Part 2
Jack tasted the blood in his mouth from his lip. The pain was almost exquisite in its intensity, rivalling any that he had felt before. After a quick look exchanged with Daniel, he kept his eyes open, looking up into the face of his torturer. He knew that there was no point in speaking. The man's mind was made up. Jack had seen that look in the eyes of such men before. It made no difference if he answered the questions. It was the asking that was the point, not the answer.
He felt the pull of the ropes, felt his left arm stretching at an angle it wasn't designed to bear until it reached its limit and with a resounding crack he felt his elbow joint pop and shatter under the strain. But he kept his eyes open, fixed on his tormentor.
The sound of retching came from the other end of the room, where he knew that Daniel was still hanging in his chains. He didn't turn. He could not allow himself to be distracted.
He divorced himself from what was happening, focusing on the smiling face of the man bending over him. Etching it deeply into his mind.
The agony burnt up his neck as his left shoulder was pulled from its socket, almost undoing him.
The priest turned away, his lips thinning. He left his side, moving away, and Jack let his lids close for a moment, blinking away the betraying moisture before it could be seen.
The sound of approaching footsteps had Jack snapping his eyes open again, to meet the dead ones of the priest.
"You are strong in the power of Satan. I can see that. But know this - I have the power of God behind me and his instruments of your salvation in my hand." He ripped apart Jack's shirt and bent. Jack's eyes widened as he took in what the man held over him, its tip glowing red hot. The cross shaped brand plunged hard into his body, burning the symbol of God into the flesh of his side.
He slipped into darkness accompanied by the shouts of his friend.
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Daniel couldn't help himself. The smell of burnt skin sent his stomach into spasms, his dry retching wracking his twisting body. He struggled against the chains, knowing that he had no hope of escape, but he had to do something. There must be something that he could do or say that would prevent this horror from continuing.
The Inquisitor hadn't stopped when Jack lost consciousness, his brand had made its mark three more times, red raw crosses burnt in an unholy line up his side. The turns of the rack hadn't been halted either, the left arm ignored and the attention turned to the other long limbs, the sound of the handles turning, the creak of joints straining almost to breaking point, echoing loudly in the large room.
Daniel prayed, prayed that Jack wouldn't wake up and find himself back in hell. He begged until his throat was dry, until his voice became a whimper lost in the dark.
He hung, his eyes shut against reality. There must have been something that he could have done to prevent this. He should have been able to explain. That was his job, what he was meant to be good at, communicating. He should have convinced them that they were the good guys.
He hadn't and now Jack was paying the price.
He opened his eyes; the loud gasps from the unconscious man calling him back, only to see the variations on a theme, almost unbelievable in their cruelty.
Oh Jack!
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"Oh God!" Jack couldn't help himself, he surfaced to such total pain that he writhed on the hard wooden surface, unable to stop the traitorous moans that crept from his mouth.
"Jack."
The voice was small and on the very edge of his awareness, easily submerged in the agony.
"Jack. They'll be coming back soon. We have to get out of here while we have a chance." The call was urgent.
He opened his eyes, seeing nothing but a sullen dullness, fog ridden and murky.
"Come on, Jack. They've untied you. Now's our chance. We've done this before and we can do it again. SG-1 can get themselves out of anything. Anything, Jack." It was persistent, that voice, keeping up the monologue, not letting him rest. He needed to rest. If he rested he might feel better when he woke.
"Jack. You can't do this. It isn't in you to do this. You've never given up, never quit on me. Don't do it now."
The voice was getting quieter, softer, easier to ignore.
"You're the only hope we have. They'll come back, and they'll beat us. No second chances this time. They'll have won, Jack. They'll have won."
There was silence for a time after that, silence rent by his own harsh breath.
When the voice came again, it was louder, and, yet, more hopeless. "It can't end here, Jack. It just can't. They'll kill us, and then they'll go after Sam and Teal'c. They'll torture them, just like they have you. You're the only hope they have."
The fog ate at him, sending tendrils into his mind, bringing with it the memories that he had tried to leave behind.
It was the sob that undid him. The complete surrender.
He had to reach the voice, explain that he couldn't help.
Jack O'Neill pulled his body up and over, falling to the floor with a scream.
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Daniel had never seen anything like it.
He had watched as Jack had been beaten and tortured, watched as his unconscious friend was taken to the edge of death and then left, broken on the rack. His protests had fallen on deaf ears, the vile Inquisitor sure that Jack was still aware, still scheming, after all he was the Devil's follower and a small thing like torture couldn't possibly have bothered him. With horror Daniel had seen the Pater continue to ask questions, demand confession, alternately shouting and whispering into the unresponsive man's ear.
There was nothing left in him, the first bout of nausea brought on by the sound of his friend's elbow dislocating, had been followed by more as the torture continued. He was left thirsty and forgotten, nothing more than a piece of meat hanging from a hook in the corner.
Finally they had left, leaving Jack where he lay, dead for all Daniel knew. He had done the only thing that he could, talked into the blackness, and entreated until his voice was raw. Begged Jack to be alive.
When he heard the low groan he almost wept with relief - relief that had been short lived. His pleading words seem to have no effect, and as the minutes ticked by he began to despair of ever getting out of this scene from Dante.
Jack's sudden movement had taken him completely by surprise. He winced as the tall body fell in a boneless heap to the ground, closing his eyes at the scream.
Then he had watched in total disbelief as Jack began to crawl towards him, inch by painstaking inch. The escape that had seemed an impossible dream became a possibility, remote though it was. He hung, knowing that all he could do to help was keep the other man anchored to the lifeline of his voice. He called to him softly, as one would to a small child or a pet, scared to speak louder and break the spell.
"That's it, Jack. Just a little further.. come on, Jack you can do it, I know you can...don't stop now, you're almost there."
He knew that Jack was following the sound of his voice; he had raised his head from the floor once as he clawed his way across the stone floor, his eyes unfocused and unseeing, but after that he had kept his head down, as if the effort had been almost too much.
Daniel had no idea how long it took. All he knew was that he spent the whole time with one part of his attention concentrated on the door, expecting their captors to return at any moment.
They couldn't be this lucky, could they?
He brought his thoughts up short. Luck - there was nothing of luck in this. This was an abomination brought about by pure evil. He felt the rage grow in him as he watched the bravest man he knew do the impossible.
At last Jack was there, beneath his feet, his right hand reaching out in front of him, his left dragging uselessly behind him.
"Jack?" He waited for a response, unsure if the long journey across the floor had left his friend with any reserves. He was rewarded by the sight of the weary head lifting and the brown eyes fixing him with a steady stare.
"Daniel." It was weak, but it was Jack.
Daniel knew that they didn't have any time to waste. He listened to the harsh, panting breaths coming from the man in front of him, and hated himself for what he was about to do.
"You have to release the chains, Jack." He nodded his head towards the wall. "They're hooked up over there."
Jack turned slightly, taking in the distance to where the thick chain was tethered. He shut his eyes for a moment, and then, without turning back, started heading for his goal.
Reaching the hook was the easy part.
Jack reached the wall, and lay there, and for a minute Daniel was sure he had lost the battle to stay conscious, their thin chance at freedom gone. Then Jack's right hand snaked up and gripped as far up the low chain as it could reach. Daniel held his breath, as the chain slowly began to pull, his body raising slightly, and he realised that there had to be some slack before the chain could be lifted from the hook. A low guttural grunt came from the injured man as the chain slowly loosened. The moment that it came free took Daniel by surprise, so caught up had he been in the sheer act of will power being played out in front of him. The thick links slackened and rushed with a loud rattle through the rings around his wrists, dropping him with stunning violence to the floor. He couldn't prevent a cry of pain from escaping as his deadened arms came crashing down. He lay, his muscles quivering.
Jack!
He scrambled up, ignoring the blood running from his raw wrists. His friend was a shapeless dark huddle against the wall, no longer moving. He moved on feet that felt like bricks on the end of his legs, stumbling across and into the gloom, dropping to his knees and reaching out a hesitant hand.
"Jack?" His questing fingers felt the tremors surging through the arms slick with blood, he heard the weakness in the gasps, and he saw the agony that the other man tried to conceal in his dark eyes. "We need to move."
His words were acknowledged by a dip of the head, the glow of the braziers echoing the redness running in streaks through the silver hair.
There was no need for further words; they both knew that there was no choice. Daniel used the wall to help himself up, then bent and tried to lift Jack to his feet. Jack moaned loudly, making no attempt to help, and finally Daniel had to give up. He didn't want to do it, worried about causing his friend more pain, but he pulled at Jack's uninjured arm, doing the only thing that he could, dragging him across the stone, his goal the dark recess in the wall of the dungeon. He had no idea what was behind it, but he knew that there would be no escape up that long flight of stairs leading to a locked and bolted door. If the worst came to the worst, he would make a stand there in the dark. There was no way that they were playing any more of their evil games with Jack while there was still breath in Daniel's body.
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Jack knew that there was nothing else that Daniel could do; he just hoped that he'd do it as quickly as possible. He couldn't do anything to help - the long trip across from the table having pushed him to the edge of his endurance, the release of the chain tipping him over it. Now it was taking every scrap of will power that he had to stop himself from giving in to the pain.
The arm that dragged along beneath him kept snagging on the rough stones of the floor, each small pull grinding the bones together, but that was minor compared to the other sensations flowing from places too numerous to count. Somewhere a tiny voice in the back of his throbbing head was telling him that the torture hadn't stopped when he lost consciousness, and that perhaps he should be grateful that he hadn't been aware of what was going on.
The sudden halt startled him, causing him to lift his head at the same time as Daniel lowered his arm gently to the floor. He licked his lips and looked around, finding the light too low to make out anything.
"Daniel?" He hoped that his question was understood, because there was no way that he could summon up the energy to say more. Daniel turned, spreading dark streaks of grime over his face as he rubbed it with one hand.
"There may be another way out here." He began to feel along the dirty wall, this fingers investigating every crack. "Sometimes there was a passage concealed in the dungeon." His words trailed off, and Jack could see that all his concentration was on the task at hand. He gave in to the sensations and shut his eyes, thankful to be still, if only for a short time.
Seconds stretched to minutes. Muttered grumblings came to him, along with the sound of hands rough against stone.
"There should be something here. There must be something here." It was as if Daniel was willing the stone to give up its secrets.
Maybe there wasn't a hidden door. They would have to make a last stand here, hoping that Carter and Teal'c would come charging in to save the day. A hope that was receding as every hour past.
He made a mental inventory of his injuries. The dislocated elbow and shoulder of his left arm were easy - he remembered them, every pull and crack. The hot, already blistering burns on his side above his hip were wounds that hovered on the edge of his memory, although the brand seemed to extend further that he had thought. Then there were his legs - something was wrong there too, what he wasn't sure - the numbness so wide spread that it made it difficult to pinpoint. Both his knees ached, stretched to almost breaking point by the rack.
He paused, his attention caught again by Daniel, a triumphant cry accompanying the rasp of stone on stone.
"Got it!" Jack opened his eyes as his friend bent over him. "Jack! I found a passage. Even if it doesn't lead anywhere, it can hide us until rescue comes."
He held his arm out, wordlessly acknowledging the necessity, and groaned as he was pulled into the dark.
Dark.
"Wait!"
Daniel stopped in surprise, quickly kneeling beside him.
"What is it Jack?"
"Torch." He didn't need to say more. Daniel immediately hurried back into the dungeon, grabbing as many unlit torches as he could carry, bringing them into the concealed doorway and dropping them to the ground. He then turned to remove a lit torch from its holder in the wall.
Jack lay, his eyes shut once more and listened as Daniel bustled around, the sound of objects being moved coming to him from the dungeon, until eventually he heard the door grate shut.
"I'll go see what's further on. Will you be okay?"
"Umm." The words were becoming harder to form, as his body gave in to exhaustion. As Daniel's steps moved away, he let himself drift.
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The narrow corridor branched and twisted, running off into the gloom. Dust lay inches thick, disturbed by his feet, and drifting up in slow languid clouds, webs festooned every surface, many legged insects scuttling off when the torchlight hit them. Eventually Daniel found an open area that had room for a man to lie down, and quickly turned back for Jack. He had counted the turns, and was thankful that he had - one false step leaving him bewildered for several minutes before retracing his path, following his footsteps in the dust.
He rounded the corner and came to a halt. He could just make out the Jack's shape curled up on itself, the good arm cradling his chest. As he came closer he saw that Jack's eyelids were half closed, white showing eerily from beneath them. He took a deep breath and moved forward.
This time Jack didn't stir when he knelt. Daniel made no attempt to rouse him, bending, and pulling him by his arm again. He had no choice. He couldn't carry the torch and his friend at the same time, and the darkness was absolute. Dust was swept up by Jack's body, coating the still bleeding wounds in a thick layer, and making Daniel's throat dryer than it already was.
He reached the open area and finally allowed himself to cough, taking off his glasses and rubbing his itching eyes with a tissue from his pocket. He removed his jacket and bundled it up, placing it under the other man's head. Leaving him there, he hurried back, returning with what little supplies he had managed to find in the dungeon - a pot of water that had been boiling over a fire, the torches, wood and coals, and some straw from the floor. Not much, but however dirty the water may prove to be, he was thankful for it.
He piled the straw, making a rough mattress, and moved the still unconscious man on to it. He would have given anything to rest, his energy almost depleted by the events of the day, but he didn't let himself. If he slept, he knew that it would be hours before he woke. He lit a fire, setting the water to boil, and used some to clean his wrists. They had stopped bleeding, so he left them uncovered. Any cloth he had for bandages would be needed by the man lying beside him.
Finally, his preparations complete, he steeled himself for the grizzly task.
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Jack woke at the touch of the damp cloth on the back of his legs. He instinctively tried to sit up, the burst of pain from his shoulder when he did so almost causing him to lose consciousness again.
"Jack, stay still." Daniel's voice grounded him, and he forced himself to relax, opening his eyes. He could just make out the younger man's features in the flickering light, his anxious face covered in dust and grime with only the area around his eyes clean.
"Where are we?" He lifted his head and looked around, unable to make out much in the gloom.
"I think that it's some sort of catacombs under the town. I haven't explored very far, the passages seem to go for some distance."
"Any water?" His throat felt like it had been dragged backwards through a pile of dirt.
"A little, but we don't have anything to drink out of." Daniel moved away for a second and then turned back. Jack felt a hand supporting his head and then another at his mouth. He swallowed the small amount of water in the cupped hand, savouring the feeling of the liquid running down his parched throat. All too soon it was gone.
"I'm going to have to clean these wounds, Jack." Daniel picked the cloth up again, holding Jack's right leg in the other hand. There was sharp stabbing pain as the damp material touched his skin. He bit down on his lip.
Daniel glanced up, his face bleak. "Sorry."
Jack licked the blood off his lip, and tried a weak smile. "It's okay, Danny. It has to be done." The numbness was wearing off, sensation returning all over his body with a vengeance. "Be careful, I think my elbow is dislocated." He was surprised by Daniel's snort of laughter.
"Yes, Jack, it's dislocated. I've already put a splint on it. Not much I can do about the shoulder except bind it, but I've managed to stop most of the bleeding from the other wounds. I left the burns, I'll have to reboil the water before I try to clean them." Jack could feel Daniel's hand tremble against his skin. He realised that his left arm was bound to his side, and wondered that he hadn't felt Daniel moving it.
Jack remembered the inventory of injuries he had begun and not managed to complete. He added the original head injury to the list, and still came up short.
"What else did they do to me, Daniel?"
The hand stopped moving for a moment and then resumed. He waited for an answer, but the silence lengthened.
"Daniel?"
"Sorry, Jack, I'm trying to concentrate here." The response came in a matter of fact voice, but the hand still trembled.
Jack was quiet for a minute or two, trying to decide if he really wanted to pursue the answer, but he knew there was no other choice.
"Teal'c and Carter could be captured by now, we know that the gate is being watched, and chances are they can't get home. However it's panned out up there, we can't rely on their help. I need to know exactly what we're dealing with, and part of that is knowing exactly what my injuries are."
"They kept torturing you. After you were unconscious." Daniel's voice was flat and unemotional.
"I sort of guessed that, Danny. What's the damage?" Jack tried to match Daniel's tone, but it was hard to stay calm as each stroke of the cloth brought his leg screaming back to life.
"They put you in a chair." Daniel stopped talking.
"Not sounding bad here, Daniel." Jack tried to prompt him to continue. "I take it that it wasn't to let me have a rest."
"There were spikes all over it, on the leg rests. They pressed you down and left you there."
"Spikes?" Jack was beginning to understand. He couldn't restrain the shudder that went through him.
"I'm trying to clean the wounds, but some are pretty deep, and there's so many. I haven't got enough bandages and there's dust all over them." Daniel's voice was losing its steadiness. "There's a couple that I only just managed to stop bleeding."
"So it's bad?"
The short laugh came again. "You could say that. The wounds extend up the back of your body from your ankles to your thighs. You know, I'm sure that I've seen a chair like that in the Vatican Museum. It didn't really register with me just how diabolical it could be."
So he wasn't going to be walking anywhere any time soon. That made things much more difficult. His vision blurred again as a wave of pain swept him up again, and he realised that he had to get an answer soon, because he wasn't going to last much longer.
"Anything else I should know, Daniel?" After all, it couldn't get much worse, could it?
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Daniel wished that Jack would stop asking.
The images flashed through his mind as he spoke, images that no one should have to remember. He tried to concentrate on the task of cleaning the deep wounds on his friend's body, only pausing when he reached the bandages already sodden with blood that wrapped around his chest. He didn't know if he should be concerned or grateful that Jack seemed unaware they were even there, the horrific gouges left by the metal claw frightening in their severity, one deep enough to expose rib bone. They had tied him back up for that, ignoring his dislocated and bleeding limbs. The torture hadn't lasted long, only one sweep of the wicked instrument, but it had been devastating, only Jack's continued state of unconsciousness causing the Inquisitor to reluctantly stop.
He knew that Jack was waiting for an answer. He could hear the other man's voice weakening, and was surprised that he had lasted as long as he had. He opened his mouth to speak and suddenly felt the unwelcome sensation of his stomach once again rebelling. He dropped the cloth and lurched a few paces sideways, before emptying his already cavernous stomach of the little water he had allowed himself. His head spun, the headache present since he had woken in the dungeon suddenly becoming unbearable.
As he slumped to the floor, the last thing that he heard was Jack's voice, calling to him.
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