Letting Go Chapter 12

Those Who Stand and Wait – Missing Scene – SGC

"How long, Sergeant?" The general snapped out the question before his feet had left the metal staircase at the back of the control room, his anxiety finally pushing him past his professional veneer of patience and steadfastness as scenarios drifted through his mind and fire laced his gut with pain. He knew how long it had been since SG-1 and 17's last check-in. He knew to the minute how many hours his teams were overdue. But he also knew that this customary give and take of command allowed the men and women left to sit helplessly on this side of the wormhole a small measure of comfort – a false sense of control when events out there, one step and a million miles away, remained completely out of their reach.

Hammond had waited, keeping himself busy throughout the night, attending to small, unimportant details of the base that could easily be shunted to any number of subordinates as the hours dragged on. It was a milk run – a visit with friendly allies and a shakedown mission for Mansfield's newly formed command. He snorted to himself. One where, he hoped, the rigid, by the book major would learn a lot more from watching Jack O'Neill in action than he would from the close-mouthed Tok'ra. But it wasn't concern for his military troops that had rocked him, that had kept him on-base and in his office, trying without much success to free his conscience from blame and make peace with the decisions made based on Ren'Al's word and O'Neill's bitterness.

No. It was the memory of determined blue eyes, the uncompromising set of his chief civilian's shoulders, and the sour taste of wrong choices, wrong judgment, and wrong conclusions made by and for this man that had tied him to his chair.

Harriman hadn't left, either. The airman did not bother to look at the clock as his hands flew over the controls. "They're eight hours overdue, sir. No word from Colonel O'Neill, the Tok'ra, or Doctor Jackson."

Hammond crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet. Daniel Jackson. Brilliant linguist, accomplished archaeologist, stubborn peacemaker, and reluctant soldier. Off on what could easily be a suicide mission behind enemy lines with only one old, cantankerous, alien-compromised retired general as back-up. What the hell had brought them to this?

Jack O'Neill seemed to be as stunned as he was during their last conversation via the MALP they'd stationed at the Revanna 'gate. It had not been a typical convoluted Tok'ra plot after all – they really were insistent that Daniel play an undercover role at the Goa'uld summit meeting in order to test their new poison while possibly eliminating every major Goa'uld leader in the galaxy. And Daniel had agreed to do it.

He could read the fury and frustration in his 2IC's strident voice and pinched features through the tinny audio connection and the small viewscreen. The man had convinced himself – and Hammond – to see this through. To send Daniel Jackson through the wormhole to Revanna and into the Tok'ra's hands believing that either the Tok'ra would reveal some more devious plot or the civilian's good sense and well-honed ethics would prevail.

He should have known. Dammit. Hammond's eyes narrowed at the memory. The aura surrounding Daniel during their last meeting before the mission, the way the scholar's restless gaze barely met his, the echo of self-reproach in his carefully chosen words and the sharp scent of betrayal in his easy acceptance of his fate.

The young man had seemed so young, sitting there across the desk in his non-military clothes. So young and so at sea among the tight creases, hardened steel, and spit shines of the American military. And yet Daniel's exceptional mind had seemed to grasp the underlying repercussions of this mission better than his special-ops trained commander.

"Son." He'd called him 'son.' No other SGC member took up such a large soft spot in Hammond's heart. The young man had been practically vibrating with tension, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. At the moment, Hammond had been concerned, siding with O'Neill in his assessment of Daniel's ability to follow through. "This mission…" He'd taken a deep breath and tried to give the civilian an opportunity to bow out or at least voice his doubts or worries. "Well, it's not exactly what we usually ask you to use your linguistic talents for."

"No, sir."

Daniel's words were clipped, uttered with a hint of a cold smile. Hammond had straightened. "Do you think you're up to it, son? I will not give this mission a 'go' unless you're one hundred per cent sure."

Hammond breathed out a long, silent sigh. A quick reassurance, another empty smile, and Daniel had been out the door, slipping past O'Neill without a word, back straight and chin up. And, a few hours later, he'd walked up the ramp to the wormhole at Teal'c's side without a backwards glance. He remembered standing there in the control room, eyes searching the bare back wall of the 'gate room through the lifeless alien ring long after the wormhole had disengaged, as sure as he'd ever been in his long career that they were making one of the biggest mistakes in the history of the program.

He nodded to himself. "Let's dial it up, Airman. See if we can raise the colonel."

"Yes, sir." Harriman's relief was obvious.

The outer ring began its grinding circuit, steam rising, anticipation crackling among the technicians. The SFs in the 'gate room seemed poised, eager.

"Chevron One encoded."

Welcoming Committee – Arrival on Revanna – Expanded Scene

In the tense, silent cockpit, Daniel had fought off sleep, fought against the weight of his exhaustion long enough to excuse himself and down another stimulant before they arrived at the planet. The familiar zinging along his nerves was a comfort, and his fingers recovered their dexterity long enough to give Jacob another chance to rest before they entered orbit and had to deal with whatever they found there. The two seemed to have called an unannounced truce – Daniel couldn't blame Jacob – or Selmac – for all of the things that had gone so massively wrong, not when he saw his own culpability, his own incompetence so very clearly. Daniel smiled to himself – he made a pretty lousy spy, and an even worse soldier.

That Jacob needed rest confounded him.

They were both on edge as the cargo ship came out of hyperspace above the planet. A strange chirping noise drew his eyes away from the menacing bulk of the mother ship in orbit.

"We're getting an alert from the surface," Jacob announced.

From the Tok'ra? From SG-1? "What's it say?"

Jacob's voice was too light, too even. "'The base has been compromised. Assume no survivors'."

Daniel strained to swallow in his dry throat. It was a Tok'ra warning filled with the same fatalistic tone that he'd heard from them before. Cut their losses. Assume the worst. A message from Jack – from SG-1 – would have sounded different. It would have contained details of the enemy forces, a place to rendezvous. Jack never assumed that they couldn't escape from the Goa'uld – even when he probably should.

Jacob sighed. "We should get out of here."

No. They couldn't just leave. He wouldn't leave them behind. Daniel turned to demand … something, anything, another plan, a moment to think, dammit, when another chime sounded in the silent cabin.

"We're getting another signal."

"What is it?"

Jacob's eyes brightened, a hesitant smile flashing across his face. "It's an SOS."

An SOS – old Earth style Morse code – the military equivalent of arms waving in the air, shouting, "Hey, we need help!" Daniel felt his heart beat hard in his chest.

"Well, that has to be Jack or Sam."

Jacob nodded. "Hopefully both. And more." He placed both hands on the controls, suddenly animated, confident again. "Let's ride."

The ship dived through the atmosphere, riding the currents through the massive cloud bank. And then it shuddered – once, twice – bright flames of Goa'uld weapons searing past the view screen. Daniel smelled smoke and steadied his hands against the console as vibrations shook through the ship.

"What the hell-"

"We've been hit," Jacob snapped, hands busy with the controls, "our cloaking mechanism has failed." A loud bang and a cloud of smoke erupted from the engine compartment behind them. "They must have locked onto our heat signature as we passed through the atmosphere," he shouted.

Daniel's hands hovered over his own controls, but the lighted readouts flickered in time to the sharp cracks and sparks from their rear, finally dying out altogether. He wedged himself into his seat, both arms braced.

"I can't shake them," Jacob yelled, "I'm diverting power to the shields – we're losing altitude, fast."

He could see that – the trees seemed to leap up at them through the clouds, reaching up to pull them to the ground, weapons fire still leaving scorching trails through the ozone all around them. Too fast – they were going too fast. The ship bucked and heaved, slamming him back against the seat.

"Hang on, Danny, we're going in!"

They hit the trees, the sound of the huge trunks snapping sounding like breaking bones in Daniel's ears. Light flashed – Jacob shouted something else, but he couldn't make it out. Dark, bitter laughter welled up – some rescue party they were turning out to be. The ground slapped up at them, slamming him backwards and then forwards. His stomach lurched, and then – a sharp pain in his head – blackness.

Some Kind of Rescue – Revanna – Expanded Scene

Jack turned, his sharp gaze raking the darkening sky. He'd heard it – he knew he'd heard it. The sound was unmistakable to any flyboy. More death gliders? Troop carriers? The mothership itself? His hands flexed against his weapon – two P90s, a few sticks of ammo, their sidearms and one Jaffa staff weapon. Dammit – they just couldn't be lucky enough to stay hidden until Jacob and Daniel came through with the big rescue scene, could they?

"There!" Teal'c pointed towards the sky.

Huh. Jack watched the cargo ship nosedive towards the trees, smoke billowing out behind, its death glider pursuit leveling off and then making tracks back towards the Stargate. Looked like the big rescue scene was out altogether.

"Carter, you stay here with Elliot." He didn't need to look to know that Teal'c was right behind him.

They loped through the underbrush until they'd found the huge swath the ship had cut on its descent. Jack kept his eyes on the sky, knowing that the Goa'uld wouldn't assume that the ship's passengers had been killed. The death gliders would return to finish the job. Or the snakeheads would send a ground assault – or both.

"Do you believe it to be Jacob Carter and Daniel Jackson, O'Neill?"

Jack flashed a glance beside him, Teal'c's tense posture and ready weapon confirming his own deductions about enemy movement.

"Who else?"

"Could it not be a Tok'ra rescue party?"

Jack ground his teeth together. "Yeah, 'cause those guys are just so likely to stick their necks out for us, buddy." Nope. A bunch of short-sighted, strategy-void, know-it-alls who couldn't come up with one human from their ancient intergalactic spy ring to take their poison to the Goa'uld summit. No way. The Tok'ra were users – they took people and squeezed out every possible ounce of usefulness and then threw them away. Ole Martouf, he hadn't been so bad. Then Sha'nauc. And now, Daniel.

"Perhaps it is not for us, O'Neill, but to reacquire the formula for the symbiote poison."

"Okay, I can buy that," Jack allowed, "but you're totally killing my optimistic mood, here, T." He didn't bother to look at what he knew would be a firmly raised eyebrow.

"You find it optimistic to believe that the ship that was meant for our rescue has just crashed into this planet, possibly stranding Jacob Carter and Daniel Jackson along with us?"

Jack pulled ahead. "Oh, for crying out loud…"

Welcoming Committee – Arrival on Revanna – Expanded Scene

Hot. Heat seared along his left arm, waking him with sharp sparks of pain and light. Daniel jerked backwards, denying the throbbing in his head, squinting against the brightness. The display screen on the console next to him erupted into cracking flashes of flame and needle-thin fragments of plastic and he raised his arm to shield his face.

The pilot's seat was empty. Jacob.

His thoughts swam, hazy and clouded like the stale air in the cabin, until he caught sight of the ornate robes and slippered feet at awkward angles on the floor behind the pilot's chair.

"Jacob." Barely a breath. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Jacob."

A long thin gash along the man's head trickled bright red blood. Daniel swarmed from his seat, adrenaline pulsing through him, and pushed past the throbbing fog inside his head, the aches and stings that announced themselves as he maneuvered himself over the wreckage to kneel beside Jacob's motionless form.

Was that …. Yes, Jacob's head tilted to one side, his eyes blinking slowly. Alive. He was alive. And, with Selmac's help, any injuries would heal. "Hey, you okay?"

Jacob raised his head and then let it fall back against the floor, eyes closed. "Not really," he groaned.

Daniel stifled a cough, the smell of fried circuits and weapons' hits filling the small space. He had to move, get Jacob outside, away from the ship – the Goa'uld would be back. He looked around at the damage, hoping the hatch mechanism was still functioning. A burning sensation in his arm had him frowning down at Yu's armband where it slid over his blistered and bleeding flesh. He twisted his arm, flinging the badge of Yu's ownership into the bowels of the ship.

Glancing down, he saw that Jacob had bent both knees, moving slowly but steadily, and he sighed, relieved that the Tok'ra would be able to walk. "Yeah," he began, awkwardly trying to find an unbruised area on the other man so he could help him to his feet, "you'd think a race advanced enough to fly around in a spaceship would be smart enough to have seatbelts, huh?"

He levered Jacob into a sitting, and then standing position.

"Uh, I'd just prefer not to crash," the Tok'ra murmured, still dazed, uncertain on his feet.

Daniel frowned, worried. "Come on, we gotta get out of here." He slid his arm around Jacob's waist to steady him, bringing the Tok'ra's left arm around his shoulders. He half-dragged, half-carried him towards the hatch, moving slowly, waiting while Jacob fumbled at the control mechanism, and then helping the Tok'ra stumble over the gouged and broken earth away from the ship.

They'd just made it around the bulk of the wreckage when Jacob suddenly became heavier in his arms. "Jacob?" He tried to hold on, to keep him upright, but the dragging weight awakened very bruise and slammed his headache outward against his skull.

"Sorry, Danny," the older man panted, pain seared across his face as he slid to the ground, "just … gotta rest … a minute …"

Daniel knelt, head down, eyes screwed shut, willing the dizziness to fade, the pain to subside. "Yeah, good idea," he whispered, for once agreeing with the stubborn old Tok'ra.

It took only a moment for the steadily falling rain to soak through Daniel's thin clothes and set up a pattern of chattering teeth and shaking fingers. He raised his head just enough to eye the broad leafy boughs at the edge of the crumpled path. They might provide some shelter. It wasn't that far. He struggled to get one foot beneath him and placed one hand on Jacob's heaving chest.

"Come on. Over there," he muttered, jerking his chin towards the shadowed forest.

Jacob's head wobbled back and forth. "No. I'm good. You go ahead."

Frowning, Daniel patted the other man's cheek. "Hey, Selmac, tell Jacob to get moving."

A hesitant grin curled the Tok'ra's mouth. "He's a little tired, Danny."

Jacob's voice, unblended by Selmac's echoing tones. "He's – why?" Daniel crouched next him, shielding his face from the rain. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Jacob's smile disappeared. "We just need a little time."

Time. Selmac should be busy healing Jacob; that Daniel could understand. But unless the body's injuries were far more extensive than it seemed, the symbiote should be able to respond, to speak for himself. He tried to focus, to understand. Selmac was tired. Jacob was hurt – bruised, slammed to the deck by their uncontrolled landing. And the thin line of blood was still flowing from the shallow scalp wound.

Daniel's stomach turned and clenched and the slight tremors racing down his arms and legs turned into full-blown shivering. "He's tired because you healed me. And now, because he used up so much of his reserve healing me, he can't heal you." The words dropped like ice from his lips.

"No, Daniel-"

"That's right, isn't it, Jacob? Damn it." He pushed unsteadily to his feet and grabbed the Tok'ra beneath the arms, anger and frustration fueling his movements.

"Daniel, stop-"

He dragged the other man towards the tree-line, one step at a time, teeth clenched against his own pain. "I can't tell you - how tired I am," he huffed out in breathy spurts, "of people - making decisions - for me. Telling me what to do – what my job is – and how to do it –" he heaved again, making more progress now that Jacob was bending his knees, pushing against the ground with his feet. "Not giving – a shit – what I might – think – or want."

He propped Jacob's back against a tree, checking him over carefully before collapsing next to the injured Tok'ra, breathing hard, sweat mixing with the rain to film his vision.

A hand fell against his knee, but he refused to meet Jacob's gaze.

"What, Daniel. Did you think that Selmac and I would just let you die? And, yes, you were dying, lying there in the ship, all torn up from what Yu and Osiris did to you because of the job we – I – insisted that you do."

Daniel turned, spearing the Tok'ra with eyes made ice and flint from too many days of struggling alone, too many hours spent inside his own head with his fears and fumbles, and too much anger and loss at his own inadequacies. "Acceptable losses, Jacob – me, Sarah, the Goa'uld hosts, the Jaffa – why is it suddenly different? Why am I now worth your life – and Selmac's?"

"That's not – dammit, Daniel," Jacob snatched his hand away to press it against his side, his eyes closed. He took a few long, slow breaths before he met Daniel's stare again. "First of all, Selmac is fine – tired, yes, but he'll be working on healing me any minute now. It's just going to take him longer than usual."

Daniel was silent, not quite sure whether to be relieved quite yet.

"And, more important, let an old soldier tell you about acceptable loss, will ya?"

Jacob waited, searching his face, the tired eyes concerned, insistent. Daniel frowned, hesitant. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, that he wanted Jacob to confirm just how the military mind considered human lives when they toted up their gains and losses.

"Okay," the former Air Force general began, "it's something that's in the back of a commander's mind during every mission, in every strategy session, and in every conflict. What will it cost to take that hill? How many men will be lost if we storm their trenches, or go into their caves? And weighing that risk against military goals will steal your soul if you're not careful." One pale hand nudged Daniel's leg. "You know that there's risk, Daniel, every time you go through that wormhole with SG-1. And that's a decision that you made yourself, isn't it? To be a part of a frontline military unit?"

Daniel nodded. "Yes. I did," he answered quickly, "I do." To get Sha're back. To explore. To be a part of something – a part of this team. But this time …

"But this time it was different, wasn't it?" Jacob voiced his thought.

"I – it wasn't –" Daniel shook his muddled head. Wasn't it? Questions unasked, threats unassessed, teammates absent – wasn't it different?

Jacob shifted closer. "Tell me something, Daniel. Do militant, extremist suicide bombers consider the loss of their lives acceptable losses?"

"Ah, I'm sure they do…"

"Sure," Jacob nodded. "All they care about – and all their commanders care about - is striking hard and fast on behalf of their particular philosophy. The bombers themselves never know the whole story, they just go in to do as much damage as possible, usually to civilians, and they're promised eternal rewards for doing it."

"What does that-" Daniel didn't follow, the trail of logic eluded him as he fought through the dark miasma of his mind.

"Daniel – that's exactly what we did this time. We sent you in there like a suicide bomber, unaware of all the risks, pretty much throwing your life away to do the most damage possible." Jacob's lips were a thin, white line. "All of us – George, Jack, the SGC, the Tok'ra – we pointed you at the Goa'uld like a weapon and set you off." He snorted derisively, "You. A weapon. Well, that's on us." He reached out, cold hands gripping Daniel's face, holding him steady, eyes blazing. "You, Daniel Jackson," Selmac's voice boomed through the dripping forest, "are not an acceptable loss."

Daniel couldn't move, couldn't pull back, couldn't argue. One question tormented him, echoed within his aching skull, sent his stomach into roiling tumult. Why? Why not?

Jacob must have seen the confusion behind his eyes, because he sighed, patting one of Daniel's cheeks before he dropped his hands. "Good commanders know that the loss of one life is incalculable. They don't take shortcuts, they don't ignore intel, and they don't use people up and throw them away. Only when there's no other way." He pressed both hands to the leaf-strewn ground and stood, grunting, using the tree behind him and Daniel's instinctively outstretched hands as anchors. "I know that, Selmac knows that – I'll even admit that Jack O'Neill knows that. But this time, we let our greed for gain overwhelm our better judgment."

"Jacob – I'm not – I don't understand." Daniel looped the Tok'ra's arm around his shoulders again, working on auto-pilot, the foundations for his place on SG-1, for his role on this mission that he'd painstakingly worked out over the past few days shaken and battered.

"Yeah, we know that, too." Jacob limped towards the dirt-filled trail. "But someday you will, and I hope, when you do, you'll forgive us."

Daniel moved along at his side, bewildered, disoriented, and decided to concentrate on getting the two of them as far from the downed ship as possible.

He kept his head down, watching his feet trudge through the mud and the flattened grasses, his light shoes coated with sludge making every step harder. After a while, Jacob took more of his own weight and moved more smoothly, his breathing evening out and losing the gasping, rattling quality that had been with them since the ship. The rain never stopped – changing from a fine, icy drizzle to a downpour and back again, every sound muffled by the steady beat of drops against the trees, the ground – them.

Jacob's quick tension in his grasp was his first warning, but by the time he'd raised his eyes, he could feel the wash of relief go through the Tok'ra. Daniel blinked and squinted at the two figures before him, cold, wet, hurting, and, above all, disbelieving that it could be true.

Jack. And Teal'c. Alive.