Author's Notes: So here we are at chapter four. In this chapter, there is nothing but Danielle and Martouf. We learn of her situation and what exactly is going on in her head. What is she up against? What fears does she contend with? And Martouf, he is betraying his friends, he is betraying Earth when they have saved him and the Tau'ri before. What guilt he must feel! Yay emotional angst! My favorite kind. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to leave me a comment, even if it is as simple as 'this rocked' or 'this sucked' or 'this needs more nutmeg.'
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Danielle wasn't sure which way was up or down when she faded once more into consciousness. She felt dizzy and sick and in all ways awful. Her head seemed ready to explode from the pain from her side. The only relief she found was in the cold floor; its lack of heat soothed her.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned from her stomach onto her uninjured side and raised her head a few inches. Her heart began to thud painfully in her chest when she didn't recognize her surroundings, and she nearly had a panic attack when she saw there were bars enclosing her into a cell of some sort. She fought down her panic and her nausea and blinked forcefully, trying to gather herself. Tears pricked her eyes and eventually slipped down her cheeks as she inched her way to the nearest wall, feeling vulnerable in the middle of the cell.
God, her side hurt. She felt like she was going to be sick all over the floor from the dizzying pain, not to mention the urge to vomit from fear. A creepy, dark basement might have made sense. Some sort of shack or the back of a car, even. But not this… whatever this was. And why did her side hurt so badly?
Propping herself up as best she could without straining her side, Danielle scrubbed at her face, but she stopped once that action started to irritate a few scratches and scrapes that were on her cheeks and forehead. She didn't know how she'd even gotten to wherever this place was. She remembered needing to meet Alan and dropping her sister off… and then she had gone to that park because she had wanted to be alone… she'd gotten up off of the bench… the path off into the woods… being overwhelmed with fear and anxiety because of the Academy… but she couldn't remember anything further than that. She could only assume that she had hit her head or someone had hit her head. Head wounds were nasty things, and even though she couldn't remember what had caused all of her current pain, she was pretty sure she didn't have a concussion. Thank God for small blessings.
Danielle had to pause all of her thoughts to heave in deep breaths. Every time she looked at the bars that kept her in the cell, it made her want to vomit with all of the fear churning around in her stomach. Where was she? What was she supposed to do? Not to mention the pain radiating from the wound on her side. Relaxing until her head was on the floor again, she tentatively probed her painful side. Wincing and cursing like a sailor, she realized numbly that it seemed portions of her muscle had been blasted away by whatever had caused her injury. Chunks of her flesh. One of her sides had a pleasant curve from the side of her waist to her hips. The other was mangled.
She let out a strangled sob as she turned her head quickly and vomited, the contents of her stomach spewing across the floor. It smelled horrible, and it made her head spin, and it made her want to throw up again. Trickles of liquid down her back and zigzagging across her stomach piqued her curiosity through the haze of panic, sickness, and pain. Her questing fingers found the liquid, and she peered at the pads of her fingertips.
Blood.
Danielle's head spun, and she started to cry. "What the hell?!" she asked as fiercely as she could through her tears. She sobbed despite the pain it wrought on her. "What the hell?!" she repeated hopelessly.
"I can't do this!" she suddenly exclaimed, sniffing forcefully and wiping her tears away. "I can't do this," she muttered, scraping at the bottom of her emotional barrels for some strength. Somehow, through some miracle, she found a way to sit up against the wall without it causing her much pain. She scooted away from the puddle of her vomit and couldn't believe that sweat was dribbling down her face at that simple action. Her breaths came in shuddering and left her trembling.
"My side hurts," she complained to the air. "My head hurts, and I feel sick," maybe it was weird that it was comforting to talk to herself, "And I don't even know where the heck I am." A flash of hope ignited in her heart when the thought randomly occurred to her that someone would find her before too long because she always had her cell phone on her person and people could track cell phone signals through triangulation, but a quick search of her pockets revealed no cell phone. No anything, actually.
Her pulse pounded in her head when she realized that nothing was in her pockets. She didn't have her cell phone, her car keys, her wallet, or her packet of gum. Someone had searched her… she didn't want to even think about someone's hands in her pockets while she was unconscious, injured, and unable to defend herself.
Danielle closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. She heard footsteps echoing through the hallway, and her eyes flew open, suddenly more aware of her surroundings than she had before. It was one thing to be injured and not know where she was while she was alone… it was an entirely different story if her kidnapper was going to make himself known. She finally took notice of her cell.
The bars were horizontal and vertical, creating squares. Two pillars created a doorway across from her, across from the wall that created the fourth wall of the cell, and the door seemed to be made of something that was vaguely opaque, as light was coming through it. The cell couldn't be more than fifteen feet by fifteen feet, she estimated weakly as she hissed and cursed enough to make her mother blush, trying to force herself to her feet. Her legs were fine, of course, they weren't hurt at all; it was just her damn side that was complicating everything. However, she scrambled up onto her feet, feeling wetness seep into her jeans. She felt sick as the coppery smell of blood wafted up into her nose, but she kept her stomach. She closed her eyes and fought off the nausea, trying to keep it at bay. She steadied herself against the wall, keeping both palms on the cold wall by her side.
She opened her eyes as the footsteps came closer. She saw a single man round the corner and nod to… someone was probably standing guard in front of her cell. Damn it, she shouldn't have talked. She was weak, confused, panicked, more scared than she'd ever been in her entire life, and had a bleeding side, but she didn't want her kidnapper to see any sign of weakness whatsoever from her. She didn't want to show that she was scared or close to having an asthma attack when she didn't even have asthma.
She watched the man until he disappeared from her view, crossing in front of one of the pillars, and the door of her cell opened, and the man entered. He scrutinized her, his eyes raking up and down her, and it unnerved her and made her horribly afraid. But it didn't send the primal slash of fear through her gut that every single woman in existence understood when facing sexual assault. Through the haze of pain and fear and panic, she was unnerved and scared… but she wasn't terrified in that way. This man who was at least two heads taller than her intimidated her, and she was scared. She had every right to be scared, and she would have been stupid not to be. But she didn't fear for her innocence.
With the sheer ruthlessness etched into the features of his face, she was pretty sure he knew how to break her without having to debase himself to such primitive methods of demonstrating his control over her.
Maybe that wasn't a normal reaction or ability, being able to pick apart her fear in such a freakish situation. Maybe she should be scared of being raped by this man. She knew nothing about him, and rape happened all too often. But she knew that, and she knew it could and might happen to her; being a woman in the military had its own risks. And yes, she was terrified of being tortured or killed or beaten up… but some subconscious part of her simply knew that rape was one of the few things that she didn't have to fear from this man, whoever the hell he was.
Danielle swallowed as he finished his appraisal of her physical state and forced herself to meet his eyes. She hated the fact she couldn't help but cower and shrink when he turned his eyes to hers, but there wasn't anything else she could do. Tears burned at her eyes.
Then his eyes glowed.
Danielle's heart stopped, and for a moment, all that existed was this fear-infused moment and his glowing eyes. Then time slammed back, racing so that it might catch up with itself, as it had lingered for too long, and her heart and her pulse were beating through her entire body.
"What the hell?" her words slurred as she was speaking too quickly, backing herself up against the wall, "What the hell?!" she shrieked.
"You will come with me." His voice echoed through her mind, and it definitely wasn't a request. But all Danielle knew, all she understood, all her primitive subconscious understood, was that she definitely did not want to go with him.
"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "No!" she repeated, her voice bordering on a shriek.
"Kree, Tau'ri!" he demanded, and she shuddered, cowering once more. She didn't understand his words, but she understood the tone. "You will come with me," he repeated, his iron voice slamming into her like a fist.
Danielle stared at him, dumb, horrified. Then she nodded.
She wanted to say no, she wanted to refuse again, she wanted to fight back. She wanted to get out of this place and go home, but she couldn't, and she didn't want to get hurt more than she already was. Maybe if she complied, he wouldn't hurt her, maybe he wouldn't torture her or sell her into slavery or make her become a prostitute or whatever sick fucks like him did to eighteen-year-old girls like her.
Injured or not, incapacitated or not, powerless or not, Danielle Davis would not allow herself to be so misused and abused. She would not allow herself to be sold as a sex slave. She would not allow herself to be tortured or whatever this sick man wanted to do with her. It didn't matter what it took. She would starve herself and not drink water and die a slow death that way rather than be put through that.
It was a startling revelation for an eighteen-year-old to make, and it shook her as she followed slowly behind her kidnapper, as that was the only title that could describe him. Her life was only beginning. She had so much in front of her. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live.
But fuck life, if living meant being a sex slave or a prostitute or being pumped full of drugs so she would lie there in a docile manner as scores of men raped her. There were some situations when life wasn't worth it, and a life of sexual abuse was no life at all to her.
Danielle gently gathered the tatters of her t-shirt and pressed them against her wound to try and stem the blood flow. Wherever the rest of her torso was, she thought weakly, the rest of her t-shirt would be as well. But with every step, more blood came, and she stumbled. The man caught her arm in an iron grip – that was a word that seemed to describe him, iron – and nearly dragged her along. That hurt worse, and she moaned in agony.
…
Martouf could tell she would not live much longer. She had been bleeding for far too long, and her wound had only begun to coagulate. It was only due to the sheer stubbornness of youth that she was even standing, much less walking. He should have had Jaffa guards carry her or even healed her. Isis would want the girl's life preserved, as the Goa'uld had some interesting games lined up for the Tau'ri child. But Martouf and Lantash both wanted the girl to appear strong at all times, to hopefully intimidate Isis. Oh, the poor Tau'ri child…
That was what she was, he mourned inwardly. She was a child. Her body might have developed into that of a woman, and she might have all of the capabilities and urges of a young adult, but she was a child. She was innocent and untouched by the horrors of the universe. She had been protected while on Earth.
And he would be the one to initiate her into the brutality of the universe she lived in. He was dragging her to torture and almost certain death. Even if she survived the atrocity of the next two weeks until they reached one of Isis' planets, Martouf knew it was not a far-fetched concept that she would end her own life. The power of fear and pain on the human mind was unbelievable.
Miss Davis was, at this moment, somewhat defiant and bold and strong. She had been brought up in a culture that valued strength and stoicism and fighting back. Her entire country was built on that concept of fighting back. Martouf had learned that many cultural movements in her country certainly fostered and nurtured the idea of defiance. He knew that many others of her age would also do anything to fight against injustice and wrongs committed against others.
He knew a great deal about the culture of America, from both Samantha and Jacob Carter. Both had been patient teachers, providing him with information so that he might understand why the American people and the people of Earth were as they were. But he had learned much more from merely observing.
Jack O'Neill was the best example of a man of Earth that Martouf had ever met. He was a warrior who would protect his people and his country and his world without a second thought. It was second nature to him; he protected and preserved. But it was not mere duty. It was his greatest passion and his greatest love.
Martouf and Lantash both recognized that in Danielle – she loved greatly, and she was passionate.
Martouf couldn't help that he pitied the girl for what she was to experience. Lantash couldn't help but respect her. Yes, she was scared. Yes, she was hurt and ill and dazed. But she wasn't meek and compliant from the start. With what little she had to fight, she fought with. All she had were her words, and she had tried. She had refused at first.
That alone gave Lantash hope.
Martouf simply didn't want to see the defiance and passion in her eyes fade. Right now, as he dragged her along, she was fighting. She was fighting to stay awake, fighting the pain and sickness away, fighting for her composure. She wasn't begging – not yet, his nasty conscience nearly sang – and she wasn't breaking down. She was holding it together. Her courage was impressive, all things considered. She was still standing while half of her body was stained with her own blood. But he doubted she had realized that.
She will not survive, Martouf thought mournfully. And I have sentenced an innocent child to death. I will watch as she dies. She is not the first I have seen killed, and she most certainly will not be the last… but she will be the greatest loss.
Why, dearest one? Lantash asked, gently sending warmth to Martouf's ribs, somehow banishing the chains of guilt and pain for a moment so the host could breathe.
Others from the galaxy… they have seen death. They know death as one knows a lover. They have experienced it and seen it and are more accustomed to it. It is no real shock. Death is a burden to be borne for a time and then discarded when the time is right and when the memory of a loved one no longer hurts as freshly as it did the day the person died.
How is it different for those from Earth? Lantash's voice was quiet, thrumming through him as though it was his own thought.
Danielle Davis does not know death. She does not know true fear. She is brave, yes. She has been taught strength and poise and defiance well by her culture, her peers, and her parents, yes. She is the culmination of her history and heritage, yes. But in the next days, she will become so familiar with death and fear and exhaustion that she will desire it, more keenly than she has desired anything. She will not survive, and when she dies and when the light fades from her eyes, I will see the death to whatever innocence I have left, and I will see the death of hope.
With his swirling guilt, Martouf forgot that the girl of whom he was thinking was still vibrantly alive, and he was holding onto her arm with a tight grip.
I would not be so sure to assume that she will die. She is young, but so are all of the Tau'ri, in comparison to the Tok'ra. She may not know of death or torture or terror, but she may learn and not be broken by the knowledge,Lantash merely stated. Martouf couldn't even tell if his symbiote truly believed in the girl or if he was merely pointing out the other side of the argument.
Either way, it churned at his heart and sparked hope back into existence in his heart.
The hope dimmed when he turned back to the girl, Lantash taking over, and watched her collapse against the ground. Her skin was far too pale, he noticed detachedly. He shouldn't have made her walk. He had thought it would have made the most spectacular of impressions of Isis and scared her witless, seeing the Tau'ri girl injured but, oh, so defiant in the fact that she walked. Martouf knelt down and smiled slightly to himself. If only, he mused as he retrieved his healing device from a pouch at his side. Within minutes, the wound was gone, and Danielle's body had been put to rights.
…
Danielle felt all of the pain and sickness and dizziness leave her as though it was being slowly sucked out by a tube attached to her injured side. It had started with her headache slowly disappearing at the same time the numbness in her legs began to be replaced with feeling. The scrapes on her face stopped hurting, and she was suddenly more able to focus. Breathing became easier as her bruised ribs became unbruised, and finally, the agony of her side faded into distant memory. Once it was gone, she couldn't remember how terrible it had been, and it was as if she had never been hurt in the first place.
Unfortunately, the smell of her own coppery blood remained. For a moment, she remained on the floor, reveling in the peace she felt from being relieved of the agony. Then she remembered where she was. Her sitting up was soon followed by standing, and she didn't sway on her feet as she eyed the device the man held in his hand – she didn't know what it was, she didn't really want to know, but it had just healed her. He had just healed her. Why? She didn't know. She didn't really want to know. It was done, she felt better, and that was that.
She could feel her posture becoming rigid, and she instinctively took a step back so she was in a better position to fight him.
She had thought combat was years off for her. She had thought the years of cross country running and tae kwon do would only really be useful to be in shape for the Academy so she could become a pilot. She had thought her physical fitness had only really been useful for looking decent in a bikini and at school dances and for making gym class only a minor necessary nuisance in her life. Unfortunately, all of that was not true.
Here, she might get her first taste of a fight. Here, she might need the skills she had learned in tae kwon do classes. Here, she might actually need to use her level of fitness for something other than a controlled one and a half mile run. Her newly mended stomach muscles clenched in anticipation, and her arms stiffened at her sides, preparing for a fight.
"You will come with me, Tau'ri," the man stated once again. His voice was hard and cold, like iron bars forgotten outside during a blizzard. Iron.
Danielle wanted to refuse. She wanted to scream and punch him and throw him on the floor and run. But she forced herself to take a breath, and she looked around. There were three frightening men down the hall in what looked like chain mail with staffs. They were bigger than her and much stronger. Even the man in front of her, while more streamlined than his beefy compatriots, was definitely bigger than her and seemed to almost reek of physical strength.
In the end, her simple desire for self-preservation won out. She glared and remained in her severely defensive position, but she waited for the man to walk, and when he did, she followed him. That didn't mean she was going to just let this happen. But she didn't want to be beaten before she learned anything.
… she understood quite well why her knees threatened to buckle every time he looked over his shoulder to ensure she was keeping up or why she wanted to faint every time she heard an unfamiliar sound or why… but she needed to be strong. She was going to be strong. She was strong. But she was terrified out of her mind. She wanted to cry. And her tears began to streak down her face, but she didn't sob. She strangled the desire to let out moans and sniffles and chained those sounds in her chest. But he didn't look back at her, and for that she was grateful, even if he was just simmering in his own victory at making a girl cry.
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Author's Notes: Poor Danielle. She's trying to hold, trying to be strong, trying to be what she thinks she should be, but she's only eighteen in the face of all of this madness. Can she survive? What will the effects be on her mind, if she does survive? What do you think? Do you think she'll survive? I think that's a major question that should be considered. Is she mentally capable of facing torture and constant terror? Can the human mind be set to rights after something like this? I'd love to hear your thoughts because these are just fascinating questions to consider, especially when we have a character in that situation. Also, how am I doing with Martouf and Lantash? I haven't seen much interaction between the two of them in fanfiction, so I feel like I'm going into unchartered territory. Again, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Just press that little button down there!