Title: Midnight's Children (part 7)

Rating: R

Genre/pairing/warnings: Daniel/Vala, Drama, Action-Adventure, mentions of torture in some chapters

Setting: Post-Ark of Truth

Word count: 5,365

Summary: Daniel and Vala, captured and held prisoner, struggle to survive a dark and painful ordeal. Not to mention each other. The bonds forged through hardship may prove to be the strongest of all, if only they can see them.

Vala stumbled as she made her way slowly along the corridor, terrified that a wrong step would spill her precious cargo.

She knew her feet were dragging. Every step was an effort. It had been days - perhaps weeks - of constant work, and she was beginning to feel the strain.

They'd come for her every day without fail since this latest outbreak. She knew she couldn't hope to contain it. She'd watched her third patient die just this morning despite a gruelling two hour vigil. On-and-off application of the healing device and what basic nursing she could manage had done nothing to stem the inevitable. The man, battle-scarred, brawny and with fingers calloused by weapon use, had died a slow and painful death. Before the end he had called for his mother. He wouldn't receive a burial.

She was beginning to see more battle casualties too. She wondered why it was only now that the wounded were brought back from the fighting, and if all this time the injured had simply been left where they fell, calling for help as their comrades retreated. Perhaps their numbers were dwindling. Perhaps now even a wounded man was too valuable to waste.

A handful of women, the first Vala had yet to encounter here, had been drafted in to help care for the injured. They'd given Vala a wide berth, and she suspected they had been instructed not to talk to her. She'd watched one, a scrawny girl who couldn't have been more than twenty, matter-of-factly tip her unconscious patient's meal into her own bowl, a challenge in her eyes when she'd caught Vala staring. Vala had quickly looked away, and after agonising over it for several hours, had eventually followed the girl's example. Food was evidently becoming scarce, and her own rations had suffered. She was confident that the man she'd stolen from soon wouldn't miss food, or anything else, again.

She hefted the container in her arms. It weighed far less than it should.

The light became progressively more diffuse as she walked deeper into the bowels of the complex. She stifled an irritating cough that she hadn't quite been able to shift over the last few hours. It was nothing, but Daniel didn't need to hear it. The need would pass once she was still again.

She longed for rest.

As she neared the questionable sanctuary of her own cell, her ears picked out the faint shuffling of occupants in some of the others lining the long corridor. This too was new. She didn't want to speculate as to why none of them approached the hatches in their doors or appealed for water as she passed. She wondered if Daniel had heard them being brought in.

Her escort pulled her to a stop at the corridor's end. As always, one of the guards checked through the hatch before opening the door and shielded the panel from Vala's view as he entered the key code.

Vala had long since given up straining to look. Between them, she and Daniel had yet to come up with a workable escape plan, and even if they'd had the strength left to overpower their captors, they were never given the opportunity to try. They'd learned early on that the door would not be opened until their guards were satisfied Daniel was far enough back, and the one time he'd tried to be difficult about it they'd had their rations confiscated. Their only hope was for Vala to gather information and try to make allies, but that was proving to be more difficult than she'd anticipated, and looking more and more unlikely.

Her back already groaning resignedly, she bent and shuffled her way inside, the door grinding closed behind her.

"Only me," she confirmed wearily, a lesson she'd learned after her first couple of outings. She was rewarded immediately with the tactile reassurance she longed for whenever she was out of the cell, those warm hands reaching for her and pulling her close, the tension of the day released on a sigh as she was welcomed back into that place of safety.

"Everything okay?" Daniel asked, a variation on a theme he never strayed from whenever she returned. Her answer was always the same, whether it was the truth or not.

"The usual," she told him, and added a qualifier after some reconsideration. "Just tired."

The food and water forgotten for the moment, she wormed her way closer to the heat of Daniel's body, unaccountably chilled despite the perpetual humidity. She was almost sure she wouldn't be able to find a comfortable position, yet before she could muster the strength to tell Daniel about her day, she was stolen away into a dreamless sleep.

~o0o~

She was coaxed reluctantly back to awareness by a delicate tugging sensation that sent little shivery prickles down the sides of her neck. She waited and it continued, a gentle, rhythmic pulling at her scalp that was strangely pleasant.

Her eyebrows drew together. Was Daniel stroking her hair?

That slight movement was enough to betray her, and the light touches stopped.

"Hey," she murmured sleepily, and she felt him tense beneath her.

"Sorry," he whispered.

Was he embarrassed? Or did he think he'd woken her?

Vala burrowed contentedly against his chest. "S'okay," she assured him around a yawn. "I was getting a crick in my neck anyway."

She didn't want to move, even despite her admission. There was nowhere to move to, and she was tired, still so very tired. And this was nice. Was that so wrong? To enjoy the comfort of another person's presence? To want some small sense of security and tactile familiarity?

Daniel said nothing more, and Vala allowed herself to drift sleepily, soaking up his warmth. Her sense of smell had long since become inured to their less than savoury surroundings, but she liked Daniel's unique, masculine scent, the soft bristle of his beard against the back of her neck when she moved, the thump of his heartbeat by her ear. She did nothing to prompt the tiny shifts that would signal the end of her allotted time in his arms, the end of what he found acceptable for sleeping. Small movements - the straightening of his back, the stretching of his arm, perhaps the crooking of one knee - would precede a subtle distance that always crept between them during their waking hours together. She missed the closeness when it was withdrawn, but she was reluctant to ask for what was not freely given.

She hoped she was not imagining it, but she thought perhaps the delay between waking and parting was growing every day. She found she didn't mind at all.

Vala watched the lazy play of shadow on the wall opposite, the increasingly frenetic dance of the shapes a precursor to the torch outside finally extinguishing. It would soon be black again. If the pattern of the last few days held true, they'd come for her not long after that.

She found she minded the darkness less as time went by and that her other senses helped pick up the slack. She wasn't sure she'd call her perception sharpened, but she was aware of her surroundings in a way she had never needed to be before. She could tell the difference between an approaching guard with provisions and one without, just by the sound of his footfalls. She knew the exact distance to the door by instinct alone, and she had mapped every feature of Daniel's clothing and hers with her fingertips. She could hear a smile in his voice and a frown, interpret the tension of a cramp in the limbs beneath her, and predict the need to reposition by the slightest play of muscles. His arms and legs sometimes twitched as he relaxed into sleep. His breathing always sounded different, too.

She thought she would be able to recognise him anywhere now, even without light to see by or words exchanged.

Despite her intentions, the need to move and relieve the pressure on her trapped arm forced her to shift around, and she resigned herself to the inevitable.

Instead of being encouraged to sit upright, she was allowed to turn over and resettle. Her aching joints cheered tiredly even as her inner voice admonished her. She felt unaccountably guilty. She couldn't work out why.

"It's getting harder, isn't it?"

Vala startled slightly at Daniel's unexpected question and struggled out of her own tangled thoughts.

"The sessions," Daniel clarified when she failed to answer. "You're gone longer every day."

This was not a conversation she was ready to face. She'd known it was coming of course, but she'd hoped their unspoken agreement not to acknowledge some of the harder truths would hold out a little longer.

Getting her hands planted firmly beneath her, Vala levered herself upright, her movements stiff and sluggish with exhaustion. "I'm fine," she contradicted him, her words unconvincing even to her own ears, and had to stifle the sudden urge to cough as the sounds scratched against her throat.

She managed to cover the reflex by clearing her throat and turned to face the door. "I think I'm getting on top of things. Another couple of days and I'll have everything under control."

She rubbed tentatively at the back of her neck and rocked her head to ease the tight muscles. She could hear Daniel sitting up behind her.

"Don't do that," he said softly.

"Do what?"

"Lie to me."

She stopped what she was doing and dropped her hand. The low flame outside caught a gust of air that sent shadows oscillating wildly across the cell walls.

"That must hurt." She felt Daniel's hand brush her hair to one side of her neck, no doubt exposing the mottled bruising she imagined decorated her back and shoulders.

"It's nothing," she snapped a little too hastily, jerking her shoulder from his reach. She immediately regretted her words, but when she turned back to him, there was only sad understanding in his eyes.

Shame and righteous anger warred within her for a moment but quickly died in the face of Daniel's patient assessment. She wrapped her arms around herself and gave him a self-depreciating shrug.

"Brought it on myself," she admitted, a disgusted snort escaping in an attempt at humour. When Daniel didn't buy it, she continued more soberly, feeling somewhat like a foolish child reporting to a parent.

"Got friendly with the wrong guard. Thought maybe I could win him over, get him talking. Turns out he did like me, only in the wrong sort of way."

Daniel's expression darkened. She smirked at him coldly.

"He won't be trying that again. Gave him a few bruises to remember me by, too."

If they'd had the space for it, Vala suspected Daniel would have turned to pace, would have put some physical distance between them to help hide his reaction. All he had were the limited confines of their cell.

He launched himself awkwardly from his position by the far wall and brushed past her, slamming his palm flat against the cell door. Not satisfied with this, he then pivoted to give it a resounding kick, a growl of frustration accompanying the action.

It was the first time Vala had really seen him lose the tight control he'd held over himself during their captivity, and she shrank back from him before she could stop herself.

"God!" Daniel yelled to the corridor beyond, his voice echoing down that empty tunnel. "I hate this place! I can't stand it!"

He fisted his hands in his hair, an attempt to contain the violence he had no outlet for. He forced his words through teeth clenched with the effort, his eyes screwed shut and posture rigid, an animal trapped in misery.

"I can't stand being so powerless. I can't stand waiting here every day, waiting for you to come back, praying you'll be okay. I can't stand knowing that you're out there risking everything, that you're… you're…" He aimed another kick at the door, apparently out of words, and gave an inarticulate shout that could have been a curse.

Vala held back, unsure what to do or how to help. Something told her that words were not what were needed here, even if she'd had the right ones. Daniel was unravelling right in front of her and she needed to stop him, because if he went then so would she, and she couldn't let that happen. He had been her strength in this place more times than she cared to count. If she could return even a small amount of it now, she would try.

She watched in silence as Daniel retreated from her and curled himself against the immovable plane of the door. She waited for his heaving breathing to slow. He wouldn't look at her, his face hidden in the crook of his elbow, his body leant heavily against the arm braced across the door. She approached him slowly and reached out to him, her hand coming to rest lightly on his shoulder.

Moments passed and she let them. She let Daniel collect himself, lent silent, unconditional support. She knew what this was. She recognised the despair; she felt it too. She couldn't stand to leave him behind each day, either.

Daniel took a deep, shuddering breath and turned his head to look at her, his eyes pained and smouldering in the darkness. She wanted to take that pain away, to banish the haunted, pleading look that didn't belong on that strong face, to help him find himself again before he lost something crucial to the cruelty of this place.

The fight seemed to leave him all at once and he slumped back against the metal, his head leaning back in surrender. Vala's hands found their way to the hair at his temples and he closed his eyes, her fingers raking through of their own accord. She pressed herself close, offering what little solace she could. Her eyes studied the face before her as she sought to smooth away the lines of torment.

It was almost beyond her conscious control. It was a natural thing to lean in, to press her lips to his, a chaste confirmation of presence, of comfort. They could steal this small morsel of peace for themselves, snatch what scant joy they could from this terrible, lonely hell.

Time seemed to slow. What began as an invisible, innocent pull flushed into something meaningful and urgent, a realisation that charged Vala's skin with static. He felt it too, and she was suddenly in a vacuum, a void of sound and light and touch. There was just a narrowing sensation and the sharing of breaths, her whole body frozen in place.

Something inside her rejoiced to feel him respond, tentative, gentle, his mouth parting slightly and it just felt right.

Then he was gone, pulled back and away, his hands on her arms as a loose restraining pressure.

"No," he breathed. "This is a mistake."

The blooming hope in her fled and Vala groped for it wildly. "Why? It's very likely we will both die here. What's the harm? Don't tell me you don't want this, don't need something to hold on to that's not pain or cold or misery in this… this place."

"Don't say that. I have to believe we'll get out of here. You have to believe it."

Vala felt an emotion she couldn't quite define rushing in on her like panic. She couldn't let this slip away. It was easy to fall back into her old persona, the one that had served her so well all these years, the one that had always managed to turn every situation back from crisis point. The one that shielded the vulnerable, exposed parts of her, that expected rejection and so couldn't be hurt by it. The one that she needed less and less these days.

She huffed and tried to keep her tone light. "Fine then. I absolutely believe it. We'll be home in no time. What difference does it make? No one has to know."

Daniel shook his head hesitantly, and she thought she could just make out a pained frown. "That's not…"

"It's not like we can exactly be picky here," she continued with a forced levity she didn't feel. The words felt like they were the wrong shape for her mouth. She felt dangerously out of control. She felt desperate. She forced a smile. "Come on. I won't tell anyone if you really don't want me to. Why not?" She let her fingers trail down Daniel's chest invitingly and he threw her hands off.

"Because! I will know. It will make a difference to me. You might be able to compartmentalise this… whatever this is, into something casual and meaningless and convenient, but I'm sorry. I can't do that. Don't ask me to."

Vala sat back on her heels and studied him, her chest tightening inexplicably. "So what, then? No because it won't mean anything to you, or no because it might?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

He looked at her then, long and hard. He pursed his lips and turned his head in stony silence.

Vala had to swallow down an unwelcome swell of hurt that she hadn't anticipated going into this.

"You're ashamed of me," she announced.

"What? No-"

"Yes, you are. And you're a hypocrite."

Daniel sputtered. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's always do as I say, not as I do with you, isn't it?"

"What the…? How did we…? Where is this even coming from? Have I missed something?"

"Oh please. You know exactly what I mean. You're not very good at the manipulative thing. You think you are, but only because I play along. You tell me what you think I need to hear to keep me on the straight and narrow, but you don't actually believe your own words."

Even in the near pitch black, Vala thought she could see the changing expression on Daniel's face, first bewildered and incredulous, then annoyed. He was second-guessing himself. And she had stung him. Good.

"Wait. So I'm a hypocrite, and now I'm a liar too? Are you serious?"

"I could give you some examples, but I'm afraid that would only embarrass us both."

He struggled for words for a moment, probably searching his memory for anything inconvenient or incriminating. He still sounded a little too unsure to be entirely triumphant when he finally spoke. "I still have no idea what you're talking about. I've never been anything but honest with you."

Vala poured all the cynicism she could muster into her voice and tapped her finger to her lips. "Hmmm."

That seemed to prompt him into a burst of defensive anger. "Oh anyway, like you're one to talk! All the half-truths, and the front you put on for everyone, and the way you play on people's feelings like they exist for your own entertainment. Is it a survival thing, or is it just for shits and giggles? Because sometimes it's hard to tell."

"There, see? Hypocrite."

Daniel growled, and Vala thought she could see him jamming his fingers into his eyes. "Right. So, are you actually going to explain, or are you just going to stick to name calling?"

"Okay, first? Do drop the martyred victim act. It doesn't become you and it's not real. Neither is this prickly, cantankerous, overly-serious person that seems to invade the Daniel-shaped space in the room whenever I come even close to scratching the surface with the real you. I don't know what you think you've got to keep locked down so tight in that invisible fortress of yours, but I've got news for you: we can all see the walls and they're becoming tiresome.

"Second, professing one thing and behaving to the contrary is, I would argue, anyone's definition of hypocrisy. You've told me on more than one occasion that you've come to trust me - in quite a condescending manner, I might add - and I've done all I can to live up that, especially given our less than auspicious beginnings.

"But you know what? I've come to realise something. That for you, there are levels of trust, and I'm only ever going to be granted a limited amount. The… the bronze standard of trust. I'm going to keep butting my head against a ceiling because when all is said and done, you'll never let yourself trust anyone to the full meaning of the word. You'll forgive any stranger their flaws in a heartbeat, but you can't even trust your closest friends enough to let them in."

Vala paused, dragging in a shuddering breath. "You'll never… you'll never really trust me."

The light outside the cell chose that moment to snuff itself out in poignant conclusion. Vala inwardly cursed the timing; she would be unable to gauge Daniel's reaction by his face. She could hear her own breathing puffing loudly in the space between them and used the stunned silence to bring herself under control.

When he spoke, Daniel's voice contained a vindictive edge that Vala recognised immediately. She had hit the mark, and she was probably about to regret it.

"You don't know anything about me," he said archly, "and don't pretend you do, because we both know you're only interested in yourself."

"That's not fair."

"Yes it is. It's entirely fair. Vala looks out for number one. Vala gets what Vala wants. Vala pouts and stamps her feet and uses people with absolutely no thought as to the consequences."

The warm liquor burn of an old and ingrained guilt stirred uncomfortably in Vala's stomach. She fought to tamp it down, determined to keep the ghosts of her past where they belonged. "Don't you dare. Things have changed. You know they have."

"Yeah? Guess that's why the joke's always on me."

Vala frowned. He never took any of her ribbing seriously, did he? Or was he referring to the ruse she'd employed during their capture? She hedged. "Oh, do come on. A bit of harmless horseplay?"

"It's not harmless when things go wrong. When people get hurt. When you pull a stunt like this and everything goes to shit. I took responsibility for you!"

Vala shuffled back, a warning in her voice. "Don't yell at me."

She could practically hear him clench his jaw. "I'm not," he gritted out.

"Yes, you are. You're always yelling at me."

There was the slap of palms against the floor.

"Fine! I'm yelling! What the hell do you expect? All you do is deliberately try to piss me off. Well, it worked. I'm mad. You win. Happy now?"

"You think this makes me happy? This?" She gestured between them angrily, mindless of the futility of the action.

"Well sure. It's what you're always angling for, isn't it? Get a rise out of poor, pathetic Daniel. He's always good for a laugh."

She did laugh, but it was a harsh, humourless sound, and she turned away from him.

"Well?" he pushed. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Her head whipped back over her shoulder and she bit her words off sharply at the ends. "You're. Wrong."

He waited for more, and she imagined him raising his brows in mock invitation. "That's it?"

No, of course it's not, you idiot. She would try anything, go to any lengths, to win his attention. To provoke a response from him. To tease a rare smile out from beneath that tangled burden of responsibility and grief. To settle for irritation and disdain if that failed, if only to coax a spark of life into him when he would close himself off from everyone around him.

Why can't he see it? Why won't he let her in because she needs him.

"Yes, that's it. I'm not going to spell it out for you."

"Because there's nothing to spell out. This is all a game to you and we both know it. And I'm too tired to play it anymore. Not here. Not now."

She absolutely would not cry. She would not. That thought alone brought hot tears of anger and frustration close to the surface and she swiped impatiently at her face. Why did this always happen? Why did real anger have to express itself this way when she needed it to strengthen her, to be pure, dignified, and righteous? He would take her seriously. He would not see her pain.

"Fuck you," she managed, low and dangerous. "And you're welcome, by the way."

She expected a sarcastic response. An oh yes, and a bang up job you did too. Or perhaps you expect me to be grateful? But he said nothing. She nestled as best she could into the furthest corner of the room, missing the warmth at her back like a drowning man misses air. She didn't need it. She would teach herself to breathe water.

For some time there was only the darkness and her own harsh, struggling breaths. It hurt her chest to control them, to force back the tears she couldn't afford. Damn this place! This tiny, choking little space that laid her bare and allowed no escape, not from herself, and not from him. She didn't even have the privacy of her own head, because he was in there, too.

She wanted to shriek. To pummel her fists against the slimy walls and just scream.

She whirled, determined to have the last say, fuelled by her own anger and hurt to lash out one last time, to sting him as he was so casually capable of stinging her.

"You just love to be unhappy, don't you?" she challenged sweetly, a dangerous edge to the tenuous control she exerted over her voice. "You can't stand the thought of actually getting what you want, because you're so afraid of losing it again. You're a coward."

"Oh, here we go again-"

"You're a coward and… and… rude, and self-righteous, and rude-"

"For God's sake. Give it a rest, Vala."

"No! No, I won't give it a rest. Not until you actually hear me. Got somewhere else to be? Something better to do? No. You have absolutely no excuse this time and for once you're going to listen."

"I think I've heard quite enough."

"Why can't you believe I'm really, genuinely interested? In you, for you?"

"Because this is you we're talking about. Can you honestly tell me, if it were anyone else here right now, if I were Cam, or Teal'c, or, hell, anyone one else at all, would we still be having this conversation?"

Vala paused, the sharp intake of breath unexpected and startling. "I can't believe you've actually just said that to me."

"No? Because you've made it pretty clear that you have a one-track mind, personality compatibility optional."

"You're jealous."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're jealous and you're hurt because you think the only reason I'm interested is that you're the only option available right now."

"You're delusional."

Vala rode over his denial. "If that were really true - if I really didn't care who I could… could… whatever it is you think I want to do - do you honestly think I'd have wasted all this time, all these long, lonely months of rejection and scorn and almost pathological disinterest on you? On the one person who doesn't hesitate to push me away or look down his nose at me? The person least likely to ever just relax longenough to make it easy for me?"

Daniel made an unflattering sound. "You like a challenge. I wouldn't be surprised if there was money riding on it."

She felt her throat close up, a painful bloom of emotion rising to choke all sound. How could he be so blind? So deliberately obtuse? She couldn't make him see when he was so determined to misunderstand. She'd laid out everything, and he'd flayed her.

She turned, unable to continue. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. All she could do was retreat back to the wall, to put as much distance as was physically possible between them and try to get herself under control. She would have to master this and move on, because it was just too hard.

She breathed, deep and slow. She could hear the shuddering of those breaths but couldn't silence them.

Daniel tutted and sighed forcefully. "Oh, stop it. You're not that upset."

The tears began to spill, and almost all at once her anger deserted her. All that was left was an aching loneliness, a loss that felt no less profound for its complete absurdity. She'd never had him to lose. If she'd let herself become invested in something fictional, she had only herself to blame now that it was proven without foundation.

She heard Daniel stirring behind her and prayed silently that he would not try to approach. She wasn't sure she could handle even the slightest touch without breaking, without flying apart with hysterical sobs.

He didn't. Instead he sighed again, and Vala thought she could detect the slightest edge of uncertainty in his voice.

"Look, just forget it, will you?" he said.

"I'm trying to," Vala sing-songed, and hoped her facetious response would cover the thickness to her words.

She snuffled as delicately as she could, using the filthy sleeve of her jacket to mop at the wetness on her face. She was so preoccupied with her task that the hand caught her off guard and she jumped, her arm flinching away wildly.

"Don't."

The hand ignored her warning and sought her arm again, this time travelling awkwardly up to her shoulder. He'd moved in front of her. They were only inches apart and she hadn't noticed, hadn't detected his approach. How long had she been like this?

"Vala." He spoke her name as a question and a statement at once. It was enquiry and apology and, she realised, the only word she really needed to hear.

Daniel's hand ghosted up her neck to her face and she shut her eyes, trembling against the gulping breaths her tears demanded she make. His thumb swept tentatively along her cheekbone and through the evidence of her distress. She held herself still, lips pressed tight against any sound. She should turn her face away, but the way he lingered kept her frozen. She didn't want this. Not now.

"Vala…" he said again, a whisper this time, and she felt her control slipping.

"Please don't," she tremored, but still she could not pull back.

His hand dropped from her face and he sought out her own. He grasped them both, bringing them up to clutch between them. She dared not move an inch. She didn't want to break the spell.

"I'm sorry," he murmured brokenly, and Vala could hear the effort it cost him to keep his voice even. She felt her face crumbling and was obscenely thankful for the darkness, the bane of her existence and her faithful protector.

She felt herself leaning forward, and when their foreheads touched she returned the squeeze to his fingers. She let herself cry and was quiet. Daniel's laboured breaths mingled with her own and stirred the fine hairs on her face.

"I'm sorry," Daniel told her again, his voice no stronger, and she nodded silently. "I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did," she interrupted haltingly, squeezing his hands gently when he took a breath to protest. "And so did I. But it's okay. Because I understand."

"It's just that… I just can't-"

"I know."

"And I know that you don't really-"

Vala shook the hands in hers to silence him. "Shh. I know."

She felt the pull of a sorrowful smile against her own brow and a snuffle of weak laughter on her face. "Good. Just as long as we both know," Daniel teased lightly. His humour fell away as quickly as it had come and Vala allowed herself to be drawn into his arms.

They remained that way for some time, and when they came to take her from the cell, Vala's tears had just about dried.