Hook

By Kalimyre

Email: Kalimyre@yahoo.com

Rating: R

Pairings: Jack/Daniel

Category: Drama, Angst, H/C, Established Relationship

Season/Episode: Season 7

Spoilers: Hathor, Legacy, minor references to various others up to season seven

Warnings: Violence, Non-con, Torture

Summary: When Daniel comes back from being held prisoner off-world, the damage goes far deeper than the physical. This is the story of his recovery.

~~~

Part 1

I'm running down the hall the minute the off-world activation alarms sound, leaving Airman whatshisname standing in my office holding up that paperwork and blinking stupidly in my wake. There's no reason to think it's them, of course. Teams come in from off-world all the time, and SG-5, along with Daniel, has been missing for six weeks. Six weeks exactly, to the day. I'm not ashamed to admit I've been counting.

"Colonel!" Carter rushes into the control room from the other side, and our eyes meet. She's flustered, out of breath--she ran, too.

"Carter," I say, trying for some level of control. Teal'c glides in behind her, looking like he doesn't know what worry is, but unless he makes a habit of hanging out in the hallway near the gate room, he had to have run as well.

"O'Neill," he says, and I nod at him. No use pretending I don't know why they're here. It's been the same way on every unscheduled off-world activation since Daniel's been missing. No reason to think it's him, but we come running every time.

"Seventh chevron is locked," Davis calls out, and we all turn to watch the gate do its thing. The iris is closed, the SF's standing ready in the room below, their weapons up. All of us are staring at the computer screen, waiting for a GDO, willing it to be the right one.

"Receiving GDO signal," a technician says, but it's useless background noise until we know which one. The screen shows the rippling pattern of radio waves, the computer searching for a match, and does it always take this long?

"Come on, come on," Carter mutters beside me, and I give her a quick look. If we were different people, I might put a hand on her shoulder, but we're not those people.

The screen flashes our answer for us and I blink at it, my hands clenching convulsively at my sides and my eyes refusing to focus properly. "It's SG- 5," Davis gasps, breaking the momentary hush that has fallen over the control room, and that's all I need to snap me out of it.

"Get a medical team up here!" I shout, already heading out the door. Carter and Teal'c are hot on my heels, thumping down the stairs and skidding around the corner. I run out in front of the SF's, uncaring of their raised weapons, and they lower their aim slightly.

Major Guthman is the first one through, looking ragged and filthy and thin, but I'm already staring past him. Come on, Daniel, be with them. Be alive. Captain Milosh follows, his hands behind him, carrying the ends to a couple branches. I can see the beginnings of a makeshift stretcher coming through the shimmer of the wormhole, and I already know who will be lying on it.

"Why is it always Daniel?"

"Wish I knew, sir," Carter says, and I look at her sharply. Didn't mean to say that out loud. She returns my look with one of her own, strained and scared, and I straighten my back. I need to be strong here, set an example for the team. I can't follow my immediate urge to rush up the ramp and pull Daniel into my arms the minute he clears the wormhole.

Guthman looks up and meets my eyes. "He's alive, sir," he grates. He stops at the bottom of the ramp and just sort of folds up, landing hard on the floor and resting his head against the railing. I don't spare him a glance. Daniel--I need to see Daniel.

Fraiser comes running in with her usual rattle of gurney wheels and shouting of orders. She takes in Guthman and Milosh with a glance, and then focuses on the stretcher. I can see a hand dangling over one side, emerging from a blanket wrapped bundle that seems far too small.

The remaining members of SG-5 step through the gate, one of them carrying the other end of Daniel's stretcher. They look like the first half of the team: dirty, thin, and shocked. Their eyes don't seem to look at any one thing, but bounce around the room aimlessly, wide and blank.

SG-1 is closing ranks around our missing member, all of us reaching out to touch him, but Fraiser freezes us with a glance. We settle for hovering anxiously as she organizes the smooth transfer of that filthy bundle of blankets from the improvised stretcher to her infirmary gurney. SG-5 seems glad to be rid of his weight, and they all sit on the ramp in a uniform state of exhaustion.

"What happened to him?" Fraiser asks, directing her question at the whole room.

"Everything," Guthman says dully.

When it becomes obvious that she's not going to get a better answer than that, Fraiser zooms off to the infirmary with Daniel in tow, while her nurses check out SG-5 and make sure they can walk under their own power. My last impression of them is Guthman following Daniel's progress with hollow eyes, and then they're behind me and I'm trying to see what's under those blankets. Daniel's hand flops limply as we run down the hall, and I want to stop for a moment so I can tuck it back in place against his side. It shouldn't he hanging like that.

In the elevator, the warm salt-and-copper smell of blood is painfully obvious, and Fraiser takes advantage of the momentary pause to unwrap Daniel a little. He's naked under the blanket, so caked with dried blood and filth that I can't tell if he's still bleeding. His ribs are visible, clearly defined curves under thin, pale skin. His hip bones jut up sharply from his sunken belly, his head somehow seeming overly large on his bony shoulders.

"Oh, Daniel," Carter whispers, and I can hear the tears in her voice without turning around. Teal'c, facing me from the other side of the gurney, looks ready to disembowel everyone who had the slightest hand in doing this to Daniel. I want to do both--cry and kill someone at the same time. I can't begin to guess what my face looks like.

"His pulse is steady, Colonel," Fraiser says reassuringly, her fingers on his neck. "Aside from the obvious malnutrition, I don't see any major injuries. He may have internal damage, but we'll know more once we get him cleaned up and properly examined."

"Malnutrition," I echo numbly. Nice way of saying damn near starved to death.

The doc covers him back up with the blanket before we leave the elevator, and I feel a little better. If she cares about preserving his privacy, it seems like a sign that he's going to live to appreciate it.

"You'll have to wait outside," she says firmly, pulling Daniel into one of the private rooms. I can see two nurses waiting for him, already pulling the blanket away and readying their needles. The door closes in our faces and we all stare dumbly at it, and then turn to exchange looks.

"Sir," Carter starts, and then seems to run out of steam. She just shakes her head, looking at me with huge, wounded eyes like I can somehow make things better.

"I know," I tell her. I know.

"We must discover who is responsible for this," Teal'c growls.

Yes. Something productive, something that might lead to me hurting someone the way Daniel was hurt. I need to do that.

"Let's talk to SG-5," I say grimly. SG-5, a military team who walked back through the gate without a scratch while their *borrowed* civilian had to be carried. SG-5 who looks a little thin and worn around the edges, but nowhere near Daniel's level of emaciation.

I have a few things to say to them.

While we were trailing after Daniel, SG-5 has made it down to the infirmary. They are spread out on various beds, allowing blood to be drawn and submitting to the usual exam. They're all very quiet. Lt. Corin, who looks too young to drive a car, much less carry a gun, is huddled on his bed, wrapped in a blanket and shivering. Benson, their fourth, is already asleep, laid out in an exhausted sprawl and not even twitching when an IV is inserted in his arm.

There are plenty of ways to hurt someone without leaving obvious physical damage. They may not look as bad as Daniel, but they've clearly suffered, and I'm sure they did the best they could in a bad situation. They did bring him home alive, after all.

Rationally, I know all those things. That doesn't stop me from wanting to go over there and demand to know why they let this happen to Daniel. My hands twitch and I stuff them in my pockets before I get within reach of Major Guthman.

"Sir," he says weakly. "Is Daniel all right?"

"No," I snap. "Daniel is not all right. Daniel is covered in blood and he looks like a strong wind would blow him away. You want to explain to me why he looks like that while the rest of your team is fine?"

Okay, so fine might be stretching it a little, but none of them are skin and bones, and they all still have their clothes.

"I'm sorry," Guthman mumbles. "Sorry. We tried to help him. They wouldn't let us..."

"Colonel!"

I wince and turn to face Fraiser, who is bustling toward me, her eyes hard. "Doc?"

"Are you harassing my patients, Colonel?"

Well, yes, I am, and I really shouldn't be. Guthman looks like hell, and he obviously cares about what happens to Daniel, and considering my own track record, I know keeping Daniel in one piece isn't easy. "How is Daniel?" I ask quickly, before she can give me the lecture I probably deserve.

"Daniel is sleeping," she says firmly. "He's receiving intravenous fluids and glucose, and sleep is the best thing for him right now. He doesn't have any injuries."

What? "He doesn't? What about all the blood?"

"Maybe it wasn't his," Carter offers, looking anxiously between me and Fraiser.

"It's his," Guthman says from behind us. "They had a sarcophagus."

Well, shit. Just when I thought things were looking up.

"Doctor," Hammond says, stepping through the door. "How are they?"

Fraiser's demeanor immediately softens, but she gives me one last warning look before putting on her professional reporting-to-the-general face. "Daniel is severely malnourished and dehydrated, and his blood count is dramatically lowered, but he doesn't have any injuries. The rest of SG-5 is in better shape, but they're all exhausted and showing indications of shock."

Hammond nods slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. I'm aware of Guthman lowering his head, either guilt or weariness, but the general looks at him without the slightest trace of accusation.

"Are they able to attend a debriefing?" he asks.

Fraiser shakes her head. "They need a lot of rest, liquids, and a few solid meals would be a good idea, too. I'm recommending a minimum of twenty-four hours in the infirmary before any debriefing."

"No," Guthman says, lifting his head again. "I'll do it. Let the rest of my team stay here. We all saw the same thing, anyway."

I don't want to like this man, but I can't help respecting the sentiment.

"Major," Fraiser begins, her arms folded in disapproval.

"I can do it," he insists. "It's the least I can do." That said with a guilty glance at me.

"Are you sure?" Hammond asks gently, and Guthman nods. We all turn expectantly to Fraiser, who is looking mulish and outnumbered.

"A *short* debriefing," she finally concedes. "And then he comes right back to the infirmary."

I'm already helping Guthman to his feet, unconsciously holding my breath. Whatever they did for those six weeks they were missing, it didn't seem to include showering. That briefing room isn't going to be pleasant, but right now, I don't care. I need some answers.

~~~

"It was a Goa'uld," he begins, staring at his hands on the briefing table.

"Which one?" Carter asks, and I grit my teeth. Does it matter which one? A snake is a snake. What matters is what was done to Daniel.

"I don't know," Guthman shrugs. "Not a system lord. Just some Goa'uld. He might have been working for someone higher up. He had a few Jaffa with him, but they all had different symbols."

"You were captured," I say, making impatient little 'go on' gestures.

"Yes. Almost from the moment we came through the gate. They knew to hide from the MALP, I guess. We were zatted and taken to this place..." He swallows and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, his hands clutched together.

"Take your time, son," Hammond says, full of compassion.

"I'm fine, sir," Guthman replies. "We weren't hurt--SG-5, that is. We were just... tools that they used to hurt Daniel. He was the target."

"You said that Daniel Jackson was placed inside a sarcophagus," Teal'c says. "Was he injured when this was done?"

"He was dead. Every time."

I wince, and to my left, Carter makes a little choked sound. "How many times?" she asks weakly.

Guthman gives a little, humorless laugh. "I lost count. It was a lot, I know that. And never the same way twice. It's amazing how many different ways there are to kill someone. How many different slow, painful ways." He swallows again, and I can hear his teeth grinding together from across the table.

"What did they do to him?" Was that my voice? It sounded so... so old.

"Whatever you can think of. If you can imagine it, they did it, and probably some things you can't imagine."

"Rape?" I ask sharply, and Guthman gives me a strange look. He couldn't know about Daniel and I, of course, but I get the feeling that he does.

"Yes," he says flatly. "Many times."

"Oh, God," Carter murmurs. She's biting her lip and blinking furiously down at the table.

"Colonel," Hammond says reprovingly. I shoot him a look that I hope is apologetic, but I'm not sure. My face feels numb.

"Were they seeking information?" Teal'c asks.

Guthman shakes his head. "No. They never asked him questions. They wanted to... to damage him. To mess with his head. That's the only thing I can think of. The way they made him depend on us..."

"What do you mean?" I snap, and he winces a little. I take a deep breath. Lower the voice next time, O'Neill. Getting a little out of control there.

"The place we were in was like a pit," he says, closing his eyes. "There was Daniel and the Goa'uld and his Jaffa in this room, with all these... things... they used to hurt him. Knives and pain-sticks and just... God... everything. We--the rest of the team--we were in these cages suspended above the room. We had the basic stuff, enough food and water to live on, and a bucket for... you know... but Daniel didn't have any of that stuff."

"And you did not give him any of your food or water?" Teal'c growls, and Guthman cringes away from him.

"We tried!" he says. "We tried so much, but they wouldn't let us. If we gave him anything, he was punished for it. Not us, him. And they wouldn't let him keep it, anyway. He only got what they gave him, which wasn't much. One time... one time they let him die of thirst." Guthman breaks off and puts his face in his hands, shuddering.

"Oh, Daniel," Carter says softly. She's wiping at her face, struggling fiercely for control in front of the general. Teal'c covers her hand with his own, wordlessly, and she squeezes his fingers.

"If they wouldn't let you feed him, how did they make him depend on you?" I ask. Something tells me this is important.

"He had to touch us," Guthman says bitterly. "That's the only way he was safe. As long as he was touching one of us, they wouldn't hurt him. The catch was that we were up in those cages, so he had to stand and reach up to us and hold on through the bars. He was always bleeding and hungry and exhausted--they never let him sleep--and he could only stand up for so long. Once he collapsed, they'd be on him again."

"You couldn't hold on to him?" Carter asks, her eyes narrowed and red.

"We tried. God, we tried. They wouldn't let us do that, either. He had to stand on his own. As soon as his knees buckled and it was one of us supporting his weight, they would drag him away. After a while, all he cared about was getting to one of us and holding on."

"I have seen this done before," Teal'c says, and we all stare at him.

"You have?" I try not to make is sound like an accusation. I know he's done some terrible things in the service of Apophis, but I've never had them spelled out for me. Don't really want them spelled out.

"I have not participated in such torture," he says quickly. "This particular method of breaking a prisoner is rare. It is done only to prisoners who are much valued by their people. Leaders or those who command armies, usually."

"Why?" Hammond asks. That about sums it up, doesn't it? Why?

Teal'c looks grim, his lips flattened into a thin line. "If you kill your enemy, another rises to take his place. But if you blind him and send him back to his people, they expend time and resources caring for him."

"So that's what this is?" Carter asks. "They wanted to... to what, disable Daniel? Then why did they heal his injuries?"

"They didn't matter," I tell her. "Daniel's body was never his greatest asset. They were out to destroy his mind."

Hammond fixes Guthman with a steely look. "Is that correct, Major? They were attempting to damage Doctor Jackson mentally?"

Guthman nods, the movement slow and slight. I can see his headache from here. "They made him totally dependent on touching one of us. He would... he would beg us not to let go. He stopped asking for water and food, but he never stopped asking us to hold on. That was all he cared about. And toward the end..." He trails off uneasily.

"What?" I prompt. Need to get out of this room and down in the infirmary. Soon. Now.

"He wasn't seeing us anymore. He called us by your names." Guthman meets my eyes for a moment, and I see that knowledge in him again. Daniel must have asked for me as more than his friend.

Carter frowns and leans forward in her chair, preparing to stand. "Sir, if Daniel has been conditioned to believe he is only safe if someone is touching him..."

"He can't wake up alone," I finish for her, rising to my feet. "We need to stay with him, General."

Hammond nods, but holds us back with a raised hand. "One more thing. How did your team escape, Major?"

Guthman makes that humorless almost-laugh again. "We didn't. They let us go."

Teal'c is nodding. "Yes. They sent you back to your people, so that we would be obligated to care for Daniel Jackson and therefore have less time to spend fighting the Goa'uld."

"It makes sense, sir," Carter says, turning huge, round eyes on me. She keeps swallowing like she's trying not to throw up. "If Daniel... if they'd just killed him, we'd eventually get another fourth and go on. But now, he needs us--this puts the whole team out of commission."

"Clever," I mutter.

"It is considered to be a dishonorable technique," Teal'c adds.

"Dishonorable Goa'uld," I reply. "Call the papers."

"SG-1, you're dismissed," Hammond says, and I'm out the door. "Take care of our boy!" he calls, and I wave a hand in vague acknowledgement. Got to see Daniel. Now I've got a good excuse for holding him and not letting go, and I intend to take full advantage of it.

~~~

"NO! Stop it stop it stopitstopit...!"

The three of us freeze as we hear the yelling coming from the infirmary, and then we start running. I hear something fall with a metallic crash, and then the not-quite-musical sound of delicate glass breaking.

I pause in the doorway, hearing Carter catch her breath behind me, and stare at Daniel. He's on his feet--I don't know how--struggling like a madman with Fraiser's orderlies. Two well built guys against one emaciated, exhausted shadow of a man, but he's fighting with sheer panic and he's winning. It doesn't help that they're trying not to hurt him, while he's doing everything in his power, including biting and clawing, to get away.

"Daniel!" Fraiser shouts, a loaded syringe in her hand. "Daniel, calm down! You're in the infirmary... just hold still!" She shoots her men a meaningful look, and they try their best to hold him long enough for her to give him the injection.

"Daniel!" I call over the noise. He's screaming, shouting no and stop and pleasepleaseplease, but he freezes when he hears my voice.

"Don't," Carter says sharply when Fraiser moves in with her needle. "That's not what he needs."

Fraiser frowns at us, but nods slowly, backing off. She actually looks relieved to put the syringe down, and I'm not surprised. Sedating Daniel against his will has to be the last thing she wants. Her people follow suit and carefully let Daniel go. He staggers, unprepared to support his own weight, but catches himself against a bed. He's staring at the three of us, his eyes flitting from one face to the next, his mouth working soundlessly.

"Daniel," I say softly, stepping forward. He immediately fixes his gaze on me, his hands coming up defensively. He's shaking everywhere--knees, hands, lower lip. Fraiser got him cleaned up, and the hospital gown does nothing to disguise how thin he is. His hair is a short buzz cut--must have been so filthy and knotted that they had to cut it off. For some reason that bothers me more than anything else. Hathor did that to him once. We shouldn't do that to him.

"Easy, now," I murmur, advancing toward him again. He keeps his arms up, protecting his face and his belly, but his eyes are steady on mine, bright and unblinking, like shiny stones. Blood runs down his arms in a slow trickle where he tore out the IV lines, dripping onto the floor in startlingly red circles. I feel like all the colors here are muted and gray except for those splashes of Daniel's blood.

His mouth forms my name, but no sound comes out. He swallows, making a dry clicking noise in his throat, and tries again. "Jack?"

"Yeah, Daniel, you're okay. Just take it easy--"

He cuts me off with a low, keening wail and hurls himself forward, his legs buckling beneath him. I lurch forward to catch him, and his arms wrap around me with surprising strength. I can feel the thin, corded muscles under his skin, like high-tension cables, twisting and coiling and refusing to let go.

"Okay," I mumble dumbly into his fuzz of hair. "Okay, okay... shhhh... okay..."

"Jackjackjackjack," he chants. "Don't let go don't let go please please pleasepleaseplease don't... Jack Jack jackjackjack..."

"Oh, Daniel," Carter says, reaching a tentative hand toward his back. He flinches and hides his face against my shoulder when she touches him, and she pulls back, her eyes filling. Teal'c stands back, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his face as distraught as he ever gets.

Daniel's chanting pauses, stutters, and he lifts his head ever so slightly. "Sam?"

"I'm right here, Daniel," she says. "Right behind you. You're safe, you're in the infirmary."

Daniel tilts his head to look at her, his eyes searching her face for a long moment, his arms never relaxing a fraction from their panicked grasp around my ribs. "Sam," he says, making the word a request.

"Right here," Carter murmurs. She reaches out a hand again, and this time Daniel accepts it, leaning toward her and giving her a pleading look.

"Go ahead," I tell her. "Let's do a little group thing here."

She nods and threads her hands around Daniel's waist, laying her head against his back. Daniel makes a strangely happy little gulp and presses himself against both of us, chanting again. "Don't let go, don't let go, yesyesyes good good don't let go..."

"You too, Teal'c."

He nods and swoops in, standing to one side and putting his arms around all of us, pressing us closer against Daniel. I can feel his breathing slowing against my neck, his shaking easing off.

"Teal'c!" he chirps, sounding delighted. "JackSamTeal'c goodgoodgood... yes... hold on please hold on..."

"We've got you, Daniel," I murmur against the side of his head. "Don't you worry. Not letting go."

He nods frantically and sort of wriggles, pressing against each of us in turn, rubbing his cheek against my shoulder and snuffling the skin closest to his face. He's mumbling a lot of 'good' and 'yes' and 'don't stop' but the words are all blurring together.

"All right everyone, show's over," Fraiser says sharply from behind me, and I'm aware of her shooing a bunch of gawkers away. I guess we look pretty silly all bunched up together around Daniel, but I don't care. I've finally got him in my arms, where I've wanted him for the last six weeks. He'll get better. He will.

He has to.

~~~