Chapter 9 -- Changes

The next three books Gregor brought him were a confirmation, if he'd needed any, that the man's feelings were amorous in nature. Two were stories of homosexual love, the second one bordering on the pornographic. He turned the page. Okay, not bordering. He tilted his head, looking at the picture. He didn't think that position was physically possible. It didn't even look comfortable, much less pleasurable. The other book had been a fairly apt translation of Wuthering Heights in German.

Subtle he was not. Wuthering Heights alone wasn't much of a hint, but two melodramatic romances combined with a couple of fairly explicit homoerotic novels got the point across quite adequately. One of his friends in college had told him that he should always take an expression of attraction as a compliment, no matter who it came from. Somehow he didn't think Geoff had this situation in mind at the time.

Refusing to read the books would be an insult to his 'benefactor' and would also be shooting himself in the foot. He had nothing to do otherwise, and no knowledge was ever wasted. Though this book had a lot of fantasy in it, he thought as he read through yet another physically challenging sexual encounter. These men were not only flexible, they were masters of endurance.

Needless to say, Daniel started taking a great deal of care in choosing his time for bathing, carefully timing it for between lunch and dinner when no one came near the room.

Lizaveta had taken to bringing him down to the library in the mornings and making him sit in a chair in front of an open file. He guessed she was trying to get him to give in. He scanned the first page of each of the files she put before him and memorized the gate coordinates for future reference, then he looked at the wall opposite. Every so often, she'd walk up, put a hand on his shoulder and lean down, pressing her fingers into his back. Then she'd hint that he might want to get to work.

Evidently she was too stupid to grasp that nothing she could do was going to make him change his mind.

He put the book down and looked at the sun. It was about halfway between lunch and dinner. He got up and took a quick sponge bath. He still didn't dare get the cuts on his back wet. He had just pulled on his pants and was reaching for his shirt when the door opened unexpectedly. He jumped at the sound it made against the wall, and hissed at the pain the sudden movement gave him.

Turning more slowly, he felt all his muscles stiffen as he saw Colonel Metzov, who looked anything but pleased. He was accompanied by two of the black-clad guards and Lizaveta. She seemed strangely subdued.

"Get the bandages off him," Metzov ordered.

"What's going on?" Daniel asked, backing away as the guards started towards him.

"I merely wish to see the injuries, Dr. Jackson. Do not be such a coward."

Because he couldn't get away in any case, and because he'd only cause them to do more damage to him if he resisted, he submitted to the guards. One of them was Gregor and the other was Piotr. He could tell the minute they touched him. Piotr was brisk and efficient, and paid little attention to the possibility of causing pain. Gregor's touch was gentler but more lingering. Frankly, he'd rather have had two Piotrs than one Gregor. He knew what to expect from Piotr.

They positioned him so that Metzov could examine his back. He stood there, filled with fury and no little embarrassment. After several minutes, he heard a sharp crack of flesh hitting flesh, but it wasn't him this time. Lizaveta let out a cry of pain.

"I told you to leave persuasion to me!" he growled.

"I did not think he would be so stubborn, Father," she replied.

"You have not yet been authorized to think, girl!" There was the sound of another blow. "Your folly may have ruined our chances of ever persuading him."

Daniel turned to see that Metzov had his arm raised as though to strike her again. "Cut it out!" he said. "She didn't ruin anything. You never had a chance." Jack would have kicked him for saying that, but it was too late now. The words were out there and Metzov was slowly turning, lowering his hand.

"Soft," he spat at Daniel. "She has been torturing you, and now you want to protect her." He shook his head, face contorted with disgust. "All scholars are soft and weak."

Daniel gulped. Talking back wasn't on the list of good things to do right now, though he wasn't much good at keeping silent.

"Turn around again," Metzov said. Unwillingly, feeling humiliated, Daniel turned. "At least they're healing well. Who has been tending them?"

"Gregor," Lizaveta said.

"Good work, Gregor."

Metzov walked around to stand in front of him and Daniel looked at him apprehensively. "Your government has not responded the way we would like to the ransom demands for you." Daniel didn't speak, barely blinked. "So it appears that you will be our guest for some while longer." Since he doubted very much that Metzov would appreciate him giving his real opinion of that prospect, Daniel remained silent. He had crossed his arms over his chest tightly and he was gazing unhappily up at Metzov's face. "We are still holding out hopes for some concessions, since we know just how important you really are, however, that will take time." Daniel closed his eyes and gulped. There wasn't much to be said to that. He was sure the government wouldn't make any concessions, but he wasn't about to tell Metzov that. No use convincing the man that he was of no use whatsoever. That would only serve to get him killed. "In the meantime, you might consider how you would prefer to spend your time. No decisions will be made until you're more fully healed, but I don't want you sitting idle."

This seemed to call for a response, so Daniel said, "I see."

"Get him bandaged up again and then make sure he gets his dinner," Metzov said over Daniel's head to Gregor.

"Yes sir," Gregor said.

He paused at the door and turned. "Actually, you've been keeping him totally isolated, haven't you, Lizaveta?"

"I have. I thought it would –"

"Quiet. Since you're doing such a good job caring for his wounds, Gregor, I'm going to assign you to keep him company. Make certain that his needs are met and that he has something to do. It's not good for him to be always alone."

From his tone and his manner, and the offhand way he was giving the order, Daniel was sure that he had no idea what feelings Gregor harbored for their captive, even if Piotr did, but Daniel didn't dare protest for fear of making things worse. It would certainly piss Gregor off, if nothing else.

They left, the two Metzovs first, then Piotr passed him with a chuckle. Gregor walked over and started putting fresh bandages around his torso to cover his back. "How did you like the book, Daniel?" he asked.

"It's . . . interesting," Daniel said as the door closed. The light in Gregor's eyes died a little. "I haven't read a great deal of homoerotic fiction, so it's new to me."

"Entirely new?" Gregor asked pausing as he wrapped, his hand on Daniel's ribs.

"Well, of course I've read some of the Greek works on Platonic friendships and similar writings." His best defense was impenetrable obtuseness. "I've always been amused by how, in English, the concept of 'Platonic love' has come to mean a non-sexual relationship between a man and a woman despite its origin in quite sexual relationships between men in ancient Greece."

"Yes, of course," Gregor said in the tone of one who hasn't understood more than a few words. "You know, those sorts of relationships exist outside of books."

Daniel wrinkled his eyebrow, more than vaguely alarmed by this sudden turn into obvious flirtation. "I had several gay friends in college," he said. "Sarah and I did, I mean."

"Who is Sarah?"

"She was my girlfriend in college. Very nice girl. Very pretty. I drove her away by working too hard." Babbling was not good. It showed he was nervous.

Gregor paused again. He had both his arms around Daniel, passing the bandage roll from one hand to the other. "Perhaps you drove her away for another reason."

"Nope, it was pretty much because I was focused on my thesis to the exclusion of all else." Daniel looked down at the bandages. "You know, I would really like to be able to put a shirt on," he said.

"Of course," Gregor said. He finished wrapping the bandages and said, "I'll go get you dinner and see if I can find some more books."

"Thank you," Daniel said. When the other man had left, Daniel put his head down on the table. He needed an Asgard transporter right about now. He just hoped that the others were out and safe and that Jack and Hammond knew about this. Otherwise he didn't know how he was getting out of here.

Gregor came back with a small stack of books and a chessboard. "I have heard you like chess. We shall play."

Playing chess was definitely better than other things Daniel suspected that Gregor had planned, so he agreed readily.

Gregor wasn't the best player in the world, which put Daniel in the position of trying to guess whether he should play well or whether he should let the man win. He didn't know how Gregor would react to losing, but he also didn't know how much Gregor knew about him as a chess player. They seemed to know more about the SGC than they should, though he doubted very much that the relative skill at games possessed by civilian consultants at the SGC was very high on the list of things to learn.

He compromised, letting Gregor feel as if he made him work for the victory. In a sense he had. Daniel had worked very hard at not crushing him in the first six moves. Gregor seemed pleased and reset the board for another game.

It might have been a pleasant way to spend the evening if Gregor hadn't spent most of it making less than subtle passes at him, playing footsie under the table and looking deep into Daniel's eyes whenever their gazes met. Somehow Daniel just didn't believe there was anything all that interesting about his eyes.

Long before he felt tired enough to sleep, Daniel manufactured a yawn. He contemplated saying that he wanted to read for awhile, but given the material, he had a feeling that Gregor might just suggest skipping straight from reading to doing. "I'm sorry, Gregor, but I'm getting sleepy," he said, yawning again. "I'd like to go . . ." At the last minute he converted his phrase away from 'go to bed. ". . . to get some rest."

"Of course," Gregor said. "I will bring you your breakfast in the morning. After Gregor left the room, Daniel looked at the door for a few minutes. Gregor was going to keep him company. When on earth was he going to be able to bathe?

He lay down carefully on the bed and started to read one of the new books Gregor had brought in. He wasn't really in the mood for homoeroticism at the moment. With Gregor gone, some of the adrenaline went out of him and he discovered that he really was very sleepy. He managed a chapter or two before nodding off.

The sun woke him as always, and when he got up, he was very relieved to find that he was alone. His back was beginning to itch maddeningly, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Scratching was not on the list of options. He picked up a book and started reading. Maybe today he wouldn't get the unparalleled joy of spending four hours or so staring at a wall in the library downstairs.

About an hour after Daniel got up, Gregor came in and stared at him in consternation. "You should sleep more. You're healing."

Daniel shrugged. "I'm fine. Got any toast over there?"

"Of course." Daniel walked over to the table and sat down to eat, trying to ignore the way Gregor hovered. He'd brought the book he was reading to the table with him, grateful for the freedom to read as he ate and hoping that it would keep Gregor from talking to him.

It succeeded, or at least Gregor remained silent. In fact he wasn't as open as he had been the previous day, which relieved Daniel. It couldn't last, he was afraid.

What he was going to do, he didn't know.

If Borodin's information hadn't proven to be the one key break in the investigation, it had at least given them a direction to look in. Able to focus their efforts a little more tightly, the people doing the paper chase were able to discard many locations that didn't match the description. Jack just hoped they were right to narrow it that tightly.

No further communications had come from the kidnappers even though several days had passed, but Jack doubted they'd discard so valuable a hostage without a compelling reason. Their job was to make sure they never got that compelling reason until it was too late to take action.

There was little he and the others could do, though, and the waiting game was hard to play.

Daniel awoke slowly. It must be another cloudy day if the sun hadn't brought him awake with its early rays. Then a hand touched his hair softly, and, with a startled oath, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Eyes wide, he stared at Gregor, who was smiling at him, an odd look of anticipation in his expression.

Without speaking, he got up and crossed to the water closet. Very briefly he considered simply not leaving again, but that wasn't an answer. It would gain him nothing. He walked out and washed his hands, trying not to look at Gregor.

"Let's get your bandages changed," Gregor said.

Daniel nodded and stood still while the other man first unwound the cotton bands, cleaned and medicated the injuries, then finally wound new bandages around him. Daniel wasn't sure if he was growing paranoid or if Gregor was being unusually subtle, but the entire process made him extremely uncomfortable. He was very glad when it was finished. He moved away rapidly and pulled his shirt on. He took one of the books from the table and dragged one of the chairs over under the window. The sun was actually shining very brightly. He opened the window and sat down to read in the bright sunlight.

Gregor sat down at the table and began to read himself. Daniel wished he'd go away. Whatever Metzov might think, solitude beat being alone with a man he didn't know, didn't trust, and who had openly acknowledged a physical interest in him that . . . he hadn't done anything. Daniel shook his head. He hadn't tried to force anything. Stroking his hair while he slept wasn't anything. Not really.

His back itched and he really didn't want to scratch it, but the temptation was almost overwhelming. He tried to focus on his book to keep his mind off the itch, but it really wasn't working.

"You seem very distracted this morning, Daniel," Gregor said.

Daniel shrugged, then grimaced. "My back itches, and somehow scratching it sounds like a really bad idea."

"It would be," Gregor said. "Perhaps a game of chess would give you something else to think about."

Daniel agreed and stood up. Gregor was there instantly to move the chair over to the table. Daniel followed him, a bit startled by the attention. Once Gregor had the chair placed to his satisfaction, Daniel tilted it slightly and then sat down with great care to avoid hurting his back. Gregor ceded him white and Daniel started the game.

It took a great deal of attention to keep the balance between going just easy enough on his opponent not to make it obvious that he wasn't playing his best. On the other hand, he wasn't really up to playing his best. Between the itching of his back and the presence of Gregor, and the knowledge that downstairs somewhere one or both of the Metzovs were planning the next step in their campaign to get him to work for them, he was a little distracted.

The game succeeded where the book hadn't in distracting him. He focused on the choices, predicting the other man's next move. It was an interesting study in character, chess. One could get a feel for how another person thought based on the choices he made. Gregor was actually reasonably good at the game, just not very creative and not very experienced. Given enough time and practice, he might even prove a skilled player, if he could learn to think outside the box more.

Near noon, Gregor left to get them lunch. Curious, Daniel looked at the book the other man had been reading. It seemed to be a serious, romantic novel about a gay couple living in rural Poland and the trials and tribulations thereof. Daniel pushed it away before Gregor could catch him looking at it. Not that he might not have read it under normal circumstances, but he was wary of anything that might give Gregor the wrong idea.

Running footsteps on the spiral stairs made Daniel sit up straight, then stand up as the door flung open. "I heard . . ." Gregor was panting. He paused. "I heard . . . they want to kill you! You have to come with me! I'll get you out of here!"

Daniel stared at him in disbelief. He certainly looked panicked enough, but why would they suddenly have decided to kill him?

"Daniel!" Gregor hissed. "Hurry. We must be down these stairs before they come!"

Unsure whether he believed the other man, but game for anything that got him out of this room and that much closer to escape, Daniel nodded and followed after him. He hoped they weren't going for any long walks in the woods. His feet were bare, and his arms would get pretty cold.

"Where are we going?" he hissed as Gregor took him down the stairs. The narrow room was deserted.

"The garage," Gregor replied. He opened the door and peered out. "Come quickly."

Daniel ran down the steps after him, listening with all his might but keeping a close eye on Gregor's back. He wanted to be able to stop when he did. They did stop, just at the top of the staircase that led down to the ground floor. Gregor's arm whipped back to hold Daniel back. Without speaking, Gregor opened the door to the second floor and pushed Daniel through. When it was shut, he said, "They were coming."

"I guessed," Daniel said through gritted teeth. The shove had hurt intensely. Gregor grabbed his wrist to drag him along, and he tried unsuccessfully to get free. Daniel heard footsteps ahead and wondered what was really happening. Were they going to try and kill him? Or was this something . . .

Rescue? Was Gregor tricking him into eluding his own rescue?

Gregor yanked a door open and shoved Daniel inside, pulling it shut behind them. Daniel hit the back wall of the closet they were in and let out a muffled shriek of pain. "I'm sorry for being so rough," Gregor said. "It is necessary to keep you safe."

"Why?" Daniel gasped, turning around. "Why would they want to kill me?"

In that instant he saw the truth in Gregor's eyes. He'd lied, for whatever reasons of his own, he'd lied. Before Daniel could act on it, however, Gregor grabbed his shoulders and pressed him against the wall behind him.

"Keep quiet!" he hissed. "Or I will kill you myself." He shifted his grip to Daniel's throat.

"Let go!" Daniel choked.

The door opened behind Gregor and Daniel saw a masked figure in black combat gear behind him. "Let him go," said a hard voice in badly accented Russian.

"I will kill him," Gregor said, and his grip tightened. Daniel tried to shrink without much success.

"If you kill him, I'll kill you." The voice was implacable. Daniel saw the shift in Gregor's eyes from murder to self preservation and he let go, stepping away. Instantly the man in the doorway had him slammed face first against a wall, frisking him quickly but thoroughly, and finding weapons Daniel hadn't even suspected existed.

Two more of the black-clad figures came into the closet and helped Daniel keep his feet. Without their support, he would have sagged to his knees. "Thanks, guys," Daniel muttered. They took him back to the stairs and down to a waiting van. With their help he climbed up into it and sank down on the seat, leaning well forward to avoid pressure on his back.

He was exhausted. One of the two guys climbed up beside him and pulled off his face mask. Daniel looked up to see who it was and blinked in utter astonishment. "Colonel Makepeace?!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you, too, Dr. Jackson," Makepeace said, his face crinkling with wry amusement. "But my former rank is no longer relevant."

"Where's Jack?" Daniel asked, looking around the van. "How did you get out of prison?"

"O'Neill is about thirty miles due east of here," Makepeace said.

"He didn't come on the rescue?"

Makepeace's brows drew together and he said, "Dr. Jackson . . ."

Realization struck like a sharp blow between the eyes. Daniel closed his eyes and let his head drop into his hands between his knees. "Right. So, I'm a prisoner again."

"I'd prefer to say . . ." Makepeace shook his head and said, "Hell, call a spade a spade. You're a prisoner again."

"This really hasn't been my year," Daniel groaned miserably. He'd been grabbed and dragged halfway across a continent by an unas, one of his closest friends had been killed after being Goa'ulded, his entire team had spent weeks working at manual labor with their memories erased. Jack had been a complete puzzle the last few months, varying between friendliness and near-hostility.

The look Makepeace gave him was full of sympathy. "I'd like to offer my sympathy on the death of Robert Rothman, by the way."

Daniel grimaced. "Thanks." People got into the front seat of the van and they pulled out of the garage. As they drove out into the sunlight, he looked around. "This beats my first trip along this road. There weren't any windows in that van, and my hands aren't tied."

Makepeace shrugged and gave him a grin. "You're a smart man, Daniel. You're not about to start a fight in the back of a moving vehicle against this many people."

"Not to mention the vehicles moving in front of and behind us," Daniel agreed dryly.

"Or the fact that you're injured."

Daniel nodded. "I don't suppose you have any aspirin on you?"

Makepeace bent down and slid an ice chest out from between his feet. Opening it he pulled out a Coke which he handed to Daniel. Then he put the ice chest away. "Sullivan?"

The man in the front passenger seat tossed back a rattling bottle. "Naproxen," Makepeace said, handing a couple of little blue pills to Daniel. "Anti-inflammatory."

Daniel washed them down with the Coke then closed his eyes. "So what does the NID . . . I presume you're with the NID still?" Makepeace just smiled and didn't say anything. "What do you folks want with me?"

"It's not really my place to say. You'll be meeting the director soon enough, and he can tell you everything you need to know."

"Thrilling," Daniel said.

"We're going to a small airfield near here and you'll be seen by a doctor before we board the plane."

"A doctor." Daniel smiled. "That will make a nice change from Mr. Creepy Hands back there."

"What do you mean?" Makepeace asked.

"Nothing," Daniel said, shuddering. "I'm just glad to be away from him. So where is the plane going?"

"Stateside," Makepeace said. "That's all you need to know."

"Grrreat." Daniel sighed. "What exciting treatment is in store for me from you folks?"

"Nothing like what happened to you here," Makepeace replied. "I wouldn't go along with that. We have nothing but respect for you as a civilian consultant."

"I'm glad to hear it." Assuming it could be believed. Makepeace clearly wasn't in charge, and as people like the Tollans and the Nox kept emphasizing, promises made by those not in charge aren't of much use. Daniel looked out the window and watched the scenery go by. Trees, mostly, till they reached the airfield.

They pulled up beside a building and stopped, then Makepeace got out. Daniel tried to get out on his own, but he couldn't manage it, so he let the older man help him down. The asphalt was cold under his stocking feet. Taking off and running would gain him nothing but a sore back, sore feet and a lot of annoyed companions.

Makepeace led him into the office space attached to the hangar. A small Asian woman was waiting, and beckoned them into one of the larger offices. There followed a brisk and utterly impersonal physical exam. When she was done, she said, "The whip cuts are healing well, though a couple of them were opened up by some kind of trauma in the recent past." She was glaring at Makepeace as if she thought he was responsible.

"One of the guys holding him tried to hide him from us," the former marine colonel said.

"Well, he's definitely healthy enough to travel, but he needs a lot of rest, a lot of fluids, and I'd say a few ice packs on his back wouldn't go amiss."

"Thank you, doctor," Makepeace said. "I'll see that he gets those things."

"Would you like some morphine, Dr. Jackson?" she asked. "Or codeine?"

"No," Daniel replied, shaking his head. "I'm fine."

Her lips thinned. "Given what I've been told regarding your propensity for saying you're fine in the face of anything short of a severed limb, I'll repeat the question. Morphine? Codeine? Some other analgesic?"

Daniel shrugged and tried not to wince at the ill-considered movement. An expressive eyebrow rose as she caught the movement and his reaction to it. "Makepeace gave me some naproxen already, so I don't know what I can take."

She shook her head. "Don't worry, I'll give you something that will work with that." She rummaged in her case for a few moments and came out with two bottles. Shaking a pill out of each, she held out both to him. "Analgesic and antibiotic." He gave way reluctantly, and took the little tablets, swallowing them with some bottled water she gave him. She then handed both bottles to Makepeace and added, "He'll need one of the antibiotic every six hours and one of the analgesic every twelve." She gave Daniel a long look. "And he needs to keep taking them until the doctor at home base tells him to stop."

Daniel grimaced sourly, but didn't object. There wasn't much of a point, really. Makepeace pocketed the bottles and said, "Well, Jackson, we've got a plane to catch."

"Thrilling." Daniel pulled on his shirt over the new bandages. "So, what do you plan to do about Jack and the others who are still out there looking for me?"

Makepeace moved as if he wanted to put a hand on Daniel's back or his arm, but, apparently thinking better of it, he dropped his hand without touching him. "Come along," he said, gesturing toward the door. Daniel walked ahead of him and once they were heading toward the plane, he answered Daniel's question. "What's done about O'Neill and the others is not your concern Daniel, nor is it mine."

"Based on what?" Daniel demanded.

"Our positions in the organization."

"I have no position in this organization," Daniel said. "I don't even know for certain what this organization is."

"We can trust that the other search will be dealt with appropriately, Jackson," Makepeace said. "We need to focus on what's being asked of us."

"Asked." Daniel shook his head. "Asked implies the option to refuse. Somehow I don't feel like I'm being asked anything." He glanced around at the armed guards, most of whom were still wearing their masks and full combat gear. Running would gain him nothing but more bruises.

"No, I suppose not," Makepeace said with a shrug. "Orders then. Focus on your orders."

Daniel gave Makepeace a sidelong look. "You know how good I am at following orders, Robert."

The other man rolled his eyes. "I do." They headed over toward a tiny plane.

"That's a small plane for crossing the Atlantic," Daniel observed.

"So it is," Makepeace said. "In you go."

Daniel walked into the plane, sat down and waited anxiously. It was a little twelve-seater twin engine. The pilot was already in his seat with another fellow next to him. Makepeace followed him on, and four other guys, who shed their combat gear while the pilot taxied to the end of the runway.

They were no one he recognized, and they just settled themselves around the plane, keeping the balance even.

"Seatbelt, Daniel," Makepeace said.

Daniel glanced sourly over at the former marine colonel, then leaned back long enough to put his belt on. He couldn't lean back against the seat without causing himself pain, so he leaned forward again and buried his head in his hands. He felt the plane speed up, and the plane left the ground.

What the hell was he going to do now?