Chapter Twenty-one

Samantha Carter found Mitchell slouched on a chair in the commissary, feet stretched out on the seat across from him, intently tearing a paper napkin into long, thin strips. By the looks of the debris on his tray, this must have been going on for quite a while, probably since she'd notified him that it would take the Odyssey six hours to travel close enough to the nearest planet to scan it for the telltale energy signature. She lowered her chin, remembering the cold reception she'd given Cam and his explanation of Daniel's grounding on the Jaffa world by order of General Landry. Teal'c had stood stoically on the ship's bridge, eyes focused on the green planet that quickly diminished in the large viewscreen, taking his teammates with it. She'd seen that look before – that was his 'I'm going to say I told you so when this hits the fan' look, and she knew, until they all arrived back at the SGC when this mission was over, nothing could possibly get the Jaffa to say anything more on the subject.

Never before had Lt. Col. Samantha Carter seriously considered pulling rank on Cameron Mitchell. He may wear the same insignia as she did, but her years of experience on SG-1 made her, technically, the senior officer on the team, no matter what chain of command the brass was swinging at the moment. She'd never felt even the smallest twinge of resentment about Cam's posting as leader of SG-1, just as she'd never regretted her decision to transfer to Area 51 when the teammates went their separate ways after eight years of traveling through the Stargate together. She knew that lateral move into the pure research end of the program would take her away from the direct military hierarchy – that was the whole point, wasn't it? Getting her away from Jack's sphere of influence? She shook her head. She never imagined that she'd be going through the Stargate again with an SG-1 patch on her shoulder and someone else in the first seat. Never.

But, even admitting that, Cam's leadership had been easy to accept. He may not have been on an SG team, or headquartered at the mountain, but he had paid his dues in the F-302 program and was one of the most determined men she'd ever met. And, more importantly for the premiere off-world team, he rarely lost his enthusiasm. She'd trusted Jack's command, trusted in his strength and devotion to his team, and his uncanny ability to recognize threats that others might miss, but they'd all known that it was time for Jack to move on. They'd seen the fire in his eyes dim as the politics became more heavy-handed, and they'd watched him struggle with his new role as the guy who stayed behind and worried. He'd absolutely hated it. But now the team was reborn under Cam's energetic leadership, and Sam had been quite comfortable resuming her role as head science nerd, at least until now.

Sam knew Mitchell respected her, valued her experience and knowledge, and treated her as more of a partner than a subordinate. Any true orders from him to the team had been minimal, usually under fire, and he'd earned back the immediate trust he'd placed in Teal'c, Daniel, and her very quickly. Trust - that was essential. The times her teammates had found that trust faltering over the years had been the most difficult both in terms of successfully carrying out their missions and in their personal relationships with each other. And while her military background told her that Cam was just following orders, she knew that thread of trust that tied him to the rest of the team was fraying badly.

On the bridge, in front of the Odyssey crew, Lt. Col. Carter had put her head down, finding that rusty old switch in her mind that allowed her to suppress the personal feelings that threatened to take over and focus on the immediate job at hand. Mentally dismissing Mitchell and his matter of fact statement about their mission and Daniel and Vala's extended stay with the Jaffa of Bren-Nek-Mok, she'd directed all of her attention to the board in front of her and to finishing the necessary changes to the Odyssey's sensors to search out the Ancient energy signature. When she'd looked up the next time, both Teal'c and Mitchell were gone.

Relinquishing the station to Lt. Nelson, Sam had thanked Col. Emerson and started down the corridor to the engine room to check on the settings of some of the control crystals, barely noticing the exchange of comments behind her before she felt a presence at her elbow.

"Colonel Carter?"

Sam was surprised to find the commander of the Odyssey walking beside her. "Sir?"

"Just thought I'd let you know that Colonel Mitchell asked that you join him in the mess when you'd finished your adjustments. I'm due for a coffee break myself, so I'll walk along with you, if you don't mind." Emerson's suspiciously neutral expression told Sam that the frosty atmosphere surrounding the three members of SG-1 was not lost on the officer. Damn. She didn't want to talk with Cam now, not until she'd had a chance to weigh her words carefully. Her initial impulse was to send a communication straight to Jack O'Neill, bypassing several layers of the command structure at the SGC, simply because she knew he'd understand. Or would he? She frowned. Jack would hate to be caught in the middle between loyalty to his friends and proper military protocol – that's why he had such a hard time during that year of command of the SGC.

"Sounds like the IOA is making pretty life interesting for SG-1, Colonel," Emerson commented as the two waited for the elevator for the lower decks.

"You could say that, sir," Sam agreed.

"I can't say I like civilians dictating military strategy – Mitchell must be fit to be tied." Emerson nodded for Sam to precede him into the small car. He positioned himself slightly in front of her, facing the doors, and pressed the button for the mess level. "It's hard to feel like you've got any control when your team is spread out over an entire solar system. Especially a team like yours."

"A team like ours, sir?" Curiosity drew Sam a step forward to peer into the colonel's eyes.

"You've got to admit, SG-1 is unique, Sam," Emerson smiled down at her. "It's what makes you so good – makes everyone else look to you for leadership."

Her own biting words and Teal'c's remote silence both openly directed towards SG-1's leader on the crowded bridge of the military vessel replayed in Samantha's memory. No matter how well disciplined Emerson kept his crew, the story was bound to circulate farther and faster than she could imagine. What was she thinking? They were at war – not a war like any they'd studied about in the academy, or that the most veteran officer had struggled through in the past – but a war with a powerful enemy that was all but untouchable by any weapon they'd yet found.

"All the pressure you and your team are under to find some way to counter the Ori," Emerson shook his head sadly, "I don't know how I'd hold up to the kind of scrutiny you guys are under every day. Makes me grateful that it's just me and my crew out here in the middle of nowhere," he chuckled.

"Colonel…"

Emerson turned to face her. "Sam. You've been here since the beginning of the SGC – SG-1 and those other initial SG teams went through hell together, and that forges a unique bond among teammates. Surely you've noticed how things have changed?"

She gazed at the Air Force colonel, wanting him to come to the point, and yet dreading that she wouldn't like what he had to say.

"You and Teal'c and Dr. Jackson treat each other more like family than colleagues, or even friends, and I'm not criticizing that," he added quickly when he saw the defensiveness harden her eyes. "It works for you. How many of the other original teams are still together?"

Faces of dead, crippled, or just plain gone soldiers, technicians, and airmen flitted through her mind. Hawkins, Hanson, Kawalsky, all the members of SG-10, Rothman, Frasier – even General Hammond had moved on.

"Maybe that was your strength, Sam, beyond Jack O'Neill's leadership, or Teal'c's intel, or Dr. Jackson's ability to make friends with just about anyone. Maybe it was the fact that you guys were committed to each other, personally and professionally, that kept you alive and confident enough to fight on." He turned back to face the doors as they slid open on an empty corridor. "But the rest of us poor schmucks," he smiled quickly to take the sting out of his words, "know that we'll only ever be on the outside of that family looking in." He clasped his hands behind his back and stalked off, nodding at members of his crew who made way for him.

Sam hurried to catch up. "If our commitment to each other makes us strong, sir," she threw back at him, "then you understand why leaving some of the team behind is so difficult."

Emerson stopped so abruptly that she had to skip to one side to avoid crashing into his broad back. "Some of your team is here, Sam. And I guess what I'm asking is, are you ready to abandon SG-1, the SG-1 that exists now, because of your loyalty to the past?" His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Sam, did you ever even consider cutting your commanding officer off at the knees mid-mission when Jack O'Neill was your CO?"

Her righteous anger at Cameron Mitchell breathed its last, leaving Sam with a familiar set of knots in her stomach – the knots that resurfaced every time a situation got away from her, every time she had to let go of her need for control. Something of this must have shown in her face, because Emerson had laid one hand on her shoulder, smiled, and excused himself, suddenly remembering a staff meeting that he was conveniently late for. Sam had walked slowly towards the mess, hoping to patch together some kind of apology that let Cam know that she was still on his side without compromising her belief that this was a truly horrible decision. Her teammate's hooded eyes and fixed expression communicated clearly that Cam didn't want this any more than she did, and, she admitted, if she'd actually been paying attention on the bridge, she might have noticed that sooner.

Striding forward, she pulled out the chair at the end of the table and sank into it with a sigh. Mitchell pulled his long legs from the opposite chair and sat up, shoving the debris-strewn tray a few inches away along the metal table, expression guarded. She widened her eyes innocently, glancing from the paper strips to his face and back again. "I see your origami classes have paid off."

Mitchell's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh, you're a laugh a minute, Sam," he attempted to enter into the light-hearted spirit of her comment but lost momentum immediately. "Done futzing with the sensors?" When she simply nodded, he gave her the opening she was looking for. "Anything else I need to know?"

She found a fascinating irregularity on the smooth table before her and began to pick at it with one fingernail. When she looked up, Mitchell was watching her from a tilted back position in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. "You mean did I go over your head and contact General O'Neill?"

"Pretty much."

Sam folded her hands tightly in front of her and straightened her shoulders. "No, Cam, I didn't. And I apologize that I even considered it for a moment."

"Huh." He shrugged. "Figured it had to happen sooner or later..."

"Cam."

"…just thought it would be over something where I actually disagreed with you, or Jackson, or Teal'c, not something I didn't have any more control over than you."

A grimace touched Sam's face briefly. "Not a 'killing the messenger' type thing."

"Right."

Nodding, Sam considered his words. "You thought it would come to this eventually? And you still wanted us all back on the team?"

Mitchell leaned forward and covered her clenched hands with one of his own. "You've led the team before, Sam, and Jackson is known for questioning orders, and Teal'c…"

"Yes, Colonel Mitchell?" The Jaffa placed his own tray on the table across from his teammate, nodded to Samantha Carter, and sat down.

Cam felt a slow smile grow on his face. "And Teal'c, well, I figured you'd just deck me sometime when you were totally fed up." He paused. "How'm I doin' so far?"

One eyebrow raised, Teal'c inclined his head as he spread a napkin on his lap. "Very well."

"I've read the mission files – I know you guys are tight, you've had each others' backs for years. Come on, you guys practically finish each others' sentences. And even though I realized it might end with any one of you pulling the 'experience' card and sending me packing, I knew I had to take that risk." He shifted in his chair and pressed a pointed finger to the table. "And if it ended right here, it would have been worth it."

Sam and Teal'c exchanged a glance. "But it will not end here, Colonel Mitchell," Teal'c assured the leader of SG-1. Mitchell accepted the implied apology without a word.

"What made you change your mind, Teal'c?" Sam wondered.

Fixing his dark gaze on the plate of food in front of him, the Jaffa loaded his fork with meat and potatoes. "I have not changed my mind, Colonel Carter. I still believe that leaving Daniel Jackson and Vala Mal Doran on Bren-Nek-Mok is a foolish and dangerous decision." Mitchell waited, nodding to himself. "That is why we must make our determinations concerning these other worlds as quickly as possible so that we can return there with great speed before the inevitable occurs to our friends."

Mitchell gestured towards his large teammate with his still pointed finger. "Now that's what I'm talking about. What do you say, Carter?" He turned his bright gaze to the blonde scientist.

She shoved her chair back and stood. "Based on their skewed orbits around the local sun, it's going to take us at least three days to check each of the viable planets in this solar system, and then another two to get back to the planet. I think I'm going to head to the engine room and see if I can coax a little more power from the drive crystals. Meet you guys back on the bridge?"

"Sounds good." Cameron Mitchell allowed a sigh to sneak out and rubbed at the tension that had just begun draining from his neck. God only knew how, but SG-1 was still his responsibility. "Jackson had better not get himself killed while we're gone," he muttered.

"I don't know" Sam smirked at her teammates over her shoulder. "It's been a while - he's about due."

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The Jaffa's grip on Daniel's arm in the exact same place that Lis'qan had bruised it a few hours ago, of course, felt like he was trying to grind the bones together. He'd stopped struggling three backhands across the face ago, and was still trying to spit all the blood from his mouth where his lower lip had split against his teeth. Daniel blinked at the golden light that poured from the screens on either side of the village meeting hall, stumbling as the Jaffa dragged him towards one of the two pillars that supported the roof near the dais. He scanned the room, seeing the SGC gear spread out on the long table, including both his and Vala's P90s, GDOs, zats, vests, and backpacks. Another Jaffa was looming over Vala, one hand clenched in her hair, her back up against the other pillar and a bruise already swelling her cheekbone.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," Daniel quipped loudly, earning a blow to his side from the meaty fist of his captor. He lost his footing as the pain shot through his midsection, and managed to drag the Jaffa's grip from his arm as he fell heavily to the floor. "Ow."

"Darling," retorted Vala, not to be outdone, "I was afraid we were going to have to start without you." She'd been run down by the invading Jaffa within the first two hours of the attack, and had been rounded up with the local women and children – those who survived the aerial bombardment anyway – at first. She'd shed the P90 when she'd run out of ammo, but her strange clothes had singled her out, and even though Villene and the other women had tried to shelter her, the Jaffa recognized what the Earth patches meant and dragged her off to the meeting hall. Still intent on securing the village, they'd bound her here and left her relatively alone with only two guards to watch over her. Two guards who must have received some very personal wounds, she guessed, as they'd both been unmoved by her irresistible charms. It wasn't until darkness fell and the sounds of fighting receded that they'd returned their attention to their captive.

She'd hoped that Daniel had made it back to the Stargate, but she also knew, deep down, that he'd never abandon her, even if it was the right thing to do. He'd led them a merry chase, apparently, she observed as the Jaffa released her and moved to assist his comrade, both wrestling Daniel to the pillar across from his teammate. Vala's gaze took in Daniel's bruises, and the wince he couldn't quite hide as the burlier Jaffa slammed his back against the wooden beam, while her own private tormentor yanked his arms backwards and lashed his wrists together around the post.

Daniel grunted in pain as the leather thongs bit into his wrists and his shoulders burned in protest. He and Lis'qan had worked their way towards the village center before they heard the stamp of boots and had to take shelter in a small meat-smoking shed. Peering through a small gap in the door, he'd counted twenty Jaffa hurrying past, the arched mark on their foreheads reinforcing what Lis'qan had already admitted – Ba'al was coming. Sending in his troops to assess his enemy and soften up the villagers was standard procedure. When the Jaffa had passed, he turned to the young man crouching next to him.

"Lis'qan," he began, searching through his pockets for a pen, "I've got to find Vala. Do you think you can make it to the 'gate?" When the Jaffa didn't respond, Daniel grabbed him by one shoulder. "Lis'qan – you've got to listen to me."

Eyes darting nervously between Daniel and the door, the young Jaffa swallowed. "I'm sorry, please, Daniel, forgive me."

Daniel sighed. "Look, we don't have time for this." He pulled the young man around until he could look into his eyes. "You've got to get to the Stargate." He pulled up the sleeve of the young man's robe and began sketching 'gate symbols on his forearm. "Dial this address, but don't go through the 'gate," he shook the man slightly to make sure he was listening. "Do not go through the 'gate, if you do, you'll die." Finished with his notations, Daniel took another look through the door. "When the wormhole disengages, dial it again. Hopefully Vala will still have her radio and General Landry will be able to make contact," he added under his breath. "Then hide and wait there. If they send a MALP – a machine like you saw before – talk to it. Tell them what happened."

"But what about you?" Lis'qan touched the glyphs on his arm almost reverently. "Daniel, they will kill you."

Shaking his head, Daniel's concentration was fixed on the small area he could see outside the door of the shed. "Not right away they won't, trust me."

Flexing the muscles in his legs and back to take his weight, Daniel tried to ease the pull of his bonds, but the Jaffa had other ideas. Grabbing a handful of Daniel's shirt he yanked the archaeologist towards him, causing lines of fire to shoot down his arms from his shoulders to his wrists.

The Jaffa thrust his face down into Daniel's. "My master will be pleased that two of his greatest enemies will soon be kneeling before him." He smiled, the predatory gleam in his eye growing as he watched Daniel struggle to keep his head pulled back, trying to put some distance between his face and the Jaffa's. Without looking up the Jaffa gestured to one of his men waiting near the entrance whose arms were full of Daniel's books and papers. Gritting his teeth and straining against the Jaffa's strength, Daniel watched as his painstaking research was dumped into a tangled heap. "When his ship arrives," the Jaffa growled, his breath washing over Daniel's face, "he will reward me greatly for your capture."

Glancing up into his taller captor's dark eyes, Daniel swiftly judged the angle and stopped pulling, using the Jaffa's own strength to plunge his head forward until his forehead smashed into the Jaffa's nose. Rewarded by the crunch of bone, a squeal of pain, and droplets of hot blood that splashed over his face, Daniel blinked against the sudden blinding headache as he felt himself snap back against the post at his back. "Yes, but you'll never be quite as pretty again," he panted through the pain.

The burly Jaffa was staggering, trying to stem the gush of blood with both hands, eyes blazing with fury and pain. Daniel knew retribution would come quickly and painfully, but he'd learned from Jack O'Neill that Jaffa didn't need an excuse to cause pain, and any opportunity to strike a blow against the enemy shouldn't be wasted. He flicked a glance towards Vala. Especially if it kept their captors' attention on him and away from her.

In the instant when his eyes left the enemy, the other Jaffa who had finished tying off his wrists stepped to his side and delivered a blow to the center of Daniel's abdomen that drove the air from his lungs. Tears that filmed his eyes hid the next blow, and the next, and his body rocked back and forth in time to the punches. Something gave in his ribs with the last blow, and the sharp, cold pain made him hiss in a breath past his clenched teeth. He laid his head back against the smooth wood and allowed a laugh to escape his throat. "Ah, yes, just like old times," he gasped.

"Look, he won't be able to tell you anything if you keep hitting him!" Vala's voice rose over Daniel's groans and the bloodied Jaffa's guttural yells. Daniel knew she was trying to do the same thing he was – get their attention – but he'd be damned if he let her get hurt just to protect him. His eyes closed as the memories flew past – so many others had been hurt because of him. He'd seen Vala burned alive once, at the mercy of the enemy while they held him nearby so he could watch. Nothing could make him witness something like that again.

Fortunately for both of them, another Jaffa stepped into the meeting hall; his aura of authority and the gleam of the gold emblem on his forehead forced the other Jaffa into stillness. Smaller in both breadth and height than the Jaffa who still seethed, blood dripping down his chin, near the captives, the First Prime of Ba'al wore his rank easily. About Daniel's size, with shoulder length brown hair and light brown skin, the First Prime paced through the room, taking in the prisoners, their gear, the air of tension among the guards, and the pile of notes and papers with a few quick glances. He wore the standard armor that Daniel and Vala had seen so many times before, with the zat sheath on his forearm, and a large knife thrust through his wide belt, but his face held none of the brutality or mindlessness that was etched onto the features of his followers. He stopped near the table and stroked one hand along the smooth length of a P90 before nodding to the Jaffa attending him. While the aide hurriedly collected rifles, zats, and ammo, he turned back to address his men.

"Leaving weapons near your captives is seldom wise." His gentle voice contrasted sharply with the power he wielded. "And our Master would not be pleased with the 'care' you are taking of the Taur'i documents. The Ancient writing is the very reason he is interested in this planet." His smile was feral. "Clean it up," he snapped and two Jaffa leaped to obey. Gaze resting on the broken-nosed Jaffa, the First Prime repeated himself slowly and quietly. "Clean it up." His eyes followed the Jaffa as he strode angrily to the door.

Daniel, silently observing the confrontation, noticed Vala's pale face over the First Prime's shoulder. Her mouth was set into a grim line and her eyes were wide, whether in fear or surprise he couldn't tell. But one thing was for sure – she recognized this guy. He jerked his head to try to get her attention and managed to draw her eyes for a moment. Frowning, he nodded to the First Prime, a question clear on his face. She shook her head, the movement almost too subtle to understand, and turned back to watch. Okay, he thought, this could be a problem.

"Our Master will be here before morning. Until then, no one will question the prisoners except me," the First Prime let his glance settle for a moment on the Jaffa still standing over Daniel, fists clenched at his sides. "You will leave two guards outside this building, but no one will enter unless by my direct order, is that understood?" Not waiting for a reply, he walked the length of the hall slowly, only turning again when he reached the door.

"Leave us," his eyes were fixed on Vala as he raised one hand to indicate the door at his back. The remaining Jaffa trailed out, and the First Prime stuck both thumbs in his belt as he walked towards the prisoners. "We have much to discuss."