Daniel blinked. For a minute there… it was almost like he was just somewhere else. The crystal clear blue sky seemed to flare for a moment. He tilted up his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. The bright glare reflecting off the five concrete walls surrounding him reduced again as he replaced them and a gentle breeze blew through the Pentagon courtyard, staving off the early afternoon heat.

A sharp whistle jolted him out of his reverie. Daniel looked over the stack of files on the bistro table, searching for the source of the disturbance. He dropped a folder as his eyes landed on a suspicious figure wearing Air Force blue. "Jack."

Major General Jack O'Neill, retired, ambled across the courtyard to Jackson's table and slid into the empty seat with a quirky smile, draping a garment bag over his lap. "Daniel. Trying to give yourself a paper cut?" Jack drummed his fingers on the table impatiently as he regarded Daniel. Well, maybe 'stared down' would be a better way of putting it. O'Neill's silver hair matched up nicely with the pair of stars on each shoulder. In rare form, he was in full dress uniform, with all possible polish; starched and seemingly unfazed by the heat or his seated position. But beneath the surface smile, his mannerisms were curt and efficient. In short, Jack was out today in lethal form.

Daniel began stacking the files and shoving them into his briefcase. "Jack, what are you so happy about?" He tossed the last of the folders into the case and smacked it shut, letting it drop from his hands, onto the ground with a resounding crack. Some people at the various tables briefly turned to see where the sound had come from.

"Nervous, Daniel?"

"Yes, actually. No. Terrified would be a little more accurate."

"Well, don't be."

"Jack! You know, I would think that you would be just a little more worked up about this. Know something I don't?"

"Daniel—you'll do fine. Deep, cleansing breaths." O'Neill made an overly elaborate inhaling gesture.

Daniel waved his hands in futility. "Jack… this is so wrong… I don't even know where to begin…"

"Daniel…"

"I have no idea why I agreed to do this…"

"Daniel!" Jack shot a glance over his shoulder as he leaned forward, across the table. "Danny, you're panicking."

Daniel rapped his knuckles on the table. "He doesn't deserve this; Jack, I think he needs a real lawyer. Granted, I'm basically just pleading guilty, but… I'm not sure if I can do this."

"Well, I am. After all, you argued a case for Skaraa. Kyle made the right call."

"On which part?" Daniel was fast becoming exasperated. This was a far cry from arguing that his late brother in law should be allowed to be free of a goa'uld. "Besides, you helped with Skaraa. This isn't the same, Jack, it's a general court-martial."

Jack sat upright and tugged down his glasses so that he could see Daniel over the rims. "First of all, he made the right call on both counts. If it were me, I like to think I would have done the same damn thing." O'Neill's eyes narrowed and the façade smile dropped, making him look the part of an angry predator. "And if you think I'm going to let them hang one of my people for doing his job, then we don't know each other as well as I thought." Jack leaned back and replaced his glasses, letting the words sink in.

Daniel shifted in his seat, considering what Jack had said. Instead, he couldn't help but think of what it had been like to watch Kyle get dragged away. Kyle raised his hands in surrender, a resigned but otherwise neutral expression on his face. The burly guard grabbed him and spun him down onto the briefing room table—hard. The only reason he hadn't been led away in handcuffs, at least at that point, was because Jack had managed to intimidate an MP twice his size and half his age. "Have you seen him yet?"

Jack pulled a thin smile onto his face. "They wouldn't let me in. Besides, I thought I'd say hi. See if you needed anything. Books, papers… maybe a massage."

"Well, I'm about as ready as I'm going to be," Daniel said with a small, sheepish smile. "Why don't we drop by? We still have an hour or so before court."

Jack's grin was back. "Peachy," he said snatching up the garment bag. They left the courtyard and began winding their way through the massive office building. The wide corridors echoed with sundry footsteps. "So, Daniel—we've been trying to sort of follow along since you two left Colorado. What's been going on?"

Daniel stalled to a halt and stared at O'Neill. "You don't know."

Jack drew the glasses from his face and pocketed them. "They wouldn't tell us squat. OSI gave me this song and dance about a classified investigation: 'Only people directly involved with the case would be told anything before the trial'. Basically, they gave me the run around. I assumed that since you were involved, you'd keep things humming as usual." Jack shrugged. "Well… I assumed, since they wouldn't actually let me talk to you. And… well, I offered to let Teal'c visit if I believed otherwise." Jack's eyes darted, detecting witnesses to the slightly guilty statement.

Daniel sighed and brought a pair of fingers to his temple, massaging the familiar headache that was developing anew. "I asked them to tell you, Jack. But then again, I don't suppose I'm too surprised." Maybe Jack should have let Teal'c 'visit'.

"Daniel… what don't I know?"

Daniel's mouth was drying out quickly. It made his own blood run cold; there was no telling how O'Neill would take the news. There was nothing for it but to just say it and watch Jack's reaction. Daniel swallowed hard and sighed. "OSI decided that Kyle was a high threat prisoner and a high escape risk. High enough that they couldn't keep him at the Andrews stockade."

Jack O'Neill's gaze crystallized and his voice became a vicious sotto. "Where have they been keeping him?"

Daniel felt his own anger returning, but for the first time he was entitled to share it with someone. Until now, he'd kept his mouth shut for fear of making his friend's situation worse. Now, his eyes blackened in fury and he nearly vomited the word, "Leavenworth."

Jack was normally a pretty easy-going guy. He was, in fact, about as laid back as two star generals came. Right now, though, his neck knotted—visibly, his shoulders squared dangerously and his eyes bristled with a cold light, that Daniel was grateful had never been directed at him. "Are you telling me that Kyle has spent the past three weeks in the Castle?"

Leavenworth Penitentiary was the last stop for the worst criminals caught within the ranks of the United States military: a maximum-security prison, with the moniker, 'The Castle'. Robert Redford movies notwithstanding, it was the repository of men who had committed horrendous acts while in the uniform of the United States, usually using that uniform as a weapon against innocent people; and many of them without a shred of their honor left. It was no place for an un-tried, and un-convicted man; certainly not a good and decent man, with his honor intact; an innocent man.

Daniel jerked his head down the hall, too furious to speak. His righteous indignation had gotten the validation he had needed for the better part of a month. Jack had fallen silently into step beside him. Daniel spat a bitter chortle. "I was thinking. If this doesn't work, I think I'll need a few zats and a ship." He was only half kidding, but he'd rather stage a break-out and spend the rest of his life in exile than let his friend be taken back to that hellhole.

"Done," Jack said without missing a beat. "You'll have help."

Daniel ground his heel into the floor with each step, his anger finding purchase in every movement, every breath. The seething, liquid stream of fury boiled in his stomach like the acid that was rapidly giving him an ulcer. He made a mental note to get that treated when this was over. Most of the time he was able to handle some of the injustices he saw with a kind of glacial calm. No matter how incensed, how concerned or how engrossed he became over some of the atrocities he'd seen in his life, there was always this still center he'd been able to call on to guide him. Problems could be fixed, people could be reasoned with, changed or, worst-case scenario, made to change for the better.

This, though, was personal. This was someone whose loyalty and trust he'd earned. This was a friend; a friend who had saved his clumsy ass so much he'd lost count; a friend who swore he never used telekinesis to cheat him at darts; who swore he only used it to cheat Sam at pool (and then only when she needed to be taken down a few notches); who had once reprogrammed his iPod to only play "We Are the World"; who had dragged himself back and forth across the galaxy, through blood and mud, simply because Daniel had asked for his help. No—he was wrong. This was family. And one thing, you did not do—not ever, was screw with anyone that Doctor Daniel Jackson considered family. The only comfort he could draw, was that Jack had to be thinking along the same lines just then; little comfort though it was.

Finally, Daniel stopped at a secure checkpoint, presenting his badge without really thinking about it, his body on autopilot. They stepped into the anteroom of the dedicated cell, when his brain reconnected to the rest of his body. The stark light of the halogen lamps on the concrete surfaces, snapped him back into focus. He held out a hand against O'Neill's chest as the MP in the room began tapping a series of codes into the armored door in front of them. "Jack."

O'Neill, made eye contact with Daniel, the corners of his mouth twitching—his only response.

"Jack, you're not going to like this."

"Am I gonna like this less than what I've already heard?"

Daniel sighed, the rage seeping from his body, having worn out its welcome. A tired ache took up residence instead. "Probably."

Jack exhaled through his nose, shapely. "Open the damn door," he barked at the MP.

Before the man could fumble a response, the heavy door began sliding open. The hairs on Daniel's arm stood on end as the cool air from the cell mixed around them. They stepped into vivid white room, and Daniel watched Jack's jaw drop ever so slightly. In each corner was a heavily armed security guard: two SFs and two MPs. In the center was a white, high-back, thick steel chair, fronted by a cheap, white folding table. The chair's occupant was muzzled like Hannibal Lecter. He was strapped into it by heavy, white nylon straps. His hands and feet were bolted to the arms and legs and covered with metal mittens. His face was obscured with a vented plastic mask, covering his mouth and nose. Only the bright orange jumpsuit gave any color at all to the room. Daniel's throat caught—never becoming quite used to the sight. After all, they had only flown him in from Kentucky yesterday. For what he was, Kyle was hunted like an animal by every goa'uld in the galaxy. Now, he was being treated like one by the people he had sworn to protect.

"Untie him." Jack's tone was so cold and smooth; it seemed to come from the walls themselves. Some of the guards stirred for a moment before one of the MPs, an Army Second Lieutenant, spoke up.

"I'm sorry sir, I—"

"Allow me to be clear. Major. General. Two stars." Jack glared at the poor lieutenant, who was probably just following orders. "This is his counsel. I am his commanding officer. Unlock him and leave the room. Now."

"Sir," the lieutenant sputtered.

"Unlock. Out. Now. Count of three…" O'Neill demanded. "ONE!" At the general's encouragement, the detachment moved in record time, unlocking the various restraints, "TWO!" and slithered out the door, locking it behind them. "THREE!" Jack tossed the garment bag unceremoniously onto the table and he and Daniel rushed to remove the restraints from their precarious positions. Removing the mask was almost painful.

The defeated look on Kyle's face was apparent. He rose to his feet shakily and brought himself to attention. "Good to see you, sir." He slowly drew his hand up into a solid, clean salute. Daniel watched as Jack clicked his heel down as he soundly returned the gesture, even though he wasn't required to do so with Kyle out of uniform. The whole exchange was rare, indeed. Daniel could feel the vitriolic bite in his stomach returning.

"At ease, Commander," Jack intoned as his eyes wandered the cell.

Kyle looked over to Daniel. His eyes dejected, he stepped over to him and cracked a ghost of a smile. "Good to finally see you without that thing Daniel." His voice was quiet and measured. "Look… no matter what happens—I just wanted to say thanks. I know this is a lot to ask."

Daniel crossed his arms and looked directly into his eyes. "Don't even think about it. I am not going to let them take you back there. I promise."

"Yeah, me too," Jack chimed, his body beginning to relax slightly. He was still stiff as a board but he was no longer shaking and red-faced as he had been a minute earlier. "I'm also going to find sorry son of a bitch that set this up. Then, I think Teal'c will have a private chat with this person."

Kyle sank into his chair, leaning forward onto his knees. "I'm not sure you'll have far to look, sir."

Daniel shared a brief look at Jack before he spoke up. "You are not to blame here, you did nothing wrong!"

Kyle's head shot up. "Daniel, I disobeyed a direct order. Fourteen people died. Technically, that's 'something wrong'."

Jack jerked his head in a nervous tick. "Oh, for cryin' out loud, Kyle, you fought a battle that needed to be fought! I might point out that if you hadn't, none of us would be here right now."

"I know, Jack. If I had to, I'd do it again." Kyle said, running a hand over his hair. Jack nodded his silent understanding.

In his own way, Daniel knew that Kyle was grieving. He'd known a lot of the people that he'd lost. He accepted their deaths because he had to—it was the job. Most of the time you could take solace knowing that you had done what you could and that their sacrifices had had some meaning. It was never easy, but being around people who understood what it was to do this work helped: you dealt and moved on. Only this time, Kyle had been told that what he had done was wrong; and then he'd been pulled away and tossed into a rotting pit for three weeks with only the memories of that last engagement and the splinter of doubt, pushed into his mind by the charges.

He didn't doubt his actions—he doubted his tactics. It wasn't much but with all that had happened… Daniel knew he thought it might be possible that he'd been wrong somehow. "I don't think it's ever supposed to be easy," Daniel began cautiously. "I think this is how we know we're still human. But, no matter what anyone says, you did the right thing. I read what happened. If there had been another way… you would have found it."

Jack relaxed a bit and opened his stance slightly. "You know, I've learned Daniel's usually right about these things." Jack leaned against the table. Daniel watched intently. He'd been around the military enough to know a few things. Jack needed to make sure that this didn't break his command presence or Kyle would be useless to them.

Kyle's smile returned, with some of its mischievousness. "I know, Jack. I think, after all this crap, I just needed to hear it once."

"Good. Now," he jerked his head toward the garment bag, "get into uniform so we can get out of here. I'm freezing my cazoulas off." A brief twinkle crossed Jack's eyes. He nodded to Daniel.

Kyle nodded briskly. "Yes, sir."

Daniel smiled. He let himself be warmed by Jack's satisfaction. "Oh, and Jack?"

"Yes, Danny boy?"

"When you find out who did this, I think I'll help Teal'c pay them a visit." Before Jack could respond, the white of the light grew brighter, enveloping Daniel in a cold glow.