Author's Note: Re-post (with edits) of a story originally posted ~2005 under my now defunct username, sgtat.
It wasn't a very nice place. Low ceilings, damp walls, rough floor, and darkness. That was the final touch: darkness so complete that she couldn't see her own hand in front of her face. They'd shoved her into this cell hours ago, and she still couldn't see anything.
At first she'd made noise – yelling to be released, asking if anyone was there, then threatening reprisal from her friends and government. When her voice had given out she'd moved around, exploring the small space with her hands and feet, taking mental notes about the depressingly small dimensions, not much bigger than an SGC elevator, with a noticeably shorter ceiling. Now she rested and listened, sitting still and silent in a corner.
Water dripped from the ceiling to her left. Occasionally someone walked by the door to her prison; she could just make out the muffled footsteps and voices. No sounds of animals as of yet, so that was something.
Her greatest source of discomfort was the constant tingle in her blood signaling the presence of naquadah. It was in the rock surrounding her – lots of it. That's why they'd come to this place; the mineral was everywhere, and the MALP and UAV hadn't found any sign of any Goa'uld presence on this world. Still, it was disconcerting to feel so much naquadah so near and not be able to actually see the source – she normally only felt this way when she was dangerously close to a symbiote.
She shifted position, putting her hand on the ground to brace herself. Her palm and fingers burned as she made contact with an exposed vein of the mineral. She snatched her hand away, shocked at the unexpected pain.
The room was much too small to be comfortable for someone as large as he. He could not stand straight because of the low ceiling. And the creature in his stomach squirmed at the constant presence of so much naquadah. It was in the ground, the walls and the ceiling.
He was used to small spaces; he lived in one, though larger than this. And though it had been some time since the creature within him had been so active, he was accustomed to that as well. The room was dark, and even with the aid of his symbiote he could make out only faint outlines of the room's dimensions. These things did not trouble him deeply. What troubled him was that he had been removed from the presence of his teammates.
He had grown very fond of them. It was not a word he would have used for anyone else, except perhaps his family and Bra'tac. Years ago he would have considered it weakness. But now - now he knew it was strength. Not of the sort valued by the enemy, but of the sort that really mattered. And that made him untouchable in a way they couldn't fathom. Together, he and his Tau'ri brothers and sister had accomplished great feats. Feats he had once deemed impossible. And many times it was the bond between them that had made the impossible possible. He had the deepest respect for his teammates, and he knew they felt the same way towards each other; towards him. That was strength. Wherever the others were, he was confident the strength of their bonds would draw them together and lead them to victory.
There was a crack in the south wall. It wasn't wide, but it ran from ceiling to floor in a jagged, almost straight line. It was wet; he could feel the water trickle slowly down inside the crack. It had taken him hours to find it; the walls were rough-hewn and uneven. But he had been trained to find such obscure features and it couldn't remain hidden forever.
He sighed and sat down. What difference did it make? So there was a long crack in the wall. So what?
He pinched his nose. It was a good thing it was so dark that he couldn't see anything; his glasses had been removed before he was interred in the small, cavernous room and the constant blur would probably have given him a headache. Of course, he had a bit of a headache anyway because of the helpless situation.
If only he could talk to the beings on the other side of the thick door. Goodness knows he'd tried, but they either couldn't hear him or chose to completely ignore him. When he'd grown too thirsty and hoarse and frustrated to keep calling out to them, he'd begun exploring his surroundings. That's how he'd found the crack. He would gladly have traded his discovery for an audience with these aliens' leader. Even if he couldn't talk his way out of this place, at least he could find out why he was there to begin with. The lack of opportunity irked him to no end and he gently thumped the back of his head against the wall. Someone had to come for them eventually. There was nothing he could do but wait.
It hurt, but he kept pounding on the door and yelling to be let out. He couldn't keep it up constantly, so he took breaks, counting to 1000 in his head before beating the door for as long as he could. It gave him a sense of routine, a purpose; a certainty. When 1000 came around, he knew exactly what would happen, and this both comforted and frustrated him. He knew it would change nothing, but it was something to do, and he'd go crazy if he stopped doing and just sat alone with his thoughts of all the ways he hadn't been able to escape. There must be a way out, but other than the thick, immovable door, he hadn't found anything promising – just a bunch of solid rock.
Not very nice of those guys to lock up their guests in light-tight little rooms with low ceilings. He'd been in this type of place before, and he hadn't liked it then, either. He was so going to strangle the first person who opened that door. Then he'd thank them for letting him out. Strangle then thank. That sounded about right.
He sighed, still counting in his head. 697…698…699… If only he knew where his teammates were; how they were doing. He'd feel a lot more at ease if he just knew they were okay.
745...746… They were probably in the same situation as he was. He stood and paced.
829…830… How were they going to get out of this one? The situation wasn't promising, but if anyone could do it, they could. Of that he was absolutely certain. They always had before. Why should this time be any different? He flexed his sore hands and pretended he was chewing gum to encourage his mouth to create saliva to moisten his throat.
998…999…1000. It was time to try again.