Stories for a Rainy Day:
 
Countdown
 
 
by Travelling One
http://www.travellingone.com/
 
With wakefulness comes understanding, with clarity of mind comes clarity of perception, vision, and a new sense of self dawning whole. With the fogginess clearing from his thoughts and bringing that wakefulness, realizing those creatures were not crawling all over him after all, clawing at him, that all dreams of confusion and terror dissipate with the relief of knowing fantasy was only mingling temporarily with reality, Daniel's tension loosened minutely for only a moment. Angry creatures receding into sleep history, that increasingly wakeful state was indicating new alarms, new worries, and this time Daniel jerked to full alertness.
 
This wasn't right either.
 
His eyes should be seeing, his body should be blanketed and warm, comfortable, his hands should be free…
 
"Good, you're awake."
 
"Where am…"
 
"You have seven hours to live."
 
As the footsteps moved off and the voice said no more in the artificial darkness of a blindfold, Daniel's heart pounded and the unreality of the moment threatened to sink back into a dream. But this was no dream. He was definitely awake this time.
 
"Who…" Daniel had to clear his throat. "Who are you?" Where am I? Like they would tell him. "Why am I here?" the drumming in his chest was all that broke the stillness.
 
There were no sounds, and if anyone had heard his words they were not about to waste their time in conversation.
 
Daniel's hypertense mind swiftly dug around its predicament to come up with some answers, some rationalization, some recollection of what had happened. But he remembered nothing. All he knew was that this was Earth, he had been driving home, had stopped at a donut shop for a coffee… and … and … and then what? He'd jumpstarted someone's car. And then he'd left for home and woken up here.
 
But he couldn't even remember pulling out of the parking lot.
 
And for some reason… he had only seven more hours to live.
 
"What do you want from me?" He tried again, with a concerted effort to control the panic. These were humans, they spoke English, they could be reasoned with. He had at least seven hours to convince them not to kill him.
 
Or whatever they had planned.
 
That, of course, was if they were even in the room.
 
The silence was both reassuring and distressing. If he was alone he couldn't be hurt. If he was alone, he couldn't talk himself out of this, either.
 
Relinquishing his tentative hold on perceived opportunity, Daniel worked on figuring out his exact predicament. Blindfold tight, hands tied behind him, legs free but something else was holding him down. Something he hadn't felt upon awakening, but now realized it was loosely connecting his belt loops to the wall. He could lie down, he could sit up, and that was the extent of his mobility.
 
"Is anyone here?"
 
Shit.
 
They were human. He could talk to them. Eventually. They'd come in at some point, wouldn't they? In seven hours, to kill him? Or what?
 
Then again, some humans are harder to reason with than many aliens.
 
Daniel had no idea how long he'd been wherever here was. He had no reason for his lapse of consciousness, either, for that matter. It had been close to 5 p.m. when he'd stopped for coffee and taken it out to his car; 5:15 when he'd replaced the cables into his trunk.
 
"What time is it?" Maybe they'd answer a neutral question.
 
But there was no answer, and the silence grew more intense on rattled nerves. Daniel had no sense of time passing, just knew he was growing numb and tremulous.
 
Attempting to calm his breathing and relax his heart, Daniel tried to meditate. He'd been in worse situations. Just, not on Earth.
 
Muffled footsteps grew louder; there were apparently stairs outside this room. A door opened. The footsteps did not bother resuming, although it sounded as though the head attached to the body poked itself inside. "You have six hours to live."
 
Daniel heard the door close this time, and the steps retreat until they had faded away.
 
_____
 
This made no sense.
 
Why would someone be doing this? Did they even know who he was? Did they want money? Revenge? Anything? This made no sense, no sense, no sense.
 
Daniel shifted, the floor feeling more uncomfortable as his mind tried to accept the fact that this was home for the next few hours. Now was not the time for his body and mind to be playing tricks, focussing on its discomfort, that proverbial itch just when one can't scratch it. He shifted again, as far as the belt straps would allow, and began to soothe his thoughts. Stay calm. Relax. Keep the heart rate down. Shock would not do him any good any time soon. Funny how adrenaline always kept him moving offworld, concentrating, thinking. But so did trust and loyalty. There were no teammates here to lend a hand. And there would be no teammates any time before the next six hours were up. They had all gone straight home for the night. Well, not Teal'c, who rarely left the base and never on his own.
 
Daniel shifted again.
 
He was hungry, and thirsty. He'd eaten hours ago, and as far as he knew, hadn't even finished that coffee.
 
But he'd be damned if he was just going to sit here and play invisible.
 
His feet were free, and he could make noise - a little, anyway. Banging the floor was awkward in this seated position, but if he kept at it long enough someone might come up to at least tell him to shut up.
 
So he banged until his legs ached, shouted until he knew they were just ignoring him or gone. Useless, stupid idea. Those people either had the patience of dormant flowers, or were deaf.
 
And he was just making himself thirstier.
 
Daniel leaned his head back against the wall and sighed.
 
Shifting again, he lay down on his side this time, his back to the wall to ease the tension in the straps.
 
Heavy footsteps shuffled up the stairs and stopped at the landing. Daniel pulled himself into a sitting position. He'd be ready this time; please, please give me some answers.
 
Moments later the door opened.
 
"What time is it? Can I get some water? I need to stand. Tell me what you want from me!" Daniel was quicker than they were; he got his words in.
 
"You have five hours to live."
 
The door shut again, the footsteps faded, and Daniel let out an involuntary cry of frustration. "No!"
 
For the first time, a morale of doubt and defeat slipped into his being, pervading his sense of trust, trickling along his spinal cord to seep through nerve endings, that damp clamminess of panic and fear permeating the false sense of safety. Maybe everything would not turn out all right. Maybe he did really have only five more hours of life.
 
If this was what those five hours were to feel like, they may as well be up already.
 
He listened. The silence in this dark place was complete, only his shifting and restlessness broke the stillness.
 
He looked, and saw only the shadows of his eyelids. Even with his eyes open, there was nothing there. The blindfold was fabric, tight and black.
 
He breathed; the smells were musty but mild; if this was an attic of some sort, the air was not too stale.
 
He touched; the floor behind him was wood, dusty, hadn't been well taken care of. There was roughness in the feel of it, and splinters along the grains.
 
And all this told him absolutely nothing.
 
But it passed the time, if he really wanted the time to pass. Sitting in limbo for eternity was not high on his list of choices, but passing time only to end up dead for some unknown reason at the end of it was even lower. If they were going to kill him, maybe he could at least find out why before they did it.
 
What a comforting compromise, Jackson.
 
He shifted again. Damn the floor was hard on his tailbone, and now his shoulders were protesting the movements. God, he needed to stretch, to stand, to drink something. What a futile exercise in patience, which he was discovering he did not possess much of. And he needed to stop focussing on his discomforts; they were not about to improve.
 
All he could do was wait, and think positive thoughts.
 
Wherever those would come from.
 
The footsteps approached once again, and the door opened.
 
"Please; please. Just let me stretch. Let me have some water." Daniel allowed his voice to plead, a submissive intent based on the theory that humans will lend aid when moved to do so.
 
"You have four hours to live." And the footsteps receded.
 
_____
 
He had no reason to believe there was a threat to be carried out here. They were trying to scare him, and it was working. That was all; if they wanted something, wouldn't they say so? Sure, right, of course. Keep those positive thoughts coming, Jack liked to say.
 
Yet they had gone to all the trouble and secrecy of getting him here. There was some big plan here that no one was feeling inclined to share with him just yet. And why should they, really? It was only his life that was on the line, dammit; other than that, it was none of his business.
 
Daniel lay down again, finding it easier to relax in this position; at least he could stretch his legs out, even though his arms remained uncomfortably draped behind him. The bindings weren't that tight, just unreachable, and made of that unbreakable plastic used by his own team on occasion. No chance of getting free.
 
The dust on the floor had made him testy at first, the sneezes adding to his discomfort and aggravation. Now he had cleared the floor with the constant shuffling; it probably looked positively shiny by now. With other bodily functions aching to be administered to, Daniel was almost happy the request for water had not been obeyed.
 
So, what could be going on here?
 
He'd been on his way home, no mission scheduled for the next three days. He was expected to be at the mountain tomorrow to debrief SG12 on one of the cultures SG1 had encountered recently, SG12's follow-up taking over from the first contact team. But four hours would still come long before his absence was noticed.
 
And so, he'd been on his way home for a good night's sleep. Comforts of home, worries put aside, his team safe for the moment, life had felt good.
 
An early night and nice cup of coffee sure beat the hell out of a hard dusty floor and bindings around one's waist and wrists. God.
 
The last thing he wanted was for his teammates to report for work in the morning and find their tranquility shattered by a teammate missing on their own homeworld. The hardest place to search, it sometimes seemed. Would they ever find out what had happened to him - or why?
 
Nerves were kicking in now, and Daniel felt himself trembling. Despite his attempted self-assurances, those disturbing little thoughts of the seriousness of this situation were tumbling loose in his psyche. He had tried to convince himself for three hours that these guys were bluffing, that soon they would tell him what they wanted and he could dig himself out of this hole. But as the seconds passed in darkness and solitude, only the threat hanging over his head seemed to be gaining in reality and credibility. The sparse facts remained; something was up, they still had not given any clues, and time was running out.
 
Once again, the footsteps sounded and the door opened. This time Daniel remained silent.
 
"You have three more hours to live."
 
And Daniel was left alone again.
 
_____
 
Strange, the choice of events his mind decided to remind him of. In boredom, in fear, in worry, he kept skipping from one to another of his friends, of his life choices. A pleasant and intelligent woman introduced herself to him on Abydos, excited about being offworld, caught up in his own enthusiasm of the potential of gate travel, a woman who came to be one of his closest friends. He could see her face, and she was smiling. Not the face he wouldn't be seeing in the morning, informed of something gone terribly wrong. She'd worry about him, he knew. She'd miss him. Sam was a good friend, always there for him when he needed her to be.
 
Images flitted by, none stopping to explore. Argos, and Jack nearly dying of old age. Why was he remembering that? So long ago, but one of his earliest scares.
 
Since then he'd gotten so used to being scared. Never desensitized to the fear, just better at handling and hiding it.
 
There were artifacts on his desk he hadn't figured out yet; who would work on them if he never returned to the base? He was so close, so close to understanding what they were; would anyone find his notes? He hadn't even written some of it down; the theories were just lingering in his head. They'd never know.
 
He couldn't die. There was too much for him to do, too many things left unsaid.
 
Deliberately aiming to slow his thoughts, Daniel concentrated on one friend at a time. Happy memories were something he could at least send himself on his way with, if that's what it came down to. Always, returning from missions unharmed, the feeling of stepping onto that ramp knowing another mission had been accomplished, a hot meal awaited, a relaxing shower, a night of comforts. The feel of such memories always brought a pleasant aftereffect, a conditioned reflex bringing glory to Pavlov and his theories. Intentionally, Daniel now avoided thinking of those missions that had been accompanied by pain and sorrow. They were unnecessary now, and would not be beneficial to his rapidly sinking sanity.
 
The time ticked on, the silence and darkness lingered, and Daniel enveloped himself in only the memories that could keep him safe.
 
"You have two hours to live."
 
He hadn't even heard the footsteps this time.
 
______
 
Sheer panic was doing its damnedest to overtake him now, and it was winning. If this was some big practical joke, let it be over, please. If they wanted something from him, they weren't letting on. This was pointless, and as such even more terrifying. The last thing Daniel had planned on doing this night was dying.
 
He had planned on a safe, enjoyable, relaxing evening at home. He'd had no clue, no suggestion…. He'd stopped for a coffee, placed it in his cup holder, and responded to a man's request for a jumpstart.
 
So while he busied himself with the task and idle conversation, the man's wife had lingered… doing … something, doing what, doing something behind Daniel's back, his car's hood up and blocking the view… she was…
 
Spiking his coffee? Damn it to hell. God, no.
 
They'd followed him there? Or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time, saving another innocent bystander from going through this in his place?
 
Daniel let forth a whispered cry of indignation, resignation, realization. He'd gotten back in the car, had a few sips, and woken up here.
 
This was professional, this was planned. They were going to kill him.
 
So what was taking so long? What was with the countdown?
 
The door opened.
 
"You have one more hour to live."
 
But this time, the steps hesitated, and the voice spoke once more, curious, humoured, condescending. "How does it feel, knowing your life is pretty well over? All those dreams you had as a kid, all those nights studying to make something of yourself, how does it feel knowing this is what it all comes down to?"
 
"Why are you doing this? At least tell me that." Daniel was aware of the steps moving closer. "I just stopped to help you." Never trust a stranger.
 
"How does it feel knowing that someone you don't even know is going to end your existence? Does it scare you? Do you wonder what comes next?"
 
"I want to…"
 
"How does it feel knowing you'll never have another night out with your friends, that they'll go on without you? How does it feel to be on Death Row?"
 
Daniel's head was spinning through a procession of questions. Death Row? Was he being held responsible for something he didn't even know about? Was this mistaken identity, revenge? Did they have the wrong license plate, or something? "Who do you think I am?"
 
After the chuckle, the answer was blatant. "Tell me, Daniel Jackson. What does "SGC" stand for?"
 
"What?"
 
"SGC. Why all the secrecy?"
 
Daniel's mind was skipping too fast to come up with a bluff. SGC…
 
He felt something at his lips, something cold, small and way too large at the same time. Steel. It was trying to part his lips, but he held his teeth firmly clamped.
 
And still the person prodded, the gun sickeningly cold and hard. "Open your mouth, Daniel. Or tell me what SGC means. I might let you live a while longer."
 
So this was it.
 
"Simulated Geophysical Conditions. It's a working model we use to compare…"
 
The gun poked at his tongue as his teeth shut it out of the way. Not a standard Beretta, or they'd attached a rounder barrel. God, what the hell difference did it make?
 
"Good thing you shut up before you embarrassed yourself further. Stargate Command. Tell me all about the stargate."
 
But Daniel was afraid to move his lips or open his mouth. He was afraid to speak. He knew, now, he had less than an hour to live. He knew why he was going to die, and he knew how.
 
"Tell you what. Tell me what I don't already know and I'll let you live. This is where you get control back, Dr. Jackson. Start at the beginning. Start with Catherine and 1996."
 
Feeling the gun pull away from his lips, Daniel took his final chance. "What do you already know?"
 
"You first. From the beginning, Doctor."
 
Daniel remained silent, his heart racing faster than an Olympic runner, and for the first time he was glad he couldn't see. Glad they couldn't see him, or the fear in his eyes.
 
More so when his chin was grasped and the gun made its way between his lips once again, his dread and terror paralyzing everything that he was. Motionless and praying to whatever powers existed to take him swiftly and without pain, he waited to find out if fear would follow him to another place, or leave him as nothing but a memory in his friends' thoughts.
 
When the gun went off it shattered the formidable silence for the first time in seven hours.
 
_____
 
Sounds penetrate one's dreamworld blending reality with fantasy, then become all too real too suddenly. The heart beats quicker, the senses prep for alert, instinct and survival kick in for the fight or flight response.
 
The pounding at his door did exactly that, as Jack realized the doorbell madly sounding was not the blasting of the klaxons nor the knocking the rapid fire of staff weapons. Opening one eye enough to catch the green glare of his clock, he realized it was still the middle of the night; 3 a.m. was not conducive to feeling awake and damnit hadn't he just gone to sleep three hours ago?
 
Then, realizing that someone he knew might be in trouble, he was suddenly fully awake and flying down the hall while tying the terrycloth belt of his black bathrobe.
 
A cautious peek out the peephole revealed no one.
 
Opening the door with the chainlock still on, Jack saw nothing but a rectangular object lying at his feet.
 
Retrieving it with one hand, he shut the door tightly. A videotape, and a note secured to its underside.
 
'He has thirty minutes to live.'
 
Jack's hand froze. Threats at three o'clock in the morning were something on the sickening side of revelation. Whomever this was referring to had little time left and there was no time for fooling around.
 
With trembling hands and a mind that wouldn't let up on sharing the possible images forthcoming, retaining his emerging anger until he found out what this was all about, Jack slid the tape into his VCR.
 
Oh…
 
Christ, he'd known it. Damn the bastards he'd known it, hadn't wanted to think it but he'd known, damn it to hell. What did they want from him?
 
Daniel was secured to the wall, blindfolded and uncomfortable as he stirred from unconsciousness. As the linguist rolled to his side, comprehension swiftly dawning, Jack heard the voice from somewhere beside the camera.
 
"Good, you're awake."
 
"Where am…" Daniel's small rough voice sounded insecure, confused.
 
"You have seven hours to live."
 
"Who…" Daniel cleared his throat. "Who are you?" Pause. "Why am I here?"
 
"Aw geez." They'd started this seven hours ago? They'd had Daniel from the time he'd left the mountain? That was more than seven hours, that was closer to ten… Why were they just delivering this to him now?
 
This was an eight-hour tape, long play. Jack fast forwarded, watching as Daniel tried to get comfortable in an impossible situation, watched his friend try to make sense of what was happening to him. He saw his friend's lips move, his head turn as though listening, and Jack stopped the forward motion and pressed play.
 
"You have six hours to live."
 
"Fuck you, you bloody bastards." Speak, Daniel. But the man didn't; he knew he was alone in the room. A bare room, devoid of much lighting, enough just for a clear videotaping. The only furniture must be what that camera had been mounted on. A tripod, maybe.
 
He fast forwarded the play, witnessing his friend growing increasingly agitated, uncomfortable, fearful. He watched at regular speed as Daniel began to bang the floor, to call to the powers that held him to come and talk, dared them to show themselves. Watched the exasperation and defeat. Knew the fear.
 
Fast forward. Daniel's lips moved. Jack rewound, listened.
 
"What time is it? Can I get some water? I need to stand. Tell me what you want from me!" Daniel was determined to put an end to his ignorance.
 
"You have five hours to live."
 
The door shut again, the footsteps faded, and Jack felt his friend's despair. "No!" Daniel's frustrated cry stabbed at Jack's heart.
 
"Damn you," he whispered, the finger controlling the remote continuing to act without conscious instruction.
 
"Please; please. Just let me stretch. Let me have some water." Daniel was insistent, and again he was ignored.
 
"You have four hours to live." And the footsteps receded.
 
He sped through three, passed through two. Jack knew the maneuverings of Daniel's psyche in those next few hours; he could read his friend's features even beneath the blindfold. The set of the mouth, the whispered words of denial. Then finally, the sighs turning into a few quickly stifled sobs. Daniel was losing it, the fear of a man waiting to be put to death at the hands of unseen murderers, counting down his last hours in a night of unwanted memories, undeserved abuses of the psyche.
 
What the goddamn hell did they want from him?
 
"Oh Christ." Jack stared in horror, jabbing the play button more forcefully than necessary. There was an arm, a body, in the picture now, cloaked in tarpaulin, and the gun in its hand was prodding at Daniel's lips.
 
"God, Daniel." Jack paled, rigid terror striking upwards through his body and soul. The hand holding the remote was frozen in time, no longer a part of himself, only the heavy breathing indicating that the observer remained aware. "God help him."
 
Then the tape succumbed to grayness and static.
 
Jack lowered his hand, lowered his eyes, felt the numbness in his soul drawing back to the present. He'd got the message. That tape ended half an hour ago, when they'd removed it to have it hand delivered, and Daniel had half an hour left. But they wouldn't have delivered this without reason; surely there would be something Jack could do? What would be the point, otherwise?
 
The phone was ringing, and Jack grabbed at it. The caller was coming in anonymously, number blocked. "Yes?"
 
"I trust you've watched the show. You can save his life."
 
"How?" Jack's body, mind, soul, entire being was taut and tense, geared for action. If nothing more, a barrage of the worst words he had ever made up was trying to break over the barrier he'd erected to keep a façade of control, an attempt to not make things worse for Daniel, if that was one bit possible…
 
"Tell me what a goold is."
 
Goa'uld?
 
"Who are you?"
 
"Time's running out. The half hour countdown started twenty-five minutes ago."
 
"No, don't touch him. Who are you?"
 
"Tell me everything you know about the SGC. Start at the beginning. Talk fast."
 
"I don't know what that is."
 
"The Russians say you do."
 
Crap. Then you already know about it. Then what's this about? What can I tell you, that won't give you more than you already know?
 
"So what's there to tell?"
 
"One minute."
 
"Let me talk to him."
 
"His mouth is occupied. Forty seconds."
 
No. He couldn't do that. His mind was flitting through too many scenarios all at once, and how to save Daniel without compromising the entire program was at the top of the list. If they already knew, then why should Daniel pay for his CO's stupidity and reticence? But if they were bluffing, if the Russians had thrown them a bone but nothing else, he could see the headlines in the morning paper… . And the silence was shattered by the sound of a gunshot and Jack's phone tumbling off the side table and out of his shaking hands.
 
Reaching numbly down to retrieve it, his hands unsteady, acting solely by instinct, his mind too blank and stunned to realize what he was bending down for, Jack found it easier just to sit down on the floor beside the damn thing. His voice came out without his knowledge or will. "What have you done?"
 
"It's too late for Dr. Jackson. But you're next. Do you care more about yourself than your friends? Tell me everything about the SGC that the Russians haven't and I'll call my men off."
 
"If Daniel can die for what he knows or doesn't know, so can I."
 
"You have one minute before I hang up for good and then you can start watching your back."
 
"Go rot in hell. Where's Daniel?"
 
The phone line went dead, and Jack's hand fell hopelessly into his lap.
 
It could have been ten minutes or thirty before the phone began its ugly high-pitched ringing again, but Jack was still sitting on the floor of his living room. Somewhere within he knew he should be taking that tape to the SGC, knew he should be having that call traced. Knew also that those who had engineered this would not have left a trace, would have fled their location right after the shooting, leaving no discernible evidence except perhaps the destroyed body of his best friend.
 
They can't do that.
 
They can't take you from us like that.
 
They can't end your existence that way.
 
How could Daniel have spent his last seven hours going through that? Knowing he was going to die, knowing no one was going to help him… just waiting, waiting, unable to say good bye.
 
"What?" Lifting the receiver, another automatic response.
 
"Colonel? What's going on?"
 
"General?" Jack was urging his mind to focus.
 
"Jack, meet me here at the base in an hour."
 
"Yes sir." Jack never considered that it was four o'clock in the morning, never even wondered about that. Still stunned and in shock, he knew he had to go down there anyway, get that tape analyzed. Get Daniel.
 
_____
 
"Get up."
 
The bindings were being cut from his belt loops. What were they doing? Why hadn't they fired at him? The shot by his ear had scared the daylights out of him and he'd waited blindly for the one that would hurt.
 
Daniel dazedly let himself be guided down the stairs and out into the chilly night air, wrists remaining bound behind him and blindfold readjusted. He felt himself being pushed into the back seat of a car. Doors slammed, the motor started, and off they drove. The car sounded hauntingly like his own.
 
Forty-five minutes later, he was forced into the night. "All you have to do now is wait."
 
Some more? "For what?" By now he was used to being ignored.
 
He heard another car pull up, and sounds of men and machine vanished into the distance.
 
And, now what?
 
Daniel sat back on the cold road, assumed it was a road, the blindfold giving nothing away. The air chilled him, made him shudder again and again. Or that may partly have been the fear releasing itself, sinking away. But what next? Would he be picked up here by someone, taken somewhere else? Or were they coming back for him, after allowing him a moment of final freedom? Was he in the middle of a highway, waiting to be run over, the death threats sill real only not to be carried out by swallowing a bullet?
 
Waiting was a curious thing; blindfolded and handcuffed, he realized that fear was relative. He hadn't been killed - yet - so hope had life in it still. Hopefulness; now that was a feeling he'd run out of so much earlier in the day. But what was he waiting for? He had no idea where he was nor what dangers he still faced. Moving off in either direction, without seeing nor feeling, could get him killed. For all he knew, he could be on the edge of a cliff. But staying put might get him killed too.
 
And so he waited, unmoving, wondering if this was still part of the game.
 
_____
 
Jack slowed down, not comprehending the object in the street. It looked like a person… and his flesh tingled. Any time, any place, they were lying in wait…
 
He hadn't been worried about himself, hadn't thoroughly considered their threat. His mind had been too absorbed with Daniel.
 
But now their words were replaying in his head. You can start watching your back.
 
Pressing down on the gas, Jack's intention was to speed past, swerve around, get the hell away from this spot only one kilometer from Cheyenne Mountain. He would not be ambushed or blown up in the irony they were obviously hoping for, so near and yet so far from the place he'd sworn to protect with his life… and that of his closest friend.
 
But as he neared the mound sitting in the street, Jack's heart swerved in his body at the resemblance, even in the dark, to Daniel… and that was Daniel's car, a few yards off the road.
 
The man was blindfolded.
 
Slamming on his brakes and skidding the last ten feet, Jack jumped from his vehicle. "Daniel?" Before the other man could respond, he was ripping off the blindfold.
 
Daniel was blinking in the car's headlights. "Jack?"
 
Jack grabbed his teammate's bound arm, still wary of a trap, and yanked him up. "Come on, get in." He'd send someone for Daniel's… boobytrapped? car later. Rushing his stunned friend into the front seat, Jack slammed the doors shut and sped off, stopping only after another half a kilometer to connect their seatbelts and remove Daniel's wrist bindings.
 
Finally he took a moment to pause, letting their situation sink in. His breathing had slowed and his head was starting to clear. Taking a long look at the man beside him, Jack finally swallowed his subsiding panic. "You're alive."
 
"Yes… I'm a bit surprised about that too." Daniel's eyes were weary and red, his hair shaggy and the shadows of his cheekbones looking more haunting in the glow of the car's interior light. "Jack? I don't……"
 
Jack couldn't help it, he shifted position and grabbed his friend into a tight hug. "Neither do I."
 
His arms and hands thankfully free for the first time in ten hours, Daniel reached under Jack's shoulders and clutched his friend rigidly. His mind beginning to blank out, Jack's words brought him back, registering in resumed reality.
 
"God, Daniel. I thought you were dead." Jack finally released his teammate, easing back to look profoundly at his friend.
 
"Jack, what the hell is going on?"
 
"I have no idea."
 
Daniel contemplated the man beside him, Jack's dishevelled, relieved look. "How did you know…?"
 
"That they threatened to kill you? They sent me the tape."
 
Tape? Daniel's clueless squint and creased brow informed Jack that the man had no idea what he was talking about. After all, he had been blindfolded. "You were videotaped. For seven hours."
 
Daniel turned to peer out the windshield into the dark night, a cold piercing stare. "Why?"
 
"So I could see your first six and a half hours, then tell them everything I know in five minutes or less. I guess they knew how little I know."
 
Jack could see the questions forming in Daniel's mind, questions his friend wouldn't ask. No, Daniel, I didn't give anything away. I let them kill you instead. He changed the unvoiced subject, before Daniel could break the silence himself with unwanted curiosity. "Hammond wanted to see me. Let's go find out why."
 
_____
 
The general's office seemed smaller, less powerful, without Hammond in it, yet it still commanded an air of supremacy and what might have been intimidation, for less weathered members of the military. Wait for a moment, they'd been told, wait while the general dealt with a minor situation on base. He'd be along asap, make themselves comfortable in his office, as though a general being called away and a colonel being called into work in these early hours was standard practice, nothing out of the ordinary. Well… sometimes. But usually that had to do with a mission. Outside the mountain the sun had not yet begun to rise.
 
Although it did look like Daniel Jackson was taking comfortable one step too far, his head resting in his elbows, his arms crossed on Hammond's desk.
 
"Hey." Jack softly addressed him. "Don't fall asleep just yet."
 
The muffled words didn't sound convincing. "I won't."
 
"You gonna be okay?"
 
"I can still feel the metal on my tongue." Daniel's head remained smothered in his arms. "Have you ever licked tin foil, Jack?"
 
Leaning forward in his chair, O'Neill reached out to touch his friend's hair, rubbing gently. "Yeah."
 
"Colonel, Dr. Jackson."
 
Daniel's head perked up, his eyes trying to blink open and remain that way, as the General acknowledged the two haggard-looking men. "I'm sorry to call you here at this time of morning, but I had an interesting phone call not long ago."
 
Daniel leaned back in his seat, weary, hungry, thirsty, and relieved just to be sitting there. His alternatives recently hadn't been much to cherish. O'Neill slowly leaned backwards himself, wary and serious and not nearly as free of tension as his friend.
 
"From, sir?"
 
"An unidentified caller claiming that the present Administration's plan to prove SG1 untrustworthy backfired." He watched the expressions of both men darken. "Do either of you know what he was referring to?"
 
"Damn him." The tone was subdued, a near whisper. Jack's eyes were narrowed but his face was still and tight, a mask camouflaging its surging hatred. "Kinsey's got someone else involved now?"
 
Daniel had paled and was subconsciously gripping the seat. "They were government people? Hoping I'd break under pressure?"
 
"And me." Jack reassured his friend that the plot hadn't been solely anti-civilian.
 
"Gentlemen, I believe you have a full explanation to offer. In the meantime, I want to assure you that whatever has taken place, you fully thwarted any plans Kinsey or anyone else had made to prove this present command a risk to national security and thereby bringing myself and SG1 to task."
 
"They couldn't do that."
 
"Oh yes they could, Colonel. All it takes is proof of one inside leak to the wrong people. And you know as well as I do that you're as inside as it gets. It's no secret how close your team has become, Jack, a fact that can be used against you to demonstrate a clouding of judgement. So," Hammond continued, getting comfortable in his own chair, "I'm listening."
 
And with Daniel starting at the beginning, the full debriefing began.
 
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