An Unofficial Evolution, Part II

by Karen Greim Mullian
© September 2, 2003

General Hammond distributed folders to Major Samantha Carter and Teal'c as they sat down at the briefing room table. The seat to the General's left was empty. Sam and Teal'c looked at each other.
"Where's Colonel O'Neill, Sir?" Sam asked in concern.
The General looked at his watch. "It appears the Colonel is late."
Teal'c frowned. "It is unlike Colonel O'Neill to miss a briefing, General Hammond."
General Hammond's pale blue eyes gazed at the Major and the Jaffa. "I suspect he's worried about Doctor Jackson."
"We all are, Sir," said Sam.
"I concur," Teal'c agreed.
"I know, Major. Doctor Jackson means a great deal of all of us, especially since his return. It would be a serious blow to the SGC to lose him again."
"Sorry I'm late, Sir."
The other two members of SG-1 and the General looked up as Jack O'Neill entered the briefing room.
"It's about time, Colonel," General Hammond responded, not bothering to hide his own concern.
"I'm sorry, Sir," Jack said again. "I was on a long-distance telephone call that couldn't wait. Has there been any further word from the State Department?"
"Only that the people who have kidnaped Doctor Jackson and Doctor Lee represent an until-now little-known fringe rebel group seeking retribution from the United States for what they perceive as a lack of support for the Contras."
"Lack of support, Sir?" asked Sam. "As I seem to recall in the late eighties we risked political collapse in support of the Contras."
Jack groaned. "The issue is a little more complicated, Carter. The Nicaraguan government disappears its own people for saying the moon is made of green cheese. These rebels General Hammond is talking about are known to work both sides of the fence. They're not much more than gangsters really."
The tone in Jack's voice surprised his friends. They had never heard him so bitter except about the Goa'uld.
"They're vermin," he went on. "They nibble away at their own country, the same way their government does, only from a different direction. They tell the people they'll protect them – for a price. They kidnap foreigners – for a price. And sometimes, Carter, they'll torture their captives just for the fun they get out of hearing them scream."
"They do not know Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said confidently.
"If Daniel was by himself, Teal'c," Jack replied tersely, "I have no doubt he'd survive. But they've also got Doctor Lee."
"Daniel will do everything he can to protect Doctor Lee," Sam assured Jack.
"Which is what's got me worried," Jack answered. "And why I've called in a few markers, General Hammond. I am not letting Daniel go again."

Day Six of Captivity

The shed door opened, allowing the already blazing equatorial sun to bore into the eyes of the two archaeologists.
"Buenas dias, muchachos," Rafael greeted his "guests," as he liked to call his prisoners. He added in a sing-song voice, "I've brought you some water."
He sat down on the stool placed for him by one of his men just inside the door.
Rafael waved the rusty dipper over their heads. Doctor Lee's eyes followed the movements anxiously.
"Who will drink this morning?" Rafael asked with a smile. He put the cup close to Doctor Lee's lips. "You, mi amigo? No, I do not think so. You drank last night. Perhaps it is only fair to allow your friend Doctor Jackson to have it, hm?"
He held the cup to Daniel's cracked lips. Daniel took a mouthful and allowed the metallic water to moisten his parched tongue.
"Give the rest to Doctor Lee," he murmured.
Rafael smiled again. "You're a very brave man, Doctor Jackson. You offer your own life for this one's."
"I'm not offering anything. Just give him the damned water."
Rafael turned the dipper to its side. Incredulous, Daniel watched as the man allowed the water to trickle out a few drops at a time to the ground. Beside him, Doctor Lee whimpered slightly.
With a coarse laugh, the rebel leader got up from his stool and left the shed. Immediately, Lee reached his hand into the evaporating puddle. Daniel watched helplessly.
They'd been living in this four-foot by six-foot shack for nearly a week. Calling on every lesson he'd learned during his time with the SGC, Daniel had organized their confines when they were left alone. In one corner of the shack, he had established their latrine. Between the heat, next to no food, and only the foul water Rafael allowed them, they'd made little use of it beyond the first day; but they were in Central America: Things could change at a moment's notice.
In the opposite corner they slept. To be more precise, Doctor Lee slept. Daniel nodded off sitting up – there was little room for him to stretch out his full six feet – only for short naps, keeping a careful eye on any movements their keepers made in the camp. He watched to see if there was consistency in their activities and mentally noted any patterns he could discern. It appeared that the rebels awoke early but well after daybreak. One of the men cooked the morning meal over an open fire, usually eggs and biscuits, sometimes a little meat. That's when Rafael would pay his guests a visit and torment them by eating his breakfast before their eyes, slowly, savoring every morsel with sounds of satisfaction. Afterwards, they were left to themselves, the shack guarded by two machine-gun-toting guards. Rafael sometimes left the camp and would not return until almost sunset when the aroma of supper consisting of beans, cheese, bread, and coffee – how Daniel longed for that coffee – drifted into the shack.
Doctor Lee tried not to show his fear. He had SGC experience, but nothing had prepared him for this. The occasional archaeologist might find himself in trouble with the locals, but how to conduct yourself if kidnaped in a foreign country was not part of any anthropology program Daniel had heard of. Maybe it should be.
Though he'd have preferred quiet himself, Daniel encouraged Doctor Lee with stories of SG-1's adventures. At least until his tongue started to swell from lack of water. Then Doctor Lee took over, telling Daniel of his days excavating in the Middle East. It passed the time and allowed Daniel to assess the possibilities presented by their predicament. He had always wondered how Jack managed to see every angle with people jabbering away around him, but he quickly realized that he could listen and plan at the same time.
Not that the plans were likely to go anywhere, but it was a good mental exercise to map out the scenarios and rehearse them in his head just in case one of the rebels got careless. None of this did he share with Doctor Lee. It would be better to tell him what was expected if the time actually came. Otherwise, the man might dwell on things that weren't likely to happen.
Daniel didn't believe for a minute that very powerful people would come to their rescue as he continued to assure Rafael they would; but at night when he closed his eyes for a short while, he invariably dreamed that Jack would.

*****
"But Sir," protested Sam, "isn't it more important that we help you find Daniel?"
"Don't worry about Daniel," Jack said in his "I'll take care of this" voice. "Just worry about Anubis and his Super Soldier."
She watched Jack zip up his backpack as he prepared to leave the SGC. "Sir," she said, "you can't do this alone."
"I won't be alone, Carter," he assured her. "I said I've called in a few markers. My six will be covered." He shouldered the backpack and headed for the door. "Besides, if I go down there with a small army, somebody's bound to notice. I don't want to give up the element of surprise."
"Yes, Sir," Sam replied. She sounded as disappointed as she was worried.
"Your concern is appreciated," Jack said, trying to sound less authoritative and failing, "but if it goes bad, it'll be my ass, nobody else's."
"If it goes bad," she reminded him, "it'll be Daniel's ass, Sir, and Doctor Lee's. I think Teal'c and I should go with you."
"No," he barked. Then more gently, "I won't jeopardize anyone else's safety. You have to trust me, Carter. I will bring him back."
"I do trust you, Colonel," Sam said. "It's just that–"
Jack didn't wait to hear the rest of what she had to say. He slammed the door behind him and was gone.

Day Seven of Captivity

With a small pencil he had managed to hide from their captors, Doctor Lee added another tick mark to the calendar he kept on the wall near where he slept. Daniel thought it only made their situation worse, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
Seven days they'd been in this bug-infested shack. Two days ago the hunger pangs in Daniel's belly had stopped. While they wouldn't fill you up, grasshoppers, if you could catch them, weren't as bad as cockroaches.
"Just pretend they're fresh string beans," Daniel had told a highly skeptical Doctor Lee.
Daniel had stopped eating the food brought to them by one of the rebels, letting Doctor Lee have his share. It consisted of leftovers from the cookpot that probably wasn't washed very often. One night he caught a fieldmouse but let it go because he couldn't bring himself to ring its tiny neck. Had he been able to build a fire, he told himself, the thing wouldn't have stood a chance. The same with the snake that had slithered through the wall boards the night it rained. It had awakened him from one of the brief naps he allowed himself when it crept up his back. For a moment he had been prepared for blinding pain in his neck, thinking in a half-sleeping state that it was a Goa'uld. When he awoke completely and realized it wasn't, he smashed it against the far wall. He assumed it survived because he remembered a loud hiss in the darkness and some noise near the latrine, then nothing.
There was a sound at the door. It opened, the stool was put down, and Rafael made himself comfortable. From a sheath at his waist, he took a knife that he pointed at Daniel, saying something to the men behind him. They squeezed inside and dragged Daniel to his feet. Outside the shack, the men pushed him to the ground. With the barrel of a machine gun cold against the back of his head, he listened as Rafael spoke to Doctor Lee in the shack. Rafael laughed a few times. Then there was a slap, and Doctor Lee cried out.
Daniel flinched at the sound and struggled against the grip that held him on his knees.
Rafael left the shack. In the evening sunset, he lit a cigarette and walked toward Daniel.
"Your companion does not have your courage, amigo," he said almost cheerfully.
Rafael took the cigarette from his mouth and pressed the glowing end against Daniel's chest, burning a hole in his sleeveless t-shirt.
Daniel inhaled slowly but showed no other reaction.
Rafael's eyes narrowed. He issued orders in Spanish, and Doctor Lee was dragged from the shack and forced to kneel opposite Daniel. Daniel shook his head slightly to urge Lee to do nothing. Rafael saw the gesture and grabbed Daniel by the hair. The cigarette was pressed an inch below the first burn.
"My God," pleaded Lee, "what are you doing?"
"I'm going to ask you a question, Doctor Lee," Rafael said, a look of wonder in his eyes. "You will answer, yes? If I do not believe you, I will hurt your friend. Okay?"
"Don't say anything," Daniel warned.
"I did not yet ask a question," Rafael said, pulling again on Daniel's hair.
This time the cigarette came to rest on Daniel's abdomen. It hurt like hell, but Daniel refused to react. He'd been tortured by Apophis. Rafael was an amateur.
"Who do you work for?"
The question was directed at Doctor Lee.
"We're just archaeologists," Doctor Lee said, his voice trembling.
The cigarette pressed against Daniel's navel.
"Who do you work for, Doctor Lee?" Rafael asked again.
"We've already told you."
Following a gesture from their leader, two of the men gripped Daniel's arms, and a third unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers.
"Oh, God, we work for the United States Government," Doctor Lee blurted out. "Now leave him alone!"
"Perhaps that is enough for today," Rafael said, smiling coldly into Daniel's eyes.

*****
International travel was far more complicated than intergalactic travel, and all the paperwork it involved annoyed Jack O'Neill no end. To make matters worse, Nicaraguan air carriers did not meet American standards, and he had to fly into Tegucigalpa, not Managua, and find a guide willing to take him across the border.
And because this was neither an official SGC nor Air Force-sanctioned rescue mission, Jack was on his own. If things blew up in his face, the US Government and the military would deny any knowledge of him and his activities. If things blew up in his face, Daniel was dead.
He'd warned Daniel about the dangers. US citizens were fair game in Central America, and two men traveling alone with only a guide in the jungles of Honduras might as well have targets on their backs.
"We'll be fine, Jack," Daniel had insisted the morning he and Doctor Lee left for the airport.
"Maybe you should take Carter or Teal'c with you," Jack had suggested.
"Frankly, Jack, I'd rather have you along," Daniel said as he picked up Sha're's picture from his desk and tucked it between a couple of shirts in his backpack. "But I know how bored you get with archaeological excavations."
Jack was surprised to see Daniel pack the photograph. He never spoke of his wife, rarely spoke of his personal life at all since SG-1 found him on Vis Uban. His work at SGC was his focus now, or so it appeared. He had taken a small apartment off base, but he spent most of his time at Cheyenne Mountain, sleeping in the quarters that had been set up for him when he first returned to Earth and eating his meals at the commissary. As far as anyone knew, Daniel had no life outside of SGC. That didn't seem to bother Daniel, though it troubled his friends.
"That's because archaeological excavations are so...boring," Jack replied, saying the last word in a hushed tone that made Daniel laugh. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small EMS/Mountain box. "Here," he said, "this is for you."
"What is it?" Daniel asked.
Jack shrugged and gave his friend an awkward smile. "A little going away gift. Sorry, I didn't have time to wrap it."
Daniel opened the box and tipped out the contents into the palm of his hand. He smiled appreciatively. "A compass. Very funny."
"So you can find your way back home," Jack explained.
"Thank you, Jack," Daniel said, truly touched. Sometimes he felt as though Jack were still angry with him for not remembering him when they first met on Vis Uban. Sometimes Daniel was still angry with himself for the same thing, and so he was unprepared for Jack's small gift that seemed to come out of nowhere. His eyes glistened, and he looked away, certain Jack would find fault for his being so emotional. Then he took a chance and met Jack's gaze.
Jack's deep-set eyes betrayed nothing when he asked, "This Tel'chak thing–you really think it's going to help?"
"There's only one way to find out," Daniel answered, recovering quickly and acting as if he were undertaking a trip to the corner for a quart of milk.
"Daniel."
"Jack?"
"If you're not back in ten days, I'm coming after you."
"If I'm not back in ten days, I expect you to."
Daniel smiled. Jack extended his hand, and Daniel shook it.
"Well, I'm off," he said, picking up his pack and heading for his office door.
"God, Daniel," said Jack. He drew his friend toward him into a tight embrace, his right hand cupping the back of Daniel's head.
"Be careful, okay, Spacemonkey?"
Daniel was speechless. Jack seldom showed his true feelings. For someone who wore his heart on his sleeve as openly as did Daniel, these last few months of struggling with his own feelings, of mistrusting them, of relearning to love and trust those closest to him, of sifting through those memories that still eluded him had often been painful. This single gesture jettisoned any remaining doubts about how Jack felt in a way that no gift could. Daniel fought to stay strong, but it was no use. Lost in a tide of emotion, his tears washed away the last remnants of the chasm that had separated the two men since his return.
Jack remembered that conversation now as he walked across the dusty air strip that constituted Tegucigalpa's airport where, a week earlier, Daniel and Doctor Lee had landed, confident in their ability to find the Tel'chak device. Daniel had had no idea he was walking into the lion's den, and Jack had no idea how he was going to get him out; but he'd made a promise – to Daniel, to Sam, to General Hammond, to himself: Come hell or high water, Daniel would not be left behind.

Day Eight of Captivity

The rain fell heavily on the eighth night, flooding the camp and sending some of the rebels to higher ground. Rafael and three others remained in camp, waiting out the storm holed up in the hull of the downed helicopter to keep dry. The shack didn't hold any water because of the gaps in the paled walls, but the floor quickly turned to mud two inches deep. The little bit of straw that served as the prisoners' meager bedding no longer absorbed the moisture, and Daniel and Doctor Lee were forced to either squat or stand to avoid the worst of the quagmire. It hardly mattered: For a second time, they were soaked to the skin. They were filthy and stank to high heaven with no hope of getting close to a bath for a long time. Daniel had tried to keep the cigarette burns on his chest and abdomen clean and dry, but it was hopeless. He sensed that an infection was starting. Without a least a sulfa pack, sepsis would set in, and he'd be dead inside a week.
With any luck.
Of course, he didn't say anything to Doctor Lee. The man was already a wreck from watching Rafael burn holes in Daniel's t-shirt.
Hopefully, the rain would continue throughout the night, and they'd be spared the pleasure of Rafael's company. It might mean that Doctor Lee would go hungry until tomorrow. Come to that, Daniel wouldn't have been offended if someone offered him something – almost anything – substantial to eat. Insects just weren't tasting all that good after a week. There wasn't that much meat on the carcasses, and the wings tended to get caught in your teeth. Even moo goo gai pan, though it looked like something the dog brought up, seemed appetizing. What he wouldn't give for one of Jack's thick, juicy, and rare grilled steaks, even a beer to wash it down. Brussel sprouts, peas, cauliflower, Harvard beets – all the things he'd refused to eat as a child – he'd happily consume now. He could imagine the look on his parents' face if they were to see some of the strange foods he'd eaten in the past few years.
Doctor Lee was calling his name. As Lee pulled him upright, Daniel realized he must have fallen asleep and landed in a puddle. His right ear was filled with water, and his hair was muddy and dripping.
"Someone's coming," said Doctor Lee.
Instinctively, Daniel shouted out, "Jack!" His heart sank when the door opened, and Rafael, under a large golf umbrella, accompanied by his stool-bearer and the machine gunners, shone a large flashlight into his eyes.
"Oh, Doctor Jackson, you don't look so good," he said sympathetically. "What terrible weather, no? I am afraid the roof leaks a bit. I'll see what can be done, but you know how hard it is to get anyone to come out in this kind of rain."
"We won't melt," Daniel assured him.
"No, but you might drown, hm? Hey, Doctor Lee, Ramon has made chicken this evening. Perhaps you would like some for your supper, si?"
One of the men handed Rafael a cooked chicken leg.
"Yes, please," Doctor Lee said. His face was pathetic.
Rafael bit into the leg, tearing the meat from the bone with delight.
Doctor Lee moaned.
Daniel eyed the rebel leader with contempt.
"Oh, Doctor Jackson, are you perhaps a little hungry as well? I can hear your belly making noises."
"It's my stomach turning," Daniel answered recklessly. "You put me off my feed."
With a confused look, Rafael shrugged. "I'm sorry, but this expression I do not understand."
"It means," Daniel explained helpfully, "you make me sick."
"Well, that is too bad." He signaled to the two men with machine guns who took hold of Daniel's arms and pulled him to his feet. "I think, Señor Doctor Jackson, your stomach is going to turn some more."
Rafael tossed the remains of the chicken leg to Doctor Lee who caught it and crawled into the corner of the shack to devour it. Rafael's fist found Daniel's midsection, and for a few moments, Daniel could scarcely breathe. When he was able to inhale again, the fist struck him again. His knees buckled, but the machine-gunners held him upright so that Rafael could hit him a third time.
When he tired of pummeling his guest, Rafael sat down again. Daniel sank to his knees, clutching his belly.
"I must tell you, Doctor Jackson," he said in his amiable voice, "I am very disappointed. Your government tells us that they do not negotiate with terrorists. Imagine, they called me a terrorist. I am insulted by that. Imagine, they will pay not one peso for you, my friend. You should be insulted by that. Imagine, they are going to abandon you and Doctor Lee to your fate."
Through the searing pain in his gut, Daniel looked up at his captor and smiled. He didn't doubt the official State Department line for an instant. The government did not negotiate with terrorists. It didn't negotiate with thugs either, and it wouldn't be blackmailed. He'd known for years that he was expendable. The protection of one or two citizens stupid enough to put themselves in harm's way was a pretty low priority in the grand scheme of things, even if those citizens were members of a top secret military operation in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain.
All he and Doctor Lee had to do was survive for another forty-eight hours.
Daniel hoped that Rafael was in a state of grace. When Day Ten dawned, there would be Hell to pay.

*****
Santa Maria de Monteverde, a village much smaller than its grand name signified, was not a place that saw many tourists, so when a third American in just over a week arrived, there was much curiosity among the townspeople. As the man sipped from a bottle of tequila in the open-air cantina, he did so under the watchful eyes of at least a dozen men, very few of whom seemed prone to welcome another stranger. Not after the body of Rogelio Hildago had been found beside a jungle road leading from Honduras into the wilds of the Nicaraguan mountains.
The fact that this man traveled alone in itself caused talk. That his deep-seated dark eyes took in everything around him seemingly at once made the locals wary. That he ordered his drinks and food in flawless Spanish and paid for them in American dollars earned him a grudging respect.
The tall gray-haired man had been at the cantina since morning. He spoke to no one but the waiter who served him, occasionally asking a question or ordering more to drink. Although the waiter brought him his third bottle of tequila, he showed no signs of inebriation. While he appeared relaxed, his lanky frame was, in actuality, ready to spring, the only visual sign of agitation his fidgeting impatiently with the unmatched utensils on the table.
"Well, well, well," someone said from the back of the cantina.
Jack did not turn toward the voice. "Burke, I expected you over four hours ago," was all he said.
"Jack, this is Central America," Burke answered, as he approached the table. "There's no such thing as a timetable for anything around here." He came face to face with Jack and examined the craggy face. "My, oh, my, but you've aged well."
Jack returned the scrutiny. Dressed in khaki camouflage fatigues, Burke wore a rag on his head like Daniel often wore. Unlike Daniel, he was short, wiry, and ugly as sin.
"You haven't exactly improved over time," Jack replied.
The man named Burke sat down across from Jack. He snapped his fingers, and food and a bottle were brought to him without any vocal exchange taking place.
"You took your good old time getting here," Jack growled.
"I had to be sure you were serious," Burke answered.
"Why the hell would I come all the way to this God-forsaken hell-hole if I weren't serious. It's way too hot, the beer's warm, the tequila bites, there's no beach – and where are those sweet little bikini-clad señoritas they show in the travel brochures."
"Still with the smart mouth, huh, Jack?"
"Look, I didn't come here for my health," Jack growled, slapping a mosquito on his neck. He pushed two photos across the table. "Seen either of these men?"
Burke looked at the pictures and shook his head. "Hardly the kind of people I'd acquaint myself with. Who are they?"
"Scientists," Jack replied, giving the word every ounce of contempt he could squeeze into it. "They were here on an archaeological expedition that went bad. They were kidnaped nine days ago."
"And what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to help me get them out."
"Nine days ago?"
"That's right."
"If they haven't surfaced by now, all you're going to find are corpses, Jack. You know that."
Jack's jaw set firmly. "That's not acceptable."
"Well, unless you know a way to wake the dead," Burke said with a shrug.
"Daniel's not dead," Jack flared, his eyes flashing.
"Daniel, is it? That's a little personal for you, isn't it, Jack? Considering he's a scientist."
Irritated that he'd revealed even this much, Jack kept his mouth shut.
"He's a good-looking guy. Who could blame you?" When Jack said nothing, Burke asked, "Then why are you so hot and bothered that he's gone missing? And what makes you so sure he's still alive?"
"If anybody's going to survive, it's Daniel."
"Jack?"
"I trained him," Jack finally admitted.
"Then he is more than a friend."
"Okay, he's my best friend."
That was a designation anyone familiar with Jack O'Neill had to consider seriously. He was not a man to let people close enough to know him well. The guy in the picture must be someone special.
"And you're not–" began Burke.
"No."
"And he's–"
"One more question like that, and I'll blow your head off right here. Got it?"
Burke raised both hands in mock surrender. "Uncle," he said with a smarmy smile. He didn't care who Jack O'Neill slept with, so long as he had the cash and the cojones for a rescue mission.
"So he's been kidnaped," he said when Jack had settled down. "Him and this other...geek. I assume the government's got a ransom demand."
"Oh, yeah."
"Who's got them?"
"Nobody's really sure. Some fringe extremist group took them into Nicaragua on the twenty-second."
"Jesus, Jack. Nicaragua? Why didn't you say so before?"
You didn't ask before. What does it matter?"
"Let's just say I'm not real popular in that neighborhood."
"Why am I not surprised?" asked Jack.
"Sorry, but I can't help you, Jack," Burke said, standing up. "I'm not crossing the border for you or a couple of geeks – even if one of them is your farm-fresh boy toy."
Jack turned his head to one side. Without drawing any attention to himself, he discreetly rested a nine millimeter pistol on the table under his right hand. "Say uncle again," Jack suggested coldly.

Day Eleven of Captivity

The fragrance of strong coffee woke Daniel from a deep sleep. A steaming cup sat within his reach on the muddy mat just inside the open door. Without the least hesitation, he stretched out his hand. As soon as his fingers touched the cup, it was snatched up. Daniel raised his bleary eyes to see Rafael's insipid grin.
"You sleep more soundly, Doctor Jackson," the rebel leader said. "I've been here for" – he looked at Daniel's watch now on his own wrist – "five minutes."
To his chagrin, Daniel realized that Rafael spoke the truth. He was exhausted. Both he and Doctor Lee suffered from the fleas and mosquitos that infested the shack, and days of wearing the same filthy, wet clothes created a whole other set of problems. To make matters worse, ten days had passed since the last dose of antimalarial prophylaxis, and Daniel was already showing the first signs of the disease. His body ached, and for two nights running he lay awake shivering despite the unimaginable equatorial heat and humidity. Daylight brought an abatement of the fever, but this was only the beginning. Death from untreated malaria was slow and painful. He'd done the slow and painful death-thing once before; it wasn't his idea of fun.
"Oh, Señor Doctor," Rafael said in mock sympathy, "I think you are not well."
Doctor Lee screwed up his courage and shouted back at Rafael, "He's sick. He needs medical attention."
Daniel hushed him. To Rafael, he said, "I'm fine."
"He's not fine," Doctor Lee countered. "It's malaria."
"Everybody here gets malaria, Doctor Lee," Rafael replied. "Sooner or later. He's got it sooner, I'm afraid. You maybe later."
"You've got to get him to a doctor."
"Shut up," Daniel hissed angrily. He had more immediate needs, such as attending to the agonizing cramp in his belly; but as long as Rafael was in their midst, he'd suffer silently. He'd eaten nothing for nearly three days, so there was nothing to eliminate in any case, except for bits of irritated intestinal lining. He'd noticed blood yesterday.
"But you are doctors," Rafael said philosophically.
"Not that kind of doctor," Lee and Daniel said simultaneously.
The unison response rang hollow in Daniel's ears. It should have been Jack's voice in sync with his. As he shifted in his muddy corner, he had a fleeting sensation that he was not going to see his friends again.
"Doctor Jackson," Rafael said, reaching into his jacket pocket, "I believe I have something that belongs to you."
"You can keep the watch," Daniel replied without looking up. He didn't care about the time anymore.
"You are most generous, Doctor," Rafael replied with feigned gratitude. "But I meant this."
He lowered the object into Daniel line of vision. It was the photograph of Sha're he had packed so carefully at the SGC almost two weeks ago.
"Where did you get that?" Daniel demanded.
"It was among your belongings," Rafael explained. "Your clothes I sent to my cousin Ramon in Guadalupe, just over the mountains. He's about your size. Ah, but Señor, she is muy buena, no?"
Daniel glared.
"Where is she?" Rafael asked.
"Where you'll never find her," Daniel answered, outraged to see his wife's picture in the dirty bastard's hands.
"A beautiful woman like this? You must think of her plenty, Señor. Do you dream of her lying in your arms at night in this little shack? Do you dream of caressing her? Of kissing that beautiful mouth? Of making love to her? Of driving her wild with pleasure?"
The words sounded foul coming out of his mouth, and Daniel wanted to beat Rafael senseless for saying them.
Approaching him, Rafael crumpled Sha're's picture in his hand and pitched it into the mud. "I asked you several questions, Doctor Jackson."
"Go to hell," Daniel replied. It took all the strength that was in him to get the words out.
"Do you forget so easily what happens when I do not like the answers?"
Daniel put his head against the wall behind him and met Rafael's eyes. The defiance Rafael saw there angered him. He straddled Daniel's legs to keep him still. Bending down, he smacked his face with the back of his left hand. As usual, Daniel refused to give him the satisfaction of a response. Rafael hit him again, then again, and again. Each time, Daniel maintained his silence. Enraged, Rafael's hand curled into a fist that, when it struck the side of his head, made Daniel's eyes roll upward. Long after Daniel lost consciousness, the man continued to punish him until Daniel's blood had splattered on his clothing. Only then did he stop, and only then because his arms had grown tired. When he stood up to leave his guests, he gave Daniel two vicious kicks in the ribs.
Once he was certain Rafael would not return, Doctor Lee crawled cautiously from his hiding place in the shadows and retrieved the crumpled picture. He lay it against his thigh and tried carefully to smooth out the image. Then he crept to where Daniel lay sprawled in their sleeping space.
"Doctor Jackson," he said softly. "Please wake up, Doctor Jackson."
Slowly, Daniel gazed through the slits that were all that remained of his eyes. He looked at the badly damaged photo.
"I did the best I could," Doctor Lee murmured, ashamed that he could do no more.
Daniel took the picture from his cellmate's hand. Tenderly, his fingers touched the fractured beauty of the woman who for so brief a time had been his sole reason for living. He drew the picture to his lips.
"I love you, too," he murmured after a brief pause, as if he were listening to a voice that Doctor Lee did not hear.
Then Daniel closed his battered eyes again with the first sound of defeat he had uttered since their capture. The photograph fell from his hand and floated away in a little streamlet that ran beneath the wall of their shack.

*****
Jack, Burke, and their guide Miguel – a gum-chewing young man who carried an M-16 like a pro – entered the jungle the following morning. Before their departure, Jack had interviewed Rogelio Hildago's friends for any information about Daniel and Doctor Lee's movements after they left the village and headed south. A few people remembered a man who had left the cantina about the same time; but from every three people, Jack got four hazy descriptions. They all agreed that they did not know him, although Jack doubted almost everything they said.
At nightfall they made camp some fifteen miles from the border. With his weapon slung on his back, Miguel distributed their rations, and the three men ate in silence. There were no villages nearby, no farms, nothing, and they would have to spend the night out in the open. Jack suspected their accommodations were slightly better than Daniel and Doctor Lee's. Not that he would have complained. Just in the last seven years, he'd crashed in some mighty peculiar places. Sleeping on a ground cloth wrapped in mosquito netting was pretty practical under the circumstances, and Jack slept surprisingly well, except that around dawn it started to rain.
By then he was awake and ready to be on the move, but Burke and Miguel saw no need to hurry. Jack took advantage of their lassitude to check his weapons and ammunition – the nine mill with which he had threatened Burke, a P-5 bought on the open market five minutes after his plane had landed, C-4, a dozen grenades, and three different knives. What he didn't have, he was confident Burke did. The man had been known as a walking arsenal in their black op days. Except for Daniel, Sam, and Teal'c, there were few others Jack trusted to watch his back in a situation like this.
When they finally moved out, the sun was already well up in the sky and the jungle was steaming. They crossed into Nicaragua some time after midday. The forest around them was still in the mounting heat. Their path led into the mountains, steep and narrow with deep, dangerous ravines falling away on either side of the track.
Miguel easily picked his way through the thick vines and tangled undergrowth. Jack kept pace, though his knees were beginning to ache. Retirement was looking better and better. Following a few yards back, Burke kept a careful eye on the path behind them.
At about fifteen hundred hours, Miguel stood up straight, then dove off the path into the bushes on the southern side. Without a question, Jack and Burke did the same, lying still, hardly breathing. Above them three men walked by in a westerly direction.
Jack tapped Miguel on the shoulder and gestured. Miguel nodded and crept back up to the path.
"Ay, muchachos," he called to the strangers. "Donda esta Guadalupe?"
The three men turned around abruptly, each brandishing a weapon. When they realized that Miguel alone had superior firepower, they looked startled. Jack and Burke stepped up onto the path beside their young guide, and the three dropped their guns and raised their hands.
Suddenly, Jack recognized the shirt one of the men wore. He approached, felt the fine brown cotton fabric with his fingers, then pointed his nine millimeter at the man's head.
"Where did you get this?" he asked in Spanish.
The man was not certain he had understood correctly. "From my cousin," he answered, bewildered by Jack's smoldering temper.
"And the man it belonged to before your cousin?"
"Ah, Señor, si. I don't know. My cousin did not say."
"Who is your cousin?" Miguel asked.
Jack allowed as how that might be a more useful question.
"You will not know him," the man replied contemptuously to Miguel. "He does not associate with Gringos."
Miguel stepped between Jack and the man wearing Daniel Jackson's shirt.
"Give it to me," he said, pointing his M-16 in the man's ribcage.
The man slowly took off the shirt and handed it to Miguel. Miguel passed it on to Jack.
"Now, tell me the name of your cousin," Miguel said. When the man did not answer, Miguel made a quick gesture, and the man dropped to his knees, a knife at his throat. "I will not ask you again."
"Rafael Ramirez," the man answered after some hesitation.
Miguel smiled, pressing the knife further against the trembling man's neck. "The next time you see your cousin Rafael Ramirez, tell him that Miguel Archangelo spared your worthless life because you gave up the Gringo's shirt peaceably. Now, you may go."
Rafael's cousin and his companions disappeared into the jungle, leaving behind their firearms. Burke secured the guns, handing one to Jack and one to Miguel.
"We will find your friend soon, Señor," Miguel told Jack. "Two more days at the most."
"How do you know?" Jack asked.
"All we have to do is follow the cousin. He has a message to deliver."
As he tucked Daniel's shirt into his pack and adjusted his gear to allow for another weapon, Jack said begrudgingly to Burke, "He's good."
Burke gave Jack his smarmy smile. "I know," he said. "I trained him."

Day Thirteen of Captivity

It was after midnight when Daniel began to regain consciousness. Doctor Lee crawled to his side and touched his arm. Daniel recoiled until he heard Doctor Lee's voice.
"It's all right, Doctor Jackson," he murmured. "He never comes back this late."
Daniel sighed but without relief. The pains in his muscles had returned, and he shivered as if he were lying in a snowdrift, even though sweat ran from every pore.
"Look," said Doctor Lee, "we have some water. One of the men brought it after Rafael left camp."
"He's gone?" Daniel asked softly. He didn't suppose there was any real chance Rafael would stay away.
He tried to pull himself up but was overwhelmed by vertigo. Great, now he had a concussion as well as malaria.
"Here, let me help you," Doctor Lee offered. "You should take a drink."
Putting an arm under Daniel's shoulders, Doctor Lee raised him up and held the battered old cup for him to take a mouthful of water. It tasted like rusty pipes, but it quenched his thirst. Doctor Lee insisted he take more, and Daniel didn't argue. Two more mouthfuls. More water than he'd had at one time in days. He wanted it all but told Doctor Lee to save the rest for himself.
"Take as much as you want," Doctor Lee said. "You're fever's back up again."
After swallowing another mouthful, he said, "Hide it."
Doctor Lee covered the cup with his bandana and then buried it in the rank straw on the ground.
"How many days have we been here?" Daniel asked.
Doctor Lee couldn't see his scratch-mark calendar in the dark, but he knew the number of days without it. "Thirteen."
Daniel lay back down with a groan. What the hell was taking Jack so long? He had to know by now that they'd gone missing. Rafael claimed to have made contact with the State Department over a week ago. Somebody would have gotten word to General Hammond, and Jack should have been here with an army at his back by now.
"If you're not back in ten days," he had said.
It was as good as a promise.
Jack had never broken a promise in seven years.
"I think I've got a boil on my backside," Doctor Lee commented.
"The fun just never stops around here, does it?" Daniel replied tersely. He hoped Doctor Lee wasn't going to ask him to lance it. Even if he could open his eyes after what Rafael had done, with or without his glasses, the last thing he wanted to see was Doctor Lee's ass.
"How are those burns?"
"Infected, I think." Daniel put his fingers to the most painful one. He'd had staff blasts that hurt less. "Yep, this one's infected. Pretty sure the others are, too. Oh, well, a little septicemia won't kill me."
"Doctor Jackson."
"It's a joke, William."
"Oh." Doctor Lee didn't get it. "You know, that's the first time you've ever called me by my first name."
"Is it?" Daniel hadn't really thought about it. "I suppose it is. You know, you can call me Daniel. After thirteen days in this cesspit, I think we know each other well enough."
After that, the men fell quiet. In the silence, Daniel tried to think past the fever and the pain to assess their situation. Testing his limited first aid skills, he figured he had at least two broken ribs, and his right cheekbone was likely fractured from the latest beating. There was a war raging in his bowels, and his bladder ached from the lack of water. Much of his flesh had wasted away; the last time he'd been able to stand, his trousers had ridden low on his hips. He was beyond caring about food. In fact, the very idea of food made him feel worse. What he missed, what he longed for, what he dreamed of was water. Water to drink, to bathe in, to soothe his aching body, to refloat his kidneys which felt like they were drying up.
Why hadn't Jack come for them by now? Every time there was a new movement in camp, Daniel wondered if this was the moment. But Jack didn't arrive, and Daniel was beginning to doubt that he would. Only Rafael ever showed up with some new torment at his fingertips. Daniel wasn't sure he could survive another beating. He wasn't sure he wanted to. The only thing that kept him clinging to life now was the thought that if he died in this place, what would become of Doctor Lee? He wouldn't last a day if left on his own.
No, Daniel berated himself. Jack will come. He said he would. He'll be here. You've got to believe that. Believe in Jack. Jack will be here. Jack's coming. Jack will find you. Never doubt for a minute. You've got to hang in there until Jack finds you. Don't let Jack just find your body. You've got to survive. You can't let him down. Don't let Jack down now.
"You're a surprisingly hard man to kill, Doctor Jackson," Jack had once told him.
God, let it be so.

*****
Miguel kicked the fallen tree limb aside, furious with himself. Somehow he'd lost track of Ramon in the jungle. They had followed him all through the night and most of the next day, and then suddenly Miguel had blinked with fatigue and the man had vanished.
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Burke said quietly when they stopped to get some rest. "It happens."
Miguel said nothing. He had sensed what he thought was a lack of forgiveness in the Colonel's cold eyes, not understanding that it was not Miguel Jack would not forgive. He had pushed the young man and Burke beyond their limits because that was what he expected of himself. They did not have the same vested interest in this rescue mission.
Jack looked at the young man. "So you're not perfect," he said a little harshly although it was intended as an apology. He had almost called him Daniel. "None of us is."
"It sets us back, Señor Colonel," Miguel confessed. "If we do not pick up the trail in a few hours, your friend may well die."
"You don't know Daniel," Jack told him with a grim look on his face. "It'll take a lot more than one crazy Nicaraguan rebel to kill him."
Burke tossed Jack a packet of rations. "I hope for your friend's sake that you're right, Jack," he said. "This Rafael Ramirez is a ruthless son-of-a-bitch."
"You know him?"
Burke shook his head. "Only by reputation. They say he pulls the wings off of flies just for the pleasure of knowing he can. He has fewer qualms about offing his hostages. Last year he killed a priest and two nuns. They died slowly."
"I didn't come all this way to recover corpses," Jack muttered, spitting out a bit of leaf that had fallen into his food. If one hair on Daniel's head was missing, this Rafael was going to be sorry.
After they'd eaten, the three men moved back onto the trail. At the bottom of a ravine, Miguel jumped over a small stream. Jack was about to follow when something in the water caught his eye. In the pristine jungle, littering was just so wrong. Jack scooped up the bit of trash as his long legs spanned the flow. He put the rubbish in his pocket but removed it again out of curiosity. At one time it had been a photograph, and not too long ago. Part of the image had been washed away by the mountain stream, but the faded likeness was still visible. Jack stood stock still in the water and stared at the once beautiful face of Sha're Jackson.
"What've you got there?" asked Burke, looking over Jack's shoulder.
Jack didn't give him an answer, but Burke noticed a quickening in his old friend's eyes. Miguel trotted back down the hill to where Jack and Burke gazed at the photograph.
"Any idea where this stream goes?" asked Jack.
"It could go anywhere, Señor Colonel," Miguel said with a shrug.
"Or it could go to Rafael's camp. This, boys," Jack announced, planting a kiss on the photograph, "this is Daniel Jackson's ticket home. Oh, Sha're of Abydos, daughter of Kasuf, I always said Daniel was the luckiest man in the universe the day he met you."

Day Fifteen of Captivity

They followed the stream uphill for almost ten miles, arriving at the top of a long-extinct volcanic ridge just at sundown. Below the ridge in the crater sat the camp. With darkness falling fast, it was too late in the day to do anything but wait and watch as best they could. The more they could observe now of the camp's layout and defenses, the better prepared they'd be when the time came to move.
There were two guards on both the north and south sides of the perimeter. Two other men lounged around a campfire smoking cigarettes and drinking while a third man cooked the evening meal.
"I think we got here before Ramon," Jack said with a smile to Miguel. "These guys are too relaxed."
"Should we not go in now then?" Miguel asked, "before he has a chance to alert them?"
Jack pointed at the ramshackle hovel on the west side of the camp. Two additional armed guards, paying more attention to their duty than the others were, patrolled the area. Armed guards meant that there was something – or someone – worth guarding.
"At least one of them is still alive," reasoned Burke.
Jack nodded. "We'll move at first light from over there," he said pointing to the east. "Most of them will be asleep, and when they come out to fight, the sun will be in their eyes. Burke, you take anybody who moves on the north. Miguel, you take the south. Put down cover, and I'll go after the guards at the shack. Once they're taken down, I'll bring out Daniel and Doctor Lee."
"That's a fine plan, Jack," Burke said, "but it's got a serious flaw."
"Which would be what exactly?" demanded Jack.
"It assumes that your friends are in any condition to help themselves."
Jack glared. It was a possibility he didn't want to have to consider.
"To tell you the truth," Burke added, "I didn't think your friends would still be alive."
"And I told you, you don't know Daniel. Now, do you have anything else useful to contribute?"
Burke thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Don't think so. When it's time, I'll draw fire on my side. You and Miguel will get Daniel and the other guy."
"What?" Jack stammered, flabbergasted that Burke would even consider setting the plan.
"Think about it, Jack. Your people have been cooped up in that place for two weeks. They're probably not going to be in very good shape. You can't bring both of them out alone. You've got a choice. Me or Miguel. He's a lot younger and a lot stronger than I am. I'd put my money on him if I were you."
Jack considered his options quickly. "Okay," he conceded. "We'll do it your way. I'll take first watch. You two get some rest."

*****
Surprisingly, it wasn't until that night that Daniel and Doctor Lee clashed, exchanging their first harsh words since their nightmare began. It was difficult enough to stay alert and follow everything that was happening around him, but Daniel had worn himself out trying to keep his companion's spirits up. Now he was tired, achy, and sick, and Doctor Lee's defeatism was beginning to grate on his frayed nerves.
"We're going to get out of here," Daniel had insisted.
"Do you still believe that?" Doctor Lee had asked.
"Yes, William. And you've got to believe it, too. Jack's coming for us."
"How?" He pushed himself up on one hip. "You keep saying Colonel O'Neill will find us. You've said it everyday for over two weeks, but you don't say how."
Daniel sighed. It was so difficult to convince someone who didn't want to be convinced. "I don't know how, William. I just know that he will. You have to trust me and trust Colonel O'Neill. He'll be here."
"Okay," said Doctor Lee, "I know you and the Colonel are friends. And you're my boss, and I shouldn't argue with you. But Daniel, we're both scientists. We deal in facts. And the fact I see is that there's a lunatic out there and he intends to kill us."
"That's only a hypothesis, William," Daniel retorted.
"If he comes in here and beats you once more," Doctor Lee reasoned, "he'll kill you.
"No, he won't."
"This fever's gotten the better of you. You're not thinking clearly. He's tortured you everyday since we got here. You've got broken bones, infected burns, two swollen and black eyes. You're starved and dehydrated. Those are facts. If Rafael doesn't kill you, the malaria will. And then Rafael will kill me."
"Neither of us is going to die, William."
"You're as crazy as he is."
"You're right. I'm your boss, and you shouldn't argue with me. Jack will be here."
"That's a supposition based on what?"
"Experiential evidence. Jack O'Neill doesn't make idle promises. And he doesn't leave anybody behind."

*****
Doctor Lee used the last few drops of water to moisten Daniel's lips. His fever had soared during the night, and he'd been delirious for the last hour. In a futile effort to keep Daniel warm, Doctor Lee had removed his own sweaty t-shirt and used it as a cover. He was worried that Doctor Jackson would die, frightened that he would be left alone to face Rafael.
After rambling in a language that Doctor Lee couldn't understand, Daniel spoke directly to him.
"William," he said, weakly waving a hand for him to come near. "You do believe me, don't you? Colonel O'Neill will come."
"Of course, he will, Daniel," Doctor Lee said. Their earlier discussion hadn't dissuaded him at all. He still doubted very much that Colonel O'Neill would rescue them, but the man was likely dying. What difference would it make to lie to him now?
"And William," Daniel said, "thank you for looking after me these past few days. You've been a comfort."
"Oh, God, Doctor Jackson," Doctor Lee answered. "You're the bravest man I know."
"I only did what I had to do to keep us both alive. But William, what you said before makes sense. I'm in pretty bad shape. If something does happen and I don't make it, you're going to have to be strong. The Colonel will find you. Don't let me down, William."
"I won't, Doctor Jackson."
"I don't know what I'm saying, William. I can't die. I have too much work back at the office."
"Doctor Jackson."
"It's a joke, William. You really have to get used to my sense of humor. And what happened to calling me Daniel?"
"I'm sorry, Daniel."
"That's better. It will be daylight in a few hours. Try to get some sleep. I'll be as quiet as I can."
Mercifully, Doctor Lee did as he was asked. At first the air was filled with the poor man's sobs; but soon they dissolved into snores, and Daniel was left undisturbed. He'd cheated death before. He could do it again. He just wouldn't close his eyes. And when dawn came, he'd be wide awake to greet the day.
Besides, Jack would be so pissed if he found him dead.
 
*****

By the sounds in the surrounding jungle, it was getting close to daybreak, even though it was still dark. To Daniel's amazement, he wasn't dead. In fact, he had been dreaming that he was safe in his air-conditioned office sorting through artefacts. Jack was there, saying something about there being no place like home and making him laugh. It was good to see Jack and to hear his voice even if it wasn't real.
It was the first pleasant dream he'd had since their capture, and he didn't want to wake up. He lay quietly for a few moments wondering where he was, until his own stench brought it all back to him. It was hard to believe that a body could smell so bad and still contain life. At least the shivering had stopped.
Outside the shack, angry voices rose. There were footsteps running across the ground, the unmistakable sound of weapons moving into position. When the door opened and the sun creeping above the eastern edge of the camp streamed over the threshold, he actually felt a bit better. His fever must have broken. He was even a little hungry.
Doctor Lee grumbled as he was rudely awakened and thrust, shirtless, out into the open. Then there were more voices, and Daniel felt hands hauling him to his feet, dragging him into the middle of the camp. The light hurt his still swollen eyes, and his legs scarcely held him, but he tried to make sense out of what was going on. One of the men was tying Doctor Lee's hands behind his back and pushing him to his knees.
"What's happening?" Daniel demanded.
"It seems your friends have arrived, Doctor Jackson," Rafael informed him.
It was painful to move his eyes, but Daniel looked around. Then he summoned his strength and shouted, "Jack!"
Rafael gave him the back of his hand.
"But they have brought no ransom, only guns."
"Isn't that just too bad," Daniel replied tartly.
"Too bad for you," Rafael retorted. "If your friends do not wish to play by the rules, they can watch you die right here."
Daniel shouted Jack's name again, and Rafael struck him so hard that he fell from the grasp of the two men holding him.
"You will not be alive to welcome them."
"You haven't killed me yet," Daniel answered, trying to push himself up from the ground.
"Because I have not wanted to. Now I want to. But first, you will execute Doctor Lee. Put the poor muchacho out of his misery. Look at him, trembling like a child. You see, he's already wet himself."
"No."
"No?"
Daniel gave him a little smirk, challenging him, taunting him. Oh, he was feeling much better. Jack was out there somewhere watching everything.
"No," he said again, getting to his feet. "As in, no, I don't want to. As in no, I'm not doing that."
"Even now, you are defiant," Rafael spat at him. "Knowing you are about to die – that your friends will die if they come any closer – you continue to resist the inevitable."
"Haven't you figured out yet," Daniel hurled back at him, "that I don't give up easily. I won't give up without a fight."
"You are a fool, Doctor Jackson."
"We'll see. Jack!"

*****

Jack O'Neill heard his name. He thought it was Daniel calling him. It was only Burke.
"Jack," he said, "we've got a problem."
Jack flung himself into wakefulness and, grabbing his weapon, crawled toward the edge of the ridge.
"What the hell," he muttered.
"Rafael's just brought them out," Burke informed him. "Looks like he's going to execute them."
"The hell he is," Jack answered.
"What's your friend doing?" Burke asked.
Jack raised his binoculars. He watched for a few seconds. Then a smile creased his muddied face.
"Forget the plan," he said, pushing himself forward. "We're moving in."
"Jack," said Burke, as he and Miguel followed in Jack's wake, "are you crazy? We'll never get down there in time."
"Oh, yes, we will. Daniel's buying us some time."
"How's he doing that?"
"By doing what he does best."
"And what's that?"
"He's arguing."

*****

Daniel wasn't sure whether his eyes were playing tricks, but he was willing to trust his instincts. Over Rafael's shoulder there was a disturbance in the trees. If it was what – or who – he thought it was, then it was his job to keep the rebels' attention focused on him if there was any hope of getting out of this alive. All he needed was to give Jack a few minutes to get within range. All he had to do was keep talking.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones," he said carelessly. "No, actually, you used your fists to do that, didn't you? You're nothing more than a bully. You pick on the defenseless because you think they won't fight back. Well, you didn't count on us, did you? You didn't think either of us was man enough to stand up to you. You thought that if you tortured me, Doctor Lee would cave. If you beat me often enough, that I'd beg for mercy. Well, I didn't beg for mercy, did I? That pissed you off. And now you want to punish me by making me kill Doctor Lee. I don't think so."
One of the men twirled his fingers beside his head. "El es muy loco."
Daniel laughed. He didn't even know what he was saying, but let them think he was crazy if they wanted to. His strength was beginning to give out, but he knew all eyes were on him. Even Rafael was staring at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"William, hit the dirt now," Daniel ordered, "and play dead."
Doctor Lee did as he was told without hesitation.
Daniel made a lunge for the gun in Rafael's belt just as Jack, Burke, and Miguel entered the camp at a run, firing their weapons at anyone who moved. The two men who had held Daniel fell on top of Doctor Lee, their bullet-ridden bodies protecting him from injury. Closer to the firing line a half a dozen bodies lay in heaps.
Daniel felt the revolver in his grasp, but he wasn't strong enough, and Rafael pushed his hand away, shoving him to the ground again.
"Daniel, stay down!" shouted Jack.
The welcome voice was nearby. Daniel let go of Rafael and flattened, covering up as best he could. A hail of bullets flew past him. Rafael cried out and stumbled but kept his feet. The gun sailed from his hand to within inches of Daniel's reach. Daniel stretched, pulled it toward him, and rolled onto his back. Rafael still came toward him, a knife drawn, blood spouting from a dozen wounds. Daniel pointed and pulled the trigger blindly, hoping that whatever he hit, it wasn't Jack or the two men with him. Rafael crumpled to his knees next to Daniel, the knife poised to strike. Daniel raised the pistol to Rafael's forehead and pulled the trigger once more. With a stunned look, Rafael fell to one side, dead.

*****

Hearing Doctor Lee's frightened gasps, Daniel dragged himself away from Rafael's body. He tried to push the dead men off of Doctor Lee, but his strength had run its course.
"Jack," he called out. "Jack, help me."
He put his hand on Doctor Lee's shoulder.
"It's all right, William. Colonel O'Neill's here. I told you he'd come."
"It's okay, Daniel," he heard Jack said.
Jack pulled one of the bodies from Doctor Lee's legs. Burke removed the other.
"William, look at me," Daniel said.
Slowly, Doctor Lee turned his face toward the always encouraging voice.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you alive again," he said, his eyes filling. "I was so certain."
Daniel smiled wearily. "Sorry, William," he said, passing the canteen Jack handed him to Doctor Lee. "I guess that means you still work for me."
Doctor Lee gulped down a few mouthfuls, then returned the canteen to Daniel. He reached a trembling hand out and touched Daniel's arm. "Thank God. Thank God." He looked up at Colonel O'Neill. "Can we go home now?"
Without a word from Jack, Burke and Miguel helped Doctor Lee to his feet and away from the carnage that surrounded them.
"As for you, Doctor Jackson," Jack murmured.
Daniel remained seated, his legs splayed out to one side, his shoulders sagging, his head down. Jack looked at him, seeing for the first time that Burke's description of Rafael's cruelty didn't even begin to scratch the surface. A heavy beard hid a gaunt face, its good looks battered and swollen. Beneath the filthy and torn shirt, Daniel's torso was burned and bruised and bloodied by repeated beatings.
But it was the lost look in Daniel's blue eyes that told of the torment he had been made to endure, torment far worse than physical torture.
Jack took the canteen from Daniel's hand and raised it to the cracked and bleeding mouth.
"Drink," he said.
Daniel drank deeply, greedily, no longer needing to share. He coughed a little and began to tremble.
"Daniel?"
Daniel's left hand moved in a rapid gesture of frustration.
"Jack?"
Quickly, Jack dropped to Daniel's side, gathering his friend into his arms. Daniel buried his face against Jack's shoulder. There was no need for him to be brave now. Jack was with him. It was safe for him to let go.
"I told William you'd come for us," he said, when he could breathe again. "But God, Jack, what took you so long?"
"I'm sorry, Daniel. I got here as soon as I could."
"Jack, I was so scared."
"I know."
"I tried to remember everything you taught me."
"You did just fine," Jack reassured him, cradling his head. "You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You kept yourself and Doctor Lee alive. Nobody could have done more. I'm proud of you."
"I'm not sorry he's dead."
"You don't have to be."
"Oh, God, he hurt me, Jack. Everyday we were here, he hurt me, and I'm glad he's dead."
"It's over, Daniel," Jack said, hushing him as he rocked him gently in his arms. "I'm here. You're safe now. He can't hurt you anymore."
"Then why do I feel so ashamed?"
Jack took Daniel by the shoulders and held him at arm's length. "The man was a monster, Daniel. He killed others before this. He would have killed both of you. You know that. Death is the only thing his kind understand. He got what he deserved."
Daniel sighed and leaned back against Jack's shoulder. He knew Jack was right. But he also knew that with the death of Rafael Ramirez and the others, something in him – his innocence? his honor? a part of his soul? – had died, too. He had failed. He had never even tried to find another way