A low fog had laced its way between the trees. Silence was upon the woods, and not a movement was to be seen. Thunder rolled threateningly, warning of rain. A small rabbit-like creature twitched its ear, covered in its veil of fog, and slipped into a den under the roots of a grey-trunked tree. Another roll of thunder, lazy and grumbling, like an old man complaining tiredly.
Suddenly the fog was broken by a young man running at as fast of a speed as he could get. The limp was noticeable, and each of his breaths were ragged, pained. His leg muscles were screaming at him, begging in agony for a break--just a second's time to rest. His ankle especially. He had most definitely at least sprained the thing, and now he almost collapsed with every step. His face was red, and sweat mixed with blood to stain it. His clothing was torn, especially at the right shoulder, where a bloody wound spoke of weapon-fire. That was the most painful thing. He didn't stop to look at it. He could feel the blood running down his arm and chest, warm and sticky.
Shouts came behind him, faint, but growing closer. They were hunting him, without a doubt. The voices were as angry as the thunder that grew louder with each rolling boom. He gasped for breath, almost giving in and falling to the ground. But, no, he couldn't do that. If he just stayed alive for a little while longer, yes, if he could stay alive for a little longer they would save him. But how could he possibly stay alive any longer? The voices grew nearer, and he heard the change in the tone, though he did not understand the language. Subconsciously he was picking out words, though. 'Enemy' and 'kill' were the most frequent, and also the ones he would have least liked to hear.
Just a bit further
, he urged himself, but he could not fool himself. Further to where? What then? He didn't get a chance to find out. A gnarled tree root that rose in a low arch from the ground, now hidden below the fog, got in his way. His foot caught between the root and the mossy ground, and he fell, sprawling on his stomach across roots and grass. Their footsteps rang pounded in his ears; the sounds of their voices growing more urgent rang out like an air raid siren--loud, screaming 'danger' in his head. But he couldn't move. It hurt too much.A leather-clad foot fell inches away from his face. They hovered over him, speaking more in a different tone now. Argument? He couldn't tell--his subconscious translator seemed to have given up, and as they spoke in the native tongue, he allowed the world to fade into black.
* * * * *
Jack had been staring at him in the Gateroom. It wasn't a mean stare, or a commanding stare--but a worried one. But, he thought dully, isn't that just as bad? He had approached Daniel with the hesitancy that seemed to come along with every word spoken to the archaeologist lately. "Look, Daniel, if you're not up to going on this mission…"
"I'm fine, Jack." He'd offered a slight, unreal smile. "If I don't go back to working, I'll never get back into the swing of it. Don't really want me moping around the SGC forever, do you?" A hollow chuckle--one that he didn't even know where he'd gotten the strength to bring up. He'd tried to believe his words. In fact, he had believed that if he didn't get out and do something soon, he would fall into a depression forever. Hand-device or no, message or no, his one and only, the love of his life, was dead. But what he had needed and what he had honestly wanted were two different things. What he had truly wanted was to curl up in a little ball in the corner of his bedroom and make the world leave him alone.
"You do that when we run out of coffee, anyway." Jack had given him that half-smile--the one that said that things would be okay, and not to worry. He had touched Daniel on the shoulder gently, his deep brown eyes searching the dull blue ones for…what had he been searching for? What was everyone searching for? A sign that he would be okay? Daniel had turned away from the gaze and looked up at the Stargate. Maybe this mission was what he needed--an escape from the sad looks, the futile attempts to comfort. He had slipped away from Jack's hand and had trudged up the ramp, staring at the deep blue pool without the usual spark in his eyes.
As he had reached the event-horizon, he had squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds. His heart had been pounding with its usual excitement and eagerness. Why did he have to stop and tell himself that he wouldn't find her on the other side of the wormhole? Shouldn't it have been common knowledge to every part of him now? He had been perfectly aware of the eyes locked on his back. Sam, Jack, Teal'C--hell, half of the guards who had had duty that day were giving him that look. They had wanted to say something to help, but none could find any words worth saying. He had plunged into the deep blue, leaving the heavy silence behind.
It was supposed to have been a routine archaeological mission. No signs of life forms had been found--only the old, abandoned temples within a few miles of the Stargate. Simple work. No hostility, no threat of being bothered. Just a way to escape from the world and do his translations. The MALP had shown that the Stargate had been built upon a hill so steep it was almost ridicules. Of course, the Goa'uld didn't seem to have been in the culture for a long time--most likely not since they had brought the original inhabitants. The Gate was set upon the hill to be worshiped and revered. Even feared. Daniel had tried to explain this when the mission had first began a about a month ago--but no one had listened. Now time had passed and they had worked on the site thoroughly. A new chamber filled with symbols and glyphs had been found, and Daniel had taken the opportunity to escape the looks. It was supposed to be a simple, routine mission.
That was not what it turned out to be. The moment he had stepped out of the Gate, Daniel had known something was wrong. He had opened his eyes to the shocking sight of a small troop of natives--There are no natives!--firing what looked like staff-weapons (only less advanced) at the archaeological team. Daniel's first reaction had been to reach, not for his gun, but for his radio. They had needed help. They had been easily outnumbered, even by the small band of warriors. Unfortunately, the Gate had closed. His hand had moved to his gun and drawn it quickly. Before him, Dr. Russell Abraham had been hit while firing with precision. The armor of the natives had easily protected them against the Earth-weapons. Around him, people he had known for a long time dropped like flies. Before he had time to fire his first bullet, a blue-green energy had been blasted from the end of a weapon and had hit his right shoulder. His firearm had fallen to the ground, and he had fallen back, tripping over the bottom curve of the Gate. He had flipped backwards and reached the edge of the hill. He had tumbled down, unable to stop himself, covering his head protectively with his good arm. It had seemed an eternity before he had reached the bottom. But the weapon fire continued. Not many left--can't be. Run. His thoughts did not seem to connect well, but they had made sense. His feet obeyed before he thought, and he had raced into the nearby forest in a numb, painful haze.
* * * * *
"Sir?" Jack looked up from the laptop on his desk. Technically, he was supposed to be typing up his report from P3X-264. On the screen, he had done some impressive work. He had managed to get all of the aces out of the deck, and was almost halfway through each suit. But he was barely even concentrating on his game of Solitaire as he sat alone in his quiet office. The lost look that Daniel had been wearing the past two weeks wore on his mind. Two weeks--that's too damn early to send him back out there. How the hell did he manage to sweet talk Hammond into it? Simple mission or not, he-- "Sir?" Sam stepped into the room, her face confused at his distant look.
"Hey, Carter. I was just…thinking." He closed the laptop quickly to hide his procrastination and stood up. "So, what brings you to this neck of the SGC?"
"Well, Sir, I've been meaning to get some work done on…" She sighed under his scrutinizing gaze. "Actually, it's Daniel." Jack nodded for her to go on. "I'm not wanting to second-guess the General, but two weeks seem a little bit early. I asked Janet about I, but she said it was Dr. McKenzie's department."
He frowned in disgust at the name of McKenzie. "That explains it. McKenzie doesn't know his ass from his elbow." Sam stared at him, wondering how he was going to work this saying into the current situation, but the phone on Jack's desk rang. He picked it up, sitting on the desktop as he did. "O'Neill. They haven't… Wait, how long ago? Damnit." He dropped the receiver back onto the cradle.
He walked quickly past her, gesturing for her to follow. "Colonel?" she asked as she struggled to keep up with his long-striding, quick gait. When he finally stopped, she asked again. "Sir?"
He pushed the button next to the elevator doors and turned towards her. "SG-12 was supposed to send a message through the Gate well over an hour ago. There's been no word from them. Period." He sighed as the doors opened and followed her in. "Simple mission my ass--if there's so much as a single drop of blood in that probe's visual, I'm going in with a whole army behind me."
* * * * *
It was a hell of a lot more than a drop of blood. It was a massacre. Sam's blue eyes widened in horror as she stared at the monitor in front of her. A hand raised and pressed against her mouth, and she fought to keep composure. She wasn't sure if she would scream, cry, or throw up if she lost control. Most likely all three. In no particular order. Behind her, she felt everyone tense up. She didn't have to see it to know. The whole atmosphere of the room changed suddenly. No one spoke for a moment.
"Major," Hammond said, regaining his role of authority, "can you count the dead from the probe's feedback?"
God, Sir, don't make me zoom in on these poor dead people. "I can try, Sir," she said softly. She closed her eyes, but she could see the picture. It was imprinted in her mind. The sky, rolling with thick black clouds, overshadowing distant mountains. The small, grassy plateau scattered with bodies, still and bloody. Rain fell in sheets around them, over them, mixing the blood and dirt into a gruesome puddle of gore. She reopened her eyes and began pushing keys. Zooming in, but not wanting to. With every millisecond that passed, she would pray, over and over, until it became a chant, God, don't let any of these be Daniel. Body after body, face after face. People she saw everyday. Lying there in the mud and blood, their eyes glazed in death. "Sir, I can't go any further with the probe without--without hitting anyone. The zoom won't do much good in this weather, either."
"General, permission to go through the Gate and bring back the bodies?" Jack's voice was flat and showed no emotion whatsoever. It was almost robotic. The room got stiller and stiffer yet. Silence as Hammond contemplated Jack's request.
"Major, is there any sign of an ambush waiting on the other side?"
"No, Sir. The hill is too steep for anyone too hide on its slopes, and the MALP isn't picking up any movement at all."
"Colonel, you will take the remainder of your team through the Stargate with SG-5. Retrieve the bodies. If anyone is missing, find them. Keep in contact, every two hours, or we will presume you dead as well, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir. We'll be ready to go in ten minutes."
"Ten minutes, Colonel?"
"We've got to tell SG-5. That should take about five minutes, Sir."
Hammond nodded and looked at the monitor. He reached over and turned it off, breaking Sam's almost hypnotic gaze at the morbid image. "Jack…I hope you find him alive."
"He's alive, Sir. Trust me, I know. He's still alive. We'll find him." He disappeared out the door, followed closely by Teal'C and Sam.
Hammond sat down in the chair and turned on the monitor again, staring at the scene before him. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Colonel, I hope you're right.
* * * * *
He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure he could. The weight of his eyelids seemed too overpowering. The creak of chains, the rattle of metal doors, soft sobbing echoed to him. It was cold and dank, and he lie on an icy stone floor. Dungeon. Again. His jumbled mind found that funny, and he bit back and a chuckle. What number am I at now? 20, at least. Is that a record? He finally pulled his eyes open, but didn't move anything else. He was staring at the bottom of a row of steel bars. The floor beneath him was rough grey stone, jagged and uncomfortable. The lighting was incredibly dim, only a few torches hung from the occasional spot on the walls both inside his 'cell' and out. However, it seemed overly-bright to him, and he winced, squinting. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and he rolled over onto his back. The walls were very much like the floor--three of them made of rough stone, carelessly carved. The ceiling was dark and far above his head. A torch flickered on each wall, casting faint light in the empty room.
He found the strength to sit up, and slumped back, sitting with his back in the corner. His jacket was gone now, as well as his boots and socks. The wound on his shoulder had been bound tightly, but not very well. Blood was still damp and warm on the white cloth. His ankle was as crudely wrapped, but more tightly. Quietly, he sat there in the dark corner, watching the gate/door of the cell with distant eyes. He shivered in the coldness, and wished for his jacket. If this was a movie, the guard would come to interrogate me right as I woke up. Freakishly right at the right moment. Wish this was a movie. If it was a movie, I'd be rescued. He shook his head to clear away the bad thoughts, then regretted it as the room did a flip-flop and he nearly threw up. Bad thing to do, Daniel. Just…stay still. They'll save you. They always do. He tried to keep himself from wondering how much luck a single person can have by counting silently in as many languages as he could manage, switching randomly, trying to keep a pattern, trying to stay awake.
In fact, being as it wasn't a movie, Daniel was sitting awake for almost an hour before anybody came. By that time, his chin was resting against his chest, and he was trying to figure out which language's counting system was most like the Goa'uld's. Keys jingled and the door was opened with a creak. Leather boots stepped over to him and stood in front of him until he finally noticed.
Slowly, Daniel lifted his head. He was dizzy and half-conscious. He stared with wide blue eyes up at the guard, looking, in his injured and vulnerable state much like a scared child. It took him a moment to realize that the guard was waiting for him to speak first. "We're not you're enemies…" he said softly.
The guard snorted and reached down. He pulled Daniel to his feet roughly. Daniel stumbled and pressed flat against the wall in order to gain his balance. The guard snapped in his native language and waited for a reply. The linguist stared at him, his injured brain not functioning well enough to even work on connecting the language to others he knew and getting a base for the new language started. Instead, the man who knew 26 other languages just as well as he knew English, managed to come up with the brilliant question of, "…huh?"
The guard growled something that sounded a lot like an insult and pulled Daniel forward, then pushed him from behind out the door. Daniel wondered how long he was going to be able to stay on his feet without passing out or throwing up (who knew a hallway could spin like one of those gravity-defying rides at the carnivals?). The guard, however, had other things on his mind, and pushed the archaeologist forward, clearly indicating that he was supposed to walk. And so he did, silently praying for Jack to come and save him from what was bound to wind up as yet another gruesome torture session for the record books of Daniel Jackson.
