That was the worst decision I've ever made.
Well, maybe not the worst.
Charlie was the worst, but this is so close.
So stupid.
He'd just said he couldn't move – he's an archaeologist, a linguist, practically a damn kid! Digging in the dirt in no way compares to forced labor in a mine, especially not in these kind of conditions. He's been with us for a little more than a year, now, but even with all that time on Abydos, he's remained the talker, the negotiator, the civilian.
He's not weak, but he's strong in different ways than this. This, it's beyond all of us. I can't hold his pain against him.
I wish he'd said something. I wish he'd reminded one of us, at any point, that he was still chained – hell, I should have waited until we were all free before attacking the damn guard! We started to run, and nobody looked behind; all I did was shout at him to keep up. He didn't say anything about being chained, just put it aside and followed us anyway.
Followed me.
He's not weak at all. He's strong. Strong and so damnably brave.
Or he was, anyway.
After all, I got him killed.
I should've stayed behind. I should've been the last one out; Teal'c was on point, my job was to watch our sixes – all of our sixes. I left him behind, and he dodged a staff blast that killed him anyway. I could've protected him, shoved him out of the way of the rocks, reacted faster than he could, hell, dragged him along, carried the weight his leg couldn't bear.
Stupid, careless, selfish decision.
He saved my life, when all I wanted was the exact opposite.
He fucking died for me.
I should've done the same.
I'd like to think that he saw something in me worth saving, but I doubt that, even moreso after what I've just done. He's just like that; the eternal do-gooder, standing up for those who can't – or won't – stand up for themselves, no matter the cost or the consequences.
He is – he was, damnit, was – the kind of guy who made our messed up planet worth saving.
He saved me because that's what he does – did. That's all.
God, it's so hard to think of him in the past tense. He's died twice, and we thought he was dead two other times. I can't believe his nine lives have finally run out – just how much trouble did he get into during that year on Abydos?
I keep imagining him walking through that tunnel and giving us – me – that shy look that screams 'I didn't really mean to die, please don't hate me, I'm sorry' as they chained him back up, or maybe us being taken back up to that throne room to find him alive and already having negotiated our release.
But I can't make myself hope. I tried, when we were digging him out of the rocks, but it wouldn't come then, and it won't come now.
Horrible doesn't even begin to describe what happened. I heard that blast, those rocks fall seconds after, and nearly gave myself whiplash doing a severe about-face and trying to run back to him. At first all I could see was rubble, but then I saw a pale, long-fingered hand, covered in dust and utterly still. It was both beautiful and horrifying – he wasn't buried too deep, but he wasn't moving either.
I scrambled over to it and saw his hair, matted with blood. Moving the rock as gently as I could, I looked at the gash in his head, almost hidden by the shadows.
"He's alive!" Not for long, Carter, I thought. I could make out the glints of shattered bone in the wound and I felt around it for the tell-tale give of the fractured skull that I knew already I would find.
"Carter, Teal'c, Take off," I wasn't going to leave Daniel, even though he was dying. I'd known from the moment I heard the staff weapon fire that he was in trouble and it was all my fault. I looked back down at Daniel, trying to stem the blood flowing from his head with my hand. It wasn't doing any good, and I knew it wouldn't have been enough anyway.
"Sir?"
I snapped.
"Go!"
She shot me a look of disbelief, frowned at Daniel in concern, and then stood, headed down the tunnel after Teal'c. Daniel's face was growing whiter by the second; thankfully I was spared the ghastly contrast of pale skin and dark blood as all of it was flowing through his hair, through my fingers, and over the rocks.
I heard shouts raised my head, appalled to see the other half of my team caught only a couple yards away, staff weapons in their faces, hands in the air.
I slumped back against the wall in defeat: Daniel was dying, and we weren't going anywhere.
They made us dig him out, and weren't pleased with the care we took not to hurt Daniel more. They smacked us with their weapons, threatened to punish and even kill us if we didn't work faster, but Teal'c gave them his most intimidating stare.
"We will not risk further harm to DanielJackson," he said.
They backed off.
He was buried at an angle; he must've been knocked sideways onto rocks that had already fallen, and caught in-between them. It might have been better if he'd hit the floor before those rocks – the edges of them had cut into his chest, breaking several ribs.
Or maybe not.
When we got down to his legs, Carter almost threw up. I was just cold. Numb and aching at the same time. A break just above his right knee twisted the limb in a direction I knew it was never supposed to go, and both shins were practically crushed. The lumpy flatness was more grotesque than buckets full of blood or entrails, and I'd seen enough of both to know.
I noticed with relief that his boots had protected his feet – and then I mentally beat the shit out of myself for fiftieth time or more for my stupidity.
Carter moved to check his pulse again as Teal'c and I prepared to roll Daniel over so we could move him out of the rubble. When I looked at her, waiting for the signal, the emotion in her blue eyes stopped my heart.
It had been too much.
The head wound, the blood loss from both it and the myriad of smaller scrapes and cuts that bled as the rocks keeping pressure on them were moved, the internal injuries he must have sustained, and the overall battering of his entire body had proven too much for even the indomitable Daniel.
I turned to Teal'c and as though he'd read my mind, reached with me to lift Daniel's body as gently as possible, as though we could somehow hurt him still if we didn't treat it with care and reverence.
And then he was snatched from us, and the world suddenly spun more slowly. I felt almost outside of the event as one of the 'Jaffa' bent close to us, put his shoulder in line with Daniel's stomach, and stood, pulling the mutilated body to hang halfway down his back as he walked away.
"Wait, where are you taking him?!" Carter screamed after them, but not a single one turned.
Daniel was dead.
Worse, he'd died practically alone, left behind by his team.
Which was my fault, just like him dying in the first place.
I'd even missed his last breath, the last beat of his heart; I already knew he was dying, that there was nothing that could be done – instead of uselessly moving the rocks, I should have been sharing his final moments, even if he didn't know I was there doing it.
Worst?
They'd taken him away. If we ever get out of here, which is looking more and more unlikely, we probably won't be able to find him.
We won't be able to take his body home.
We won't bury him, because we left him behind.
Again.
One final time.
I was angry.
I'm still angry.
I launched myself at one of the guards, but he walloped me in the side before I could make him look like Daniel had the last time we'd ever seen him. I hit the tunnel wall, and that comparatively tiny pain caused me to explode. Grabbing one of the hammers we'd been using on the naquadah vein I attacked the rocks in the tunnel, pounding them into pieces small enough to be swept up with a broom. The guards looked nervous, pointing charged staff weapons at me, but I ignored them, destroying the instruments of my friend's death.
And then I turned on the vein itself, weary, sore, and completely unable to stop. Every strike was a rock hitting Daniel, hitting me as my muscles began to burn.
I start to imagine the fear he'd felt as we left him, as he ducked the blast, as the first of the stones began to fall. Judging from the way he'd fallen, he'd definitely felt some of those terrible injuries before being knocked unconscious.
The stone becomes my body, and I beat it, trying to feel the pain of my legs being shattered, my bones snapped, blood streaming over my head, my lungs crushed and aching for breath.
"He needed medical attention."
"I know." Of course he did. He'd said he couldn't move anymore, and I'd ignored that entirely.
"It wasn't your fault, Sir." Like hell it wasn't. "We had to take the opportunity when we did." Yes, but we could've – should've – spared a few seconds to get our teammate, our friend, up off the ground and free of his damn shackles!
"I know that too." It doesn't help. Once again I decide to retire. I keep telling myself I should do it, because it's the right thing to do, but my own inability to entertain myself unless I'm leading people to their deaths has always prevented me.
A kid hands me a dipper of water and I chug it, not caring as half of it pours down onto my shirt. Carter looks at me warily.
"I've had worse," I tell her. Worse living conditions, worse water, worse work – but not worse pain, or worse guilt. Except that once. Except Charlie.
I've finally burned off the anger, and all I'm left with is empty exhaustion.
"Hi guys." The hammer almost flies out of my grip and I let the momentum of my swing spin me around to the tunnel entrance.
I should put more faith in my imagination.
There was – obviously – no way he'd used up five of his nine lives on Abydos.
The relief is so strong my knees nearly give out and I have to lean against the wall. I laugh a bit, in a single breath that's almost a sob, and smile weakly as I open my mouth to tell him how happy I am that he's okay, that he's not dead after all, that I'm so sorry I got him killed in the first place.
What comes out is: "Oh boy, it is surprisingly difficult to kill you, isn't it?"
I swear I must have an internal sarcasm switch permanently frozen to the 'on' position.
"We are pleased to see you, DanielJackson." Leave it to Teal'c to sum up what I should have said myself.
"What happened?" And leave it to Carter to ask the questions that I should've been asking.
I stop really listening, mostly caught up in hearing Daniel's voice, in looking at him standing, god, standing after the nauseating injuries to his legs.
On a – possibly? – related note:
"What's with the dress?"
I get an answer, but not an answer. That's my Daniel, the odd, awkward, shy sort of self-depreciating smile that indicates he has absolutely no idea what to do with the cards he's been dealt. I catch the words 'sarcophagus' and 'crush'. Of course, him and the ladies; it's those crazily blue eyes of his.
"Well good job. Now how about getting the goons to unlock us and get us the heck out of here?"
"Uh, yeah, not yet." I misheard that.
"I'm sorry?"
"Well it's...uh...it's kind of a sensitive situation. Pyrus hasn't exactly agreed to let you go yet. But I'm working on it. I'm trying to gain his trust." He can see the disbelief on my face. Well, it'd be hard not to. "Yeah, I know. This is really…"
"Weird?" I suppose weird comes close. Maybe 'insane' or 'ridiculous' would work better.
"Look, I just wanted to let you guys know I was okay. And I will talk to Pyrus tonight at dinner." Again, classic Daniel; worry about us, emotions at all, but still insistent on finding a diplomatic solution instead of busting us out.
"You get dinner?" Oh-oh, poor Danny, he looks like a kid who just got scolded. Though, that particular note in Carter's voice would probably do that to anyone, not just Daniel.
"Yeah, um, some feast in my honor. Or something." There he goes, looking down and away. I'll bet anybody he won't be eating at dinner. Not if he knows we aren't.
"Feast? There's a feast?" Okay, even if he's not eating, I'm still fairly ticked. I have to remind myself that this isn't his fault; it's mine. He's doing the best he can, in the best way he knows how. And he's the best at it, too. We'll be out of here by nightfall.
"Just trust me, okay? I just, I need more time." He almost sounds like he's pleading for his life, now, and turns away with this look on his face that makes me suspect he's going to find a place where he can be alone with his self-recrimination and beat the shit out of himself the same way I've been doing to myself since those rocks fell on him.
"Glad you're okay!" I shout after him as he leaves. There, I said it. It came out sounding so disgustingly sarcastic; I need to find that switch and force it to move, if only for occasions like this. No matter how it sounded, I needed to say it. I needed to let him know that it wasn't his fault, he didn't do anything wrong, no one is angry at him, and I truly am glad he's okay.
I go back to hammering at the rock with new vigor – almost happily, for cryin' out loud! Daniel's alive, and he's going to get us home. He's Daniel; he'll do it.
I trust that man with not only my life, but often my soul. He acts as my conscience and will do the right thing no matter the cost or consequences.
He'll get us home.
DISCLAIMER: Not profiting off of this - If I were, it wouldn't be posted here.
A/N - I was never certain if Daniel died or not in this episode...so I thought I'd postulate on how it might have been if he had.