Title: Hell to Pay
Author: Gatejunkie
Author Page: Gatejunkie
Season and spoilers: Season 1 Enigma
Rating: PG-13
Category: Gen, hurt/comfort, angst
Summary: After the events of Enigma, Maybourne has his revege.
Note: first appeared in Gateways 1
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.

"I'm sorry, son." Genuine regret colored Hammond's tone.

Swallowing the painful lump knotting his throat, Daniel managed, "I understand, sir. I knew the risk when I chose to help the Tollan."

The general nodded. Although his face registered careful neutrality in Colonel Maybourne's presence, Hammond's stomach clenched at the stricken look in Dr. Jackson's eyes. He'd come to respect and like the impulsive anthropologist.

"Will I be informed when Sha're…" Daniel's quiet voice broke on his wife's name. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he fought to still the quiver in his sensitive lower lip. "If…if they recover her or Skaara?"

"You are in no position to make demands," Maybourne coldly cut in.

"She's my wife," Daniel protested, a flash of anger brightening his blue gaze.

"And this is a top secret government project—one you gave up any right having access to with your treasonous actions." Icy satisfaction coated the NID officer's reply.

"I'm sure the President wouldn't object to Doctor Jackson being told when his wife is rescued."

Daniel blinked in surprise at the general's certainty Sha're would be freed from her parasitic captor. Moisture burned his weary eyes. "Thank you," he said gratefully as he rose.

"Sergeant, escort Mr . Jackson to the surface." Maybourne's clenched fists made it obvious he wanted to personally throw the civilian out.

The tall black soldier looked to the general for confirmation.

Surprise paled Daniel's face as air drained from the room. "I haven't gathered my things or said goodbye to anyone…" He bit his lip, hating the pleading note corrupting his tone.

"Return here when you're through," Hammond ordered, not unkindly.

"At least have the sergeant guard him as he packs," Maybourne growled, "unless you're willing to be responsible for missing Stargate information. The President was specific concerning the removal of this… civilian and my orders if I received any interference from you or SG-1. I believe court-martial was mentioned."

Wrath flushed Daniel's cheeks at the threat to his friends, making him uncomfortably warm. "I'm not a thief." A hint of aggressiveness lay in the protest.

"Just a traitor to your country." Maybourne's dark eyes glittered maliciously. His shoulders squared in preparation for a fight.

"That's enough!" Hammond barked, glaring at the colonel who met his irritated scowl a moment before averting a defiant gaze. "Sergeant, escort Dr. Jackson to his quarters, and wait outside until he's gathered his things." The compromise annoyed him as much as the insolent NID officer's high-handed attitude.

Understanding deepened the lines on Daniel's drawn face. Hammond trusted him more than he'd imagined. "Thank you again, sir," he said, eager to escape the stifling room. Not giving Maybourne another chance to insult him or threaten the general, Daniel fled. The corridor's dank, recycled air cooled his overheated face. He sighed wearily, tension flowing from him as the weight of defeat set in. In the distance, he heard the echoing voices of SG-7 as they returned from a mission. They sounded happy and full of camaraderie. Daniel's lower lip trembled. Neither happiness or fellowship loomed in his near future.

"So do you have to write 'I will not use the Stargate without permission' one hundred times on the blackboard?" Jack quipped, stepping from the shadows.

Stress instantly cramped the back of the anthropologist's neck. "No." He tried to mimic his friend's smile and couldn't. Nor was he able to meet the other man's probing look. "I've got stuff to do, Jack." Daniel turned away and began walking toward his room, all too aware of the sergeant following him.

"I'll come along," O'Neill said, matching his strides easily. "What's with the chaperon?"

Mentally, Daniel winced. What's the use? Jack and the others will find out soon enough. "He's insuring I don't steal any classified information."

" What?" O'Neill froze in surprise.

"I'm off the project." Bleak reality crashed down on Daniel with the admission. His shoulders slumped. Where would he go? What would he do with his life now that rescuing Sha're and Skaara was no longer an option? He blinked quickly, his eyes burning with unshed moisture.

"Are they crazy? Who made that decision?"

A tiny, ironic smile twisted Daniel's lips. "The powers that be." He glanced into angry brown eyes and immediately looked away.

"Politicians!" Jack dismissed with a wave of his hand. "What about General Hammond? Couldn't he reach the President? You're vital to this project."

"Apparently not," Daniel murmured, his wan face clouding with all the other times he'd been ignored or mocked by those in authority." The orders came from the President and the Chiefs of Staff. They're upset by the loss of the Tollan's superior knowledge."

"Too bad they couldn't grasp the Tollan's advanced ethics."

In spite of the ache in his throat, Daniel's dull eyes brightened at the memory of at least one person who'd approved of him. He could still feel Omac's fingers on his shoulder. Glancing at Jack, he shrugged. "Our government?"

O'Neill ran a hand through his short brush of hair as he snorted in bitter amusement. "Right. Next, I'll believe Santa Claus invented the 'gate to deliver Christmas presents."

"The only gift I want is Sha're and Skaara home safe."

Hearing the aching loss in Daniel's voice which contrasted with the stoicism of his expression, O'Neill turned to the sergeant. "Can we have a minute here?"

"The general told me to escort Dr. Jackson to his quarters," the soldier protested.

"Can't you do that a few steps behind us? I'll vouch for Daniel's integrity."

"Don't."

Baffled, Jack glanced at Daniel.

"Don't give Maybourne any excuse to court-martial you," the scientist elaborated. "It's not worth it."

Hearing the unspoken I'm not worth it, anger flared like a rocket in Jack's mind. "The hell it isn't," he denied vehemently, gripping Daniel's arm with bruising strength. "You're one of the most honorable men I've ever had the privilege to know. I'm not going to turn my back on a friend to play it safe. What kind of person do you think I am?"

"A…friend?" Daniel repeated, unable to believe SG-1's leader had verbalized it. The icy knot in his throat began to thaw. Until now, the camaraderie they shared had remained unspoken between them.

"Damn straight." Not a man to waste words on uncomfortable emotions, O'Neill's relentless brown eyes narrowed as he stared down the guard. "Work for you?"

"Yes, sir," the noncom nodded, dropping back a few paces.

"Thanks." Daniel breathed the word as some of the weight lifted from his heart.

"For what?" Jack grinned. "I get a little claustrophobic in these rat tunnels."

Daniel's lips twitched before he shook his head and mustered the strength to walk forward. Despite the far off voices of Stargate personnel, silence cocooned the trio as he led the way to his quarters. Entering the small, utilitarian space, Daniel glanced around. Besides toiletries, the only personal belonging he kept with him was his most current mission journal. Picking up the dog-eared book, he sighed and handed it to Jack. "Guess this is classified information."

O'Neill's fingers clutched the book as if it was Maybourne's useless neck. "Yeah."

"But they can't take my memories," Daniel observed with a wry wince of triumph as if the thought provided both solace and pain. As his companion remained silent, his blue eyes widened in fear behind his glasses. "Can they, Jack? If they decide I know too much, will they do something so I can't remember Sha're or the rest of you?"

"You've read too many science fiction novels," O'Neill shook his head. "This is America, land of the National Enquirer. I don't know about you, but I couldn't stomach a public scandal called Jacksongate."

Knowing his friends would work together to protect him, Daniel relaxed slightly as he met the colonel's steady gaze. His tongue wet dry lips. SG-1 was a formidable team. Nothing could beat them. The crushing knowledge he was no longer part of that family filled him with sinking despair. "I guess there's nothing of mine here."

Jack desperately searched his mind for something to erase the vulnerable defeat from Daniel's face. As the comforting words remained locked inside him, he cursed his inability to easily express emotions.

Unaware of the silent struggle, Daniel looked at his former quarters. His thoughts flashed back to the desert paradise of Abydos. How much of his soul had been left behind there? His blurring gaze dropped to the floor. "I'll return these clothes when I get home." He plucked at his jacket.

"Khaki's your color." Samantha Carter blocked the doorway, the brightness of her tear-filled eyes telling her companions she'd heard the news.

Feeling his throat closing up, Daniel shook his head. "Nah," he managed raggedly, "I'm not the uniform type."

"I will miss you, DanielJackson." Teal'c stood behind Carter. Although his face remained impassive, his dark eyes were sad and confused. Would he never grasp this world's strange rules?

Feeling the warmth of moisture gathering on his eyelashes, Daniel bit his lip to recover the frayed threads of control. A long moment passed before he could reply. "I'll miss you too. Take care of yourselves, okay? Don't forget the natives are sometimes friendly."

"Look on the bright side," Jack observed, finally able to think of something to say. "At least your allergies should get a rest." To the casual ear, the words were inane, but O'Neill's tone left no doubt how much he regretted losing this member of his team. Together they'd endured many trials of fire and saw each other through.

The linguist had observed the deep river of emotion beneath the colonel's military façade. SG-1's leader would miss his resident "geek". Guilt swamped him at making Jack face uncomfortable emotions. His friend had seen enough loss. Swallowing the misery of his own situation, the young anthropologist squared his shoulders. "Look, I gotta go see Hammond before I leave. You guys watch each other's backs." Before he could slip by Carter, she pulled him into a fierce hug.

Eyes closed, Daniel briefly allowed the comfort of her tight embrace to ease the grief and despair tearing at his composure. She smelled soapy clean. Unbidden, the ghost scent of Sha're teased his memory with mysterious images of sandalwood and rose oil. Misery crested, solidifying his breath in his chest. He pulled back before tears could fall. "See you around." Quickly walking away, he felt the connection to his chosen family stretch thin before the painful snap of disconnection. Alone again. The hollow feeling bruised his spirit. He'd been alone most of his life. Why was it so much worse now?

Sam watched Daniel go, his slumped shoulders wrenching her heart. He looked as orphaned as on that terrible day when Sha're had been captured, and he'd returned to Earth only to find Stargate Command had no use for him. "Maybourne can't get away with this." Blue eyes fiercely determined, she glared at O'Neill.

"He won't." Jack's voice was firm as he held up a hand to forestall her tirade.

"You have a plan?"

"No," he admitted as his arm dropped to his side, "but that's never stopped me before. I can't imagine they'd let Daniel go without thinking of the consequences. He's the one who got the 'gate working in the first place. As soon as they need his expertise, they'll ask him back. I just have to get them to realize that sooner rather than later."

"I'll go with you…" Sam began.

"I, too, will accompany you." Teal'c stepped forward in solid support.

An automatic protest lay stillborn on Jack's lips. They had every right to speak up for their teammate, and Daniel needed all of them now to help him remember he belonged to this clan of explorers. A lopsided smile warmed O'Neill's concerned features. "Who says you can't get good help these days?"

Carter shook her head in cheerless amusement. "Probably the same idiot who appointed the Joint Chiefs of Staff." She wondered why she'd ever voted for this president.

As Teal'c opened his mouth to question, Jack said, "I'll explain later. Right now we've got some talking to do." As he led his team forward, he hoped the President was in a mood to get his ass verbally kicked.

***

A wintry mountain breeze slipped through the light jacket Daniel wore, making him shiver. Twilight, the mirror of his thoughts, interred him. His breath plumed in the frosty air as he approached his uninhabited apartment. Fumbling jingling keys from his pocket, he wearily climbed the metal and stone steps to his front door. His footsteps thudded hollowly against them. "Home," he mumbled, trying the thought on for size although the rooms beyond this door had never seemed so to him. Only one place held that spot in his heart, and Abydos was as lost to him as Sha're. An owl hooted its opinion from somewhere over his head. Loneliness swelled, and he quickly focused his gaze on the black keyhole. Although the metal key slid smoothly into the lock, it wouldn't turn.

"Come on," Daniel pleaded softly, twisting the doorknob back and forth. It rattled but didn't budge. A frown gathered on his forehead. Could it be the wrong apartment?

"No," he muttered, tracing the faint outline of the metal numbers on the door. Maybe he'd used the wrong key? His shivering increased as a gust of wind whipped around him with a promise of rain. He tried one key then another, his teeth unconsciously capturing his lower lip. Nothing fit.

The porchlight from the apartment next door blinded him. Daniel shaded his eyes with one hand against the sudden glare.

"Dr. Jackson." Mrs. Iverson appeared in the halo of light. "I thought you'd moved."

He stared at the elderly woman as if she'd lost her mind. "I've been travelling a lot."

"Oh dear," she said, pushing a stray lock of gray hair behind her left ear. "Then, I think you were robbed."

"What?"

"I didn't question them. They were military men after all. I know you work for them on occasion, and that Colonel Maybourne seemed so nice."

Daniel's mind spun as her words painted bleak pictures in his head. Maybourne had "secured" all of his things. "I did," he answered quietly, nausea churning his stomach.

"Do you want me to call the police?"

"N-no," he stammered, pushing his glasses into place with one finger. "The company was going to put my things in storage since my lecture tours were taking me away for extended periods of time. I didn't realize they were going to do it so soon. Do you happen to have a flashlight I could borrow?"

Suspicion flickered over her round features as if she'd watched too many episodes of "Murder, She Wrote." Seeing the genuine distress on his ashen face, she relented. How could this boy be up to mischief? "Just a moment," she promised before disappearing into the glowing safety of her own apartment.

Stepping to the window facing the stairs, Daniel cupped trembling hands against the freezing glass and attempted to peer between the crack in the curtains. Only the dusky forms of shadowed nooks and crannies were visible. He blinked and rubbed at his strained eyes from beneath the cold metal rim of his glasses before trying to see again.

"Here you are."

Daniel jerked, unaware she'd returned. "Thanks," he said, taking the chilly metal weight of the Eveready flashlight into his hands. He thumbed the on switch, and a strong beam sliced the darkness. Placing it against the glass to reduce reflective glare on the window, he shone the light into his locked apartment. The inside was as barren as a desecrated tomb.

"Great," he breathed in dismay, the word fogging the window. Everything was gone: his mission journals, the bits of artifacts he collected over the years during his digs, the only photo of his foster parents, and a fragment of a broken necklace Sha're had loved. All casualties of Maybourne's hatred along with his life in SG-1.

"Were they thieves?"

The question sounded as if it came from the end of the known universe. Daniel blinked, feeling the icy shock of losing a life which had been wrenched from him. Deep despair weighted his heart. He absently handed her back the flashling, his eyes dimming with hopelessness as he shoved his empty, trembling hands in his jacket pockets to prevent the last vestiges of warmth from draining from his body. "No," he answered in a hoarse whisper although a wild voice inside his mind wanted to scream YES! Maybourne had taken everything which mattered: his job at SG-1, mementos of his wife and former home, now even a place to rest his throbbing head. Realizing a strange silence was growing, Daniel looked at his neighbor. Her faded eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Forgive me," he said. "I must be more tired than I realized. My company was supposed to move me, but I thought it was next week." Even to him, the excuse sounded vacant.

"That's good, dear," she said with relief. "At least, you weren't robbed."

His throat tightened with suffocating tension. "Yeah, good," he echoed hollowly. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"No, bother," she told him. "I'll miss you as a neighbor. You were always so thoughtful and quiet."

Half-stumbling down the stairs, Daniel couldn't muster the energy needed for a polite reply. He walked without conscious direction as if the emptiness of unlit streets could guide him to a place he could call his own if only for the night. Daniel breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing thoughts. The earthy scent of rain filled his nose. His mind flashed back to a downpour, a soggy suitcase, a cartouche, and a black limousine. Except for his Explorer, he now had less than when Catherine rescued him from the ruins of his old life, and even the bank owned more of his vehicle than he did. Trembling more violently now, Daniel glanced up at the clouding expanse of the sky, wondering if the Tollan and the Nox were getting along together. His tired eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Too bad I didn't go with them.

"They didn't ask because I'm too young," he sighed with a rueful shake of his head. Perhaps, in another thousand years… The first frigid drop of rain plopped on the tip of his nose. "At least they know enough to get out of the cold," Daniel chided himself, turning back toward his SUV. The return walk stretched longer than the one which took him away from it. Scattered drips of moisture hissed against the street as the rain came in thicker droplets. He was thoroughly soaked by the time he reached the Explorer.

His hands shaking so badly he could barely turn the ignition, Daniel gritted chattering teeth. The engine roared to life. Moments later, heavenly warmth flowed from the heater vents as the Explorer's headlights illuminated the water-streaked evening. He leaned forward, trying to absorb the friendly temperature into his frozen bloodstream. Rain pinged against the metal roof as Daniel reviewed his options. He could go to a hotel, though not an expensive one since he had little money on him and no desire to make a midnight raid in a rainstorm on an ATM. Jack might be home….

"No," Daniel whispered hoarsely with a shake of his head as he closed his eyes. Although his friend's soft couch sounded wonderful, the last thing Jack needed was to learn of Maybourne's petty retribution. O'Neill had a strong sense of justice, and Daniel didn't want the other man in trouble because of him. Jack needed the Stargate program more than anyone. It focused his attention on something other than the death of his son and his estrangement from his ex-wife.

Sha're's exquisite face formed in Daniel's thoughts. His imagination conjured the sensuality of her tender lips caressing his, parting his mouth slightly with the memory of the last sweet kiss they'd shared. He'd always lost himself in her touch as if the moment of contact harmonized them into one soul. Daniel's eyes opened although he stared into a void. Why hadn't he known it would be the final time before their world was shattered? As a jagged hole opened in his mind, he smashed the steering wheel with his fist, glad when a shock of pain streaked up his arm. It was something real, something he could respond to and feel…unlike his abducted wife.

Biting his lower lip to keep his mind grounded, Daniel jerked the gearshift into drive and tried to focus on the blurred road slowly streaming toward him like a muddy black river. He switched the windshield wipers on, but the image remained bleary. He blinked, dislodging hot tears which streaked warm trails down his cold cheeks. The moisture caused a faint steam on his glasses in the heated car, and he sniffed fiercely. Enough was enough.

Without warning, the street snaked to the left, making him grit his teeth as he narrowly avoided a parked Volvo. "Concentrate," he hissed, glaring at the glistening asphalt as if it contained the answers to his future. For long minutes, tears disappeared.

He drove aimlessly through the wet streets although a dim part of his mind promised he was heading toward sanctuary. Except for one set of headlights several car lengths behind him, he was alone. The edge of the small town was quickly reached, invoking memories of longer journeys over the sand dunes of Abydos. The desert terrain made simple travel into a real effort. How Sha're would have marveled at this mechanical toy humanity took for granted. Tears swelled in his eyes again. Desperately, Daniel tried to deny the moisture freedom.

This time grief could not be held back. It burst past his defenses like a flood surge. He jerked the steering wheel toward the curb and stepped on the brake. Daniel braced his arms against the wheel, lowered his forehead into the cradle formed by them, and let the ugly, ripping misery out. The racking, bitter sobs shook his body, making it ache like a bad case of flu. Alone in his Explorer, he cried for Sha're and lost SG-1 family. He was outcast now: nothing and no one to call his own except for bittersweet memories of people who were no longer part of his daily life. Deserted even by his defenses against such misery, Daniel would have traded his soul in that moment to be rescued from the outer darkness where his integrity had thrown him.

***

"May I have a moment, sir?"

The polite request softly spoken in a British accent did nothing to alleviate Jack's annoyance. He paused but didn't turn. 02:00 was not the best time for conversation, especially after hours spent wasting his energy trying to convince his superiors of their insanity. Judging by the gritty, swollen feeling of his eyes, sleep needed to become his best friend soon. It might also rid him of the nagging headache which robbed him of the ability to think of anything else to help Daniel.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

"According to my nametag," Jack sighed, facing the speaker.

Amusement sparkled in the sharp hazel gaze of the slender man opposite. "Unless you borrowed someone's laundry," he suggested, his aesthetic-looking face maintaining the proper respect despite his sardonic tone.

Jack's weary eyes narrowed. He was too damn old to play verbal games with a stranger. "What do you want," he glanced at the man's uniform, "Captain?"

"Command told me to report to you as soon as I arrived." The younger soldier stiffened and saluted.

O'Neill made him wait a long moment before he returned the formal address with a weary snap of his hand. "Why?" The curt question demanded no nonsense.

Puzzlement formed a crease in the forehead above the captain's prominent nose. He fished in his pocket and held out a rustling sheaf of papers. "My orders, sir. I'm Dr. Jackson's replacement."

Instantly wide-awake, Jack stared at the documents but made no move to take them.

To his credit, the soldier continued to hold the papers in his outstretched hand as a minute passed then two.

Knowing he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer, Jack finally reached for the orders which would make Daniel his former teammate, scanning them for flaws. He found none. Peter Dawson, U.S. Air-Force captain, was an anthropologist with a specialty in weaponry--ancient and modern. He was the type of teammate Jack might have chosen before Daniel made himself such an integral part of the Stargate missions. Did Captain Dawson have the ability to act as SG-1's conscience? Jack's eyes followed the printed lines to the bottom. He looked up in surprise. "These are dated three days ago."

"Yes, sir. The Pentagon briefed me on this assignment over the last forty-eight hours. My flight just arrived from Washington."

Exhausted mind churning, O'Neill wondered why Maybourne had waited until today to dismiss Daniel. Could the delay mean the President might be having second thoughts? Jack mentally shook his head. General Hammond and the others he'd spoken to over the last endless hours had doubted any possibility of changing command's mind. Maybourne must have wanted every contingency neutralized, hence the maneuvering three days in advance of his strike.

"Sir?"

Blinking dry eyes, O'Neill focused on the dark-haired man. "I'm surprised you were assigned to my team."

With a small smile, Dawson replied, "Despite my Welsh accent, I'm American. My maternal grandparents raised me while my father pursued his diplomatic career. It wasn't convenient to drag a small child around the globe with each new assignment." The matter-of-fact statement held no bitterness.

Remembering his own gypsy-style upbringing in the military, O'Neill frowned. "My parents managed."

"Lucky for you." The captain's narrow lips twitched.

Did this man find everything amusing? Jack rubbed his throbbing forehead and sighed. "Captain, why don't we continue this conversation at another time? I was going to bed."

"Yes, sir. I didn't want to be remiss in reporting to you."

"Consider it done," Jack yawned. "I'll note your promptness in your file." He turned and began to walk away.

"I'm sorry about Dr. Jackson." Dawson's hesitant voice followed him.

Rolling bloodshot eyes, O'Neill turned.

"He was a gifted anthropologist and the intellect who got this project going when it might have died."

Knowing the other man meant the words as a compliment, Jack softened his rebuke. "Is, Captain."

"Sir?"

"Daniel Jackson is a gifted anthropologist and a…" Jack winced as his mind supplied pain-in-the-ass, "creative thinker." Unfortunately for SG-1, Daniel's inventiveness with the Tollan had bought trouble with the top echelon.

"I meant no disrespect." Dawson's hazel eyes were steady and serious. "I've read Dr. Jackson's field reports. He was…is a credit to the SGC."

"Then, you'll understand why I'm going to request you be assigned to another team."

Dawson blinked. "But SG-1 will be without an anthropologist since he's been dismissed."

"I'm more inclined to think of it as Daniel's mini-vacation," Jack said, "and it wouldn't be fair to you or my team to go through the trouble of making an adjustment for such a short time."

"At least, I can stand in for Jackson until he returns," Dawson objected. Seeing the colonel's stubbled jaw tighten, he quickly added, "not to fill his boots. From all I've read about him, I could never do that. At least I'll prevent command from making SG-1 miserable by forcing someone into the position who's intent on proving himself. When he returns, I'll happily go back to my Washington post with some new ideas on military strategy."

"You don't think you'll have to prove yourself to us, Captain?"

Not flinching at the colonel's direct gaze or caustic tone, Peter replied, "I know I will, but I also realize my stint with your team is temporary. It's only a matter of time before our superiors figure out it was a huge mistake to remove Jackson from this project." He shrugged. "At least, I'll have a chance to serve with the best of the best."

"So it's not just a job, it's an adventure." Jack's tired lips quirked in a smile. He waited a beat, steadily assessing the lanky soldier with the earnest expression. Peter Dawson was the same age as Daniel but seemed younger somehow even with Jackson's wide-eyed propensity for curiosity. Another one who couldn't wait to explore Oz. God save him from these scientists with their Tom Sawyer ideals! Still, it wouldn't hurt to have a stand-in until Daniel returned—at least one with no illusions the posting was permanent. "All right, Captain," Jack nodded, "I'll see you at…"

The blaring screech of the alarm cut off his sentence. "Unauthorized inbound travelers. All security personnel to the embarkation room."

"Oh for cryin' out loud," Jack complained. "You'd think the Goa'ulds would know better than to take a red-eye. Come on, Dawson. You're about to get an education in the windshield theory."

"Windshield theory, Colonel?" Dawson's cultured tone lent the words more weight as puzzlement creased tiny lines in his forehead.

"How many Goa'ulds does it take to crack an iris?" Jack replied over his shoulder as he hurried forward.

A wry smile twisted Dawson's mouth as he scurried after SG-1's leader. Despite the dead hour of the night, the complex swarmed with people. The closer he came to the hive of activity, the more guns he saw. Evidently, command really did have some reservations about the Stargate's iris continuing to hold against repeated blows of unfortunate bodies. Yet, in all of the reports he'd read of encounters with Goa'ulds and Jaffa, earth guns eventually proved ineffective against a contingent of more powerful Chulak energy weapons. Maybe they could make obtaining more of the staffs a priority during the next few missions. Peter's fingers itched to hold one, test its weight, and see if it actually felt as light as it looked when it discharged that deadly burst of fire.

"Evenin', Captain," O'Neill greeted an elfin-faced blond who exited from a corridor. "I thought you were going to bed with a hot astrophysics novel."

"I prefer to experience the real thing in the Stargate, sir," she shot back with a tired grin. It faded immediately as she matched their harried pace. "And it's morning not evening. Besides, I couldn't stop thinking about Daniel."

"Captain Carter, meet Captain Dawson, SG-1's new anthropologist."

She stopped, bringing them all to a halt.

Peter smiled in his best charming manner despite her tired glare.

"Daniel is SG-1's anthropologist," she denied staunchly, every curve of her body radiating defiance.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Captain," Peter said at the same time. "I was impressed by your grasp of the Stargate's possibilities. You deserve a lot of credit for discovering we could go to more places than Abydos."

"Actually, Dr. Jackson is the one who realized that." Sam's tone held more ice than a January day in Alaska.

"He's a brilliant man."

"He's a humanitarian…" Sam began.

"Yet, not afraid to fight when the situation warrants…"

"Can we table this discussion of Daniel's virtues until later?" Jack interrupted. "I wanna get to the embarkation room before the Goa'ulds leave. They're such party animals." He walked on without waiting for their agreement.

"And here I thought I was leaving the Washington nightlife for some quiet little corner of space. Who knew you guys were throwing alien toga socials?" Peter's grin lit up his hazel eyes.

"This isn't a frat house," Carter reminded him sharply. "It's the first line of defense." She hurried after O'Neill.

"More than you realize," Peter uttered as the laughter faded from his face. He thoughtfully followed them into the crowd of security personnel.

***

Dawn mist curled white tendrils around the motionless Explorer as if to shroud it in silence. Shivering despite her thick terrycloth robe, Catherine walked across her front lawn's cold, wet grass to the familiar automobile. The morning paper was forgotten. She ignored the icy dampness at her ankles; only the vehicle's occupant mattered. All the windows were fogged from inside. The older woman shook her head as she tried to see beyond the clouded glass. What had happened? Trying not to scare him, she gently opened the door and stood in the gap to block the chilly air swirling into the breathy cocoon he'd created. Daniel lay sleeping against the wheel, his long eyelashes still spiky with tears, his skin blotched. Without his glasses, his pale face reminded her of a child who couldn't rouse from a nightmare.

"Daniel?"

With a snort, he woke, blinking blearily against the gloomy morning half-light and shivered in the unexpected cold surrounding him. "Catherine?" he asked hoarsely. "What are you doing here?"

"I think that's supposed to be my question. I live here."

He straightened with a painful wince as the muscles in his back protested. His hand fumbled for his glasses on the dashboard. "You do?"

"The last time I checked."

He slipped the eyewear on and stared in disorientation at her concerned face. "How did I...?" As memory returned, he bit his lip and shook his head. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Why don't you come inside and have some tea? I've got fresh strawberry scones."

"No, thanks," he quickly replied. "I feel stupid having slept here all night. I must have had one too many beers with Jack..."

"Don't lie to me, Daniel," Catherine cut him off with a wave of her hand. "You don't do it well, and I've been friends with too many politicians not to know the signs. What happened at the mountain?" She mentally braced herself for the worst. This tenderhearted idealist had come to mean so much to her—almost the son she'd never had. Whatever had driven him into the night must have been bad if he couldn't recall how he'd gotten there.

"I made a mistake," Daniel sighed, unable to continue his charade in the face of her blunt words.

Her mind conjuring horrid possibilities, she willed him to continue. Had someone died? Don't let it be Jack or Sam or Teal'c.

Seeing fear tighten her mouth, he looked away. The reaction cut deep. Had she always expected him to fail one day? Perhaps it was better he tell her quickly so he could put his friends behind him. "I helped some people escape through the Stargate."

Catherine's lips parted in surprise. Whatever she'd expected, this wasn't it.

"I'm out."

As his defeated words registered in her brain, anger stiffened her shoulders. How dare they do to him what they'd done to her! He was the whole reason they'd got the damned thing working in the first place. You're the reason they have it at all. The 'gate would have been long buried as a dangerous failure had she not fought to carry on her father's work. Staring at the emotionally battered young anthropologist, she realized she'd bequeathed him her legacy. While it brought him joy, it also contributed heartache to one who'd suffered too much already.

Daniel coughed roughly, sniffling as a night spent in misery and damp clothing made him aware a cold was beginning to tickle the back of his throat.

"Come inside," Catherine urged gently. Her wrinkled hand covered his icy one. Poor boy, he's chilled to the bone.

"I've got to get going."

"Where?"

A wave of dismay drowned Daniel. That was the real question, wasn't it? Just where did he belong now? Nowhere, the cruel voice inside his skull taunted. "Ah," he licked his lips, stalling for time, "the bank, the dry cleaners, the library."

"My sofa," Catherine said firmly, tugging on his arm as reinforcement, "especially since none of those places will be open for a few hours yet."

A tiny smile hovered around the corners of his mouth before he sneezed twice.

"Bless you."

"Thanks," he said nasally and sneezed a third time.

"Out of the raw air before you get any worse."

Her no-nonsense tone warmed the ice around his heart. For this moment, he fit in somewhere. He got out of the Explorer, wincing as tingling began in his feet. "Did you say strawberry scones?" he asked as she linked her arm through his and led him to her front door. The yellow house welcomed him out of the dreary world of mist and cold.

"And fresh jam to go with them if you'd like." She pushed him towards the living room where soft lamplight increased the sense of radiant security. "Go on. Get warm. I'll heat the kettle."

Alone in the cozy parlor, Daniel wandered from object to object, his churning emotions unable to allow him to settle in one place very long. As he picked up the Tiffany clock on the mantle, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind it. Dark circles defined his bloodshot eyes and made his cheekbones appear paler than usual. Despair darkened his eyes to a deeper shade of blue as if the windows to his soul were shuttered against a terrible future. He immediately turned away from the haunted image.

A comforting sense of home surrounded him as he viewed the damask curtains, Egyptian bric-a-brac, and the alcove of leather-bound books. There were so few places which felt like a haven to him. Being orphaned young had taught him to not put down roots which could be yanked up at any moment. That tearing away always seemed worse when emotional attachments had been made. It was a rule he'd broken on Abydos and with SG-1. He shivered and sneezed.

"Put the blanket on the back of the sofa over your shoulders," Catherine ordered, carrying a tray laden with fragrant tea, butter melting on scones lumpy with fruit, and thick red jam.

He ignored the request and helped her with the burden. Setting the heavy platter on a round crocheted doily on the coffee table, Daniel was careful not to scratch the gleaming wood by allowing the metal to touch its surface. The hurtful memory of being slapped when he was just a boy threatened to choke him. Had Aunt Miriam, his first foster mother, really disliked him so much? He quickly glanced up at Catherine, fearful he'd catch a look of anger on her face. Only concern lay in her eyes. "Is Ernest sleeping?" he asked to cover his confusion as she sat on the couch.

"Sit down while I pour," Catherine told him, waiting until he settled beside her before she answered, "No, he's in Washington right now being useful to the President. The knowledge he gained over the last fifty years will advance science tremendously." She held out a steaming cup of chamomile-scented tea.

Daniel's fingers trembled as he took it, making the saucer rattle against the delicate china. His other hand quickly steadied the beautiful dishes. It was a good thing he did because a violent sneeze shook him. He sniffled.

Catherine put the pot down and stood. She reached for the lap blanket which decorated the back of the sofa and tucked it securely around his shivering shoulders. "This should take the chill off." She sat next to him again and poured her own tea, worrying about the trembling young man beside her. It was more than a reaction to sleeping in his car on a cold night. Being kicked out of the project was finally catching up to him.

She waited in silence while he took one sip of hot liquid then another. Placing the largest scone on a plate, she put it in front of him. He made no move to take it. Daniel sat quietly, letting the steam curl over his cheeks and under his glasses as he stared into some bleak abyss of his own imagination. She couldn't bear the naked loss in his gaze. "Who did you send through the Stargate?" Although Catherine kept her voice soft, her tone remained as firm as a mother trying to find out how her favorite son had erred.

"The Tollan," he absently answered, putting his cup down. "We called the Nox to see if they could come. I wish…"

She reached out and enfolded his trembling hands within hers at the lost note in his husky voice. "You wish you could have gone with them."

"Yes," Daniel answered as he looked at her, his blue eyes fierce and desperate behind the round rims of his glasses. "Then, I could keep on searching for a way to help Sha're! It's my fault the Goa'uld have her anyway."

"You couldn't have stopped Apophis's attack on Abydos. If you'd been by the Stargate, you'd be dead now."

"I should have taken Sha're with me to the map room." Daniel's grim admission came from some unlit part of his soul.

"You've got many talents, but unless you've been hiding it, you aren't clairvoyant."

"No," he muttered with a sniffle, "just a showoff." He suddenly found the thick carpet interesting.

Catherine waited for him to continue. It was true he was enthusiastic about sharing the things he'd learned or discovered, but that came from a deep need to have someone listen. From the things she'd uncovered about his childhood, the compulsion had its roots in a consistent pattern of abandonment. Well, she wasn't going to walk away from him, and neither would the rest of SG-1 if she knew them as well as she thought she did. Her hands gently squeezed his before letting go, but she remained close.

A mirthless smile twisted Daniel's lips. "I was trying to convince Jack I hadn't been teaching the wrong things to my family, and I'd really spent a year learning all I could about them."

Seeing it clearly in her mind, Catherine nodded. "And he was more interested in talking to Skaara."

"Jack thinks of him as a son," Daniel defended.

"But Skaara grew up while he was away. Somehow, you thought Jack blamed you."

The insight was too close to something Daniel didn't want to look at. He could remember the feel of the insulting brush of the older man's shoulder against his as his outstretched hand was ignored. He licked his lips. "Nothing changes the fact I didn't ask Sha're to accompany us."

"Why didn't she ask you?"

"She didn't feel comfortable around Jack and the others." Longing mixed with love made Daniel's blue eyes soft. "It took her a long time to stop being shy even with me."

"So if you'd asked, she probably would have said no."

With a blink, Daniel met Catherine's knowing look. "I should have asked."

"You knew she'd say no."

His heart lightened. "Yes." Daniel sneezed again.

"So, none of it was your fault."

"I threw away any chance of rescuing her when I sided with the Tollan."

She wouldn't allow the retreat. "What would have happened if you hadn't?"

Daniel cleared his pinching throat. "They would have ended up as government lab rats."

Catherine shook her head and patted his arm. "And you still think you made a mistake?" As he opened his mouth to argue, she rushed on, "The only ones who erred are General Hammond and the other idiots who kicked you out."

"The general tried…"

"Not enough," Catherine said, hardening her heart against the man who'd taken General West's place even though she liked him. "I know some people in Washington…"

"No," Daniel said, panic strengthening his voice. "Don't do anything. God knows what the military will do to you or Ernest. Just let it be." Seeing the stubbornness in her eyes and the firming of her lips, he pleaded, "Please? For me. Let it go."

With a slight shake of her head, she patted his hand. "If that's what you really want."

"It is." Daniel tried to put all the conviction he had into the two simple words, but the lie squeezed his heart.

With a nod, Catherine agreed, "Then, I will. Now, why don't you go crawl into the bed in the spare bedroom and get some sleep?"

"I should go…" he began, looking as if he would run as far as he could before he dropped. As worn-out as he was, it would only be to the edge of the driveway.

"We've already settled this." Catherine's voice was firm as she tugged on his hand as she stood. "The guest bedroom is the first door on the left down the hall. I'll get a pair of old sweats for you. Thereare fresh towels in the bathroom if you want to take a shower."

Hot water hitting the aching muscles in his neck and back sounded like heaven to Daniel, but he doubted he could stay awake long enough to dry off. "Thanks."

"No, need." She waved his gratitude away. "You're family." With a gentle push, she shooed him toward the bedroom.

Blushing a little, Daniel quickly kissed her cheek before acquiescing.

When he had moved down the hall, Catherine went straight to the telephone. There was no way she was going to allow anyone to treat him this way. He always fought for others. It hurt her to see how they'd taken his fragile belief in himself and trampled it. Well, she was going to insure the sparkle came back into his gentle eyes. Daniel hadn't wanted her to fight on his behalf, but he didn't know it was what she did best. With a grim smile of determination, Catherine dialed the White House.

***

"Any luck?" Sam asked.

"No." Jack sighed as he replaced the telephone receiver. "He isn't answering, and his machine didn't pick up. Where do you suppose Daniel's gone?"

Concern made tiny lines appear in the corner of her eyes. "I don't know. He doesn't have any family."

"Not on Earth if you don't count us."

"Maybe he wants to be alone for a few days?" Even to Sam's ears, the suggestion sounded inane. Daniel would reach out when he was hurting, at least to those he trusted.

"Yeah, maybe," Jack replied, not convinced.

"Will DanielJackson no longer be our friend?" Teal'c's solemn face mirrored his confusion.

"Of course he will," Sam quickly said. "It's just too painful for him to be around us right now."

"I would not hurt him."

"He knows you wouldn't," Jack told the large man, "but every time Daniel sees one of us, he'll remember he's not officially part of SG-1."

Sam mentally smiled at the qualifier in her superior officer's statement. Daniel would remain SG-1's anthropologist even if he wasn't sanctioned by command. He'd won the place with his courage and compassion. No one would rip it from him.

"Good morning," Peter said, sticking his head around the doorjamb's corner. "Is this a pre-briefing before the official one?" He stood in the doorway and saluted.

"No," Jack replied, returning the address. "We car pool on Thursdays. With the money we save, we can run the 'gate for the rest of the week."

Amusement made Peter's hazel eyes twinkle. "I've heard every little bit helps." He turned to Teal'c and held out a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet a warrior of your stature. I've read so many wonderful things about you."

Looking at the outstretched fingers, Teal'c merely lifted his eyebrow and made no move to grasp them.

"This is Captain Dawson," Jack introduced. "He's sitting in for Daniel."

Cocking his head, Teal'c said, "DanielJackson did not sit very much."

Peter dropped his hand and replied with a slightly less enthusiastic smile, "I don't intend to spend time on my behind. Command has a lot to learn about the Goa'ulds."

"Yeah," Jack said, "they're just a speedbump on the information superhighway—a big nasty one." It wasn't clear if he was talking about the enemy or their superiors.

"We'd better get to the briefing, Colonel," Sam suggested. "General Hammond won't be happy if we're late."

"That's one of the reasons why I like you, Carter. Obsessive punctuality." Jack's easy tone made it clear he remembered a time or two when her readiness had saved his neck. He led the way to the briefing room.

"Good morning, people," Hammond greeted, glancing at the clock. They'd made it with a minute to spare.

"General Hammond, sir," Peter saluted, "Captain Dawson reporting for duty."

"He just loves to do that, especially at 0200," Jack added, sotto voce.

Ignoring the colonel, Hammond returned the salute. "Welcome aboard. I've read your file. You've made quite a name for yourself with the Washington brass with your physical stamina under duress."

"Just lucky." Gone was the cocksure amusement of moments before as Dawson projected confident efficiency.

"I'd say it was more than luck in Desert Storm when you saved your entire team under heavy sniper fire with a piece of shrapnel in your side." Hammond's pleasant voice displayed his regard for his subordinate's actions.

"You served in Desert Storm?" Sam asked, feeling unwanted kinship with the other captain.

Peter nodded.

"Well, you'll find the Goa'uld a lot more fun than Saddam Hussein and his band of merry men," Jack said, "especially when they're melting your brains with their ribbon devices."

"I've read about the weapon," Dawson said eagerly. "It's supposed to rearrange atoms. That's beyond anything the Pentagon…"

"You may find something of interest on P3X-949," Hammond interrupted. "The M.A.L.P. sent back pictures of a heavily walled fortress. Anything that securely established must have some military value."

"The Jaffa were told of a Goa'uld temple of might," Teal'c confirmed, "but I never visited it. It was forbidden. Only the Medjay and the most powerful Goa'ulds go there."

"Kinda like the Pentagon," Jack said, sitting back in his chair. "Only the big boys get to play with the big toys."

"Maybe we can find and use one of the Goa'uld's toys against them." Peter leaned forward eagerly.

"That's SG-1's mission," Hammond confirmed.

"Medjay?" Sam asked.

"Warriors of cunning and stamina," Teal'c told her. "Even the Jaffa fear them. They know no mercy."

"Sounds like television executives at Neilson rating time." The colonel's grin didn't falter as Hammond shot him an irritated glance before proceeding with the briefing. Part of Jack's mind catalogued the necessary facts he needed to successfully complete their assignment. However, most of his attention centered on the disruption to the SG-1 team with Daniel's dismissal. Although he felt scientific assignments were a waste of time, confusion filled the soldier at his unexpected disappointment in the strictly military purpose of the mission. Maybe the inhabitants of P3X-949 could give them greater insights on ways to defeat the Goa'ulds than merely their weapons would. Jack mentally shook his head. I've been listening to Daniel too much. He met Peter's zealous gaze, seeing himself in the younger man. Or at least who I was before Abydos. Looking away, he caught Carter staring at Daniel's replacement with a strange mixture of dislike and regard. Is that how she views me? Jack shifted uneasily in his seat.

"Good luck." Hammond's wish dismissed SG-1.

O'Neill focused on his superior. "Could I speak to you privately for a moment, sir?" he asked as the rest of his team stood.

"Certainly, Colonel."

Waiting until after the others had filed out and closed the briefing room door, Jack studied the wood table in front of him. If he'd been allowed to pick his teammates, Peter Dawson would have been one of his top choices a year ago. The man seemed smart, easygoing, and eager to follow orders. Does everyone else seem second best because I've gotten used to Daniel questioning everything?

"Well, Colonel?"

Yanked out of his reverie, Jack met the knowing look of his commander. "About Daniel, sir…"

Hammond sighed tiredly. "We went through that yesterday, son. There's nothing I can do to get him reinstated. He made some powerful enemies when he sided with the Tollan."

"It was the right thing to do," Jack defended.

"It seemed like it at the time," Hammond agreed, "but Dr. Jackson realized he was risking his position here at the SGC. He didn't help them blindly."

"So, because he willfully chose the right course of action, you expect me to turn my back on him?"

Hammond's gaze hardened. "No, Colonel. I expect you to complete the job you signed on for: finding a way to neutralize the threat the Goa'ulds present to Earth and all the peace loving peoples you and the other teams encountered. Do you think Dr. Jackson would want you to forget all that?"

"No," Jack admitted, "but I think SG-1 is a stronger team with Daniel than without him."

"That may be. It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done. I've found you the best possible replacement. Give him a chance." Seeing the flash of distress on the colonel's tired face, Hammond added quietly, "Dr. Jackson would."

With a rueful laugh, Jack admitted, "Hell, Daniel would give Ghenghis Khan a second chance just for a chance to learn about him."

A fond smile lifted the general's lips.

Jack nodded slightly. For now, nothing could be done. When he got back from P3X-949, he would just have to take it to the next stage. Maybe Catherine's political contacts could help. O'Neill stood and saluted his superior officer, surprised at the look of approval on the general's round face. Hammond seemed to sense what he was thinking. Jack knew Daniel had an ally in the senior officer, and if the opportunity arose, the older man would do all he could to get the scientist reinstated. As he left for the embarkation room, Jack realized the idealistic civilian had opened more than a gateway to other worlds. He'd unlocked the humanity in the hearts of his comrades, despite their military disillusions about the usefulness of the commodity.

***

Daniel sighed and slowly opened swollen eyes. The comfortable room metamorphosed from a burgundy blur to sharp focus. Blinking, he moaned softly as the awareness of illness spread with a flowing ache through weary joints. Uncomfortably hot, he pushed the thick eiderdown quilt away and sat up. Vision swam as the fluid in his sinuses pressed against the inside of his face. Unable to inhale through his nose, he opened his mouth and winced at the flat taste. He coughed roughly, his chest tightening with the spasms.

"Great," he whispered, gently rubbing his throbbing face with his fingers. If the pinching fire in his throat and the sick heaviness in his head were any indication, he had the mother of all colds. It wouldn't do for Catherine to catch it. Daniel swung his sweat-pant covered legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood, swaying slightly. Blistering water pummeling his scalp and the resulting steam would help him breathe easier, but he was too warm already.

Still, his morning shower always made him feel like a new person. It was one of the few things he'd missed on Abydos, but having Sha're in his life more than made up for any lack of modern conveniences. His eyes closed at the pain of her loss, an agony so deep it sucked all color from the world. He shook his head to banish the emptiness. It wouldn't serve him in the days ahead to dwell on all he'd lost.

After the scratchy area rug, the slickness of the bathroom's cold linoleum floor felt heavenly against bare feet. Stripping, he neatly folded the sweats and placed them on the countertop. Bright fever blotches marked his cheekbones, the only color his a bleached-out face. His naked body glowed even paler in the fluorescent light. Sha're had loved to run her fingers over his back to touch skin which pinked but never tanned to a golden shade like hers. Light and darkness, they had made each other whole. He turned away from both thoughts and image.

With a soft sssnick, the opaque glass shower door opened at Daniel's tug. He quickly adjusted the porcelain knobs so tepid water ran over the jade marble tile and stepped underneath the splashing stream. The barely warm liquid plastered his long hair to his scalp. Opening his mouth, he allowed the water to wash away the staleness. Fluid fingers gently massaged his closed eyes and cheekbones as he leaned towards the stream. It ran over the stubble on his chin and down the sore planes of his weary body.

Picking up pale green soap which was scented with mint or a fresh spring fragrance if he'd been able to smell it, Daniel quickly lathered his body. He braced one hand against the glossy tile as he leaned forward to soap his legs. His senses floated at the movement so he didn't dawdle. Exhausted, he rinsed and turned off the water.

Exiting the shower, Daniel wondered if he could gather the strength to shave and sighed at the sight of day old stubble. The bank tellers would think he was a skid row unfortunate. A search in the medicine cabinet produced both a safety razor and foam. He forced his shaking legs to lock and quickly slathered his chin and neck with the frothy cream. As the blade played over his sensitive skin to scrape the whiskers away, Daniel remembered how Sha're had always laughed and rubbed her smooth cheek against his when he'd finished shaving. She'd kiss him afterwards, insisting his whiskers burned her face if she did it before. Daniel stared into the bleak eyes in the mirror, wondering if he'd ever have the chance to hold her in his arms again.

You should have thought of that when Maybourne threatened you .

"Jack will bring Sha're to me," Daniel told himself. He wrapped a towel around his hips and went to retrieve his clothes. Shivering as cool air caressed his still damp body, he quickly pulled on the trousers and black T-shirt. They smelled stale, but until he could buy new ones, they would have to do. He no longer worried about returning them even though they were Government Issue. Maybourne had taken enough in return. With a sigh, Daniel tied his boots with trembling fingers. Who would have guessed lukewarm water could have enervated him so?

He stood and softly opened the door, listening for a sound to tell him where Catherine was in the house. Splashing water and the clank of metal against metal told him someone washed dishes in the kitchen. Probably her housekeeper. Daniel edged out of the guest bedroom. His fingers eased the door shut behind him. If he escaped the house unseen, Catherine might believe he was still sleeping.

That's not very nice, scolded the voice in his mind.

I don't want her to get sick, he thought as he crept to the front door. As he opened it and went outside, icy air clubbed him like a fist. His fever made it seem at least five degrees colder. Shivering, Daniel quickly shut Catherine's door and hurried to his Explorer. Keys jingled as he unlocked it and then jammed them into the ignition. Teeth chattering, Daniel gave the car a second to warm up before he shifted into drive, fearful she would try to stop him. Heart pounding, he realized as he sped away that that was what he feared the most. Maybourne might make life difficult for her or Ernest. He wouldn't give the vindictive colonel the opportunity. Catherine had rescued him from his former life. Daniel intended to repay her kindness by insuring she was out of the line of fire. His mind skittered from thought to thought, listing all the places he needed to go. Money first.

Luck smiled and granted him a parking space in front of the busy bank. Daniel knew he didn't have the energy to walk even a block. Once he retrieved some cash, he was going to drive to the Motel 6 on the edge of town, check in, and sleep for two days straight. Maybe then his cold would abate and allow him to think clearly.

Entering the lavish lobby, Daniel's mind instantly catalogued the oak and beveled glass décor. He'd seen less ornate temples. The sweet odor of beeswax from gleaming wood provided its own incense. As he stepped into an aisle formed by red velvet ropes strung between golden posts, Daniel wondered if future anthropologists would think financial institutions were used for some sort of worship. They wouldn't be far wrong given the commercial attitude evidenced in the rich artifacts surrounding him.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Ahh, yes," Daniel replied, fishing in his pocket for his identification and ATM card. "I'd like to make a withdrawal."

"Certainly." Not an auburn hair was out of place in the young woman's French-braided head. Her flawless makeup and tailored outfit spoke of hours of preparation. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, yet she looked much older in a brittle Hollywood way. As he handed her his card, Daniel marveled how Sha're and Sam could be so effortlessly beautiful when they rarely took pains with their appearance.

A frown line appeared between the teller's penciled eyebrows as she glanced at her computer screen. "This card has been cancelled."

"What?" Shock opened Daniel's mouth.

"Did you report it stolen?"

"No," he replied, licking his lips. "It's the one I always use."

"Let me swipe it again," she said, looking a little nervous at his disturbed tone. The machine beeped a negative. "Perhaps the magnetic strip was damaged. Do you have your passbook?"

"No." Daniel shook his head. Maybourne had everything.

"Why don't you sit down at the desk at the end of the counter. I'll have my manager assist you."

"I don't understand. Why can't you make it work? It was fine last Tuesday." Practically bouncing on the balls of his feet despite his illness, Daniel didn't need another thing to go wrong.

"Please, sir," she stressed the first word in a snotty way, "I promise my supervisor will be right with you."

Powerless, he sighed. "Fine." A flush of embarrassment increased the warmth of his fevered face when he caught the rude stares of the other bank patrons. It was almost as if he'd committed some social faux pas by insisting she help him. A grimace twisted his features as he settled in the thickly padded mauve chair. Aching joints prevented any kind of comfort. Trying not to glance at the other customers who'd looked at him like he'd just announced his intention to rob the place, Daniel stared at the short row of glass offices lining one wall. Two were dark and empty. The largest one contained a suave executive behind a desk who was shaking hands with a man in uniform. Eyes narrowing behind his glasses, the anthropologist wondered why the back of the customer's head looked familiar. The short hair was nondescriptly styled above a military collar. Just what was it about him?

"Maybourne," Daniel breathed as the client turned towards him.

"Can I help you sir?" A Joan Crawford version of the bank teller stood before him.

"No." Daniel rose and hurried toward the office.

"Sir?" Behind him, the woman's voice grew louder with consternation.

"Thanks," he tossed back the word. She didn't matter. Maybourne did.

"Can I help you?" A heavyset security guard who could have rivaled Teal'c in height blocked Daniel's way.

"No," Daniel told him, trying to step aside. A hand squeezed his arm. "Ow!"

"If you'll come with me…"

Past caring about anyone's opinion in his need to reach the vengeful colonel, Daniel's voice grew strident. "Let me go."

"Is there a problem, James?" The cultured tone of the bank President were more suitable for a Madison Avenue boardroom than a small town financial institution. He stood beside his employee. Their bodies made a wall of diplomatic contempt which blocked Daniel's view.

"No, sir."

"Yes," Daniel insisted at the same time, overriding the guard, "I want to speak to the man who was just in your office." He tried to pull away from the burly guard as he spied Maybourne slipping out of the building's front door and winced as the bruising grip tightened.

"Why don't you come into my office?" The aloofness of the veiled demand robbed the request of any civility.

Eyes brightening with anger, Daniel demanded, "Why don't you tell me why I can't get my money? What did Maybourne bribe you with?"

The suit's polite demeanor slipped a little. Rage narrowed the man's icy brown eyes. At his nod, another employee, this one also in business apparel, grabbed Daniel's other arm.

"Let me go," Daniel insisted, trying to pull away.

"We can discuss this in my office," the executive said, turning on his heel.

As the two men propelled him in the older man's wake, Daniel's frustration grew as his exhaustion and cold prevented him from breaking free of their grip. Still, it didn't stop him from struggling. "Afraid your other customers will realize this bank is a front for covert operations?" He was shoved into the office. The door slammed, rattling the closed window blinds, and the guard blocked the exit with his body.

"There's no need for this vulgar display," the bank official said as he settled back into a thronelike chair behind the desk. "It's upsetting our other patrons." He gestured to the small chair near the wall. "Have a seat, Dr. Jackson."

Color leached from Daniel's face. If this pompous shirt knew his name, it could only mean one thing: Maybourne had triumphed again. His legs suddenly weak-kneed, Daniel dropped into the chair.

"I'm afraid there is an IRS freeze on your funds."

The anthropologist stared in disbelief at the cultured way the businessman spun his lies.

"You will not be able to access to your money until further notice. This makes it necessary to confiscate your car since you won't have the ability to pay the installments."

Stunned, Daniel forgot to breathe for a moment.

"I'll have to ask you for your keys…" The man held out a manicured hand.

Staring in disbelief, Daniel's mind careened into hyperdrive. How could he look for work without a car? Where would he sleep with no money to rent a room? How could he purchase food?

You could walk back to Catherine's, his mental voice suggested.

"I can't," he muttered.

"Don't make this impossible," the executive said with an impatient snap of his fingers. "Cooperate."

Humiliation and confusion veered to sharp anger. Jack's acerbic spirit briefly possessed the normally soft-spoken anthropologist. "Bite me," Daniel snapped and stood. Glaring at the guard who blocked the door, Daniel tensed with expectation. If these bastards want a fight, by God I'll give 'em one.

"Move out of his way, Paul," the goon's boss ordered. "He's going nowhere but the street. We won't allow you to steal our property, Jackson. The Explorer will be repossessed."

Furious, Daniel dug in his pocket and produced a jingling ring of keys. Except for the one to his vehicle, the others were now useless to him. He tossed them, making sure the metal slid across the desk. They left a long, satisfying scratch on the gleaming wood surface. "Help yourself. The thing needs a valve job anyway."

Teeth clenched, the man growled, "Get out of here."

"No problem." Daniel advanced on the guard who quickly opened the door. Ignoring the shocked customers, he stormed out. When this mess got resolved, The Bank of Fellowship would be minus one patron.

Cold air buffeted him as he reached the sidewalk. Staring at his abandoned Explorer, Daniel swallowed hard as his fury suddenly evaporated. His sore throat squeezed closed. Wind rifled his longish hair and tried to steal its way through his coat. Shivering, he pulled the thick fabric tight around him and stepped away from his last haven without a backward glance. His weary legs trembled as if they would collapse any minute. Daniel gritted his teeth and pretended Jack walked beside him. O'Neill would never admit defeat.

Immersed in dark thoughts, a blaring horn abruptly woke Daniel from shock. "Sorry…" he sheepishly told the truck driver who'd almost hit him. The glaring man behind the wheel flipped him off. "I already am," Daniel muttered as he stepped around the protruding hood of the vehicle which had nearly crushed him. As he passed it, he glanced to make sure no other cars wanted to make pate of his body. The three closest were safely stopped.

Continuing on his way, his image was reflected by the passing shop windows. Daniel tried to ignore the forlorn sight of failure but couldn't help seeing his repeated likeness window after window. First came his arm, then his torso above his legs, and last his behind. After it was the gleaming length of black car. His arm, the torso, and the car. His arm… Bloodshot eyes widening with alarm, Daniel froze and turned to really look at the vehicle.

Dark tinted glass prevented him from seeing the occupants, but the government license plate was a dead giveaway. He sniffed in derision. The action flared pain in his already overstuffed sinuses. With a wince, Daniel contented himself with a disdainful glare at the expensive auto. He stiffened his spine and took one step towards it. Maybourne had a lot to answer for. The time had arrived for asking questions.

Halfway to the car, the scientist's determined steps faltered. But they can't take my memories, can they Jack?Will they do something so I can't remember Sha're or the rest of you? Tremors began as fearful images ballooned like fiery mushroom clouds in his mind. Maybourne had proven himself capable of grabbing anything he wanted. The only thing Daniel still owned was his recollections.

Get the hell outta here! The mental warning was screamed in Jack's voice. Daniel turned, his exhausted legs breaking into a sprint before he'd even realized it. Behind him, car doors popped open and slammed shut. Ragged breath burning his lungs, Daniel ran without conscious direction, his only thought to get away. Echoing feet slapped the pavement behind him, but he didn't take time to glance back.

Veering into a trash-strewn alley, Daniel slipped on a plastic grocery bag, nearly choking at the squirming sight of maggot-ridden meat. The palm of his left hand scraped abrasive bricks as he righted himself and pushed on. They were getting closer! Convulsively, he swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Daylight pledged safety at the end of the man-made fissure between the buildings. Nearly there. A muttered curse echoed from a half-length behind him as one of his pursuers floundered. The edge of the alley was steps away now. Daniel condemned himself for leaving the public street. Now, no one would see him if he disappeared. Find a crowd, he thought, as the warm sun gilded the edges of his hair.

The blur of a black car screeched to a halt directly in front of him. Unable to stop his momentum, Daniel plowed into the warm hood, breath driven from over-taxed lungs. His glasses flew from his face. Tinkling glass confirmed they landed. Rough hands grabbed and spun him around before a ringed fist viciously punched his gut. Sharp agony exploded in his abdomen. Doubling over, Daniel gagged on mucus and pain.

"So nice to see you again, Mr. Jackson."

Maybourne's snide voice loomed above the stricken scientist. Coughing weakly, Daniel would have fallen if the brutal fingers clenching his arms had let him go.

"Not so cocky now, are you?"

"Go to hell…" Daniel wheezed. A malicious hand battered his mouth. As a moan escaped him, the iron-tasting slickness of blood on his tongue brought new nausea. Someone squeezed his chin and lifted his head. Blinking at Maybourne's blurry face, Daniel tried to muster a show of defiance. He might have succeeded had his vision not faded to black around the edges. Ringing began in his ears.

The colonel laughed at his victim's weakness. "Before I'm through with you," he vowed, "you'll have respect for this uniform."

"Not if…you're…wearing it." Hindered by his cold and the blood, Daniel's raspy voice was thick and unsteady.

Rage hardened Maybourne's cruel face. This unruly civilian would not make him a laughingstock again. "Teach him a lesson…" He stepped away.

The ruthless fingers holding Daniel's arms jerked him upright, radiating anguish down his spine. He had a glimpse of a bruiser towering over him before the man's meaty fist pounded his stomach. Red-tinged vomit flew from the linguist's mouth, and he knew a second's satisfaction as the filth splattered the shiny black shoes of his tormenter. Severe pain quickly wiped everything away. As the brutal knuckles hammered into him, merciful insensibility remained elusive. A blow to the side of his head opened a deep gash above his right eye. With blood obscuring his faltering vision, Daniel wondered how he'd reached this scarlet abyss of unending suffering. An agonized groan whispered past his lips as complete darkness followed the thought. Unconsciousness sucked him under.

***

Jack ate a smile as Dawson landed on his ass after exiting the Stargate. The younger man slowly rose, rubbing his backside with a wince. So much for the new recruit's stamina.

"Bollocks," Peter brushed himself off. "No one said you went bottom over tip." His body would be one big bruise if he continued 'gate travelling. He'd never complain about flying coach again.

"Now what fun would it be if you knew everything right away?" O'Neill smirked as Carter calmly walked through the portal.

Envying the woman's equilibrium, the newest SG-1 member frowned as the wormhole destabilized. Perhaps the trick was to go with the flow of energy while you were exiting the 'gate. It might push you forward like a pat on the back.

"Nice décor," Sam observed. From the raised Stargate platform which had stairs on all four sides, they could see the twists and turns of an intricate crystal maze leading away from the thick stone steps. In the distance, black towers glittered in the glare of red suns. Their dark obelisks stabbed the crimson sky.

Teal'c stepped forward to join Carter at the edge of the platform, his wide eyes curious about the world he'd always been forbidden to see until now.

"I don't know," Jack smiled, "I kinda prefer hut worlds myself. Makes me lonesome for reruns of Gilligan's Island."

"Where are the guards?" The heaviness of the hushed air compressed voices into shadows of sound, muting Peter's question.

"The Skipper and Professor are probably picking coconuts with Ginger and Mary Ann," O'Neill guessed as his keen gaze scanned the forbidding landscape. Other than the maze and towers, blasted beige sand tinted pinkish by the red sky covered the terrain as far as he could glimpse. Unfortunately, to reach the sand, they had to enter the labyrinth.

"This is a Goa'uld stockade," Sam reminded. "Sentries probably keep watch for arrivals,"

"None are needed," Teal'c explained as he remembered the little he knew about this world. "The Amenti guards itself."

"The Amenti is the labyrinth?" Peter struggled to understand.

The Jaffa shook his head slightly. "It is the domain of the dead." He frowned at the smaller man. DanielJackson would have known that without clarification.

"So what we've got here is a see-through puzzle with hidden traps," Sam mused as she descended the steps.

"Great," Jack made a face. "A Goa'uld Dungeons and Dragons."

"With their weapons as the prize," Peter added, taking the stairs two at a time. He quickly passed Carter, half-running to the entrance. He stopped as a shimmering force field sparkled into place to block the opening. Obviously, what appeared to be solid was not; the iridescent walls had the ability to adapt to the presence of life forms. A cartouche with symbols glittered on one side of the "door". They weren't quite Egyptian but a combination of hieroglyphics and another form he couldn't quite place.

"Wow," Sam enthused, "the whole maze must be a generated energy barrier."

"Sounds like an E-ticket ride," O'Neill said. Seeing Teal'c's questioning look, he elaborated, "Disneyland used to take coupons before they allowed you to enter an adventure."

The bewildered look remained on the large man's face. Daniel Jackson had told him about Disneyland and adventures, but what was a coupon?

Jack sighed, suddenly missing Daniel with a fierceness which left him feeling empty. Although the scientist often annoyed the hell out of him, the younger man had infinite patience. With a mental shake of his head, SG-1's leader focused on the current mission. He'd resume the fight to get Daniel back on the team where he belonged when they returned to earth.

"This is something I've never seen. I thought the cross-pollination theory of cultures was a joke," Dawson said as his hand moved forward.

"I don't think you should touch…" Carter began, reaching out to stop Peter's fingers from connecting with the template beside the force field.

The gentle pressure was enough to cause him to accidentally tap the raised jackal symbol. Yellow-green light flared, encasing both Sam and Peter in a sickly beam as it scanned. Sam gasped as if she were receiving tiny electric shocks. The pinpricks of energy made her blond hair stand on end.

"Bloody hell." Peter's curse held more surprise than discomfort.

"Captain!" Jack shouted. It wasn't clear if he meant Carter or Dawson.

Like a bubble filling with air, the clear walls ballooned until the two captains were on one side of the force field and Jack and Teal'c on the other.

"We found a way in, sir," Dawson grinned. His voice sounded muffled as if he stood behind a thick Plexiglass window.

"Ya think?" Jack said wryly.

Without warning, the Stargate began spinning.

"Uh-oh," O'Neill observed, "company's coming." The first Chevron locked.

"I concur." Teal'c tightened his grip on his staff. The new arrivals probably wouldn't be friendly.

"There's no device in here to open the door." Peter's hands frantically roamed over the clear surface.

"And none up to the first bend in the maze, Colonel," Sam loudly added as the second Chevron engaged.

"Go," Jack ordered. "Teal'c and I will catch up after we've said hello to the neighbors." He was already moving toward the steps.

The third Chevron shot into place.

"But, Colonel…"

O'Neill turned and met her gaze. "Fall back, Captain; I don't know how to free you. We still have a mission to complete, and you're too visible right now. Let's not give the Goa'ulds a clear target."

Unhappiness etched on her face, Carter nodded once before she obeyed. The fourth Chevron moved.

"Good luck," Peter called before going after her.

"Take the left flank, Teal'c," Jack commanded as the fifth Chevron engaged. "I'll take the right." He thumbed his weapon's safety off.

His teammate complied. Teal'c stood as far back as the platform allowed. The enemy would have to turn their heads to see him. Unfortunately, there was less room on the colonel's side of the 'gate. He'd have to be careful.

A sixth Chevron slid home.

"Ollie ollie oxen free," Jack muttered as his body tensed for action. They'd have to strike hard and fast. The Goa'uld didn't need to be warned of their presence here. As the stones trembled beneath his boots, unexpected gratitude filled him that Daniel had not come on this particular mission. The scientist would have wasted time arguing about the morality of this ambush or about leaving his friends to fight the enemy alone if he'd been trapped with Carter. To his credit, Dawson followed orders.

The seventh symbol locked. An immense kawhoosh of energy burst out before sucking back into itself. Inside the Stargate, the wormhole glimmered like silver mercury.

Their glistening dark bodies devoid of any armor, two mammoth warriors stepped through the 'gate, moving confidently forward.

Medjay, Teal'c's worried expression said.

O'Neill's gun killed one instantly as his teammate's blast cut the other down. The next team paused after they'd marched through but were dead before surprise could register on their fierce faces.

Jack kept shooting as another pair of alien soldiers exited the 'gate. He knew Teal'c was far enough back to avoid getting hit by friendly fire, but his position was more exposed since the Stargate was slightly off center on his side of the platform. One of the warriors managed to discharge his weapon. Heat singed Jack as the shot struck uncomfortably close. The enemy fell, a casualty of Teal'c's staff. His gun-clip empty, O'Neill reached for a fresh clip as the tallest Medjay and a Goa'uld overlord exited the 'gate. Jack's fingers were just slamming the clip home when energy ripped through him. As if he'd been shoved by a giant hand, Jack tumbled back and plummeted down the stairs. Spikes of pain lacerated his body as the flinty edges of the stone steps buffeted him as he rolled. With a grunt, he slammed into the sand at the platform's foot. Breath flew from his lungs.

Get up! his mind shouted after a long disoriented minute of staring blankly at the red sky.

"O'Neill, are you injured?" Teal'c's concerned face blocked the glare of one sun, casting a partial shadow over his teammate's pain-racked face.

Trying to move, Jack bit back a scream as the agony of his dislocated left shoulder registered. The strangled sound made his friend drop to one knee beside him. A large hand slid under and supported the back of his head.

"I will carry you."

"No," he managed between gritted teeth as he struggled to get up. Strong hands maneuvered him into a sitting position. Color bleached from Jack's face as his muscles shrieked at the movement. Completely frustrated by his lamed state, he growled, "Did the enemy escape?"

"No."

"What about Dawson and Carter? Did they manage to find a way out of the Amenti?"

"I do not know," Teal'c said with a glance for the maze.

Looking at the now empty spot where the rest of his team had been, Jack frowned. Apparently the thick clear walls of the Amenti hid its secrets well. The two captains could be a few feet away or they could be in the inscrutable heart of the thing. It was hard to tell. Attempting to stand, O'Neill bit his lip and was grateful for Teal'c's silent support. The Jaffa's solid grip kept him vertical without adding any pressure on his injured left arm. Clammy sweat suddenly dampened his skin as sight wavered. He would have vomited had anything been in his stomach.

"We must return to Doctor Frasier," Teal'c decided, gently guiding the injured man towards the mountain of steps which led to the DHD.

"Not without Carter and Dawson," Jack objected as air suddenly evaporated in his lungs. "I won't…" He trailed off as his eyes rolled back.

Teal'c caught O'Neill as he sagged unconscious. Maneuvering him into his arms, the tall warrior gracefully climbed the stairs with his pliant burden. He gently lowered the unconscious man's feet so he could dial Earth's address. The bodies of the dead Medjay and their Goa'uld ruler were ignored. As the last Chevron locked and the wormhole energized, he slid his hands under Jack's knees to resume his former hold, retrieved his staff weapon and stepped forward.

Teal'c cast one last regretful look at the Amenti. Until he had delivered his commander into the capable hands of Doctor Frasier, he would not be able to return to rescue Carter or Dawson. In the half second before he carried O'Neill through the 'gate, the memory of DanielJackson's concerned features flashed through Teal'c's mind. The Jaffa wasn't willing to disappoint him. He'd had to leave the scientist behind in the hands of an enemy once before. Teal'c refused to tell his friend he'd left Samantha Carter to the same fate. Although the Amenti wasn't a living being, it could be as deadly as an enraged Goa'uld. DanielJackson and Carter might have prevailed against it, but Teal'c had no confidence Peter Dawson could unravel its mysteries.

***

Deep inside the twists of the energy maze, Sam marveled at the constant power needed to maintain the structure. Perhaps, it absorbed the red energy from the two suns. Would it dissipate when they sank below the horizon or would the crimson glow illuminating the inside like emergency lighting fade to total darkness? What would happen then? Don't waste time worrying about what ifs. They never solve a problem.

"I wonder why Teal'c called this place the domain of the dead?" Peter asked. "Nothing has attacked us."

"Except the walls," Sam contradicted. "They pulled us in and won't let us out."

"We just haven't found the right control yet," Peter said. "When we do, these tunnels will probably fade away."

"I don't think so. There's too much force being expended for the entire maze to be run by one switch."

"Not very efficient."

"The Goa'ulds are leeches, not time management executives."

Peter tilted his head at her sharp tone. "I'm sensing some hostility here. Have I done something to offend you?"

You took Daniel's place. "No," she said aloud. "I'm just worried about the colonel and Teal'c."

"They look like they can take care of themselves."

"We're a team. They shouldn't have to."

"Colonel O'Neill ordered us to continue with the mission."

"Which doesn't mean I have to ignore the fact he and Teal'c were facing hostiles alone."

"Possible hostiles," Peter corrected. "Maybe friendly beings came through the Stargate."

She shot him a look. "On a Goa'uld world used for stockpiling weapons?" Sam snorted. "Get real."

"Well, we came through."

"To gain access to those arms. I'm sure the Goa'uld don't consider us friendlies."

"Just vermin to be exterminated or subjugated from what I've read."

"Which is why I'd like to find a way out of here to give the rest of my team a hand."

"Our team."

Embarrassment flushed Sam's face. She hadn't meant to make it sound as if she considered him an outsider even if it were true. "Our team," she corrected. "Have you had any luck deciphering the writing next to the template at the juncture?"

He took a few steps towards the fork in the glowing tunnels. "It's in the shape of a feathered serpent's head."

"Suggesting a place of Apophis?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't think so. It's more like a phallic amulet."

"Which means?"

"They were used to protect corpses from worms."

A suggestion of annoyance thinned Sam's lips. "So the next chamber could be littered with dead things?"

"Perhaps." Amusement made Peter's hazel eyes sparkle. "At least, they won't be wormy."

Controlling the urge to roll her eyes at his mocking tone, Sam missed Daniel with a fierceness which made her stomach ache. The anthropologist always shared his knowledge without making someone else feel stupid. It was almost as if he were apologizing for his wealth of intelligence.

"Shall we see where the bodies are buried?" Peter suggested, pushing the raised design before she could object. Instantly, a force field glowed, blocking the left path.

"Guess that makes our decision easy," Sam said. Her wry tone made it clear she expected him to garner her input before he acted the next time. They were the same rank, but she'd been a part of SG-1 since the beginning. Although his reproductive organs were on the outside, that didn't give him the right to give her orders. Daniel didn't.

"I'll let you push the next one," Peter promised, stepping into the long chamber which resembled a hallway more than a full room.

"Deal," Sam agreed, matching his assured strides.

They were no more than one third across the extended space when the sides began to pulse with a low thrumming sound as if power was gathering. Bright, tiny arcs of energy crackled along the walls.

"Still think everything's harmless?" Sam said as they increased their pace.

"Basically," Peter replied, breaking into a jog.

White electricity snaked a few feet in front of them, broke away from the wall and lay writhing on the floor. Another quickly joined it. They both metamorphosed into hissing cobras, but these snakes were pure energy.

"Look out," Sam shouted, dodging as a third twisted at them.

Peter grabbed her arm and yanked her sideways out of the path of a new energy serpent before it coiled and struck the place where her left leg had been seconds before. Running full out, the pair had to sidestep and leap over the growing number of "snakes" which darted and twisted toward them with deadly intent.

With a gasp, Peter felt a tingle near his ankle as one of the vipers almost got him. The tiny residual pain promised untold agony if one of them fully connected.

"Hurry!" Sam urged as the doorway at the end of the hall in front of them crackled.

They burst through it just prior to the force field engaging.

Breathing heavily, Sam glanced back into the long chamber filled with glowing, angry energy cobras. She took an involuntary step away as one darted towards the force field and fell back.

"What a lark," Peter grinned, drinking air as if it were the finest champagne.

"I thought you said the amulet next to the door was one which preserved bodies from worms. Are you sure it didn't mean snakes and the lack of protection from them?"

He shook his head. "I've studied Budge thoroughly. I read the writing correctly."

"Then the Goa'ulds didn't use Budge to make these markings," Sam said dryly as she remembered Daniel's contempt for the Egyptologist's translations. "I suggest we keep an open mind about the next symbol we encounter."

"Is that what Dr. Jackson would do?" he taunted.

"Absolutely," Sam bristled, "which is why he was able to open the Stargate when more indoctrinated thinkers couldn't."

"Well he isn't here. You'll have to make do with me."

Her annoyance fading at the self-mocking tone in his voice, Sam could have kicked herself for making him feel inadequate. Peter couldn't help it if she missed Daniel and his bright flashes of inspiration which always delighted her. "Thanks for pulling me out of harm's way back there."

"You'd have done the same for me."

"C'mon," she suggested. "I think we've got a way to go before we reach the towers and weapons."

"After you," he said, letting her take the lead.

In spite of herself, Sam found herself warming to him.

***

Under water, Daniel thought, coughing weakly, Back in Nem's world? His chest burned from the paroxysms, wringing a groan from his lips as he labored towards consciousness. He hacked again, choked, and moved his arms so he could swim towards air. They didn't respond. Drowning, his weary mind warned. Help me… Was no one going to save him from this liquid death? "Jack…" Daniel pleaded, the croak of sound echoing with strange hollowness.

"Calm down, buddy," ordered a gruff voice. "Don't wake everyone."

Dazed with pain and confusion, Daniel's blue eyes slowly opened. His chest tightened as another unrelenting spasm struck. The movement drove nails of anguish into his heart. Tears pooled and spilled, sending warmth trickling down the sides of his face into his sideburns. Desperately wheezing air, he tried to roll over. Anything would be better than the vile, thick phlegm blocking his throat. He couldn't move. The tight constraints of the straitjacket felt weighted with wet sand. Straitjacket? "Help…" he begged feebly.

"In a minute," growled an unseen speaker.

Inhaling mucus, Daniel gagged. Air drained away; death eagerly reached for him.

"Mike, for goodness sakes," a far-off woman's voice scolded before firm hands pulled Daniel to his side. "He's suffocating!"

"So what?"

Daniel retched the gunk blocking his throat as a hand pounded his back.

"Patients don't die on my shift."

With a burning gasp, Daniel desperately sucked what little air he could into his congested lungs. He shivered violently as sweat wrapped him in its clammy grip. The tremors woke the other miserable aches covering his bruised body. Where am I? How did I get here?

"Why not? It makes one less loony for us to baby-sit."

Efficiently callused fingers scrubbed the mess from Daniel's quivering chin and mouth. "If you feel that way, you need to find another job."

Blinking, Daniel tried to clear his fogged sight to know who helped him.

"Don't tell me you like caring for these drooling idiots."

For the first time, Daniel's blurry gaze cleared, and he stared at a nurse's harsh face above him. Disgust carved lines around her narrow mouth as if she wanted to say yes but couldn't lie.

"It pays my bills," she snapped, returning to her not so gentle task of cleaning her patient.

"'scuse…me…" Daniel began weakly.

Ignoring him, she continued, "I don't like deaths. Too much paperwork."

"Ain't that the truth, but this one's different. I don't think we'd get in much trouble if he kicked the bucket."

"Ma'am?" Daniel tried again.

"Why not?" she wanted to know.

"'Cause he's got a level ten coding."

The woman's beady eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you. There hasn't been one here since Kennedy was shot."

"Check his chart if you doubt me."

As she reached for something near his feet, Daniel licked parched lips. He gathered failing strength and tried again. So what if the effort cost him an attack which was even now tickling the back of his sore throat? "Where am I?"

"You're right. He's coded level ten." Surprise and uneasiness filled her rough voice.

"Maximum security, minimum care."

Agony from his congested chest knifed Daniel as another coughing fit battered his exhausted body. The jag went on and on until black spots threatened to wipe away his newly regained vision. Long minutes later, he lay wheezing and totally worn out.

"I heard they had a guy once in the fifties coded a level ten. He was some type of Communist spy. This one looks harmless."

"So did Ted Bundy," the unseen Mike said.

"Level ten?" She tilted her head and looked down at her patient's flushed face. Despite lines of pain, it retained an aura of innocence.

"Welch verified it personally. I think John Doe here pissed someone off who had connections. Either that or he was a front for covert ops."

"You read too many Tom Clancy novels."

"Well someone doesn't want Mr. Doe surfacing anytime soon."

Horror grew inside Daniel's exhausted mind. The memory of his beating at Maybourne's command came back to him. Had the bastard put him in a place where they could drive him insane? Even worse, would they perform a lobotomy or something to exterminate his thoughts? Fear spiked. He had to make them listen, make them understand a mistake had been made! "Daniel," he managed hoarsely, "Daniel Jackson."

For the first time, the brusque woman met his gaze. "Are we feeling better?"

"No," he admitted raggedly. "Will you remove this?"

Her cold gray eyes glanced at the straitjacket. "I'm sorry, Mr. Clyde. Not without a doctor's order."

Another cough wracked him. "Jackson," he insisted on a gasp.

She shook her head. "Try to sleep, Mr. Clyde. Things will seem brighter in the morning."

"That's the way it is on earth, spaceman," her male cohort's voice chuckled, "unlike Abracadabra and your starchick Sherry."

Twisting his neck, Daniel finally saw him. Dressed in a white orderly's uniform which hadn't seen bleach in recent memory, Mike's bloated body completely covered the metal chair supporting him. The man's balding head held wispy tufts of pale blond hair, and his thick muddy-looking mustache drooped over thick lips. His eyes resembled fat black currants in a mound of pasty-white dough.

"Sha're?"

"Here we go again." The orderly sighed with a martyred air of one who had heard it all before. "At least you could tell me if alien sex was better than the old bump and grind on earth. All he does is mutter that bitch's name."

Despite his illness, anger brightened Daniel's blue eyes. "She's my wife."

"Whatever. Sure she ain't dead?"

"Close your eyes, Mr. Clyde," the nurse ordered as she saw the flash of true anguish twist Daniel's face, "Ignore Mike. He likes to joke around."

"Where…am…I?" Each word was a struggle. Daniel had never imagined a simple question could cost such effort. He felt as if life were draining out of his extremities. The only thing which kept his soul bound to his body was the boulder crushing his chest. If he couldn't find out anything about this place, how could SG-1 locate him?

"Terra firma," Mike answered, "or in your case I'd say it was infirma. So is it true Mars babes all have great big ti…"

"Pig," the nurse interrupted.

Exhaustion closed Daniel's eyes. Help me, Jack, he prayed silently. Get me out of here before they drill holes in my skull. Oh God, please let me keep my memories.

"How about Iranian women? A super spook like you must know how to use the Bond charm."

"Leave him alone."

"Whassamatter, spacecase?" Mike's jeering voice grew harder, "Don't like answering questions about other countries instead of other worlds? What did you tell the enemy regarding the good old U.S. of A.?"

"Not a spy," Daniel managed as he focused on the orderly, hearing the warning sign of anger building. If he didn't dilute it, he'd be in immediate trouble. He wouldn't have to worry about what Maybourne planned to do with the knowledge in his head. The nurse might check any action Mike made now, but she wouldn't remain in this room the entire night. Daniel knew he couldn't withstand much more before his body gave up. Mike seemed like the type who liked to push people beyond their physical and mental limits.

"Yeah, then why did the military classify you level ten?"

The woman tried to intervene. "Let him rest."

"I don't know." Daniel hoped his reply would suffice. He really wasn't up to playing twenty questions. He coughed coarsely, the belt around his lungs cinching another knot.

"You must think you're some tough nut," Mike sneered. "If the CIA couldn't beat the information outta you, maybe they were hoping someone here would."

"That's enough!" the nurse snapped. "If I find you mistreating him, I'll make sure you'll lose your job."

The threat neutralized the heavy man's attitude. "I was just jokin'," he mumbled sullenly.

Gratitude shone in Daniel's tear-filled eyes. She might hate her job, but she was no monster. Perhaps if he could get her to call Jack for him… "Ma'am?"

"Physical abuse is no joke. Minimum care also means minimum contact." With that final warning, the nurse left the room, ignoring Daniel as if he hadn't spoken.

"Didn't they dissolve you with water in the Wizard of Oz?" Mike asked her after the door clicked shut. He advanced on Daniel. "Now, space-for-brains, tell me whose team you're playing on or I'll roll you onto your back and leave you to drown in your own puke." He grabbed a thick handful of his victim's sweaty hair and yanked Daniel's neck into an uncomfortable angle.

The position impeded any hope of breathing. Strangling, Daniel tried to fight, but his bound, weak body betrayed him. Like a fish exposed to air, he gasped, his parted lips desperately seeking oxygen. His last sight in life would be the smoldering hatred in Mike's eyes. Vision wavered; roaring consumed his ears. He spiraled toward a dark, dark tunnel.

Light shot through him as sweet, blessed air suddenly poured into his throat.

"See how simple it is?" Mike cooed in his ear. "Tell me what I want to know, and you live."

It would be so much easier just to give up and let the blackness take him. How many battles was he expected to fight? Sha're will never forgive you, said a tiny voice inside Daniel's skull, She needs you to free her from the Goa'uld who's stolen her body. Weary beyond belief, a tiny spark ignited in his soul. Jack, Sam, and Teal'c expect you to help them against the Goa'ulds in any way you can. Even if you're not part of SG-1, they might need you to translate something.

"Don't make me repeat questions, space cadet. Are you going to talk or will I have to stop your breathing permanently?"

"I'll talk," Daniel raggedly moaned. He didn't know how much his abused body would tolerate, but he'd weave this savage a whopper of a tale as long as his clogged lungs held up.

"Good." Mike let his prey's skull clunk against the hard cot. He crossed his arms and waited.

"Know about planetary shift?" As the goon shook his head in the negative, Daniel tried to drag enough air into his laboring lungs to fabricate a story to make him more valuable alive than dead. Jack, get me out of here, he thought as a burning cough jarred him. Cruel hands reached again and shook him mercilessly. The heavy handed slap to the side of Daniel's face plunged him back into oblivion.

***

Despite a pounding headache, Jack restlessly paced the briefing room. The edge of midnight didn't matter when half of his team was trapped behind enemy lines. At least seven hours had passed since he'd left them locked in the Amenti. General Hammond had to find a linguist who could translate the unusual maze symbols so they could reach Carter and Dawson before the worst happened. Dammit, where was Daniel when they needed him? O'Neill had tried to call as soon as he'd been released from Doctor Frasier's concerned hands, but no one picked up the phone at the scientist's apartment. It was one thing to go to ground as a tactical move but quite another to spend the rest of your life in hiding, licking your wounds.

"It is unwise to expend energy you do not have." Teal'c's calm voice matched the placidness of his face. The Jaffa sat near one end of the table, his eyes closed, his spirit centered.

Still irritated the other man had ignored his orders and returned him to Earth, O'Neill snapped, "Didn't you hear? I'm the Energizer Bunny. I keep going and going…"

Dark brown eyes slowly opened, regarding him with confusion. "You did not go," Teal'c reminded. "You were injured and senseless."

"And you countermanded my direct order."

Teal'c's solemn expression didn't change, but his eyes grew resolute. On Chulak, he'd expected the subordinate directly beneath him to assume command if he was incapacitated. It was the way of warriors. To ignore the chain of rule invited both chaos and disaster.

O'Neill instantly understood. "Oh for cryin' out loud," he sighed, running a hand through his short hair. Teal'c had done the right thing. Jack realized his injuries and worry for Carter and Dawson had skewed his thinking. "Next time just…" Teal'c's tilted head halted the smart ass cliché he wanted to utter, "do what you did." Explaining his one-liners took all the fun out of them. Before the Jaffa could reply, the door opened.

"Colonel, Teal'c," General Hammond greeted, "there doesn't seem to be anyone suitable to translate the symbols you described. No one has the background combining two diverse cultures. The scholarly community believes cross-pollination is ridiculous heresy."

"Daniel Jackson could," Teal'c proposed.

"He's no longer on this project." Hammond's lined face showed he wasn't happy about the fact.

"Given the circumstances, an exception could be made. Carter's and Dawson's lives could depend on him, General." Jack watched his superior for any sign of agreement.

"I know," Hammond admitted unhappily, "but I will not violate a presidential directive." As the colonel opened his mouth in protest, the older man held up a hand to forestall him. "But," he continued, "that doesn't mean the President won't change his mind given the current situation. I telephoned him a few minutes ago and am waiting for him to contact me." A wry smile quirked his lips. "He doesn't always take my calls right away. Occasionally, he does have bigger names on the other line."

"Barbara Streisand?" Jack suggested. "Sorry." He shrugged at the irritated glance the other man cast his way. He waited a beat. "Spielberg?"

"No matter what you think of him, he is still the commander-in-chief of this nation."

"Right," Jack said, suitably chastened. As he noticed Teal'c watching him, he added sotto voce, "No one heckles the boss."

Although the term was unfamiliar, the Jaffa understood the context. "Ra would have killed one who did so."

"Wow," Jack winced. "Talk about a public relations nightmare."

"Colonel…" Hammond had had enough. The telephone rang, curtailing the verbal reprimand. In a few swift strides, the older man crossed the room and picked up the receiver. "Yes, sir. Thank you for returning my call. I have a situation which demands special skills." He nodded. "I appreciate your confidence in me, but you need to know Dr. Jackson is the one I want to call in for help." His eyes narrowed. "Yes, sir. I believe he is the only one who can resolve the problem." Hammond nodded as he listened for a minute. His back stiffened. "I can appreciate your position, sir. Yes, sir. Absolutely. Thank you again for returning my call." He hung up.

Frustration grooved Jack's forehead. "Politicians," he muttered.

"Colonel, bring Dr. Jackson back to this base right away."

Jack blinked, surprise robbing him of his usual quick-witted sarcasm. A long moment passed before he realized he'd gotten the help he so desperately wanted. "Right away, sir!" he said with a grin and a salute. He hurried to the door. Just before he exited, he turned. "I don't mean to be nosy, sir. How did you get the President to change his mind about Daniel?"

"I didn't," Hammond told him, "at least not in the way you think. Officially, the President will deny having any knowledge of Dr. Jackson being allowed back on the grounds of the facility. If anyone unfriendly discovers he returned to this project for even this one time, I can kiss my pension and rank goodbye."

With a nod, Jack digested the news. His respect for his superior, already high, inched up several notches. "Thank you, sir."

"I don't like to lose people either, Colonel," Hammond answered. "Bring Carter and Dawson home safe."

"I will," Jack promised, executing another salute before leaving the room. Teal'c followed. Now they had the hope of Daniel's help, there was a chance to make good on the assurance.

***

Nodding with self-satisfaction, the President smiled as he hung up the telephone. Given the tension in Hammond's voice, the situation must be grim. Even more telling was the fact the general was willing to place all he'd worked for on the line. The President had nothing against that brilliant troublemaker Jackson, but too many of his subordinates did. It wouldn't do to commit political suicide over a nonentity without a future.

"Mark?"

"Come in, Emily," he encouraged his wife. After the endless intrigues of the day, it was a relief to be able to converse with the one person who wanted nothing from him other than love. He rose to enfold her in his arms. A lingering kiss relaxed him even more.

"Rough day?" she asked.

"Umhmmm," he assented, "How about you?"

"Oh, the usual round of committees and photo opportunities."

"I wonder if Tom Jefferson had this much trouble with the press?

"Probably," she smiled and pulled him towards the small sofa where they often ended their busy days, "but he only had to contend with print media not minicams."

"Popularity makers."

"And breakers," she agreed. After a long minute of quiet companionship, she said, "I heard from Catherine today."

"How is she?" A tiny smile quirked the chief executive's lips. Unlike some of his predecessors, he liked the woman and considered her a good friend. Although its citizens didn't know it, the United States owed her a debt. She'd unlocked secrets of the past.

"Unhappy."

"Oh?" Concern filled his eyes.

"It seems Dr. Jackson was removed from the Stargate project."

He shifted uneasily. "For good reason."

"Catherine seems to think nothing short of assassinating you would be motive enough. I quite agree with her. I haven't met him, but her Daniel sounds like a uniquely brilliant person."

"He went against our best interests."

"Are you sure?" she pressed. "From all Catherine's said, I can't imagine him doing anything unethical."

"It wasn't really unethical," he admitted, "but it did considerable damage to our military potential."

She winced. "Tell me," Emily urged. As her husband related the events concerning the Tollan, she found herself seeing beyond the loss of technology. Catherine was a dear friend. If she believed Daniel Jackson had acted for the benefit of all concerned, it must be so. Emily listened to the love of her life, thinking of ways she could change his decision. Stargate Command needed Dr. Jackson to temper the military mindset so the highest good of humanity would be served. She'd made an assurance to Catherine, and she never broke her vows.

***

Daniel would have sold his soul for a drink of water. Even though fluid drowned his lungs, his mouth felt parched from the awful breathing treatment the nurse had forced upon him. She swabbed his cracked lips with a moist lemon-flavored towelette. The brief hint of citrus tasted more like Lemon Pledge than anything else. Guilt flooded his heart at his own ingratitude. The woman was only trying to help. As he stared at her pinched mouth, Daniel had no illusions she did it out of compassion or concern. It was her job.

"Sleep," she ordered, giving him another injection. "Mike is off duty until tomorrow night."

Daniel sighed as warmth flooded the crook of his arm, replacin