to look at Daniel but the man was staring dreamily at the glowing light in Zagreus' palm, bemusedly following its circling and swoops. The Goa'uld smiled indulgently at Daniel's fascination and O'Neill was reminded of someone waving a piece of yarn for a kitten for the pleasure of seeing it bat at it. Suddenly O'Neill's mind cleared and he realized why Teal'c and Carter had been shouting his name. "Will you cut that out with the light show?" he demanded, angry with himself for not having stopped it before. "Maybe you're not hurting him but you're still not doing him any good."

"It was only because of Colonel O'Neill that Daniel Jackson was rescued from remaining one of the Touched forever," Teal'c put in. "He permitted Doctor Fraiser to experiment on him that others might be saved. Were it not for Colonel O'Neill, Daniel Jackson would still be on the dark side of the planet."

"O'Neill allowed the boy to travel to the dark side of the planet in the first place," Zagreus returned, closing his fingers across the light to extinguish it and then lowering his hand slowly. Daniel blinked as the light faded but remained still and passive. "The boy is not a warrior and we would never have exposed him to such a risk. We would not permit any harm to come to him. We would keep him safe at all times. He would bask in the love and protection of Dionysus. He would never know fear, or captivity, or ill-treatment again."

"Or freewill? And stop calling Daniel a boy, will you? He's a married man with a couple of PhDs, for crying out loud. At least treat him like a grown-up. Daniel," O'Neill reached across and caught Daniel by the sleeve of his jacket, "we're leaving." A little disorientated by the Goa'uld, O'Neill jerked the younger man away from Zagreus more roughly than he had intended.

Zagreus frowned. "We perceive that you do not treat him gently."

"Look, this is going nowhere. You can say whatever you want, you're not getting Daniel or Carter to keep you company. I'm sure you'd look after them just fine and I'm sure you're lonely as hell after so many years stuck here by yourself, but you'll just have to wait for the next bunch of travelers to come through the Stargate because right now we're all going home." With his fingers still firmly wrapped around Daniel's jacket, he strode out of the doors, towing the dazed archaeologist after him. After a moment's hesitation, Carter collected herself and followed them.

Teal'c lingered a moment longer to look at the Goa'uld with suspicious eyes. "These humans are not as you remember them. Much has changed on their world since you were driven from it. They will not be beguiled by you this time."

Zagreus reclined on a couch and reached for some fruit. "You are mistaken, Jaffa," he returned. "It is not in the nature of humans to ever change."

Teal'c strode back out into the sunlight and let the double doors of beaten gold clash shut behind him.

***

Part Two

A hundred yards down the road, Daniel looked at O'Neill's set face. "Uh – Jack what just happened in there?"

Realizing that he was almost dragging the younger man along, O'Neill let go of him and smoothed out the creases in his jacket apologetically. "Zagreus wanted to buy you and Carter to keep as house-pets. I guess he got fed up talking to the goldfish."

"So, how come I don't remember any of it?"

"He made you all woozy with this sort of – non-painful ribbon device. I think I may have lost it myself for a minute or so as well. You feel okay now?"

"Never better." Daniel noticed he still had some fruit in his hand and tossed a segment into his mouth. "In fact my headache's gone."

"He wanted to buy us?" Carter demanded.

"Yeah. Said he'd look after you better than I would. Accused me of constantly mislaying you, or something." He darted a sideways glance at Daniel. "Incidentally, what do you remember about being a prisoner of the Touched?"

Daniel swallowed the fruit he was chewing. "Not a lot really. I mean it wasn't the most fun I've ever had but I seem to recall that as long as I kept my head down, they pretty much left me alone – too busy fighting amongst themselves." Seeing O'Neill's expression, he said in disbelief, "Jack, are you seriously feeling guilty about something that happened – what – two, three years ago, and which you couldn't have done anything to prevent?"

"No," O'Neill said so defensively that they all knew he had to be lying.

Teal'c said, "It was I who lost Daniel Jackson on the dark side of P3X-797, O'Neill, not you."

"Nobody 'lost' me," Daniel protested irritably. "I got captured. It happens. And not just to me."

"But mostly to you," O'Neill pointed out. "Zagreus did have a point about that."

Daniel thought about doing the calculations on his fingers but had a sneaking suspicion the truth might not help him win this argument. That 'lost' was still rankling. Other people got captured and no blame was ever attached to who was with them, but whoever was with him apparently considered themselves responsible for getting him home in one piece; like he was some kid they let tag along but who always had to be kept out of danger. But it wasn't something he could ever confront directly because nothing was ever said or done that was too obvious. It just happened that when the bullets started flying, Sam or Jack or Teal'c always seemed to be between them and him; or someone's hand would close on his arm and push or pull him out of harm's way while he was still wondering what the hell that noise was?

Deciding that to go over that old argument again would be futile, he moved onto firmer ground, saying, "You know, Jack, that was Dionysus' specialty – messing about with people's heads. You really don't want to pay any attention to anything a Goa'uld tells you."

"I wasn't." After another pause, O'Neill added, "But I'll talk to General Hammond about him assigning a team to help you excavate the burial site. Okay? As I understand it, Maybourne's people have been slowly getting together a bunch of Pentagon-approved scientists for a while in case anything like this turned up so it won't kill them to push up their schedule a little."

"Sir, I really don't think that's a good idea," Carter said at once.

Daniel looked at her in hurt surprise. She was usually inclined to take his side, or at least to mediate between him and Jack when their positions were directly opposed. And, being a scientist he would have thought she would have been the first member of the team to see the significance of such a site. "Why not?" he demanded.

"Zagreus wants you for something, Daniel, and I wouldn't mind betting it won't be a good something."

"Like Jack says, I expect he's just lonely. If the system lords have exiled him here for fraternizing with the enemy and all his worshippers are dead then of course he'd try to take the opportunity to buy the next couple of people that came along, what else would you expect from a Goa'uld? Incidentally, how much did he offer for us, Jack? I hope you asked for a decent price."

Carter said, "Daniel, I don't think you should joke about this. The Goa'uld don't like taking no for an answer. What if he has the same power that Hathor had?"

Daniel had only a hazy memory of being seduced – well, raped, not to put too fine a point on it – by Hathor so that she could use his DNA to make baby Goa'ulds, but it was not a recollection he cherished. In fact it still made his stomach curdle with shame and disgust and he was pretty sure that Sam knew that, which made it all the more inexplicably tactless of her to have brought it up. Affronted, he didn't answer her.

After an awkward silence, she said, "I just think it might be better if we left this place and didn't come back, that's all, and if you're adamant about wanting that site excavated then I think you should send somebody else."

Although Daniel knew with one part of his mind that she was right, there was suddenly a much larger part that wanted to excavate that site more than anything in the world. Every time he closed his eyes he saw those golden death masks shimmering out of the shadows, slants of sunlight gilding the soft metal. Those burial chambers were calling to him like siren song and he couldn't bear the thought of just filling his ears with metaphorical wax and ignoring them. Unable to think of a logical refutation, he said irrelevantly, "Well according to Jack, he wanted you too."

"Exactly why I'm not proposing to come back here. I don't want to end up a slave to Zagreus."

O'Neill hastened to intervene. "Kids, let's not fight about this. That's probably exactly what he wants."

"Fine." Daniel threw the last segment of fruit onto the grass at the side of the road. "But that site could hold the answers to questions we would never be able to solve on earth and nothing – including some three thousand year old would-be deity – is going to stop me excavating it."

"Fine," Carter echoed.

O'Neill looked between them awkwardly. Carter and Daniel almost never fell out. They were the genius twins of SG-1, and the only problem with them working together usually was that if you didn't keep an eye on them they'd stay up all night metaphorically reading under the covers with a flashlight – well working on some damned science project when they were supposed to be home getting some sleep. Sibling rivalry had never been a problem until now. He looked to Teal'c for guidance and then remembered that Teal'c was also the father of an only child. They exchanged an anxious look then O'Neill shrugged. Carter and Daniel were both stomping along with their noses in the air but they'd sort it out. Daniel was a sulker, certainly, but Carter wasn't and she'd patch things up. He'd better keep out of it and let them deal with it in their own time.

They walked the rest of the way to the Stargate in silence.

***

General Hammond had listened to Daniel's enthusiastic description of the ruined citadel with scrupulous politeness before telling him that he would certainly give the matter his full attention. He had then sent Daniel off to the infirmary to get some blood tests he had supposedly forgotten to give Doctor Fraiser the previous week. Although this sounded entirely plausible, it was obvious to the rest of SG-1 that this was simply a pretext for getting Daniel out of the way. Daniel, however, appeared happily unaware of any ulterior motive, and practically skipped out of the room in his eagerness to describe the ruins to another captive audience.

O'Neill privately thought the doctor should be commended if she didn't take the opportunity to give Daniel one of those really-big-needle-in-the-butt shots that were one of the regular drawbacks of 'gate travel. He couldn't think of any other way of interrupting the archaeologist in mid-flow at the moment.

No one who knew the General could doubt that he was fond of Daniel but the young man was both a mystery and a worry to him at times, and this was definitely one of those times. Hammond sighed. "What's your recommendation, Colonel?"

"Sir, if we don't let Daniel take another look at those ruins I'm not sure he's ever going to get over it. As I understand it, this place could be a copy of some very significant citadel-type-thing and Daniel really wants to go dig it up."

Carter looked up. "Colonel, with respect, I don't think that's a good enough reason for risking his life and the lives of anyone who accompanies him back to that planet."

"Oh come on, Carter, if I veto this I'm going to feel like I just took some kid's Christmas presents away."

O'Neill felt that fate had offered him a chance to make things up to Daniel; a way to make amends for that padded cell that didn't involve either of them having to hold a toe-curling conversation. He would go out on a limb with Hammond to try and get Daniel permission to go and dig up some of those bones and stones and bits of pottery and rusty pieces of metal that Daniel liked so much, and Daniel would get well again. It would be like sticking the guy in an archaeologist's summer camp where Daniel could wear himself out in total safety for a week or so before coming back to them with his enthusiasm and self-confidence restored. It was the perfect solution – if O'Neill could just get the other three people in the room to see it; but at the moment none of them were looking too convinced.

Teal'c said, "I agree with Major Carter. I think it would be most unwise to trust Zagreus on this matter. Daniel Jackson can recover from any disappointment he would experience at not being able to excavate an archaeological site; the same might not be true of whatever fate this Goa'uld has in mind for him."

O'Neill glared between Carter and Teal'c, determined not to have his perfect scheme ruined. "Okay, what do you think this Zagreus wants with Daniel? I mean, to be honest, what use is Daniel to an exiled Goa'uld? Zagreus can't trade him because he's not in contact with the System Lords. He doesn't need anything translated. He certainly doesn't need any ruins dated – he was around when the ruins were built. Apart from the ones who want to kill Daniel because he's ticked them off, I shouldn't think your average Goa'uld would give you a Snickers bar for him."

"He does know the codes for this base, Colonel," Hammond put in. Seeing Teal'c's expression, he added hastily, "I'm not saying that Doctor Jackson would divulge them to anyone even under duress but from your description it sounds like this Zagreus might be able to read minds."

"Well if that's so, sir, then the Goa'uld's already got them because he definitely had a good rummage around in Daniel's memory, but the truth is, we don't think Zagreus can get off the planet. As Teal'c remembers it, the other System Lords exiled him there centuries ago and now he's stuck there. That's why, when all his worshippers died out, he had to just grin and bear it instead of going out and picking up some more."

Carter couldn't quite bring herself to point out the most obvious reason why the Goa'uld might want Daniel's company. She'd been hoping that O'Neill and the General could get there all by themselves without any help from her, but so far they were being lamentably slow. Or perhaps they had already considered that possibility and rejected it – the Colonel had certainly been very aware of that danger where Daniel was concerned when they had been trapped on Hadante after all, but the inhabitants of Hadante had been human not Goa'uld.

Carter had never quite worked out exactly how the Goa'uld felt about their human hosts – like an overcoat you pulled on, like being inside a car you were driving, or a more intimate connection? The fact that the Goa'uld were so determined to only have hosts who were beautiful – rejecting any who were imperfect with ruthless disdain – did suggest that the hosts the Goa'uld chose must be some kind of reflection of the personality of the Goa'uld within. So, presumably those who wanted to be terrifying burrowed their way into an Unas; those who wanted human males to be putty in their hands chose the guise of beautiful goddesses, and those who wanted to reap the benefits of playing the part of a dangerous and seductive demi-god like Dionysus chose a host of perfect beauty and great physical fitness. Carter couldn't help thinking that having gone to all the trouble to find yourself a human body like the one in which Zagreus now resided you might want to do something with it.

Carter darted a glance at O'Neill. The trouble with the Colonel was that he looked at the Goa'uld and just saw the snake inside them; the host hardly seemed to register with him. She knew damned well that if any human male wearing that costume had shown the interest in Daniel Dionysus had the Colonel would certainly not have agreed to Daniel going off alone with him to talk about burial chambers. But O'Neill wasn't seeing those oiled pectoral muscles and that six pack stomach; he wasn't even seeing that here was a human male who even without the extra strength the Goa'uld gave him could always have beaten Daniel in a fight: he was seeing a parasite who wasn't in need of a host and might have some technology they could use.

And, of course, the Colonel being riddled with guilt about Daniel's sojourn in a padded cell was probably a factor in this particular equation as well.

Having temporarily played host to a Tok'ra was no apprenticeship for knowing how it felt to be a Goa'uld, so she couldn't guess at Zagreus' intentions any better than anyone else. Carter decided there were a whole lot of things they should have asked Teal'c before now, and that whether or not the Goa'uld had sexual desire for the humans they ruled over was definitely one of them. All she knew was that when Zagreus had been looking at her out of those golden eyes, his interest certainly hadn't felt platonic. And if his interest in Daniel was equally unacademic then Daniel could end up knowing a lot more about Ancient Greek culture than he really wanted to.

The fact that Zagreus had wanted her as well might just mean that he liked his bread buttered both sides or it could mean he wanted something else entirely. Either way she had no intention of setting foot back on that planet and if there was any way she could persuade the Colonel not to let Daniel back there too she would – and to hell with Daniel's disappointment at not getting to dig up any death masks. She could live with Daniel being disappointed a lot more easily than she could live with Daniel being raped, injured, or killed.

General Hammond seemed to have a whole different set of concerns. "This mind reading?" He turned to Teal'c. "Is it possible?"

"Zagreus is always spoken of as a Goa'uld with unusual psychic abilities. It was his power to influence the thoughts of others that made him dangerous. In his years of exile he may well have learnt to enhance those powers through technologies unknown to the other Goa'uld."

"So he can read minds and influence thought and yet you're still saying you don't think he's a threat to Daniel?" Carter decided to try another route before they had to get onto the embarrassing reasons why Daniel shouldn't be left alone with Zagreus. "What do the Goa'uld always want? Hosts. Worshippers. People to prop up their divinity. Perhaps he just needs an audience and he thinks Daniel would be more receptive than the rest of us because he has information that Daniel wants. Perhaps he has a whole different set of reasons for wanting to lure Daniel back there. Whatever his reason, I know Zagreus was interested in keeping Daniel with him and I just can't see the justification for needlessly exposing him to danger."

"And aren't you doing exactly what Zagreus did – saying we ought to wrap him up in cotton wool so that there's no chance he can get hurt? Daniel's not a child, he's a doctor of archaeology and if he says this is a site of great significance and he wants to go excavate it, I kind of think that's his decision, don't you?" O'Neill nearly added, Damnit, Carter, we let them put him in a padded cell because we were so keen to keep him safe and how much good did that do him?

Carter opened her mouth to protest and then stopped. "Yes, sir, but – I just know that Zagreus is dangerous and - "

"All Goa'uld are dangerous. But at least this time there's only one of him and a lot more of us."

" – And I think it would be a mistake to let Daniel go back to Zagreus' world, that's all. And if he does go, I don't want to go with him." As O'Neill looked at her in surprise, she explained, "You said he tried to buy me and Daniel from you? Well if Zagreus needs both of us for whatever he has in mind, and I'm not there, he might leave Daniel alone."

"That makes sense." O'Neill said it in a way that suggested the opposite and then turned back to General Hammond. "Sir, I think I want you to okay it for Daniel to go back to that place with an archaeological survey team and dig up a few death masks. It'll keep him happy, it hopefully won't cost us very much, and, who knows, the Metropolitan might get a few artifacts to stick in their display cases."

General Hammond nodded. "I'll take it under advisement, Colonel."

As the others made to file out, he caught O'Neill's eye and the man obediently waited behind. As soon as the door was closed, Hammond said, "Colonel, I didn't want to say anything in front of Teal'c and Major Carter, but are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you sure you know why you're doing it? According to both Doctor Jackson and Teal'c this particular – god – was famous for being able to manipulate people's thinking."

"Well, sir, I don't think he's driven me mad if that's what you're asking."

"So, you would have made this recommendation even if you'd never laid eyes on that Goa'uld?"

"Absolutely. I'd already decided to do so before this Zagreus character ever turned up. I mean, when all's said and done, Daniel is an archaeologist and this is clearly a significant archaeological site and it's hardly surprising he wants to excavate it." As Hammond looked unconvinced, O'Neill waved a hand. "Sir, you should have seen him, he was so fired up with enthusiasm for all those dead things you wouldn't believe and I'm thinking we should just let him run away and play for a couple of days – "

"Colonel, part of the reason why the Pentagon are even willing to consider allowing external experts to take an interest in some of our finds is because it is taking so long to assess some of the objects and sites that we have encountered so far. Doctor Jackson occasionally being given leave to spend a couple of days there is just not enough."

O'Neill recalled all the times he had complained about SG-1 having to hang around while Daniel examined crumbling ruins. Not to mention all those occasions when he'd practically dragged Daniel from his office on the base by the scruff of the neck; hauling him off to the canteen or home with him to eat a proper meal, or to a hockey game, or just outside to make him breathe in some fresh air, while the younger man protested unheeded that he had too much translating to do to possibly take a break now. For years, O'Neill had been seeing all those damned artifacts the SG teams kept bringing back for Daniel to look at just as things that interfered with the younger man's sleeping and eating patterns; an irrelevant distraction the rest of them had to put up with because of Daniel's illogical interest in them. The thought that there was actually way too much work for one man to do alone and that Daniel probably needed six months just to catch up with himself had never occurred to him until now.

Seeing O'Neill's frown, Hammond sighed. "Jack, Are you aware that it takes years to properly excavate an archaeological site? And a site of this size would in all probability take decades?"

"Uh – no. It does?" It occurred to O'Neill that if that was the case then for the last three years Daniel must have been feeling like someone who wanted to sit down to a feast but instead was only permitted to snatch the odd scrap from the floor in passing. The realization that he, more often than not, had been the one dragging his friend away from the banquet was not a welcome one.

He was pretty sure that Daniel was finally beginning to realize how important he was to the rest of them, what an asset he was, how they looked on him as part of their families, damnit they were Daniel's family now; and as a human being he hoped the younger man felt wanted, needed, and cared for, but as an archaeologist…As an archaeologist he must have been feeling permanently half-starved and probably very frustrated.

Damnit, Daniel, O'Neill thought, why didn't you just tell me? Except Daniel might have tried to, dozens of times, and he probably wouldn't have listened. There was a certain look Daniel got in his eye when he was going to start saying something about ancient civilizations, or dead languages, or lost rituals that always made O'Neill want to put his hands over his ears and start singing. To be fair to himself, Daniel had almost exactly the same reaction when O'Neill tried to explain to him why his sidearm strapped on the way it did, or what their packs actually contained, or how you armed a claymore: that dogged determination to hang onto one's ignorance come what may didn't all go one way, but…With a sense of shock O'Neill realized that Hammond had been talking for some time and that he'd missed most of it.

"…so even supposing the Goa'uld turns out not to be a threat, do you really want to risk Doctor Jackson deciding he wants to leave SG-1? Because given the way he was talking to me about how much work needed to be done on that place, I don't think he's planning on coming home any time soon." Hammond looked at O'Neill. "And given – recent events – do you think this is a even a good time to let Doctor Jackson separate himself from the rest of SG-1? His self-confidence must have taken a hell of a knock back there. I think he needs the rest of you with him right now."

O'Neill almost gasped aloud as he had another unexpected flash of memory; not one scene this time, but a jumble of images: Daniel burning; Daniel being thrown across the room by a hand device; Daniel being shot by a staff weapon; Daniel bleeding his life away; Daniel sobbing hysterically after that sarcophagus addiction had nearly stolen who he was forever; Daniel cowering in the corner of that padded cell his hands clasped to his ears to try and block out the sound of ghostly footsteps only he could hear…Christ, what were they doing to this kid? All of them, Hammond, the military, but most of all O'Neill himself. Daniel wasn't trained for this. Daniel should never have been allowed to put himself at risk like this.

The Daniel he knew today was not the Daniel he had known on that first trip out to Abydos. There were all kinds of shadows behind those blue eyes now that had certainly never been there before. This was a Daniel who'd seen things, and done things, and had things done to him, that the old Daniel hadn't, and it had cost him. Big time. This was a Daniel who'd been worn too fine by life and was starting to get a little brittle, like very old, very good china you started to be afraid to drink from in case it shattered in your hand.

God, he'd let a civilian sign up for this terrifying roller-coaster ride on the arrogant assumption he could keep him safe. But he hadn't kept Daniel safe, had he? And Daniel's scar tissue and Daniel's shadowed eyes were the proofs of his failure. How could he ever have made a mistake like that in the first place? Didn't he know better than anyone that you couldn't keep others safe, however hard you tried, however much you wanted to? How many times was he going to let Daniel wake up in the infirmary before he realized that sooner or later the guy's luck was going to run out? It was only chance that Daniel wasn't still in a mental institute condemned to a terrifying half-life of drugs and delirium. What if the next time they walked through the Stargate, Cronos or Sokar was waiting for them? Were either of those dangerous sadists going to question O'Neill or Carter or Teal'c when they were all trained not to divulge information and Daniel would be right there next to them looking so frighteningly vulnerable? God, how come he'd never realized any of this before? It was so obvious now. Did he want Daniel to spend his last hours being tortured to death by the Goa'uld?

"…However, if you insist he should be allowed to return to that planet, I will back your recommendation and request that some personnel with the right security clearance accompany him and begin excavation, but I am concerned not only that Major Carter might be right and that Goa'uld a very serious threat to any Homo sapiens that come within his reach, but that even if this Zagreus turns out not to be hostile, Doctor Jackson is still going to quit SG-1 to return to archaeology."

O'Neill used the general's words as a lifeline pull himself back to the present but he could still feel his heart hammering way too fast in his chest. For a moment there he'd almost seen the Jaffa dragging Daniel away, almost heard the younger man's screams…He collected himself with a huge effort. "Sir, that would be Daniel's decision and I certainly don't want to be the one who stops him from doing what he thinks is right. And maybe he should go back to archaeology. Maybe it would be safer."

"Safer?" Hammond frowned in puzzlement.

"Well, my record at keeping him in one piece isn't that special – actually my record in keeping him alive isn't that brilliant – I'm starting to lose count of how many times he's come back from the brink."

"Colonel, given the extremely hazardous nature of the work you do it would be all the more surprising if every member of SG-1 hadn't sustained injuries of some kind over the last couple of years. And I know that the rest of us you have done all you can to safeguard Doctor Jackson on every mission, frequently risking your own lives to protect his."

"Yes, sir, and we've still only got him back by the skin of our teeth far too many times. The rest of us are soldiers, it goes with the territory, and Teal'c's got Junior to even the odds a little, but to be honest, we've been damned lucky to keep Daniel alive this long and I'm thinking maybe it's time to quit while we're ahead." As Hammond looked unconvinced, O'Neill sighed. "Sir, you and I have lived through one memorial service for Daniel and it wasn't a fun ride. I just don't want to have to do it again."

"I don’t think you're making this recommendation with your head, Colonel."

Yeah, well that's easy for you to say, General, you've never had to walk away and leave him bleeding to death on a ship that was going to explode any minute. Believe me, that is not something you get over in a hurry. Aloud O'Neill said,"Well call it gut instinct, but if we don't let Daniel do this, I think he's going to quit anyway. Let's allow the man do his job, then he can make up his own mind."

Hammond couldn't pretend that O'Neill was being anything other than reasonable. Perhaps that was what he found just a little worrying – O'Neill was being almost too reasonable. However, there was nothing he could object to. "All right, Colonel. I can't promise anything but I'll pass on your recommendation."

"Thank you, sir, I appreciate it."

***

Carter couldn't help thinking that there was an irony in the fact that when O'Neill was an Air Force officer, like herself, and Daniel a scientist, like herself, that the only one of SG-1 she felt she could totally rely upon at the moment was the ex first Prime of Apophis with the larval Goa'uld in his pouch. The imperturbable alien who sat across the table from her was eating the canteen food with an air of grave detachment but was much too polite to pass comment on it. Carter wondered in passing if she ought to tell Teal'c that they all thought the food here sucked, but decided they didn't need the distraction right now.

She said, "Doctor Fraiser's trying to analyze that wine for us now and I'd be very surprised if it doesn't contain some kind of mind-altering drug. But I also think that Goa'uld got to the Colonel in some way. I don't mean that he managed to drug him or hypnotize him the way he did with Daniel, but I still think he's influenced his thinking."

"Yet Colonel O'Neill does not appear to be acting irrationally."

"Except he's saying he thinks it's a good idea for Daniel to go back to a planet with a Goa'uld ruling over a couple of thousand corpses."

"Although I agree with your misgivings, I could detect no hostility in the Goa'uld's attitude to Daniel Jackson. It may be that he genuinely means him no harm."

She took a sip of her coffee. It was vile but did wash away a little of the taste of the food. "The first time we came across her, Hathor didn't mean Daniel any harm either but when she'd done with him he was pretty near catatonic and we were almost overrun with baby Goa'ulds."

"It occurs to me that if the Goa'uld had succeeded in persuading you and Daniel Jackson to stay with him that he would have had the means to produce more followers."

Carter thought she was usually pretty quick, but the idea of having sex with Daniel was so unthinkable that it took her a moment to realize what the Jaffa was suggesting. She pulled a face. "A very slow means and who's to say we'd co-operate? And even if we did, one new follower a year isn't going to repopulate an entire planet."

"That is true. Nevertheless, as you yourself pointed out, it is only people that Zagreus lacks and you and Daniel Jackson are both young and relatively healthy."

Knowing the 'relatively' was for the allergy-ridden Daniel's benefit rather than hers, Carter didn't take offence at the qualification. "But you can't repopulate a planet without a diverse gene pool to draw upon. If people who are too closely related all begin to interbreed then pretty soon you're going to get some deadly regressive gene showing up that will wipe them all out. You can't start with two people and create an entire dynasty."

"Except the Goa'uld have themselves closely interbred without ill affects for many thousands of years."

"What?"

"Their genealogy is recorded in your mythology with a surprising degree of accuracy. For instance some of those you called the Greek Gods are descended from two Goa'uld whose children interbred for many generations with no loss of vigor."

Seeing Daniel approaching with a cup of coffee in his hand, Carter called out to him, "Daniel, just the man I want to see. Can you remind me about the genealogy of the Greek Gods?"

"Which ones?" She was relieved to see that he didn't still appear to be irritated with her. If he had been she would have suspected Zagreus' influence for Daniel had never learned how to bear a grudge. Even on those rare occasions when the Colonel became exasperated to the point of addressing him like a difficult child who had forgotten to tidy his room, Daniel very rarely took offence. Now he sat down at the table with them and looked at her enquiringly. "Which gods, Sam?"

"Well – the main ones. Zeus, Hera."

"Oh, right, well the first gods all came from Uranus and Gaia." Daniel used the salt and pepper pots to stand in for the mother and father of the Gods. "Oceanus, Tethys, our old friend Cronos, Rhea, Hyperion, Theia, and so on. Basically all the brothers married all the sisters except for Mnemosyne who just produced the Muses with her nephew Zeus." He sketched it out for her with his finger as he talked, invisible lines on the canteen table from which gods and Goa'ulds were descending to marry and interbreed. "Then the offspring of the children of Uranus and Gaia all married each other, producing the line of Prometheus on one hand and all the children of Zeus on the other. Zeus, of course, slept with most of his female relatives, including his sister Demeter and was married to one of his other sisters, Hera."

"So, we're not talking genetic diversity here?"

"Oh no, definitely not. The Ancient Egyptian gods actually followed a very similar pattern, quite apart from Hathor marrying her father, Ra, we have Isis marrying her brother Osiris, and Isis' sister, Nepthys, marrying their other brother – good old High Priest of the Death Cult, Seth. These were definitely people who believed in keeping it in the family."

"So, to a Goa'uld the idea of incest wouldn't be a problem." Glancing across at Daniel as he sipped his coffee it occurred to her that he and she did not look very different. He was perhaps a couple of inches taller than her and her hair was a few shades lighter but there were certainly enough surface similarities between them that to Zagreus they might seem well matched. And it was true that she was probably as close to him as she was to her own brother; closer perhaps as they'd been through so much together. It was definitely the case that having sex with Daniel would have felt exactly like incest to her and she was pretty sure he felt the same way, but Zagreus, even had he believed them to be blood relatives, would probably see no impediment to the two of them founding a dynasty for him that would fit his aesthetic ideal.

Talking of aesthetic ideals…She grimaced apologetically. "Daniel, weren't the Greek gods inclined to take more than an…academic interest in good looking young men as well?"

Daniel nodded. "Oh yes, of course. Most male Greek gods were bisexual. It was really the Greek ideal and naturally the god reflected the fashion of the time. The original Greek myths are full of tales of the gods carrying off beautiful young men, although they did tend to get Bowdlerized in later versions. Zeus disguised himself as an eagle so he could abduct Ganymedes. Herakles, the son of Zeus, was definitely more than good friends with Hylas. And he was involved with Iolaus too, and with Admetus, who was also having a relationship with Dionysus, who was involved with Ampelos, who he had to petition Zeus not to abduct because he wanted him for himself. Then there was Apollo and Hyakinthos, Hypnos and Endymion, Poseidon and Pelops, and so on and so on. According to some sources Achilles basically raped Troilus to death during the Trojan War. And the centaurs, of course, were notorious for…"

Carter put her hand on his arm. "So, it's possible that Zagreus might have the same…outlook as the Greek gods?"

He blinked at her in mild surprise. "Maybe. I don't know. I could ask him if we get the go ahead to return to the site. That's a good question, Sam. I'd like to know how much the Goa'uld adopt the habits of the deities whose identities they've stolen."

"Yes, but, Daniel. He could be – "

Daniel drained his coffee and got to his feet. "Sorry, I'd love to talk about this another time, but I really think I need to just tell General Hammond again how important this site is."

"The Colonel already told him."

Daniel paused. "He did?"

"I certainly did." They looked around to see O'Neill approaching. "Hammond says he's going to recommend that a team is set up to begin the excavation so we just have to hope that the Pentagon will give the right clearance to enough of the right people – otherwise it's just going to be you up there with a shovel in your hand."

"But I can go?"

"Looks that way. As long as you promise not to talk to any strange men with Goa'uld's inside them. Teal'c excluded of course."

Daniel looked so delighted that even Carter couldn't be entirely sorry that Hammond had agreed. He sat down dazedly. "If their version of Linear B developed into a more complex language then there might be a complete record of the civilization they came from as well as the one they became under Dionysus' rule. I need to read up on everything Schliemann found so I can make direct comparisons. I wonder if they…" He leapt up and headed off, already making notes on his now rather tattered book.

"See, it doesn't take a lot to keep him happy: the odd universal language, a few interesting artifacts, a whole ruined citadel full of dead people he can dig up."

That was when O'Neill had an overwhelmingly vivid memory of what it felt like to punch Daniel on the jaw: how hard he'd hit him; how much he'd wanted to go on hitting him; the guilt reverberated through him like a shockwave and he almost staggered from it. Angrily he reminded himself that it had been a long time ago and that he'd hardly given it a thought in the intervening years. He and Daniel had talked it through; hell, they'd even made a few jokes about it. A lot of things had happened since, many of them much worse, so why suddenly couldn't he get that memory out of his mind?

Carter's voice cut in on his thoughts. "Sir, are you really okay with this? It feels like we're losing him."

Recovering, O'Neill shrugged. "I was just saying to General Hammond that maybe it's high time Daniel went back to archaeology anyway."

"I really don't think that's what Daniel wants. He's just caught up in the excitement of this find for the moment – I mean, as I understand it, Schliemann's discovery of what he believed at the time to be Ancient Troy was one of the most significant finds ever, so it's not surprising Daniel's excited about the thought of excavating his own version, but I still don't think he'd want to leave SG-1."

"Well maybe it’s time he did." O'Neill was still watching him. "Before something else happens to him."

As O'Neill left them, Carter looked at Teal'c. "You see? I think that Goa'uld guilt-tripped him – all that talk about Daniel getting damaged while under the Colonel's protection must have had more effect than we realized. I think Zagreus wants it to eat away at him until he agrees to hand Daniel over. And Daniel won't object because we've already seen Zagreus scramble his mind once."

"It is imperative that you do not return to that world." Teal'c returned. "If our theory is correct and Zagreus needs you both to begin the repopulation of his planet then it will safeguard you both from his influence."

"I don't think he can influence me, Teal'c. I think he tried when we first met him and whatever his box of tricks is didn't work with me – something to do with Jolinar, I suppose. And I still don't understand why he can't just go through the Stargate and get more worshippers. I mean the Stargate's definitely working. We used it."

"We are not Zagreus. It must be programmed to let other life forms – indeed other Goa'uld – pass through it without harm, and yet prove fatal to him. I have heard of such things used by the Goa'uld before to punish those of their own kind whom they wish to banish. And do not be too sure that he would be unable to influence you, Major Carter, he may have more than one method of affecting the human mind at his disposal. The other Goa'uld would not have banished him unless they believed him to be dangerous."

Taking the plunge at last, Carter said, "Of course, he might just want Daniel for…himself. From what I remember of the Greek gods that must also be a possibility." She looked apologetically at Teal'c as she said it, knowing there were some things men never wanted to hear.

But the Jaffa took that in his stride as imperturbably as ever. "Although I think it unlikely, that is another outcome which it would be preferable for us to avert. I will suggest to Colonel O'Neill that he and I accompany Daniel Jackson on his return to the site and do all that we can to prevent him from falling under the influence of Zagreus."

***

They were holding Daniel down, two of them, men even bigger than Teal'c with brutal haircuts and dead, white clothes. Daniel was struggling between them so feebly like a half-drowned cat, spikes of sweat-darkened fringe plastered to his forehead, terror in his eyes as they pinned him down so the nurse could jab that needle in his vein. They were so much stronger than he was and he was so weak from the drugs and the exhaustion they overpowered him in seconds. Daniel's skin was as white as those pitiless walls. God, he looked like he hadn't slept in a month…

And what was good old Jack O'Neill doing to help his friend? He was…keeping his distance; pressed back against that padded white wall. O'Neill could see himself, head averted, eyes averted. Not wanting to know. Because Daniel was crazy and, frankly, scary. Daniel had attacked him. Had thrown himself at Carter when she called for the aides and had to be restrained by Teal'c, and now Daniel was hallucinating again, saying something had gone into Teal'c just like he'd been saying that an imaginary Goa'uld had gone into O'Neill when the man had been doing his damnedest to help him, to keep him out of this horrible claustrophobic little cell. All Daniel had needed to do not to be here was to stay sane. Why the hell couldn't he have stayed sane?

Carter had told Daniel it wasn't his fault, but whose fault was it if not Daniel's? They'd all been through the Stargate the same number of times. Why was Daniel doing this to himself? To all of them? Going nuts when life would be so much better for everyone if he could have just hung on in there and remained sane?

Was that really how he'd felt back then? God, why hadn't he just gone over there and put his arms around Daniel, told him it was going to be okay, that there was nothing to be afraid of? That they were all there for him, wouldn't abandon him. Why hadn't he soothed Daniel; comforted him; done the things you should do when your best friend was sobbing with terror in a corner…?

O'Neill could leave the padded cell behind in his nightmares, but although he could get out of there, push his way out of the door as soon as consciousness returned, he couldn't escape the fact that he'd left Daniel in there – alone with his terror and hallucinations and his fear of the insanity he could feel creeping through him.

He still found it hard to believe he'd done that, but he had. He'd left Daniel behind. The one thing he'd sworn to himself he would never do again.

O'Neill got out of bed and went into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. The water ran away, gurgling quietly, a defeated sound, but the faucet went on dripping even after he tightened it as hard as he could, evidence of a washer he hadn't got around to replacing.

He'd known something was wrong from that first briefing; his radar telling him that there must be a reason why his friend was so distracted and odd. He'd thought Daniel must have received some bad news and had waited behind in case the man wanted to confide in him. But what Daniel wanted from him was confirmation that he'd seen it too: the dead Goa'uld coming back through the Stargate. O'Neill hadn't known that then, of course, couldn't make any sense of the look on Daniel's face as he turned to him, that quick anxious glance, needing something from O'Neill he knew he wasn't going to get: the proof he wasn't losing his mind. And then Daniel had turned away, looking furtive as a shoplifter, and he'd known something was badly wrong.

He'd been on his way to see Daniel, to get the truth about what was bothering him, when he'd heard the cries for help. That was when he'd burst into Daniel's office only to find the man lying on the floor, unconscious, without a mark on him, and no one else within sight. He'd thought 'Ree’tu!' immediately and hit the alarm button, wondering what those invisible sons-of-bitches had done to Daniel as he called for a medical team and fast. It was only after Janet Fraiser had examined the still-unconscious Daniel twice and not been able to find so much as a scratch, and Carter and Teal'c had swept the whole base without getting a sniff of a Ree’tu, that he'd started to realize he'd read this one wrong.

O'Neill dried his face on a towel and then looked at his reflection in the mirror, ghostly in the half-light, skin too white, eyes almost black Those shadows under his eyes weren't all a trick of the gloom but even so they didn't measure up to the dark rings beneath Daniel's eyes when he'd been shivering in that muffled white room.

And he'd really thought he was done with this. He believed that Daniel accepted it: that they'd come across something that Jack O'Neill just couldn't cope with. Daniel certainly hadn't reproached him. He'd been a little tense afterwards, certainly, but that seemed to have more to do with a fear that people were going to put a big question mark next to his sanity or look at him sideways if he came up with any theories that sounded a little 'out there' rather than resentment because he felt his friends should have done more. Daniel had genuinely seemed to accept that it was just the way it was: Daniel couldn't cope with heights and O'Neill couldn't cope with people trying to rip imaginary Goa'ulds out of his head. Everyone had his Achilles' heel.

And, logically, O'Neill could tell himself that letting Daniel get dragged off to a padded cell probably hadn't been such a bad thing. Okay, it hadn't been fun for Daniel, no question about that. He'd had a horrible frightening time being afflicted by that Goa'uld killing device, made that much more horrible and frightening by thinking he was going to spend the rest of his life in a room without a view being pumped full of brain-muffling medication. But he had been sick, and he had been hallucinating, and the padded cell had at least kept him safe. The treatment Mackenzie had recommended had meant that while Daniel was being driven round the bend by Machello's little insanity slug he wasn't running under a bus or falling off a bridge, he was safe and protected…

…and scared. Scared. Scared. Terrified out of his wits and abandoned by the one person he'd trusted never ever ever to leave him alone in a place like…

Shit.

He could reason as much as he liked, but in his guts, in his heart, in his conscience, he knew that he'd let Daniel down. Taken a step back when he should have been taking a step forward. And he knew that Daniel must know it too. It was like that business with Shyla and the sarcophagus. Yes, he'd forgiven Daniel, certainly, held him in his arms and comforted him, not reproached him, but that didn't mean Daniel hadn't screwed up. Big time. It hadn't needed to be said. They'd both known it. You put it behind you and you moved on, but it still remained a fact that Daniel had left them down in those mines while he was…

God, don't let his subconscious start telling him it had been payback because he simply couldn't bear it. Had he been harboring resentment all that time? Looking for a chance to get even? No. On no level. In no part of his mind. Even at 0-dark-hundred with the guilt-monster taking up what felt like permanent residence, he didn't believe that there was any part of him that had felt any satisfaction at walking away and leaving Daniel in his own private hell. So why had he done it? Why had he left him there?

"Because he was nuts!" O'Neill said it angrily and aloud. Needing to hear it. Glaring at that ghostly reflection staring back at him with such accusation. "Okay? It wasn't his fault and it wasn't schizophrenia but he was still nuts. He told me nine dead Goa'uld wanted him for a host and that there was a Stargate in his closet for crying out loud! I tried to keep him out of Mental Health and he attacked me. I went over there to try and get him to tell me more about his theory and all he did was gibber, hide in the corner, and say he could hear footsteps. The second, Mackenzie sent me word Daniel wanted to talk to me I went over there. As soon as Daniel even half-convinced me he was sane, I got him out of there. Given the fact I was scared shitless, had no idea what to do, and was about ten miles out of my depth, I did the best I could for him." O'Neill ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I did the best I could for him."

O'Neill looked at the luminous hands of his watch: 4:00 a.m. He went into the kitchen and got himself a beer from the fridge, carried it through to the living room and sat down on the couch. Bed wasn't a possibility right now so he might as well accept the inevitable. If he went back to sleep he would only dream again: either back to the padded cell or to that moment when he'd left Daniel bleeding to death on Apophis' ship. That was another fun dream: imagining Daniel dragging himself inch by terrible inch to the sarcophagus, in agony, leaving that foot wide blood trail, because O'Neill had walked away and left him there to die. It had been a miracle Daniel had survived and it had certainly been no thanks to his so-called friend…

Oh yeah. O'Neill settled back into the couch and put his feet on the coffee table, a mocking smile playing on his lips. He could do this to himself almost indefinitely. This was what four o'clock in the morning was for. And perhaps this was how it had been for Daniel when he was teetering on the brink of sanity because on one level O'Neill did still know that he'd been a damned good friend to Daniel over the years. He and Teal'c and Carter were probably the only true stability that Daniel had ever known, while O'Neill had gone out on a limb for Daniel so many times that it was just as well he wasn't the one who suffered from vertigo.

And Daniel was hard work. Some days Daniel was, frankly, exhausting. Daniel wandered off, didn't listen to orders, didn't always obey them when he heard them, argued, sulked, or allowed himself to be distracted to the point where you could jump up and down in front of him waving your arms in the air and he still wouldn't know you were there. Daniel was occasionally downright selfish, unreasonable, maddening, impulsive to the point of recklessness, displayed a total absence of even basic common sense, and insisted he knew better than you did even when he obviously didn't.

O'Neill pressed the chilled can against his forehead, feeling the cold drips of condensation soothing his aching brain; seeking the sensation of his skin going numb to make himself stay focused. This was helping. This was definitely helping. Okay. More thoughts like these to hold off the other thoughts that were trying so hard to gain a stranglehold on his brain.

There were days when Daniel had to be protected, managed, and indulged like a five year old and had required O'Neill to dig so deep into his reserves of patience he was amazed he had any left. He'd done his best to look after the younger man from the first day they'd met and more often then not he'd succeeded, and, okay, sometimes he'd failed, and sometimes he'd snapped at him when he didn't need to, and sometimes he hadn't believed him when he should have done, and sometimes he'd made the wrong decision and Daniel had gotten hurt, or captured. And yes, okay, bad call on the Linvris. Bad call on the padded cell. But given the fact that he, Jack O'Neill, was only a flawed human being with problems of his own, he had done as much as was humanly possible to keep Doctor Daniel Jackson safe and well and sane.

So why was he waking up every night pouring sweat and guilt in rivulets? And when was he ever going to be able to sleep without being haunted by these damned awful dreams?

***

Daniel was standing on a beach watching the tide come in. It felt familiar. As if he'd been here before. He knew this beach. Had he spent his holidays here? Why did it look so familiar? Why didn't he want to be here when it was so beautiful with the white birds shrieking overhead and the sea air so sharp with salt and the promise of winter. The sea was grey-green and lapped idly, barely caressing the sand as a milk skim of foam unfolded at his feet…

That faucet again. And that too seemed too familiar, the way it just kept dripping. He could hear the sound of it, hollow, metallic, insistent.

When the first wave came it took him unawares, washed over his bare feet; shocked him with its coldness.

Why were his feet bare anyway?

Even that question seemed familiar. As if he had stood here a hundred times before wondering every previous ninety-nine times why the beach seemed so familiar: the seagulls shrieking, the cold salt tang of the sea, the clouds unraveling in exactly that pattern, being swept across the sky a little too fast for comfort, and then the shock of the sea water washing over his bare feet.

Why were his feet bare and his glasses missing and why was there a white band around his wrist? He had to squint to read it: Doctor Daniel Jackson. Why had he been labeled like an artifact? And what was that other word? That defining word that told the world what Doctor Daniel Jackson was? Headcase.

This was all too familiar. The white clothes he was wearing; the band around his wrist. He was afraid of the men who might find him here. The ones who were going to hold him down and drive a sharp pain deep inside him; clouding his blood and his mind as the drugs swirled outwards muffling everything.

The wave hit him so hard it knocked him over; filling his mouth, his ears, his eyes, dragging him down into the cold wet hollow where insanity waited for him. The sea was blue now, shimmering. No, please, not this, not this; any moment the hand would reach out and…

The hand came out of the wormhole, grabbed his jacket and dragged him forward. He knew what was waiting for him in there; not the dead Goa'uld, this time, but the room. He could remember everything but he couldn't stop it; a trip that had to be taken to the end, but he couldn't bear it again. Couldn't bear to be taken back there one more time. Not the white room. Please God, no, don't send him back there…

He woke up crying in the corner of the white room. Terrified because the footsteps were coming and insanity was coming with them. His mind was dissolving and once it was gone he would never get it back. He would stay here forever. Any minute now he was going to be abandoned by the people he loved and trusted most in the world and there was nothing he could do to stop them. They were walking towards the door now. Teal'c looked sorrowful; Jack was unreachable; while the look Sam gave him over her shoulder was filled with such sadness, such reproach. They thought he'd left them forever, they didn't realize he was still here and they were leaving him alone with the footsteps and the fear…

Don't go, Jack! Don't leave me! They were leaving him because he was crazy. Because no one could reach him or help him. Please, Jack, please! Sam! Teal'c! Don't…The door closed. He slept. He dreamed. The beach. The dripping faucet. The birds screaming. The waves crashed over him.

He woke to find himself curled up on the floor of the white room. Not crying this time. The relief was overwhelming. He was sure he'd never reached this part before. This was a new scene. This had to be better. In the past it had always ended with the fear and the abandonment, surely. This time he was going to get out.

Daniel got to his feet and stumbled over to the door. All he had to do was open the door and then walk out of here; but when he tried the handle he realized the door was locked. Memories were pawing at him, like a cat wanting to be let out, trying to tell him that he'd been here before as many times as he'd walked that windswept beach, but he didn't want to remember it. He wanted to believe this was different. He peered through the glass, but the corridor was empty. There was no one there; no one waiting for him. No Jack, no Sam, no Teal'c, none of the orderlies who held him down so hard to pay him back for the times when he'd struggled. He banged on the door, shouted, tried to tell them that he was better now. That he wanted to go home.

No one heard.

No one came.

Daniel woke up with a gasp and fumbled for the lamp by his bed. His heart was pounding and he was dripping with sweat. That damned dream every night. The paralyzing fear that made no sense because he was out of that place now. Jack had promised him he would never let anyone send him back to a padded cell and he believed him. In his conscious mind, at any rate, he had no more fear and the anger was also fading away. He'd read up on the symptoms he'd had and reluctantly conceded that Janet hadn't had much choice; even Mackenzie hadn't really had much choice. They'd been wrong but they'd only been trying to protect him. He forgave them. He forgave Jack for letting them put him there and for walking out and leaving him there. Better to focus on the speed with which he'd come back to break him out of that place as soon as there was a reasonable doubt.

But his subconscious mind was still locked in that cycle; still locked in the fear of being sent back to the asylum. In his head, where it mattered, he had to see himself turning the handle on that door; needed to picture it unlocked and the door opening…

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine it, but all he could see was himself hammering on the door, calling for the doctor who didn't come, while the empty corridor grew longer and longer, until the distance between himself and any hope of release was as wide as the ocean.

***

Although Carter had tried to talk to O'Neill several times in the week during which clearance was being granted and a suitable team assembled, he was uncharacteristically elusive. She couldn't help noticing that he also had dark shadows under his eyes suggesting he was having a lot of trouble sleeping, while Daniel was so excited by the prospect of the excavation that she didn't think he would have noticed if they'd spontaneously combusted right in front of him. Only Teal'c shared her unease.

The team to assess the danger of contamination had already been and gone, confirming that there were no active spores left around the site. The archaeological team – who were backed up by SG-3 – were remarkable mainly for their insignificance. They were, Carter thought, exactly the sort of people you would expect the military to send: mostly middle-aged men with receding hairlines and thick spectacles who would have been happy to sign away their first born to the United States Government to get a look at this site.

"Are we ready?"

Daniel was practically hopping from one foot to the other with excitement as everyone assembled, and Carter sighed resignedly. She had been planning to give him some last minute warnings about the dangers of trusting Zagreus but could see that anything she said would go in one ear and out of the other so instead said, "Have fun."

He smiled at her as the chevrons began to glow. "I'll bring you back a death mask."

She knew it was a joke. Daniel would no more steal from an archaeological site than burst into flames. He knew she knew it too. That was one of the many things they shared, that effortless understanding. "Make it a necklace. I've got a party on Saturday night."

"Anyone I know?"

"High School reunion."

He pulled a face. "Oh – the fifth ring of Dante's Inferno. What are you going to tell them you do?"

"I'm working on it." She could see the last symbol glowing as it was locked into place.

As the wormhole established itself with a billow of blue, SG-3 were already making their way into it with the archaeologists wandering dazedly after them. Daniel made to follow and then paused on the ramp. "Let me know if you want an escort? I really hate the way everyone pities you at those things if you turn up by yourself."

Impulsively, Carter said, "Be careful."

As he backed up the ramp he looked at her in mild surprise. "I always am."

She and Teal'c exchanged a glance as the Jaffa headed up the ramp. Seeing her anxiety, the Jaffa said kindly, "Do not worry, Major Carter. All will be well."

He and O'Neill followed Daniel into the wormhole and after a few moments it disengaged. Carter felt a terrible sense of emptiness as the liquid light vanished, and wished that she'd gone with them. A moment later she'd recovered her commonsense and was heading back to the computer to continue her research into the cult of Dionysus.

***

Zagreus arrived within the hour of them setting up their camp inside the ruined citadel, ignoring the M-16s SG-3 brandished at him to walk straight over to Daniel. The archaeologist had just been explaining the best way to go about beginning the excavation when the Goa'uld placed a hand on his arm. Daniel jumped. "Oh – hello. Doctor Freeland this is the Goa'uld, Zagreus, otherwise known as Dionysus, once worshipped as a god on earth, now sole inhabitant of this planet."

Zagreus ignored Daniel's companion and with an apologetic look over his shoulder, Daniel allowed himself to be led away. "Doctor Freeland's actually a very eminent British archaeologist who specializes in – "

"Where is your sister?"

"My – ? I don't have a – Oh, you mean Sam? She had to stay behind. She's not actually my sister, she's more of a friend – "

"What she is to you, we call 'sister'. Who are these people?"

"Well Jack and Teal'c you already know, those guys over there with the weapons are SG-3, and these are the people who are going to help me excavate this site, if that's okay with…"

"They are not beautiful."

"Um – no. They're archaeologists."

Zagreus looked around at the newcomers with unconcealed distaste. "Our people must be beautiful to be cherished."

Colonel Makepeace had been feeling irritated ever since he'd set foot on this damned planet. He hated the perpetual sunshine; he hated the blue skies and stupid fluffy clouds, and he particularly hated those damned flowers with their sickeningly heavy perfume and their golden pollen that sprinkled everything you touched.

He was extremely underwhelmed at being given a mission to baby-sit a bunch of grave-robbers when there was a war against the Goa'uld going on out there that he wanted to be part of. He blamed Jackson for the detail fair and square and thought this time Hammond and O'Neill had gone way too far in indulging the scientist in his latest craze. Sometimes you'd think he was Hammond's favorite grandson or something, the slack they all cut him.

He didn't dislike the kid usually, had a bit of a soft spot for Jackson himself if he was honest. And he appreciated that O'Neill was fond of him and so wanted him kept in one piece wherever possible; had tried his hardest to keep the geek in one piece that time when he'd been responsible for him, and thought – given the fact that the guy had all the sense of self-preservation of a lemming – that he'd done damned well to hand him back to O'Neill with only a thigh wound rather than in a body-bag. Not that O'Neill had been grateful, as far as he remembered. As soon as they'd got back to the infirmary, he'd been fussing over that little nick on Jackson's leg like it was something major, complaining because Makepeace hadn't bandaged it up for him and had let him walk on it.

Makepeace shook his head at the memory. O'Neill had always spun the rest of the SG leaders a line about Jackson being such an asset to SG-1, but he'd always suspected the reality was that O'Neill, Carter, and the big guy had to spend their lives hauling Jackson's however many pounds of deadweight around with them while dodging the bullets themselves. Having been landed with having him on his team, however temporarily, when he'd gone in to get SG-1 away from that Goa'uld bitch, Hathor, he'd realized that Jackson was every bit as useless as he'd feared.

He remembered when they were down in the Tok'ra tunnels just before Captain Carter had gone off to blow the force field. Could still vividly recall his sense of disbelief after he'd handed that sidearm over and Jackson had taken it from him like he'd never seen one before in his life: hadn't checked to see if it was loaded or anything, just held it awkwardly as a bachelor with a baby. Makepeace had wanted to say, 'You do know how to use that thing, right?' but couldn't quite bring himself to say it out loud. I mean how many missions had that guy been on by then? It had been a great relief to pass him back to O'Neill – the rapid greying of whose hair had become explicable to Makepeace about three minutes after finding himself responsible for the other Colonel's pet anthropologist. Makepeace had made a private resolve then never again to go into battle with anyone except trained soldiers at his side but never, in his worst nightmares, had he imagined that he might have to go in and hold Jackson's hand while he scratched around in the dirt for bits of rock.

Zagreus wandering past his perimeter without so much as a glance at the weapons he and his men carried, had also not pleased him.

Feeling the irritation building to real anger now, Makepeace looked across at where Daniel and the Goa'uld were deep in conversation, and yelled, "Hey, Fossil Boy!"

He sensed rather than saw O'Neill's head snap round and knew the man's hackles were up. Well tough, Makepeace thought. If you'd ever trained the guy to be less of a pain in the ass, O'Neill, I wouldn't need to be doing it for you now. Goddamned Jackson wasn't even listening to him. The urge to just go over there, grab Jackson by the scruff of the neck and start shaking him like a terrier with a rat, was very strong. With a huge effort, Makepeace held his ground but raised his voice to screaming level: "You going to keep fraternizing with the enemy or you want to get out of the way and leave us with a clear shot?"

Daniel seemed to notice him at last. "Look, Makepeace, you don't have to shoot anyone. Zagreus isn't your enemy. He's been exiled by the System Lords for helping us."

"Is he a goddamned Goa'uld or isn't he?"

For the first time, the deity deigned to notice the man with the gun. "You are not the father of this tribe. Where is the one called O'Neill?"

"Right here." O'Neill nodded to Makepeace. "Let's not start shooting anyone until we have to."

"I'm responsible for the safety of these people on this trip, O'Neill, not you. Now your little pal over there is endangering all of us by getting between the Goa'uld and my gun so you move him out of there or I will."

Seeing the uncharacteristically ugly look in Makepeace's eyes and deciding that having a major fall-out with a fellow SGC officer an hour after arrival on the planet was something to be avoided wherever possible, O'Neill bit down what he wanted to say and instead called across, "Daniel, could you come over here a minute? I need to talk to you about something."

As Daniel made to obey, Zagreus caught his wrist. "Wait, child. You must summon your sister here."

"I don't have the power to do that and even if I did, I wouldn't. Sam has other things to do."

Zagreus let him go but took another look around the camp, his face revealing his disappointment. "These people are unworthy of the love of Dionysus."

"They're just archaeologists who've come here to do a job. People like me."

Zagreus touched Daniel's cheek affectionately. "They are not like you. You are worthy of the love of Dionysus. You alone shall be protected and cherished."

The Goa'uld turned away and walked off before Daniel could ask how it felt about the graves of its worshippers being disturbed. He moved over to where Jack was waiting for him. "There's so much I need to ask him, but I think Makepeace ticked him off a little."

"He didn't look any too happy."

"Apparently he likes the people around him to be beautiful."

"Well Makepeace's face isn't exactly brightening my day either but I'm trying not to let it get to me."

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

O'Neill looked blankly at the archaeologist. "Nothing."

"Well, why did you call me over?"

O'Neill wondered how Daniel could be so razor-sharp about some things and so unbelievably dense about others. It never failed to surprise him that someone who could understand the obscure wedge-shaped scratchings of some scribe who'd been dead for four thousand years could still remain blissfully unaware that a man standing ten feet from him was five seconds away from losing his temper. He could have pointed out to the archaeologist how close Daniel had come to being ignominiously dragged across the compound by an angry Makepeace; he could have expanded on the matter by pointing out that this might have provoked a reaction of incalculable hostility from the Goa'uld who seemed to have taken such a shine to him; and would, in any case, have undoubtedly provoked a hostile reaction from O'Neill which might well have culminated in him and Makepeace exchanging more than words. But he didn't.

Daniel was currently being infuriatingly reasonable about what he evidently perceived to be O'Neill's unreasonableness, still looking at him with only the mildest reproach in his blue eyes. "Okay. Well, if you're done, Jack, can I go back to the burial site I'm supposed to be excavating now?"

O'Neill heroically swallowed the first three things he wanted to say. "Sure, knock yourself out." However, as he crossed over to where the leader of SG-3 was standing belligerently watching the long-legged Goa'uld's departure, O'Neill found himself saying, "Don't call Daniel 'Fossil Boy'."

"Why not?"

"Because quite apart from the fact it’s meant to be insulting, it’s inaccurate. He isn't a paleontologist; he's an archaeologist, which means he likes picking around in ruins, not digging up dead dinosaurs. Okay?" In fact he wasn't a hundred percent sure what subjects Daniel had actually got his many qualifications in: archaeology; anthropology; Egyptology; linguistics; ancient mythology; obscure ceremonial practices from long defunct religions; there were so many things Daniel knew about it was hard to know what he was actually supposed to have written his papers on. But O'Neill was damned certain the younger man wasn't a paleontologist and he was equally certain he wasn't putting up with anyone – other than possibly himself – calling Daniel 'Fossil Boy'.

Makepeace shouldered his rifle. "You know, O'Neill, you must have the screwiest team in the SGC – an alien, a girl, and a geek."

"Oh for crying out loud, why don't you try – ?"

"O'Neill," Teal'c was by his side in an instant. "You must beware of behaving irrationally. It may be the presence of Zagreus that is causing you and Colonel Makepeace to disagree."

"No, we generally pretty much disagree."

"Nevertheless, Colonel Makepeace has risked his life to save yours, and the Goa'uld Zagreus is known to be capable of adversely influencing the behavior of your kind. It would be wise to guard against his influence."

"Okay, point taken." O'Neill looked back at Makepeace. "But you and I are going to get along a whole lot better if you don't start picking on members of my team."

As they walked away, Teal'c said pointedly, "It is not from the criticisms of Colonel Makepeace that Daniel Jackson needs to be protected." He was not sure if O'Neill was taking in what he said: that was the trouble with humans in his experience – they so often behaved inconsistently or irrationally that you could never be certain if they were being influenced by some external power or not, however he had great respect for O'Neill's intelligence and hoped it would resurface now. Seeing the man frown, Teal'c prompted, "Something is troubling you?"

"I was just remembering that first trip to Abydos. To be honest, my men didn't treat Daniel particularly well and I'm not sure I did everything I could to stop them – "

"O'Neill, are you not aware that these irrational feelings of guilt have only plagued you since your meeting with Zagreus?"

O'Neill frowned. "No, I definitely felt guilty before. I distinctly remember after Skaara and Sha're were taken, standing in that chamber as Daniel was saying goodbye to the Abydonian kids and thinking 'I never gave this guy enough credit last trip out'."

"In the line of duty, you have taken human life many times. Is it reasonable that the focus of your guilt should be someone whom you have always protected to the best of your abilities? You must fight against the influence of the Goa'uld or else he might well succeed in driving you mad."

O'Neill said, "Well, as I'm feeling fairly fifth-wheelish about now, let's get base camp organized. I don't suppose any of these scientist types knows how to put up a tent properly."

"O'Neill, is it not customary on this planet for those conducting archaeological surveys to live in tents for the duration of the…?"

"Teal'c, tell me, do the words 'can it' have some Chulakian equivalent you could teach me…?"

***

Part Three

The dig began well. O'Neill thought that he had never seen so many middle-aged men so happy outside of a brothel in his life. The first burial chamber had revealed everything and more the archaeologists could have wished for and there were soon piles of golden artifacts winking in the sun, oddly luxurious against the dusty blankets on which they were spread.

Daniel had found a massive tablet written in a new variant of Linear B never recorded anywhere on earth, and was, as far as O'Neill could see, in linguist's seventh heaven translating it. The archaeologist had returned through the Stargate several times to double-check things on the Internet or to fetch one of his many reference books and Zagreus had raised not even the slightest objection. In fact, the Goa'uld had only put in a couple of brief appearances, somewhat to Daniel's disappointment as his list of questions for the would-be deity were growing longer by the day.

O'Neill had told Daniel firmly that he was not to speak to the Goa'uld alone, and that if Zagreus wandered over again he was to call for O'Neill, Teal'c, or Makepeace to come and monitor the conversation. Clearly not seeing the point of those orders at all, Daniel had nevertheless absently agreed to do as the man said. But by the way his attention had been straying back to that inscription throughout the entire conversation, O'Neill would have laid any money Daniel had forgotten all about his instructions about five minutes after he'd had them.

Even O'Neill had been quite taken by some of the weaponry that had been retrieved from the first chamber, and the elaborate death masks were magnificently strange: the faces of the dead molded into that paper-thin metal for eternity. The only people who seemed less than delighted about the treasure trove they were uncovering were Daniel and Doctor Freeland, both of whom were eager to excavate the later burial chambers which would reveal the truth of how the inhabitants of the Citadel had come to die.

"I know this looks very impressive, Jack," Daniel complained as they examined the latest finds together. "But I don't see why Washington had to be so mercenary. I still say it would make more sense for us to begin with the later shafts. I mean we're here in search of knowledge, not gold. "

" You're here in search of knowledge, Daniel, but the people bankrolling this little excavation of yours might not have had such lofty motives. And a whole bunch of dead people thrown in a plague pit just doesn't grab their attention like a 22 carat death mask."

Daniel looked at him in surprise and O'Neill frowned. "What?"

"You called it a death mask."

"What, it isn't?"

"No, Jack, it is. That's why I'm surprised."

"Look, Daniel, hard as I try to tune you out, you talk so much it was inevitable some of it was eventually going to stick."

Daniel looked at him sideways. "Yesterday you told Makepeace that the script I was translating was called Linear B."

"And so? And so?"

Daniel put a hand across O'Neill's forehead. O'Neill slapped it away. "Daniel, what the hell are you playing at?"

"Just thought you might be feverish or something. You have been sitting out in the sun a lot. Maybe you should come rest over here in the shade."

"All right, I'm out of here."

As O'Neill marched off to look for Teal'c, Daniel called after him, "Jack, I was joking! Jack…!" Still smiling he went back over to the inscription he was translating. The wind had changed, the breeze angling in from the opposite direction and in the drowsy warmth, the flowers fluttered at him, their scent hitting him with redoubled force. He still expected to sneeze as the petals lazily caressed his skin, but he could inhale that rich perfume without a sniffle. He wasn't sure if he liked it or if it was too much like some liqueur that tasted delicious for one sip and then became sickly before you were halfway down the glass. He tried to brush off some of the pollen sprinkling his sleeve like gold dust and immediately his head began to throb. He felt nauseated and…

…He was in the storeroom, holding a gun on his best friend while Jack stared at him in disbelief. He heard the man say, " Daniel! God...What are you going to do, Daniel? Do you want to kill me?"

"No! No! No!"

"Daniel!" Someone grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him round, shook him gently. "Daniel, damnit, what's the matter? What's wrong?"

"Daniel Jackson, are you injured?"

In some part of his mind he Daniel knew he was standing in the sunshine on an alien world; that those were Jack's hands gripping his upper arms, and Jack was fine, everyone was fine, Teal'c and Sam and Jack were all fine; they weren't in the mines, they weren't filthy and exhausted and dying from overwork and starvation while he lolled around in silk robes and thought about his next fix…And Jack certainly wasn't in the storeroom staring at him like Daniel was a stranger because Daniel was pointing a gun right at him…But it was so real and so close, his fingers could still feel the handle, the trigger he had so nearly pulled…

"Daniel!"

Daniel jumped and found himself standing by the ruined palace of Agamemnon with Teal'c and Jack gazing at him in concern.

"You okay?"

Daniel swallowed, the anxiety in Jack's brown eyes searing him like vitriol because how could they still care about him after what he'd done to them? He didn't even deserve to live after what he'd done to them…

O'Neill must have recognized something in his face because he said, "Daniel, whatever it is you're thinking about, it was a long time ago and nobody blames you."

As Teal'c raised an eyebrow, Daniel gaped at the man in disbelief. "Jack, are you…? How did you…?"

"Damnit, Daniel, no of course I can't read minds. I just know you. I know that dopey look you get when you're beating yourself up about something. You've been out in the sun too long playing with your damned artifacts and you're guilt-tripping. But whatever it was, it wasn't your fault, okay?"

"But it was my fault, Jack, it was all my fault, and I'm so sorry."

"You know I bet we probably covered this at the time. Whatever time it happened to be, and no, don't tell me, because this is not a conversation we should be having. This is the sunstroke talking, and I don't want to waste ten minutes standing here having a chat with your sunstroke."

"But I pointed a gun at you. I nearly kill– "

O'Neill interrupted hastily. "Daniel, we're not talking about this now, okay?"

He was aware of Teal'c looking at him with an eyebrow raised. Oh great. Now it wasn't just him and Daniel who knew about that damned scene in the storeroom. Well okay, it probably never had been. It had probably been recorded on some security camera and General Hammond had seen it, but it had never officially been acknowledged, and that was the important thing. There was no bit of paper anywhere, that O'Neill was aware of, in which it was directly stated that Doctor Daniel Jackson had lost it so completely he had damned near shot Colonel Jack O'Neill in cold blood. And he and General Hammond had never mentioned it in any of the many discussions they'd about Daniel's addiction and its aftermath. As far as O'Neill was concerned if you didn't write it down and you never, ever, mentioned it, then as far as the military was concerned, it hadn't happened. And now Daniel was broadcasting it to everyone within earshot…?

O'Neill moistened his lips, trying to think what to do. Daniel looked bone-white and sick, which was weird when he'd been fine only minutes ago, but it was a two-mile walk to the Stargate and this was almost certainly just the heat. He put a hand on Daniel's forehead, just the way Daniel had done to him a few minutes ago, only he wasn't joking and Daniel's skin was burning. "Okay, Daniel," he said carefully. "Apology accepted but as a sign of your true contrition I want you to go to your tent, no, actually, your tent's in the sun, go to my tent, that's in the shade. Better yet, go to Teal'c's tent, then it won't be my sleeping bag you throw up on. Drink at least half a pint of diluted fruit juice, take two Tylenol and then go to sleep. I will call you in four hours when you can get up and eat something. If you can keep it down I won't make you go to the infirmary. You upchuck, you're out of here. Does that sound fair enough?"

"Okay, Jack."

Daniel wandered in the direction of Teal'c's tent a little dazedly and O'Neill shook his head as he watched him go. "He's not arguing – that can't be a good sign. God, this had better just be the sun. If Daniel's getting what killed all those dead people I am so going to murder the Medical Containment guys who said this site was disease-free."

He watched Daniel obediently crawl into Teal'c's tent and wondered if he was remembering about the fruit juice and the aspirin. He was very aware of Teal'c giving him that look of enquiry which said 'When did Daniel Jackson point a gun at you, O'Neill?' as loudly as someone else's speech. He sighed, turning back. "He wasn't himself, Teal'c, and General Hammond might not have understood. That's why I didn't put it in my report."

"It was at the time when Daniel Jackson became addicted to the effects of the sarcophagus."

Not really a question but O'Neill nodded anyway. The Jaffa said, "Then he was crying because he had tried to kill you?"

O'Neill winced, remembering that scene, not just Daniel wild-eyed and crazier than a sack full of weasels, but Daniel faltering, dropping the gun, sobbing so brokenly in his arms, his entire body reverberating with remorse and defeat. That was how they the security guards had found them: Daniel crying into his shoulder while O'Neill vainly tried to comfort him. He'd been dimly aware of the guards shuffling their feet and averting their eyes in the doorway, until he'd glared over at them and mouthed savagely: 'Go. Away.' It had been a few minutes later that Teal'c had arrived to wordlessly scoop up the cried-out Daniel off the floor before carrying him back to the infirmary. Then all the fun of the final stages of withdrawal had begun with its attendant vomiting, fever, pain, and, of course, as this was Daniel, huge swathes of all-consuming remorse.

Oh yes, it was all coming back to him now, good old P3R-636: another fun place he'd taken Daniel to. Join the SGC, travel to new worlds, get captured, chained up, starved, forced to work in a mine, almost killed by a rock fall when your C.O. totally mistimes his escape plan, and then manipulated into becoming addicted to a device that heals as it changes as it twists you. Watch yourself turn into someone you were never meant to be, then go through all the pains of hell as you crawl back slowly to some semblance of normality. Oh yeah, that had done so much for Daniel's well-being. And all because O'Neill had been too slow about grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and hanging on like grim death. That was all it would have taken. Well, his free hand across Daniel's eyes perhaps so he wouldn't have seen the silly bitch jump. Well, no, actually he'd've had to pull Daniel's head right in against his chest and wrap his jacket around his head so he wouldn't have heard her screaming all the way down…Okay, so there hadn't been an easy solution to that one but all the same he should have…

"O'Neill, how did you know that Daniel Jackson was feeling guilty?"

He recalled himself to the present. "What, you didn't?"

"No," Teal'c was watching the man closely. "I did not."

O'Neill shrugged. "I don't know, I just did." He bent down and picked up Daniel's notebook. As he did so the perfume from the blooms wrapped itself around his throat like a scented scarf. "I'm starting to hate these damned flowers," he growled.

Teal'c's eyes widened. "The flowers."

"What?" O'Neill flapped the notebook to fan himself.

"Nothing, O'Neill," Teal'c returned. "Nothing."

***

By the time dusk was spreading a granular monochrome across the landscape, Daniel was awake and feeling perfectly well again. O'Neill made him drink liquid until the younger man protested that his bladder would burst if he had another sip, then watched as he successfully ate some Air Force issue Macaroni and cheese. "If you can keep that down you can keep anything down," O'Neill told him cheerfully. "All of it, Daniel, don't just push it around with your fork."

"It tastes disgusting, Jack."

"Excellent, Doctor Jackson. I'm relieved to hear all your faculties are working properly. Now eat it."

Watching from the other side of the campfire, Doctor Freeland said to Teal'c, "Is your Colonel aware that Doctor Jackson is probably one of the most able men in his field working today? His work on the cross-pollination of ancient cultures is absolutely unique."

"Colonel O'Neill has a great respect for Daniel Jackson's abilities, Doctor Freeland."

"And that would be why he treats him like a backward ten year old, would it?"

Teal'c's expression didn't flicker. "I assure you, Doctor Freeland, no one esteems Daniel Jackson's intelligence more highly than Colonel O'Neill."

Freeland raised an eyebrow as he lit his pipe. "Well you could have fooled me." Feeling that the archaeologist was probably in need of rescuing, he made his way over to where Daniel was sitting and, pointedly ignoring O'Neill, began to discuss the possible age of the various chambers they had uncovered so far.

And immediately, even though this discussion was taking place in English, Daniel was talking a language that O'Neill couldn't understand. When the two archaeologists began to argue good-naturedly over the likely dates of the Tholos tombs scattered upon the hillside like giant beehives, O'Neill murmured something about securing the perimeter and edged away.

Teal'c caught up with O'Neill by the eastern wall. "Daniel Jackson is recovered?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Just a touch of the sun and too many bad memories floating around in that head of his." He looked over his shoulder at the group around the campfire so glumly being watched over by Makepeace and his men. Archaeologists. All those squat, bearded men in shorts, with spreading midriffs and spectacles held together with sticky tape. Daniel might be taller, thinner, and prettier than the rest of them, but he was still recognizably molded from the same clay; there was the identical gleam of curiosity in his eyes, he was definitely part of that brotherhood of searchers after eternal truths.

"Well, I guess it had to happen," O'Neill shrugged.

"What, O'Neill?"

"That Daniel would get fed up with playing 'explorer' and go back to his own kind."

Teal'c said quietly, "Daniel Jackson is no longer just an archaeologist, O'Neill. Although he and these people may have some similar interests, how can he know true kinship with those who have never battled against the Goa'uld? He knows how small and vulnerable your world is. They do not."

"Great. So now he doesn't even have an 'own kind' to go back to? That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Why do you not tell him how much he is needed in the struggle against the Goa'uld?"

"Because I want him to quit the struggle against the goddamned Goa'uld while he still can, Teal'c, while he's still in one piece, and still relatively sane."

"He is needed here," Teal'c was quietly emphatic about it and O'Neill wondered what it must be like to have that reserve of certainty to draw upon. For the Jaffa it was always just a matter of right or wrong: Daniel's skills as a linguist were useful in the struggle against the Goa'uld; the Goa'uld were evil; therefore Daniel should use his skills to fight them. So simple. But life wasn't simple and death was most complicated of all.

"I need him to be alive," O'Neill returned shortly. "Okay, Teal'c? I need Daniel to be alive, on Earth or Abydos or any goddamned place, it doesn't matter, as long as he isn't maimed or dead. I can't be responsible for someone else dying that it was my job to protect, someone else who trusts me to keep him breathing in and out that I've failed to keep safe. I can't go through this again." He remembered giving the order to switch off the Stargate knowing it was going to kill Kawalsky; pulling the trigger, sending those bullets into Skaara, the boy crumpling, dying. There was a part of him that thought: Just get Daniel the hell away from me before fate makes me have to kill him too. He collected himself and shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "I'm beat. I'm going to turn in. Don't let Makepeace shoot anyone – God but that guy is pissy at the moment."

Teal'c watched him go with troubled eyes. He had never seen O'Neill look so tired, so worn down by events, while Daniel Jackson had clearly been badly upset by the memory that had returned to haunt him. The Jaffa had no doubt that Zagreus was responsible for their current mental state in some way, but it was much easier to believe than to prove, particularly when the Goa'uld was proving so elusive. Settling himself by the wall to meditate, Teal'c began to plan his strategy for the coming day.

***

He'd known he wouldn't be able to sleep. Damn Daniel and his stupid sunstroke; it had all come back to him now.

When Daniel had been in the grip of the sarcophagus, O'Neill had consoled himself with the thought of how totally lousy Daniel was going to feel when he was himself again. It had seemed quite desirable when that thoughtless, arrogant, unbelievably irritating little son-of-a-bitch who was so in need of kicking was right in front of him to remember that boy but was Daniel going to feel bad about this one when he got his brain back. But the Daniel going through withdrawal had not been the Daniel lounging around on a throne in gold and black robes; the Daniel going through withdrawal had been the one who'd nearly died under that rock fall; the one O'Neill liked and hated to see suffering. Watching that Daniel throw up everything you tried to put into him had been nothing like the fun it would have been to watch the Daniel Who Would Be King losing his lunch, dignity, and self-respect.

In fact he'd very quickly started hoping that this Daniel wouldn't remember a damned thing once the withdrawal process was over; hoped it would all recede like a bad dream; Daniel would come back to them…Daniel again, and hopefully not even remember too much about what had gone down after those rocks fell on top of him.

Well, that hadn't happened.

The spectacular nightmares had confirmed that. Not just in the days when Daniel was clawing his way back to who he used to be while his molecules and brain chemistry reassembled themselves in more or less the right order, but on so many of those subsequent missions when Daniel had literally woken up screaming. O'Neill had got so he could be up, soothing Daniel, settling him down and then back in his own sleeping bag without even having to fully awaken, a kind of automatic pilot that kicked in which had felt strangely familiar. It had taken him weeks to realize that the last time he'd been doing this was probably when Charlie had been teething.

One night as he'd staggered back from Daniel's tent, Carter had looked up from her watch. "Sir, how long do you think we should let this go on?"

He'd thought for a moment she was being disloyal to Daniel, suggesting that he was too much of a nuisance because he kept waking them all up, and then he realized that she'd been looking further ahead than he was. He just wanted to keep Daniel off-world so no one in the SGC realized he wasn't really fit for duty yet, in case Hammond changed his mind and kicked him out. While Carter had been thinking that Daniel ought to be getting more help than he was to assist him through what was clearly still a major trauma.

"I don’t think a shrink can help him, Carter." O'Neill sat down next to her. Seeing her expression he added quickly, "And not because I don't have any time for shrinks – although I don't. But we're the ones he hurt. We're the reason he wakes up screaming. The only people who can tell him it's okay and we don't blame him, are you, me, and Teal'c. I figure if we tell him it enough times, sooner or later he's going to have to believe it."

"You're right, sir."

He was never too sure about the way Carter said that – like it was such a surprise, but he wasn't going to quibble about her inflection when she was agreeing with him.

She sighed. "Maybe I should explain the chemistry to him again. How it physically altered him."

"And how many times have you explained it to Daniel so far, Captain?"

"About – ten times."

"Well, do you think hearing it again is going to make him believe it any better?"

"And how many times have you told him you don't blame him for what he did to you, sir? But you're still planning to tell him the same thing in - " She looked at her watch, "two hours time when he wakes up again, aren't you?"

"Okay. Good point. But you know you and Teal'c are developing a very nasty habit of being right all the time, which I really think you ought to try and break before it gets even more irritating than it is already."

She grinned at him. "Yes, sir."

He patted her on the shoulder. "Night, Captain."

"See you in two hours, Colonel."

Now, lying in his tent trying to fall asleep to a background music of archaeologists burbling at each other like water over stones, O'Neill realized that if he did close his eyes he'd only dream about Daniel going through withdrawal or something equally cheerful.

That was the trouble, he'd already let so many bad things happen to Daniel his memory could run them on a continuous loop if it wanted to. That's why they were here, being bored in the sunshine every day while Daniel pored over his translation, and the archaeologists who insisted on treating them all like they were brain-dead talked their incomprehensible shorthand to each other while levering bones out of the ground. This was the safe place he'd found to leave Daniel in. This was the right thing to do.

He wondered why, when with one part of his mind he knew that to be true, it still felt so utterly wrong.

***

The next morning, while Daniel Jackson was busy with the excavation and translation work, Teal'c took soil and water samples from within the site and also took some scrapings from the original cloth wrapped around some of the artifacts retrieved so far. The next step might be a little harder but he had already decided the less explanation he offered the more chance he had of success.

O'Neill was sitting on the steps up to the palace, surveying the landscape through his field glasses but more often than not bringing the binoculars to bear upon Daniel Jackson – who was busy translating the massive tablet on the palace wall – just to check he was safe. Due to the blazing sunshine, O'Neill had taken off his jacket and was sitting on it, making Teal'c's job that much easier.

"Ow!" O'Neill yelled as Teal'c jabbed him with the needle. He spun round to look at his attacker in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing, Teal'c?"

"Doctor Fraiser asked me to bring back blood samples from yourself and Daniel Jackson."

"You couldn't just ask? You couldn't say, 'O'Neill, I need to take a blood sample?' You had to stick me with a thing like a knitting needle and not even give me any warning?"

"I am sorry, O'Neill," Teal'c said without even a glimmer of repentance in his voice. He withdrew the needle and slapped a Band-Aid across the wound with deft efficiency.

As the Jaffa walked off, O'Neill called after him: "You're going to warn Daniel before you do that to him, right? Teal'c…?"

"Daniel Jackson."

Daniel had just got to a particularly knotty and perplexing part of the inscription and was standing on tiptoe trying to make it out better. Without taking his eyes from the tablet he said, "Hey, Teal'c, how are – Ow!"

"I need to take a blood sample for Doctor Fraiser."

Wincing, Daniel darted a sideways glance at his arm and the blood pouring into the needle. "Looks like you already did."

"Doctor Fraiser told me to brook no argument."

"Well, you certainly got that part right." Daniel winced again as the needle was withdrawn. "You're not going to make a habit of doing stuff like that are you, Teal'c?"

"Only when it is strictly necessary." Teal'c put a Band-Aid across the puncture wound, labeled the phial of blood and put it carefully into his pack. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," Daniel called after him.

When Daniel heard someone come up behind him a minute later, he jumped nervously then relaxed as he saw it was only O'Neill. "Sorry, thought you were Teal'c come to stick another needle in me."

"Got you too, did he?"

"Yeah. What was with that anyway?"

"I have no idea."

As they both turned to look across at Teal'c, the Jaffa could be seen solemnly plucking purple blooms from the eastern perimeter wall and placing them in plastic bags.

O'Neill shook his head. "You know it’s times like this you really notice Teal'c's an alien."

Daniel reflexively rubbed his arm. "And how."

Having secured the bags containing the flowers and put them into his pack, the Jaffa was now striding towards the Lion Gate, doing up the straps on his pack as he did so.

"Teal'c!" O'Neill called. "You heading back through the Stargate? Do you want some company?"

Teal'c didn't break stride or look around and O'Neill shrugged. "Well, I guess that's a no."

"Perhaps he didn't hear you," Daniel suggested.

"Maybe." Still frowning after the departing Jaffa, O'Neill said, "You don't think this place is getting to him, do you? Affecting his mind?"

"Shouldn't his larval Goa'uld protect him from anything like that? And anyway, wouldn't you or I be affected first, if there was anything to be affected by?"

O'Neill darted a sideways glance at Daniel, briefly toying with the idea of mentioning the nightmares that were plaguing him, but then decided against it. He shrugged. "You're right. It's nothing. Teal'c's just getting eccentric in his old age."

***

Major Carter, Doctor Fraiser and General Hammond were waiting for Teal'c in the gate room. Looking at their expectant faces, he handed across the samples to the doctor and said, "General Hammond, is there a problem?"

"Well, I was hoping you could tell me that, Teal'c. Is anyone behaving oddly?"

As they walked towards the infirmary together, Teal'c explained that O'Neill seemed over-anxious about Daniel Jackson, and Daniel appeared to be obsessed with the site.

"Well that isn't exactly abnormal behavior for either of them," Hammond admitted.

"Colonel Makepeace appears to be extremely irritable with Daniel Jackson in particular and the other archaeologists in general."

"Well that isn't exactly abnormal behavior for him either," Carter observed. Seeing  Hammond's expression, she winced apologetically. "I admire Colonel Makepeace as a soldier very much, sir, but he's never been the most tolerant person in the world, and he's said several times he really thinks Daniel should be forced to undergo some kind of extra training."

Remembering the report Makepeace had made to him after the time SG-1 had needed to be rescued from Hathor, General Hammond couldn't argue with her. Makepeace had been very emphatic after that mission that Doctor Jackson was not safe in a combat situation at his present level of competence and could easily get himself killed. Hammond had passed the information on to O'Neill without comment, and O'Neill had bristled protectively before making a quip about how someone who'd come in to stage a rescue only to end up getting caught by the bad guys really shouldn't start making recommendations about other people's team members.

Teal'c put in imperturbably, "Neither Colonel O'Neill nor Daniel Jackson are sleeping well and both appear to be in a state of anxiety. O'Neill seems obsessed with those occasions in the past where he failed to protect Daniel Jackson from injury, while Daniel Jackson has twice observed to me that he feels his continuing presence as a member of SG-1 is a danger to the rest of us."

He did not mention Daniel's apparent 'hallucination', fearing it would be misinterpreted as some kind of relapse. Teal'c had no doubt in his mind the 'bad memory' had been caused, not by some lingering after-effect from Machello's Goa'uld killing device, but by the flowers cascading over the palace wall, and once Doctor Fraiser had analyzed the blooms he had brought here, he was certain that she would agree with him. Until then there was always the remote possibility that she might advocate Daniel being sent back to that padded cell – something Teal'c was certainly not prepared to risk happening twice.

Although the Jaffa had not felt he had the right to interfere with what was clearly a traditional Tau'ri method for dealing with madness, he had been as appalled by the concept of the padded cell as he was by the way the humans had treated those of their number infected by the Touched virus. He had privately thought Daniel Jackson would have been much better left to his care. Teal'c would have advocated meditation and concentration as a better means of overcoming the force of those hallucinations, rather than weakening his teammate's already damaged perception of reality with mind-deadening drugs. And it seemed to him that there was no better method by which the doctors could help irrational terrors to take root than to remove the sufferer from the care of his friends, then lock him into a room which would have frightened a sane man, visiting him thereafter only to have strangers hold him down so that more chemicals could be forcibly injected into his bloodstream.

No, he was certainly not going to mention Daniel Jackson's 'sunstroke' to anyone.

"Of course," Hammond observed, "Colonel O'Neill and Doctor Jackson's current irrationality could simply be the result of what occurred before SG-1 even set foot on that planet."

As Teal'c registered polite disbelief with a raised eyebrow, Doctor Fraiser sighed and said, "It's true, Teal'c. Daniel's confidence was very badly shaken by that business with Machello's killing devices. Having spoken to him since I think he believes – wrongly – that had it been another member of the team who was infected, Doctor Mackenzie and myself would not have been so quick to diagnose schizophrenia. I think he now believes we regard him as potentially mentally unstable."

" Is Daniel wrong to think that, Janet?" Carter put in.

"Yes," the doctor returned. "He had auditory and visual hallucinations and his dopamine levels were almost off the scale. Anyone in the SGC who had those symptoms would have been diagnosed as being schizophrenic. We would have been wrong, of course," she admitted dryly, "but that would still have been our diagnosis. This had nothing to do with Daniel's medical history."

Nothing to do with our knowing he saw his parents crushed to death right in front of him when he was still a child. Nothing to do with knowing he was used by an alien for some kind of mind-reading experiment involving technology so far beyond our own that we can't even guess at the likely after-effects. Nothing to do with him having traveled to an alternative universe and undergone the trauma of watching the world he knew destroyed by the Goa'uld. Nothing to do with all those near-death and actual death experiences. Nothing to do with the constant stress of his wife being host to a Goa'uld for all this time. Nothing  to do with him being a civilian who was never trained for any of this. And absolutely nothing at all to do with him having had his brain chemistry already seriously compromised once by that damned sarcophagus.

God, who was she kidding? Given the unknown effects of repeated gate travel and the through-the-roof stress levels all the teams were experiencing, Doctor Mackenzie had been half-expecting a member of the SGC to crack up for months. And, if she was honest, if he'd asked Janet Fraiser for a short list of whom she thought would go first, Daniel's name would always have been at the top.

Teal'c was saying, "Although the effects of Machello's Goa'uld killing devices may have caused both Daniel Jackson's initial feeling of inadequacy, and Colonel O'Neill's sensations of guilt, I believe that they should have been fading by now, and yet they seem to be growing stronger with each day they spend on the planet. I am convinced that their emotions are not natural and are related to Zagreus in some way."

Hammond sighed. "Well, given the amount of resources the Pentagon have committed to the excavation of that site, Teal'c, I'm going to have to have a damned good reason to pull the plug. Saying that a few members of the SGC are behaving a little oddly is not enough. All I can suggest is that you go on doing what you're doing and keep monitoring the situation." He turned to Doctor Fraiser. "Doctor, if after you've analyzed those blood samples you can tell me that there is definitely something wrong with either Doctor Jackson or Colonel O'Neill then I will think again. Let me know as soon as you know anything."

As he went off shaking his head, Carter winced. "The General green-lit this site at the Colonel's recommendation. The Colonel stood there and told him that he didn't think Zagreus was a threat. If he should turn out to be wrong…"

"Then Daniel will blame himself for everything as usual," Doctor Fraiser observed.

As they both looked at her in surprise, she shrugged. "Well it was only on Daniel's behalf that Colonel O'Neill ever made that recommendation, wasn't it? And the Colonel does already have one black mark on his record because of trying to help out Daniel. Making up official reports has never been a very good promotion enhancer. At least not when you get caught and have to recant."

"He was helping Skaara and the people of Abydos as well," Carter said quickly. "It wasn't just for Daniel."

"Which I'm sure makes Daniel feel a whole lot better about being probably the main reason why the Colonel is still a colonel."

"Daniel doesn't know anything about that," Carter assured her. "In fact Daniel doesn't even know which rank comes after colonel or how you get to be one. He probably thinks the Colonel's a colonel because that's what he wants to be. To be honest, I think the Colonel is happy to be a colonel."

"But even Daniel can hardly fail to realize that it isn't going to say much for Colonel O'Neill's judgment if Zagreus does turn out to be a threat after the Colonel's said he isn't one."

Carter ran a hand through her short blonde hair. "Holy Hannah, this is turning out to be a major mess. Maybe I should go out there?" She looked to Teal'c for advice but the imperturbable Jaffa shook his head.

"I cannot advise that course of action, Major Carter. If the situation worsens we might have need of you later. And it would be better if there was someone aware of the possible danger who was definitely unaffected apart from myself."

Doctor Fraiser gave Teal'c a box containing more needles. "I need samples from everyone this time, Teal'c."

Teal'c nodded to the doctor. "I will return to the planet now, but send the samples through with Colonel O'Neill when he next makes his report."

As Teal'c departed with his usual calm efficiency, Doctor Fraiser shook her head. "If all the men in this complex were like Teal'c, how easy my life would be…"

Thinking how right the other woman was, Carter headed after Teal'c to discuss what the two of them could do to keep the other half of SG-1 out of Zagreus' control.

***

"O'Neill."

He was standing by the wall of the palace surveying the red-green fields and ribbon of dusty road that led to Zagreus' palace when O'Neill turned to find Teal'c by his side. He'd never worked out quite how the Jaffa did that; for a big man he could certainly move quietly. "Teal'c. How was life on Earth?"

"It appeared to be thriving."

That was the trouble with Teal'c these days: he could deadpan right back at you. O'Neill tried again. "Carter, okay? Not missing us yet?"

"Major Carter suggested a possible cause for Daniel Jackson's illness of yesterday."

O'Neill frowned. "It was the sun, Teal'c. Daniel was working out in the sun and…"

"Daniel Jackson was not, in fact, working out in the sun, O'Neill. He was translating the tablet on the palace wall, which is in the shade. It is, however, in close proximity to the flowers which, despite extensive searches, I have been unable to locate anywhere else on this planet except for this citadel and the palace of Zagreus."

"And your point is…?"

"I suspect that the perfume or pollen from the flowers may have the ability to amplify existing human emotions. Major Carter agrees with me."

"Carter isn't even on the planet."

"My point exactly."

O'Neill glared at him. "What point exactly?"

"Daniel Jackson and yourself are both sleeping very badly and suffering from irrational emotional episodes, O'Neill. Major Carter is not."

"I'm not…" O'Neill broke off. "Okay, I'm not sleeping well, I admit, but 'irrational emotional episodes'…? You seen me yelling or crying since I got here?"

"I have seen you frequently berate yourself for past events which you could not have averted and which, in most instances, were not your fault. This is not typical of you. Although you are inclined, on occasion, to be over-protective of Daniel Jackson, you do not normally…"

"Hold it right there!" O'Neill made quotation marks with his index fingers: 'Over-protective'?"

"On occasion."

"Okay, this is Daniel we're talking about, right? Someone who wanders off every time the rest of us blink, and has got himself staff-weaponed or zatted more times than I want to even think about? How much is too much for a guy like that?" O'Neill collected himself. "Okay, maybe, I've been feeling a little bit twitchy since Zagreus did his mind-melting act, but that doesn't mean…"

"Major Carter and myself suspect that there are several elements necessary to achieve the effect Zagreus desires. In the case of Daniel Jackson and yourself you both first inhaled the perfume of the flowers before being subjected to some kind of beam emitted from the coronet Zagreus wears. Daniel Jackson may also have ingested some form of chemical in the wine that Zagreus persuaded him to drink. If you receive no further outside influence, it may be that the initial effects will fade. Major Carter suggests that you and I move our tents away from the proximity of the flowers and observe the effects. I will take a further blood sample after forty-eight hours to see if there is any difference in the chemical level in your bloodstream. She also suggests that we use SG-3 as a control for this experiment. If we take blood from them today and another sample from them in two days time we can compare their chemical levels with yours and see if there is any difference between them."

O'Neill blinked. That was the longest speech he'd ever heard Teal'c make and then some. You could tell the last person he'd been speaking to was Carter. "You and Carter want us to set up a B Camp where we won't be able to smell the roses?"

"That is correct, O'Neill."

"Okay. This is nuts but I'll go along with it on condition we move Daniel too. If he's not sleeping any better than I am right now and those damned flowers are the cause then we should really get him away from this place ASAP."

"It will not make any difference as Daniel Jackson will be working within the citadel during the daytime."

"Then we burn the flowers."

"That will show Zagreus that we are aware of their significance. Something Major Carter feels would be best avoided at this time."

"Okay we don’t burn the flowers – but Daniel still needs to stay with us. Even if he only gets a few hours away from the chemicals it has to do some good."

"Except Daniel Jackson is still in contact with Zagreus."

"And so?"

"The Goa'uld Zagreus appears to be able to read minds. If he realizes that we have become aware of his strategy he may change it to something we can less easily anticipate."

"What strategy, Teal'c? What is the guy supposed to want?"

"I do not know, O'Neill."

O'Neill moistened his lips. "Okay, we move Daniel out of the citadel but we don't tell him why. That way he can’t give anything away the next time he and Zagreus start chewing the fat."

Teal'c frowned. "Will this not perplex Daniel Jackson? To tell him to move his tent and yet give him no explanation as to why?"

O'Neill looked at the Jaffa in pitying contempt. "Teal'c, as far as Daniel's concerned, from the day he joined SG-1 all I've done is given him a series of orders he doesn't understand the reason for. You have to remember this is a man to whom 'Don't touch that!' is completely incomprehensible. Trust me, 'Move your tent' is barely even going to register with him."

***

Daniel had looked up from his translation to see that Teal'c was back and in conversation with Jack. Then he had looked up perhaps half an hour later and seen the two men carrying their equipment out through the Lion Gate, and had been distracted a couple of times since as they journeyed to and fro carrying things to some place near the temple of Clytemnestra. Although he had vaguely wondered if this was some esoteric military ritual he was not aware of, he had forgotten their eccentric behavior as soon as he looked back at the tablet. He hadn't identified every consonant yet but the script was taking shape in front of him. He now had as many words successfully identified as spaces and even had a few whole sentences that he was pretty certain he had right. The content however, was starting to worry him a little…

"Daniel, Teal'c says you should come pitch your tent with ours."

Daniel had stopped his translation work to pour himself a cup of coffee as O'Neill returned. Craning his neck to see the tiny secondary camp, which was currently comprised of one Jaffa and two tents, he said, "Uh, Jack, why exactly have you and Teal'c set up another camp?"

"Ancient Jaffa tradition."

"What?"

"Can't sleep over the dead, apparently, interferes with their kel'no'reem or something. I told him we'd keep him company. SG-1 solidarity, you know."

"And Teal'c just remembered this ancient Jaffa tradition now? What did he think there was in those burial chambers: gardening equipment?"

"Daniel, the man's from Chulak, who knows what he's thinking? Anyway, now he knows about the corpses, he can't sleep in this citadel-place any longer, so I figure we should set up camp with him."

Daniel knew Jack had done that deliberately – said Teal'c was from Chulak when they both knew he wasn't so that Daniel would get distracted pointing it out and then forget the number Jack had first thought of. Well, this time, it wasn't going to work. He gave Jack a hard look but it was no good, some days he could read him like a book, other days the man was as impenetrable as the sphinx. This was clearly one of his sphinx days. Daniel was obviously being misled for some reason he wasn't going to be able to guess, which was fine, but he could get something of his own back for being lied to. Daniel said with mock-seriousness, "Jack, if you, me, and Teal'c go off by ourselves don't you think people might talk?"

"I told him you'd be silly about this."

"Well, I mean, Jack, you have to admit it does look a little fishy, and, anyway, if you and Teal'c want some privacy I would hate to be the one to…Ow! Ow! All right, all right, I'll go get my stuff." Rubbing the ear his colonel had just reached over and twisted, Daniel got to his feet, grinning.

Although Daniel was not as au fait with all aspects of military equipment as he perhaps should have been, years of archaeological field-work had left him able to put up or take down any tent in any weather conditions in five minutes flat. As Daniel expertly dismantled his canvas, Makepeace appeared at his elbow. "What, SG-1 too good to stay in the same camp as the rest of us now?"

"You're welcome to come pitch your tents next to ours, Colonel, but apparently Jaffa can't sleep over corpses, it's sort of a tradition." A tradition Teal'c never mentioned until five minutes ago, but never mind.

"So you and O'Neill have to keep him company?"

"Well…" Well, actually, he couldn't think of a good answer to that one. Daniel gave the man a goofy smile. "No, we just want to."

"Geez, but you guys are seriously weird. I mean what is it with SG-1 anyway, you all joined at the hip or something?"

Daniel looked at the man sideways. "Actually, Colonel, just between you and me, I'm a screamer, and you guys all being around is really cramping our style."

As Makepeace recoiled in horror and moved off, Daniel rolled up his sleeping bag with a few deft flicks of the wrists and a grin threatening to split his face in two. Every now and then it felt really good to get one up on all these G.I. Joes.

"Daniel, tell me you didn't just say what I thought you said." Standing three feet away, O'Neill had a hand over his eyes and was slowly shaking his head.

Daniel looked at the man over his shoulder. "It got rid of him, Jack." And it was fun. But he didn't say that aloud.

"You know I can see that joke might be funny to an anthropologist, but, believe me, in the Air Force it just really isn't."

"Oh lighten up, will you? You and Teal'c move your tents half a mile away from everybody else for no good reason then tell me I have to do the same thing and expect me not to make a joke about it?" Remembering Makepeace's expression, Daniel started to giggle.

O'Neill looked at him in exasperation. "Act your age, Daniel."

The younger man made him a sloppy salute. "Yes, sir, Colonel O'Neill, sir!" Still giggling, Daniel continued to pack.

O'Neill went over to where Makepeace was still bristling with indignation. As O'Neill approached, the other colonel said, "You know that scientist of yours is really asking for a smack in the mouth."

"I know," O'Neill sighed. "Look, preliminary reports suggest the flower pollen could be adversely affecting people's ability to control their emotions. We've all submitted blood samples from when we were in proximity, now I need to move my team out for forty eight hours then submit another set of blood tests, see if there's any change. Doctor Fraiser's suggesting you give me a blood sample from your boys but stay within the citadel for the same two-day period then she can take another set of samples and compare them. Does that make sense?"

For the first time in days, Makepeace allowed a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. "Makes more sense than you wanting to have some quality time alone with Jackson, that's for damned certain." He took the needles O'Neill handed to him and put them with his pack. "I mean I know you might not have been getting any in a while, O'Neill, but I didn't think you were that desperate."

"I heard that."

They turned around to see Daniel standing there looking simultaneously vaguely apologetic and defiant. As if he was a bit sorry but not very.

Makepeace ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I know I've been kind of short-tempered lately, but I have to tell you I really hate this planet and I really hate this assignment. I think it's a goddamned waste of time and I resent my team having to hang around and baby-sit a bunch of grave-robbers." His gaze flicking to Daniel, he pulled a face. "Present company excepted."

"I never asked for any protection. I keep telling Jack I don't think he and Teal'c or any of SG-3 need to be here."

"Yeah, cause you're so shit hot at looking after yourself, of course," Makepeace muttered.

As Daniel opened his mouth to retort, O'Neill stepped in between them. "Okay, children, let's not do this now. Makepeace, just try to bear in mind why you or your men might be acting irrationally, and Daniel just bear in mind that you are really incredibly irritating at times."

He jerked his head in the direction of the tents and after giving him a glare Daniel did go back over to where he was dismantling his camp. O'Neill turned back to Makepeace. "Look, I've been having a lot of bad dreams while sleeping inside this damned cemetery and I'm going to very glad to get away from this planet myself. All I'm saying is that you should be aware it could be this place that's pissing you off rather than the 'grave-robbers', so try not to take it out on them."

Makepeace put a hand to the back of his neck and tried to twist his head back into a comfortable position. He gave O'Neill a sheepish smile. "Don't want me to have any fun, do you, Jack?"

O'Neill patted the man on the shoulder. "Hang in there, Makepeace. I don't think we're going to be here much longer anyway."

As he unwillingly got on with his packing, Daniel looked across at O'Neill and Makepeace chatting away so amicably. Bitching about civilians in general and archaeologists in particular, he thought. And wasn't that the way it was always going to be? The military were always going to stick together, speaking the same stupid language with all its dumb abbreviations that no one could be expected to remember: all those MRIs, and MREs and BDUs and all those other ones he couldn't even think of right now, while they stood around and made allowances for you, because you were only a civilian. And being a civilian made you a sort of child-adult in military eyes: someone who couldn't be blamed for anything he did, but whom proper grown-up soldiers had the right to patronize and order about and even physically drag around if the mood took them that way.

Daniel remembered being in the Tok'ra tunnels when they were trying to escape from Hathor. And yes, it was possible that he'd been a little dazed at first, what with being told everyone was dead and it was the future and having that damned memory device stuck in his head, then finding out it was a lie and seeing Hathor put that Goa'uld into Jack. God, he'd tried so hard not to give her the satisfaction of flinching, stared straight at her and tried to make her think this wasn't hurting him one little bit…

But anyway, the memory device was out and he'd been concentrating really hard by the time Sam had gone off to blow the force field, well, that pain in his leg had pretty well insisted that he didn't drift off and think about anything else except keeping up as best he could, and yet Makepeace had still treated him like he was some kind of halfwit.

A soldier had been hit by a staff weapon blast and Daniel had bent down to see if he was still alive – a perfectly reasonable thing to do he would have thought, but evidently not in Makepeace's book. The man had grabbed him by the jacket, hauled him up and then practically thrown him down the corridor, hissing with exasperation as he did so. Daniel still couldn't work out what the hell was so wrong with what he'd done. He knew Jack wouldn't have done that to him, not like that. But maybe all this time Jack had been wanting to. Maybe the only difference in Jack's attitude to him and Makepeace's was that Makepeace put into words and deeds the things Jack only thought…

God, he hated these flowers. Makepeace kept threatening to flame-thrower them but he'd told the man not to because of Dionysus. The Goa'uld had insisted they were special blooms that were sacred to his name; and anyway, this was a graveyard: hundreds of people, maybe even thousands of people, were buried in the vicinity. The flowers seemed appropriate.

That didn't stop their damned perfume clogging up the throat though. Daniel pushed an overhanging spray of blooms away from his face and noticed he was covered in pollen again. Angrily, he wiped it off on his jacket.

"Ready to go?"

Daniel realized he'd been wool-gathering again when he should have been collecting up his belongings. "Um – almost."

Jack didn't even sigh with exasperation, which almost made it worse; he just wordlessly bent down and started putting things into Daniel's pack for him.

"I do know how to do that," Daniel said shortly.

The man gave him a sideways look that made him feel childish and petty. "I know you do, Daniel. I'm just trying to speed things up a little."

Feeling like an idiot, Daniel packed away his folded down tent, sleeping roll, and cooking utensils, trying to do it all with smooth efficiency but knowing all the time that he needed to have done this ten minutes ago when he'd been staring into space and feeling aggrieved to look anything like competent. And even though he'd worked at twice normal speed, Jack still had everything else ready before he did.

Daniel snatched the pack up quickly before the older man took it, because that was something else the military mind couldn't encompass, that being a civilian didn't automatically make you a ninety-eight pound weakling…Shit, this was heavy. Jack must have put the recovered artifacts which had been inside his tent in with his other belongings. Damn. Now he was going to have to lug them all the way over to where Teal'c had pitched B Camp or else look silly stopping and digging them out.

Jack was frowning at him. "You okay, Daniel?"

"Fine," he gasped. It went onto his back more easily than he'd expected and then he realized Jack had reached across and pulled the pack up to give him a hand. God, it was like someone helping a five year old put on a coat. "Don't help," he snapped.

Jack backed away with his hands held up in supplication. "Fine. I'll let you struggle. That makes a lot more sense."

It took twenty minutes for Daniel to stagger down to the camp with Jack ostentatiously not helping him. In fact Jack whistled quietly to himself as he walked with exaggerated slowness by his side to prove how much he really was letting Daniel do this by himself. By the time he tottered into B Camp, Daniel's lungs were heaving, he was pouring with sweat, and he really wanted to kick Jack hard.

"Daniel Jackson," Teal'c hurried to take the pack from his back, giving O'Neill a perplexed and accusatory look as he did so.

O'Neill shrugged. "Dannyboy wanted to do it all by himself. Prove how grown-up he is. Well, I'm impressed anyway." He sat down by his tent and stretched luxuriously. "Want to go catch supper as well now, Daniel? I hear the deer are very tasty."

Daniel muttered something under his breath that made Teal'c raise an eyebrow and O'Neill very glad he didn't understand Abydonian. O'Neill said conversationally, "Time to make some coffee, I think, Teal'c. We all know how cranky Daniel can be when he doesn't get his caffeine."

"This is a stupid idea," Daniel told him, irritably unrolling his tent.

"Well it's Carter's idea, not mine…"

Observing his companions as they squabbled vaguely while cooking and eating their unpleasant Earth rations, Teal'c found it hard to tell if O'Neill and Daniel Jackson were acting out of character or not. It was not as though they always behaved in the same fashion on an ordinary day. Sometimes they were considerate towards each other; sometimes, as now, they quarreled over what seemed to Teal'c to be matters of no importance; sometimes they seemed so perfectly attuned that they were almost able to read each other's minds. He was also very aware that this preventative medicine of moving away from the flowers was only going to be partially effective in the case of Daniel Jackson, who would be bound to want to spend all the hours of daylight within the citadel. He had hopes for O'Neill though. Teal'c was becoming more convinced with every day that the Goa'uld Zagreus had something unpleasant in mind for the humans on his world and he would much prefer to be ready for it with O'Neill at his side and thinking clearly.

Due to the first of Machello's inventions they had encountered – the one that had so nearly killed Daniel Jackson – Teal'c knew what it was like to literally live in O'Neill's skin. He knew about all those unsettling deficiencies that were presumably common to Tau'ri of O'Neill's years: odd twinges of pain, those aching joints, and places where old injuries tugged at the nervous system like fractious children as if to remind it they were there. He had not realized how fractures were so imperfectly healed in humans, or how many O'Neill had suffered over the years, ones which all clamored at him on cold or wet days. Teal'c had thought of this many times since his brief sojourn in O'Neill's body as the man strode ahead of them on missions, apparently indifferent to his multitudinous aches and pains. It had given him even more respect for O'Neill's courage to know the man still had constant reminders of his last injuries even as he was exposing himself to the danger of collecting more.

But even knowing how it felt to live inside O'Neill's body had not taught him to fully understand the man's mind or anticipate his reactions. He knew him a great deal better now than he had on their first meeting. Although even on that first meeting he had felt he already knew much: that O'Neill was courageous, compassionate, undaunted by even the most difficult situations and someone willing to take risks; more, someone willing to trust his own instincts even when they were telling him the person he should look to for help was wearing the armor of his enemy. A man, in fact, very much after Teal'c's own heart. And in the days after that first crowded meeting, when others had wanted to treat this Jaffa who had come amongst them as something to be tested but never trusted, Teal'c had learned a lot about O'Neill's loyalty, about how when he gave his word he kept it, and about how very much the man's friendship was worth.

Longer acquaintance with O'Neill had brought greater knowledge of him. Teal'c could understand his humor now, read his moods more easily, comprehend that when O'Neill was saying one thing he might well mean another, but he suspected there was still much to learn about him he did not yet know. He had observed from the start, of course, that Daniel Jackson was important to O'Neill and that it would grieve him greatly to see any harm come to the younger man; that much had been evident from their first meeting. Indeed, looking back, he now realized this had been clear to him and Captain Carter – as she had been then – some  time before it had become obvious to O'Neill himself; and long before it seemed to have occurred to Daniel Jackson. But he had also learnt how forgiving O'Neill could be.

Teal'c had been trusted to take care of Daniel Jackson as they traveled back to the Land of Light together to fetch blood samples to save their friends from the virus which had so changed them, and yet he had failed to keep the young scholar safe; had allowed him to fall into the brutal hands of the Touched. He had given O'Neill the news in that 'isolation cell' in which the man was kept imprisoned and sedated, and even through the drugs and illness in his system, had seen it cut into O'Neill like a sword. Yet the man had never reproached Teal'c for losing Daniel Jackson to the Touched, not then, nor later, when they had retrieved him and could both see for themselves how dearly Teal'c's failure had cost the younger man.

When Daniel Jackson was asleep in the infirmary, with bandages around his bruises and cracked ribs and what Teal'c now knew to be morphine in his system to dim the pain of them, Teal'c had again tried to express to O'Neill his sorrow and regret at having allowed the young scholar to be taken by the Touched, but O'Neill had looked at him in astonishment.

"Oh come off it, Teal'c, this is Daniel we're talking about. God, the first time I took him on a mission I let him get killed right in front of me. And think about it, remember when you met us? He was just coming around from having been walloped by a ribbon device and it was only about an hour after that he was throwing himself at the Goa'uld and telling them to take him as a host. I was right there with him both times and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. I'm telling you, no one could keep Daniel safe unless they put him on a chain. And it's certainly not your fault the guy has less commonsense than a bottle of maple syrup; that's probably…genetic or something, nature's way of compensating for making him so darned smart at all that other stuff he can do. I've been taking men on dangerous missions for longer than I want to remember and I have never met anyone as impossible as Daniel is to keep in one piece, so don't beat yourself up about it, just chalk it up to experience and maybe we'll both be quicker at grabbing him before he hurts himself next time out."

Used to dealing with an implacable deity who accepted no excuses for failure, it had taken Teal'c a little while to realize O'Neill really did not blame him for what had happened to Daniel Jackson, nor ever would blame him if the same thing happened again. But Teal'c knew that he would blame himself; did indeed blame himself whenever harm befall any of the others he felt he should have averted.

And now his instincts were telling him that both Daniel Jackson and O'Neill could be in great danger from Zagreus if the Goa'uld was permitted to go on manipulating their minds; that the harm being done to them could come from within their own memories, and yet he felt as helpless to prevent it as he had when Daniel Jackson had been taken by the Touched, or O'Neill had been pinned through the shoulder by that alien spike. All he could do for the moment was prevent them quarrelling by trying to keep their minds on other things. Because one thing he was certain of was that any fissures that opened up between them at this point could only benefit Zagreus.

Having come to his decision, Teal'c turned to Daniel Jackson and asked the archaeologist to tell him more about the differences between this citadel and the one on Earth, a question that he hoped would be complicated and absorbing enough to engender a response which would carry them up until nightfall.

Sighing with boredom, O'Neill wondered what had possessed Teal'c to ask that question when surely it was obvious it was going to start Daniel off on one of his interminable lectures? Sometimes he thought the Jaffa really had no common sense at all.

***

Part Four

He'd known it was a mistake to let Daniel take the first watch. O'Neill woke up to the low murmur of voices and recognized the one that wasn't Daniel's in two seconds flat. Zagreus. Oh great. Maybe when he'd agreed to let Daniel take the first watch he should also have told the archaeologist who he was supposed to be watching for. Perhaps Daniel thought they were keeping a lookout for bears or lions or something. He wouldn't have put it past him.

Picking up his MP-5 and his jacket, O'Neill slipped out of his tent and hit an immovable wall of Jaffa. "Teal'c," he said.

"The Goa'uld has been talking to Daniel Jackson for some minutes now."

"Can you hear what they're saying?"

"I cannot."

O'Neill pulled his jacket on. "Daniel's probably just asking him about the plague pits again."

"A moment ago I saw the jewel on Zagreus' coronet begin to glow but I could not make out the Goa'uld's words."

"Damn," O'Neill zipped up his jacket. "That probably isn't good." He nodded to Teal'c and the two of them moved noiselessly over to where Daniel was sitting on a tree stump sipping a cup of coffee. They circled around the clearing carefully, using the starlight to avoid stepping on any broken twigs that might give away their position, but by the time they reached the tree stump there was no sign of the Goa'uld.

"You okay, Daniel?" O'Neill enquired, eyes still raking the shadows for any sign of the unwanted intruder.

"Fine." The archaeologist held up his thermos. "Want some coffee?"

O'Neill came and stood over him. "Daniel, were you just talking to Zagreus?"

"Yes."

"And do you, perchance, remember how the last time you did this I told you not to talk to him again without clearing it with me first?"

"Yes, I did, I mean I do, but he just came over while I was keeping watch and asked me how the dig was going and so I told him." Daniel tilted his head back to look up at the impassive Jaffa and the unreadable Air Force colonel who both seemed to be looming over him in a slightly ominous fashion. "He was only here five minutes, Jack."

"He didn't talk about anything else?"

"No."

"He didn't want to reminisce over some old mission?"

"No, I told you. He just asked me about the dig."

Looking at Daniel's expression, O'Neill could see that Daniel at least thought he was telling the truth. Whatever crap the Goa'uld might have been putting in his head, the linguist obviously didn't remember a damned thing about it now. And perhaps he was being paranoid and that Goa'uld really had just waited until Daniel was alone on watch and popped over to talk about archaeology.

"Okay," O'Neill jerked his head at Daniel's tent. "My watch now. Good night."

"It is?" Daniel peered down at his watch. "Don't I have another - ?"

"Good night, Daniel."

Wearing that familiar baffled-by-Jack's-inexplicable-bad-temper expression, Daniel wandered off towards his tent. O'Neill heard Daniel get ready for bed, which as usual involved him taking his glasses off five minutes earlier than he should have done and then crashing about myopically, tripping over things as he remembered some last minute something or other he wanted to look up or move, or fiddle with. He wondered if Daniel would ever learn that it was actually less disturbing to the rest of SG-1 if he switched his flashlight on to perform these last minute tasks rather than falling over his boots three times trying to do without it. But at last it was quiet in there, which meant Daniel must be asleep.

And Teal'c had settled himself back down for some more of that seriously weird Jaffa meditation stuff.

Which left only him, Jack O'Neill, bored, a little bit cold but not enough to justify the effort involved in making a fire, quite hungry actually, not in genuine need of sustenance but just at the stage when he would have quite liked to order a pizza before sitting down with a couple of beers to watch the late night sports round-up. All these damned worlds the Goa'uld had populated with Homo sapiens and still the only place you could get cable was Earth.

He sank into that semi-trance state where he tried to replenish his energies with stillness and yet could be alert in an instant. He missed Carter. He could have done with another officer's perspective on this whole Goa'uld thing and he was starting to realize he had never understood how important she was as a counterbalance to Daniel and Teal'c. Carter was clever and had commonsense – a combined package Daniel had somehow missed out on when picking up his extra portion of brains. And she didn't ever stare at him with her mouth open or raise her eyebrows at him, both of which he'd been having a bellyful of on this trip. And she wasn't an archaeologist – and he was really having way too much of archaeologists, especially Freeland who kept treating him like he was some kind of dangerous primate who'd been inadvertently released from captivity…

O'Neill had managed to pass two reasonably pleasant hours in mulling over how much this mission sucked and how he must have been nuts to ever agree to it – damnit he'd asked for it – when his musings were shattered by screaming.

Daniel was screaming.

He threw himself over there but Teal'c was still inside the tent first. They both knew what this was. Subconsciously, O'Neill realized he must have been expecting it ever since Teal'c had told him about Zagreus' coronet glowing. If you wanted to take Daniel to a really bad place there were no shortage of stopovers to choose from, but that bout of 'sunstroke' had tipped him off where the Goa'uld was going with this.

Switching on his flashlight, O'Neill saw Daniel was twisting from side to side while Teal'c endeavored to hold him. "…help them…have to help them…in the mines…starving…dying…no water…no…"

"Oh, Daniel, not all this again," O'Neill sighed wearily. "Okay, let's get him outside, Teal'c. There's less stuff out there for him to get tangled in."

As the Jaffa hoisted Daniel up, O'Neill pulled the sleeping bag out from underneath him and took it outside. He'd done this so many times before it was automatic to throw the sleeping bag on the ground, go fetch the extra blankets and put them next to it in readiness, then start making up a fire. Balmy it might be on this planet, but Daniel's temperature always dropped like a stone when he was doing this to himself.

"Well this is fun," he observed to Teal'c as the Jaffa laid Daniel down on the sleeping bag by the now crackling fire. "I thought we were done with this about…ooh twelve months ago." He waved a hand to waft the fumes away from them as a piece of green wood crackled and spat, a few thick coils of smoke emerging as flame bit into moss and momentarily foundered.

Daniel was crying out their names piteously, telling them how sorry he was, how he would help them, he would, he would. O'Neill thought that was a particularly dirty trick the mind had played on Daniel, making him look back on his actions from his normal perspective while still letting him remember everything he'd done while in the grip of the sarcophagus.

Sighing he said, "It wasn't you, Danny. It was someone else with a whole different brain chemistry. God, we have been through this so many times."

He knew the pattern: the body remembering withdrawal and giving Daniel a few jolts of very unpleasant nostalgia – hence the initial screams – very quickly followed by the worst guilt trip in history – closely followed by lots of delirious rambling and twisting about while Daniel's temperature ran up and down the thermometer like a concert pianist practicing arpeggios.

O'Neill could almost do this in his sleep now, murmur soothing platitudes, wrap Daniel in extra blankets, mix up fever juice in readiness with a free hand while holding him down with the other when the twisting about became too pronounced. He patted him absently on the shoulder as he swirled the medicine into the juice. "There, there, buddy – not your fault – long time ago – all over now – Try and wake up, Daniel – come join us in the present, you'll like it a lot better than where you are now –"

"O'Neill?"

He looked up to see Makepeace standing shocked on the edge of the camp, panting from running all the way from the citadel but M-16 at the ready. Breathlessly, Makepeace said, "Thought I heard Jackson. Is he okay?"

O'Neill forced a weary smile. "Well, he did tell you he was a screamer."

Makepeace came over and looked at the pale sweating figure by the fire. Teal'c was endeavoring to soothe the delirious man, saying quietly, "Daniel Jackson, we are no longer on P3R-636."

"…I left them in the mines…left them in the mines…"

Makepeace shook his head. "What, he's thinking he's still a sarcophagus-junkie? He's not over that yet?"

"First flashback we've had in over a year actually," O'Neill corrected him.

"You always were too goddamned soft with him, O'Neill." Makepeace grabbed Daniel by the shoulders and gave him a shake. "Snap out of it, Jackson!" he ordered sharply.

Somewhat to O'Neill's annoyance, it worked. Daniel's eyes jerked open and he stared up at the stars and then turned to O'Neill in bewilderment. "Jack?"

"Right here."

"What happened?"

"Drink this." As Teal'c eased Daniel up into a sitting position, O'Neill put the fever reducing drink into his hand. Despite the Air Force's best efforts it always tasted disgusting even when mixed with fruit juice, and the way Daniel's nose wrinkled in recognition as soon as he smelt it showed them all that he really was himself again. "Come on, Daniel, you know the drill. All of it. No arguments."

Pulling a face, Daniel threw it down in as few gulps as possible.

Makepeace crouched down by Daniel and looked him over as though he was a piece of equipment he didn't quite trust. "You okay?"

Daniel returned his gaze warily, clearly having no idea what was going on. "Fine, I think."

"Good." Makepeace shouldered his M-16, stood back up and nodded to O'Neill. "Better get back to my baby-sitting then and leave you to get on with yours."

As Makepeace disappeared back into the shadows, Daniel glowered after him. Seeing his expression, O'Neill said, "Daniel, the guy just ran all the way down here because he thought you were hurt. Now, be nice."

"What happened?"

O'Neill sighed and sat down next to him. "You were acting like you did after you went through withdrawal."

"Oh." Well he guessed that was another way of saying, 'You were screaming your head off and keeping everyone awake again.' Daniel winced. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. Do you feel okay?"

"I feel fine. Just a little bit…"

Teal'c handed Daniel a cup of water to take away the taste of the medicine. "Guilty?" the Jaffa enquired impassively.

Daniel's eyes registered surprise and O'Neill shrugged. "Lot of it going round right now. We think it might be something to do with Zagreus."

"Jack, this site is really important."

O'Neill held up his hands in supplication. "Never said it wasn't."

"But you have to realize that there is so much information here about – "

"Who was it who asked General Hammond to give you permission to come dig this place up? Me, remember? Now, I know this site is important to you…"

"Not just to me!"

"Daniel, don't do this. Don't get up all het up about nothing and start yelling at me when I'm already tired and irritable. No one is trying to take your damned ruins away from you. I'm just saying we think Zagreus is going around guilt-tripping people and you need to be aware of it."

O'Neill had been going to suggest they ought to pull the plug on the dig, but veered off at the last minute when he saw that look of blind panic in Daniel's eyes. It was true that he couldn't imagine how it felt to get that worked up about a bunch of old rocks and bones but he could recognize it obviously meant a hell of a lot to Daniel. Defeated, as always, by the strength of the younger man's passion for his work, O'Neill sighed and gave in. "Daniel, did you hear what I just said?"

"You said you're not going to stop the dig."

"And…?"

"To be honest I kind of stopped listening once you'd said that…No – something about Zagreus." Daniel frowned, "What was that about Zagreus, Jack?"

"Oh for crying out loud. Just go back to sleep will you, Daniel!"

Realizing that he was clearly being a major pain in the ass to Jack at the moment, Daniel collected up his sleeping bag and slunk back to his tent.

As soon as Daniel was out of the way, Teal'c said quietly, "You should not have told him he could continue with this archaeological survey, O'Neill."

"Don't tell me things I already know, Teal'c." O'Neill roused himself. "But anyway, it's out of my hands. This isn't just about me not being able to say 'no' to Daniel. Washington is on this now, there are all those other archaeologists involved. It's a site of significant historical importance and it's going to be excavated, flowers or no flowers, Goa'uld or no Goa'uld."

"I understand its importance to your race, O'Neill. But I do not understand why Daniel Jackson needs to be here. He can translate the tablet from Earth and there are other archaeologists here who are capable of completing the excavation without his assistance."

O'Neill sighed. "It's just where Daniel needs to be right now. This is something he needs to do. For all I know it's something he's been needing to do for years. We have to let him do this." Looking across at Teal'c's impassive face he could see that the Jaffa was unconvinced by his arguments. He wasn't that convinced by them himself if the truth were told. But he still felt it was true he had let Daniel down in the past. Owed him something, anything to make up for all the things he had failed to save Daniel from. He still had a vivid memory of Carter reading from Daniel's journal that time when they'd thought he was dead and had gone over to clean out his apartment. Daniel had written: ' Sha're is gone. Jack says we'll find her. If anyone can, he can…'

"Shit!" O'Neill ran a hand through his hair. "I let them take his goddamned wife, Teal'c. I let them take her and I never found her for him. He relied on me to find her for him and I haven't done it. Can't do it. You and I both know she's not ever coming back." He met the Jaffa's gaze and realized what he'd just said. "Christ, Teal'c, I didn't mean – I forgot – God, I'm so sorry."

Although still reeling from the man's words like a punch in the solar plexus, Teal'c nevertheless managed a faint smile. "I should not have been so dismissive of your feelings, O'Neill. Guilt is indeed a powerful emotion."

"You know he doesn't blame you, right? Look I said what I just said because I forgot it was even you who chose her. I mean, you're one of us now. I never think of you any other way."

"Nevertheless, I am the one who selected Daniel Jackson's wife as a host for Amaunet, O'Neill. I am the reason he may never get her back."

O'Neill put his cap back on. "The trouble is, I know how he feels, I know what it's like to have to live with a truth you can't live with and the only way to do it is to keep your mind on something else. For a while I think it was enough that he thought he was going to find her. You know: the next Stargate we stepped through, she'd be waiting on the other side. But although he's still hoping and he's still looking, I don't know how much he's still believing we're going to get her back. Maybe he's starting to think she's gone forever and how the hell is he going to live with that? If this site takes his mind off the fact his wife is not even dead but enduring a living death somewhere he can't save her, even for a little while, well who am I to say he can't stay here? I mean whatever Zagreus wants to do to Daniel, who's to say it's going to be any worse than what you and I have already done to him between us?"

"You have done nothing to him, O'Neill."

"I let them put him in a padded cell, Teal'c, and then I walked away and left him there. The only reason he isn't still rotting in an asylum is because that thing inside him crawled out of Daniel and went into you instead. If you hadn't had Junior, Daniel would still be back there and…" O'Neill shook his head. He didn't even want to think about how close Daniel might have come to spending the rest of his life in a mental institute because they had failed to realize what was wrong with him.

"It does not help Daniel Jackson for us to berate ourselves endlessly over events we cannot change."

"No, Teal'c, but it does help Daniel if we leave him in peace and let him do what he wants to do instead of dragging him all over the goddamned galaxy fighting the Goa'uld."

 ***

Lying in his tent, unable to sleep, it didn't help that he knew this particular guilt was nothing to do with Zagreus. The Goa'uld had wanted to remind him of his shortcomings as a commanding officer and had done so, admirably, but it wasn't the perfume from those flowers telling him what a bad husband he'd turned out to be, it was his own conscience doing that all by itself. And, ironically, given recent events, he was now lying here while Daniel hopefully slept off his flashbacks and Teal'c kept watch, feeling guilty about being a better friend to Daniel than he had ever been a husband to Sara.

This was a woman he had loved more than anyone or anything, whose memory had sustained him through some of his darkest times away from home, and yet how many times when he was actually with her had he rejected her sympathy and concern over the years? Shut her out, told her didn't want to talk about it, or couldn't talk about it, or why didn't they just change the subject? She'd been a shining light to him that time he'd crash-landed in the desert and he'd followed the glow of her all the way home; would undoubtedly have died if the thought of her hadn't given him the strength to struggle back to her. Yet how had that translated when he was with her? His love for her had too often been something that hadn't benefited Sara one little bit.

He didn't want to remember how grudging he'd been about accepting comfort from his wife. How many times he'd stumbled out of a nightmare with his fists flying. He'd blamed her for never learning how to deal with him on the dark nights, for always being so hurt and surprised that bad dreams made him bad tempered and never recognizing that if you came near him when he was struggling blindly back to consciousness you might well get hit. Damnit, it had only taken Daniel one smack in the eye to teach him how to duck in low as he shook O'Neill awake, hiss 'Jack, it's just a dream' in his ear before hitting the deck or jerking his head out of thumping range. Teal'c was even more skilled, he'd hold your wrists first then say it so calmly: "O'Neill, you are only dreaming…"

She'd had the worst of him and he knew it. Daniel and Carter and Teal'c had probably seen a better side of him in three years of missions than she had in twenty years of marriage, but the trouble was he didn't think he was capable of being anything other than the bad old Jack O'Neill with her. Daniel had taught him a lot of about inter-personal relationships but some relationships were like locomotives, only able to run where the old rails went.

There'd been a set of rails for him and Daniel too, of course, he'd started laying them himself and sometimes he could still vaguely remember the way they were supposed to go; but of course Daniel had never cared about things like that, he just changed the points when it suited him. It hadn't mattered that he and Daniel were never 'meant' to have been friends, had nothing in common, no reason to exchange more than the barest pleasantries; for a reason he still couldn't fathom Daniel had decided to like him anyway. He'd never asked Daniel what he'd seen that day when O'Neill had walked into the room in full military hardass mode. Probably not what everyone else had seen, and certainly not what he'd been projecting. Knowing Daniel he'd probably just seen someone who was badly in need of a friend.

By contrast, he hadn't bothered to see Daniel as anything more than some dweeb who really needed a haircut, didn't look old enough to have all those letters after his name and wasn't very relevant anyway, because once the kid had done his stuff, they'd be off on the mission and 'Jackson' would be back in academia where he so obviously belonged. And then, when the guy had suggested he should come with them, O'Neill had decided this was a decision and a person for which he was taking no responsibility. Christ, he'd fielded live grenades slower than he'd told General West this was definitely not a call Jack O'Neill was going to make.

Once the decision had been made and Daniel was on the team, he'd had to take another look at him, of course, but a second glance had pretty much confirmed the first. Except that he'd now realized that as well as being a dweeb who really needed a haircut and who didn't look anything like old enough to have all those letters after his name, the kid was clearly going to be a baby-sitting job every minute of the day.

Some baby-sitting job, given that Daniel had taken the wind out of his sails probably more effectively than anyone – except Daniel – had managed to do before or since by saving his life.

It still moved and astonished and downright terrified him that Daniel had done that. Just seen a fellow human being who was going to die and jumped straight in front of that staff weapon blast without a thought.

Afterwards, in the midst of his guilt and shock there had been some anger, he remembered, not to mention utter bafflement at why the hell anyone would do something like that. He'd spent that long cold night as they waited to be executed, thinking, not of Charlie, like he had on every other long cold night since his son had died, but of the late Daniel Jackson instead; wondering what kind of a guy you had to be for all human life to be so precious to you that you'd throw your own away for the sake of a stranger. The anger had been because he was going to die anyway, and that kid's life had hardly begun and could have meant something, when his was all used up and burnt out and useless to anyone, which made Jackson's sacrifice so futile. And when someone gave your life back to you like that you were under an obligation to them to make it count for something, and right about then all he'd really wanted to do was give up. Not on the mission and not on his men, but on Jack O'Neill. Back then he'd thought Jack O'Neill wasn't worth jack shit. The fact that Doctor Daniel Jackson had thought Jack O'Neill was worth dying for had shaken him to the core; because the guy had seemed so definite he'd found himself wondering fearfully if perhaps he might be right.

Daniel was so often right, of course. It was one of his most annoying characteristics.

That was when the thaw had started, not all at once, and not all because of Daniel. Skaara had done a lot of ice-melting as well. But it was Daniel's action that had started it, and Daniel that had kept it thawing. It could still send a shock right through him, like a bolt of lightning to the heart, to remember Daniel standing there with a dead Sha're in his arms saying, "Wait for me." No one except Charlie had ever looked at him like that, with such absolute trust, such absolute conviction that there was nothing he couldn't do.

That was another damned annoying characteristic of Daniel's: the way he made you want to live up to his expectations.

Sara hadn't got the even partially-thawed Jack O'Neill for a husband. She'd had the old model, the one who'd done too many bad things he couldn't live with and didn't have enough good ones to put in their place. The only thing he felt he'd done right back then was be Charlie's father; that was something the bad memories couldn't reach; the Black Ops, and Special Ops, and Downright Distasteful Ops, none of them could reach that place inside him that was what it meant to be Charlie's father. That had been the best part of him and Sara had seen it in a hundred different gestures every day. That place was the glue which kept their marriage together – even though he was such a bad communicator and resented her attempts to make him otherwise. Then Charlie's death had turned even the best of him to ice and all he'd left her with was silence.

Difficult to admit that some damned geek could manage you better than your own wife. God knows Sara had tried hard enough to get through to him and might as well have been talking to a wall, but Daniel had got to him from day one, had a way of reaching him that scared him even though he was – slowly – getting used to it. Sometimes it terrified him what Daniel might be able to persuade him to do. It was as though from the first day they'd met, the guy had made it his life's work to make Jack O'Neill, washed-up, screwed-up, wannabe-suicide, a better man than he wanted to be.

He'd said so many lousy things to Sara over the years, snapped at her and told himself afterwards, when the guilt was kicking in, that he'd had no choice, that he was tired, under stress, whatever, and those words just couldn't be repressed. And clearly that had been bullshit because, my God, he'd swallowed dictionaries of snide remarks for Daniel's sake. Daniel probably thought O'Neill was always taking little pot-shots at him, but what the guy didn't realize was quite how many things he hadn't said, yells of exasperation he'd turned into sighs, withering put-downs he'd bitten off at source, times he'd wandered away for a minute and given himself a lecture before coming back. Because Daniel was so easy to hurt he could have done it ten times every day, and the point was, he hadn't. But the ugly fact remained that words he'd always told himself were unstoppable when he and Sara were arguing, he'd swallowed down for Daniel's sake.

When they'd first come back from Abydos, Daniel had been almost a Webster's definition of clueless and the first couple of missions, O'Neill was amazed his hair hadn't turned white. But he'd always felt Daniel deserved not just protection and kindness, but respect. He wasn't some wet-behind-the-ears-grunt who needed to be licked into shape, he was a man who'd got two PhDs at an incredibly early age and then made a life for himself on an alien planet with less fuss than O'Neill had seen people make moving across town.

And maybe Daniel did trip over his own feet every time out, but then he was near-sighted and apparently devoid of all normal co-ordination, and that didn't alter the fact he was going into places and up against people trained soldiers would have quailed from without even the hint of a flinch. And yes, he could have pointed out to Daniel that if he looked where he was going occasionally he might fall over a little less often, but he hadn't. Instead he'd tried to help him up as though Daniel falling over was the most natural thing in the world and would talk about something else while dusting him off. And over time, Daniel had got less clueless and even a little more coordinated and had worked out for himself that if he looked down occasionally, instead of just up, that the ground would stop coming up to meet him quite so often. And, okay, if – God forbid – Daniel had been assigned to SG-3, Makepeace would have told him on the first mission, probably in language that would have made Daniel's ears burn with humiliation and what the hell would that have achieved? Daniel would probably have stumbled just as often but he would have been aware of it then, and each trip over a fallen log would have seemed like a failure.

O'Neill had read Daniel's file, of course, so he knew how young Daniel had been when his parents had died, knew that he'd been too bright for his own good his whole damned life, been pushed up through the grades so fast he must have felt like he was in a speeded-up film. And reading between the lines of those dust-dry official reports, O'Neill could work out for himself the way Daniel's teachers had been so excited and challenged by that intellect they'd too-often forgotten there was still a little boy in there who might have needed to be something other than an allergy-ridden outcast genius, always on the periphery of everything, lifting his head out of whatever damned book he was reading from time to time to look wistfully across at other kids doing stuff that normal kids got to do.

Even now O'Neill wondered how good it had been for that teenager to be shunted off to college when he should still have been playing softball in the park; wondered how much attention all those lecturers had ever paid the person who accompanied that mind or if they'd been too busy thinking about how much glory he was going to bring upon the alma mater to nurture any part of Daniel you couldn't eventually publish.

And he'd known Daniel's theories hadn't exactly been embraced by his peers, but it wasn't until after they'd got Ernest back that he'd had sat down with Catherine and heard what had actually happened at that last lecture Daniel had given before the Air Force had come along and redirected his career. When she described that bedraggled figure with all his worldly possessions in two battered suitcases, the jeers of his colleagues still ringing in his ears, standing in the rain blinking owlishly at her through the window of the car, O'Neill had felt a renewed determination to try never to add to the Bad Things in Doctor Daniel Jackson's life. He'd also felt a brief desire to go and firebomb those damned academics in their ivory towers.

He wondered how many people who'd been proven so shatteringly right as Daniel could have resisted the urge to at least go and drop a few hints, maybe leak a little classified information and let it filter out slowly that his research had been vindicated after all. But Daniel had just put up with being thought a joke by his contemporaries, taken it on the chin without complaining, the way he'd taken all of those other vicious little curve balls that life had thrown him so far, without complaining.

And, of course, the kind of guts Daniel showed every time they walked through the Stargate was something O'Neill had just had to respond to. Okay, the rest of them were taking the same risks, but the point was that they were trained to take those risks, they all had weapons they knew how to use and methods of defending themselves. Each time Daniel walked through that gate into the unknown he had only his faith in humanity to shield him, and perhaps it was a shield that didn't ever get dented if you only believed in it hard enough, but it sure as hell didn't stop too many bullets either.

And maybe Daniel was never going to be a great soldier, but maybe, if the truth were told, O'Neill didn't want him to be. Daniel had qualities he'd never found in anyone else, a mixture of loyalty, courage, integrity and humanity that didn't come along too often and when they did he thought you should damned well be grateful for them, not complain because the package you'd been lucky enough to have delivered didn't come with a side-order of military nous. There wasn't a day that went by that he wasn't grateful to the destiny that had given him Daniel for a friend, and one day he thought he maybe even ought to tell the guy that.

That was what SG-3 and the others never saw, of course. They respected Daniel's intellect and bravery and inherent decency, and they liked him because – well who the hell didn't? But they thought it was an unequal relationship, thought O'Neill gave protection and support and strength and didn't ever realize that he'd never given Daniel anything that Daniel hadn't given back to him ten times over.

And what good did it do to sit here mulling over all the reasons why Daniel so deserved to have had a better deal from life than he had, and why O'Neill had owed him so much more than he'd been able to deliver? Fate had put someone so exceptional into his path, someone so full of trust, so full of hope, someone – Daniel would kill him for even thinking this, but damnit, it was the truth – so innocent; and he hadn't done what he should have done. He'd let that trust get shaken, that hope be eroded, let that innocence get if not shattered, certainly severely chipped. Let Daniel be beaten and kidnapped and wounded and killed and zatted and changed and…

A pretty poor return to make a guy who'd not just saved your life but helped give you a reason to go on living; the man who'd started a thaw as gradual but unstoppable as the end of the last Ice Age. He even remembered when the last piece had melted.

He'd come back to the SGC knowing he'd helped save the world but lost something in the process so precious even all those billions of people getting to stay alive wasn't enough of a compensation, that nothing was enough compensation for having lost Daniel like that. Perhaps there was no way of losing Daniel that would have been bearable, but this method certainly wasn't something he could live with; to know for the rest of his days he'd walked away and left him, not even dead, but still dying; to know forever that Daniel had died alone, in pain and probably afraid and…

They'd kept Daniel back like a birthday present.

Odd, looking back, to realize everyone in that 'gateroom must have known how much Daniel meant to him, except Daniel. You could read it in their smiles, the kind of face-splitting grins you only got when you were giving somebody the one thing he wanted most in the world. But Daniel hadn't known. Odd that a guy so perceptive had somehow missed out on that small but important truth.

Daniel had come forward so apologetically, his gaze fixed on O'Neill's face, embarrassed because they'd had that emotional scene in the corridor and now here he was turning up alive again and although he thought O'Neill would be pleased to see him, he wasn't absolutely sure.

That was when the last piece of ice had dissolved like salt tears on a sun-warmed rock. Some part of the old O'Neill had been aware of all those airmen standing around watching, and wanted to pull back, but the new O'Neill had just over-ridden him. He'd done this to Daniel once already – got him back alive and had his heart doing high jumps for sheer joy, yet gone out of his way to make sure Daniel didn't know how pleased he was, had just hidden behind his sunglasses and made some dumb joke about sushi. It had been a weakness of his to think letting Daniel know how much he cared for him was a weakness. That day in the 'gateroom he'd been strong enough to make damned sure Daniel knew how much he cared. And whatever credibility it might have cost him when he'd thrown his arms around his lost linguist and squeezed all the breath out of his body, it had been worth every bit of it for the look on Daniel's face. That must have been one of the few occasions in his life when he'd managed to make another human being completely happy.

When O'Neill had held Daniel at arm's length to take another look at him, to reassure himself that he was alive and breathing and not even hurt for crying out loud, not a scratch on him, he'd seen Daniel finally realize just how necessary he had become to O'Neill. And Daniel had lit up like a store window on Christmas Eve.

They hadn't given Daniel a medal for saving the world; because he wasn't in the military there wasn't even a lowly decoration O'Neill could pin on his chest – although God knows he'd deserved one – but he could let Daniel know how much he mattered and let him know in front of every damned airman in the SGC. And in that moment, he'd known it meant more to Daniel than any medal that he meant so very much to Jack O'Neill.

And that friendship, the same bond that had turned out to be smelted from something stronger even than the link between a husband and his wife, was something he was going to let trickle through his fingers tomorrow. He was going to go away and leave Daniel here and probably leave some better part of himself behind with him. And the reason was because he owed Daniel this. Not because he'd failed Daniel – although he did believe that on one level he had failed to lived up to the unswerving faith the younger man had always shown in him. It wasn't Goa'uld-inspired guilt that now made him feel Daniel should be given the option of returning to archaeology, it was the realization that, whatever Carter and Teal'c might want him to do, and however much he himself might want to just order Daniel back to Earth or emotionally blackmail him into giving up this site and all its mysteries, he owed Daniel the right to make his own decision.

He didn't know any other way to let Daniel know how much respect he had for his good judgment than to show him he was willing to abide by whatever choice he made.

***

Although he still had nightmares, O'Neill woke up feeling better than he had in at least ten days. Which could be coincidence, of course, he thought, or it could be that the power of that coronet glowing in his mind was starting to fade – which would also make sense of Zagreus coming over to give Daniel a guilt top-up. Not breathing in the odor of those flowers could also be a factor. And his mind had been clear last night, he was sure of that, if only because things that had made sense to him by starlight seemed just as reasonable in the warmed over dust of day.

O'Neill looked across at Teal'c who was making coffee – a particularly kind act as the Jaffa never touched the stuff. "You never told me what the Doc said about that wine Carter took a sample of?" O'Neill accepted a mug gratefully.

"That it contains chemicals she has not yet been able to identify at and whose effects she cannot yet guess."

"So – she knows zip, basically?"

"As you say, O'Neill."

"And what does Carter say?"

"That it would be better to abandon the site and return home. But failing that it would be wise to remove Daniel Jackson from the influence of Zagreus." Teal'c added calmly, "Major Carter is concerned that Zagreus' interest in Daniel Jackson might be sexual."

O'Neill spat his mouthful of coffee straight into the dying fire. "What!"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow at his surprise. "It is possible."

"How is it possible? We're talking about a snake!"

"Within a human host."

"But – I mean – why – " O'Neill collected himself. "Does that happen? You're saying Goa'ulds get…frisky?"

Teal'c continued calmly, "As I said, O'Neill, there is some evidence to suggest that those Goa'uld who adopted the identities of your Ancient Greek gods also conformed to their expected behavior patterns. Cronos, for instance, whom my father served as First Prime, did, as your myths suggest, murder several of his own sons whom he suspected of trying to wrest power from him – although he did not, as far as I am aware, devour them as your stories state. But much of the behavior attributed to your ancient gods is indeed characteristic of some Goa'uld."

O'Neill frowned, aware of his ignorance on the subject. "Throwing thunderbolts around? Sitting on clouds? Drinking ambrosia?"

"Deception. Cruelty. Seduction. Murder." Teal'c shrugged as though such actions were commonplace. "You remember Hathor's actions when she attempted to make the SGC her nest?"

"Yeah, but she needed some DNA to make snake babies and she was a woman. Well, a goddess, but definitely female."

"Do you suggest that Daniel Jackson lay with her willingly?"

"No, of course he didn't. Hell you only have to mention her name and he goes green just at the thought of it, but all the same…" O'Neill realized that he did think Daniel had consented on some level. After all, bitch she might be, but Hathor had been incredibly…hot, and how many geeks got the chance to do the wild thing with a woman like that…? Except Daniel was married and would never cheat on his wife while in his right mind. Would never have had sex with Hathor however damned smoking she was if she hadn't made him do it. And if one Goa'uld could make him agree to something he really didn’t want to do then who was to say another couldn't…? "Okay. We're out of here!" O'Neill got to his feet.

Teal'c looked at him in mild surprise. "I only told you of Major Carter's theory, O'Neill, I did not say that I agreed with it."

Exasperated, O'Neill sat back down again. "So you're saying you don't think this Goa'uld wants to get into Daniel's boxers?"

"Are you asking me if I think that Zagreus desires to have sexual intercourse with Daniel Jackson?"

O'Neill pulled a face. "God, Teal'c, do you have to be so damned clinical about everything? Just give me an answer and then let's move the conversation along, can we?"

"I think it more likely that Zagreus desires that Daniel Jackson and Major Carter should breed a line of new worshippers for him. I suspect that he became dissatisfied with his other worshippers and disposed of them, but the System Lords trapped him here before he could take any of their human slaves to replace those he had destroyed. He may be looking for new breeding stock to produce a race of humans who will fit his aesthetic ideal."

"Like Kinthia's people." O'Neill could grasp this much more easily.

"Zagreus appears to believe that he allowed the gene pool to diversify too greatly on the last occasion. His conviction that Major Carter and Daniel Jackson are in his mind 'brother and sister' may make them seem more suitable to him as the founders of a dynasty."

"Teal'c are you trying to ick me out here? I mean is this the 'how many sick things can I say before breakfast' game?"

Teal'c frowned. "O'Neill?"

"Zagreus and Daniel? Carter and Daniel? Incest as a sound basis for repopulating the planet? It's going to be days before I'm going to want to eat again." O'Neill looked around. "Where is Daniel anyway?"

"In the Citadel of Agamemnon attempting to translate the tablet upon the palace wall. He has been there since dawn."

"I need to go talk to him."

"He will not voluntarily give up the opportunity to excavate this site, O'Neill, and I do not believe that any words of yours will persuade him that Zagreus is any danger to him. Only if you give him a direct order – "

"I'm not ordering Daniel to give up something he wants to do." O'Neill paused on the edge of the secondary camp. "And I'm not ordering him back to SG-1. I want him to make his own decision." But as he turned and began to walk up the hillside towards the citadel, O'Neill added silently, But please God have Daniel make the right decision.

***

O'Neill often told himself that Daniel had a good instinct for self-preservation buried…somewhere. As he approached the man across the dust of the citadel, he decided Daniel was probably much more aware of what was going on around him than he appeared to be. Daniel was clearly intent on his translation, bent over a notebook making rapid scribbles, but he was still going to become conscious that a man with a loaded automatic weapon was approaching him any second…no. A few more paces then. Six paces, five, four, three, two, one. Zero.

O'Neill sighed. His shadow was now falling directly across the page and Daniel hadn't so much as blinked. Telling himself that it was because Daniel's instincts clearly knew it was a friend who had approached him rather than an enemy, he looked at his watch and waited.

It was only as Daniel was trying to crick his neck back into the right place that he seemed to notice the O'Neill shaped shadow across the page. He looked around in surprise. "Jack?"

"Having fun?" the man enquired, covering up his watch with a sigh. Okay, that wasn't the fastest response time in the world, but they hadn't been in a combat situation, and…And who the hell was he kidding? Daniel wasn't safe let out without a keeper and he knew it.

"Jack, this is such an incredible find I'm not even going to attempt to explain it. But I think I need to check some of this against those original tablets Schliemann found in the first Mycenae. Anything you need back home?"

Not answering, O'Neill looked at the densely packed markings on the huge tablet. "How far are you through this?"

"Oh – here, more or less." Daniel had to stand on tiptoe to point to the line he had reached and O'Neill winced.

"I don’t know how long the General's going to want SG-3 and SG-1 tied up with this. Not that it's not important and significant and all the rest of it," he added hastily.

He was a little cheered that Daniel was still wearing his uniform. Daniel was here as an archaeologist, after all, but he wasn't dressed like an archaeologist, was still dressed like part of SG-1. And it was just a pair of boots and a pair of pants and a t-shirt and Daniel never thought about what he wore anyway, but damnit he could do with a hopeful sign right now, and therefore he was going to interpret Daniel still wearing his SG-1 uniform as proof that Daniel still thought of himself as part of SG-1. Which was about the only cheering thing that could be said about Daniel's appearance right now, because apart from that, Daniel looked like shit.

And now that Daniel was right here in front of him, O'Neill could feel his good resolutions fading a little. He still respected his opinion and everything, of course, but Daniel just looked so damned…frail this morning. Unshaven, shadows under his eyes, that short hair so tousled he obviously hadn't even run a hand through it never mind a comb. No way would he have remembered to eat breakfast. And he'd probably been drinking coffee since five a.m. mistaking that rush of stimulant for genuine energy. More likely his blood sugar was dropping off the scale even as they spoke. What was the matter with these archaeologists anyway? What, they could work out an iron age settlement had once existed because of some damned hole where a post had once been but they couldn't see that Daniel needed to have a piece of toast put into his hand before they let him start back on his translating? No way were these guys going to take care of him properly.

O'Neill was wondering what had ever made him agree to this; what had made him say that he thought Daniel would be safer going back to archaeology. Archaeology had killed the man's parents. And how the hell could Daniel be safer anywhere he didn't have the rest of SG-1 at hand to look out for him? He must have been nuts – damnit he had been nuts. And he really was going to kill that goddamned Goa'uld.

"Well SG-3 could go home right now for me," Daniel was saying with feeling, "and to be honest, although it's been good to have your company, I am feeling a little guilty about you and Teal'c getting stuck here just to hold my hand. It must be obvious by now that there's no danger here, and this could take years. Really, we should be thinking about some kind of self-sufficiency for the dig now. We should be getting our own food from the surrounding land, making our own bread, that kind of thing. It's actually much easier to get into the heads of the people who you're – "

"Digging up?"

" – studying, if you can mimic their lifestyle to come degree."

"You going native on me, Daniel?"

"I just want to see this through. I think maybe I've been so lost in the wonder of the Stargate, there was a danger of me forgetting who I used to be."

O'Neill picked up a handful of dusty soil and let it trickle through his fingers. "Who you used to be was someone who had no one except this. These people are the ones who laughed you out of academia, who never took you seriously. Do you really want to spend two or three years living in these ruins with them?"

"Well, they're taking me seriously now." As O'Neill looked at him in baffled exasperation, Daniel shrugged helplessly. "I can't explain it to you, Jack. I can't make you see how it feels to find something like this. I know how it must look to you and of course I'm torn in ten different directions at once, but I can't make sense of the whole cosmos, it's too damned big and I'm too damned small, but I can do this. I can be the one who translated a language that no one on earth has ever come across before. I can be the one who found out how and why these people lived and died and in doing that I can explain so much about ourselves, about who we were."

O'Neill said, "And what about Sha're?"

The younger man looked fixedly at the ground and O'Neill determinedly fought off a fresh wave of guilt. Mentioning his abducted wife to Daniel definitely came under the category of a 'below the belt' blow. But nevertheless the question had to be asked. O'Neill gritted his teeth. "Daniel?"

Daniel put a hand up to his head. "I can't do this any more, Jack. I can't keep failing on such a cosmic scale. I have to try something that's possible for a while. I have to do something that I can actually do." He wouldn't meet O'Neill's eye and his tone pleaded for the man to drop the subject. "Just for a little while, Jack. I just really need to do this."

There were a lot of things O'Neill almost said then: about how that was no answer to the question he'd just asked and well they both knew it; did Daniel honestly think that hiding out here was going to make him feel better about Sha're's situation than trying to find her? But he swallowed them down like syllabub, like all those other things, both good and bad, he'd never said to Daniel.

Although the look of defeat in Daniel's blue eyes seared him like an acid spill, O'Neill had to be aware of the irony of this situation too. He wasn't proud of it, but he'd spent some nights worrying that Sha're would take Daniel away from them – hated himself for doing it, but done it all the same, had known that intermixed with his satisfaction if – when, damnit, think when – they got that poor girl back from her living death, there would be regret, because now Daniel would go back to Abydos and the rest of them would have to get by without him. And now, instead, it was going to be their failure to find Sha're that was going to take Daniel away from them. His inability to rescue his wife, just one thing too many that Daniel was blaming himself for.

"There are so many things you can do, Daniel," he said it quietly.

"Not the pep talk, please, Jack. I just don't want to hear it right now." Daniel said it with a sigh, no resentment, just a weariness that seemed to run bone marrow deep.

And that one almost slipped out: About how the hell was Daniel going to manage without the rest of SG-1 around when the man had never even mastered the basics of eating and sleeping regularly unless someone took it upon themselves to remind him to do so? About who was going to look after him?

Except, he couldn't say it, of course, because one of the things that was never openly acknowledged in Daniel's hearing was just how much looking after he needed. The rest of them wove their magic circle around him, telling themselves that they did so because he wasn't a soldier, and never admitted that there was more to it than that, that there was something about the guy that made you want to keep him out of harm's way whatever it might cost you; that it was literally easier to take a bullet yourself than think of one going into him. But more often than not, Daniel didn't even realize how much protection they were giving him; or how vulnerable he might be without it.

And sometimes, it was true, O'Neill knew he'd panicked needlessly, thought those very qualities of Daniel's of childlike curiosity, openness, and trust, were going to get him killed, when in fact they'd saved him. You had to work pretty hard to dislike Daniel, after all. Even that Teal'c from the other dimension they'd all wrongly thought the archaeologist had hallucinated hadn't been able to kill him when he'd had the chance. Most people took to him, even against their will. Hell, O'Neill knew all about that. Getting fond of a sneezing geek with long hair, too many brains, and too little sense, had certainly never been something that he'd planned to do. Daniel habitually made a lot more friends than enemies, and on Abydos he'd done more than just managed, he'd made himself indispensable, but all the same…

O'Neill sighed, "Daniel, I'm just worried that if we go away and leave you here by yourself…"

Daniel interrupted, "And, Jack, has it ever occurred to you that I might need to spend some time with people who think I'm capable of tying my own shoelaces without their assistance? You and I both know that I'm a better archaeologist than I ever will be soldier. On SG-1 I'm a liability the rest of you have to look out for; here I'd be an asset. I'm doing this for you as much as me."

"Uh – Daniel, you want to run that by me again? How is you leaving my team a man short helping me?"

Daniel bent his head and murmured so low that O'Neill could only just hear it. "Jack, you've been a man short from the day you let me on your team and we both know it."

"Is that what this is about? Did the Goa'uld guilt-trip you about that too? How the hell can you say you're a liability? Don't you know what you are to us?"

Yes, Jack, I'm someone you have no faith in. Someone you let them lock up in a padded cell because you were so ready to believe I was crazy.

Had Daniel said it out loud or had he just thought it so clearly that even O'Neill could hear it? Or was this just his own bad conscience putting these echoes in his head?

O'Neill moistened his lips and then indicated the dig with a wave of his arm. "Is this payback for what I let Mackenzie do to you? Do you want an apology?"

As Daniel looked at him with an expression he couldn't begin to read, O'Neill shrugged. "Because if you do, it's okay, you can have it. I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you came back from P3R-233 and told me you'd been to an alternative universe, Daniel. I'm sorry I didn't believe you on PJ2-445 when you said the reason the aliens were getting sick had something to do with the plants. I'm sorry I let them lock you up in a padded cell and pump you full of drugs. I'm sorry that I left you there alone when you were scared out of your wits, but I was scared too and I didn't know what to do. My best friend had just gone crazy right in front of me and I-didn't-know-what-to-do."

Daniel avoided meeting his eye. "This has nothing to do with any of that. I just wanted to go back to archaeology."

"Bullshit, Daniel."

"This isn't bullshit, Jack, this is important to me." He looked up then, wanting Jack to see that he was speaking the truth. "Look, I'm not a – a difficult teenager who needs humoring and I'm not sulking because you let Mackenzie have me certified. Nor am I passive-aggressively punishing you because you don't have unquestioning faith in me. I just want to uncover this site."

"Do you want to hear how necessary you are to us? How SG-1 isn't SG-1 without you? Tell me what it is you want?"

Daniel guessed that O'Neill was trying as hard as he could to be conciliatory but he just sounded impatient to him: like here was Daniel being a pain in the ass as usual and why the hell did he have to be more trouble than the whole of the rest of the SGC rolled into one?

Daniel repeated quietly, "I just want to uncover this site, Jack."

"Damnit, Daniel!"

"I'm sorry if that isn't what you want to hear."

O'Neill took off his cap, ran a hand through his hair and then put his cap back on again. "No, that isn't what I want to hear." He shrugged, "But I guess that's my problem, not yours." Knowing he'd blown this conversation for now, O'Neill handed Daniel his thermos. "Coffee."

"What?"

"That's what I need from back home. Fresh coffee. You drank all of mine. Right after you drank all of yours. Say hi to Carter for me. No, on second thoughts, I'll do it myself." He took the thermos back from Daniel's unresisting fingers. "I need to make my report to General Hammond anyway."

"I'll come with you." I took off his glasses and put them back in his pocket.

"Okay."

They walked the two miles back to the gate together in silence, but as I dialed up, he gave O'Neill a sideways glance. "Are you mad at me, Jack?" His voice suggested that he didn't care if the man was, but the look in his blue eyes was definitely placatory.

Again it occurred to O'Neill that now might be a good time to say something nice to Daniel, maybe on the lines of how needed, wanted, and loved he was and how they couldn't possible manage without him and would he please just stop this dirt-digging nonsense right now and get his skinny little civilian butt back through that Stargate…but nothing suitable came to mind. It occurred to him not for the first time that he would have been much better at this if he'd ever had a bone fide younger brother to practice on. "No, Daniel," O'Neill said wearily. "I just really need some more coffee."

***

Part Five

"Doctor Mackenzie…? Doctor Mackenzie…?" Daniel tried the handle but the door of the padded cell was locked. Locked from the outside so they could keep the crazy people in. People like him. Except he wasn't crazy any more. Really, he wasn't. If they'd just listen to him he could tell them…No one was hearing him. There was no one out there to hear him because Jack had gone. Jack and Sam and Teal'c had all gone and left him here alone but he had to tell them about that thing that had crawled out of him and gone into Teal'c. Had to tell them he was sane again now and he was sorry he'd scared them like that; he'd scared himself too but he really was okay now. Please believe him; please somebody believe him. Jack…?

"Jack…?" Daniel woke with a start to find that he'd dozed off at his desk in his office on the base. Damn. Now he had pins and needles in his arms and that was two hours wasted when he should have been doing research. He was just sleeping so badly at the moment – although he hoped to God he didn't look as bad as Jack did right now because if he did Janet would probably make him stay in the infirmary. Janet. She was someone else who was always fussing over him. They were all always fussing over him. And why? Perhaps because he was always getting himself lost, or injured, or going nuts or something?

Disappearing and then coming back with stories about Alternative Universes. ( But it was true, he reminded himself. Yeah, it was true but you should still have come when Jack called you. Only you would have been dumb enough to touch that mirror when you had no idea what it would do. Only you would have come back with a story like that and been surprised when they didn't believe you. What, you just thought they'd accept it – from you?) Jack's face after Daniel had staggered back through with his shoulder bleeding, so lined with anxiety, too sick with worry even to be angry with him – never a good sign. As long as Jack was yelling at him he knew things were okay between them. When the man started being nice to him, they were definitely in trouble.

Oh and wasn't Daniel good at bringing them trouble? Like with Hathor…Sam had kept telling him afterwards that that all the guys on the base had gone loopy after Hathor had breathed her magic pheromones on them, but that didn't alter the fact that he was the one who had made it possible for Hathor to start spawning Goa'uld larvae. Larvae she'd tried to use to turn Jack into a Jaffa. It was only thanks to Sam and Teal'c that Jack didn't have a larval Goa'uld inside him now. Because, of course, the trouble Daniel found usually managed to hurt Jack and the others too…

Such as when he'd got addicted to that sarcophagus. No, even before that:  getting them captured in the first place because he was so sure he knew best; rushing off to rescue the damsel in distress on a wave of moral certainty that he was doing the right thing. Because Jack was only a soldier, wasn't he? And what the hell could a soldier know about right and wrong? And to think he called Jack arrogant.

Daniel winced, but the thought had started now and he couldn't derail it in time: not just getting them all captured, but damn near getting killed because he was too slow and weak to keep up. Screwing up Jack's escape plan. Getting himself so badly hurt he'd been put in the sarcophagus in the first place. Then allowing himself to be talked into getting back in.

I was only humoring her. I was trying to get the others out. I didn't know it would change me.

Not good enough, Jackson. Nothing like good enough to make up for what you did.

He wasn't going to think about what he had done and what he'd so nearly done, even now it still made the shame burn inside him. God, he'd screwed up so badly it was a miracle the others even still talked to him. He wished he didn't remember it, but he did, could see himself doing and saying those things, wittering on about his great new discovery when they were dying in front of him; Jack standing there so exhausted and filthy with chains around his wrists and him cavorting about in his new robes…The way he'd behaved after they brought him back. He'd had no resistance, shown no character, attacked people who were only trying to help him. He'd tried to kill his best friend. He could remember holding the gun, pulling the trigger. He'd come so close…

Daniel had given up in that moment when he found he couldn't pull the trigger. Knew he'd done something so terrible there was no way back for him now; he'd lost everything, not just Shyla and the sarcophagus because they'd already receded so far that they didn't seem to matter any more, but had lost his self-respect, lost his life with SG-1, worst of all, lost Jack's friendship.

He'd been so busy crying for the loss of Jack's friendship it had taken him a few extra seconds to realize he was being pulled into that protective embrace, that it was Jack's hand rubbing his back so soothingly, Jack's other hand in his hair, Jack's voice in his ear sounding so uncharacteristically gentle Daniel hardly recognized it, telling him it was going to be all right, it was all going to be all right because he was going to get him through this.

Daniel hadn't cried like that since his parents had died and Jack's forgiveness had hurt so much it had almost killed him. He'd been so young when he'd had to learn that people only cared about you up to a certain point, that you had to be good if you wanted them to go on liking you; do your homework on time; get high grades; be polite; tidy; clean your room; not be any trouble. Sha're had loved him so very much he'd been grateful for it every single day he'd spent with her, but he'd loved her so much in return that she'd probably only seen the very best of him. She made him want to be such a good man that he might not have been that hard for her to love. But no one since the death of his parents had ever proven that they loved him unconditionally. Not like this. Not like Jack. Not when he'd seen Daniel at his worst, suffered because of him, could have died because of him; had proven absolutely that he would care for him whatever he did because he still believed that Daniel was worth it.

In the infirmary he'd seriously wondered if it was possible to die from remorse. He'd been trapped in a vicious circle of repentance as Jack hovered protectively; that anxiety in Jack's eyes – and anxiety the only thing in his eyes, not a single hint of anger or contempt – getting more and more acute because Daniel just couldn't stop crying. And, of course, every time he'd seen how much Jack still cared for him despite all the terrible things he'd done, the misery of that guilt had overwhelmed Daniel all over again.

In the end, Janet had said gently that perhaps O'Neill should go and get himself a cup of coffee. He'd looked at her in shocked disbelief that she could even be suggesting he left Daniel when Daniel was so distressed and clearly needed him so much. "Just for five minutes, Colonel," she'd pleaded. "Just let me have a word with him alone."

As soon as O'Neill was out of earshot she'd said, "Daniel – you trust the Colonel, don't you?"

"Yes!" The word had poured out along with another flood of tears. He was getting hysterical because it was all coming back to him, a torrent of terrible things said and done, and ohgodhejustwantedtodie and Jack had – he'd left Jack – pointed a gun – tried to kill – and Jack had still – How could he? – How could he? – He wasn't fit to live – Shouldn't even –

"Daniel, the Colonel hasn't given up on you, has he?"

"He should! He should! I'm not worth - !"

"He thinks you're worth a hell of a lot, and so do the rest of us. Now, if you owe him anything, you owe it to him to get better. Because you are scaring the hell out of him right now, Daniel. And all he wants is for you to get better. And if you don't get better, he is never going to get over it. Do you understand?"

He'd understood. He'd even managed after a few gulps and gasps to stop crying. Jack wanted him to get better. He knew that was true, had read it in the man's worried gaze. Well then, he would try very hard to get better. And then he'd go away and find a stone to crawl under. But in the meantime he would try very hard, for Jack's sake, to get better.

He'd got better. Jack had sat with him all those hours when Daniel was going through withdrawal; done the brow-mopping and hand holding and talking, talking, talking to keep Daniel focused on who he was, on what he was trying to get back to; why it was worth going through all this pain; and he'd got better. He'd cost Jack so much worry and sleep, but still, every time he'd looked up at Jack as the spasms were tearing through him like dragon's teeth, all he'd seen in the man's brown eyes was compassion and friendship. All Jack had cared about was getting Daniel back from the place that sarcophagus had sent him. Nothing else had mattered. There hadn't been a single part of Jack that had cared about punishing him for what he'd done, or that had got any satisfaction from the misery Daniel had brought down on his own head by thinking he knew best. Jack had just wanted him back.

In the moment when he realized there was nothing he could do that Jack wouldn't at least try to forgive, that he'd finally found that unconditional support and love he'd thought he'd lost forever under a falling cover stone to the echoes of his parent's screams, Daniel had vowed that he was never going to do anything, ever again, that Jack would have to forgive…

As tears pricked at Daniel's eyelids, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him at the moment. It had been terrible, certainly, the worst thing he'd ever done by far. He was never going to stop feeling guilty about the things he'd said and done back then, but twelve months had passed and everything was okay now. The rest of SG-1 had forgiven him; the monster he'd so briefly become hadn't resurfaced. His so-called 'love' for Shyla had melted like snow in sunshine but he'd forced himself not to hate her for what she'd done to him, for what she'd done to all of them. It was definitely over.

But that didn't mean he wasn't a liability. And dumb too since he hadn't seen what Shyla was doing although it was so obvious now: using the others to get to him, making him become addicted to the sarcophagus so he would also become addicted to her. Did he really think Jack would have fallen for that, or Teal'c, or Sam? Or anyone else in the whole goddamned universe?

And now his latest adventure: going nutso right in front of Jack. Jack of all people! All that stuff about event horizons in his closet and dead Goa'uld wanting him for a host. Christ, it was no wonder they'd decided to lock him up and throw away the key.

But it was Machello's invention. It made you see things, hear things, changed your dopamine levels. Not your fault. That one really wasn't you fault.

Except he knew, whatever they said, that the reason they had all been so ready to believe it was schizophrenia was because it was him. Jack could have done and said the same things and they would have been looking for little slugs inside him, not calling for a straitjacket. No one had been that surprised to find that Daniel Jackson had become a schizophrenic, had they? No one was that surprised whenever Daniel Jackson did anything stupid, irrational, or dangerous.

He remembered Jack and him squabbling like six year-olds on PJ2-445: 'I think you might be losing what's left of your mind…It means that on a good day you can be a little flaky…' And sure, they'd been affected by that damned noise, but that had just made them articulate thoughts they would have usually kept to themselves; it didn't make what they'd said in any way untrue. What had he called Jack? Arrogant and condescending? Ignorant and condescending? Something like that anyway. And Jack was. Not all the time, of course; but every now and then he definitely was. Which probably meant that Daniel was flaky. Unreliable.

Weak link. Going to get the others killed. Miracle you haven't already the way you carry on. Someone to slow them down, distract them, someone they have to worry about. One day one of them is going to get killed saving your ass; coming back for you; shielding you; rescuing you, you useless little screw-up…

Daniel curled up and wrapped his arms around his head. That wasn't his voice any longer. There was someone else in his mind again. He couldn't bear it. Couldn't go through that again. Jack would never trust him; never have faith in him. He'd have to look up and see that sorrow on Teal'c's face, that pity in Sam's eyes, the baffled exasperation in Jack's…

Except what did it matter if Jack trusted him or not? He was off the team. He was an archaeologist again. Just an archaeologist.

Cautiously straightening back up, Daniel opened his eyes and saw the golden death masks. The panic was receding. Whenever he thought about the burial site instead of SG-1 the terrible anxiety faded and he felt soothed inside. He couldn't get the others killed if he wasn't part of SG-1. Couldn't get anyone killed. Couldn't fail to save his wife from the Goa'uld; fail to find her, fail to rescue her. Just fail, any longer.  He could simply give up. The others had more chance of finding Sha're without him handicapping them with his incompetence anyway. First Do No Harm. He couldn't even remember whose motto that was but perhaps he ought to have it tattooed on his forehead as a reminder so he could see it in the mirror every time he shaved. Even he would have trouble doing any damage on a planet with only one inhabitant.

So, yes, he was definitely doing the right thing. Even though it had been so hard to see that look in Jack's eyes of disappointment and hurt, even though it had cut right through him when Jack had apologized to him today. I didn't know what to do, Daniel. That was a hell of a lot coming from Jack. The man hardly ever admitted being at a loss, particularly not to him.

He wondered if Jack had believed him when he'd said he wasn't punishing him. Was he punishing Jack? He didn't think he was. Yes, there was a lot of resentment and fear and hurt left over from that little episode, but there were good things too: even with all those drugs in his system, he'd managed to convince Mackenzie he was sane again which he was pretty damned proud of, and Jack had come for him. It had felt like an eternity waiting for him in that white-walled room but he'd checked the SGC log later and realized that the second Jack had received the message from Mackenzie he must have sprinted to the elevator and driven with his foot down all the way, he'd done that journey so fast…

And maybe the point was that Jack hadn't believed him, not completely, Daniel had read it in his eyes when he'd been trying to convince him that this time something really had gone into Teal'c and that he really was sane again. Jack hadn't been entirely convinced, and it was just a fact of life that Jack did generally think he was flaky and unreliable and in that particular instance not very right in the head as well, and yet Jack had looked Mackenzie straight in the eye and said, "He's fine. Sign him out or stamp the back of his hand or whatever it is you need to do and let's get the hell out of here. I need him to help Teal'c get better."

And it would have been nice if it had been the truth, of course; would have been great if Jack had taken one look at him and thought 'Wow but Daniel's looking sane today', but maybe in the end it meant more that Jack had taken a chance on him when he didn't entirely believe that he was back to normal.

Jack had taken a chance on him too many times, perhaps. Like when he'd let a civilian onto his team in the first place out of pity and – what else? – gratitude maybe, because Daniel had saved his life on Abydos. But mostly pity, Daniel thought. Poor little Jackson who'd lost his wife to the Goa'uld and didn't have anyone to take care of him. Dumb little Jackson who'd probably only go do something stupid if Jack wasn't around to keep an eye on him. Yes, that was it: pity, the feeling that he owed Daniel a favor, and that over-protective instinct: Jack's lame duck radar kicking in. He wondered how many times Jack had regretted that decision since? Every hour? Every day? Or maybe only a couple of times a week? Daniel had no doubt at all that he'd regretted it. Who the hell wouldn't when you had someone so clueless taking up the space a real soldier could have been occupying?

Well, it was time Daniel put things right. Let Jack off the hook even if right now the man wasn't aware he wanted to be let off the hook, he still owed it to Jack to do it. And once it was done he was sure Jack would feel relief. Right now Jack was like someone who'd been carrying a burden for so long he'd gotten used to the weight of it; was so comfortable with that sack of rocks on his back he was fighting not to give them up. Like a Sisyphus who'd chosen to roll that damned boulder up the hill. But once he was free from that burden Jack would quickly realize how much nicer it was not to be struggling with it every day.

Yes. Daniel would excavate his burial site and Jack and Sam and Teal'c could get someone efficient and military to watch their backs. It was the right thing to do for everyone's sake.

Daniel wondered why when he kept telling himself that, it was still so terribly hard to do.

***

"I didn't know you were back."

Daniel looked up from the computer to see Sam in the doorway. He blinked, trying to clear some of the gritty exhaustion from his eyes. "I needed to check out some…How have you been? Did SG-4 bring anything interesting back from P7X whatever it was?"

"Well, there are some indications that the culture there may have cracked String Theory. I'm going out there tomorrow to have a look at their calculations. Unfortunately it's like the place you’re on now, no living people, only the remnants of their civilization, but if their math pans out, who knows, we could be looking at time travel sometime in the next fifty years."

Daniel looked apologetic. "Uh, sorry – I don't know what String Theory is."

"A possible way of marrying up quantum mechanics and classical gravitation theory. A means to give us the missing physics that would explain why Einstein's laws don't apply to sub-atomic particles."

"Oh, that's like the astrophysicist's Rosetta Stone, isn't it? Wow, that would be incredible. You must be really excited."

Carter sighed, running a hand through her short blonde hair, thinking of what they all stood to lose if no one could make Daniel see reason. He'd just reminded her again of why he mattered so much to all of them and how lost she would be without him. Daniel understood; didn't understand the physics, didn't understand the math, wasn't, in fact, very good at mathematics at all, but he understood the significance, straight away. There wasn't anyone else on the base except Janet Fraiser she could say that about. She thought of a future where she would have to rely on Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill for her conversation on missions and her heart sank. Even though Teal'c had a better mathematical mind than Daniel and a probably more logical reasoning process, what he'd never have was the enthusiasm: that desire to make those leaps into the unknown and see where a theory took you. While the thought of having a conversation about String Theory with Colonel O'Neill didn't really bear contemplation. She said, "I'd be more excited if I was going out there as part of SG-1 instead of tagging along with SG-4. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to come out like that."

Daniel took his hands off the keyboard. "So you're mad at me as well? Jack certainly is. I guess Teal'c probably is too but it's harder to tell with him."

His tone asked for her understanding while the pleading look in his blue eyes was almost impossible for her to resist. Perhaps they weren't biologically connected, but Daniel was as dear and as close to her as any brother could be. She had tremendous respect and affection for both the Colonel and Teal'c, but it was to Daniel she always turned when she wanted someone to confide in, Daniel who would always drift into sight, apparently by accident, whenever she needed support or advice. Like the rest of SG-1, she was still haunted by the memory of Daniel in that padded cell. Doctor Mackenzie had told them they mustn't do anything to 'excite or disturb' him, and apparently touching him had fallen into that category, but it had been so hard not to go over to Daniel and put her arms around him. Even now it made the tears spring into her eyes to think of him like that and she had to swallow hard before she could answer him in the calmest voice she could muster. "I'm not mad at you, Daniel, I swear. I just – we all just miss you."

"I miss you too." He muttered it so quietly she could hardly hear him. When he gave her a tentative smile it looked forced. "Well – not Jack, of course, because he's underfoot all day on the site. He and Doctor Freeland really hate each other and so are blood-freezingly polite whenever they meet, but the other archaeologists all just duck out of sight when they see Jack coming they're so damned scared of him. He's in full-on Colonel mode and Makepeace is even worse…"

Although he was smiling as he talked, she couldn't help noticing how tired he looked; more than tired, worn. For someone supposedly relaxing in the sunshine having a wonderful time unearthing artifacts, he had very dark shadows under his eyes. Almost as bad as the shadows beneath the Colonel's eyes, she thought. It was the thought of what it would do to the Colonel if Daniel really went back to archaeology that gave her the determination to say what she'd rehearsed. Perhaps Daniel wanted to give up and slip away but they weren't ready to give him up without a fight.

She interrupted him to say quietly, "We're all trying to understand what this site means to you, Daniel, but there's a whole galaxy out there full of answers to the questions mankind has been asking since it learnt how to walk upright. Are you going to let yourself be diverted into this one little archaeological backwater when you could learn so much more?"

He wouldn't meet her eye. Always a bad sign. "Well, maybe that's the problem. There are too many answers out there, some of them to questions we don't even know we should be asking yet, too many worlds, too many cultures, too many languages for me to ever understand them all. Maybe I need to stop running around in six different directions at once and just concentrate on one question, one answer, something tangible, something concrete."

"There's no SG-1 without you," Carter told him intently. "The Air Force can find us another anthropologist to make the numbers up, but that won't make us SG-1."

He'd thought that was what he'd needed to hear from Jack: affirmation he was actually of some value, some use; but now it just panicked him, a responsibility threatening to crush him. He'd made his decision and he could live with it. He couldn't cope with having to deal with doubt. "Don't do this to me, Sam, please. Please?"

She sighed but she couldn't stay angry with him even when, as now, she really wanted to. "Tell me about the site?" she suggested. He did so and she watched him carefully as he was talking, Daniel seeming to forget all about her annoyance with him three sentences into his description of the contents of the first burial shaft, but as with Colonel O'Neill it was impossible to tell whether he was acting out of his own volition or not. Anyone suggesting it needed a Goa'uld to fill Daniel with enthusiasm for an archaeological site would have been rightly laughed out of Colorado, but she couldn't help wondering if he would have been so obsessed with this second Mycenae if Zagreus had never arrived. It was the same problem she'd had trying to decide on Colonel O'Neill's motives; it wasn't exactly out of character for him to get a little over-protective of a member of his team, but something still didn't feel quite right to her. When he'd finished telling her everything they'd found, she got up. "I'm sorry, Daniel, I have to go check with SG-4."

"Wait," he reached into his pocket and pulled out something that shimmered in the low lighting. He held it out to her awkwardly, the fine gold chain dripping through his fingers, "This actually came from the second chamber where I think the people were from a slightly later period – it seems more Etruscan to me than Mycenaean. There was a mirror, as well, but the glass had broken and I figured you probably weren't looking for seven years bad luck"

Carter stared at the necklace in her palm, the lamplight winking off the center stone. Daniel added, "It's amber. Amber was supposed to ward off the evil eye. Do you like it?"

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life."

"The lab people checked it out, said it wasn't contaminated or anything. I kind of stole it, to be honest, we're supposed to label everything, but I thought just this once, what the hell." He gave one of those tight little shrugs. "The Pentagon doesn't exactly believe in maintaining the integrity of the site. Everything is going to be boxed up and shipped out of there. Apparently they can't risk lying about the provenance and putting it in a museum in case someone gets suspicious, so all the artifacts are going to end up in crates in Area 52. I just decided I'd rather you had this than Maybourne."

"Daniel - " She wished there was someway to impress upon him what a truly bad idea she thought this was. "If we thought this was the right thing for you to do, don't you think even one of us would be glad for you?"

"I have to get back now." He turned away, adding, "You should come and see what we're digging up. I've never seen so much gold  – it's quite something. We still don't know quite how everyone died, but Doctor Freeland found some later tombs that look promising. We're going to start excavating those tomorrow." He left so quickly she knew he didn't want to hear anything else she had to say.

Carter sat down on the chair he'd vacated, the necklace still digging golden teeth into her palm, like a tiny animal biting her softly. "Damn," she said.

"Better get used to it, Major."

She looked up to see O'Neill in the doorway. He must have been looking for Daniel, she realized. He was always wandering over here to interrupt the archaeologist when he was working; the room was like magnetic north to him, as though he couldn't leave Daniel undisturbed for more than a four-hour stretch without it starting to worry at him. She wondered how the Colonel was going to cope without Daniel to bully, and tease, and fuss over. Quite apart from the fact he was losing his best friend, half his raison d'etre would vanish overnight.

"I'm not sure I can get used to it, sir." She noticed that Daniel had left his computer running and automatically reached across to save the file he'd been working on before closing it.

O'Neill shrugged. "I've just told General Hammond to start finding us a replacement."

"It won't be the same." She saved and closed another file. Images of looted Tholos tombs. Another one. Some writing she didn't recognize. Linear B, probably.

"No. It won't. But what else can we do? Can't stop the whole ride just because Daniel's decided to get off."

More files. Daniel always had too many open at once, could never understand why his computer occasionally buckled under the strain of doing twenty things simultaneously and froze up on him. The technicians were always having to coax back Daniel's lost data for him, resurrecting files from deep inside some buried memory even she didn't know how to access to give him back a morning's work his computer was sulkily refusing to acknowledge. They never minded. No one ever did mind doing things for Daniel because they knew there was nothing Daniel wouldn't have done for them. And he was so impressed when they gave the work back to him he would gaze at them with the kind of awestruck gratitude only usually bestowed upon magicians at children's birthday parties.

Every time it happened she would remind him to do one thing at a time in future and he would nod emphatically and promise that he would, definitely, had absolutely learned his lesson this time. But she'd know it was hopeless even as she was telling him. Daniel just couldn't work like that. One piece of research always threw up questions only another piece of research could answer; his mind following a skein of reasoning through an ever more tangled maze of related facts. She would come in when he was halfway through something and see him with a dozen books open all around him, fifteen documents running simultaneously; post-it notes with esoteric queries stuck all over the rim of his monitor, three half-empty cups of cold coffee scattered where they would be most likely to spill on something irreplaceable, and the internet connection green-blinking its way to an even higher monthly bill than usual. But somehow he would create order out of this chaos, follow the thread to the center of the labyrinth and find the answer to his question. But the question Daniel was asking needed to be worth all that effort; worth what it would cost him, and in this case, cost all of them, and this site just wasn't. Carter clicked on the mouse and the screen faded, the hard drive running down with a faint groan as she killed the power. "I just don't think it's the right thing for him to do."

"Neither do I, but the point is that Daniel does and it's his life."

The Colonel just accepting Daniel's defection from SG-1 was suspicious in itself. "Sir, do you have to keep being so reasonable about it?"

His expression banished her doubts. But it was odd to be relieved that this was clearly eating into him like a fungus. As a team they balanced, they worked together seamlessly, sometimes without even having to exchange a word; they knew each other so well they were almost telepathic. Someone else in Daniel's place would upset the balance, change the chemistry, alter something for the worse that was currently working perfectly. And it was all so unnecessary. All Daniel had to do was come to his senses…It occurred to Carter that the only one of them who had any chance of getting through to Daniel was the Colonel, and if he wasn't even prepared to try then Daniel was going to leave SG-1 and probably regret it for the rest of his life.

O'Neill was shrugging. "Carter, if I thought it was Zagreus making him want to stay I could fight it, but I don't. Maybe he just really needs to be taken seriously by people who understand what the hell it is he's saying."

But even as he said it, O'Neill knew the Goa'uld had to be responsible for this in some way. Hadn't he been influenced himself? He'd come back from that mosaic-floored palace with his mind reverberating with images of Daniel suffering. The only thing that had seemed important then had been getting the younger man out of harm's way, and the dig had seemed like the perfect playpen in which to leave him while the rest of them went and wrestled with danger and uncertainty.

All those dreams: of Daniel being killed by a staff weapon; burnt alive in front of him; bleeding his life away on Apophis' ship; choked half to death; crushed by a rock fall; gibbering in the corner of a padded cell, his mind apparently gone west for good…There was no doubt about it, Zagreus would have found plenty of material to work with in all their memories, but damnit that was only half the story. The truth was that most of those events had taken more out of O'Neill than they had out of Daniel. The archaeologist might not have the fastest reflexes in the world, but boy, was he resilient. It was O'Neill who had not just the scar tissue and the arthritis in once-broken bones from all his own adventures, but the psychological trauma from each of Daniel's little mishaps. He was never going to get over finding Daniel with half his chest blow away, bleeding to death in that corridor; never going to have to do anything quite so hard as leaving him there to die; that memory was one amongst the many a lifetime in the forces had left him with that could always chill him to the marrow at three in the morning. That was almost up there with the sound of the shot echoing endlessly that had killed his son. But it probably hadn't even made Daniel's top ten.

O'Neill was the younger man's portrait in the attic – Daniel would carelessly get himself damn near killed again and O'Neill would stagger under the shock of it while Daniel bounced back more often than not literally without a scratch. And okay, maybe Daniel didn't bounce back quite so fast or quite so far these days. Maybe it wasn't the best system in the world; it was probably turning his hair grey a couple of years early and by now his nerves must be in sore need of a retread, but hell it had worked out so far. Why had he suddenly felt so convinced that Daniel needed to be kept away from the danger he'd already proven himself so adept at surviving if there hadn't been a Goa'uld messing with his head?

That Goa'uld had been drip-feeding Daniel with doubts; he knew it. Undermining his confidence at a time when Daniel's confidence was already at its lowest ebb. And maybe he'd played it all wrong up there; maybe that hadn't been the right time to respect Daniel's opinion, maybe, given how screwed-up both their brains were at the moment, all he'd done was prove to Daniel they could get by without him. After all, it wasn't like deep thinking was his strong suit so maybe he should have just grabbed Daniel and started dragging him bodily towards the Stargate. Maybe what would have been the wrong option back on Ernest's planet would have been the right option here.

Maybe you should have told him you believe in him, you dumb son-of-a-bitch. Ever thought of that option? I mean, you do, so why the hell don't you just tell him?

Because he's bad enough now with me telling him to slow up and hold on and I'm not sure that I think this is the best idea he's ever…What the hell would he be like if he thought he could do anything he wanted and I'd back him up regardless?

Well, just maybe he wouldn't be running off to play archaeologist because he thinks no one here has any faith in him, ever thought of that possibility, dickhead…?

"Sir, I asked how long are you planning to stay out there?"

Carter's voice interrupted his thoughts and he answered her automatically, "Coming back the day after tomorrow, just had our orders from General Hammond. After that Daniel and the archaeologists are on their own."

He was wishing he'd told Daniel to wait for him rather than heading back through the Stargate on his own. Hammond wasn't very keen on all this toing and froing anyway; and given the electricity bill every time they dialed up a planet he was probably justified in mentioning that it wasn't supposed to be used like an elevator. And of course Carter had been right from the beginning and this fog in his mind had stopped him from seeing it. Zagreus wanted something from Daniel and whatever it might be O'Neill was almost certain he wouldn't want the Goa'uld to have it. He'd been as dazed by the ex-deity as had Daniel even without the guy waving a glowing jewel in front of his face.

He focused on Carter who was still looking at him anxiously. "Don't worry too much," he told her. "I'll ask the General to let us stand down for a while. God knows, we could do with some time off, and in the meantime Daniel might come to his senses. He may think he can get along fine by himself but we all know he's wrong, right? I give him two weeks of rock-digging, tops, before he starts getting curious about what we've been finding out without him."

She smiled and although he wasn't convinced she was reassured she was at least being kind enough to pretend that she was. "More like ten days, sir, at the most."

"Okay," he patted her lightly on the shoulder and held up his refilled thermos. "Time I went back myself. Makepeace isn't adapting too well to being surrounded by scientists – don't want him to start using them for target practice."

***

O'Neill was met by Teal'c as he came back through the gate. Night had fallen while he was on Earth and the unfamiliar constellations were winking at him coldly. The Jaffa said quietly, "Zagreus has been watching the citadel for some time now. I suspect he may be waiting for something."

"Did he try to talk to Daniel?"

"He did not."

"Where is Daniel?"

"He is in his tent, transcribing his notes on the Mycenaean inscription. He has been doing so for some time."

"He'll ruin his eyes. Remind me to leave him plenty of batteries when we go. And did he remember to eat anything this evening? He's never really got his head around that three meals a day habit – I swear he thinks coffee is a food group. Remind me to tell Freeland to make sure he eats properly."

Seeing the Jaffa gazing at him with one eyebrow raised, O'Neill realized he was just embarrassing himself. Teal'c would have stood in front of a charging rhino to stop it reaching Daniel but his protective gland worked in a whole different way from O'Neill's. If anyone had hurt the archaeologist in front of him, Teal'c would probably have ripped the aggressor's head off without a qualm but he didn't think his superior strength and speed gave him the right to tell Daniel what to do. But how else could the strong take care of the weak except by giving them the occasional order, or even occasionally snapping at them like a hungry tiger shark when they did something particularly idiotic? And perhaps O'Neill was being a tad mother-hennish tonight but the fact remained that for a man with so much knowledge fizzing around in his brain Daniel certainly did do a lot of stupid things. O'Neill cleared his throat. "Has Makepeace got a guard posted?"

"He appears to have two men keeping watch. Neither, however, noticed the Goa'uld approach."

"Well isn't that reassuring? No wonder they say you can always rely on the marines."

"I was not aware that they did."

***

The notes Daniel was transcribing had recently begun to fill him with unease. They read like a proclamation against a race, reviling those who had failed to 'remain pure'. Although it was difficult to translate he was starting to be able to fill in more and more of the unfamiliar nuances and words like 'polluted blood' and 'unworthy of love' were appearing with worrying frequency. He was starting to wonder if the tablet was a statement of intent combined with a justification for something he was beginning to suspect might be unjustifiable. With every new line he translated, he found his thoughts returning to the Holocaust. It was only when the battery in his flashlight became too weak for him to read on, that he finally extinguished the feeble light and lay down in his sleeping bag. With a sudden sense of shock, he realized that this site for which he was abandoning his friends, his quest for his wife, his determination to fight the Goa'uld, might hold mysteries that he would have been happier never to have solved.

 ***

O'Neill realized he was wasting his time talking to Freeland about three seconds into their conversation, but he had started now and couldn't stop until he got to the end; like someone following stepping stones deeper and deeper into quicksand.

"… Teal'c and I are going to have to go back today and leave Daniel here with you so I just think you need to keep it in mind that he's – Daniel and he doesn't do the things you expect him to do. You have to really watch him, not just sometimes, all the time. And there's no point in getting angry with him so don't even bother going down that road. He just won't know why you're yelling and he'll think it's because you're having a bad day, or something and he'll start worrying about you and it'll just make you madder than hell, so there's no point in doing that. Basically you have to practice counting to ten a lot. Okay, yes, and this is important, you have to feed him. Don't just assume he'll do it himself, because he won't, not with all these interesting dead things about. You have to make sure he eats and sleeps. Just tell him. Don't discuss it, just – you know, put the food in his hand and tell him to eat it. And take the flashlight away from him if you have to so he's got nothing else to do except go to sleep because that usually works…And – you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Jack?"

He had thought the situation could get no worse than him standing here making an idiot of himself in front of a bemused scientist who now clearly thought he had an I.Q. to match his shoe-size, but now he realized how wrong he had been. He was very reluctant to turn around and look Daniel in the eye, but it had to be done. The younger man was standing in the door of the tent, arms wrapped around himself as if to keep out the cold despite the blazing sunshine. Being Daniel he looked guilty rather than angry at having overheard what was said. Those shadows under his eyes were getting worse, O'Neill noticed, which suggested Daniel's dreams weren't any more pleasant than his own.

O'Neill looked at his watch. "Great. Nine a.m. and this day already really sucks."

Clearly relieved to get away from O'Neill's incomprehensible harangue, Freeland said, "I think it's time that you and I began work on the final burial chamber, Doctor Jackson?"

Daniel was still gazing at O'Neill. "Jack, I'm going to be fine. There's nothing here that can hurt me. The other Goa'uld don't come here. Zagreus isn't hostile. I want to do this." Even as he said it he wasn't sure if it was still true but it felt like too much of a climb-down to admit that possibility.

"I know."

He didn't know which truth Jack was acknowledging there. Jack wouldn't look at him. Daniel almost wanted to yell at him that as he was such a damned crushing responsibility to him, such a clearly irredeemable flake, he would have thought the man would be glad to lay down the burden for a while; get someone assigned to his team who could shoot straight and who said 'Yes, sir!' instead of 'What...?' when he was given an order; someone who knew how to duck. But, of course, Daniel didn't have the heart, not now, not when Jack was looking like that and the guilt was gnawing at him like a jackal on a dead gazelle. Daniel sighed; he knew they could talk about this for six hours without a coffee break and still not get through it and Freeland was impatiently looking at his watch as well. "Doctor Jackson?"

O'Neill pushed past Daniel, touching him lightly on the shoulder as he did so. "Have fun, Danny boy, dig up something shiny." He was already out in the sunlight and striding to where Teal'c was waiting for him; the sun glinting off the Jaffa's staff weapon.

"Extraordinary fellow," Freeland observed crisply. "No wonder you're so keen to get away from the military and back to archaeology, Doctor Jackson."

Daniel felt an overwhelming urge to just run after Jack and drag him and Teal'c back through the Stargate with him, back to Sam and everything being the way it had been before, the four of them, SG-1, brave new worlds, boldly exploring, all of that. He opened his mouth to shout the man's name and Freeland tapped him impatiently on the shoulder. "Doctor Jackson? It's going to take a lot of work to move that cover stone and I would really like to see what's in that chamber before we lose the daylight. Wouldn't you?"

And it stirred inside him, old smoke from a fire that hadn't burnt out despite the cold water just thrown on it. Despite the way Jack had looked so tired and anxious, despite the way Sam was so pissed off with him she wouldn't even come and look at the site, and Teal'c almost certainly disappointed in him and his inexplicable lack of loyalty to his team mates, he did want to know what was in that chamber; he really, really did. Daniel sighed. "Yes, Doctor Freeland. I'm coming."

***

It took them some time to dig down to where a thin coverstone was concealing the entrance to the chamber, and the shadows were starting to lengthen across the citadel before they got their first look at the main chamber. It was obvious at once that this shaft had been filled at a later time than the others and in a much less measured fashion. There were certainly no death masks here, no swords, or shields, or golden artifacts to glisten in the shadows like memories of light, there were only human bones. Lots and lots of human bones.

Even allowing for the internments having taken place in a time when the population was presumably dying from the plague, Daniel was more than a little perplexed by the scattered skeletons. "I can't tell if they died from battle wounds or not, can you? I mean, some of them show evidence of terrible injuries but there are no weapons buried with them."

"Well they certainly died violently." Freeland reached across to pick up a stray femur, seeing if he could match it to the body in front of them. "But, I've never seen anything like this before. Some of these bones show clear signs of teeth marks." He passed the thighbone to Daniel so he could examine it by the beam from his flashlight. "See – here and here – definite signs of gnawing, which would suggest an attack by wild beasts of some kind."

"I need to ask Zagreus what kind of animals you get around here."

"But these – " Freeland held up a detached arm, "seem to have been ripped out. And the other thing that's really bothering me are these deformities."

"Yes. I was kind of wondering about those too."

"The top layer of these bodies – the ones who all seemed to die within a very short period of time – were pretty much…monsters." Freeland spoke with a compassion that contrasted oddly with his words.

"Zagreus said that his people's blood 'became too thin', by which I think he meant that they didn't have enough genetic diversity to avoid serious birth defects beginning to make themselves apparent. He said he tried to bring in new people but they brought a plague which killed everyone."

Freeland said flatly, "Doctor Jackson, take a look around you, none of these people died from any plague."

Daniel slowly shone his torch around the burial shaft and every skeleton was twisted and contorted, the thin bones of missing limbs scattered everywhere. "But if the bodies were just thrown in here after they were dead, that might explain some of the injuries, mightn't it?"

"I would stake my reputation that most of these people were still alive when they were thrown in here. I think someone wanted rid of these people because of what he or she perceived as their imperfections." The bitterness in his tone seemed to embarrass him and he coughed, recovering. "I'm sorry. I have a daughter with spina bifida."

Daniel scanned the hundreds of skeletons in growing horror. "So, you're saying they suffocated down here? Someone pushed them into these shafts while they were still alive and then sealed them up?"

"I think it was worse than that. Look here." Freeland shone his torch on a skeleton in the corner, its spine twice the thickness of Daniel's wrist but badly twisted, the skull showing a brow ridge low and heavy as a mountain gorilla, the jaw jutting forward in a way very reminiscent of the Touched. "See, look inside its ribcage." As Freeland shone the torch for him, Daniel clambered carefully over another horribly twisted skeleton which was missing half of its left leg, its contortions reminding him uncomfortably of the pictures he had seen of the dog on a chain which had suffocated so many thousands of years before beneath the ash of Pompeii. Bending under an outstretched arm, he looked in the circle of light Freeland's flashlight was casting on the ground. Inside the skeleton's ribcage were the splintered fragments of what was unmistakably a human hand.

"Oh my God, they killed each other." Daniel recoiled, blundering across other bodies as nausea overtook him. "It's what Euripides describes in the Bacchae. They ripped each other apart while they were still alive."

Freeman caught Daniel's arm. "Doctor Jackson, you're damaging the site."

"This isn't a site, it's a charnel house."

"You must have uncovered battlegrounds before."

"But don't you see? He drove them mad, just like it says in the myths. He wanted rid of them because they weren't beautiful enough for him, so he made them tear each other limb from limb. Sparagmos. Not a story. The real thing."

"Doctor Jackson, pull yourself together!"

"I have to get out of here." Daniel ran across to the wooden ladder, bone crunching beneath his feet, and began to climb it. He hadn't realized how long they'd been down in the burial shaft until he saw the stars winking in the blue-black sky. He knew Sam was right and Jack was right and Teal'c was right, and everyone was right but him, and they had to get the hell off this world and never come back. Except, how could he be sure that the madness Zagreus had engendered in those poor deformed victims wasn't both contagious and undetectable? How could they ever go back now if he and Freeland might be carrying insanity with them?

As he climbed out of the burial site, he saw the campfire blazing blood red, SG-3 and the rest of the archaeological team rendered eerily unfamiliar as shadowy silhouettes. They were making a lot of noise and passing something from hand to hand. Their laughter sounded not only raucous but also sinister and he realized his nerves must have been frayed to breaking point by the sight of the twisted dead. As he made to go forward to tell the others what he and Freeland had found, a hand closed on his mouth and he was pulled backwards behind a pillar.

It was a great relief to look up and see only Teal'c although his heart persisted in hammering at twice the normal speed for a few seconds longer.

"Daniel Jackson, you must be very quiet." Teal'c took his hand from Daniel's mouth.

"Uh – why exactly?" Daniel breathed back.

"While we were making preparation to leave the site, Zagreus brought wine and offered it to everyone. Colonel O'Neill and I tried to warn Colonel Makepeace and his men not to drink the wine but they had already been influenced by Zagreus and so only became abusive. Since then they have continued to drink and become gradually more irrational. I do not think it would be safe for you to approach them."

"But I have to warn them. This must have been what Zagreus did to the poor creatures in that burial chamber and they ended up ripping each other limb from limb. They have to listen to reason and stop drinking now."

"They will not heed your warning. They will only injure you."

Daniel looked around. "Where's Jack?"

As soon as he said the words he regretted them. Ever since he'd come here that malicious voice in his head had been telling him not only that he was a danger to the rest of SG-1 and it was a miracle he hadn’t got all the others killed by now, but that he was too dependent on them, and particularly too dependent on Jack; forever trailing around after the guy like he was a big brother/miracle worker combined. It was no wonder people like Makepeace despised him, the voice jeered. He despised himself when he thought about how much he relied on them all being there: Jack and Teal'c and Sam like a security blanket he couldn't put down; how scared he was by the thought of cutting himself loose from the rest of SG-1 and going it alone again. At night in his tent the coming loneliness yawned at him like memories of madness, unnerving him so much it made him all the more determined to see it through.

"Colonel O'Neill has gone back through the Stargate to obtain reinforcements and tranquillizer darts. I waited behind to warn you and Doctor Freeland when you emerged from the site. Colonel O'Neill thought it safest not to remind the others where you were by trying to communicate with you while you were down there lest it drew anyone's attention to you. Where is Doctor Freeland?"

Daniel suppressed a shiver as he thought of what a trap those shafts were. He imagined Teal'c standing silhouetted at the top of the burial chamber calling their names and SG-3 sneaking up behind him. One blow and he and Freeland would have been left down there like rats in a barn where every hole had been stopped up. He remembered the splintered bones inside what had once been that poor deformed creature's stomach, the arms and legs that had been ripped out while they were still alive…

"Daniel Jackson! Where is Doctor Freeland?

"Still in the shaft, I'll go get him." As Daniel started towards the chamber, Teal'c grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him back behind the pillar. Barely stifling an exclamation, Daniel had opened his mouth to demand to know what now when he saw Makepeace wander past unsteadily, an amphora in one hand and his machine gun held casually in the crook of his elbow. Daniel thought of the M-16 the man carried, the grenades around his waist. Makepeace could kill them all ten times over if the mood should take him. But Makepeace wouldn't, would he? They may have had minor disagreements in the past, but at heart Daniel knew better than anyone what a good man the marine Colonel was; he'd risked his life to save theirs, proven himself brave, and loyal, and, yes, even if it wasn't his defining characteristic, compassionate…

As he was thinking it, Makepeace took a grenade from his belt and began to toss it from hand to hand. The smile on his face was clearly deranged. "Oh…Fossil Boy…? Come out, come out, wherever you are!" As he was shouting, Makepeace pulled out the pin and tossed it carelessly into the first burial shaft. The blast was oddly muted, but dust and flame were exhaled from the hole like dragon fire; fragments of bone showered around them, chips of pottery, even small lumps of half-melted gold.

"Freeland's in the next chamber," Daniel said quietly. Makepeace was already giggling hysterically as he pulled out the pin on the second grenade.

Teal'c said, "I will stop Colonel Makepeace, Daniel Jackson. You wait here for Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter."

Daniel flinched from the reverberation of the second grenade and turned to look down towards the Lion Gate, hoping to see reinforcements already arriving, but the moonlight was showing him nothing but broken pillars and long shadows. He wondered how long he should wait before going to see if Teal'c needed any help. The Jaffa had told him to wait, certainly, but perhaps all the same he should…That was when Daniel again felt himself seized, another hand clasped across his mouth as he was pulled backwards by someone considerably stronger than himself. This time as the hand was removed, he said hopefully, "Jack?" But when he twisted his head round to look he saw only the inhumanly perfect face of Dionysus.

He wondered how he could never have noticed until now how cold the Goa'uld's golden eyes were. Daniel flinched as Zagreus stroked his cheek fondly in the same way that Daniel might have petted a kitten. He realized then that the way a selfish child perceived a kitten was probably much how the other perceived him – an appealing novelty, probably to be tired of as soon as he reached maturity. Daniel wondered how many metaphorical balls of twine he would be expected to roll across the floor for Dionysus' amusement. Daniel said desperately, "You have to stop this. Don't let what happened to your worshippers happen to these people. Or even if you won't reverse what you've done, then at least let me help Teal'c."

"The Jaffa is resourceful, intelligent, and strong, no doubt he will find a way to save at least himself."

Daniel tried to wrench himself loose from the other's grip but Zagreus only smiled. "Do you think that we would let you risk injury, foolish child?"

"Jack and Sam won't know what they're walking into, what your wine does to people's minds. Please, let me warn them?" Realizing it was futile, Daniel stopped struggling and tried to sound reasonable rather than desperate. "Look, I don't know what you want from me, something translated, or someone to talk to, or – whatever, but you can have it, okay? Anything you want. Just, please, don't do this again. Don't make these people die like this."

Dionysus held his palm in front of Daniel's eyes and the stone in it began to glow. So did the jewel in that thin golden coronet; a ruby light to go with the amber one in the Goa'uld palm. Daniel knew he should close his eyes, now, but it was as though someone had wired them open. The lights were everything; he felt them merge before melting into his mind, painless but utterly obliterating, and then everything went dark.

***

Zagreus glanced across in time to see the Jaffa tear the third grenade from Makepeace's fingers and hurl it into the woods. Timber ripped with a sound like bone breaking, fire flaring through the trees with a whispering sigh oddly similar to rain. Zagreus estimated that Makepeace's men would begin to tear the Jaffa in pieces with their bare hands within minutes; then they would no doubt turn upon the carousing scientists, before destroying each other. He swung Daniel over his shoulder as though the young man weighed less than a child and began to stride back towards his palace.

 ***

Teal'c used his staff weapon to knock Makepeace unconscious, apologizing as he did so, and then dragged him away from the circle of red light the campfire cast, hiding him by the palace where hopefully the others would not find him. For the moment even the blazing trees only seemed to amuse them and they were singing loudly, songs whose lyrics made no sense to Teal'c at all. Keeping low, he crept to the top of the newly uncovered chamber and called down cautiously, "Doctor Freeland?"

A voice said faintly, "Help me."

Unhesitatingly, Teal'c began to climb down the ladder into the blackness of the burial shaft.

***

As they came through the Stargate, Carter was still talking about Dionysus. O'Neill wondered if she had kept talking even when they were both dematerialized and being flung through an artificial wormhole at some incalculable velocity. He held up a hand. "Carter, I can't take it all in right now. I'll take your word for it the guy is bad news and his wine is even worse news, but right now let's just get to where Teal'c and Daniel are and try and stop SG-3 from killing too many people."

He was still fuming that something which cost as much to run as the Stargate program could have every team either off world or on stand-down just when he needed them. Of course one and half teams had probably been deemed enough to cope with what was supposed to be a friendly Goa'uld and half a dozen archaeologists, but all the same it was damned annoying to have gone charging off to collect the cavalry only to find they'd all just watered their horses and couldn't come help him right now. General Hammond had promised him assistance 'as soon as possible' but that might not be anything like soon enough for Daniel, Teal'c and Freeland.

"I'm just warning you, sir, Janet says that wine contains chemicals she's never encountered before but she thinks they may combine to form some kind of accelerant, which suggests that they need to mix with some other chemical again to produce the desired effect. Teal'c suggested the flowers – what if their odor acts to release an emotion such a guilt or anger, which the wine then increases out of all proportion. That would explain your feelings of guilt and Daniel's conviction that he needed to leave SG-1 for the sake of the rest of us. Because the chemicals are only enhancing an existing emotion it makes it that much harder to spot. And then, of course, there's that coronet device as well. I think that must also be a factor, but really, Colonel, the point is that we can't begin to anticipate how effective Zagreus' technology might be in affecting people's emotions and actions, but in Greek mythology, the god Dionysus drove people to such a frenzy of insanity that they ripped their own children into pieces."

O'Neill pulled a face. "God, Carter, I don't need to know that."

"I'm just saying that he's incredibly dangerous, sir."

"Point taken, let’s move it along." He was listening for anything that sounded like screaming but although there was definitely noise coming from the northeast it sounded more like singing than shrieking. He strode in that direction as fast as he could, hoping Teal'c had managed to warn Daniel and Freeland what might be waiting for them. "Okay, Carter, when we get there, I think it's best if you – " He turned around to finish his sentence and found her gone. "Carter?" he wheeled around full circle, wondering if he was losing his mind. "Carter!" There was no answer, just the faint sound of a savage chanting drifting towards him on the night breeze.

***

Part Six

O'Neill had spent what felt like a full minute turning circles and hissing for Carter but in the end he'd had to accept that she'd been taken. By whom and for what wasn't too difficult to work out – clearly Zagreus had been determined to get the astrophysicist back to his world by any means. Cursing all Goa'ulds and his own stupidity, O'Neill hurried down the road towards the ruined city, hoping Teal'c had managed to at least delay Makepeace's madness from degenerating into murder.

As well as being worried about Daniel, Teal'c and Freeland he was also worried about Makepeace and SG-3, and now felt he'd been very slow to realize the marine Colonel was being influenced by the Goa'uld – and probably had been for days. Makepeace had been snarling at Daniel and the archaeologists ever since he'd arrived on the planet and yet he wasn't usually so difficult. As Teal'c had pointed out, the man had saved their lives, losing a lot of good soldiers in the process, had taken pretty good care of Daniel while the archaeologist and Carter had been temporarily under his command – had let Daniel get wounded in the leg, of course, which O'Neill had felt at the time had probably been due to Makepeace not keeping a close enough eye on someone who after all was a civilian but…

What the hell was he doing? Daniel was fine. Daniel was always fine. You could drop Daniel off a cliff and he'd probably find a mattress to land on. Hell, cats looked at his extra lives with envy. His guardian angel might get a little bit overworked but damn, it was good at its job. Makepeace, however, only had the one life, ditto for the rest of SG-3 and those hapless unbeautiful archaeologists Zagreus was so clearly intent on getting rid of. They were the people who O'Neill needed to save. Daniel was about the only person on this planet who was safe right now – even if that might involve being cherished and protected by the love of Dionysus in ways O'Neill definitely didn't want to think about.

O'Neill wasn't sure how many lives he, Teal'c and Carter had left; they'd all died at least once after all. Not quite up there with Daniel-just-call-me-Lazarus-Jackson of course – for a while there before he'd become addicted, damn near become someone he wasn't and been left with an unholy fear of the things, Daniel seemed to have been spending more time in sarcophagi than King Tut – but had their fair share of staring death in the face all the same. And O'Neill knew that maybe one mission out, one of his crew was not just going to appear to be dead, but really be dead; irretrievably dead; no miraculous symbiote resurrection; no friendly Nox passing by; no Goa'uld sarcophagus to put them in for a quick fix; and he wasn't sure he was going to be able to cope. Correction, he knew he wasn't going to be able to cope. He'd watched Daniel die once, no, twice, no…damn, he'd sort of lost count of how many times he'd watched Daniel die, but he did remember that none of them had been fun experiences; could still recall that utter desolation of thinking that this time the kid was really gone, slipped out of his protective fingers forever and how the hell did you go on after that?

After he'd thought he'd seen Daniel burned alive in front of him, he'd tried to tell himself it was because the guy was his responsibility that it hurt so much, and later, of course, when the truth had come out, he'd tried to tell himself that sense of emptiness inside was just a side-effect from the brain implant that gilled alien had given him. But he'd known in his heart that he'd done something irrevocable and stupid. He knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to let yourself get that attached to another human being, to someone who was mortal, fragile, someone whom a single bullet would be enough to kill, and he'd been and gone and done it again: first Skaara, then Daniel, then Carter and Teal'c. Hadn't watching Kawalsky die taught him anything? What the hell had he been thinking of? But it was too late now; he couldn't back-pedal to just being vaguely fond of them now they'd become as necessary to him as oxygen. And it wasn't like it only cut one way. They'd let themselves get too damned fond of him as well.

Perhaps the problem was simply that they were now SG-1, not just four individuals, in fact perhaps not even four individuals any more, but an entity composed of four individuals, now incomplete without any of its component parts. One for all and all for one could sure turn around and bite you in the ass if one of the 'ones' didn't make it this time out, because where did that leave the ones left behind?

O'Neill wondered if you could get drunk on the fumes from mind-altering Goa'uld wine without having tasted it because he wasn't sure just how much sense his brain was making at the moment. He was striding along this road with the wind whispering through the trees like a curse, smelling burning timber, hearing eerie chanting, and having an empty space beside him that Carter should have been filling if she hadn't so inexplicably vanished into thin air, and he was agonizing over his team-mates' past and possible deaths when he should have been thinking of a strategy to save them and himself. He was starting to really hate what that tricksy Goa'uld son-of-a-bitch could do to the human brain.

***

O'Neill had never realized what an eerie place this citadel was before; how the perfume from those damned flowers still pervaded the air so strongly even after the sun had gone down, how those huge blocks of stone looked just poised to fall on his head, how all those archways came in different shades of darkness while marble gleamed palely by moonlight, like naked human flesh. Dead naked human flesh, bled white of life, warmth and hope and just starting to soften again after rigor dissolved…He didn't want to remember any battlefields right now. Not a time to be thinking of fallen comrades and dead innocents and everything that humankind was capable of doing to itself if you gave it the sniff of a motive.

Having failed to find any sign of Teal'c he'd dared a whisper that seemed to hang in the air for an eternity, a sound beacon telling every deranged member of SG-3 where to come get him. He'd heard mortar fire that made less noise than that whisper. After that he didn't dare say 'Daniel…?' aloud but he thought it so hard and with such concentration he figured if the linguist had been anywhere within range, he would have come. Well, damnit, he'd had a dog that came when you thought his name loud enough when he was a child and he was half-convinced the same trick worked with Daniel some days. Worked a darn sight better than giving Daniel a direct order when he was thinking about something else anyway: that really was an exercise in futility.

He already had a tranquillizer dart loaded and ready and his finger on the trigger – something they always told you not to do for the obvious reason that if you tripped you might shoot yourself in the leg or foot, but the ones who made up the rules didn't expect you to be dealing with highly-trained US Marines who'd all had their brains scrambled by a mythical Greek god into thinking that what they really wanted to do was rip a whole bunch of grave-robbers limb from limb…

O'Neill tripped, his finger tightened on the trigger and the dart shot straight into whatever it was he'd tripped on – missing his own leg by a whisker in the process. Hoping to God he hadn't just tranqued Teal'c or Daniel, he risked getting out his flashlight and shone it briefly on the already unconscious and now sedated man on the ground. Makepeace.

One down, three – and some archaeologists – to go. Given that Makepeace hadn't been dismembered he'd put this down to Teal'c's handiwork. Way to go, Teal'c.

Footsteps. Shit, he was hearing someone creeping up behind him and he was still thinking about Daniel. This was nuts. No please, not a good time for a guilt-flashback. Damnit…

Daniel huddled in the corner, trying so hard to fight the power of those hallucinations and failing; that apologetic whimper, ' Footsteps…' So scared. He'd been so damned scared. That look on Daniel's face as he saw…Even now, he didn't know what Daniel had been looking at, only that it was something which had terrified him the rest of the way out of his wits; pushed him over the edge into hysteria. Daniel pointing and laughing, totally unhinged and…

Damnit, O'Neill, get a grip! These footsteps are real and they're right behind you!

As he wheeled around he knew it was too late, he barely had time to register Johnson before something smacked into the side of his head that felt suspiciously like a gun barrel. He was knocked against something hard and felt blackness beckoning…if he passed out, he died; it was as simple as that. With a huge effort, O'Neill stayed on his feet, swaying and stretching out a hand to the next pale pillar for support. He was clinging onto consciousness by a fingernail but sentience was shivering like a heat haze and the darkness was still threatening to overwhelm him. If the guy hit him again…

Johnson hit him again.

O'Neill stumbled backwards into the moonlight, felt it expose him, sear his skin like a burn, bathing him in blue silver. He could feel blood trickling down his temple, and the look in the other man's eyes was completely insane. Johnson was a family man, he remembered irrelevantly, two little girls, Naomi and…damnit, couldn't remember the youngest one's name…

Yeah like that's important right now! Do something, you idiot!

As the man advanced, teeth bared in the maddest smile O'Neill had ever seen, O'Neill remembered the tranquillizer darts and fumbled for the next one. He was backing up as fast as he could, almost falling as the ground dipped suddenly but just managing to stay on his feet. He couldn't take his eyes off Johnson so he had to do this by touch, well that wouldn't be the first time; he ought to be able to do this in his sleep despite that pounding in his head. As Johnson suddenly raised his M-16 above his head and let loose an animal yell as he ran at him, O'Neill jammed the dart in, raised the barrel, pulled the trigger. Stepped backwards into nothingness.

Fell.

***

Carter woke to find herself naked except for the amber necklace Daniel had given her – which, in her hurry to go with O'Neill she had forgotten to take off – and reclining on a luxurious bed under a single gold-colored silk sheet. A scenario so unlikely that if it hadn't been for the relentless pounding in her head, she would probably have assumed this must be a pleasant dream she was having. She groaned and put a hand up to her temple, but even through the zing-zing-zing in her skull she could hear the sound of somebody else's quiet but regular breathing near at hand.

It was with a complete sense of unreality that she turned to see the back of Daniel's head on the pillow next to hers. With a sinking sensation that was very like nausea, she craned her neck to look at him; he appeared to be unharmed and very peacefully asleep. Amidst a whole ocean of dismay there was one lone wave of detachment left in her that noticed how young he looked with short hair. She'd never really registered that until now and it made everything seem even worse, as though along with all the other crimes she might well have committed while under the influence of a deranged Goa'uld she had also taken up child-molesting. Desperately trying not to assume the worst just because circumstantial evidence was against them, Carter tentatively leant across and touched his head. "Daniel?"

He stirred sleepily, then rolled over to face her, drowsily blinking several times before he managed to keep his eyes open. Even then it was a few seconds before he registered the peculiarity of their situation and his eyes widened in shock. "Sam?" He sounded as incredulous as she felt. Even more astonished, in fact, as he hadn't had the benefit of thinking Zagreus might try something like this. "Sam…?" As Daniel automatically made to get out of bed and so further away from a confusing situation, she put a hand on his bare shoulder. "You'd better stay where you are for the moment, Daniel."

"Why?"

"Because all I'm wearing is this necklace, I'm presuming you're naked as well, and we only have the one sheet."

After glancing down at himself to confirm that he was indeed naked, Daniel lay back, wincing. He put a hand to his head. "I haven’t had a hangover like this since…well, the last time Jack made me drink tequila." He looked at her sideways, evidently hoping she might have both an explanation and a solution to the situation. "What the hell happened?"

"Beats me."

"Well, do you remember anything?"

She thought back then shrugged. "Almost nothing. I came through the Stargate with the Colonel. There was this really bright light and then everything went dark."

"Okay. I remember a bit more than that: I went with Freeland to excavate the plague pits – God the burial chamber, Sam, I've never seen anything like it: all the bodies were just torn to pieces – and then I had to get out of there and get some fresh air –Teal'c told me what was going on – Jack had already left to get you and the tranquillizers, and Makepeace had really lost it and was throwing hand grenades around like firecrackers – Teal'c went after him – Zagreus grabbed me." He frowned in concentration but then shook his head. "Sorry, after that I'm blank."

"Same here." She ran a hand through her hair. "Which under the circumstances is maybe just as well."

"But – did we or didn't we?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Short of asking Zagreus, whose idea I presume this was, I don't think we have any way of knowing, but if we did it would definitely have been against regulations."

Carter looked around the room, hoping to see their clothes or at least gain some clue as to what might have taken place while their minds were affected, only to realize how…decadent this chamber was. There were no windows and the doors were closed, so there was no way of guessing if sunlight was burnishing or moonlight silvering the world outside, but in here there was smoky torchlight to make the eyes strain and sting a little, and an aftertaste of scented oil warmed against heated skin. The pillars were of red-veined marble, satiny in the low torchlight, looking like something that wanted to be stroked. There were white statues in the alcoves and none of them were clothed, and dangerous terracotta and ebony reliefs of Dionysus on every wall, proving that here was a demi-god who had never learned to embrace celibacy. Someone had scattered petals on the mosaic floor; red and mauve with a few faded white blooms in amongst them, presumably symbolizing lost innocence.

When she turned to look at Daniel he was also gazing around at their surroundings in dismay. Trying to tell herself it might be no more than a nifty bit of set dressing on Zagreus' part, Carter said, "Well at least the Goa'uld on this planet isn't called Heliogabalus, Daniel. I guess we should be grateful for that."

Daniel reached down, picked up a handful of the drying petals and then tossed them back onto the floor with a groan. "Actually, being smothered to death by rose petals is looking good to me right now." He put a hand over his eyes. "Jack is going to kill me. And not just in this dimension. Every time we go to a new one, another Jack from a different dimensional plane is going to kill me all over again."

"Colonel O'Neill is definitely the least of our problems right now. Problem number one is that I can't see our clothes anywhere."

"Well I can't even see my glasses to not see my clothes with."

"Take my word for it then, they're nowhere in sight." Pulling the sheet a little higher, Carter sat up. She noticed a goblet rolling by her side of the bed; thin beaten gold, red-stained from the wine dregs slopping lazily inside it. Carefully, she said, "Can you see if there's a goblet on your side of the bed?"

Daniel peered myopically at the marble floor. "Two goblets," he announced, "and an amphora which appears to be empty. I guess we must have made a night of it."

Idly, Carter wondered what it was about Daniel that made her first impulse the one to protect him, even now. After all, she was the one who might be pregnant, not him, yet still she leant down and casually rolled the goblet she could see under the bed and out of sight. Two naked people in a bed was enough for Daniel to have to worry about right now; three people in a bed, one of them a Goa'uld host, might be a lot more information than he needed. Besides, he hadn't taken what Hathor had done to him well, and if Zagreus had just done the same thing to both of them, well then Daniel would probably be a lot happier if he never knew it.

Daniel was looking at the sheet. "Do you think we could tear it in half?"

As he tried and failed to make any impression on the material, Carter sighed. "I think you'd better be gentlemanly and close your eyes while I go and find our clothes."

"You'd better take the sheet."

"No, because then I'll be able to see you. The one with his eyes closed keeps the sheet, the one with her eyes open finds the clothes."

Daniel looked uncomfortable. "I don't think it's very gentlemanly of me to let you wander around a Goa'uld palace in your birthday suit. I think I should go find our clothes."

"Daniel, not wishing to be indelicate, but I have spent the last week reading up on Ancient Greek Civilization and this is definitely a culture where you need to keep the sheet. Close your eyes."

He obeyed at once and it occurred to her as she got up that he was probably the only man she'd ever met who would actually keep them closed until she came back and told him it was safe for him to open them. Had he not very possibly impregnated her against both their wills then she would never have felt fonder of him, as things were she said only, "I'll be as fast as I can. If Zagreus turns up, try to keep him talking."

With his eyes still closed, Daniel frowned. "As opposed to what exactly?"

Trying not to wince from the cold of the mosaic floor against her bare feet, Carter looked at him in fond exasperation. "Never mind."

***

"O'Neill…!"

Someone was hissing his name and he really wished they wouldn't because it was leaving a fuzzy trail of static right through his inner ear. The last thing he wanted right now was more noise going into his brain because it felt like there was a brass band playing there already, and playing off-key and out of time at that. Not to mention the fact that someone had clearly been trying to open the top of his skull with a blunt can opener. He had what felt like more bruises than body parts, one ankle seemed to be twisted completely back to front and what was that pain in his ribs…?

"O'Neill…!"

Damn, he recognized that voice: Teal'c. That was bad. Teal'c didn't give up and you couldn't fob him off by groaning like you could with Daniel. If you groaned artistically enough you could sometimes persuade Daniel to leave you alone for another ten minutes and even when he came back and murmured 'Jack…?' at you in that I-really-need-you-to-wake-up-now way at least he'd do it with sympathy and concern, but not Teal'c. Teal'c reckoned warriors just got up and got on with things, and that meant him. The only surprise was that the Jaffa wasn't shaking him yet. Of course Daniel never got the shaking treatment; Teal'c would let Daniel come around slowly because Daniel was a scholar and scholars had to be treated gently. Well it wasn't goddamned fair. Daniel was younger than him and he ought to…

"O'Neill!"

Okay that was practically a yell and it really hurt. He could smell earth and something sourer than that, not just sweat, but…age; he recognized this scent, old stuff, old dead stuff that only Daniel could be interested in; the smell of rotted winding sheets and wrongs so ancient they could never be righted now. He hated that smell. O'Neill opened his eyes and saw…nothing. He opened them again in case he'd somehow done it wrong and accidentally left his eyelids in the down position. Still nothing. "Okay, am I blind or is it just really dark in here?"

"It is dark and you must be quiet."

"You didn't sound any too quiet when you were yelling my name like a foghorn."

"Three of SG-3 are still conscious, O'Neill, and are no doubt planning ways to terminate our lives."

"Two of SG-3 are conscious, Teal'c, I got Johnson with a dart just before I fell down this damned…where am I anyway?"

"In a burial chamber, Colonel. You've been unconscious for hours."

He definitely couldn't be dealing with voices he didn't recognize right now. "And who the hell are you?"

"Doctor Freeland is with me, O'Neill."

The name lanced the blurry pain in his head. Daniel and Freeland had been in the burial chamber when Dionysus had done his wine delivery. "Daniel…?"

"Daniel Jackson is not with us, O'Neill." The regret in Teal'c's voice made O'Neill's heart sink to the region of his boots. He knew that tone, that was the 'I have lost Daniel Jackson on the dark side of the planet,' voice, the one that told you Teal'c was blaming himself big time because Daniel was really in the shit.

'Unconscious for hours'? God, Daniel could already be in pieces up there…O'Neill collected himself, reason belatedly returning. "He'll be okay, Teal'c. Zagreus is masterminding this little pantomime and that means Daniel's safe. That Goa'uld wouldn't let any harm come to him." Well, not the fatal kind anyway, maybe some of the Hathor kind…Not thinking about that right now. Something to worry about later after they'd got out of this pit, disarmed SG-3, tranquillized half a dozen archaeologists and two deranged marines, found Carter, found Daniel, and neutralized that goddamned Goa'uld.

Teal'c was talking again, "O'Neill, where is Major Carter?"

"Zagreus took her. Don't know how. Didn't hear anything, didn't see anything, just turned around and she was gone. Guess that's a snake who really knows what he wants."

"We will retrieve Major Carter and Daniel Jackson from Zagreus very soon, O'Neill."

He loved the certainty with which Teal'c always said stuff like that. Not a guy who ever put out the welcome mat for Mister Niggling Little Doubt was Teal'c. A man definitely after his own heart. Damned right they'd 'retrieve' them and they'd better be in more or less the condition in which they'd lost them or there was going to be one less Goa'uld in the galaxy before you could say 'kree'.

In the meantime there were still those damned grave robbers to worry about. "Have you heard any screaming?" he asked.

"No," Freeland put in. "It's been very quiet up there. I don't think they've started – killing each other yet."

O'Neill frowned. That didn't make sense. Whatever was going to happen should have happened by now, which meant by rights there should be bits of bodies scattered all over the place. Johnson had certainly been crazy enough and he guessed Makepeace had really lost it as well. When Johnson had been coming towards him he'd looked exactly like…

A caveman.

Caveman…Damnit why was there never an anthropologist around when you needed him? Daniel could have worked this out in thirty seconds flat then given him the short version, whereas he was going to have to muddle through it slowly by himself. Okay, time to think about something he generally tried not to think about. How it had felt to be one of the Touched.

And thanks to Zagreus, there was that flashback in glorious Technicolor. He was an alpha male, looking at Daniel and seeing him as a possible threat, someone younger who might be trying to mate with an available female he wanted to keep for himself. He'd felt the determination flow through him to neutralize that threat as quickly and brutally as possible while at the same time teaching Daniel who was boss. Okay, no point thinking about that nervous little smile Daniel had given him that hadn't placated him one bit, or the shocked betrayal in Daniel's eyes when he'd hit him; that wasn't the point right now, he could wallow in old guilt any time, right now he needed to think straight.

It had only taken seconds, a swift flurry of blows and Daniel had been thoroughly subdued…And luckily, there had been people around to pull him off Daniel before he'd pounded the younger man into unconsciousness, but even if there hadn't been anyone to stop him and he had pounded him into unconsciousness he was pretty sure he would have stopped hitting Daniel once the poor guy had blacked out, because Daniel would no longer have been a threat. Then, when Daniel woke up, he would presumably have knocked him around some more until Daniel gave a clear sign he recognized that his Colonel was the dominant male and the women were off-limits. Then he was assuming he would have magnanimously allowed Daniel to lick his wounds on the periphery of the pack and as long as Daniel kept making it plain that he acknowledged tough old Jack as the alpha male, he would probably have just slapped Daniel around a little from time to time to keep him in line. He wasn't saying that Daniel would have had the nicest time in the world but he probably would have survived simply because he wasn't enough of a threat to merit killing…

Okay, that was the significant thing he'd been trying to get straight in his head, not what he had done or might have done to Daniel. Go over it again. What had the Touched done? Well, they hadn't killed Daniel either which seemed to prove his reasoning was sound; they'd beaten the crap out of their captive to teach him obedience, but they hadn't gone on beating the crap out of him once they were satisfied Daniel had got the message. If they had done, Daniel would have been dead long before O'Neill and the others found him. The Touched had attacked SG-1 when they first came through the gate because they'd seen them as a rival tribe encroaching on their territory, right? That was what Daniel had said and Daniel was generally right, much as he hated to admit it, but later on they'd grabbed Daniel because Daniel wasn't part of a tribe then, he was someone they could force to become part of their tribe, a way to make themselves stronger. And they'd kept him with them, because the more of them there were the better and he was relatively young and healthy and once he'd learnt his place in it would make a good addition to their pack.

And the significance of that was…? Damn, he'd almost had something then. Something about the wine and SG-3 and…no, definitely couldn't remember the number he'd first thought of now.

Of course it would be a lot easier to think if everything didn't hurt so damned much. He swore savagely because this was important and his brain kept wanting to run off and start cataloguing bruises. O'Neill was surreptitiously still assessing his injuries: bad headache, some dizziness, lots of aches and pains, a gouged side, possibly a cracked rib – he breathed in deeply – no, just a bruised rib, that was something. That ankle was still giving him some problems but he could move his foot and although it wasn't an enjoyable experience, it wasn't excruciating agony either. With Teal'c to lean on, he thought he could probably get along okay.

"Are you injured, O'Neill?"

"Feels like something's sticking in me…" He reached to where the pain in his ribs was just as someone switched on a flashlight. So he got a really good look at what was jabbing him so painfully in his left side. "Jesus!" O'Neill wrenched the object out of his side and threw it across the chamber.

"O'Neill…?"

"I had someone's ribs in my goddamned ribs, Teal'c." O'Neill looked around the chamber and realized that he was surrounded by…bones. He was sitting on bones; bits of skeletons; there was a skull underneath his foot, eye sockets gaping at him. He kicked it away in revulsion. "For crying out loud, this place is a…!"

"Burial chamber, Colonel, as I believe I mentioned." Freeland told him calmly. "As in a chamber in which one would find that people had been buried."

The light switched off before O'Neill could take in any more but what he'd seen had been more than enough to make him shudder. He decided to ignore the sarcasm to focus on essentials. "Any way out of here except up?"

"At the moment Doctor Freeland is injured and I am unable to free myself, O'Neill."

"What?" Nothing like realizing both your allies were in way worse shape than you were for snapping you out of stale self-recrimination into a whole new guilt-trip. "God, Teal'c why didn't you…?"

"My symbiote is healing my injuries, O'Neill, but Doctor Freeland's leg is broken and it will be difficult for him to climb up without assistance."

O'Neill fumbled for his own flashlight and switched it on again, this time shining it in the direction of Teal'c's voice. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he saw that half of the shaft wall had collapsed and Teal'c was lying under a pile of rubble and dirt. He had obviously been shielding Freeland, who had a lot less of the chamber wall lying on him but whose leg was at a very unhealthy angle. Teal'c was clearly unable to get his arms free because of the weight of earth and stones on top of him. O'Neill didn't think that mass pressing down on the Jaffa's chest could be healthy either. No wonder Teal'c had been trying to get him to wake up – damnit, the man should have got Freeland to heave a rock at him an hour ago.

"Junior okay?" he demanded anxiously.

"My symbiote is unharmed, O'Neill." Teal'c's voice sounded as strong and calm as ever which was something at any rate. "O'Neill, are you aware that your head is bleeding?"

"What?" O'Neill put a hand up to his forehead and felt a tacky wetness against his fingertips, oh yes the familiar sticky sinking feeling of drying blood. He'd forgotten about Johnson hitting him with his gun. At least that explained the headache and the dizziness. "Well, things couldn't really get much more fun down here if they tried, could they?"

Given the way he'd stepped backwards into a burial shaft he thought he was damned lucky to have got away with only bruises but that didn't mean those bruises didn't hurt. On another occasion he might find the irony of having escaped a bunch of broken bones by landing on a bunch of broken bones amusing, but right this minute he didn't feel much like cracking a smile.

He began to crawl over to where Teal'c was sitting under that mound of stone and earth; bits of human skeletons cracking under his knees and hands in a way that made him shudder.

O'Neill shone the light at Freeland who gave him a watery smile. One look was enough to show him that the archaeologist was in a lot of pain but trying to hide it. "That's something I've learned from working with Daniel, Doctor Freeland," O'Neill said conversationally.

"What's that?" the man managed.

"How brave an archaeologist can be." O'Neill wedged his flashlight next to Freeland and felt in his pockets. "Okay, I've got some morphine which is going to help a lot, and I'll see if I can set that for you. One thing about busting a leg in a burial chamber, at least there's no shortage of things to use for a splint."

"I appreciate the bedside manner, Colonel, but given our situation, why don’t you do what you have to do in silence and I will endeavor to endure it in the same manner?"

Studiously reminding himself that the man was a) in pain, b) an academic, and c) British, three things almost guaranteed to make anyone come across like a first-class prick, O'Neill gave him his best humorless smile and felt around for a spare femur.

As he injected the morphine, waited for it to kick in, and then set the man's leg as swiftly and efficiently as he could, O'Neill was trying to decide what the hell to do next. He estimated it was going to take him half an hour to dig Teal'c out by which time there might be fricasseed grave robber all over the damned citadel. On the other hand, no way in hell was he leaving Teal'c trapped under a chamber-slide with no means to defend himself when there were a load of madmen wandering around loose. He finished tying off his makeshift splint and then turned to Teal'c. "How are you feeling?"

"I am recovering quickly, O'Neill. You should assist the archaeologists."

"Teal'c, let me spell this out for you, the faster I get you dug out from here, the faster we all get to go help the archaeologists. So you can sit there and argue with me or you can shut up and let me start digging. Your choice."

The look the Jaffa gave him promised that when his arms were free he might have something more to say on the matter, but for the moment he held his tongue.

As O'Neill lifted rocks and pulled the earth from Teal'c's body he was bracing himself for the inevitable flashback. He knew it was coming: Daniel lying under a pile of rubble in that naquada mine, looking so small and still and downright dead and…Not such a bad one, actually, on a par with having a root canal but not so much like having your guts clawed out by a Kodiak bear. Zagreus' little happy-flashes were definitely starting to wear off.

This place, however, was creeping him out, big time. And as there was no way that hanging around in places like this could possibly be healthy he was never again going to wonder if Daniel would be better off sticking to archaeology. If archaeology meant hanging around in burial chambers full of old bones, then archaeology clearly sucked. Much healthier to come along with the rest of them and battle against the Goa'uld where at least you usually got to be out in the fresh air and he was damned well going to tell Daniel that the next time he saw him. Supposing there was a next time. Supposing Daniel wasn't already…

Daniel's fine, remember? You've definitely established that Daniel is unharmed albeit a captive of a deranged Goa'uld who probably wants to…Okay. Just stick with 'Daniel's fine.' Now stop worrying about Daniel and worry about getting everyone out of here alive.

O'Neill picked up the flashlight, sending a shaft of white gold cut to cut through the dusty darkness, then switched it off before SG-3 saw the beam. He'd been hoping for another possible exit because that shaft opening was a long way up, but all he was seeing were bones and stones. The glare danced on his retina like a sparkler trail but stronger by far was the image of that skull by his foot. The empty eye sockets had seemed to stare at him with such accusation. He'd had nightmares like this, dreams where he'd tumbled into a pit filled with the living corpses of everyone and everything he'd ever killed; dead flesh with a greenish tinge that forewarned of coming putrefaction, their blood rising slowly in a red-black wave, lapping at the walls to waist-height, shoulder height…After Iraq their gore had risen high enough to cover his mouth and he'd woken up screaming night after night still tasting the blood from his own bitten lip…

O'Neill snapped out of it and began pulling the stones off Teal'c with redoubled determination. Okay, so some of the pollen from those damned flowers could reach him even in here but he knew what was causing it now and it wasn't going to work with him.

"SG-3 and the archaeologists might not have fought among themselves," he said it quietly, wanting to hear it out loud to see if it still made sense, whilst still pulling at earth and loose stones. "SG-3 wouldn't have needed to kill the archaeologists because the archaeologists were unarmed and no threat to them, and they would have worked out that I'd gone for reinforcements and needed their tribe to be stronger…"

"Colonel, you're not making any sense."

Hmm, morphine usually cheered people up, made them dopey and happy and, well, going on for half of the Seven Dwarfs, but with Freeland it didn't seem to be making a whit of difference. Another reason why Daniel didn't want to be going back to archaeology – other archaeologists were clearly crabby as hell. Better give the guy something to do to take his mind off things. He shoved the flashlight into Freeland's hands. "I can do this a lot quicker with light. Keep shining it on Teal'c for me."

"You are thinking of the Touched again, O'Neill."

Thank God he had Teal'c down here with him too. Someone who wasn't in a bad temper and whose brain seemed to be working perfectly. The man was sitting there under half a ton of soil and skeletons looking as calm as though he was relaxing on a beach. Got to hand it to that kel no reem thing, sure kept a guy focused in a crisis.

Wine. SG-3. The Touched. Okay, it was coming back to him, a sort of murmur of a theory. "Look, I've been thinking. You decked Makepeace right, Teal'c?"

"I rendered him unconscious, yes."

"How crazy was he?"

"He was throwing hand grenades into the burial chambers and calling to Daniel Jackson to come to him. I do not think that this intentions were friendly."

"Okay, fair enough. I'm trying to remember what happened topside before I headed back through the Gate. Zagreus rolled up with Makepeace and Makepeace had a weird look in his eye. Then Zagreus handed out the wine and told the archaeologists he was the God of the Vine or something and they all did the polite Daniel thing and drank it down, and then Makepeace told his men to try it as well. And they started toasting people and getting real noisy and – "

"And you went over to try and reason with them and Colonel Makepeace pointed his gun at you."

"Yes, that was our first clue. Okay, so I went off to get Carter. What happened here?"

"SG-3 and the archaeologists continued to drink the wine. They became progressively more illogical and violent."

"Violent as in eat-your-own-kids crazy or violent as in the way I was acting when I came back from P3X797?"

Teal'c considered the question and then shook his head regretfully. "I could not say, O'Neill, I did not observe them closely enough."

"What if, as soon as that stuff started to kick in, SG-3 – who were the strongest in that group – took the wine for themselves? The others might not have got enough to make them really nuts. Also, we know Zagreus' magic pollen is a memory enhancer, gives you flashbacks so vivid they damn near blow the front of your head off. SG-3 all got the Touched virus before I did. Maybe Zagreus didn't allow for that. Maybe Makepeace and Johnson and the others went primitive before they went crazy. They'd be one tribe, the archaeologists would be another; except there are no Untouched here, no way of adding to their own tribe if they kill off all the opposition, right? Now, I was not a nice guy when I had that virus, but I wasn't completely stupid, I knew what I was doing when I was pounding Daniel and I wasn't trying to kill him."

He paused for breath and realized he must have freed Teal'c's arms at some point because the Jaffa was helping now, lifting stones the size of a man's head as easily as though they were tennis balls and tossing them lightly into the corner. O'Neill was getting so he hardly flinched at the sound of those old bones cracking. He sometimes forgot how much stronger than him Teal'c was; the Jaffa was such a smart guy, such a cool nerve and a wise head in a corner that O'Neill didn't always keep it in mind how much physical strength the man had as well. Again, you had to be damned glad a guy like that was on your side.

O'Neill collected himself, still tearing at rocks and soil and very aware of the eye-sockets of skulls boring into the back of his head, but feeling a lot better now Teal'c was so nearly free. "Okay, SG-3 must have known I'd gone off to get reinforcements so they knew they were going to be needing some help and they knew you were around here somewhere, Teal'c, and that you're a lot stronger than they are. They can't afford to kill the archaeologists because they need the archaeologists to come join their tribe and fight off the next SG team that threatens them. Ergo: the archaeologists are still alive, not ripped into pieces, and the rest of SG-3 are keeping them as prisoners the way the Touched took Daniel prisoner."

And boyohboy! He'd done it, all on his little old lonesome. Carter and Daniel would have been so damned proud of him and, rats: they hadn't been around to hear it. Neither of them would ever believe he'd managed to reason that out all by himself.

"O'Neill, when we retrieved Daniel Jackson from the Touched he had sustained considerable…"

"I'm not saying everyone up there is going to be in the best of shape, Teal'c, I'm just saying that at least there's a possibility they're not dismembered yet." O'Neill looked across at Freeland. "That make sense to you, Professor?"

The man was returning his gaze with grudging respect. "Well, I'm not saying I'd turn up to hear you give a paper, Colonel, but I would say your theory is not entirely without…"

That was when the heard the crunch of approaching footsteps on the ground above them, an odd sound to be sitting under, hollow and menacing. Freeland switched off the flashlight without needing any prompting and O'Neill and Teal'c both froze. The footsteps stopped. Perhaps their owner hadn't seen that flicker of light. Perhaps he wanted some more of that nice wine the Goa'uld had left for him and would just like to wander back to the campfire now. Please, O'Neill thought, just one break, just one teeny-weeny, incy-wincy little…The footsteps began to advance towards the burial shaft. Thanks a bunch! Swearing under his breath, O'Neill tried to banish the recurring image of Daniel flinching from ghostly footsteps in the corner of that padded cell. So this was what that fear felt like, being helpless, trapped, nowhere to escape to as they came closer and closer, knowing you had no way to defend yourself against…

Except he did. And he would. Ignoring the pounding in his head, O'Neill felt around carefully for his weapon. It had fallen in here with him, must have done, because if it was still lying up there then they were all dead and he really didn't want to be dead right now, apart from anything else it would be so inconvenient; he had places to go, people to save, and…

Yes!

His fingers closed on the barrel and gripped tightly, that chill metal more welcome than any caress he'd ever felt. As the footsteps drew closer he was tearing a dart from the belt at his waist and loading the rifle. It was lucky he knew how to do this with his eyes closed because he certainly didn't have a hand free for a flashlight right now, and anyway, in these circumstances, the darkness in the burial chamber was their only ally. He was only going to get one shot at this. Of course if the moon would just deign to come out from that damned cloud cover and bathe their enemy in revealing light…

Silver blue luminance, faint and ghostly, but just enough to show him the silhouette he needed. Well better late than never, he thought; then the helpful moonlight was blotted out by something brilliant white, and blinding. As the flashlight seared his eyes O'Neill was already lifting the weapon and pointing. It didn't matter that his eyes were watering from that skewering glare because he knew where to aim now. He pulled the trigger a second before the chamber was deafening with gunfire; something deadly bouncing off the walls with the savagery of a firecracker trapped inside a tin can. Spits of light flared and died. Something soft and heavy landed with an ash-sack thump on the ground as bones cracked a protest. Old bones, O'Neill hoped; ones no longer connected to anybody's nervous system. Or perhaps he was imagining that bone-crack because he sure as hell couldn't hear anything but the aftershocks of that burst of machine-gun fire now. Perhaps he'd not so much heard those sounds as sensed them, sensations transmitted to him through the super-conductor of three hundred angry corpses.

Wincing from the ringing in his ears and giving his head a shake to clear both that damned noise and his thoughts, O'Neill decided that asking if everyone was okay when no one would be able to hear the question and he wouldn't hear the answer was probably more futile than he wanted to get right now. He groped for his flashlight and switched it back on. Teal'c returned his gaze calmly but Freeland had a hand clasped to his shoulder and something liquid was running through his fingers. The man looked more shocked than hurt, reminding O'Neill of Daniel's stunned expression the first few times he'd been injured. He guessed archaeology just wasn't a profession where you expected people to try and kill you.

O'Neill crawled across the broken bones to where the member of SG-3 was lying, relieved to find a pulse at the neck and no obvious signs of injury except the inevitable bruises. He turned to look at Teal'c and Freeland. "Fascinating as this place is, I'm getting kind of tired of the 'rat in a trap' feel it's giving me. What say we see about getting out of here?"

***

Hearing the sound of voices, Carter increased her pace. She'd found their clothes strewn around the floor of the next chamber in a way that suggested intoxication of one kind or another, and had first pulled on her own uniform then picked up Daniel's. There was no sign of any of their weapons, but she did find Daniel's glasses in one of the fish pools and hooked them out for him. There wasn't, of course, a lot she could do against a Goa'uld who had already proven himself capable of rendering her unconscious and quite possibly of controlling her behavior as well, but she still ran down the corridor as she heard the sound of Daniel talking to Zagreus.

"…Sam could explain it better, but you have to understand our species isn't like yours. We have things called recessive genes – faults, imperfections if you like, that come out if you double up on them. For instance, I have allergies and I'm near-sighted. Any child of mine would probably inherit the gene for those two faults. If you double up on that gene again you'll make the fault worse. In a couple of generations you'd have children born blind and already sneezing – "

"No, this is not so." Zagreus was sitting on the side of the bed and Carter wished he would just get the hell away from Daniel. Not that Daniel seemed as uncomfortable with the situation as she would have been in his place. Half-wrapped in the sheet, hair still tousled from sleep, the archaeologist was too intent on trying to communicate the futility of Zagreus' plans to the Goa'uld to worry about the little matter of being naked and unarmed. She wondered if Daniel was aware of the mural that was right behind his head, another picture of the God of the Vine that showed him embracing an enraptured mortal.

Zagreus was starting to remind Carter of a guy she'd dated in college who'd covered every flat surface of his apartment with silver-framed photographs of himself. He had the same misplaced confidence in his own irresistibility. Except, she thought with a surge of irritation, Zagreus' confidence probably wasn't misplaced, was it?

Looking up at the Goa'uld without any fear or even embarrassment, Daniel said earnestly, "You have to believe me. We aren't the same as you are. That's why your plan won't work."

"No. The problem last time was that there were too many codes combining; the breeding stock was sullied by inferior cells. This time the stock will be pure, will be beautiful. Everything will be controlled, perfected."

Daniel raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. "Sam and I are not going to stay here for the rest of our lives breeding children for you to experiment on. Frankly, I would rather die, and I'm sure Sam would agree with me."

Zagreus stretched out a hand and touched Daniel's face. "You will be contented here. You will flourish and prosper under the love of Dionysus."

"No," Daniel told him firmly, "we won't. We'll both be very unhappy and we will mention it often."

Zagreus caught Daniel by the hair, quite gently, but Carter was given a sudden impression of great strength, of how one flick of the Goa'uld's wrist could snap Daniel's neck in an instant. Still with his fingers twisted in Daniel's short hair, Zagreus said softly, "You will be cherished and protected."

"Whether we like it or not?" Daniel countered.

Zagreus pulled Daniel's face up very close to his. "We can make you do anything we wish."

As Carter saw Daniel flinch from the Goa'uld's breath against his mouth, she ran forward, shouting, "Let him go!"

It was a relief when she saw Zagreus release Daniel before turning to regard her with amused curiosity. "We would do nothing to the boy he did not want. Nor to you, my passionate child."

"Well, just assume we don't want anything then," Daniel suggested, "except our clothes and your assurance Sam and I can walk out of here right now and you won't try to stop us." He looked around irritably. "Where are my glasses?"

"The optical devices will not be necessary to you for much longer." Zagreus observed. "We can heal your imperfections."

"No thanks." Carter came over to the bed and handed Daniel his glasses and uniform. "We like being imperfect. It keeps our feet on the ground." As she drew near to Zagreus something tugged at the edge of her consciousness, an anxiety she couldn't place, but it was difficult trying to think straight with a hangover threatening to saw her head in half.

Before she could work out what was worrying her so much, Zagreus was speaking again: "When you are perfect so will be the children you shall breed for us."

"Human genetics doesn't work like that." Keeping her gaze firmly fixed on Zagreus, Carter held up the sheet for Daniel so he could get dressed behind it. "You could run us both through your sarcophagus like a hot cotton wash as many times as you liked, the genetic codes we carried – our DNA – would remain exactly the same. We might no longer have any visible imperfections but any children we had would still inherit them."

Even as she was saying it, she knew that she couldn't be sure if it was true because she had no idea how the sarcophagus functioned. She only knew that it took something from you each time you went through it; healed you, yes; brought you back from the dead even; but stole a fragment of your soul in the process. Perhaps if you went through it enough times it could alter you fundamentally, even tamper with your DNA so that you would breed only inhumanly perfect children incapable of feeling pity, humility, or remorse.

It wasn't an experiment she had any intention of trying and she kept her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Zagreus as Daniel pulled on his clothes behind the sheet, determined to appear as though she knew what she was talking about and she and Daniel were in control of the situation, even through the minor distraction of Daniel cursing as he wrestled with an item of clothing that had apparently turned itself inside out.

If Daniel hadn't been within earshot she would have asked the Goa'uld outright what exactly it had done to them. Before she could phrase a question in suitably bland terminology, Daniel pulled on his jacket and looked up over the sheet. "Did you make Sam and I have sex last night?"

Zagreus smiled faintly. "I could not 'make' you do such a thing against your will."

"Yes, you could." Daniel sat down on the bed and began to pull on his boots. "If you could make Makepeace come after me with a live grenade in his hand, you could definitely persuade two drunk people to have sex. So did we or didn't we because Sam really needs to know?" Daniel punctuated the question by tying the knot on his bootlace with unnecessary savagery

She had a sudden recollection of Hadante. The Colonel had been so worried for Daniel in that place and Daniel hadn't even noticed the danger he was in. She'd seen the Colonel mulling it over in his mind, whether he should warn Daniel or not, whether the slight reduction in risk that a warning would achieve would make up for the irreparable damage it might do to Daniel's psyche to hear what the rest of them were afraid could happen to him. Daniel's faith in the rest of humanity was something fragile and precious as blown glass that none of them had wanted to see get broken. And yet despite all their efforts, Daniel was no longer the young man she had met on Abydos, so full of trust in his fellow man, so curiously innocent and innocently curious that you wanted to keep him that way forever. This Daniel still had the same integrity, was as brave and resourceful and determined as he'd ever been, but no one could have called him innocent. And yet…

There were still things she didn't believe he'd ever thought about and she saw no reason for him to think about them now if he didn't have to. That had been the Colonel's decision in the end; he'd settled for dropping a few hints and hovering protectively and right now she knew exactly how he felt. The after-effects of that damned wine were still swimming about inside her, a vague tingling in every limb, not unpleasant but disorientating, a little like a morphine drip and possibly acting as a mild analgesic as well. So, asking Daniel if he was hurting anywhere probably wouldn't achieve anything until the effects had worn off – except to start his mind off down roads she would rather it didn't have to travel.

Carter hated the speculative expression in Zagreus' golden eyes, the smile playing at his lips. He was looking Daniel over lazily, clearly rehearsing what he was about to say and enjoying the prospect of it and she wondered if there was some way she could divert him. As the Goa'uld opened his mouth, she jumped in fast. "Not wanting to be pregnant, you see, I'd quite like to know if there's any possibility I could be. Oh and who the father would be."

The Goa'uld's smile widened. "I would hate to spoil the surprise."

Carter and Daniel exchanged a glance. Daniel cleared his throat. "You do realize that we have…methods of…" Clearly deciding it might be better not to tell the Goa'uld too much, he shrugged. "I think you underestimate how much we've changed since you were last on Earth. We have technologies and medicines now that were undreamed of last time you were…"

The Goa'uld was smiling and shaking his head. "You have not changed. You were as confident of your 'technologies' when last I was amongst your race. In those days you believed in entrails, sibyls, and prophecy and now you believe in anti-bio-tics and astro-physics. Each generation believes itself to have all necessary knowledge at its fingertips and only a few questions left unanswered. You are arrogant and complacent, and that will never change. You still know so little and believe it to be so much."

"I could say the same of your race." Daniel started then at a warning glance from Carter, cleared his throat. "But – I won't, because that would be just silly when you effectively have us prisoners here, now, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, I think you can go right ahead and say it, Daniel."

Carter and Daniel both turned around at the sound of that voice and both found their overwhelming relief at seeing Teal'c and O'Neill alive and only slightly injured was almost matched by their overwhelming relief at the other half of SG-1 not having arrived ten minutes earlier when Daniel was still in his birthday suit.

It was as she turned towards the Goa'uld to assess his reaction to Teal'c and O'Neill's arrival that Carter realized two things: she was still hungover enough that quick movements made her head spin alarmingly; and the little anxiety which had been niggling at her was the realization that the Goa'uld before them was no longer a Goa'uld.

***

Part Seven

"Jack! Teal'c! You're alive!" Daniel's relief was so visibly overwhelming O'Neill didn't have the heart to point out that for a man with two PhDs Daniel had a real talent for stating the obvious. Daniel's expression dissolved from relief into anxiety as he saw how grubby they both were and noticed O'Neill's limp. "You're hurt?"

"We're fine, Daniel. Perfectly fine."

"Doctor Freeland…? SG-3…? Doctor Kovik and…?"

"Everyone's fine. Most of them are unconscious and some of them may have headaches when they come around, but they're all alive and they all have the right amount of arms and legs. No thanks to the Lord of the Vine here."

O'Neill's gaze flickered from Daniel to Zagreus and then to Carter. Then he looked at that great big bed with its rumpled sheet, and the picture on the wall at its head. It hadn't escaped his attention that both of his erstwhile missing teammates had the kind of tousled hair which spoke of recent emergence from sleep. And Daniel had his T-shirt on inside out. O'Neill raised his MP-5 and addressed Zagreus directly: "You want to put that coronet and hand device down on the table here or do you want me to start turning your host into a colander?"

As Zagreus disdainfully tossed the two items onto the table, Teal'c's frown of concern deepened.

"He is no longer a Goa'uld, O'Neill." Teal'c said it before Carter could, and more calmly than she would have managed it as well.

Teal'c looked to Carter for confirmation and she nodded. "I know. I sense it too – or rather, I don't. I knew something was wrong when I came back into the room but I couldn't work out what it was."

"What?" Daniel looked up in horror. He clasped a hand to the back of his neck, trying to twist his head round to see. "Jack?"

O'Neill was there in two strides despite his twisted ankle. "Don't panic," he told Daniel firmly, but his fingers were also a little shaky as he pulled down the top of the younger man's jacket to check. He exhaled in relief. "No entry scar. And anyway, Daniel, I don't care how doped up you were, you'd have felt it go in – it hurts like hell."

"Not if it entered through the mouth," the ex-host said calmly. He looked across to where Daniel was still feeling the back of his neck for an entry wound O'Neill might have missed. "If the boy and I kissed when the Goa'uld was within me, Zagreus may have gone into him and left no trace."

Daniel turned around to gaze at O'Neill and the man read his own dismay in Daniel's blue eyes. Oh boy, this was already starting to feel like a really bad day.

There was an uneasy silence before O'Neill made himself say, "Well – did you kiss Daniel or didn't you?" He knew he ought to feel pity for this poor host, used by the Goa'uld that controlled it for thousands of years, but this unnaturally handsome young man was too self-possessed for him to like. He felt as suspicious of him now as he had when the Goa'uld had been inside him.

The ex-host shrugged, elegantly. "When one is possessed by the Goa'uld, one lives a dream. One remembers only fragments. But I do remember that when I was still a host the boy offered himself to me in exchange for your lives."

"Daniel!"

"I was buying time, Jack. I had to say something, and anyway, I was careful not to be specific, I just said that Dionysus could have – could have – "

"Anything he wanted," the host finished softly.

"Oh, wonderful." O'Neill took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. "Did you – offer him anything else we should know about, Daniel? Maybe later? After you'd got drunk and lost your underwear for instance?"

Daniel shrugged helplessly. "Jack, I don't remember anything."

"I kind of think the kissing thing would stick."

Carter said apologetically, "Sir, Daniel and I both woke up naked in the same bed – you'd think how we got there might have lodged with us, but it didn't. According to the texts I've been looking at, the god Dionysus had the ability to seduce both men and women. For all Daniel and I know we might both have slept with Zagreus and each other."

O'Neill began to say 'I really don't need to hear that' but looking at Daniel's face stopped himself. He knew he should be businesslike about this, remind them there was no point crying over spilt milk – yeuch! not the best analogy – and suggest that Janet Fraiser checked them out for signs of…intercourse – there he could say it, no problem, just not aloud – check them out as soon as they got back to the base. The trouble was if he opened his mouth he was going to start yelling. Loudly. Because he was still having a little bit of trouble dealing with the fact that Daniel had offered himself to a Goa'uld to save their lives. What the hell was that about! When was that dumb kid going to learn that indulging in stupid heroics was not the right way to handle a difficult situation? Teal'c took his eye off him for two minutes and Daniel was selling himself to the enemy, possibly impregnating Carter, and quite probably getting himself taken as a host. Even by Daniel's standards that was unbelievably reckless, stupid and…

And if that guy had hurt Daniel or Carter he was going to kill him.

He exchanged a glance with Teal'c then and saw the Jaffa move quietly and calmly over to stand by Carter. A small gesture that told him he was now officially responsible for Daniel and that ex-host had better be pretty damned careful what he said and did from now on if he didn't want to find out how a staff weapon tasted when it was rammed straight down your throat. Good. At least he and Teal'c were both on the same page.

Deep breath, O'Neill. Count to ten. Give the blood pressure time to drop. He picked his words carefully, concentrating on meeting Carter's eye rather than Daniel's. He wasn't mad at Carter. "Look, normally I might have just a teeny-weeny problem with that, but under the circumstances I think the only thing that matters is where the Goa'uld went."

Daniel turned to Carter in desperation. "Sam?"

She shook her head helplessly. "Daniel, I can't sense one in you, I swear. I'd tell you if I could."

"I don't feel any different yet but what if it's lying dormant or something? What if it's waiting until we're back at the base to make its move?" He went and sat down on the beautifully carved marble couch, the picture of despondency. "You'd better leave me here."

"Yeah, that was my first thought as well," O'Neill said impatiently. He was so worried about Daniel and Carter and so damned furious at what might have been done to them, that he really needed to hit someone and if Daniel kept this up it might well turn out to be him.

"If you take me back with you and Zagreus is inside me – "

"Daniel, the second we go through the gate we'll put you through the MRI and make sure you're not harboring anything. You're not staying here so don't even think about it." O'Neill turned to the ex-host who was gazing at Carter with a casual possessiveness that set his teeth on edge. "Are you really telling me you can't remember what you did or didn't do to them?"

"This troubles you?"

"Yeah, it troubles me!"

"Sir, he isn't responsible for anything the Goa'uld may have forced him to do," Carter put in, but the words almost stuck in her throat. She too thought the ex-host was fairly insufferable and the thought of having slept with him was literally nauseating. Yes, the shell was certainly handsome, but the personality was distinctly unappealing.

O'Neill gave her a quick assessing look. She appeared calm enough, a little pale but definitely coping. But then she was coper; didn't mean she was having a good time right now. He said quietly, "You okay, Carter?"

He was relieved by the determination in her blue eyes. "I'm fine, sir. I'm more worried about…" She didn't need to finish the sentence, her gaze had already flicked in Daniel's direction and he knew damned well what she was thinking because he was thinking the same thing.

The ex-host shrugged elegantly. "Where the Goa'uld spread oblivion there is no will or lack of will, there is only obedience. And besides, the boy has lain with a Goa'uld before; the girl has been a host to one."

O'Neill could feel the last of his tolerance dissolving. These were his team; his responsibility; his kids; it was his job to make sure bad things didn't happen to them, ever. And yet so many bad things had. Having failed to keep any of them safe always ate into his marrow like a virus and it was taking all his self-control not to just grab the ex-host by the throat and yell: 'If you laid a finger on either one of them I'll rip out your lungs!' Through determinedly gritted teeth, he said, "Daniel was drugged and Carter wasn't consulted. It wasn't something either of them chose to do." Trying to remind himself that this person was a victim of the Goa'uld, O'Neill counted to ten again before saying as reasonably as he could: "Anyway, that's hardly the point. It would be helpful if you could remember what went on here, that's all."

As though he knew that it would annoy O'Neill more, the young man sat down on the bed, crossed his legs deliberately and looked across at Daniel. He stroked the crumpled sheet as he spoke. "Then I feel sure that the boy and I kissed. I think now I remember that we did. I think I remember how sweet his mouth tasted."

A muscle twitched in O'Neill's cheek – was the guy wanting him to kill him? This was his goddamned teammate he was talking about. If this smug son-of-a-bitch so much as started on what Carter's mouth did or didn't taste like this was one ex-host who was going to be picking his teeth out of his damned fishpond for a fortnight…

Daniel only seemed interested in the whereabouts of the Goa'uld, raising his head to turn to Sam wide-eyed. "You see? It has to be in me. Why can't you sense it?"

"Daniel, I'm trying but I just can't detect anything."

The younger man looked up to meet O'Neill's angry and baffled gaze. "Jack, promise me you'll kill it. You can put ten rounds into me, I don't care, just don't let it make me a host."

"Okay, we're out of here." Giving Teal'c the nod to tell him to bring Carter and follow them, O'Neill hauled Daniel up off the couch, put an arm around his shoulders and marched him outside, hissing into his ear, "Pull yourself together, Daniel."

Daniel groaned and put his head in his hands. "I'll bet you any minute now my eyes are going to start glowing and I'm going to try and murder someone. You have to promise to kill me, Jack. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life as a host to one of those things."

They pushed open the double doors, O'Neill marching Daniel out of the musky flame-lit halls of Zagreus' palace into the fresh air. The sky was a pinkish gold now, a few wisps of cloud scudding towards the citadel as the sun began to warm everything it touched. Another perfect morning on Zagreus' planet. O'Neill gritted his teeth harder.

Daniel looked at O'Neill sideways as they passed out into the light and sighed. "Look, just say it and get it over with."

"Say what?"

"Say it before you explode with the effort of not saying it."

O'Neill tightened his grip on Daniel's shoulders. "Did that son-of-a-bitch hurt you? Because if he did, I swear, host or no host, I'm going to go back in there and rip his goddamned – What, Daniel?"

Daniel had given an odd little gasp and was now staring at him in what O'Neill always thought of as 'beached linguist mode': the full wide-blue-eyes-and-open-mouth treatment.

"What, Daniel?" O'Neill was so worried he was a second away from shaking him. "What?"

Daniel collected himself with a visible effort. "Uh – that wasn't right, Jack, you're supposed to be yelling at me right now." He ran a hand through his hair and gave the man a penitent look. "But okay, if you're not going to feed me the lines I guess I'll have to do this by myself – I'm so sorry I dragged you and Teal'c and Sam into this and I'm particularly sorry for possibly having got Sam pregnant and I'm sorry for having maybe let myself be taken as a host and I'm sorry you got injured and I'm sorry Teal'c got injured and I'm sorry about SG-3 and I'm sorry about..."

O'Neill interrupted him firmly. "It's not your fault, Daniel. Okay? It is not your fault. If anyone's to blame here, it's me. I screwed up the minute I let that Goa'uld lure us all back to his damned palace and you've been paying the price ever since. But we are going to fix this, okay? Carter is not going to be pregnant, and you are not going to get turned into a Goa'uld. And that's a promise."

"Jack, just yell at me a little will you, because you're seriously scaring me now." Daniel softened it with a nervous smile. "When you're this damned nice to me, I definitely feel I should be making my last will and testament."

O'Neill was so strung up right now he was torn between throwing his arms around Daniel and holding him so close nothing else could hurt him or going back to the palace and emptying his sidearm into that goddamned host whose goddamned body it was, after all, that had done whatever had been done to half of his goddamned team. But he probably wasn't acting much like himself and Daniel really needed him to be recognizably 'Jack' right now. He took a deep breath.

"Okay. Daniel, didn't anyone ever tell you not to go off with strange men just because they offer to tell you about Mycenaean burial rites? I mean, that is such an old trick! I swear I've met kindergarten kids who were more streetwise than you. The second we get back to base I am putting in a formal request to General Hammond that from now on you are never allowed out without a keeper even to buy a carton of milk. Feel better now?"

And, oddly, it seemed to work. Daniel visibly relaxed. "Much better, thanks."

O'Neill loosened his grip on his shoulder, settling for giving the younger man a hesitant pat instead. He still couldn't believe that after working so damned hard to keep Daniel from being…Hathored on Hadante, he'd then turned around and practically had him gift-wrapped for Zagreus. He swore the next Goa'uld he saw he was going to shoot first and ask questions later. He cleared his throat. "Well this hasn't exactly been a shining hour for either of us. Personally, I don't think I've had a clear head since Zagreus strolled up and introduced himself, but, Dannyboy, you and I had better get our brains working, ASAP, because we really need to work out what exactly it is that Goa'uld is after and how to stop the snaky son-of-a-bitch from getting it."

Daniel gave him another of those sideways glances and O'Neill was relieved to see the younger man's rueful smile didn't look forced at all. "Think maybe he already did, Jack. I think he's found a way to get off this world and make sure we help him do it. I mean – 'Do what I say or I'll punch a hole in your brain and make your eyes glow' is a pretty persuasive argument, isn't it?"

O'Neill winced. "You know, Daniel, I really hate it when you're right."

***

Teal'c said quietly, "Major Carter, I do not trust the one who was once a host."

She was trying to check on Teal'c's wounds while he strode along beside her. She suspected that he might have injured his left arm, and going by the amount of dirt still clinging to his uniform it looked as though he had come perilously close to being buried alive. She hoped his symbiote hadn't been oxygen starved…Carter suddenly realized what he'd said. "Why not, Teal'c? I admit he doesn't have the most likeable personality in the world but…"

"I think that he and the Goa'uld who was within him share a relationship similar to that of the Tok'ra and their hosts."

"You mean a partnership?"

Teal'c nodded. "I do not believe that he remembers as little as he maintains. He is not as I have seen others who have served as a host. He shows no signs of confusion and did you not notice that his personality is unchanged?"

"That's true and it's just struck me that when he was saying 'we', Daniel and I assumed he meant as in the royal 'we', but perhaps what he really meant was 'both of us' and that's why he's now gone back to saying 'I'. And – of course, you're right, that whole conversation Daniel and I had with him before you arrived was with the host, not Zagreus. He was pretending to be Zagreus. If my head stopped hurting I might even be able to think straight." She clasped a hand to her brow and made a resolve never to drink wine again. "I just wish I knew where the Goa'uld had gone."

"It will be in either yourself or Daniel Jackson," Teal'c returned imperturbably. "I believe Zagreus is thinking that the device which prevents him and his host traveling through the Stargate together, may not be effective if they are separated."

"Like trying to smuggle drugs through customs in someone else's luggage," Carter said thoughtfully. "That could be a good thing."

"How so?"

"Well that sounds like the Goa'uld won't want to take over the host it's in at the moment. It just wants to use him – or her – as a means to get through the Stargate and off this world. It's probably planning to rejoin with its original host afterwards. Which means, if it is in Daniel – and you and I can't detect it because it is lying dormant within him like he suggested – then it will want to get out of him as much as he'll want to be rid of it." Seeing the host's long legs bringing him within earshot, she stopped talking.

The young man said, "You should send people to carry the sarcophagus of the Goa'uld to your world. It is a great gift. It would be a useful healing device for your – our species."

Hearing him, Daniel shivered. "I hate those things."

The host caught up with Daniel and looked at him in surprise. "But it could make you stronger, better – "

"Madder, nastier," Daniel countered.

"You would be able to see without your optical devices."

"Frankly, I'd rather be near-sighted and stay who I am."

"Yeah, we're all with him on that," O'Neill told the host with a chilly smile. "We like him fine how he is."

The host returned the man's smile. "I think so too did the Goa'uld who was within me. I think he liked both of your children very much."

"For the last time, they're not my children. I mean how old do you think I am anyway?" As the tall Mycenaean moved on ahead, O'Neill glowered after him. "I could really get to hate that guy with very little effort."

Daniel was watching the host thoughtfully. "Jack, I think he's winding you up on purpose. I think he's trying to keep you focused on – you know – other stuff."

"Him possibly having raped half of my team stuff? Little details like that?"

As though O'Neill was getting bogged down with irrelevancies, Daniel sighed irritably and persisted, "Anything to keep your mind off the important question, which is where Zagreus went? Maybe Zagreus never had that much interest in me or Sam. Maybe this was always just about getting off this world."

"We concur."

Daniel turned to find Teal'c and Carter beside them. She said, "Teal'c thinks we're dealing with two different consciousnesses here – the host's and the Goa'uld – working together to achieve the same end. And I think he's right. You know the possibilities must be even greater for a Goa'uld if it isn't having to fight its host. The Tok'ra combine a good Goa'uld with a good host – what if Zagreus is the opposite?"

"On what evidence?" Daniel protested. "I don't think we should just condemn this guy out of hand because he happens to have an – annoying personality. I mean he is a victim of Zagreus when all's said and done."

"Daniel, just save the Brotherhood of Man speech for another day, will you?" O'Neill turned to Carter. "I'm with you and Teal'c, that guy's been creeping me out from the start."

"Sir we think this particular host has accepted near-immortality in payment for harboring a Goa'uld. Which means that he was in control of his faculties last night and probably does know which one of us Zagreus went into."

"Why would anyone do that?" Daniel protested. "No one wants to be a host."

"Why not? Long life, perfect health, extraordinary powers and all the chicks he wants," O'Neill glanced ahead at the man. "Not such a bad life for a Mycenaean goat-herd. Perhaps he had a brain tumor, Daniel, or perhaps he was young and stupid and just really liked the idea of living forever."

"So, according to your theory, which one of them wants what, Sam?" Daniel enquired.

"Hard to know. I think Zagreus may actually be deranged and that's why the other Goa'uld banished him. As Teal'c remembers it he was supposed to have been 'corrupted by contact with our race', right? If Dionysus was spreading havoc through all the other Goa'uld's worshippers with his own brand of cannibal wine and cheese party then they would have wanted to be rid of him. I think Zagreus might need to spread insanity to get his kicks and to do that he needs to be able to travel from world to world. I'm not sure what the host wants. All the things the Colonel mentioned and some fun, maybe."

"Damn!" Seeing their expressions, O'Neill shrugged. "If the host is in it for the kicks then he probably did sleep with you and Daniel after all."

"Jack, just let it go, will you? It's not like we remember it anyway so who cares what he did as long as it didn't turn us into Goa'uld?"

"Or get us pregnant," Carter added.

Daniel winced. "I'm sorry."

"Daniel…" O'Neill warned him.

"It's not your fault, Daniel," Carter told him quickly.

As Daniel looked utterly unconvinced, O'Neill sighed and turned to Carter. "Major, have you and Teal'c come up with any suggestions about what we do next because unleashing a deranged Goa'uld upon the galaxy might not be the best idea we've ever had."

"Well, it's complicated, sir. On the one hand the best way to get the Goa'uld out of whoever it’s in now without anyone getting damaged would be to let the host and his Goa'uld both travel through the Stargate to the SGC. If we don't let Zagreus get off this world and then let him have his old host back he's going to dig in where he is." Her worried gaze flickered briefly to Daniel. "But I think he'd probably rather get back to his own host if he can."

O'Neill also looked at Daniel who, made even clumsier than usual by remorse and anxiety, was tripping over on the rough track and shoving his glasses awkwardly back onto his nose after each stumble; then glanced up ahead at the host's rippling muscle and careless grace. "Yeah well, I think we can take that as a given."

Carter had been doing the same assessment and coming to the same conclusion. Daniel was many things, most of them very positive, but being godlike was not one of his attributes. "On the other hand, it may be that the device the System Lords set up to keep Zagreus a prisoner here will still be effective, and might kill whoever the Goa'uld is inside at the moment if Daniel or I attempt to go through the Stargate. The best idea seems to be for you to go back and fetch Doctor Fraiser. See if she can rig up some kind of portable MRI. In the meantime, Teal'c and I could have a look at the gate and try to work out what kind of technology we're dealing with. But whatever happens, we're going to need to negotiate with Zagreus, Colonel, and I think we're going to have to give up something we're not going to like."

"We can't let Zagreus back out there," Daniel said emphatically. "You didn't see what was in that burial chamber, Sam, but – "

"I did see what was in that burial chamber, Daniel," O'Neill told him. "And you're right, we can't let him start up business again. But we can't let him stay inside one of you either. We'll do like Carter says and get Doc Fraiser to come and give us her diagnosis."

"If the Goa'uld feels threatened it will almost certainly take over the host it is in now," Teal'c put in. "I think we should permit Zagreus and his host to travel through the Stargate to the SGC and then allow them to recombine."

"He'll affect everyone's minds again, Teal'c," Daniel put in.

"He will have no access to either his wine or the flowers; nor does he have the coronet or hand device which are now in our possession."

"But what if he has other technologies that we don't know about? I think it's too big a risk to take. If we screw up and let Dionysus back out there – "

"That isn't going to happen," O'Neill said firmly.

"So, how are we going to stop him?"

"I don't know, but I do know that we are going to stop him."

***

The host was striding ahead of them, his sandals impacting with the sun-baked track to send up tiny wisps of dust, sunlight bathing him like a libation, white tunic flapping in the breeze. For a man who'd been host to a Goa'uld for so many centuries he was certainly looking full of the joys of spring; in fact, to O'Neill he looked a lot like a guy who'd been getting his oats recently and enjoying every minute of it and…

Don't go there! Going to have to kill the guy if you go there!

Not thinking about it. Okay. He could do that. Easiest thing in the world. Christ, Daniel was limping. O'Neill said anxiously, "Daniel? Are you okay?"

"I've got a stone in my boot, Jack." Daniel knelt down on the ground to unlace it and looked up at the older man curiously. "Are you sure you're not concussed or something? That's a nasty wound on your head and you are acting kind of…twitchy."

Resisting the urge to laugh hysterically, O'Neill said, "Really? Am I? I'm sorry. Can't think what could have happened to upset me at all!"

"Sir?"

And now Carter was looking at him concernedly. Peachy! In a minute Teal'c would probably ask him what was on his mind as well. He made a huge effort and said with studied calm, "I'm fine, Carter. Feeling a little homicidal right now but nothing to worry about. Let's just get back to the citadel and see if anyone's conscious. If SG-3 have got their minds back under old management they can go for Doc Fraiser, and Teal'c and I can stay with you, Daniel, and Goatboy."

"Jack, whatever happened has already happened, I really don't think…"

"Just do up your bootlace and be quiet, will you?"

Daniel stood up and brushed the dust from his knees, saying conversationally, "Jack, you know that guilt train Zagreus made you ride, any chance you want to get back on it?"

"Not a snowball's chance in hell, Daniel, this is the real me now and you're stuck with me. Just try and ask for my permission to go off and start digging around in the dirt for dead people, see what answer you'll get. Then get Carter to translate it for you because believe me it's going to contain a whole lot words you probablywon't understand."

Teal'c said mildly, "O'Neill, it is not the fault of Daniel Jackson that you were influenced by the Goa'uld Zagreus."

"No, Teal'c, but it is the fault of Daniel Jackson that he's gotten himself injured, captured or killed so many damned times in the past that freakin' Goa'uld had so much of my guilt to work with."

"Sir, I don't think that's entirely fair, it's not really…"

"Wait! Wait!" Daniel held up a hand. "Are we arguing?"

"Yes, Daniel. God but you're slow today – try and pay attention will ya?"

"No, Jack, I mean, are we arguing just because we're…arguing, or because Zagreus has made us argue?"

There was a moment's silence and then O'Neill said, "No, pretty sure we're just arguing." He looked around at the others. "Carter? Teal'c?" He nodded and turned back to Daniel. "Yep, just arguing."

Daniel looked relieved. "Okay." As the silence lengthened he said, "Well, go on then."

"No – no good, lost the thread now. Have to pencil in an hour next week and yell at you some more."

Daniel opened his mouth to reply, then looked past O'Neill. "Uh – Jack, isn't Zagreus, I mean – the ex-host going the wrong way?"

O'Neill looked over his shoulder and saw that the long-legged Mycenaean had indeed ignored the hill path that led up to the citadel to stride on towards the Stargate. And he was sure the guy was feeling impatient to get off this world after being stranded here for so long but tough. Freeland was probably going to be needing another morphine shot, Makepeace might be coming around, and to be honest, in their anxiety about Carter and Daniel, the examination Teal'c and O'Neill had made of the tranquillized marines and unconscious archaeologists had definitely qualified as 'perfunctory'. O'Neill raised his voice, "Hey – Goatboy…!"

"Jack, the man must have a name," Daniel murmured.

"Don't care, Daniel," O'Neill told him. The ex-host had paused where he was but now stood there, impatiently tapping one sandaled foot. Unable to bring himself to speak to him, O'Neill simply pointed in the direction of the citadel and then led the way up the path.

The host was there beside him in what seemed to be a couple of strides. "We are going to the place of the Shimmering?"

"The…what? Oh you mean the Stargate? Later." As the ex-host looked at him in angry confusion, O'Neill drew on the last of his shredded patience. "Look– we have injured civilians in that citadel, not to mention a whole bunch of tranquillized marines, and we can't let anyone travel through the gate who hasn't been…inoculated. So we're going to wait at the citadel while somebody goes and gets Doctor Fraiser to come and check everyone out."

"I do not understand this 'inoculated'."

"It's an injection to make sure you're not carrying any diseases, you know – like that plague that wiped out all your worshippers? I mean…Zagreus' worshippers. The Doc's going to want to take some blood as well."

"I understand none of these rituals."

He could hear Carter and Daniel were deep in some discussion O'Neill was very glad he wasn't expected to follow as it sounded both complicated and obscure. Something about Stargate addresses. Well they could go right ahead and work it out; that suited him fine. He reckoned he'd done his year's quota of thinking down in that burial chamber with all those damned skulls staring at him.

The host's voice was an unwelcome intrusion on his thoughts. "Why do you not send your children back through what you call the Stargate?

"They're not my…! Never mind. They have to be – inoculated as well."

The host turned to look at him. "You fear the Goa'uld that is within them. Yet if you delay you might cause it to become – hostile. A Goa'uld can inflict great suffering upon its host."

"First – neither of them are 'hosts'. Whoever's got it, ain't gonna be keeping it. And second – Hathor already told us that, and you know each time I've heard that little snippet of information it's sounded suspiciously like a threat." O'Neill tightened his grip on his MP-5. "You wouldn't be attempting to threaten my teammates now, would you?"

The host shrugged gracefully. "I merely state the truth as I know it. Zagreus desires to leave this world. Once off this planet he could be persuaded to leave the body he now inhabits and return to this one, but any delay will anger him and when he is angered he becomes unpredictable."

"What I don't understand is why you're so keen to have the snaky little critter back."

The host gave him an enigmatic smile that O'Neill would really have liked to wipe off his face with a solid right hook. "I am prepared to make the sacrifice so that your children might become themselves once more."

Deciding that he definitely hated the guy as much as his goddamned Goa'uld, O'Neill abruptly turned away and went to walk alongside Teal'c. Admittedly Teal'c and Carter were now having a completely unfathomable discussion about the Stargate, involving lots of those snappy little Goa'uld words that sounded like a bad dose of whooping cough to him, but they were still better company than the host.

Seeing O'Neill emphatically turn his back on the ex-host, Daniel sighed and increased his pace to catch up with the man in O'Neill's stead. If the truth were told, he didn't like him much either but he felt basic politeness demanded that they didn't leave this stranger completely by himself. The ex-host was probably a little disorientated and anyway, would be a fascinating source of information about Helladic culture. As he drew alongside him, Daniel managed a smile he hoped didn't seem too forced. "Um, in view of what you and I might have done together last night, I kind of think we should introduce ourselves. I'm Daniel Jackson."

"I do not remember my name."

Daniel frowned, feeling compassion for the man despite himself. "Well, that's probably because you're a little…confused right now. I expect it will pass in a few hours. Three and a half thousand years with someone else sharing your brain is bound to leave a bit of a dent. Do you remember anything about your past life? Do you remember when you were taken as a host?"

"I remember nothing of my life before I drank the wine of Dionysus."

"Um - Why did you pretend to be Zagreus when you were talking to us earlier?"

"I was afraid you would blame me for what Zagreus had done to you when he was within me, but if you thought that I still had the power of Zagreus I hoped you would not dare to try and kill me. I knew that the one called O'Neill would be very angry at what Zagreus had done. But you are not angry, are you, Dan-iel?"

He gave Daniel a look that was unnervingly intimate and Daniel took an instinctive pace sideways, stumbling and almost falling. The host's hand closed on his elbow and held him up. He said softly, "If you entered the sarcophagus, you could dispense with your optical devices. You would never stumble again."

Coming up behind them, O'Neill said easily, "Look, Goa'uld technology might be able to raise the dead but that's no guarantee it could stop Daniel tripping over his own feet and like I think I already told you – we're very happy with him the way he is."

Daniel felt a familiar hand close on his other elbow and give him a decisive tug away from the host's insidious grip. For a moment O'Neill and the host gazed at each other with something that went well beyond dislike; Daniel almost flinched from the palpable current of antagonism between them; and then the host gave a graceful shrug, and began to stride up towards the citadel, his sandaled feet never faltering on even the roughest ground.

Trying to lighten the moment, Daniel cleared his throat and looked down at O'Neill's fingers, which were still wrapped firmly around his elbow. "Jack, I'm getting some mixed signals here. Are you by any chance a little angry with that guy because if you are, I think you really ought to let him know."

"Don't start with me, Daniel."

"But, Jack…"

"Daniel, how long have you and I been friends?"

"Um – it must be about…"

"Would you say you know me pretty well by this time?"

"Yes, I think I – "

"Have you ever seen me as pissed off as I am right now?"

Daniel peered into O'Neill's eyes for a moment and then winced, "Um, no – can't say I have. Okay – shutting up now, Jack. It's just that – "

"No."

"But – "

"No."

And at last Daniel finally seemed to get the message. He darted the older man one of those mingled anxious-reproachful-apologetic looks that O'Neill really thought Daniel ought to register with the patent office, but then did subside into a thoughtful silence; the sound of their feet on the baked earth accompanied only by the low murmur of Teal'c and Carter still talking possible technologies and the occasional scuffling noise as Daniel stumbled again. Each time that happened, O'Neill automatically reached out and pulled him back onto the path.

After the third stumble in ten steps, O'Neill couldn't help saying, "Daniel, what is with you today?"

"Really bad headache, Jack."

They both realized the significance of what Daniel had said at the same time.  Remembering Kawalsky after he'd come back through the gate with that unwanted guest and a spear-point of agony lancing through his brain that no painkiller would touch, they stared at each other in undisguised dismay.

Carter's voice cut through their incipient panic with welcome calm: "It's probably just a hangover, Daniel. I have one too. If it feels like there are a lot of little men inside your head throwing pots and pans at each other – trust me, it's the wine."

Daniel almost passed out with the relief while, beside him, O'Neill felt the blood thunder alarmingly in his ears for a second as well. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some Tylenol, handing a couple back to Carter before putting another two in Daniel's hand. Teal'c gave Carter his water bottle and she washed the aspirin down gratefully. Daniel didn't even wait for the water, just throwing them straight down his throat dry.

Daniel's heart was still hammering in his chest as they reached the citadel; he passed beneath the Lion Gate and didn't even spare it a glance, was dimly aware of those huge blocks of stone closing in on him, throwing a shadow across him like a cloak, and then he was through the archway with sunlight beating in on him from all sides. He tried to remember how excited he'd been by this place the first time he'd seen it but now all he could think of was Sha're with her eyes glowing as Amaunet dug into her brain; utterly indifferent as Daniel cried out to her in despair. The rest of SG-1 overtook him, hurrying to see to Freeland and the others and he knew he ought to go with them, but he felt suddenly faint.

Carter touched his arm gently. "Are you all right, Daniel?"

He found a smile from somewhere. "Just resolving never to drink again, Sam."

She smiled back before heading after Teal'c. Daniel sat down on a low part of the ruined palace wall. He was not going to pass out. He was not going to throw up. He was going to get up and go over there and see how those people whose life he had endangered were doing. In a minute. When the world stopped spinning.

He felt like someone who'd swallowed a thermometer, one wrong move and the glass would shatter; mercury spilling out inside him, beautiful, deadly and unstoppable. He remembered begging for this change once, wanting it, desiring to be with his wife so much that he would have given up everything, even who he was. Back then he must have had an iron core of certainty in his own identity because he'd believed he could fight it, overcome that thing they would put inside him and persuade Sha're to do the same. He could remember the sting of tears on his face he hadn't even known he was shedding, hear his own voice, so desperate…

" Something of the host must survive...!"

That was the real tragedy, of course, something did; one silent scream of lingering sentience as you lived a nightmare from which you could never awaken however hard you tried.

Daniel started as the host appeared by his elbow. It was so hard not to dislike him, but he made himself remember that this man had lost everyone he'd ever known; been forced to live a waking nightmare for millennia, been pushed back into the sarcophagus to maintain his youth and beauty so many times his soul had been eroded like rainwater remorselessly wearing a riverbed through rock. Daniel tried to collect himself, to say something to show there were no hard feelings, but he felt too sick, was afraid that if he opened his mouth his guts were going to fall out of it.

It was obviously too long since he'd had a hangover because he couldn't remember what the last one had felt like, he just remembered that he'd had it at Jack's. In fact, looking back, he seemed to have had all his hangovers at Jack's. Oh yeah, not so long ago actually, after they got back from Chulak; their Victory Night In to celebrate the demise of the late great goddess Hathor. Now that was a pleasant memory: kneeling on the floor of Jack's bathroom puking his guts up while Jack patted his back in sympathy and called out progress reports to Sam and Teal'c in the living room. Jack never threw up however much he drank, something else that was damned unfair in Daniel's humble opinion…

Yes, it was coming back to him now – the flowers must be helping – Great Hangovers I Have Known By Daniel Jackson. God, those tequila slammers after they'd saved the world: that had to have been the worst hangover ever experienced by anyone ever. He'd passed out on Jack's couch with the whole room spinning and woken up to find it still going round in circles like a clockwork orrery. Jack had taken one look at him and panicked, got straight on the phone and yelled for Janet, ordering glucose and saline and God knows what while Daniel tried to remember who'd put his eyeballs in the wrong way round and sandpapered his throat. Janet had been singularly unamused at being dragged out of bed to rehydrate a drunken archaeologist and had told Jack what she thought of him for encouraging Daniel to drink alcohol so soon after a major injury. As Daniel remembered it, Jack hadn't cared zip. And even though he'd felt as though he'd been hit by a truck, Daniel hadn't much cared either. They'd won. They'd beaten Apophis and they'd won. Even slumped over Jack's toilet bowl with his guts unraveling and Janet's reproaches still stinging in his ears as she slammed the door on her way out, he'd felt pretty damned good.

He must have smiled because the host said gently, "Yes, the flowers can bring good memories as well."

Daniel collected himself. "They gave me nightmares. They gave Jack nightmares. They made us do things we wouldn't otherwise have done." They made me want to leave SG-1. Scarier still, they made Jack willing to let me do it.

The host gazed at him fixedly and it seemed to Daniel that despite the absence of any Goa'uld within him, those golden eyes were still glowing. The host spoke softly, "But the flowers here are beautiful, are they not?"

"Um – very, yes. I can't usually get close to flowers because they make me – "

"They affect your respiration, yes? Make your throat burn? Make your heart race? Is this not so?" The host reached up and plucked one of the purple blooms from its stem, offering it to Daniel like a love-token. 

It seemed only polite to take it. Refusing it would feel too awkward, and it was curious that the flowers hadn't affected him, now he came to think of it. "Well, usually, they just make me sneeze. I haven't had a full-blown allergic reaction since I was…"

"Since you were seven years old. But you remember how it felt, yes? Remember the fear of being unable to breathe?"

Actually 'fear' didn't really cover it, as he recalled the frenzied panic of trying to inhale and failing, but he quickly pushed the memory aside. "Well – yes – but these don't really seem to affect me, luckily." And to prove the point Daniel held the bloom up to his nose and sniffed.

That was when he heard the host saying softly, "But only Zagreus gave you protection from his sacred flowers, Dan-iel, and Zagreus is now dormant. Do you remember now? How it felt when your throat began to swell? Do you remember how you could not snatch a single breath and it seemed as though your heart would burst in your chest…?"

"Oh God…" Daniel staggered as he felt his chest constrict, felt his throat begin to close over, a pain like an acid burn where the pollen was pouring into him like a swarm of bees, stinging his flesh with coming death. He tried to breathe but it was just as he remembered, reaching for air that wasn't coming as his lungs began to fail. He felt his heart flutter like a netted bird, lose its vital rhythm, slow, falter. A last faint beat before the flower fell from his fingers and he spun around, desperately trying to call for help. He could only croak it weakly: "Jack…!" before darkness hit him like a rockslide and crushed him under its weight.

***

Part Eight

Janet Fraiser checked Daniel's vitals for the fifth time in as many minutes. His oxygen saturation was back up to 95%; his heart-rhythm was normal; his blood-pressure was normal; his electrolytes were normal; glancing down at the Foley bag, she was pleased to see his kidneys were producing an adequate amount of fluid and the lab tests on his urine had come back acceptable. Everything was normal. Everything about Doctor Daniel Jackson's physical condition was being monitored, stabilized and assisted as efficiently as medical science could manage it.

He was still on the brand-new BiPAP ventilator as she wanted to give his traumatized lungs as much help as possible for as long as possible. She had ordered this piece of equipment with Daniel in mind as he so hated being intubated and past experience had taught her that keeping Daniel on a ventilator once he was awake was well nigh impossible. (And perhaps – she had to acknowledge the fact – she had also been trying to exorcize a little guilt over the part she had played in condemning Daniel to that padded cell.) It was the words in the brochure that had sold her on it: will meet the needs of more challenging patients, but she still hadn't expected to be using it quite this soon. But he was fine. Again. Still. As stable as anyone could be who'd nearly gone to join the Choir Eternal a few short hours earlier. The only immediate proof of how nearly he had died lay in the purple bruise across his chest where Colonel O'Neill had slammed his fist down hard enough to persuade that valiant heart to start beating again.

Most witnesses seemed to be of the opinion that the blow to the heart, like the oxygen breathed into those lungs, and Major Carter's admirable compression technique, had been of secondary importance in restoring Daniel to life. It was the yelling that had really done it.

"Damnit, Daniel, you are not going to die on me! Get your butt back here right now! And that's an order!"

The way Samantha Carter had described it to Doctor Fraiser later, the surprise had been not that Doctor Daniel Jackson had given a gasp and started breathing again, but that half of the dead in that citadel hadn't gotten up and walked as well. Daniel's spirit might have been in the process of signing the visitor's book at the Pearly Gates but at the sound of those furious and frightened roars with which Jack O'Neill was punctuating each blast of air into Daniel's lungs, it was deemed reasonable by everyone present that Daniel should promptly have turned around and trooped straight back to the land of the living. Proof that Daniel could follow orders when the occasion demanded it.

By the time Teal'c and the Colonel had scooped Daniel up between them and sprinted for the Stargate at a speed that wouldn't have shamed an Olympic runner, Daniel had stopped turning blue and Jack O'Neill had pretty much started. Certainly when they had burst through the Stargate with an unconscious Daniel in their arms even the imperturbable Jaffa had been dripping with sweat, and O'Neill's lungs had been heaving so hard he'd only been able to jerk his head in the direction of their limp burden frantically. It was Teal'c who had gasped out the important words: "Doctor Fraiser!"

Even in her first concern for Daniel, Doctor Fraiser had automatically registered that the Colonel didn't look in the best of shape, quite apart from his burning lungs and sweat-slicked body, he had a nasty gash on his head and there was a bloody hole in the left side of his jacket that suggested some injury to his ribs. The look in his brown eyes told her that trying to move him out of the way while she was dealing with Daniel was not going to have any effect this time and might well get her damaged. Resignedly, she had worked around him. She was used to doing that by now.

General Hammond had followed him into the infirmary where the two men held some kind of rapid military conversation in between getting under her feet. Every now and then General Hammond would ask her if she had enough help and when she indicated that she thought the four nurses anxiously clustering around her patient were plenty, thank you, he would order some of her orderlies out of the room with stretchers. The only surprise to her in all of this was that Teal'c wasn't getting in her way as well.

Every now and then Hammond issued an order to someone else and people would begin running around at the double but she had her attention focused on Daniel as she coaxed his vitals back to normal and so wasn't quite sure what the orders concerned. By the time Daniel was definitely stable, Hammond had gone and Teal'c was back with Major Carter, who was walking under her own steam but very pale; something that worried Doctor Fraiser at first until she realized it was just the usual concern for Daniel making his teammates look so ghostly.

She told O'Neill as soon as Daniel was out of danger. She had learned over the years that you had to keep it simple for the Colonel, if you tried telling him about pulmonary MAST cells he just switched off; and even after all these years of sitting in infirmaries waiting for various team-mates to limp back to the land of the living he still couldn't tell a Swan Ganz from a CVP, but if you said the word 'stable' he got what you were telling him straight away.

"His lungs are still a little fragile, so I want to keep him on BiPAP for as long as possible. That means that when he comes around I really don't want him talking very much. I want his lungs given the best chance to recover. I've got him down to 4cms of pressure now but…"

He was giving her that baffled irritable look which he seemed to save up for her and Major Carter, glowering at her as though it was her fault Daniel was looking so pale and small. "If he's stable, why has he got that…mask thingy strapped to his head?"

"Whatever it was on that planet that caused Doctor Jackson to suffer respiratory failure, burned his lungs a little and when you brought him back here they were leaking fluid. This helps push the fluid back to where it belongs and will help him to get well that much faster..."

He'd tuned her out again, she could tell. She sighed. "Just take my word for it, Colonel, he is stable and he is going to be fine."

Having given him the good news she fully expecting him to grab his usual blanket and his usual chair and sit himself down for the usual vigil. Another chance for him to work on his I-just-popped-by-for-five-minutes-I'm-not-really-staying body language although why he still bothered after all this time, she really didn't know; it wasn't like he was fooling anyone. But this time he managed to surprise her. Instead of relaxing he went straight into what Daniel called 'full-on colonel mode'.

"While on the planet, either Doctor Jackson or Major Carter was infiltrated by a Goa'uld. As far as we know it has made no attempt to link with whichever of them it's inside and obviously we want to keep it that way until we can…persuade it to rejoin its original host. In the meantime I want them both kept sedated until we have established which one of them is harboring the Goa'uld."

Both his voice and face were expressionless but she glimpsed a rage that went so deep and burnt so hot the fires of hell would have needed extra fuel to keep up with him. This was clearly a man who needed to be handled very carefully right now. "Yes, Colonel, but in the meantime, could I just take a look at that cut…?"

"No, Doctor, you may not. You may go and find Major Carter a private room and then sedate her as I requested. She and Daniel need to be kept separate from each other. You're going to need to run a whole bunch of tests on both of them later and they don't need to know each other's results until I say so. Understood?"

Before she could point out to him that he had no right to give her orders and that she really did insist he submitted himself to her examination, he turned on his heel and stalked out of her infirmary. When she marched over to the doorway to call him back, she saw hardened airmen taking one look at his face and then tripping over their own feet in their efforts to get out of his path. She decided to do as he asked.

That was when her infirmary started filling up with unfamiliar faces. A conscious and articulate but not very good tempered Doctor Freeland, assorted archaeologists with small fractures and large bruises, and the four unconscious members of SG-3. And a disconcertingly handsome three and a half thousand year old Mycenaean man whom Teal'c had told her, very quietly, to sedate immediately. Once she'd given the nod to an orderly to do so, he'd passed from her view, wheeled out by Teal'c and some airmen to somewhere secure.

Samantha Carter filled in a lot of the gaps for her when she accompanied the woman to one of the VIP suites. It was Carter who told her who the Mycenaean was, how SG-3 had ended up the way they had, and how lucky the archaeologists were to be nursing only minor injuries. She also told her a little of what had happened with her and Daniel and the Goa'uld, which was when Doctor Fraiser had begun to realize why O'Neill was currently as angry as he was. When Carter added that they all suspected the Mycenaean of somehow inducing Daniel's near-fatal allergic reaction to the flower pollen just to force them to take Daniel – and the Goa'uld he probably carried – through the Stargate immediately, the rest of the pieces pretty much fell into place.

"Are you okay?" Doctor Fraiser asked her gently.

"I don't know, Janet." Carter managed a faint smile. "You'll have to tell me that."

"The Colonel wants me to give you a sedative and right now I think that's probably a good idea."

Carter nodded resignedly. "I think it's for the best until you know which one of us has got the Goa'uld. Is the host…?"

"Pumped full of tranquillizers and being guarded by Teal'c. I don't think he's going anywhere."

"The second Zagreus is back inside him, the Colonel is going to empty a clip into them both and he must know that. He's bound to have some strategy and I think he's dangerous even like this."

"Don't worry about that now." As Janet Fraiser administered the sedative, she thought that for once she definitely had to agree with the Colonel. Daniel and Carter were so alike in that way: too intelligent for their own good and sometimes the only way to stop their brains throwing themselves at problems was to send them to sleep.

On her return to the infirmary she had her hands full with tending to her new patients, so nearly two hours had gone by before she got a chance to practice her stitching proficiency on the gash across Colonel O'Neill's forehead. She had to go and find him in his office even then. When she appeared in the doorway she found him applying iodine to a nasty gouge in the ribs with one hand while writing something on a piece of paper with the other. He looked up without a hint of guilt at doing his own doctoring. "Ah, just the woman I want to see. How are my team?"

"Well Teal'c hasn’t let me examine him yet but from the way he ran the entire retrieval operation single-handed, I'd say he was fine. Major Carter and Daniel are sedated as you requested. Daniel's still stable and is making a good recovery – thanks to you. According to both Major Carter and Doctor Freeland you acted with sterling promptness and efficiency."

She thought he might smile but it was as if his face had forgotten the actions.

She tried again, opting for brisk this time. "Which leaves only you, Colonel, so if you don't mind I'd like to just see to that cut…" She realized she'd been right to bring the suturing equipment with her because something told her he wasn't going anywhere near the infirmary right now. And she didn't think it was the archaeologists or SG-3 he didn't want to see lying in their little white beds.

She stitched the cut on his head and put a dressing on the gouge to his side; got him to flex his ankle for her and found some swelling and bruising that made his headlong dash with Daniel in his arms all the more remarkable. She'd long suspected that to get one of his team home alive, Colonel O'Neill could probably have managed to run with two broken legs never mind a sprained ankle, but it was still quite a feat.

As she finished strapping up his ankle for him, she said, "Now, Colonel, about those tests you wanted me to run on Major Carter and Daniel, I'm presuming you want an MRI…?"

"Straight away, Doctor. But don't worry, I've written it all down for you. Here's a list of questions I want answered: three concerning Daniel, four for Carter – I don't think you need to do the pregnancy test on Daniel – you're allowed to answer 'yes' to one of them. I mean, much as I'd love it to be otherwise, the Goa'uld has to be in either Carter or Daniel, so you can give me a yes to that question but as far as the others are concerned, the only answer I want to hear is 'no.' Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Doctor Fraiser looked up into O'Neill's brown eyes and saw not a glimmer of humor in them. He was angrier and more determined than she'd seen him in a long time. She wiped her hands and straightened up. Sitting on the floor at his feet was not a good place to be trying to remind him of her authority on this base. "Colonel O'Neill, what exactly are you asking me to do here?"

He pushed the piece of paper along the desk towards her. "I think you know, Doctor."

And she did, that was the trouble and with that steely gaze upon her it was going to be very difficult to avoid doing it, but…"There are ethics…"

"Yes, there are, Doctor, a whole bunch of ethics about not putting people through crap they don't have to go through and which you can avoid them having to go through. We call it basic human decency."

"I can't change what happened back there, Colonel." She said it coolly and calmly but then realized O'Neill's cool and calm had clearly been stored in a better refrigerator than hers because his was icy.

"Yes, you can. You give Carter a pill and you tell Daniel nothing happened."

"Perhaps nothing did happen."

"Well if it didn't that solves the problem for us, doesn't it?"

"I don't have the right to terminate a possible pregnancy without the consent of…"

"No one asked Carter's consent and no one asked Daniel's consent. Neither of them set out to make a baby. I don't really think that Major Carter is just itching to have her career flushed down the toilet by a Goa'uld, do you? If she and Daniel wanted to have kids they could do it any time, it's not like the opportunity hasn't been open to them and isn't still open to them if that's what they want to do. All I'm asking you to do is undo something a Goa'uld did to them. Make it go away, Doctor. Make it not have happened."

He had that relentless look in his eyes which she knew so well from watching him with Daniel: the one that said he wouldn't shut up or stop until the person he was talking to was bludgeoned into submission. She'd been grateful for it in the past, when he was bullying Daniel into resting, or persuading him that something wasn't his fault; but it wasn't a pleasurable experience to have it directed her way.

Before she could catch her breath, he was pushing the piece of paper at her again. "Six 'no's, one 'yes', Doctor."

She tried to regain the initiative. "Colonel, I really can't lie to either one of them about…"

"Yes you can and you'd damn well better."

Despite herself, she flinched. She had never seen O'Neill this angry before, his eyes were almost black with fury and even knowing that the anger wasn't really directed at her didn't help when she was the only one within yelling distance.

He had her locked into a stare that she couldn't get away from. She wondered if this was what a ribbon device felt like as it bored into your brain. "They don't remember anything, Doctor, and they're never going to, so the only person who can tell them what happened in that bedroom is you. And what you're going to tell them is that nothing happened."

She realized this wasn't just about Samantha Carter possibly being pregnant anymore this was about…She darted a glance back at the piece of paper and saw the second question under Daniel's name: the one in between 'Is there a Goa'uld inside him?' and 'Did he have sex with Carter?' She understood now why O'Neill had insisted Daniel was sedated; nothing to do with any fear of the Goa'uld that Daniel might be harboring, it was just so he wouldn't be conscious when she made her examination. She swallowed. "Colonel O'Neill, I can't lie to Daniel about…"

"Yes, you can. Easiest thing in the world. He says 'Did he?' and you say 'No, Daniel, he didn't.' Now where's the complication?"

A part of her wanted to get back at the man for bullying her like this. She only had to go medical on him, start telling him about swabs and stitches and possible infections and he'd probably back down. But she couldn't bring herself to do it to him, not when she knew how it must be eating him up inside that he hadn't been able to protect Carter and Daniel from whatever that Goa'uld might have done to them. But looking at O'Neill, Doctor Fraiser realized that she couldn't evade this; he wasn't going to let her go until he'd received her cast-iron assurance that whatever her tests uncovered, she was going to tell Daniel and Carter what they – and he – needed to hear.

O'Neill was still talking, tone low but intense enough to sear any unwary listener. "Do I need to spell it out for you, Doctor. Do you need the word 'Hathor' here? Need a little reminder about all the nightmares? The vomiting? The self-disgust? It's not like we don't know how he takes this kind of news – and, you know, call me naïve here, but given all the shit Daniel and Carter have been through in the last couple of years, I don't think it's so much to ask one of their own to tell a couple of white lies to make them feel better."

"Or to give Major Carter a 'morning after' pill and tell her it's Tylenol?"

She'd thought saying it outright might at least make him think twice about what he was suggesting but she realized he must have gone through all the ramifications a dozen times already and just didn't give a damn because he didn't even blink. "No, Doctor. I don't think that's very much to ask at all. And if you won't do it for Carter's sake, then do it for Daniel's. You owe him and you know it."

She gasped from the shock of that before she could stop herself. It was crueler than she had thought he was prepared to be, lancing into her like someone slipping a skewer right under her ribcage and she couldn't stop the shock and hurt showing in her eyes.

But O'Neill was relentless. "You accepted that Daniel was schizophrenic when he wasn't, Doctor. You let Mackenzie drag him off and put him in a padded cell. You didn't see Daniel in that place, you didn't see him crying and gibbering, scared shitless because he was going crazy and no one was helping him. You didn't see him being held down while they injected more medication into him that he didn't damn well need and wouldn't damn well have needed if you'd got your goddamned diagnosis right in the first place. It's no thanks to you he isn't still rotting in that place. You owe him this."

She'd often wondered just how far Colonel Jack O'Neill was prepared to go to protect his team and now she knew, there was nowhere he wasn't prepared to go, nothing he wasn't prepared to say or do. Even though she knew that half of what the Colonel was saying was just his own guilt projected onto her; the trouble was, on one level, she still agreed with him: she did owe Daniel.

O'Neill was speaking again. "I want it in their medical records that nothing happened. I want it down there in black and white that Carter was never pregnant and that Goa'uld never touched them. Tell me I'm going to be getting what I want, Doctor."

And she'd also often wondered how he got someone as stubborn as Daniel to give in and now she knew that too; he just steam-rollered you until you wanted to give in, until anything – however difficult – felt easier than fighting him. She'd thought she was pretty stubborn herself but he'd certainly knocked all the resistance out of her. His expression told her that he'd barely got started yet; that there was a whole load of other things he could find to say that she really wouldn't want to hear. And what was he asking her to do anyway? Tell two people she was very fond of that something horrible hadn't happened to them. She sighed, gave in, shrugged. "All right, Colonel. But I hope you know what you're doing. If their memories of those events should return…"

"They won't."

"But if they should…They have to be able to trust me."

He didn't say it this time, but she read it in his eyes: What makes you think Daniel still trusts you anyway? What makes you think any of us still trust you?

It was all she could do to stop the tears springing into her eyes and she bowed her head, telling herself fiercely that no goddamned Flyboy Colonel was going to make her act like a ten year old. By the time she'd wrestled herself back under control and jerked her head up to face him defiantly, the expression in his eyes was much softer.

He laid a hand on her shoulder. "I know you want what's best for them, but so do I, and I know that this is best for them. I know them better than you do and you have to trust me on this. Daniel might seem fine about it now but that's just because he's so worried about being turned into a Goa'uld and killing everyone he can't think about anything else. Once that little crisis is out of the way it's going to hit him like a freight train and I am not having him put through that again. And if Carter should turn out to be pregnant and Daniel's responsible…Well how the hell are they supposed to go on working together? Trust me, Doc, this is the right thing to do."

She shrugged. "I'll do what you say, Colonel, but if there are any repercussions…"

"I'll deal with them."

And looking at him she thought he probably would.

***

An hour later she was back in his office. He looked like he hadn't moved but the report she'd sent up was lying on the desk in front of him and he'd obviously read it more than once.

"Colonel O'Neill," Janet Fraiser said his name coolly, determined to keep the upper hand during this conversation if only to make it a little less obvious how much she'd capitulated before. She put another file down on the table. "I have the results of the tests back for Daniel. Do you want the official version or the truth?"

He looked up at her and his brown eyes were so weary she couldn't help another of those unwanted stabs of compassion for him. There was a bottle of painkillers sitting on the table in front of him and a cold mug of coffee by his elbow. She noted in passing that her stitches were so neat he might not even have a scar on that wound to his forehead but that didn't mean his skull wasn't aching right now. The report she'd left him on Major Carter's condition was still open in front of him, she noticed. Which probably hadn't helped that headache much. He said, "Is Daniel hurt?"

"No, sir, he's absolutely fine. The only one of you to come back from that planet without a scratch."

"Then give me the official version."

O'Neill looked tired to death, running his hand through his greying hair as though he had barely enough energy even to do that. She took pity on him. "It doesn't matter which one I give you, Colonel. There's no difference between the two."

And yes he obviously was tired because his brain was clearly running a little slow today. "What two?"

"Versions, Colonel. They're both same. You can tell Daniel what you want him to hear with a clear conscience."

The glance he shot her had more than relief in it, there was gratitude there as well. "I'll tell him, Doc. Thank you." He collected himself. "So, that just leaves the question, what are we going to do about our other little medical problem…?"

***

Carter woke up and recognized the worried face by her bedside as Janet Fraiser. The fact that her return to consciousness didn't alter the expression of anxiety on the other woman's face made her suspect she wasn't about to be hearing any good news this time. Glancing around at her surroundings, she wasn't sure if it was a positive sign or not that she wasn't back in the infirmary but still in the VIP suite. The grey-walled rooms weren't exactly inviting, but they were certainly more private than the infirmary. And, of course, Daniel would be in the infirmary right now, which suggested…

"Okay, tell me the worst," Carter said hoarsely. "Did Daniel and I…?"

"No. You didn't."

"Thank God for that." Carter saw the brief smile on the other woman's face had only lightened the anxious expression for a moment, like sunlight darting through the gap in a curtain, so quickly being replaced by gloom. Her immediate thought was for Daniel. "Is he…? Janet, is Daniel…?"

"He's fine, Major. Of course if he'd been alone in that place he'd be dead by now, but thanks to you and Colonel O'Neill applying CPR so fast, he's going to be fine. He's under observation but he's definitely out of danger. As you suggested, I don't think the host ever had any intention of killing him. He just wanted to make sure Daniel went through the Stargate as soon as possible."

Carrying his Goa'uld for him, Carter thought bitterly. She collected herself. "Did Zagreus and I…?"

"No."

She closed her eyes in relief. The day was already looking better. "So, I guess that also means I'm not pregnant?"

"Absolutely."

Was there something a little too hearty about Janet's agreement there?

Before Carter had time to identify the doctor's tone, the other woman held out a pill and a glass of water. "However, since I let Daniel get certified as schizophrenic, I don't think the Colonel trusts me even not to bungle a simple pregnancy test, and he was very loquacious on the subject of not losing the 'best damned Air Force officer he'd ever served with' to the patter of tiny feet, so just to make extra sure..."

"I think he probably mistrusts the Goa'uld, not you, Janet, but I'll take the pill anyway. I'm not in any hurry to be hearing the patter of tiny feet myself."

"It was more the slither of tiny snakes, I was worried about."

They both turned to see O'Neill standing in the doorway.

Carter washed down the pill with the water and then smiled at him. "Well I'm with you on that as well, sir. Is Daniel okay?"

"Daniel is fine."

It took a moment for the emphasis to sink in and then realization dawned. She turned to Janet Fraiser, understanding the anxiety on the woman's face only too well now. "Oh God. I asked the wrong questions, didn't I? I should have said: Am I a Goa'uld?"

O'Neill was by her bedside before the doctor could answer. "You're not a Goa'uld, Carter. You're just somewhere for Zagreus to lie low right now."

"The Colonel's right. You do have a Goa'uld inside you but it hasn’t merged with you, there's no internal wound, and it has made no attempt to link with your cerebral cortex in any way. We think it chose you rather than Daniel because you would have been able to sense a Goa'uld inside him, whereas the protein marker from Jolinar presumably masked…"

Carter couldn't help tuning the other woman out as the shockwaves reverberated through her, after-effects from a disaster that had just become herself. Was it Daniel's certainty that had convinced her Zagreus was inside him? Or had she just been so damned sure that she would have known if it was inside her? No, they'd been tricked. The host had wanted them to think it was inside Daniel, had kept their attention focused on Daniel, and it had worked. Without the MRI it could have been disastrous: Daniel locked up under observation and her roaming around loose convinced she was free of any infestation. So why hadn't Zagreus known about the MRI? He must have read it in their minds…?

Yes, read it, but not understood it. Had been cut off from the other Goa'uld for too long to realize what progress Homo sapiens had made since he had ruled over them. Teal'c had told her the Goa'uld thought of humans as slave stock, inferiors. Had often said it was the arrogance of the Goa'uld that in the end might be their undoing. Knowing they were human and having previously only had contact with humans from the Bronze Age, Zagreus had automatically dismissed their technology as being greatly inferior to his own. And, of course, there was the little matter of him being insane…

This was displacement activity and she needed to snap out of it. She was thinking about this because it was easier than thinking about becoming a Goa'uld but she needed to face this, deal with this, think of a strategy…

Samantha Carter knew she was a courageous person who would have walked into any battlefield without flinching if her colleagues or her cause demanded it, but the possibility of losing her own identity was one she had already been forced to face once before. She'd been lucky on that occasion, but the Goa'uld were not the Tok'ra, and Zagreus wasn't Jolinar. Just for a second as possible futures shimmered like a mirage in the Sahara, she felt her courage fail. One wrong move, by herself, or someone else, and the Goa'uld inside her could punch its way into her brain and…

"That is not going to happen, Major."

And somehow, although she knew O'Neill was, despite his apparent cynicism, an eternal optimist with a near-limitless capacity for ignoring unpleasant truths he didn't want to deal with, his certainty was still comforting. There were a few – a very few – things that the man hadn't been able to change or overcome, but on the whole if Colonel O'Neill put his mind to achieving something, it tended to get done.

"Yes, sir," she said determinedly.

He touched her on the shoulder gently. "That's the spirit, Major." He hesitated and then said awkwardly, "You might have to kiss Goatboy to get rid of it."

She gave him a straight look. "Sir, I don't think you need the whole checklist of things I'm prepared to do not to become a Goa'uld and kill you all, do you?"

Retreating, he said, "Guess not."

As he hovered in the doorway, that familiar clamped down, one-of-my-team-is-in-peril expression on his face, she took pity on him. "Has anyone told Daniel that he isn't a host yet?"

"Just about to bring him up to speed on current events."

As O'Neill made to leave, Carter added, "Sir?"

"Yes, Major?"

"Tell him it isn't his fault."

"Oh, I'll tell him. I expect Teal'c will tell him too. And when you're snake-free again, you can tell him yourself, but it won't make any difference. Despite the fact that I'm the one who begged General Hammond to send I off to an archaeological dig that came with a psychotic Goa'uld as a non-optional extra, as far as Daniel's concerned this will always be something else he did wrong."

Seeing the depth of bitterness in the older man's dark eyes, Carter said quietly, "Can't think who taught him that trick, sir." As O'Neill left the room, she turned to Doctor Fraiser and said as matter-of-factly as she could, "Janet, if you're not going to keep me sedated, I really think you should put me in restraints."

"Colonel O'Neill was very adamant that he didn't want…"

"Colonel O'Neill has been under a lot of strain recently and I think he's making some emotional decisions. Janet, I don't want to kill anyone a lot more than I don't want to be locked up or sedated." Carter faced her unblinkingly and Doctor Fraiser saw the certainty in the blonde woman's eyes. She also saw the fear.

Trying not to let her compassion become too obvious, she said briskly, "All right, Major, we'll do as you suggest."

***

Daniel awoke to the familiar sound of monitors beeping at him softly. He hated that sound. That was usually the proof that he'd done something stupid. So stupid Jack wouldn't even yell at him for it because he'd hurt himself in the process. Which he obviously had because his chest was definitely hurting. A lot. So were his ribs, and as for his throat…Well, his throat felt exactly the way you'd expect it to feel if a Goa'uld had climbed down it, and there was a mask cinched tight to his head like some mediaeval torture device and his arm had that unmistakable vein-ache that meant you couldn't move two feet for tubing. And he had a blood pressure cuff on his arm and one of those annoying ET-finger things shining a red light to tell him that something or other inside him was now at 95%. Wonderful. Other men came back from missions and went out for a beer; he got a cocktail of saline and sweet ringers. He must have really excelled himself this time. He'd open his eyes and find Jack sitting by his bedside trying not to look worried and the man was such a lousy actor… Well this time he wasn't even going to bother opening his eyes first, he'd just get the worst over with now.

"Jack…?" As he opened his mouth to speak air rushed in his nose from the machine the mask was attached to and leaked straight out of his mouth. It was not a pleasant sensation and the urge to just reach up and wrench the damned stupid mask straight off was almost overwhelming. He sometimes thought Janet only did these things to pay him back for getting himself damaged again after she'd told him not to.

"Right here, buddy."

Daniel sighed and opened his eyes. He remembered now. He'd done something incredibly stupid and was now probably a Goa'uld. Oh yes, and he might well have got Sam pregnant too. Even by his standards that was an outstanding night's work. Daniel looked at the older man's face – Boy, Jack looked tired, and he had a line of stitches across his head that had to be hurting. Was Jack looking at him with hostility, regret, pity…? No, he was being completely unreadable in that maddeningly Jack-like way.

"Did I get Sam pregnant?" His voice came out hoarse and husky but Jack seemed to understand him.

"Nope."

Daniel closed his eyes in relief and some of the tightness around his chest loosened a little. Having taken a few deep breaths of that oxygen the machine was pumping into him, he essayed the next question: "Am I a Goa'uld?"

"Nope."

Anyone else might have been able to enjoy a whole thirty seconds of relief before the truth kicked in with a vengeance: with Daniel it was three seconds. "So Sam…?" At once those blue eyes were huge with anxiety and the inevitable guilt.

"She's not a Goa'uld, Daniel. It’s inside her but it's not doing anything right now. She's still Carter. She's fine. Don't do this to yourself, please. As spectator sports go, watching you beat yourself up is not exactly up there with the Super bowl. Now, aren't you going to ask question number three?"

"What?" Daniel said it dully, mind still absorbed with Sam's plight and his part in it.

"Damnit, Daniel, don't you even want to know if your honor is still unsullied?"

Daniel said wearily, "Well I guess it must be or you certainly wouldn't be bringing it up." It came out so muffled he was surprised Jack could understand him. But of course Jack had been given years of practice at understanding him while he was hooked up to stupid machines and talking with stupid masks on, hadn't he?

"You're really no fun at all when you're like this, are you?"

He looked at his aching arm with dislike and, yes, two IVs today, including one of those patient-activated-morphine-press button things that always locked you out just before it actually stopped the pain: no wonder he felt like a damned pincushion. Daniel pressed his fingers to his aching head – he was still hung over then, that hadn't changed despite all the machinery whirring and beeping at him – then remembered that the last thing he'd felt was that inevitable slide towards oblivion. He frowned. "Incidentally, why aren't I dead? I mean I felt my heart stop. We were two miles from the Stargate, there was no way you could have got Janet there in time."

"We got your heart going again and then took you to Janet. It seemed the easiest way."

Daniel stared at him for a moment. Jack had sounded so matter-of-fact, but seeing the shadows behind the older man's eyes, Daniel realized it must have been a close one. "Um – thanks seem inadequate but…thank you…?"

"You're welcome."

And of course here was further proof Jack really only had himself to blame for those occasions in the past when Daniel had expected the man to work miracles. He'd always known that Jack could pretty well accomplish anything if he only put his mind to it. After all, he'd asked Jack to save the world once with just a few packs of C4 and the three of them to help him and Jack had managed that okay. And now here he was raising archaeologists from the dead in his spare time.

O'Neill said, "Can you remember what happened?"

Daniel tried. He recalled walking back from the palace, his head hurting – just like it was now – arriving at the citadel…Something about throwing up in Jack's bathroom was all that came to mind, and then panic as he felt his throat burning as it closed over, his heart falter and then die. "Not really, no. Did Janet…?"

"Allergic reaction to the flowers, she says." O'Neill added pointedly, "But Goatboy was standing right next to you. Ring any bells?"

Daniel shook his head. "Sorry."

"I think he slipped you something."

"Teal'c searched him, Jack, and when Teal'c searches someone they tend to stay searched. And that costume he was wearing didn't have too many hiding places."

"I don't care. He did something to you."

Daniel frowned. "Jack, I've been thinking."

He waited for O'Neill to roll his eyes but the man only said, "When?"

"What?"

"When have you been thinking, Daniel? You only woke up – " O'Neill checked his watch. "Three and a half minutes ago."

"Well since then. About Zagreus."

O'Neill sighed, but quietly enough that Daniel could pretend he hadn't heard him.

"We have to let him recombine with his host to save Sam but if he does recombine with his host he might be able to drive us all insane. He'll know you're going to want to kill him. He'll be prepared for that. He'll ask for his weapons and that coronet to be returned before he agrees to have Zagreus back. We'll be letting an armed Goa'uld loose in here. An armed Goa'uld who can manipulate everybody's minds."

Long speeches were difficult when a machine kept force-feeding him oxygen he probably didn't even need and Daniel couldn't help putting a hand up to the mask to see how difficult it was to undo. He scowled as he realized Janet had put him into something he'd need to be Houdini to get out of. No way was that accidental.

"I don't think he'd catch you and me out like that again. And he can't affect Teal'c, and he probably can't affect Carter."

"Jack, we have no idea how much power he has."

O'Neill waved an expressive hand around the infirmary. "No flowers, Daniel. No damned pollen or perfume or whichever bit of them it was that was screwing with our minds back there. Carter said the flowers acted as an accelerant. And remember the first time? He got you to drink some of his wine then he used the coronet thing on you and that hand device. And you and I had both been licking pollen off our fingers before the guy even showed up."

"You're still thinking you're going to be able to put a bullet in him, aren't you?"

"Several bullets, actually, and I'm not sure that 'thinking' really covers it, Daniel, I think 'anticipating' might be more accurate or even 'eagerly savoring the prospect of'."

"I'm just not sure you've thought this through."

O'Neill got to his feet. "I've decided to give up thinking for a while – did so much damned thinking on that planet my brain may never get over it. Shooting people is looking good to me right now."

"Jack," Daniel leant across, grabbed the man's sleeve and pulled him weakly back down onto the chair. "I know you're angry about what he's done to Sam – I am too – but we have to get this right. Now, I think we need to prepare for failure."

"There's positive thinking for you."

"No – I mean prepare in a good way – like being one step ahead of him." He looked apologetically at O'Neill. "I mean, Teal'c and Sam had him pegged from the start but so far you and I have been seriously lagging behind."

"True. And so?"

"And so let's assume he'll manage to recombine. Let's assume he'll disable us in some way – "

"Anything else you want to assume while you're at it, like that we'll all probably contract typhoid any minute or that the earth's going to smash into the sun?"

"Jack, just bear with me."

"Believe me, Daniel, this is me bearing with you."

"It's a pity he didn't pick me. Sam's better with computers than I am but I'll have to do the best I can to explain what we're going to need to the technicians. I have to get to the control room. I need to get this stupid mask off and could you give me my clothes – ?"

"When hell freezes over perhaps," O'Neill said conversationally. "You're not leaving the infirmary and if you even think about putting a toe out of that bed I'll have one of those nice nurses come and give you a shot of horse sedative that will knock you out for a week."

Daniel looked at him in exasperation. "Jack, I'm perfectly – "

"Daniel, three hours ago you were dead. Now you're a linguist so that must be a word you know the meaning of, right? Dead, Daniel. As in…dead. And Goatboy did it to you, I know he did. That son-of-a-bitch killed you to get what he wanted. Upset about Carter? Damned right I am! No one uses one of my people as a baggage locker for a goddamned Goa'uld, but people murdering my teammates right in front of my eyes kind of pisses me off as well. Now, tell me what needs to be done and I'll pass it on to someone who can do it."

"Jack, I don't mean to be rude, but you wouldn't even understand the explanation."

"Not a problem. I'll send a technician in to see you. You can tell him what you want done."

Daniel muttered, "It would be a lot easier if you'd just let me go explain it to them myself…" As an afterthought he gave the man his best sideways pleading look but Daniel figured the mask was probably ruining the effect he was striving for because his face didn't even flicker.

O'Neill indicated the infirmary. "Do you see any little demons with pitchforks just lacing up their skates?"

Daniel sighed, admitting defeat. "Is Sam…?"

"She's fine. And she's going to stay fine. She told me to tell you that none of this is your fault. And you know – she's right."

"No, Jack, I don't know she's right. I screwed up and we both know it."

"No, you didn't, Daniel."

"Jack, I – "

"Okay, look at me and answer this: after you got addicted to the sarcophagus and turned into that total pain in the ass who wanted to run away and breed little megalomaniacs with Shyla, did I ever tell you that you hadn't screwed up?"

"You said you didn't – "

"I said I didn't blame you. I said I forgave you. I said that there were so many mitigating circumstances it was difficult to know where to start. I said you were as much a victim on that planet as we were. I said it didn't affect our friendship. I said I wanted you back on my team. I never told you that you didn't screw up, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I hate to tell you this, Daniel, but you did – screw up. Getting into that sarcophagus the second time – dumb move. Not your finest hour. Getting into it the next dozen times – serious error of judgment. But this is different. None of this is your fault and you didn't screw up. And what's more, if that Goa'uld does start trying to mess with our heads, where the hell do you think he's going to start? The only way you're going to be able to resist him is if you get your mind totally clear now. And, I am telling you as your commanding officer and as your friend, that you did-not-screw-up. Say it, Daniel, I want to hear you say it."

"I get the point, Jack."

"Say it."

Daniel thought about telling him how difficult it was saying anything with this stupid mask forcing all that oxygen in through his nose and then gushing out through his mouth every time he opened it, but given how much talking he'd done so far decided to take the line of least resistance. "Ididnotscrewup."

"Don't mutter it – say it like you believe it."

Daniel sighed. "I did not screw up."

"Okay, keep saying it until you believe it. And if saying it enough times still doesn't convince you, well then I'll just go get a pen and paper and you can start writing it down. Because, if Zagreus gets out with his little toys to help him, we all might need you to know how true that is." O'Neill went to the doorway and then paused. "If you just believed in yourself even half as much as I believe in you, Daniel, that son-of-a-bitch would never have been able to get to you in the first place."

Daniel stared at him in astonishment and then collected himself. "Jack, I know you're just saying that because – "

"I'm 'just saying it' because it's true, Daniel. I have never lied to you and I'm not doing it now. Why do you think I wanted you on my team in the first place? It sure as hell wasn't for your military skills, was it? I mean look at what I'm doing right now – I'm going to send some computer technician in to see you and I'm going to tell him to do whatever you tell him to do and then I'm going to go tell General Hammond what I've done and he's going to give me permission to do it. Who else in this complex do you think I would do that for? Who else in this complex do you think the General would do it for?"

Daniel looked down at the white coverlet. "Jack, you listening to me was what got us into this in the first place."

"As I remember it, you told me that Citadel was a site of great archaeological significance, right?"

"Yes, but - "

"Well it was, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but – "

"And that the Linear B they had up there might have developed into a much more complex language than the version we used to have on Earth, right?"

"Yes, but – "

"Which it had, right?"

"Yes, but – it – I – "

"You didn't screw up, Daniel. You recognized the importance of a site I would have walked straight past and never even thought about. The rest of us screwed up when we didn't protect you while you excavated it. You didn't do a damned thing wrong."

***

Daniel had managed – with a lot of pleading – to persuade Janet to take the torture chamber mask off, insisting that he could not hold an important conversation with a computer technician about the future of the galaxy with oxygen gushing in and out of every orifice. She had removed it only with great reluctance, after telling him a lot of things about chemical pneumonitis that he really hadn’t found at all interesting, and with a lot of threats about putting it straight back on again and sedating him if he didn't stay quiet and calm. She had left him a hand-held oxygen mask he could breathe into but told him that she would have no hesitation about putting him back on the BiPAP ventilator or even intubating him if he gave her any trouble whatsoever.

Her removing it had made him feel better at once and he'd been careful to notice how the straps did up so he could get it undone himself next time if he had to. Not that he wanted to be a difficult patient, as she seemed to think, he just knew from past experience that Janet had no sense of proportion sometimes and would get so hung up on what all her annoying little monitors were saying about him that she wouldn't listen to the much more important things he might be telling her.

The only problem now was trying to stay awake because he was feeling incredibly tired all of a sudden. He'd told the technician what needed to be done and the guy had seemed to think it was possible, had nodded at all the right moments and made a lot of notes, and gone off with a look in his eye that spoke of purpose rather than bafflement. But all the same, given that Sam had a deranged Goa'uld inside her and the host was somewhere on the base, and they could all be going to hell in a hand basket if they made the tiniest slip, Daniel really didn't want to be falling asleep right now.

He so wanted to go and see Sam. He'd even pulled the covers back a couple of times and got as far as putting his foot on the floor, but then he'd remembered how exhausted Jack had seemed, that look in his eyes that spoke of so much anger and misery, thought about how hard he must have worked to save Daniel's life, and it seemed to selfish and ungrateful to worry Jack even more that Daniel had sighed and pulled his foot back under the covers.

Nurses kept walking past and peering at his monitors and checking the oxygen levels in his blood – about which they seemed to be obsessed – before suggesting pointedly that he might want to put the oxygen mask back on because if his breathing didn't improve by the time Doctor Fraiser came to see him, she wasn't going to be happy, and he'd obligingly put it over his face for thirty seconds and then take the damned annoying thing off again.

And, of course, he was so insanely tired that every time he closed his eyes, he dozed off. Then he'd jolt awake in a panic fifteen minutes later, wondering if Zagreus had taken over the base and he'd be hearing the screams of the insane any second. So far, the place had been maddeningly quiet; the sort of stillness that meant that if you were tied to a bed by drips and monitors and were desperate to know what was going on elsewhere, you couldn't glean a single clue, however hard you strained your ears. He'd always thought of hell in the traditional way – demons, brimstone, fiery pits erupting – but it could just as well be a clean white room that smelt faintly of antiseptic and other people's blood; the threat of something happening you were afraid you couldn't avert and knew you were responsible for hanging in the air, and this absence of anything…tangible. He almost yelled for Jack just so he could get an update, but a glance at his watch told him that it was only an hour since he'd spoken to him last. And the man was probably busy.

"Jackson?"

Daniel realized he must have dozed off again, because he woke up with a jolt to find Makepeace peering at him anxiously. The marine Colonel had a bandage across his forehead, Daniel noticed. Someone else who'd been hurt because of him. He winced.

Daniel also realized that some nurse had sneaked that oxygen mask back onto him again and impatiently tore it off. He liked his air polluted, thank you. "Hello, Colonel." He pulled himself up into a sitting position and was a little disconcerted when the marine took his elbow and helped him very gently. Makepeace seemed a hair away from fluffing his pillows for him. Daniel frowned. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Makepeace seemed to be steeling himself for something and when he spoke the words came out in a rush. "I remember what I did – tried to do – I wanted to kill you – O'Neill told me that Goa'uld got you – I'm sorry, Jackson."

Daniel pulled a face. "Why are you apologizing to me? You and your men nearly got killed because of Zagreus…"

"It doesn't work like that."

"So – how does it work?"

"How it works is that SG-3 were sent to protect the grave- archaeologists from the Goa'uld while they excavated that site. You were under my protection. It was my job to keep you safe. I didn't keep you safe, Jackson, I tried to kill you and then I let that Goa'uld take you. I screwed up and you and Major Carter ended up paying the price."

"Colonel, I'm fine and I didn't ask for your protection – "

"You damned near died, Major Carter's a Goa'uld, and it doesn't matter whether you asked for my protection or not, you were under it. It was my job to take care of you. I didn't. I'm sorry."

"Look, first Sam isn't a Goa'uld, she's just – housing a Goa'uld until its rightful owner has it back. Second, I had an allergic reaction to some flowers – which is hardly something you could have anticipated, I sure as hell didn't. And, third, if anyone screwed up on that planet then it was definitely me."

Makepeace looked at him for a moment in bafflement, as if he had a lot of new thoughts to get used to and then his face cleared. "Oh right – I'd forgotten how you like to do this to yourself – O'Neill's always saying…Okay, look, Jackson, you weren't on that planet as part of SG-1, you weren't there to go bouncing up to the locals and telling them you were a peaceful explorer this time, you were there as an archaeologist. Right?"

"Ye-es. But – "

"No buts. You were there as an archaeologist. So, the only way you could screw up on that planet was as an archaeologist. I mean, nothing else about that site was your responsibility. So, tell me, did you date something wrong? Say something was Greek when it should have been Roman? Say it was built by the Egyptians when it should have been the Vikings?"

"Actually, it was a Helladic culture but…Um, no, Colonel, I didn't, but - "

Makepeace shrugged. "So you didn't screw up then, did you? I, on the other hand, was supposed to be keeping you guys alive, in one piece, and safe from that Goa'uld. I didn't do that. I did screw up and I'm sorry. Now do you accept my apology?"

Daniel was still wanting to argue that no one else could be responsible for him because he was responsible for himself but that last question took him by surprise. "What? Yes, I mean – of course I accept your apology. There's nothing for you to – "

Makepeace held up a finger to quieten him. "Thank you, Doctor Jackson. I appreciate it. Now, you better get some sleep or you're going to make Colonel O'Neill even crazier than he is already."

"But – I – but – " Makepeace had already gone and Daniel had to fall back on thumping the pillow in frustration. Was this going to be the day when no one let him get to the end of a single sentence? He closed his eyes and had a vague recollection of the host speaking to him; he'd been thinking about hangovers, helping Jack home from the bar, no, throwing up in Jack's bathroom, or waking up on Jack's couch, that was it, and the host had said something…something about the flowers…something important…

"Doctor Jackson."

Daniel jolted back into full wakefulness. Janet was certainly being very brisk and formal today. He darted her a quick look, wondering if she was pissed with him for being back in the infirmary? She'd said something last time about starting to take it out of his pay if he clocked up too many overnight stays but at the time he'd rather hoped she'd been joking. She'd also told him that the machine she'd had him hooked up to had been bought specifically with him in mind, but he was almost certain that was a joke. "How's Sam?" he said.

"She's fine." Doctor Fraiser had her stethoscope out and was listening to his chest.

"Can I see her?" Jack couldn't object if Doctor Fraiser gave him permission, now, could he?

She gave him a look of exasperation. "Certainly not. I'm keeping you in for observation for at least forty-eight hours and as I told you earlier, if you give me any trouble at all I'll have you sedated and put you back on the ventilator."

Daniel winced. "Um – a 'not right now' would have done."

Janet Fraiser sighed and put a hand up to her head. "I'm sorry, Daniel. It's not been a good day so far and Colonel O'Neill is being a little difficult."

"I can imagine. What's happening with Zagreus?"

"I don't know. I have my hands full here."

"Well who's with Sam? She's not by herself, is she? I know how brave she is, but she still must be feeling scared right now, maybe I should – " The glare she gave him made Daniel realize that he had automatically thrown back the blanket and had one foot already reaching for the floor. He whipped his leg back under the covers quickly. "Sorry. Reflex action." He gave her his best winsome look. "You don't have to hold me down and tranquillize me, I swear." He couldn't understand why she flinched so violently from that or turned away so quickly. His winsome look obviously needed some more work.

She kept her back to him. "All right, Daniel. I promise not to sedate you as long as you promise to stay in bed. Now, I'm presuming there are no pollen spores in the atmosphere as you don't seem to be suffering from any kind of reaction, but your lungs got pretty singed back there and they do need all the help you can give them, so please talk as little as possible and use the oxygen mask. Deal?"

"Is everyone else okay?" he called after her in desperation.

"Yes, Daniel, everyone's okay and – " She broke off to stare at the contents of the medical cabinet, frowning.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, anxious at once.

"No, Daniel, everything's fine." But she said it automatically and it clearly wasn't true. He watched her look around for a nurse. Saw them have a conversation, the nurse shaking her head in obvious bewilderment, Janet Fraiser looking more and more baffled and concerned with every minute and then they were checking something on the computer, and then the Doctor was heading into her lab and Daniel was feeling that initial flicker of anxiety turn into a fist of fear that was beginning to squeeze his heart.

Squeeze his heart. That was what the host had done. He remembered now. He'd told Daniel that he was going to have an allergic reaction, and he had. And maybe the flowers had helped, but the power of suggestion had…

Omigod. Three and a half thousand years of having his cerebral cortex externally simulated had obviously…It was possible, wasn't it? Well how the hell did he know? He wasn't a biologist or a neurologist or whatever you had to be. Sam might…But there were bits of the brain that weren't necessarily in everyday use, weren't there? Hadn't he read that somewhere, untapped reservoirs that might possibly speak of potential psychic ability…? Well they'd have to be very small parts because it wouldn't be logical for something as energy-absorbing as the human brain to have many non-functioning parts, but…

It was depressing how little one ended up knowing about any subjects one hadn't actively studied. He remembered someone telling him at a conference somewhere that there was nothing more gullible than a scientist outside his own particular field of reference. He was sure there were microbiologists out there who believed fervently in Atlantis, and what he knew about latent psychic ability and untapped resources within the human brain was about the same as any normally curious twelve year old. But, it sounded like it could make sense. Zagreus had developed a technology that stimulated the human brain so that it became receptive to the thoughts and memories of others, received them, amplified them, sent them back the same way. It wasn't that different from the way the ribbon device operated when he came to think about it: that needed the Goa'uld's will to work, transmitted hostility into an energy that fried the brain of the unwary. As someone who'd nearly had his own brain fried on a couple of occasions he could certainly testify to how effective that device was. Okay, so Zagreus needed more props to get at the memories, to receive thought; the pollen, the chemicals in the wine, but that didn't mean he needed all that stuff to send thought.

And the host could do it by himself because his brain had been trained to do it over all those millennia; didn't need the technology any more; could do it by himself: probably not well enough to work on another Goa'uld but certainly well enough to work on the minds of some poor unwary humans.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Everyone who'd been in contact with the host since he was collected from the planet could have been mind-zapped by him for all they knew; people set to go off like little explosive devices whenever the host had programmed them to do so…

***

As O'Neill headed for the infirmary to check on Daniel, Doctor Freeland intercepted him. The man was in a wheelchair and his leg was heavily plastered but his clipped tones were as brusque as ever: "Colonel O'Neill, might I have a word with you?"

"Okay." O'Neill checked his watch and decided that he would give the man two minutes and then his time would be up. "How's the leg?"

"Painful. Colonel O'Neill – I just wanted to tell you that when I first met Doctor Jackson I decided at once I wanted him to come and work with me on the site I was excavating. I felt that it was a criminal waste for an archaeologist of his brilliance to have his talents squandered by the military."

"And now?" O'Neill prompted grimly, thinking that if this guy even thought about saying he now considered Daniel to be anything other than a brilliant archaeologist, well then broken leg or no broken leg, he was going to be…

"I now realize that as well as being a very unusual and gifted young man, Doctor Jackson is also a very fortunate one. And I wouldn't dream of trying to lure him away from the people who are clearly able to nurture his many talents far better than I would ever be able to do. I was wrong about you and I'm sorry." Doctor Freeland looked over his shoulder. "Now, if I heard you correctly, I think it might be an idea if I asked your General to have myself and the other 'grave-robbers' transferred to a hospital outside of this base before you restore his telepathic powers to a psychotic alien on the somewhat flimsy supposition that you can then shoot him."

O'Neill managed a chilly smile. "You and me were almost not hating each other for a moment there, Doc. Thanks for letting us keep Daniel, I'm sure we appreciate the gesture and I'll tell General Hammond to – "

"Jack!"

O'Neill was already running; in fact he had to brake hard to avoid cannoning straight into Daniel's bed, his anxiety gave him such a spurt. "Daniel?"

"Jack, the host can do it by himself…! The coronet must have taught him how to do it by himself!"

"Stop panicking before you have another heart-attack." O'Neill placed a hand on Daniel's shoulder to hold him still as he looked at the worrying zig zags on the screen in front of him. "Your heart-rate is doing really weird stuff on this monitor and I'm sure that BP can't be healthy. And whatever it is you're yelling about we still can't let Zagreus and the host recombine until the technicians have finished reprogramming the computer."

"But by then it may be too late!"

"Daniel, you are going to flatline in a minute. Don't just keep gulping air in, breathe out a few times as well. Nurse!" O'Neill looked around and imperiously waved a nurse over. "Make his vitals stop doing that."

Daniel held up a hand to hold off the sister of mercy who was advancing on him purposefully. "I'm fine. I'm calm. Definitely not hyperventilating. And I really need to talk to Colone