Acceptable Risk

Rated: R for violence, moderate language

Category: H/C; Whump-Sam, Teal'c, and Especially Daniel; Angst; Mild S/J UST to R; Friendship-especially Daniel/Jack; Action/Adventure; Minor Character Spotlights; TEAM

Season: Season Ten

Spoilers: Nothing Specific, Generally Everything Up To Season Ten

Summary: Even Generals Get Out of the Office Sometimes. They Just Need A Good Reason.

Note: Started as a simple adventure, morphed into my idea of a way things might 'end'.

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CHAPTER ONE

It was the warmth that always surprised him. It shouldn't have, but it did. No matter how cold his body was, no matter what else he felt, this was always warm, and somehow, it always puzzled that part of his brain that noticed such things.

Today was no exception. He wouldn't have known what happened, except for the warmth. Always the warmth. It ran down the left side of his face and neck like a soothing shower. It almost felt good, in a sick way, until the taste of it hit his throat and pain exploded in his head, reminding him that the warmth was his own blood.

Sticky, sweet, metallic, and cooling fast as it ran from a jagged gash over his eye.

Daniel Jackson barely had time to notice this before another crushing blow came barreling in from his right side. It landed, hard, in his ribs, and the crunch it produced brought a twisted, satisfied smile from the human on the other end of the short stick that now jabbed and prodded at the freshly broken ribs. A tortured gasp fought its way out of Daniel's lungs as the man dug a little deeper into the wound he had made and spoke to his victim.

"I'll ask you again. What are you doing here? Who sent you? What do you want?"

The breath to speak was nearly impossible for Daniel to gather, but after several laborious draws of oxygen, he managed to grind out a barely audible answer, in what he hoped was a passable imitation of the native dialect..

"I told you. We're explorers. We mean no harm. Just let us go, and we'll leave you alone."

The small man with the stick heard every word, for his vantage point just in front and below Daniel's chin. His only response was to laugh. Loudly. Daniel shut his eyes and turned away from the sound, trying to escape the only way he could.

"Lies! You will only escape this when you give me the truth. I have all the time in the world. You, however, do not. I suggest you rethink your answer."

With that, the smallish man viscously jabbed his short stick into the abdomen of his victim, and turned on his heel to leave. Daniel let out an involuntary cry, then bit his lip violently to stop the noise and would have slumped to the ground in pain if he had been able. As it was, all he could do was try to keep breathing as his head slowly sank to his chest and he mercifully lost consciousness. The thick chains binding his hands well above his head held him upright, and the man with the stick looked back over his shoulder before addressing two large men at the door.

"Take him down, and leave him with the others."

The guards merely grunted a response and did as they'd been told. The larger one removed a long brass key from somewhere in his clothing and undid the manacles holding Daniel's hands to the high ceiling. Both men laughed as the inert body fell to the floor. Giving the body a few kicks for good measure, the guards lifted the crumpled man and carried him the short distance to the cell where the others that had been captured with him were being held. As they threw him into the dark little room, a soft, ragged whisper seemed to come from his cracked and bleeding lips. The men did not understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable. It was the voice of a man pleading, begging for help, and putting his entire soul into his words. The men thought it was a sign that they were breaking their victim down, and they smiled to each other at the sound.

"Jack, please…"