DISCLAIMER: All characters and property of Stargate SG-1 belong to MGM/UA, World Gekko Corp. and Double Secret Productions. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Daniel stared at the little radio in dismay. The connection had been sooo bad, but he was certain ... almost certain ... that Sam had heard him. At least she seemed to have heard the word 'injured'. She'd repeated it, hadn't she? He hoped. At any rate, he hoped she'd heard him. His radio was deader than dead ... where did they get these things anyway? ... and Jack's was in the pit ... probably just as useless as his own. And a whole lot more unreachable. Daniel ran his fingers nervously through his hair. Okay, help's on the way, but Jack needs attention now. How to get down? Too far to jump. Shit, need a rope, or something.
The young archaeologist looked around frantically. Even if there was a rope or a line of some sort in these abandoned ruins, they would have rotted by now. His initial analysis had suggested that the city had been abandoned at least an Earth century ago, if not earlier. The fragility of the structures was evidenced by Jack's fall into the cellar. ... Cellar? Jesus, Daniel! A cellar meant stairs, and probably in the building where he'd seen the sarcophagus. "Hang on, Jack. I'm coming!"
Now this was a fine turn of events. Jack's voice had sounded so odd... Daniel must be in bad shape. Of course, their own situation couldn't be described in glowing terms either. She and Teal'c were being marched north, away from the rest of SG-1. At least she hoped Teal'c was still with the party. She hadn't seen him in quite some time. But she wasn't worried yet. After all, Teal'c could take care of himself. 'Keep telling yourself that, Sam.'
Sam tested the bindings on her wrists for the umpteenth time since the Euloeans had changed their status from guests to prisoners. All because of a stupid little radio, for heaven's sake. If only she'd known, she could've stepped away from the men to talk ... okay, so her psychic hot line wasn't working. Dammit to hell, she was an astrophysicist, not an anthropologist. Daniel would've known ... oh, God, Daniel. Cave-in? Daniel in search of ruins and relics was harder to control than a quantum particle. Holy Hannah, he could be trapped under tons of rock. Visions of gentle, articulate, energetic Daniel silenced forever under a mass of rubble brought tears to her eyes.
Complacent and ineffectual. His years of Jaffa training had been for naught. He, former First Prime of Apophis, had allowed himself to be deceived by images of a heavily damaged temple. Worse, he'd convinced his teammates that the world they were to visit was uninhabited. Now he and Major Carter were prisoners of a people who had been industrious enough to survive a Goa'uld assault. A people who had good reason to hate all things Goa'uld, and no reason to believe them to be other than Goa'uld themselves. And Daniel Jackson lay somewhere to the south, badly injured by Major Carter's report, and he was unable to be of assistance to the young man. Nor, with his hands securely bound behind his back, was he able to be of assistance to Major Carter. If the truth was known, she was so far ahead of his own position, he could barely make her out. All things considered, he was having an unfavorable day.
Daniel moved swiftly from room to room searching for the elusive stairwell to the basement where Jack lay. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It made absolutely no sense. This was the closest building to the pit. The stairwell had to be here, but where? Daniel stared forlornly at the gilded sarcophagus in the center of the front room. His brow furrowed with confusion as he realized, for the first time, the incongruity of the coffin's surroundings. This was no burial chamber, nor was it a temple. To the archaeologist's experienced eye, this had been the entrance hall to a large home. What on earth would a sarc... oh, no, they wouldn't. It wasn't possible, surely. Well, he'd heard of stranger things.
He wasted no time in running his hands over the sarcophagus. If he was right ... there! A hidden release mechanism. Daniel pulled the little lever toward him, praying that the mechanism had not decayed with time, and held his breathe as the lid slid slowly aside. And stopped abruptly. Leaving an opening less than six inches wide. Shining his flashlight into the hole, he was at first ecstatic that this was indeed the stairway he'd been searching for. Then reality struck home. Okay. He needed something to pry the lid with. 'Think, Daniel, think. No time to waste, Jack needs you.' The broken leg alone would be very painful, and Daniel knew there were other injuries to be tended to. Thank God, they all carried a med-kit as standard equipment. Two vials of morphine should be enough to stem the tide of pain until Sam and Teal'c got there.
God, it was dark, so very, very dark, and he hurt so very, very badly. How long had it been? He'd lost track of time after the third day, but Jack suspected that at least a month had passed since that ill-fated mission had resulted in his capture, and imprisonment. So far he'd managed to hold out, told them nothing, but he wasn't sure how long that would last. That last round when they'd slowly snapped his leg in two, had brought him to the brink of confessing ... to anything. But at least as bad, if not worse than the pain, was the total isolation. All his training had revolved around pain to pleasure, pleasure to pain. The latest theories in human behavior suggested this combination was the quickest way to confuse, and control a prisoner. Guess no one had bothered to let them in on the secret.
The long days and nights of no human contact whatsoever made him almost welcome the rounds of interminable torture. He never realized how much one missed the simple act of communicating until it was gone. A short hello to the postman, an inane conversation with the clerk at the PX, a joking moment with his peers, a quiet conversation with his ... wife. God, Sara. He could barely remember her face. And Charlie ... don't go there, Jack.
And those often unnoticed, and unappreciated, moments of touch shared between friends. Unappreciated until they were gone. A slap on the back, a handshake, some moron trying to ruffle a military haircut, an intimate moment with Sara. A toddler's tiny hand ... don't go there, Jack. All gone in the blink of an eye, or a failed mission.
His head ached unmercifully, and his stomach threatened to relieve itself of its meager contents. Food and drink were not exactly plentiful, nor pleasant. Matter of fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had any meal, much less a decent one. In thinking about it, he suddenly became aware that the pain in his belly probably had as much to do with the drugs ... Jack positively spat with anger at the thought ... as it did anything else. The needle shoved forcibly into his veins, imparting its poison, was something he never wanted to experience again. No, they'd catch hell before he let them near him with another needle.