I hate jail cells. Modern Earth cells are bad enough, but this is like something from the dark ages. Probably because the inhabitants of N2Y-334 are in the dark ages.

My knee is aching and my butt is cold from sitting on the stone floor and I’m damn tired of waiting for a rescue, but wait I will, because I know it’s coming.

Don’t ask me how Daniel did it, but he somehow convinced these dark age folks that he was the Great King Triceratops, or something like that. When they dragged me in front of him a few hours ago, he slapped me, just hard enough to make it look realistic. And then he leaned close and whispered, for my ears only, “Hang on. I’ll get you out of here.”

Now I’m waiting for my archaeologist to pull off another miracle. I haven’t seen Sam or Teal’c, but presumably they’re in the same shape I am, unless they’ve managed to convince the locals that they’re Princess Brachiosaur and Lord T-Rex.

Metal creaks, and I look up. The door opens and Daniel walks in, escorted by several hulking, silent guards. He’s holding a knife, but the look on his face tells me that everything’s gonna be okay. The sight of the knife brings back bad memories and something in my gut twists, but I force an insouciant expression on my face. Not this time, Jack. This isn’t Ba’al - this is Daniel.

He steps close and leans forward to whisper in my ear, and I wait for the rescue, my body tensed. And then he stabs me.

Blinding pain explodes in my chest and I sag forward, toward him. He pulls the knife out and holds it up to the light, admiring the sight of warm red blood staining cold steel.

“Daniel.” I’m gasping; it’s hard to breathe. I don’t understand. “Daniel, you promised - ”

“I lied,” he says.

And then, just once, his eyes glow.

Cell door clangs shut, coldly, metal on metal. The knife is gone, but I still feel it, ripping, tearing, opening a gash in my flesh and spilling my blood and severing my veins. Pain ... pain ... I know pain.

But pain comes from harsh dark faces spewing Arabic curses and from regal robes and a goatee and acid, not from blue eyes and a sensitive face. Archaeologist, linguist, anthropologist, geek. My friend. He saved my life, dragged me kicking and screaming back from the brink, convinced me I still have something to live for.

Trust. I thought I could ... I thought ...

“Daniel - Daniel, you promised - ”

I was wrong. Can’t trust anyone. No one.

Betrayal burns me like damaged nerves, spills lifeblood, soaks my shirt. My hands are slick and I can’t hold onto the wall and I slide down, leaving a crimson streak ... I fall ...

Blood on my hands. Not the first time.

Soft brown hair, still smelling of shampoo and baseball gloves and childhood. Small body stiff, cold, unmoving ... no, please no ...

This is my blood. Mine. Not Charlie’s.

Daniel walked away. Daniel left me here to die. There’s blood all over the floor and I’m choking and everything’s splintered and I can’t ... I can’t ...

I can’t what?

I should know the word. It’s an easy word, not like abscission or lachrymose, and I remember them. But everything’s hazy and it hurts so much and ... why would Daniel leave me?

Because ... Daniel’s not Daniel. I remember now, glowing eyes, distorted voice saying “I lied”. I didn’t protect him, and he got snaked. My fault, not his. Have to save him. Don’t die, Jack. Don’t die.

Breathe!

I can’t breathe!

Remembering the word doesn’t help because I still can’t breathe and the floor is very hard and I’m dying.

I’m sorry. Sorry. Did you hear me, Daniel? I said ... I said ...

Bright lights. No more pain. Is this Heaven? Charlie should be here.

Charlie?

Panels open over my head and the light fades. Strong arms drag me roughly from the sarcophagus.

Not Heaven. Hell.

I hate knives. Have I ever mentioned that I hate knives? At least there’s no acid this time, but the snakehead knows how to inflict plenty of pain without it.

The bastard doesn’t even press for information. He probably has access to plenty of that, being in Daniel’s head. He doesn’t ask me anything. He just enjoys trying to make me scream.

It takes a while, but he does, eventually. Every human has his breaking point. Guess you know that now, Danny. Sorry you had to see this. I doubt you’ll ever again be so optimistic, even after you’re freed from the snake.

If I ever manage to get you out, that is. Currently, I’m doubting I can get myself out.

After the snake has finished slowly sawing off my fingers, I stare at his face because I can’t bear to look at the mangled wreck of my hands. I search for some sign of Daniel in the blue eyes. I see only hatred, evil.

“Daniel,” I say softly, knowing he hears me, even if he can’t respond. “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

The Goa’uld snarls in anger and plunges the knife into my belly. I writhe and scream as everything drops away.

Next thing I know, I’m surrounded by white lights again. This time I don’t even have to wonder whether I’m in Heaven.

This is one of the things I hate most about the Goa’uld - that there is no escape from them, even in death. They won’t allow a captive any release from the pain, bringing him back repeatedly - destroying small pieces of his soul each time. I know that only too well.

I hate them for many reasons, but right now I think I hate them most for that.

It’s ironic, after all the torture I’ve survived in these last endless days or years, that the pain isn’t even what bothers me most.

Sometimes the snake talks to me in Daniel’s voice, in the same tone Daniel uses when he’s just realized that the natives are descended from the Ancient So-and-so’s, or when he has finished translating hieroglyphics that tell the meaning of life.

Now that bothers me. I know the snake only does it to see my reaction, but I can’t help the flinch that inevitably comes.

Not knowing Sam and Teal’c’s whereabouts bothers me as well. I hold out for a good while before finally breaking down and begging to know their fate. It’s a big mistake to ask, but I have to know.

He tells me, in lurid and sickening details, all the things he did to Carter before he killed her. When he’s done telling me, he laughs.

I would hit him except for the fact that my hands have recently been chopped off. The snake seems to have a weird thing for my hands. They usually end up mutilated in one way or another, if not removed completely.

He says he killed Teal’c too; beat him with a whip and then hung him by his arms in the midday sun until he died from a combination of blood loss and dehydration. He says he didn’t bother to put either one of them in a sarcophagus, because he’s having too much fun with me to worry about them. I don’t believe him. I can’t believe him, because they have to be alive.

A few minutes later I finally bleed to death, which is not nearly as fun and painless as it’s made out to be, and the cycle starts over for the billionth time. I only wish the sarcophagus could erase the memory of my teammates’ fate as completely as it erases any physical evidence of the torture I’ve endured.

The light fades for the millionth time, and I’m dragged from the sarcophagus again, weary in soul if not in body. Piece by piece, I’m being destroyed, losing everything that makes me Jack O’Neill. I lived through this once before; I don’t think I can do it again.

I’m dragged in front of him again, forced to kneel before this sadistic snake hiding behind the face of my friend. It’s ironic - the last time I went through this endless cycle of torture and revival, I begged that face to let me die. I’ve done the same this time, for different reasons.

Please. Let me die. Let me stay dead. Kill me for good ...

Déjà vu in more ways than one.

Out come the knives again. Damn, I hate knives. Forget gun control - when or if I make it back to Earth, I’m starting a knife control campaign. I’ll push to outlaw everything from kitchen knives to pocket knives. Of course, that could cause a slight negative reaction from housewives all over the country.

The snake doesn’t go for my hands this time, choosing instead to carve a deep gash into my left leg. Well, they say variety is the spice of life. When I get out of here, I’m gonna strangle whoever ‘they’ are. Variety isn’t supposed to include getting an up close and personal look at your own shin bone, is it?

I squirm in agony, struggling to suppress a groan, not even sure why I try any more. It isn’t as if he hasn’t already heard me scream.

And then, in an instant, our roles are reversed. The snake’s face - Daniel’s face, I can’t help but think - twists in agony, and he sinks to the floor in front of me. It takes me a moment to realize he has been shot with a zat.

My eyes rise to the doorway, and I can hardly believe what I see.

The cavalry has arrived.

“Good to see you, Teal’c,” I croak, trying to act casual but feeling absurdly close to tears at the sight of his calm face. The mere sight of him, alive, nourishes my damaged soul.

“Indeed, O’Neill.” He crosses to me and removes my restraints. There’s blood all over the floor, some from this session, some from the times before. A muscle jumps in Teal’c’s jaw when he sees it, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Sir!” Carter enters, keeping her P-90 trained on the doorway. “We got Jaffa on our six. We gotta go!” She turns, and her face blanches when she sees my leg. “Oh God ... ”

“Sorry, Major,” I say almost coherently, still not completely certain that this is all real, not some cruel mind game, some new way for my captor to amuse himself. “Don’t think I’ll be running any time soon.”

“Damn it.” She reaches my side and takes off her pack, pulling out a jumble of medical supplies while Teal’c watches the door. “We’ll have to put on a tourniquet to keep him from bleeding out. Sir, do you think you can walk if I support you?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I say, trying to be optimistic.

“Okay, good.” She finishes with the tourniquet and helps me to my feet, which hurts like hell, but I’m not complaining. Teal’c has put the restraints on Daniel and is lifting him now, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

I’m not entirely sure how far we are from the Stargate, because after being killed the first time, I was transported to the ancient Goa’uld temple standing several clicks away from the dingy village.

I couldn’t save Daniel, but I should have known my team wouldn’t give up on us. I don’t even know how they escaped or whether they were ever captured, but there will be plenty of time to ask them.

If we get out of here alive ...

It won’t be hard to track us.

Despite Carter’s nifty tourniquet, I’m leaving a nice trail of bloody footprints to follow. Not that I have the energy to worry about that - at the moment, I’m focusing on staying conscious and not screaming every time I put weight on my left leg.

When we first arrived on this Godforsaken planet, Daniel said that the Goa’uld temple had been abandoned for centuries. That the local people had been forgotten by their ‘god’. Evidently, he was wrong. I’ll never mention it to him; he’s suffered enough for it. I know how it feels to have one of those damn snakes chewing through your flesh, but at least I never had to helplessly view the torture and repeated death of one of my best friends through my own eyes.

If we ever get Daniel out of here and free of that SOB, he’ll have a lot of crap to deal with. Then again, so will I, but I’ll deal with it differently than he will - by placing it into a little box, padlocking the lid, and shoving it back to join the hundreds of other boxes. After that I can only hope the lid never pops open.

We’ve been walking forever through a maze of gold-walled corridors when an explosion rocks the building, followed by another and another. Carter glances at Teal’c and smiles. “That should keep them busy for a while,” she comments with a smug note in her voice.

And then suddenly we round a corner and there in front of us is a doorway, is sunlight, is endless rolling green hills dotted with trees.

When we step out into the cool, humid air, I stop for a minute, not so much because of the pain, but because I want to close my eyes and take a few slow, deep breaths.

If I’m honest with myself, deep down inside I never expected to breathe fresh air again.

I’m oblivious, my body moving on autopilot, during much of the trek to the ‘gate. Merciful, probably, judging from the few lucid moments I experience. I’m weak from loss of blood and confused from prolonged sarcophagus exposure, and my leg seems to be attempting to detach itself from my body.

At some point, the snake awakens and begins shouting vile curses in Daniel’s voice. When that fails to get a response, he decides to taunt me by presenting a description of everything he did to me, beginning with a rather graphic finger-by-finger account.

Teal’c hits him, hard, knocking him unconscious.

“That was Daniel you just hit, T,” I point out practically.

Teal’c’s face remains stoic as he tosses Daniel’s now-limp form back over his shoulder. “The Goa’uld was annoying me, O’Neill,” he replies calmly.

Have I mentioned lately how much I like Teal’c?

When we come within sight of the ‘gate, I keep waiting for something to go wrong, for a whole honkin’ army of Jaffa to storm out of the trees. Carter dials home and sends her GDO address, and I lean against Teal’c while resignedly awaiting the last-moment defeat that will surely come.

It doesn’t. Whaddaya know.

Teal’c goes through first, hauling Daniel, and then Carter practically drags me into the event horizon. There’s an instant of shocking, stinging iciness, and then I stumble out the other side and do a face-plant into the ‘gate ramp. Not my most distinguished arrival, I must admit.

“Medical team! We need a medical team!” Carter and Teal’c are shouting in unison. Their voices are at opposite ends of the scale, so it sounds ... interesting.

I’m here. I’m okay. I made it home safely. Doc will take care of me now.

Just before I lose consciousness, the memory hits me suddenly: Doc won’t help anybody ever again. Doc is dead.

What I wouldn’t give to hear her voice now, telling me everything will be all right.

Turns out that everything’s not quite as peachy as I would have hoped. Even after I get back to the SGC, there’s a new round of hell waiting for me. Seems Daniel’s snake wasn’t real good at keeping his knives sanitary, and I picked up a nasty infection.

After fifty rounds of antibiotics and way too many ice packs to bring down the fever and a few full-fledged hallucinations, I’m finally beginning to recover. The fact that I was going through sarcophagus withdrawal at the same time I battled an infection didn’t help any, I’m sure.

So I’m weak as a kitten but not in so much pain any more, and Dr. Warner assures me I’ll make a full recovery.

Daniel has been back for a while now, but I’m not sure which version; he’s not glowy-eyed evil snaked Daniel or glowy-all-over detached ascended Daniel, and he’s sure as hell not wide-eyed childlike optimistic Daniel. Mostly he’s very quiet, which is far from normal for him.

I think he even looks different, but that could be mostly due to the unwelcome memories that pop up every time I see his face. Carter told me that Doc Warner told Daniel (rather un-politely) to stay away while I was out of it, because my heart rate skyrocketed every time I saw him. Doc Warner no longer has an ass, because I chewed it off. Janet wouldn’t have done that to Daniel.

Daniel drops by to visit ever so often, but tries to avoid eye contact with me. I get the feeling he’s dealing with a whole shit load of memories, and at least as much guilt.

I know he’s never remembered more than a few scattered images from my stay as Ba’al’s guest, and I’ve always hoped he never does. I don’t want him to remember seeing me that way. Moot point now, I suppose. These memories are even worse, and Oma isn’t around to erase them.

There’s still paperwork to be done, but my body is telling me it’s time to get some sleep. I head for the door and open it abruptly, to reveal Daniel with his mouth half open and his hand raised to knock.

My eyes take in the scene, and I automatically reel backward, away from the perceived threat. I realize what I’m doing an instant too late to stop myself from doing it.

Daniel’s face blanches. He looks as if I’ve hit him. “I’m ... sorry,” he says in a broken tone, and turns to leave.

“Daniel!” I say sharply. He hesitates.

“Not so fast.” I limp over toward him. “Listen, Daniel. This won’t be the last time I flinch when I see you. I’m sorry; it’s a reflex, and I can’t control it. For the time being, we’ll both just have to live with it.”

“Live with it?!” He shouts, the sudden change of demeanor shocking me. “Is that your answer for everything, Jack? Live with it? I’m supposed to live with the fact that I watched you die over and over and didn’t do anything?”

Okay, that demands a response. “Daniel, you couldn’t have - ”

“But I could have before! This was the second time, wasn’t it, Jack? And I could have helped you the first time.” His voice drops suddenly. “Couldn’t I have?”

I stare at him, not knowing what to say.

Suddenly, this isn’t about our last mission any more.

Daniel’s staring at me, hurt and angry and waiting for an answer. I think carefully about what I’m about to say.

“Listen, I won’t deny I was mad at you then, because I was. I was also severely screwed up by that damn sarcophagus and in the middle of being tortured. I was not happy with anybody.”

He makes a little waving motion in the air with his hand, as if to say Your point?

“In the end, you kept me alive and helped me get away from Ba’al, and I appreciated that. Maybe it wasn’t what I would have done under the same circumstances, but it worked.” I put my hands on his shoulders and make him look at me. “I’m not gonna say this will be easy, because it won’t. But memories fade, and we’ll get over it, and things will eventually go back to the way they were.” Then, because this whole thing is getting uncomfortably heart-to-heartish, I add in my best Godfather voice, “Capisce?”

Daniel gives a little snort, which is half laugh and half sob. “Well, as long as you can make bad jokes, I guess all is right with the world.” His anger is gone as quickly as it came.

He gives me a small smile just before leaving my office, and I make myself return it. All isn’t ‘right with the world’ - not even close - but it is good to see Daniel smile again.

I watch him leave, my own cardboard smile slowly fading as he disappears from my sight. I told him what he needed to hear, but I don’t think I quite believe it.

Because pain did come from blue eyes and a sensitive face, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look at him again without hearing echoes of the lies I was told; without hearing his voice describing what he did to Carter ... and then laughing.

Damn, I hate the Goa’uld.