He could hear shouting, that was the first thing that penetrated his sleep-fuddled brain. He groaned as he tried to grab the fast retreating wisps of drowsiness. No matter how much sleep he was allowed, it was never enough. He almost felt a flash of resentment, but thrust it down quickly with a feeling of panic. It didn’t do to feel resentment, or anger, or any negative emotions: they always knew, he didn’t quite know how. All he knew was the result of their knowing, the cuffs, the kicks and the withdrawal of food.

The shouting was getting louder, that and some other sound that he couldn’t immediately place but was familiar somehow. Almost like two musical notes, sounding over and over. And yet not quite music, not music as he dimly remembered it. Not voices that he recognised either, not any of his guards anyway. He ticked them off in his head, just to make sure: Aref, Jinsa, Mefer – no, none of them. And certainly neither Katen nor Ader, he had learned long ago to pick out their voices in any crowd and steel himself for the inevitable misery.

Another clatter of noise, different this time, like small, muffled explosions, though probably deafeningly loud in the confined space of the corridor outside his room. This was starting to add up to something that he didn’t feel comfortable with, and instinct kicked in. He scooted over to the far corner of his room, as far away from the heavy wooden door as he could manage, and curled up on the floor, making himself as small as possible.

And then a voice, virtually right outside his door. A strong voice, not one that he recognised, raised in anger but not shouting, cutting cold and precise across the babble and mayhem in the corridor.

"Bring him over here. Listen and understand, you fucking piece of shit. I know he’s here somewhere, and I’m going to find him. The hard way or the easy way, it’s your choice. Either you tell me or I shoot you now."

It was Katen’s voice this time, silky and disagreeable, making his gut roil in reaction even though his attention was on someone else: "You kill me and you’ll not find him readily."

"Oh, I said nothing about killing you. No, no, far too easy, wouldn’t you say, Teal’c?"

He heard a low, bass rumble of agreement, and then the voice continued, almost pleasantly.

"So where do you think I should start? The knees, maybe? The fleshy part of the leg? The groin? The belly? It takes a long time for someone to bleed to death from a stomach wound if you get the angle of entry just right, and it’s not pleasant. So which would you prefer? Hurry up and decide, time’s a-wasting."

Katen again, mocking: "You? A soft krennal? I doubt it." A change of tone, now unctuous, persuasive. "I could make a deal with you though."

The first voice cut across Katen’s. "Wrong answer. Time’s up." A sharp report and a scream, high pitched and keening, the voice cutting across this too in a tone that was very nearly conversational.

"Okay, how about you? Are you going to be sensible, or do I have to shoot you too? Because I will, and there’s the proof lying at your feet."

Now Jinsa, babbling, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched and thready with panic.

"There! He’s in there. Take him, do what you like, just let me go, master, please? Please let me go, please, I have a wife, I have a family, I’m just an ordinary man, master, a thrall, only a thrall, I do what I'm told--"

"Teal’c."

One word, and the not-quite-musical-note again, and Jinsa’s desperate pleas abruptly stilled. Finally, as he tried to make himself as small as possible, screwing his eyes tight shut in a desperate effort to deny what was happening, the sound of bolts being drawn. The bolts on his door.

"He’s here. We’ve found him."

Oh no, not him. He was nothing, he didn’t matter, he didn’t want to die, not here, not yet: the panicky thoughts scrabbled around in his brain but he stayed motionless and tried to look smaller, despite the way his gut was clenching in fear.

A swish of movement, closer to him than before, and hands reached out to take his arms. He tensed, fighting their attempts to draw his arms away from his face, but he wasn’t strong enough, he had to capitulate. With a feeling of despair, he allowed them to succeed. One hand held his arms carefully as another wriggled between his face and his knees, cupping his chin and gently urging his head up.

What could he do? What would Katen want him to do? He considered his options and came up wanting. Couldn’t decide – he was trapped again. Damned if he didn’t, and most probably damned if he did: same old, same old. The pressure on his chin was gentle but unrelenting, so he allowed his head to be raised even though with a small spurt of miserable defiance, he kept his eyes tight shut.

"Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me."

The voice was soft, compelling, and his mind skittered in panic as he tried to decide what he was supposed to do.

The voice again, even softer this time, pleading. "Please open your eyes. C’mon, please? Open your eyes and look at me."

And finally he did. For better or worse, he had to. Blue eyes and brown eyes met, and locked.

"Jack? Do you recognise me? No, you don’t, do you. I’m Daniel. I’ve come to help you."

He tried hard to understand, but the words didn’t make any sense. He put out his hand. Engrained habit told him it was the right thing to do: the last small corner of his reasoning mind couldn't tell him why.

"I’m pleased to meet you, sir. My name’s Onyel."

His voice sounded slurred and croaky, even to his ears. An expression of pain flitted across the blue eyes, but they held his steadily and the voice remained gentle as the man squatting in front of him folded his hand in a firm, warm grip.

"I’m pleased to meet you too, Onyel. I’m here to help you. Will you come with us please?"

He shook his head. His panic, momentarily stilled by the expression in those intense blue eyes, was starting to rise again.

"Oh no, I can’t, I’m sorry. I can’t do that. Katen would be so mad... I have to stay here. I can’t leave. I'm sorry."

He dipped his head to underline, he hoped, the finality of what he’d said. And then remembered his manners and raised his head to add carefully, "But thank you for asking."

"No, Onyel, you don’t understand. You have to come with us, now."

He was puzzled: why didn’t this stranger understand? He thought he’d made himself clear.

A blonde head poked around the open door and a lighter voice said, "Daniel? We’d better get going. I think reinforcements are on their way."

"Hold on a moment, Sam. I’d rather do this with his consent."

"We might not have that luxury. We have to go now."

The blue eyes sought his out again.

"Ja... Onyel. We really have to go if we’re going to get home in one piece. C’mon, give me your hand. Please. You’re going to be all right. We’ll take care of you. Nobody’s going to hurt you."

"Liar! Liar!" His mind screamed it out, even if he couldn’t muster the courage to say it out loud. Perhaps he could feign unconsciousness, persuade Blue-Eyes to leave him alone that way. He went limp, a dead weight. And then as the hands didn’t cease their urgings, he started to struggle.

"No! No! Leave me alone! I can’t leave, I don’t want to leave!"

"Sam? Teal’c? Can you help me please? Jack, stop struggling, I really don’t want to hurt you."

The woman came fully into the room this time, assessing the situation and shrugging the pack off her shoulders as she did so. Her companion lingered half in and half out of the doorway, staying watchful on their behalf.

"I’ve got morphine. Should keep him quiet enough, but we’ll have to carry him."

"Are you sure it’s okay, Sam? We don’t know what else he might have been given to keep him quiet. He's obviously been given something – you only have to look at him."

"True. But we have to head back to the ‘gate now, before any more arrive, or we might not get out at all. And we’re not going to manage it with him struggling like that. We don’t really have an alternative, unless we zat him, which would probably be worse."

The other man moved fully into the room, speaking for the first time. "Major Carter is correct, Daniel Jackson. We have to move swiftly."

He fought as hard as he could, desperation lending him an unsuspected strength, but his weakness caught up with him in the end. He was no match for the two men who struggled to contain him, and he knew it. He felt the prick of a needle in his arm and started to cry, slow, fat tears of defeat oozing from underneath his closed eyelids even as he despised them and waited for oblivion.

As they made their way back to the ‘gate, Daniel was aware of the sidelong glances he was getting from SG3 and from Sam. The part of his brain that automatically registered such things catalogued their expressions: admiration, speculation, grudging respect and from Sam, worry. Not that he really cared much. Actually, that wasn’t quite true: now that the immediate fear for Jack’s life had subsided, leaching away with it much of the cold fury he had felt for Jack's captors, and they were actually on their way home, he was starting to feel slightly ashamed of himself over the exultation he had felt about getting some small measure of revenge on these people.

No, strike that, he was starting to feel very ashamed. He had actually enjoyed shooting that creep, cutting a bully down to size, getting one back on Jack's behalf, watching the man's oily self-assurance degenerate into abject snivelling. For a brief moment he had had the power of life or death or excruciating pain over another being and it had been a rush. Oh, he could rationalise his actions back at the cells to himself – the need for speed, the overriding imperative to find Jack and get him back again safe and whole, his selfish and fervent desire not to lose another person that he loved: the whole scene the product of adrenaline. But not just that, a sneaky little voice whispered at the back of his thoughts: the rush of feeling such power had been almost orgasmic in its intensity. The thought made him feel hot and cold all over and he would have started to shake if he hadn’t looked at Jack again, used the sight of him to bolster his flagging resolve.

Jack. Lying still and slack, cradled in Teal’c’s arms as they jogged along the corridor. Christ, he looked terrible: too thin, far too thin for his lanky frame. His face was gaunt under the scraggly grey beard where the flesh had fallen away from his cheekbones, his eyes sunken. His skin had a yellowish tinge and was mottled with bruises on the exposed wrists and ankles where the drab coverall he was wearing had ridden up. Daniel thought back to the last night before the fateful mission, pictured Jack fucking him like an angel, hard-bodied and strong. He felt the rage start to bubble up inside him again and welcomed it, hugged it tight to his chest as it boosted his determination and kept him going. Time enough to worry about all the other stuff when they were finally down the ramp in the Gate room.

They were by no means out of the woods quite yet. They were making good time to the ‘gate, but it couldn’t be expected to last. They might have to fight their way out of this eventually. Ahead of him, Major Wade held up his fist in the signal to stop as he reached a turn in the corridor and motioned to Lieutenant Morrison to take the other side. Smoothly the two men moved to round the corner, one high, one low, only to duck back quickly as a sudden burst of weapons fire narrowly missed them.

Daniel cursed in the privacy of his own head, fighting a niggling feeling that by allowing the thought he had pulled the reality down onto their heads, and turned his attention back to the direction from which they’d come. He was starting to feel really antsy now, the small space between his shoulder blades cold and prickling in the expectation of a shot finding its mark out of the darkness at any time.

He scanned the corridor behind him: a swift movement caught his eye, far off in the gloom. He had been right to feel antsy then, and he almost grinned at the thought that apparently something of Jack’s sixth sense for trouble was starting to rub off on him. But the impulse faded as he thought through the implications. They were coming, and now the SGC personnel were trapped. He whistled softly to attract Sam’s attention, a tiny sliver of sound between clenched teeth, and gestured down the corridor. Sam ghosted over to his side.

"What is it?"

"Movement, back there. I think they're onto us."

She peered back and yes, there it was again: a tiny flicker of movement in the shadows. Daniel whispered to her again.

"Did you see that?"

"Yeah. Not many of them I don’t think, or they’d come in more confidently. They must know we’re bottled up here so they’ll be hoping to sneak in close and either snipe at us or catch us in crossfire."

"Which makes us the fish in the barrel. I kinda wish you hadn’t chosen to plant that image in my mind."

She gave a shrug and a closed-mouthed half-smile. "Well, it’s what I’d do if I was in their position." She turned away and whistled softly in her turn, the merest thread of sound, attracting the attention of the next man in the chain. She passed on the information with a series of rapid hand signals, careful to hold her pale palms out of sight of their pursuers, and watched as it was passed along to Major Wade.

"Sam, what if we could manage to turn the tables? They can’t know we’ve made their positions. We’re standing in a lot deeper shadow than they are, and anyway they wouldn’t still be sneaking forward if they did. Maybe we could manage to take them out."

She considered for a moment. "It might work at that, if we’re careful. Hold on while I suggest it to the Major."

Again Daniel had to wait for the silent pantomime to run its course, curbing his impatience to be actually doing something now that the idea was on the table. He saw Sam make a ‘thumbs up’ signal.

"Okay, Daniel, we have a go."

"So how do we go about it?"

Sam considered for a moment, chewing her lip. "Those recesses we passed on either side of the corridor, very nearly at the next light. If we can make it to them before they do and without being seen, we can wait there until they’re on us, take them out when they're least expecting it."

"How, exactly?"

"Depends exactly how many of them there are and how quiet we think we need to be."

Daniel shuddered inside at the implications of ‘being quiet’ - knife work, which he loathed - but suppressed it and said merely, "I’ve been watching while you’ve been chatting with Major Wade." Sam rolled her eyes at the term ‘chatting’, but made no comment. "I think I’ve seen three definite movements: there might be another one, but there’s certainly not many of them. Not surprising, we zatted a fair few on our way to the cells and they can’t possibly have recovered yet."

"Okay then. Once we’re sure that they’re all past us, we shoot them if there’re only three or four – we should be able to manage that easily - and then hightail it back here. Hopefully by the time we’ve done that, SG3 will have cleared the way forward and we can get through to the ‘gate. That sound like a plan?"

"That sounds like a plan to me."

And if we pull it off and manage to stay in one piece, it’ll be a fucking miracle, he added internally. Still, the two of them might just manage to even up the odds a little, buy Jack a better chance. And that was all he was really concerned with right now. But he said nothing out loud, just tightened his grip on the Beretta he was holding, flattened himself against his side of the corridor and started to edge towards the recess.

It was nerve-wracking to be creeping towards danger rather than away from it and Daniel was thoroughly glad when he was able to round the angle of the wall into the pool of deeper shadow that lay there and could squat down to minimise his potential as a target. So far, so good: if he was honest, he was surprised that they had made it this far without being made. But in many ways his position now was far worse in that he had no clue how close the opposition were or what they were now doing as the angle of the wall hid them completely from his sight. Not for the first time he wondered to himself how Jack had functioned for years at this level of adrenaline rush. He seemed to thrive on it: it just made Daniel feel sick.

But thoughts of Jack were good, they reminded him of the absolute necessity of fighting their way through to the ‘gate, and as soon as they could manage it. The number one priority was to get Jack home as quickly as humanly possible and he was quite certain, as he carefully checked that his knife was where it should be, that if he had to kill again to do that, he would. He had rarely encountered an abstract that was worth killing for, but show him something concrete that he cared enough about to protect and he was quite capable of killing. In that at least, in the ability to kill when necessary, he and Jack were more similar than either cared to admit.

Suddenly all hell broke loose at the other end of the corridor as a stun grenade was set off, closely followed by the rapid chatter of automatic fire. This proved to be the enemy’s undoing, as they rushed forward to support their colleagues. Daniel found himself with three of the opposition in his sights and managed to down two of them as the third man whirled and fired off a couple of shots in his general direction. Daniel flung himself to the ground, but was not quite quick enough and felt the sting of an energy bolt grazing his shoulder. He heard Sam opening up from the other side of the corridor as he retained the presence of mind to roll rapidly to his right, hearing another bolt sizzling past his ear and feeling small chips of stone scoring his cheek. Damn, that had been close, and his heart leapt in his chest as he realised just how close. There was a smoking hole in the wall just behind where his head had been a couple of seconds before.

When he cautiously raised his head again, there were three bodies lying in the corridor, two of them unconscious and one moaning feebly. Shit, where was the fourth one? He got his answer as a single shot rang out and the man who had been about to shoot him was spun around by the force of its impact and discharged his weapon wide of its intended mark.

"Thanks, Sam."

She grinned, "No problem," her teeth flashing briefly white in her darkened face before she scanned the gloom to check for any other pursuit. She gave a quick ‘thumbs up’ and they both turned and ran back towards the mayhem at the other end of the corridor. Teal'c was still guarding Jack, his large frame in its full Jaffa body armour shielding the unconscious man from further harm.

He looked up at them as they skidded to a stop beside him and squatted down.

"Were you successful, Major Carter?"

"Yes. Four down and no sign of any others. They're bound to be on their way though. How’s SG3 doing? And how’s the Colonel?" As she spoke, she reached out to check the pulse in the unconscious man’s neck, pulling a worried face as she did so.

"I believe they are prevailing. The return fire is diminishing very rapidly. O’Neill’s condition does not appear changed."

"Sam? What is it?"

She chewed briefly on her bottom lip. "His pulse is very slow – it seems a bit slower than it was before. Damn it," she muttered in an outburst of frustration, twisting around and peering towards the noise of the battle taking place, "what’s taking them so long? There’s no way this bunch of morons should be able to hold off a crack Marine unit for this long." She drummed a tattoo on the stock of her P90 with her fingers, then abruptly reached a decision. "I’m going up ahead, maybe I can help. Keep an eye on him, Daniel. And watch out for more company coming."

"You got it. Be careful..."

But she was gone. Daniel scooted over to take her place: Sam was right, Jack’s pulse did seem to be slowing down even although it still felt quite strong and the rise and fall of his chest seemed to be slowing down too. His mind immediately leapt to the obvious conclusion: the sedative morphine shot they had administered had made things worse, not better. Shit, that was all they needed, to have found Jack alive and then to have hurt him further with the best of intentions. He puffed out a breath and tried to channel his worry into irritation. Sam had been right – what the fuck was taking those idiot jarheads so long?

"Daniel Jackson. They are doing as much as they can and as fast as they can. Major Wade is as determined to get O’Neill home as we are."

Daniel sighed out his next breath and tried to will the tension to ebb away.

"You’re right, of course. It’s just- -"

"I understand. Inaction is always the most difficult task. But SG3 is being both speedy and efficient."

Daniel looked at Teal’c, and realised just how much it was costing the Jaffa not to be a part of the battle to win through to the ‘gate. Wordlessly, he reached out and gave him an awkward pat on the arm. He cocked his head and listened, then jerked his head in the direction Sam had taken.

"Firing’s stopped."

Teal’c rose to his feet in one fluid motion, then bent to gather Jack up again.

"Indeed. It would be as well to be ready to move out as soon as we are instructed to do so."

Daniel scrambled to his feet, and then tightened his grip on his weapon as the sound of running feet floated down the corridor towards them. Lieutenant Morrison appeared out of the gloom at the corner, waving his free arm in a ‘move out’ gesture.

"Go, go, go! The way’s clear to the ‘gate, but I don’t know how long it’s gonna stay that way."

Morrison waited until Teal’c and Daniel moved up to his position, then fell in behind them to guard their rear as they rounded the corner. "Doctor Jackson? The Major wants you to dial us out. We'll provide the necessary covering fire."

"About time," Daniel muttered under his breath, then flushed a little and added, "Sorry," as he realised that Morrison had caught what he’d said. He took off around the corner at a good clip, but soon had to slow up to avoid slipping and almost falling in blood that had been shed. Whose, he had no way of telling. Still, he got to the DHD in good time, making straight for it and beginning to dial out without waiting for the order. Only once he had dialled in the seventh symbol did he stop and look around. Sam had moved forward to send the GDO signal and the others -- were all there. All of them, praise to all the powers that be, although Major Wade was holding his right arm awkwardly.

The wormhole exploded outwards and settled into its watery pattern just as Teal’c came forward with Jack, Morrison still walking backwards, alert for any threat from behind. Jack looked very still. Too still. Daniel moved out to meet them and felt Jack’s neck for a pulse.

"He’s not breathing. Damn it, he’s stopped breathing. Let's go!"

Teal'c surged up to the wormhole, his face grim, Daniel hot on his heels. The trip through the event horizon seemed to take forever before they emerged in the gateroom and raced down the ramp to put Jack on the floor.

It felt like he was wading through quicksand, everything in slow motion, as Daniel watched himself from outside when the training kicked in and he started CPR. Two breaths, fifteen pumps. Two breaths, fifteen pumps. Come on, Jack, don't give up here, don't you dare die on me now.

"Medic! Medic now!" Teal'c's roar cut across the clatter of feet down the ramp.

Two breaths, fifteen pumps. Again. Again. You die on me now, just when I've got you back, I'll kill you – I mean it, I'll kill you for sure, you bastard! Two breaths, fifteen pumps... count them carefully... seven, eight, nine...

Eleven, twelve, thirteen... and at last, Janet's voice, and firm hands moving him out of the way.

"I've got it, Daniel – move back. Gurney! Where the hell's that gurney?"

"Ready? One, two, three, lift..."

"Intubate - - do it now! Move, move!"

"I'm in!"

"Okay, bag him. Major Carter?"

"One ampoule of morphine --"

"He's in A-fib!"

Snatches of orders whirled around Daniel's head, slowly receding and leaving him cast up on the shore in their wake, oddly stranded and purposeless now that his immediate involvement was over. He slumped back, feeling behind himself to find the deck, no thoughts in his head except an insistent mantra: 'C'mon, Jack. You can do it, Jack. You have to do it, Jack, you can't, you mustn't leave me now. C'mon, Jack. You can do it..."

He hardly noticed the approaching medic and paid little attention as he was hustled along to the infirmary, not until he finally arrived and witnessed the flurry of activity around one of the occupied beds. As he passed, the curtain was whisked shut by a grim-faced nurse. For a moment, the rhythm of his internal chant was broken: how long had Jack been down now? For the life of him, he couldn't quantify it; his internal clock was still dragging its feet. He dismissed the thought and went back to willing Jack to pull through.

"Report, Doctor?"

Doctor Fraiser was startled out of writing up her notes when General Hammond appeared by her side at the foot of the bed.

"Three injuries, General. Major Wade's arm is broken, a clean break, fortunately. It's been set and he's resting comfortably. Doctor Jackson received a grazing shot from an energy weapon of some kind and some minor lacerations on his face. His shoulder is burned, though not severely, I'm happy to say. Both of them should be able to cope with a debriefing tomorrow."

Hammond smiled his satisfaction at her prompt and full repsonse. "As usual, Doctor, you have anticipated what I was going to ask you."

His smile faded as he turned his head to look towards the curtained off area where O'Neill lay.

"And the Colonel?"

The doctor's voice hardened appreciably as she replied.

“He’s recovering from the cardiac arrest, which was caused by the administration of morphine. Neither Major Carter nor Doctor Jackson could have known it would cause that reaction. He is currently breathing independently, but his lungs have been damaged so we have him on additional oxygen. I won’t be able to assess his neurological state until he regains consciousness.”

She paused briefly to gather her thoughts and when she continued, the anger in her voice was unmistakeable.

"Somebody’s really done a number on him, that’s for sure. He’s suffering from malnutrition with deficiencies in vitamins C and K - he hasn't had an anywhere near adequate diet since he disappeared. He’s obviously lost a lot of weight and suffered some atrophy as his body’s metabolised some of its muscle tissue to fend off starvation."

"What are the implications of that?"

"Long-term, General? Nothing that can’t be put right with a couple of shots, a monitored diet program and some intensive physical therapy. We should have him bulked up to his fighting weight within a few weeks. Short term, his resistance to infection is bound to be abnormally low. But with care, we should be able to circumvent that.

"Physically, apart from the malnutrition, he has extensive bruising, particularly to his kidneys, but his immune system seems to be functioning well since the damage is healing. No broken bones apart from two cracked ribs, probably caused by Daniel's CPR – whoever’s been beating him on a regular basis has been an expert at causing maximum discomfort without lasting damage. The bruising is fairly extensive due to the vitamin K deficiency.

"He’s apparently also been drugged on a regular basis with a preparation similar to one of the benzodiazepines. Similar but not identical to Halcion. Had it been identical, I could have been fairly confident in my prognosis. As it is..." Janet trailed off and shrugged ruefully. "I really can’t say at this time, sir. Halcion is a dependency-forming drug and a tapered dose regimen is the recommended way of reducing dependency, so I’m assuming that the same strategy will work for whatever it is that the Colonel has been having administered to him. The best I can think of to do is to try and stem any withdrawal by substituting Halcion for whatever it was in the hope that it works in much the same way, and then wean him off that in the usual way. Even if that works, I can’t predict whether or not there will be any long-term effects. We’re still working on it though, to see if we can’t come up with a more positive strategy."

Hammond sighed. "I’m sure you are, Doctor. I have every confidence in you and the entire medical team."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Daniel was standing at the foot of Jack’s infirmary bed, his arms hugged across his chest, when Janet returned to check on her patient. He looked up as she came in and acknowledged her with a small half smile before his attention switched back to the man lying on the bed.

"You've taken him off the ventilator. When did that happen?"

Janet opened her mouth to give Daniel the standard spiel about being up and about so soon but then took pity on him and answered straightforwardly, "About an hour ago, when you were getting the second part of your physical. After which you were told to rest, as I recall. Not much point in coming to your friendly neighbourhood doctors for treatment if you refuse to follow their advice."

Daniel didn't show much sign of having heard her.

"We did this to him, didn't we?"

She didn't pretend to misunderstand. "You couldn't have known, Daniel."

"Uh, actually, I did. I guessed, anyway – I knew he’d been drugged up with something. What was it, by the way?"

"One of the benzos, but with a twist."

"Like I said, I knew there was something. And what we did... just made it worse. I nearly killed him. Maybe I have killed him in most of the ways that count." His mouth twisted on the words, as though they had unpleasant taste. "I just couldn’t bring myself to quieten him down any other way. I couldn’t bring myself to hit him."

Janet tried to offer what comfort she could. "It may not seem like it right now, but you and Sam made a good call, Daniel. Hitting him hard enough to knock him out would have been equally bad, if not worse. You could have started a fatal bleed in his brain, his vitamin K level is so low. That’s what’s making the bruising look so bad. And when you look at the marks you and Teal’c have left on his arms when you were trying to restrain him... I know you both would have been as gentle as possible, but the bruising is very extensive. It probably wouldn’t have taken much of a blow to be fatal, and it would have been a lot quicker than this. At least this way he had half a chance. And going by previous experience, half a chance to Colonel O’Neill is worth three chances to anyone else."

"You think he’ll recover then?"

"He should recover consciousness, yes. When, I can't say."

"But?" Daniel gave her a sharp glance as she opened her mouth to speak and added, "Don't try to snow me, Janet. I heard a definite 'but' there."

Janet took a breath to give the usual easy assurances, then really looked at Daniel’s face and thought better of it. If she didn't tell him, he'd soon enough work it out on his own, if he hadn't already. With obvious reluctance, she said gently, "We have to consider the possibility of brain damage due to oxygen deprivation. He was down for quite a long time."

"I figured as much. Tell me honestly, what are his chances?"

"Of brain damage? At the moment, and until he regains consciousness and I can do a proper assessment, I can't say better than fifty-fifty. Maybe a bit less."

Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose over the top of his glasses frames and puffed out a breath. "So I guess we just have to wait then."

"That's all we can do."

For the first time in a long time he felt good. Comfortable. Warm and floating, wrapped in darkness. So warm, so beautifully warm: such a change to be warm, to be able to enjoy the darkness, no bright lights shining anywhere, none at all, just blessed, blessed dimness and warmth. He stretched slightly and sighed, luxuriating in the feeling of sleep stealing up on him, then tried to curl onto his side, pillowing his cheek on his palm. For some reason he couldn't do it: a small part of his mind tried to work out why, and he sighed again as something tugged at the edges of memory. But he was too warm and comfortable to bother thinking about it; it would keep ‘til morning. Or what passed for morning in this place. He was tired and warm and comfortable, and thinking was an effort at the best of times. He let it slide and followed it over the edge.

Consciousness, when it returned properly, returned abruptly. Something wasn't right; he felt it deep in his bones. Then he realised what had unsettled him: he'd had a dream. First one in how long? A long time, anyway, so long that he'd nearly forgotten how real they could seem. He almost laughed out loud with the sheer pleasure of knowing that he'd been asleep long enough to dream but out of long habit checked himself, just in case. He schooled himself to stay still and assess his situation, waiting until the initial panic subsided before cracking open his eyes a fraction, peering out from under lowered lids.

He had no idea where he was. Not in his room anyway, the lighting was too dim and the noises weren't right. The panic surged up again and he had to force it down as he wondered what Katen had planned for him this time. No, better not go there: experience had taught him that the anticipation was often just as bad as the reality. Not often worse though, just equally bad and essentially pointless. What was going to happen, would happen, whether he worried about it in advance or not. There was nothing he could do about that. He closed his eyes again and concentrated on slowing down his heartbeat.

Eventually it worked. The next decision was whether to open his eyes again or not: did he really want to know where he was? Not really, part of him thought wearily, it really made little difference one way or another: pain was pain, no matter where it was inflicted, and he was fairly sure that pain was going to figure in his immediate future yet again. But another part of him, the unruly part that even Katen had never quite been able to subdue, insisted on knowing. He took a deep breath and winced when his chest hurt but opened his eyes a fraction.

He definitely wasn't in his room. He was lying on a bed – a comfortable one at that, when he stopped to consider it. But he didn't feel comfortable, not entirely: he was hooked up to some sort of tube arrangement which made his arm itch, his throat was sore and his chest hurt like a son of a bitch. He had another flare of panic when he realised that he was hooked up to another tube, this one going to his groin, and the bile rose in his throat as he considered the implications. He'd been threatened with gelding more than once in the early days, on the principle that it worked in making beasts of burden more tractable. Maybe this time...

He experienced a few bad moments of sweating weakness before he plucked up the courage to explore his groin with his unencumbered hand, and the relief at finding that he was still a man almost prompted tears. Almost, but not quite, as a new wave of fear thudded into him when he realised he wasn't alone. A hand dropped onto his arm, stilling the movement of his hand, moving it away gently, and a voice said, "Be careful Jack. Lie still, you don't want to pull out the catheter. I'll call Janet."

He did as he was told. The voice was vaguely familiar, and he closed his eyes again, listening to the sound rather than the words, trying to place it as it spoke rapidly and one sidedly to someone outside the room. Summoning them apparently, because the door opened very shortly thereafter and he heard the sound of shoes clicking across a hard floor.

He kept his eyes shut. He really didn't want to see the faces of his new tormentors until he had to, and the absurd hope was still there that if he behaved, nothing too bad would happen this time and he might yet escape comparatively unscathed.

"He's conscious, Janet – his eyes were open anyway – but he seems a bit disorientated."

"That's only to be expected, Daniel."

A woman! That was new; he hadn't seen one of them in the longest time. Hadn't seen much of anybody except Katen and his bullyboys. Maybe this one was a new recruit, some fresh blood to the business of making life miserable. He'd heard somewhere that women could be spectacularly cruel... He tensed as the footsteps moved closer until their owner was standing right beside him.

"Colonel O'Neill? Jack? Can you hear me?"

Small, cool hands touched his face and he flinched despite himself as his eyelids were pulled up and a bright light shone into each one before they were allowed to drop down again. The hands were gentle though, even if they were firm, and the voice was kindly. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to turn out okay for once.

"Colonel, I know that you're awake. I need to talk to you if I can. Will you open your eyes for me?"

But what if it was a trick? His mind skittered around the problem, trying to find all the angles, trying to work out what he was supposed to do. He was still in an agony of indecision when the other voice, the almost-familiar man's voice, spoke again.

"Let me try. Jack, listen to me. It's Daniel, remember me? You're home and you're safe now. Please open your eyes?"

'Home'? Now he was sure it was a trick. The only place he knew was his room, and he quite obviously wasn't there. And these bozos couldn't even get his name right, why was that? He was Onyel. If they were trying to get him to answer to the wrong name they must be trying to trick him. A new angle presented itself as he suddenly realised just why the man's voice was familiar. Daniel. So it hadn't been a dream then. He really had been taken away and this was definitely a trick. Not that the realisation helped him any: he still had no idea what he was expected to do, and that was dangerous. That meant blows and hunger and pain again most likely, and probably soon. He started to shake.

He felt a hand on him again: a large, warm hand, lying against his cheek for a moment, cradling it gently, stroking it softly before straying up to smooth across his forehead and through his hair, soothing and calming him. He was almost tempted to nuzzle into it when it lingered on his cheek: how long had it been since anyone had touched him like that? He couldn't remember. Wait a minute - what on earth was he thinking of? Damn, they'd nearly caught him out there with this change of tactics, nearly sucked him in. He'd nearly let them see that there was a small corner of his mind that remained his and his alone. He'd have to guard against that.

The woman's voice broke pulled him back to the present, a single word, questioning and warning at the same time.

"Daniel."

"'S okay, Janet. He needs this; trust me, I know."

"I know you know. Just – be careful?"

He opened his eyes in time to catch a quick flash of a wry, gentle smile from the one called Daniel as he answered her, "Always. You know that too." But as he answered, Daniel's eyes remained fixed on his face.

Another puzzle, there was some subtext there he couldn’t quite grasp, some message passing between the two of them that he wasn't privy to, although he felt he should have been. Which was weird, he'd never seen either of them in his life before his abduction. He looked at the expression in those eyes. If he hadn't been so sure this was a trick, he would almost have believed that this one cared. Same with the woman. But he knew better: the Daniel of his not-dream hadn't thought twice about doing something, he wasn't sure quite what, to Katen. Whatever it was, it had sounded painful. Now here he was with his sidekick, acting kind and concerned, and they were passing unspoken messages to each other.

The woman spoke again in a gentle voice laced through with satisfaction. "Good, thank you for opening your eyes, Colonel. It's good to have you back with us again."

He deliberately didn't switch his attention to her as soon as she spoke but slid his eyes over to her face when she leaned over him, gauging her expression: pretty little woman and she looked kind enough. Intelligent too, if he was any judge. He was right to be careful then, right to sense danger. In fact, this was probably even more dangerous than he'd originally thought: these two were subtle. He kept his expression carefully blank. He would hold his peace until he managed to figure out what was expected of him.

"Do you know where you are?"

Scary things, questions, one way or another they always seemed to lead to pain. What did they want him to say? 'No, I have no idea where I am'? 'Yes, you've just told me, I'm home'? Which one was right? Which one was safer? Maybe neither was, same as usual. In which case, silence was no safer either. Suckered again, back in the classic lose/ lose scenario.

"Colonel? Do you know where you are?"

He kept looking at her, but he stayed dumb, giving no sign that he'd heard her. There, there it was again, a silent message passing between them as they glanced at each other across him. He deliberately didn't react yet again, instead using his peripheral vision to keep an eye on both of them as far as he was able.

Whatever the message was, the result was unexpected. He'd half expected a threat, or even more than a threat, but it didn't materialise. Instead, the woman made a small grimace of disappointment and said, "Maybe we're expecting too much here, he hasn't been conscious for very long and he's been through a lot. Try and get some more sleep, Colonel. We can try again when you're more rested. Daniel..."

"I'll stay with him until he goes to sleep. Will you be in your office?"

"I'll wait for you there."

With a small half-smile to him she turned on her heel and moved out of his field of vision. He kept his eyes fixed on the place where she'd been, couldn't follow her with his gaze, not without giving himself away. A short pause, and then he heard her heels clicking on the floor again, and finally the door as it opened and closed. He felt weak with relief at his reprieve – temporary, no doubt, but still a reprieve – as he closed his eyes once more. Now that it had been suggested to him, he did think that he could sleep some more. Or maybe she'd done something to help him along out of his line of sight.

It was only when he was about to float away again that he realised that the hand stroking his hair had not stopped throughout and that the realisation, rather than scaring him as it should have, was oddly comforting. Oh yeah, these two were good...

Janet was replacing the telephone receiver on its cradle as Daniel gave a perfunctory knock prior to entering her office and she looked up with a small smile as he came in and flung himself down into an available chair.

"He went out pretty quickly once you'd left. What did you put into the line?"

"I've started him on a tapered dose regimen to treat his addiction."

"Isn't that a bit soon?" Daniel stopped as he noticed Janet's eyebrows crawling up towards her hairline and gave her a rueful look. "Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to question your medical judgement. I was just concerned. Sorry."

"I should hope not. How come you're such an authority all of a sudden?"

Daniel had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "I, uh, checked some stuff out on the 'net after you mentioned the drug he'd been given. Just before I came through here."

"Well, you should also have checked out what the 'net has to offer about Narcan and its effectiveness in the treatment of opiate overdose. Unfortunately he may well be less receptive to certain painkillers as a side effect of treatment and I want to keep him as comfortable as I can. Plus I don't think that withdrawal symptoms from whatever it is he's been pumped full of would do much to contribute to his general well being at this point, do you?"

Sheepish descended into shame-faced and Daniel sighed gustily, removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose before he looked her in the eye and said quietly, "Touché. Sorry." He looked up at the ceiling as he continued, "I've been so worried, you know? First he was missing for all that time, then when we find him we end up making it worse all round instead of better, and the waiting's not over even yet. I just wanted to do something."

He pulled a wry face and put his glasses back on, then hugged both his arms across his chest, wincing slightly as his singed shoulder pulled.

Janet was immediately all professional concern.

"How are you feeling just now Daniel? Physically, I mean? Is your shoulder giving you a lot of pain?"

"What?" Daniel pulled his attention back to the woman in front of him. "Oh, I'm fine. No, it's not hurting at all really – just sometimes when I forget and overstretch it."

"And when was the last time you ate?"

"I don't really feel like eating right now." Which was true enough even if he neglected to mention that he was still feeling a little nauseous as an after-effect of his earlier adrenaline high despite having thrown up twice already. Bitter experience had taught him that it would wear off in a little while anyway, whether he took steps to alleviate it or not.

"That's not what I asked you. I asked when you ate last. Look, Daniel, I know what a strain this has been on you, but it doesn't do anyone any good if you let yourself get run down. Go and get something to eat and try and rest for a couple of hours. The Colonel will be out for that long at least."

Daniel went to protest, but she forestalled him. "Doctor's orders, Daniel. While you're away, I've arranged for him to have an MRI so I can get the scan done while he's sleeping. No point in stressing him out even further by having to immobilise him for the procedure. After, oh, three hours or so you can come back: I should have the results by then. In view of your... close friendship with the Colonel, I think you might be kept fully informed about his treatment, regardless of what the conventions say."

Daniel shot her a sharp look. "Why do I get the feeling that my return later is dependent on my capitulation now?"

The fight went out of Daniel all at once as the tension broke; in other circumstances he might have laughed as he held his hands up in mock-surrender. "Okay, I'm going, I'm going. But I'll be back – three hours, you said?"

"That should about do it."

It was a long three hours, despite the fact that he found that he was hungry after all when he finally got to the mess hall: he didn't taste much of his selection though, this was strictly a refuelling stop. One meal of indeterminate derivation and two or three mugs of coffee later and he found himself staring obsessively at the clock as its hands crawled around, unwilling to believe that he still had almost two hours to go.

Which gave him plenty of time to – what? Hang about here in the mess hall? Not much to hold his attention here. Go down to his office and try and do some work? That was a total waste of time; he had the attention span of a goldfish right at this moment, and probably roughly the same mental capability to boot. Sit some more and watch the clock go around? He certainly couldn't stand another couple of hours of that, his teeth were starting to ache with the combination of boredom and tension already. Review the rescue mission? The way he'd acted there probably wouldn't bear too much introspection and he knew it.

Once his mind had gone there, he couldn't help himself, try as he might. He played and replayed events over in his mind, up to and including the moment when he'd pulled the trigger of his gun, shot that poor bastard in the leg, remembered the moment, the very last moment, when he'd pulled the gun away from its originally intended target. Right up until the very last second he'd intended to shoot him in the groin, had ached with the need to fix him and fix him but good, spite, anger and the lust for revenge urging him on. He was still uncertain what exactly had stopped him, but he was grateful that it had. Not that it made much difference, the man was probably long dead, bled out from the wound he'd inflicted: when SGs 1 and 3 had swept through, they'd left next to no one compos mentis enough to help him.

Part of him could deal with the man's death, it really could. He'd known for a long time what he was capable of, how easy it was to dismiss taking lives, how easy it was not to dwell on the fact that his growing friendship with Teal'c had shown him, that 'the enemy' had lives and families, hopes and dreams, were really quite normal in every respect apart from the fact that they happened to have taken the 'wrong' side either through choice or force of circumstance. Furthermore, when all was said and done, his instincts for self-preservation were just as strong as the next man's.

But this – this was different. Dirty. This was cruelty, deliberate and exploitive, worse than that it was actual torture, no matter if there was a school of thought that would call it pragmatism, or maybe even justice. The man had been screaming, thin and high, his mouth stretched nearly square in disbelief and pain, clutching his leg, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. And he had felt nothing but grim satisfaction and elation at his new-found power to extort information from the other guy.

The moment and his reaction to it were etched on his mind. Graphic. Horrifying. To find that he was capable of aping exactly what he'd thought he was fighting against was a shock. No matter how he tried to think his way around the problem, he couldn't get past this, couldn't rationalise the taking of this life, the manner of the taking. Even worse, it might yet prove to be all for nothing: if Jack didn't recover, his only slight justification for his actions would be rendered null and void. Although, he thought in a moment of searing honesty, even that small justification was just another attempt to avoid the simple truth: he'd enjoyed it, he'd enjoyed briefly being top dog, holding all the cards.

He looked around the mess hall with its harsh lighting and institutional furniture and wondered yet again at the circumstances that had brought him to this point and kept him here. Nothing of beauty, certainly: the base was as ugly and utilitarian as anything he'd seen, on world or off, both in its décor and in the attitudes it fostered. And those attitudes sucked you in, boy did they ever, the more so in the absence of any counterpoint to them. Nothing of the wider world here, not even light or air; just miles of drab corridors and drabber quarters, a place to make hard-bitten men even more callous. A dark place that fostered darkness, removed from most of the things that made life worthwhile even as it fought to protect them.

Apart, that is, from Jack. It always came down to Jack. But even that relationship was a double-edged sword, and this time it had twisted in his hand and cut him to the bone. If it wasn't for Jack he wouldn't be here still, not since Sha're had died. Jack had kept him on an even keel after that, all the more so once they had moved from friendship to their current status. And it went both ways, he was sure: Jack relied on him as well, one certainty in an inherently chaotic environment. But it was precisely that relationship that had precipitated today's events, had tinged Daniel's approach to the rescue mission with enough desperation to incline him to do what he had done. More than ever Daniel wished that Jack were sitting here with him, missed the warmth that he generated, missed their usual post-mission routine. A discussion, sometimes even an all-out fight about the rights and wrongs of what they had done until they both had their perspective sorted out, and often home eventually together to make love and find comfort in the loving. Intolerable to think that might not happen again.

He shuddered and pulled himself back to the present to look again at the clock. Five minutes to go until his deadline was reached; he'd better move. He went to drain his coffee mug, thinking better of it as the import of the clock's message penetrated: it had been sitting here alongside his elbow for a couple of hours: it was stone cold. He got up and headed for the Infirmary and Jack.

When he got there, Janet was waiting for him.

"Daniel, I knew you'd be punctual. Take a seat."

"What's the news? Have you got the results yet?"

"Yes I have, and as far as I can see, they're encouraging. No physical signs of damage."

Daniel sagged back against the chair he was sitting in. One less worry anyway, although there were several more standing in line to take its place.

"However, we are still left with a couple of problems. How exactly did the Colonel seem when you found him?"

"Confused. He didn't know who we were. And frightened because of that. That's what gave me the clue that he'd been drugged. That must be the benzos, right? Didn't I read on the site I was looking at that one of the side effects can be amnesia?"

"Anterograde amnesia, yes. The Colonel seems, from what you've said, to have retrograde amnesia."

"The significance being?"

"I don't know. It's unexpected. But I wanted to let you know that I've decided to keep him under light sedation for now to try and alleviate any withdrawal symptoms as far as I can, at least until he's stronger. So there really is no point in you hanging around here and further defying your doctor's medical order to get some rest."

"But..."

"No, Daniel. Rest. Either with a shot or without, your call. And do I need to call a couple of SFs to escort you to your quarters?"

It was a well-worn sally, but as usual it acted as the signal that this time Janet evidently meant what she said. "No. I'm out of here."

"Good. Come back in the morning and I'll check you over and give you a progress report. But not before ten hundred hours, and not even then without a decent breakfast inside you."

"Okay, people, we still have no idea at all exactly why Colonel O'Neill was taken?" General Hammond's gaze swept around the table, alighting at last on Sam.

Sam shook her head. "None at all, sir, we can only speculate – we didn't hang around long enough when we went back to actually ask many questions. At least, not questions about their motivation."

There were a few grins around the table at that and Daniel was aware of a few sidelong glances in his direction.

He sat quietly, letting the debriefing wash over him. He had taken little or no part in the proceedings, leaving the dissection of the two teams' tactics to the military personnel assembled around the table, merely tersely confirming his role in the operation at various points. He'd hardly said a word since he'd entered the room, except to enquire after Major Wade's state of health and to reply "Fine, I'm fine," out of deeply engrained habit to any and all enquiries about his own state. Instead he sat silently in his usual chair, painfully aware of the empty chair next to him, which by tacit consent everybody else had avoided sitting in. He was oddly grateful for that even though it hurt him to be reminded that its rightful tenant might never reclaim it.

Strangely, he did feel better than expected today. Against all the odds, he'd had a long and dreamless sleep when he'd gone back to his quarters and finally turned in, although he harboured no illusions about his subconscious' ability to bite him in the ass more than once about his actions yesterday. Once his conscience had finished with him, that was.

The General was speaking again. "Well then, SG3, I guess that just about wraps up your contribution. I expect your final reports on my desk by ten hundred tomorrow. Congratulations on a successful mission, gentlemen. Dismissed. SG1, I'd like you to stay back for the final part of the debriefing. I've asked Doctor Fraiser to join us: I imagine you're all as concerned as I am with the state of Colonel O'Neill's health at the moment, and it will probably prove to be less stressful all round for the medical staff if she makes her report to us all."

SG3 stood up and filed out. Daniel took the opportunity to head to the coffee machine for a refill, only peripherally aware of Sam doing the same thing. When she spoke to him he was startled, some of the coffee he'd just poured sloshing out of his mug.

"Hey... oh Daniel, I'm sorry... here," she grabbed a wad of paper towels and swabbed at the coffee on his hand, "let me help you. Are you okay? That coffee's hot."

"No, it's okay Sam. I'm fine."

Sam looked at him sharply. "Are you sure? You've seemed a bit distracted so far."

"Not distracted, Sam – just nothing much to contribute. I leave the military stuff up to you guys, you're better at it than I am."

And that, he reflected bitterly, was no more nor less than the simple truth. None of them, even Sam, seemed to have any problem with coming to terms with what they had done during the mission. But then, he supposed, none of them had done anything at odds with either their inclinations or their training, so it wasn't altogether surprising.

"I wouldn't say that. You do your share. We wouldn't have been in and out again half as quick without your contribution."

Daniel's mind flashed back yet again to his 'contribution' as she continued to talk and he had to suppress a tremor of disgust. Part of him appreciated what she was trying to do, that she was making the effort as a friend, in Jack's absence, to draw him out, reassure him, whatever: the other part ascribed her efforts to her being the unit 2IC, straight military and by the book through and through, and wondered how somebody so close to him could seem quite so alien at the same time. The two parts together just wished she would shut the fuck up regardless of her motivation. He felt ashamed of himself for the thought, but he would talk about it when he was good and ready, and even when that happened he would talk to Jack or not at all.

He got his wish when the briefing room door opened again, Janet came in and General Hammond called the meeting to order again.

"Doctor Fraiser, I've asked SG1 to sit in on your medical report on Colonel O'Neill in order to save you some time – better that you only have to explain the circumstances once rather than four times over."

Janet inclined her head with a smile. "Thank you sir, that makes sense." Then she was all business again. "Essentially, the Colonel's condition is no different from last night. He's resting under light sedation in an attempt to alleviate any short term withdrawal symptoms from the drugs that he's been given while held captive."

"Are you any further forward with identifying the drugs?"

"We think so. We knew yesterday that the preparation was very similar chemically to the benzodiazepines, but there was some other component that we couldn't identify. We still don't know exactly what it is, but we do now have some idea of what it does. It apparently attaches to the synapses between ganglia in a very specific part of the brain, the hippocampus, and effectively blocks the memory pathways between the hippocampus and the neocortex. The net result is retrograde amnesia."

"Like the drug Linea used," said Daniel.

The doctor turned to look at him. "Similar in its effects, but completely dissimilar in its composition," she said. "We can't really use Linea's drug as a point of comparison to help us find a cure, if that's what you're thinking."

Daniel pulled a face and fell silent.

"So the Colonel can't remember anything at all?" This from Sam.

"Again, we're not sure. Colonel O'Neill has only had one brief period of consciousness yesterday evening, during which Daniel and I observed him to be very confused and disorientated."

They all glanced across at Daniel, who nodded his head in confirmation as Janet continued.

"If the amnesia presents as I would normally expect, then the Colonel will be unable to remember anything that has happened in his life up to the point he was taken captive and deliberately addicted to the drug. However, this is an alien drug, designed for alien physiology, and it may not be one hundred per cent effective in blocking human memory pathways. Alternatively, it may of course be even more effective, in which case we have a problem."

"How so?"

"To put it at its simplest, Sir, if all the memory pathways are effectively blocked and the hippocampus is permanently affected, the Colonel will be incapable of remembering anything at all, even in the short term, without constant reminders. Which would make rehabilitation to any degree impossible. However, I suspect from the similarity of chemical composition between this drug and Halcion that it had to be administered on a regular basis, that its effectiveness on alien physiology was not permanent. In other words, its effects could be reversed by cessation of treatment, or possibly more quickly by the administration of an antidote."

Daniel leaned forward to interrupt her. "So we should go back there, see if we can scare an antidote out of them?"

Hammond looked enquiringly at Janet, who shook her head with a small frown.

"I'm not that certain of my facts, sir, I wouldn't like to state categorically that there is an antidote."

"But it would be worth a try, surely, in the absence of any better strategy?"

Hammond shook his head warningly at Daniel, and said heavily, "I'm sorry, Doctor Jackson. The rescue mission was a success in that we retrieved one of our own with minimal casualties. But there were casualties, and I'm not going to risk them being worse. I'm not prepared to sanction a return trip based on speculation. Doctor, you were saying?"

A small voice in the back of Daniel's head, sounding remarkably like Jack's, warned quietly of the advisability of choosing one's battles as he recognised the finality of the General's tone and subsided back into his chair.

"Any amnesia resulting from the addiction might be total or it may only be partial, even in the planet's indigenous population: we simply can't tell from analysis alone what its effects were designed to be. As I've said, we're fairly confident that these effects are reversible in conjunction with alien physiology, but if this mystery component reacts adversely with human physiology we cannot be one hundred per cent sure that all or even any of the Colonel's memories will prove to be recoverable, whether he will recover them spontaneously, or whether he will need professional help. But this is really hypothesising ahead of the facts – we can't make any judgement at all until the Colonel is stable with his current drug regimen and aware."

"And this will be when?"

"I'm sorry Sir, I can only guess at that. He seems to be quite comfortable with the dosages he's receiving, but I would rather he remained sedated until I was sure."

"So, basically, we just have to wait some more and there's not a damn thing we can do except hang around," Daniel said.

Janet shrugged, though not without sympathy. "That's the best I can do for now, Daniel. I'm sorry that I can't be more positive, but..."

Daniel started to protest at this, but thought better of it when he caught another warning look from the General and closed his mouth with a snap as Hammond cut across him.

"We understand, Doctor. You have nothing more to add? You'll keep us all informed of any changes in the Colonel's condition, of course."

"Of course, Sir."

"That wraps it up then, people. SG1, barring emergencies, you're on stand-down for the foreseeable future. Dismissed."

On to part 2

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