Chapter 4
Khefti had argued. Threatened. He'd tried tears in the end, but Daniel had been unmovable. He wouldn't rest, wouldn't wait much less flee into hiding until he'd rescued Jack – one way or another. The eunuch had called in favors, had lured away the two Horus guards posted outside Jack's cell with the promise of two harem slaves. Daniel had forced himself to put off his guilt over that and to focus only on the mission.
"You have but a handsful of moments, Daniel," the eunuch warned. "Ra sends for his prisoner at strange hours each day, never failing. Be quick, or you, too, will be taken."
The door opened to Khefti's stolen code and Daniel slipped inside the darkened chamber, his zat open and ready.
"Jack?"
Head pounding, his sight sometimes only blurred, sometimes doubled from the concussion and fracture, Daniel peered through the gloom. A slight movement beneath the heavily shuttered window drew him on.
"Jack?"
It might have been a sigh. A breath. A choked gasp of laughter. Feral eyes gleamed over bent knees.
"Jack, it's me. Daniel." He crouched, dread curling up from his belly.
Jack's sudden rush knocked him backwards, his aching head smacking against the floor with a sharp crack. A black curtain descended, thick and velvety. When it rose again, after who knew how long, Jack was sitting on Daniel's chest, one knee pinning each of his arms to the floor. Callused hands were wrapped loosely around his throat.
"Ja-"
The fingers closed, gripping tightly, cutting off any trickle of air. Daniel felt the panic rising and made himself hold still.
His face twisting in a grotesque grimace, Jack leaned in close – close enough for Daniel to feel the moisture from his breath. "Not. Jack."
Daniel tried to communicate understanding – agreement – and the painful grip eased. He drew in a whistling breath and sought some sort of opening – an answering recognition in the furious stare.
"I'm Daniel. Your friend. Do you – do you remember me?"
Hands twitched against his throat. "No past. No remembering." Teeth raked scabbed lips. "Only Ra. Only death. Death." He pressed two thumbs against Daniel's windpipe. "Death. Quick and silent. Then darkness." Panting, the broken man bared his teeth and Daniel saw that they were stained with blood. "Hands. Teeth. Death is easy."
Tears pooled in Daniel's eyes. He closed them and felt the warm line of moisture crawl down the sides of his face. Oh, God. Jack. A rough hand slapped him – hard. His eyes flew open.
"No. Not for you." The hand caressed Daniel's cheek, one finger tapping his nose in a heartbreakingly familiar gesture.
Daniel managed a short nod, tears still falling. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Jack answered with a snarl of pure rage and launched himself to one side, fists raised. Daniel curled sideways and threw up one arm to block before he realized that Jack was smashing his fists against his own temples.
"Stop – stop, please!" Daniel darted after him, grappling, forcing one arm into a desperate hold behind Jack's back. Jack's arm felt like it was made of steel cable wrapped in barbed wire, but Daniel managed to hang on, to pin his friend face first against the wall. "Please, please listen," he whispered against the back of Jack's neck. "Please."
Tiny spasms shook all along Jack's body as he strained backwards, howling.
Daniel tensed, expecting to hear the guards' booted steps running towards them. Nothing. He shifted his weight to get a better grip and Jack reared, hurling him away. He fell heavily against the wall, thankfully remaining conscious this time. He didn't know how long he had – how long he could physically keep up with jack, or how long it would be before Ra's guards came for him again. More torture. More death. More resurrection.
The man who had been Jack O'Neill, best friend, beloved older brother, dropped to his knees and bowed his forehead to the floor. It broke something inside Daniel's chest – to see this strong, steady, irreverent hero brought to this drained the life from Daniel's soul.
"Begging – begging you," the cringing figure pleaded.
"Oh, God," Daniel fell before him, arms out to lift him up, to hold him, to do anything - anything – to stop Jack's pain.
Raising his head, Jack looked into Daniel's eyes. There, deep down, the final spark of light, feeble and pale, went out. And Daniel knew he'd never see this friend – this hero – again.
Jack's hands held Daniel's zat – open, pointed at his own chest. "Once. Once isn't death."
"I know." Daniel closed his hands around Jack's. "You've tried before, haven't you?" The stark defeat in every crease and line on the older man's face gave him his answer.
"Three."
Daniel's head was shaking. No. No. He couldn't do this. They could fight. They could hide – Khefti would – they'd wait out the addiction – maybe he could drag him down the corridor – images threw themselves against Daniel's mind. How many slaves had already died to hide him? How many more lives would it take to care for Jack?
One hand cupped his cheek again. "Three."
"Three," he heard himself promise.
The broken man pushed himself backwards, out of Daniel's grasp, and pulled the trigger the first time, collapsing to the floor with a groan of low-pitched laughter that sounded just like Jack O'Neill.
The second shot came from Daniel's hand.
He allowed himself a moment. A moment to smooth back the grey hairs. To fold blood encrusted fingers over a narrow chest. To stand, head bowed, and let fresh tears fall in an anointing rain.
"Thy heart is light," he murmured, and pulled the trigger one last time.