Leftovers

Two weeks after SG1's second skin-of-the-teeth escape from everyone's least favorite redhead, the elevator stopped at the final level of the SGC and Colonel Jack O'Neill bounded out, radiating so much energy that he probably could have powered up the Stargate just by standing next to it.

This was partly because his favorite hockey team had just won the semi-finals, partly because he had gotten to the very welcome point of having slept three nights in a row without waking up in a cold sweat and instinctively pressing a hand to the Goa'uld entry scar on his neck. It was also partly because Jack was by nature a vigorous person and as much as he had to admit that SG1, himself included, had indeed needed a rest after Hathor: The Sequel, two weeks of nothing but relentless rest was making him seriously restless.

But mainly, the display of vim, vigor, and overall vitality (and Daniel would know if there was a reason why those words all started with a 'vi', which would lead to a very detailed lecture, which was exactly why Jack was never going to ask him about it) was part of his new strategy for Getting Daniel, Sam and Teal'c to Stop Treating Him Like He Was About to Break.

For two weeks the rest of his team had been pussyfooting around him, doing everything but bringing him lemonade in the afternoons and fluffing his pillows at night, and it was definitely time for them to knock it off. And okay, the events of Hathor's ship, starting with waking up and being told it was 79 years in the future and his entire team was dead, and ending right about the time he was being pulled out of the cryo freeze for the second time in a day, weren't ever going to make it onto his list of top ten favorite memories.

And yes there had been a few nights since that he could have lived without, but he had gotten used to working with – or at least around -- nights like that a long time ago and it was high time the rest of SG1 realized that as far as mother hens went, they made lousy ones. Carter was twitchy, Teal'c just loomed, and Daniel was ... Daniel. All worry and guilt and big blue eyes. And now the short hair, too, which made him look about twelve and was a visible reminder of what they were all, most of all Jack, ready to put behind them.

He had already sat them down one at a time and tried to explain that yes, it had hurt, but also yes, he was feeling fine now and could we please get on with life? He hadn't expected the approach to work and whoa, it hadn't. Daniel, still limping a little from his leg wound, had just looked guilty. Carter flushed and said yes sir in her special 'yeah right' tone, and Teal'c regarded him so calmly that he felt stupid for bringing it up in the first place.

So now he was going to ram his exuberant self down their throats until they got so pissed with him that they forgot they were trying to treat him carefully and things could get back to normal.

Of course, if he couldn't find them, then he couldn't be annoyingly good-humored at them. Daniel wasn't at his desk, although there was always the slight possibility that he had been buried beneath the mounds of old stony things that were overflowing from his table. Sam's lab turned out to be Carter-free, and even Teal'c failed to suddenly appear from any adjoining corridor to regard him with that 'Are you well, O'Neill' expression he was so partial to lately.

Briefly, Jack considered stopping by the infirmary. Janet Frasier always seemed to know where SG1 was at all times; so much so in fact that he sometimes had the sneaking suspicion that she had implanted homing beacons into them during one of their let's-not-think-about-how-many enforced hospital stays. But to get within fifty feet of the infirmary would be tempting fate, as well as motor reflex, pupil response, bp and heartbeat tests – the standard roster that Janet Frasier now seemed to give him every time she so much as passed him walking down the hallway.

So instead he wandered down to Carter's second favorite place to be: the Observation Room with all of its neat blinking screens and computer graphics generated from base ten and base eight, or seven and a half, or whatever it was he had worked out while under the influence of the Ancients - yet another time when aliens had rummaged through his mind like it was a not-very-interesting garage sale. Although to be fair, Hathor's buddy had really just wanted him for his body.

Ah, there they were, the whole gang. Sam at the controls of the computer, Daniel bending over to peer at whatever no doubt fabulously interesting display she had called up, and Teal'c standing nearby with one eyebrow slightly raised to denote general interest.

"You know, Carter, there's a secret mushroom that takes you directly to Level Three," he said, walking in and waving toward the computer.

"It's more a matter of getting Mario through the interdimensional wormhole, sir," she replied, a smile touching her face as she continued to type.

"Oh yeah. I think that's Level Four." Jack moved to learn over Daniel. Whatever was on the screen looked like a lot of numbers, plus some words. Daniel was looking excited about it, but then this was a guy who got excited about rocks, and not even rocks that were also artifacts, but just plain rock rocks. He was probably focusing on the words, since he didn't actually have much time for numbers, especially when they were arranged in little nitpicky sentences like "Briefing is at 0700 do not be late."

"Hi Jack," he said, not bothering to look up from the screen.

Good, they were both more or less ignoring him. That was back to normal. Maybe a trifle irritating, but better than a double load of anxious blue-eyed stares.

Teal'c also inclined his head. "Hello, O'Neill."

"Morning Teal'c, waiting to see if they can rescue the Princess?"

For a minute, Jack thought Teal'c was going to go all 'are you well O'Neill' on him again, but after a moment, the Jaffa apparently decided the comment was just one of his CO's usual strange fancies and not actually a sign of abnormal insanity. He therefore contented himself with a 'I do not believe we are searching for a princess."

Halfway through Jack's subsequent attempt to explain the meaning of and reason for video games, General Hammond entered the room and (thank god) pulled him away to discuss administration details and contingency plans that, despite involving a large extremely classified underground facility that frequently took wormholes to alien worlds, were still not as complex as telling Teal'c about PacMan.

Now all they needed was Daniel to interrupt them with some elaborate, completely useless cultural or linguist factoid and things really would be back to normal.

Although on second thought, Jack could actually do without that particular piece of normality.

He gazed enviously into the Gateroom as SG7, looking primed and ready to go, hove into view. Carter immediately switched off from whatever it was she had been doing and punched in the coordinates for the team's mission. It was a run of the mill follow-up, but at this point Jack would have happily settled for going offworld to pick up someone's laundry. Anything to be moving again.

Hammond must have read the desire in his expression. "Don't worry, Colonel," he said knowingly, "now that Doctor Frasier's given the all-clear on Doctor Jackson's leg, I'll have a little something all lined up for SG1 in a couple of days."

"Glad to hear it, sir!" Jack responded, feeling a grin slide over his face.

That caught Daniel's attention and he finally looked up, mouth half open to ask a question -

And then the seventh chevron encoded and the Stargate spun into life.

*

It was really a fascinating problem, like those old-fashioned enigma puzzles he had always loved as a kid. Sam had downloaded all of the known words from the dominant language dialect of PFX967 and had converted it into numerology. But there were some words which had refused to convert properly. Sam had thought that perhaps they were from another language root, but Daniel wasn't so certain; they seemed more like some form of High Address, perhaps. Maybe even a difference between literary and verbal communication ....

The door to the room swung open and Jack strolled in, cracking the requisite joke. Daniel risked a quick glance at his friend while Sam answered him; Jack looked good, energized and calm. In fact, he had been looking better all week, and his annoyance at the rest of his team's attitude toward him had changed from 'leave me alone I'm fine', meaning 'leave me alone because I'm not fine at all', to 'leave me alone I'm fine' meaning 'leave me alone I'm fine.'

Sam, Teal'c and he had discussed it again the previous night. There were definitely moments when Daniel felt like they should go ahead and make badges and advertise as the official 'Dealing with Jack' support group. This time, unlike the hurried post-return discussion with Janet about how Jack might take his brief, but unmistakable moments of Goa'uld possession, they had in so many words, voted to relax. Or at least to pretend to.

Daniel wasn't actually sure how long it would take him to get over seeing Hathor put that Goa'uld into Jack, or to wipe away from his memory the expression on Jack's face as it entered him, stop hearing the gasp that tore out of his throat despite him so obviously working not to give Hathor any further pleasure by reacting to the pain; not to mention the guilt of knowing he had been too scared for himself, practically immobilized with fear, to even protest, let alone volunteer and save Jack from what they all knew was his worst nightmare ....

Daniel shuddered and forced his concentration back to the words in front of him. Okay, that partially answered his question; however long it would be, it was definitely going to be more than two weeks. But that was really his issue. He and Jack had talked about it and Jack had repeatedly sworn he didn't blame Daniel for anything. So to drag his feelings of remorse into something that Jack had decided he was okay with would be pure selfishness on his part.

And while Daniel knew maybe better than anyone that Jack O'Neill often ignored his actual physical or emotional condition in favor of the state that he wanted to be in, Jack really was looking better. Shadows under the eyes gone, so full of energy it was practically coming out of his ears, and none of the slightly too controlled expressions that were his hallmark when he was being careful not to let anybody see what was really going on with him.

Sam looked up from watching the Stargate chevrons engage for SG5 and caught Daniel's eye, her expression clearly mirroring his own thoughts. Relief that crisis number – what was it? 30? 40? – had been successful navigated. Relief that SG1 had survived again, together. Relief that Jack was still Jack and was feeling better, which in turn made them feel much, much be---

And then the Stargate whooshed open.

Daniel didn't even see what happened next, just sensed the movement as the fist came toward him, managed to think 'maybe I should du - ' and then felt the impact, hard. He tumbled, feeling the heat of blood running from his nose even before the pain.

And just as he was trying to remember the procedure for attack in the SGC, just as he began to search for some kind of weapon, to understand what was happening ... he realized that it was all over.

Sam, holding one hand to her cheek, was scrambling to her feet; General Hammond – General Hammond! – already had the beginnings of what would be a beautiful black eye, the kind doctors would probably want to take pictures of and put in text books, it was so classic. But both of them were mainly ignoring their injuries, staring toward Teal'c and ... Jack?

Oh god. Jack.

Looking strained, which for Teal'c was pretty much the equivalent of full blown panic, the Jaffa held Jack pinned with both arms behind his back while the Colonel struggled madly, spitting out curses in Arabic. Until that moment, Daniel hadn't been sure Jack even knew the language, despite his missions in Iraq and the east. This wasn't the way he wanted to satisfy his curiosity on the subject ....

... good accent, high content of street slang, although that could just be because of what Jack was wanting to say. Daniel winced. Okay, he had never heard that term before .... he should ask Jack where he learned it ....

Jack. Daniel knew he was mentally babbling. But words were so much easier to think about than any reason for those words.

"What in hell just happened here?" That was General Hammond, his mid-roar, denoting an even mix of surprise and anger.

"I don't know, sir," Sam answered, voice teetering on the edgy of shaky as she stared at Jack. He had stopped struggling now and stood facing his team and CO with a blank, searing stare that said no, he didn't know them, but if he ever saw them again, he'd recognize them all right, and they would unquestionably wish he hadn't.

"Teal'c?" the General barked.

"I do not believe Colonel O'Neill realizes where he is," the Jaffa said quietly.

"Let's hope not," Hammond responded angrily. "What's he saying? Anyone?"

Oh, languages. That was probably Daniel's cue. He realized he was still sitting on the floor, blood running down from his nose – and wouldn't that make his allergies even more pleasant for the next few days? – staring at his best friend who had seemed so okay only a minute ago and trying not to think of reasons why Jack would suddenly ....

... or rather trying to think of other reasons why Jack might suddenly .... because the most obvious one was something that he was not prepared to ....

"Daniel, are you all right?" Sam peered down at him anxiously, face pale except around an already swollen cheek.

The strain in her voice gave him a guilty pang. The last thing they needed to be worrying about right now was him. Not when Jack was giving all appearances of having ... what, exactly? .... no, we don't say 'cracked' when referring to a friend .... there had to be something else ....

It was amazingly difficult to see Jack in any situation where he wasn't in control. Or rather when he didn't give the appearance of control. That famous attitude of 'sure we're captured but everything's fine, plan's on the way, just sit back and relax' .... SG1 relied on that aura of certainty, Daniel relied on it, like a kind of air or food, and on those rare occasions when it was gone, panic and worry jumped in like a linebacker.

And right now, Jack was as much in control as Daniel was a Marine.

So ... think clinically, Dr. Jackson. Stress, strain, over-medication? Okay, that last one they probably didn't have to worry about, since Jack was more likely to throw away anything Janet gave him than to actually use it. Alien possession? That had happened before. But it was too close to what he wasn't thinking about.

Okay, back to strain, and hey, what a coincidence that the last few weeks had been actually more than ordinarily stressful what with Hathor going and ....

No. He wasn't saying that, even in the privacy of his mind, remember? No thinking about what kind of subtle, hitherto missed damage Hathor's Goa'uld could have inflicted on Jack and definitely no thinking about what that could mean ... hell, he didn't even know what that could mean, except that it couldn't be good ....

This wasn't helping. He should just translate, which was reliable and understandable and hopefully would help completely and safely explain what had just happened.

"I'm fine," he told Sam, wondering just when the definition of being 'fine' had warped into the current SG1 meaning, which was scared to death but at least not actively dying. "Um, he's saying .... "

Well, he wasn't really surprised. He wished he could be, had really wanted to have those simple words change into something else while he was busy gaping uselessly on the floor. But ...

"As far as I can tell," Daniel said heavily, going to adjust his glasses then realizing they had flown off in the confusion, "Jack thinks he's back in Iraq and we're the ... enemy."

No one else seemed surprised, either. Upset, definitely. But not surprised. Jack. Arabic. Fighting. Anger .... and yes, some fear among the fury in those brown eyes; he obviously wasn't having a flashback to Cassie's last birthday party.

Jack glared, standing in that entirely stilled way that said he was coiled for action, for the slightest opportunity.

Daniel approached him as calmly as he could and said, in English and then in Arabic, "Jack, it's us. You're home in the SGC. Jack, remember, it's us."

There was a long moment, then Jack suddenly relaxed, blinked a very Jack-like blink, frowned and said "For crying out loud, Daniel, I know who you are."

And immediately sagged, unconscious.

The foursome stood frozen for a split second, the same thought reverberating in all of their heads, but it was Teal'c, still holding Jack, who calmly said, "I believe we should bring Colonel O'Neill to the infirmary."

*

Janet Frasier was just settling down to a rare homemade lunch – Cassie had had a motherly moment the night before and packed her a tuna salad sandwich, grapes and Oreos – when the cream of the SGC ran in looking like the house had just fallen down around them.

So much for the Oreos.

But how had SG1, despite their morbidly impressive record for sustaining significant and creative physical damage in the seemingly most innocent of places, managed to hurt themselves inside their own compound and how on earth had they taken General Hammond down with them?

She took them all in at a practiced glance. Okay, a state of unconsciousness beat Daniel's tremendously bloody nose, Sam's blossoming, probably cracked, cheekbone and even a General's black eye. So ....

Grabbing a stethoscope, Janet hustled toward O'Neill, who was hanging limply in Teal'c arms in a way his dignity would not appreciate when he came to. Teal'c, however, took a warning step backward

"Doctor Frasier."

She stopped, a little bewildered and a little angry as General Hammond came to stand between her and her first patient.

"Sir, is there a problem because I need to see - "

Hammond held up a hand. "Yes, Doctor, there is a problem. For unknown reasons, Colonel O'Neill just suffered a severe flashback to Iraq and as a consequence attacked us in the Observation Room. So for right now, he needs to be put under restraints before anyone goes near him."

Only years of medical composure kept Janet from yelling "what!" She saw Daniel form and then swallow a protest under all that blood, Sam bite her lip and Teal'c shut down in that way that so loudly said he would do things differently, but he realized that he wasn't on his world anymore and so would submit to the Tauri ways ... at least up to the point he decided it significantly endangered one of his teammates.

Poor Teal'c, one sane Jaffa amid a planetful of crazy humans.

Oooo, crazy. Not a good thought to be having right now, if Jack O'Neill had truly just attacked the four people closest to him. But ... he had attacked Daniel before, hadn't he, and it had just been a matter of aliens and viruses. Something nice and simple they could all deal with. So that was what she had better do her best to find now.

"All right," Janet said as coolly as possible, "Teal'c, get him over to the bed and we'll strap him down."

They all winced at that, even Hammond and Teal'c, although with them you only sensed it.

"Is this really necessary?" Daniel began, voice blobby with what was definitely a broken noise.

"I'm afraid it is," Hammond answered immediately and unequivocally, tone warning Daniel that this time even the archaeologist wasn't going to budge the decision; and there the matter stood.

What was not so easy was telling Hammond and the rest of SG1 that, after two hours of exhaustive – and exhausting – tests, Janet could detect no signs of anything more abnormal than a slightly rapid heartbeat and high levels of adrenaline, and god knew the Colonel lived off adrenaline like Daniel lived off coffee.

They stared at her, dismay and calculation showing to different degrees on each face. Daniel, as always, got the blue ribbon for dismay. His nose was bandaged and he had lost his glasses, which combined with his newly hacked hair to give him such a desperately eight year old look that Janet had to beat back the urge to just take him in her arms and give him a hug.

Sam, her cracked cheekbone growing a deeper purple pretty much by the second, already had her jaw set, eyes racing with alternatives, because they were all obviously not going to believe that Jack O'Neill had finally reached his limit. The SGC practically existed because Jack O'Neill hadn't reached his limit; hell, the entire world, although most of it didn't realize it, was still here because Jack O'Neill hadn't reached his limit ....

Teal'c just waited, showing no sign of physical discomfort despite having finally admitted that O'Neill had caught him a vicious kick in the pouch. And Hammond was taking a page out of the Jack O'Neill book of dealing with adversary and looked ready to chew rocks to powder.

Janet wondered if Sam was aware of the deep breath and the squared shoulders that preceded her next question. "So you're saying that there's nothing wrong physically - "

"That you can detect," Daniel inserted immediately, not willing to let it go for even one sentence.

The qualification seemed to disrupt Sam, as if she suddenly felt like she had inadvertently been acting like a traitor to the Colonel. Shooting a half rebuking glance at Daniel, Janet steeled herself and answered the unfinished question.

"What I'm saying is, if it's something physical, I can't detect it. If it's something mental or emotional - "

Right on cue, Daniel and Sam flinched, Teal'c grew, if that was possible, even more quiet, and the rain cloud over Hammond's head turned even darker than his black eye.

They all knew enough about the Colonel's military and emotional history to know that if there was ever someone whose life threatened to be too full of incident to get over, it was Jack O'Neill. He rivaled even Daniel, who among other things had seen his parents crushed before him as a child. And no, the Colonel hadn't always just walked away from the damage with a song on his lips. But so far he had always walked away, or at least walked on, and whatever lingering pain or nightmares had resulted had never before followed him to work.

The point was, that while O'Neill was one of the toughest people Janet Frasier had ever met (or operated on) he had amassed cracks over the years, and any psychologist in the world could tell you that having the thing you hated and feared most happen to you, becoming a prisoner in your own body, your own mind, even if only for a few hours, could very easily turn cracks into fissures.

But just because this was true, did not mean that anyone, even Hammond, wanted to say it out loud.

A stirring from the bed gave them momentary respite. Silently agreeing to suspend the conversation before that fatal meltdown point, they turned to see Jack O'Neill blinking up at them with a frown that suggested he had one mother of a headache.

"Colonel," Janet said immediately, going to his side to check his pupil dilation responses. "How are you feeling?"

He ignored her, eyes taking in the obviously worried and obviously battered faces surrounding him, and then lingering on the restraints around his wrists and ankles.

"Well," he muttered, "it's been a while since this."

Before any of SG1 could respond, Hammond stepped to the forefront, suddenly fully military. "Colonel O'Neill," he boomed, "do you have any recollection of what happened during the moments before your collapse?"

O'Neill lifted his eyebrows, shook his head slightly. "Sir, even the collapse is news to me." He frowned sharply, returning his gaze to the colorful injuries of his teammates. "Sir, are you telling me I did - " one cinched hand tried to gesture at the bruises, " - that?"

"I'm afraid you did, Colonel."

If you weren't looking for the flash of self-recrimination, anger, confusion, you might have missed it. But inside this room was collected almost the sum total of people close enough to Jack O'Neill to know to look.

If Janet was a betting person, and someone had arranged a race between O'Neill and Daniel Jackson to see who was quicker off the mark at guilt, she would have probably put her money on Daniel by a nose. Although she'd also bet that O'Neill's lasted longer. And that was perhaps the main difference between Daniel and the Colonel's own still prize-winning capacity for refusing to forgive himself: with Daniel the guilt stayed visible, even when he didn't want it to, while O'Neill immediately shoved his down to those buried catacombs he had set up long ago in his psyche. Maybe that was what had first drawn Daniel, the ultimate archeologist, to him.

Once the emotions had gone underground, only the confusion and a touch of anger continuing to simmer, O'Neill asked the next logical questions, receiving the same unsatisfactory answers that Janet had distributed only a few minutes earlier.

Apparently he had, for no discernible reason, thought he was in Iraq in the hands of the enemy. He had fought to free himself, breaking Daniel's nose, cracking Sam's cheekbone, blacking the General's eye and delivering a very painful kick to Teal'c's stomach before the ex-Jaffa had managed to restrain him.

And no, they didn't know why it had happened.

"So it might happen again," Jack said slowly, at the end of her speech.

"Possibly," Janet had to admit.

"Do you think it has something to do with being ... Goa'ulded?" he asked, giving words to the inevitable thought that they had all studiously been avoiding. Say what you liked about Jack O'Neill, he wasn't one to dodge blows.

"I don't know. But .... " O'Neill riveted her, brown eyes cold as command and allowing no pity, either for himself or for the poor doctor who had to be telling him this. "But it seems likely," she forced herself to finish.

"But Janet, I never had any side effects like this," Sam was immediately protesting, voice overlapping Daniel, who was saying the same thing, although significantly louder.

"You have experienced a confusion of memory, Captain Carter," Teal'c reminded her softly.

Janet let out an internal sigh of relief and blessed all Jaffa who would be willing to take some of the pressure off her own unwilling shoulders.

Sam was shaking her head, of course. And Daniel had that stubborn as hell look that meant he was definitely unwilling to consider this a possibility.

"I may have had flashbacks," Sam countered, "but they were always of Jolinar's memories, never my own."

Which was fine as far as it went, but they all knew that not only had Carter not amassed the pure bulk of traumatizing experiences that O'Neill had, but Jolinar's possession of Sam, while not exactly a picnic in the park, must be nothing compared to even those few hours of being held by a completely ruthless Goa'uld bent on physical and psychological domination through means of incredible pain and (although so far O'Neill had only admitted to the pain) who knew what other mental sadisms.

Teal'c – what a glutton for punishment – opened his mouth, no doubt to say as much, but O'Neill saved him from the rest of the argument.

He was glaring, obviously wanting to sit up and take command of the situation, but hampered by the fact that he was tied hand and foot like – Janet had to face it -- some pretty dangerous guy who might fly off the handle at any moment.

"Excuse me?" he said irritably, "can we just get past all of the speculation and find some, oh, I don't know, facts here?"

Nothing like a good old-fashioned 'ten hut!" to get the troops moving again. Even Hammond seemed to respond to the demand for focus.

"Roger that," the General said briskly. "Captain Carter, Teal'c, see if you can come up with any theories about how a Goa'uld interaction might adversely affect this kind of situation."

Janet smiled grimly to herself. Oh yes, leave it to military pomp to gut a situation of any crippling emotion. Not, see if you can think of any reason why having a three foot alien parasite stuck into him might shake loose that iron control that's been barely holding Jack O'Neill together these past years. Just, you know, for fun, consider the implications of a Goa'uld interaction.

And it worked. Sam pulled herself together with a curt and determined "Yes, sir" that made the doctor in Janet realize with a sigh that they were looking at another 'won't sleep until we figure this out no matter how long it takes' deal. Teal'c subtly straightened, suddenly changing from a quiet man to a damn large soldier who gave the impression he would be happy to break spines if it would give him the answers he was looking for.

"Meanwhile," Hammond continued, "I'll contact the Tok'ra, see if they have any ideas."

"Oh, not the Tok'ra again, General," O'Neill complained from the bed, that hatred of showing weakness even to allies clear as day in his voice.

"The Tok'ra could be of much assistance, O'Neill," Teal'c said sternly, and "Sir, I don't think we can afford to leave any stone unturned right now," Carter added quickly, eyes wide and sincere and cheek the color of deep water.

Knowing the Colonel, the bruise alone probably convinced him that this was some kind of penance, but at any rate, he made another aborted attempt to wave his hand, which they all diplomatically took to be a granting of permission.

Daniel was practically vibrating with suppressed tension. None of the team ever did well when one of them was injured, but Janet knew that as a civilian, Daniel always felt particularly helpless, and the fact that this was probably linked to Hathor, who he never did well with, must not be making him feel any better.

"Doctor Jackson," Hammond turned to him, "you - "

"Will stay here, with Jack," Daniel interrupted in his patented simultaneously apologetic/determined tone. "There's nothing in any stories about this kind of situation, and if Jack has another memory attack I may be the only one who can talk to him."

The look on O'Neill's face said very eloquently that he'd rather not have anyone, probably, Janet suspected, especially not Daniel, around if he did have another flashback, but the General nodded.

"Agreed, son," he said simply. They all, probably even Jack, saw the order in his eyes. Get Colonel O'Neill to talk as much as possible about his experiences before the Tok'ra operative killed the Goa'uld in cryogenic freeze.

Janet had the sinking feeling that this was going to tread in a lot of O'Neill's private rooms before it was over, and god knows the man had enough of them to fill a mansion.

*

Even on a good day, Jack O'Neill wasn't a big fan of soup. It reminded him too much of convalescence, of being too weak to even feed yourself.

And even on a good day, Daniel, unlike most trained nurses, had about as much inherent self-coordination as a grapefruit, and tended to spill half of the spoon's contents on you before it even made it to your mouth.

This wasn't even a good day.

To start with, this time Jack wasn't even sick. At least, he didn't feel sick, although how much sicker could you get then trying to take down your entire team plus your CO for good measure. But he didn't feel sick. Confused, yeah, frustrated, oh yeah, worried and angry so much yeah that he wasn't even going to go there right now. But mainly just getting more and more pissed off that here he was strapped to a bed like some kind of nutcase who couldn't even feed himself without hurting himself or the people around him and, here was the kicker, who was to say that assumption wasn't right on the money?

But he could remember most of what Hathor's little friend had done to him and he had worked through it. He wasn't over it, in fact it would probably be another one of those things in his life he never quite got over, but he had really been certain that he was functioning fine and wasn't going to be a danger to his team ... on the other hand, Jack knew he hadn't been wrong about all that many things in his life, but when he was wrong, it usually bypassed normal definitions and rocketed into the realms of spectacularly, mind-blowingly wrong.

Mind-blowing. Maybe literally this time.

Except he refused to believe that. Re. Fused. No-I-do-not-choose-to-accept-this. There was an 'or', an 'and', a 'but', a something tagged onto this and he was taking it.

Hathor mark 2. Not the best experience of his life. But from the first he had been damned if he was going to let that bitch break him.

Because the thing was, when he broke others would to. Like Daniel. God, he looked so tired and worried and drawn in on himself sitting here. Just exactly what Jack had been trying to avoid for ... well, for ever since they had returned from Abydos the second time. And while he wasn't jumping for joy over all those new grey hairs of his (don't think 'old' Jack, think 'distinguished') it was a far sight better than Daniel getting them.

But here they were, about to have another nice archeological excavation into Jack's head, to see if they could piece anything together. Come on, kids, bring the shovels, it's fun for the whole family!

Daniel was so worried that Jack hadn't gotten so much as a swallow of tomato soup in the last five minutes, which was fine because right now tomato soup was reminding him way too much of what could have happened to Daniel and Sam and hell, even Teal'c if Jack had flown off the handle while he had a gun strapped on.

At least Daniel had avoided chicken noodle. Jack didn't actually have a problem with worms per se, but there was something about putting slimy, wormlike food into his mouth that made him cringe these days. In fact, ever since they had found out about their nasty little snakehead friends, there had been moments when Jack lost his appetite just looking at spaghetti. He was pretty sure nobody knew that, but then again, Daniel knew a lot of things about him that nobody else knew – things that, for the most part, Jack knew he hadn't even told him.

Maybe it was the archeology thing. Maybe when Daniel came over for a game of chess or to complain through whatever hockey game was on, he was also measuring how many cups needed washing in the sink, or what color clothes Jack was wearing, and somewhere an internal database was cross referencing that information with all those other minute facts he had absorbed from other cultures over the years, and was subconsciously forming some grand hypothesis about what was going on with his friend. Even if, especially if, his friend didn't even think there was anything going on right then.

Beware having friends that much smarter than you, even when they couldn't manage to get a spoon of soup from a bowl to your mouth two feet away.

The problem was, that as soon as Daniel had finished spilling all of the soup, he was going to start asking questions, and soup was just a minor annoyance compared with Daniel in personal question-asking mode.

"Ooops, sorry," Daniel mumbled again, squinting because he didn't even have his glasses on, for crying out loud. Not that they would probably still fit over that nose.

God, did the kid even have a clue at how close he came to dying back there? No, he probably didn't. Daniel never did. He just seemed to leave the tallying of his near fatalities to Jack as he bounded happily toward the nearest ticking timebomb.

Timebomb. Not the image he was looking for right now.

"Look, Daniel," he said out loud, "can we stop with the Florence Nightingale routine? I look like I'm bleeding to death."

Daniel blinked, seemed to take in the mess for the first time, and beamed back to planet Earth for probably the first time in a half hour.

"Oh, okay, Jack," he said, putting away the soup.

Not 'oh, okay Jack, I'll leave you alone now'. Not even 'oh, okay Jack, and how's your day been?'. Nope, it was definitely an 'oh, okay, Jack and by the way can we just delve into Hathor and Iraq and all those things you really aren't in the mood to discuss right now, possibly with a little side order of how and why you tried to kill us all this afternoon?'.

Although at least Daniel was probably better than the Tok'ra, who had admittedly saved SG1's collective and his individual bacon on a number of recent occasions, but still had that superiority problem that soooo made Jack want to punch something after about five minutes in close contact with them.

Jacob Carter was a good man and a good soldier, and even Martouf might be a bit irritating but was generally okay, but their symbiotes had enough arrogance to bedazzle a US Senator and Jack was in no mood to be yet another amusing little puzzle for them to waltz in and solve.

Although solving would be good. These restraint were starting to make him feel like some kind of caged animal.

Daniel fixed him the look that said he wasn't going anywhere soon and started in on it. "Okay, Jack, I know you're probably not in the mood for it right now," he began in that half-apologetic, half-lecturing tone that always put him in grave danger of getting his face punched in by someone someday ... except Jack had already done that, hadn't he? And although he didn't really remember doing it, he could take one look at that face and know exactly what he had been trying to do, and it wasn't just give Daniel a swollen nose.

"So what do you want to start with?" Daniel asked, expression reflecting what he expected Jack's probable reaction to the question to be.

"You tell me," Jack told him, trying to keep out the full sarcastic bite. Judging by Daniel's wince, he didn't do such a spectacular job of it, but on the other hand, he was the one who was strapped down and possibly going Section 8, so to hell with it.

"How about Hathor's compound?" Daniel suggested hesitantly, obviously not liking the topic anymore than Jack, but still not getting the fact that that no matter how nicely he framed the questions, the whole thing was dredging back memories of other interrogations that weren't exactly making Jack want to spring from his bed – even if he could spring -- with a song on his lips.

Or maybe he did understand, because a frustrated look passed over his face and he craned his neck around for Janet, who must be still hovering in the background. Jack hadn't been able to see her for a while, but could hear as she moved around, straightening things that had probably been straightened twice before. Drugs on standby in case whacky Jack O'Neill decided to have another punching fit.

"Janet, are these restraints really necessary?" Daniel asked. "I mean, how is Jack supposed to feel relaxed when he can't move?"

Good point, Daniel, but unfortunately the straps aren't here for me, they're here for you. Janet moved into view looking indecisive; obviously she wasn't thrilled with trussing him out like a deer over the hood either. Well, that was nice.

"Daniel, I don't like it any more than you do," she began, "but - "

"It's orders, Daniel," Jack cut in, seeing the relieved look on her face and the suddenly sullen one on Daniel's. "I know you never believe it," he told the archaeologist, "but there are sometimes reasons for the things we do."

"Jack, do you really think you're going to go suddenly ... " he hesitated over the word.

"Mental?" Jack filled in relentlessly. "Crazy? Whacko? I don't know, that's what these are for."

Daniel was looking seriously annoyed now. Good, why should Jack be the only one.

"We don't have any proof that this is going to be a reoccurring thing," he pointed out. "What, are we just going to keep you strapped up forever?"

Janet opened her mouth to deliver the standard, rational lecture but Jack waved her away. Or at least tried to. She got the message, but he could really do without the restraints. Only he couldn't.

"As soon as Janet's finishes monitoring me I'll go into a nice isolation cell, " he said, trying to sound calm and disinterested like this happened all the time. He knew Daniel hated the idea of mental institutes, and what he really didn't need right now was the linguist obsessing on the subtle differences between isolation and rubber rooms. "But for right now, I need to be here; and if I'm going to be here, I'd rather not be allowed to bash your brains in, okay?"

Daniel clearly thought he was being melodramatic. "Jack," he began, "I'd hardly call a bloody nose and a couple of bruises intent to kill."

"Daniel." Jack leaned forward as well as he could and fixed his friend with his best 'I'm not just some unbalanced military automaton' look. "I wasn't trying to break your nose back there. If you had been anybody else, with normal reflexes, you would have ducked when you saw me coming and I would have hit you low enough to shove your nose right into your brain. Which would have resulted in you being extremely dead."

That got Daniel's attention. The full wide-eyed, opened mouth reaction which, combined with the nose and hair, looked pretty ridiculous.

This was something they had gone over before, but it had never yet stuck. Jack was fairly sure that despite Hathor, despite how often Daniel had seen him take down a Jaffa, and no matter how many amusing little contretemps from his past he let slip out, Daniel had yet to understand that he, Jack O'Neill, Daniel's best friend, had the knowledge, experience and strength to kill him half a dozen times over in under a minute. For that matter, Carter and Teal'c could inflict some seriously irreparable damage themselves. But Danny still just thought 'military' meant you wear the uniform and say sir a lot and generally act kind of stupid.

It didn't.

"Just let me get this straight," Daniel said slowly. "You thought I was a soldier. And if I had been, I would have ducked and you would have killed me."

"Hence the restraints," Jack agreed.

For a minute, he thought he had gotten Daniel. But far be it from everyone's favorite linguist to let logic stand in the way of a good argument.

"I still don't see why you have to be tied down when you're obviously you," he protested and this time, Jack didn't have the heart to remind him that actually, sorry, the can-kill-you-Jack wasn't just some sporadic freak product of mental breakdown, it was the same good-ol'-pal-Jack he spent most of each day with.

He settled for closing his eyes. "Because if I do go all moonstruck again I probably won't waste time asking to be tied down, and no matter how much I dislike being roped into bed, I'd dislike killing, maiming or otherwise inconveniencing my best friend even more.  Now can we drop it and get on with the questions please?"

Obviously still unconvinced, Daniel just rubbed the corner of his eye, tacitly agreeing to let it drop for the moment.

Well, thank god for small favors.

*

Samantha Carter shook her head, trying not to let the frustration get to her. "I'm sorry, Teal'c," she said, "I can't find anything in Jolinar's memories even remotely like this."

Teal'c inclined his head. "Nor can I recall anything similar," he admitted. "There is little information about the relationship between host and Goa'uld."

That was an understatement. Carter had notebooks full of scientific wonders, Daniel had trainloads of cultural marvels, Teal'c knew more about the political structure of the Goa'uld than anybody, and yet in all their encounters with alien beings, they hadn't even managed to scratch the surface of how the host and Goa'uld interacted, or what might happen if a host escaped.

Part of that was, of course, because of Daniel. No one had ever said so, but it was a silent agreement between the other three, and knowing General Hammond, him as well, that discovering excruciating details about how horribly hosts were mistreated was not going to help Sha're, and was certainly not going to help Daniel.

But mainly, it was simply that they had never run across anyone who had escaped. The Tok'ra were the closest thing they had found, and they, for all their occasional helpfulness, rarely, if ever, volunteered information on the subject.

Sam could never truly complain about the Tok'ra's limited support when it was because of them that her father was alive, but she had seen dentist pull teeth more easily than the SGC managed to get so much as the smallest fact about how the interaction actually functioned.

And so actually, she was the closest thing they had come across to an ex-host. But as aliens jumping into your consciousness went, Jolinar had been pretty considerate. Hadn't burrowed into Sam's private memories for fun, hadn't tried to grind her mind into submission. So just because she wasn't having flashbacks to air raids in Desert Storm, or the time she nearly drowned during summer camp, didn't rule out the possibility that was what was happening to the Colonel.

Not to mention that the Colonel was so tightly contained that the few times something had caused him to unwind even partially, it had been pretty spectacular and far beyond what Carter herself would have ever managed.

She had gone through the logic weeks before when they had first come back from Hathor's ship, gradually, thankfully discarding most of the worries and half-formed plans as she saw – thought she saw – the Colonel dealing with his temporary possession and moving on with his usual discipline. But even after she and Daniel and Teal'c had decided to curtail the most obvious demonstrations of their concern, she had still felt strangely edgy; not quite able to let it go completely. Now she was dusting off those partially shelved thoughts as quickly as possible, and they all still pointed to the unwelcome truth that fundamentally, who knew how what Hathor had done to the Colonel would affect him?

"Bottom line, Teal'c," Sam said, biting back the urge to throw something against the wall, "I don't think there's any way we can research what's going on. If the Tok'ra can't help us, we're in trouble."

"Then the Tok'ra will help," Teal'c said calmly.

Ah, Teal'c. Did he even know how much she appreciate that wonderful warming certainty of his during times like this? She might have occasionally, when the Colonel was in one of his 'make it so' moods, argued that just saying something forcefully and repeatedly didn't automatically make it possible; but all the same, sometimes it felt damn good to hear what you desperately wanted to believe said with 100% assurance.

She nodded, smiling at him to show her thanks, then turned back to the mounds of gathered information. There was nothing there ... but there had to be something there.

"Samantha Carter," Teal'c said behind her. "I wish to ask you something."

She looked up from the notebook she had already read twice. She had almost forgotten Teal'c was still there.

"Sure, go ahead," she said.

Automatically, her hand drifted up to push back her hair and she tried not to wince as she bumped her swollen cheekbone. She was lucky Teal'c had already caught hold of the Colonel's right hand before he hit her. A full strength blow would probably have put her in the hospital, and she really didn't have time for that now.

Teal'c regarded her with level eyes. "Do you consider yourself to be in charge of SG1 while Colonel O'Neill is incapacitated?"

That stopped her. "No, I ... don't think so. I mean, he's not really gone, and even if he was I probably wouldn't be the one to assume command. Why do you ask?"

"You seem to be demonstrating the urge to single-handedly 'make everything all better', as I believe Doctor Frasier calls it. This is an attitude that I have frequently noticed in O'Neill."

Carter looked at him in amazement. "Teal'c, I'm just trying to find a way to help the Colonel. I admit I've been a little frustrated, but I don't think it's out of the ordinary."

"On the contrary. Pacing, rereading texts which have already proven to hold no value in this case, and expressing fierce impatience at things that cannot at the moment be changed are not your usual traits in a crisis.

"I believe that you are feeling an added pressure because you now feel it is your responsibility to keep SG1 together and functioning. This is usually O'Neill's role, but since it is he who is endangered, you feel it is up to you to both find the cure and to bring order to the situation in the meantime."

Well, now that he mentioned it, yes, that was exactly what she wanted to do. Her nerves had been gnawing at her ever since they had returned from Hathor's compound and although in some ways it was very childish, all she could think of was that she just wanted to get things back to normal.

It was never until it was taken away that she realized just how much the Colonel's presence was the focal point of the team. Daniel gave them energy, fueled them with his endless curiosity and wide open heart. She and Teal'c were the ballasts, Sam half military and half scientist, Teal'c half warrior and half humanist. But the Colonel was what solidified and sharpened the separate influences; he exerted pressure when necessary, but mainly he absorbed it and by doing so allowed the rest of the team the space to think and find answers.

If the Colonel hadn't been hurt so badly in Antarctica, Sam knew for a fact that she would have figured out, if not that they were still on Earth, then at least that they should gate to another planet and try from there. But – and this was what Daniel never understood when the Colonel brushed aside his laboriously detailed answers – it was just too hard to both lead and stand back and theorize. Often at great emotional or physical cost, the Colonel provided the space, as well as the will, for things to happen; and right now Sam was definitely feeling the lack of that breathing room.

She allowed herself a reluctant grimace. "You're saying I should take a deep breath and relax?"

Teal'c lifted an eyebrow. "I believe if Colonel O'Neill were here, he would advise that you cut yourself an amount of slack."

This time, Sam's smile was heartfelt. "I'll remember that. Thanks, Teal'c."

"You are welcome, Captain Carter."

She squared her shoulders again. "Okay, let's go over what we do know one more time. How do you remember what happened?"

"We were observing the Stargate. As it activated, O'Neill suddenly stiffened and seemed to forget where he was."

Carter was suddenly on her feet. "Wait a minute, Teal'c," she said excitedly. "Do you mean this happened the moment the Stargate engaged?"

"That is correct." An expression of understanding suddenly gleamed in his eye. "Do you believe there is some connection?"

"I believe it's worth checking into!"

*

"Daniel, we've been through this a dozen times," O'Neill grumbled, trying not to show how uncomfortable the restraints really were. Not to mention how boring it was to lie in a hospital bed for hours on end. At least when he was injured, he had something to take his mind off the monotony. "We're watching the Stargate, it gets all blue like it does, then whoa, suddenly I'm in Iraq with a chance to escape which I take only to run headlong into a big-ass soldier who I then realize is Teal'c. Then apparently I keel over."

"I know, but I just can't help feeling we're missing something here," Daniel said again. He was looking seriously frazzled; probably hadn't even remembered to take any more painkillers for his nose.

"I mean, there must have been some kind of trigger, right?" Daniel went on doggedly. "Did one of us say something? Was there a smell?"

This time, Jack didn't even bother to roll his eyes. "The only thing I smelled was Sam's shampoo, your aftershave and a lot of old coffee. And I've been smelling that every day for the past three years."

"What about what we said?"

"Nobody said anything because we were all too busy watching the Stargate." He grunted as another movement was pulled up short by the restraints. He had never realized how much he used his hands before.

"Jack," Daniel said immediately. "I really wish you'd at least let me loosen those ties. You're making me ancy just looking at you."

Oh well, Jack thought as they entered the argument for the third time, at least it provides variety.

Which was why yelling was the first thing Sam and Teal'c heard as they entered the room.

"I'm not letting you untie me and that's final," a very red-faced Colonel was telling a very stubborn Daniel very loudly. Carter bit back a sudden smile; in how many other places would you find a patient not only demanding to be restrained but bitterly complaining about the fact that an armed guard hadn't been posted in his room.

"Colonel, Daniel," she greeted them.

O'Neill turned a disgusted face toward her. "Finally," he grumbled, "people who know I could kill them."

"Yes, sir, but that's not what I wanted to ask you about."

O'Neill shot her a very eloquent look and flapped his hands. "I'm not going anywhere."

Carter suddenly found herself hesitating. Ironically, she was so sure she was right, that this was the first part of the puzzle, that she almost didn't want to ask, just in case she was wrong after all and her precarious theory came tumbling down ....

"Sir, Daniel, do you remember what happened right before the Colonel attacked us?"

"The Stargate turned on," they parroted, the Colonel in the voice of someone who had been asked this too many times, Daniel with the automatic response of someone who had heard it too many times. It was obvious neither made the connection.

She could see the irascible "so?" quivering on the Colonel's lips, when Teal'c stepped in.

"Captain Carter believes the activation of the Stargate was what triggered your memory lapse, O'Neill," he said.

The Colonel frowned. "Triggered?"

"That was the first time you witnessed a wormhole established since we return to the SGC, was it not?" Teal'c asked.

"Uh, what about when we got home? We used a Stargate, then," Daniel objected.

"Triggered? Anyone?"

"The Colonel was half frozen then," Sam told Daniel, "which might have interfered with the stimulus. And although I'm just guessing, it was probably too after .... "

"After what, Major?" the Colonel prompted impatiently, looking like he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to hear what was next.

Carter, despite being so relieved at the possibility of pinpointing a reason for the Colonel's flashback, wasn't entirely certain she wanted to say it, either. She took a deep breath and met her commanding officer's eyes steadily. "Colonel, I think that maybe while you were possessed by the Goa'uld, it might have programmed this reaction. Sort of like creating a mental minefield, if you will."

"Very well reasoned," a voice cut into the conversation from behind them. Carter turned to find Martouf and her father standing in the doorway in front of General Hammond.

Jacob Carter smiled at her. "Looks like we made the trip for nothing," he said warmly, moving to hug his daughter.

She welcomed the embrace, feeling the tension ease that little, precious bit. At some points in her life she had felt the need to play the impervious, completely self-reliant soldier with her father, but right now that moment of contact provided comfort that, if she was honest, she really needed.

Jacob felt the tension in his daughter's shoulders, saw the strain in her smile of welcome, and decided that it was a very good thing he had come. He had known it was going to be bad when he had seen George's face, but Sam looked fragile enough to break if he hugged her too hard, Daniel Jackson looked so twitchy it was a wonder he wasn't hopping up and down, even Teal'c was unusually somber, and the sight of Jack O'Neill strapped to a bed was one he could have certainly done without in his life. Even Selmac seemed shocked to see the colonel, although O'Neill probably wouldn't appreciate knowing that.

Instinctively trying to lighten the mood, Jacob turned to Martouf, who was watching the father/daughter reunion with his customary small smile. "I told you they'd figure it out," he said as heartily as he could. "Next time, tell Lantesh to never bet with a military man."

Martouf smiled more widely at the comment, but when he answered it was with his symbiote's voice. "I will certainly remember that in the future."

The little joke helped; the pressure in the room eased a bit. Sam smiled her thanks. He squeezed her one last time, then turned to the matter at hand. Or rather, the matter in bed.

"Well, General," O'Neill greeted Jacob, sounding remarkable savoir faire for someone strapped to a cot and just told a Goa'uld had probably rewritten parts of his brain. "What brings you to this neck of the woods."

Regretfully, Carter stepped back to let her father moved to the Colonel's bed. Martouf and Hammond followed. Jackson grudgingly let them replace him by Jack's side, but still lingered close, as if determined to be close enough to leap to O'Neill's side if necessary.

Jacob eyed the hefty restraints that held O'Neill in place. "Don't worry, Colonel," he said lightly, "I don't expect a salute."

O'Neill shrugged good-naturedly, but still didn't look pleased to have two Tok'ra staring down at him while he was in such a helpless and undignified position. Jacob didn't blame him. He knew just how much it would chafe him if their positions were reversed, and he had the sneaking suspicion that O'Neill hated asking for help even more than he did. He'd have to ask Sam about that, someday.

"So you two agree that miniHathor rewired my circuiting?" O'Neill said, voice determinedly matter of fact, expression just short of defiant.

"Something like it," Jacob agreed. "We were afraid of this," Selmac added.

Jacob winced. O'Neill wouldn't like that.

He didn't.

"Afraid of this?" O'Neill repeated with icy, indignant precision. "As in you thought it might happen but didn't feel it was worth the hassle to warn us?"

Sam Carter wondered if it was just her or if everyone felt the temperature in the room drop at the Colonel's tone. Daniel was openly shocked, her father looked irritated at his symbiote, Martouf at least seemed apologetic and Teal'c looked distinctly ready to bash some Tok'ra heads ....

Lantesh, of course, ignored the sarcasm. "It would have taken a short while for the Goa'uld to succumb to the cryogenic freeze. During that time, it could have managed to program several reactions like the one you suffered when the Stargate activated, Colonel."

"Sort of like hypnosis, the power of suggestion?" Daniel asked, obviously torn between resentment and intellectual curiosity.

"Similar," Lantesh agreed. "But more potent."

"So it knew it was done for but left little mental boobytraps for me?" O'Neill summarized, voice grating.

Her father grimaced. "That's about the long and the short of it."

"Sounds like the Hathor we knew and loved," Daniel muttered, then turned a little green as he thought about what he had just said.

"So how many are we talking here, Jacob?" Colonel O'Neill once again focused the conversation back to the matter at hand. "I mean, the next time I look at a coffee mug am I going to get the urge to jump off a building?"

Her father's eyes flashed momentarily, but it was he, rather than Selmac, who answered. Probably they had picked up on the Colonel's current lack of enthusiasm toward anything reminiscent of Goa'uld and had decided Selmac should sit this one out.

"Probably there aren't that many," he said. "The Goa'uld couldn't have had much time before the cold got to it. However, there could be maybe a couple more you haven't come across yet."

"Sweet," O'Neill muttered. Sam only hoped she didn't look as pale as Daniel.

"Do you have any idea when or why these other 'boobytraps' might spring?" Hammond asked.

Her father shook his head. "All I can guess is that they probably have something to do with Gate travel or the Goa'uld."

"You mean something that would make it impossible for me to do my job," the Colonel interrupted flatly.

Her father hesitated, then nodded. "That's correct."

"But you don't know for sure," Daniel interjected, beating Sam to it. "For all you know, this could be the only thing the symbiote had time for."

"Is there anyway we can tell if there are more programs left?" she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful or obviously desperate.

O'Neill pointed at her. "Good question."

Let's just hope there's a good answer to it, she thought.

"There is no exact method," Martouf said, apparently agreeing with her father that the symbiotes were best left out of it for the rest of this trip. "But Sam and Teal'c should be able to sense interference."

"You mean they can tell if Jack's still under the influence," Daniel clarified, "but not why or how?"

Martouf inclined his head in a gesture oddly reminiscent of Teal'c. "I am afraid so."

Sam tried to focus on the Colonel. Tried to forget the bed. Forget the straps. Just sense anything else different than yesterday, than even this morning when he had bounced into the control room looking collected and confident and fit ....

She frowned, shook her head irritably, not wanting to admit failure. "I can't sense anything out of the ordinary," she said finally, angrily. "What about you, Teal'c?"

The Jaffa appeared to concentrate, then he also shook his head. "I believe we have become too familiar with O'Neill as he presently is, to be able to notice any difference."

"Great." There was no doubt that if O'Neill hadn't been attached to the bed, then he would have thrown up his hands in frustration and Sam knew exactly how he felt. "So I've probably got something or somethings wrong with me, but we can't tell that for sure until they go away."

"Can they go away?" Daniel jumped in, his expression saying the question had been bothering him for some time. "I mean, are these things a one time only deal or some kind of a conditioned response?"

Jack shot Daniel a look that said he didn't particularly look forward to hearing the answer to that question – Sam wasn't sure she did either -- but her father looked relatively pleased as he answered.

"We don't have a whole lot of information about this, but as far as we know, the things vary in strength. These probably won't be too bad since the symbiote was young and had to work on the fly. So Jack should be able to get past them."

"Immediately? With a little work? In a few years? What time range are we talking here?" Jack pushed.

Her father shrugged, almost smiling. "Knowing you, not too long."

"And now we must go," Lantesh broke in with his customary abrupt timing.

Ouch.

While Sam admired the symbiote and felt warmly toward Martouf, she had to agree with the Colonel that Lantesh had a serious lack of people skills. If looks could kill, the symbiote would have been dead three or four times over as the occupants of the room glared at Martouf, who just looked embarrassed.

Daniel certainly looked like he wanted to protest the brief meeting, but her father gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and then the Tok'ra had already swept from the room, General Hammond stopping to shoot a look at SG1 to tell them not to go anywhere, and then following the two men out.

"Well," O'Neill broke the following silence. "The Goa'uld just get neater and neater, don't they?"

"At least you can take those restraints off, Colonel," Sam offered. "If you haven't reacted to this room yet, chances are you're not going to."

Jack shrugged as if he didn't really care, but didn't waste any time in helping Daniel and Sam unstrap him.

"Much better!" he sighed, treating himself to a lengthy stretch.

When he straightened up again, he was once again Colonel Jack O'Neill, leader of SG1 who, having identified the immediate problem, knew exactly what to do about it. They could all feel the difference, and Sam saw Daniel and Teal'c respond even as she felt herself straighten in anticipation.

"So what do we do now, Jack?" Daniel asked.

"I go to the Gateroom," O'Neill said immediately. "You just stay out of punching range."

*

In fact, it took Daniel's best pleading looks, Sam and Teal'c most solemn assurances, an elaborate collection of threats, complaints, cajoling and promises on Jack's part, and finally the authorization of General Hammond himself to get Jack out of the infirmary. Even then, Janet made it very clear that the 'bashing your head against a wall until either the wall gives or you do' technique of medicine was one of which she did not approve.

The next morning, after General Hammond had cleared the area of all non-essential personnel, probably as much for the sake of Jack's dignity as for anything else, it took five attempts and most of the afternoon before the wall gave and Colonel Jack O'Neill could once again watch the Stargate activate with something that approached his usual composure.

The first two tries ended in Teal'c being forced to tranq Jack, once when he came after Teal'c, and once when he attempted to hot-wire the doors out of the Gateroom, something Daniel hadn't even known was possible, but which Jack had seemed to make good progress toward doing before Teal'c decided it wasn't helping his rehab any.

The third time, Jack set himself down on the floor and didn't move for twenty minutes, after which time he wearily raised his head and told Teal'c he could put the dart gun down now. The fourth time it only took him five minutes, and the fifth time, he gave the thumbs up signal almost immediately.

Daniel, who knew and didn't care that he was wearing a hole in the floor of the Observation Room at not being able to be down there to help Jack, privately believed that if Jack was saying he was fine, then it would take about another four more tries before he actually was. But if Hammond shared that opinion, he didn't voice it, and the tests were called off for the day. Daniel was in the Gateroom before Hammond got halfway through his sentence, and Sam skidded in the moment the period was laid in place.

Jack looked exhausted, eyes still a little glassy from the tranquilizers, and they all saw the faint tremor in his hand as he clapped Teal'c fondly on the shoulder.

"I bet that was really therapeutic," he joked tiredly as the Jaffa put down the tranquilizer gun.

Teal'c frowned. "If there have been moments when shooting you seemed appealing, O'Neill, this was not one of them."

Jack rolled his eyes theatrically. "Somehow, that's not entirely reassuring. Major?"

Sam shook her head, eyes thick with frustration. "I still can't sense anything different about you, sir. But I might just be unable to pick up anything this subtle."

Jack shot a quick glance at Teal'c; the Jaffa shook his head silently.

"Maybe it takes some time to kick in," Daniel suggested quickly, hopefully.

When Jack didn't bother to make any sarcastic response to the admittedly weak suggestion, Daniel felt the knot in his stomach clinch even more tightly. If Jack was going stoic, then it meant he was really worried.

"Why don't we talk about it over an early dinner?" Jack said. "Somehow lunch wasn't very filling."

Okay, really worried or really hungry. And hungry was okay. Hungry, Daniel decided, was in fact definitely pretty good.

*

The food in the messhall was, as usual, nothing that could install in a person a desire to go on living. But it provided enough material to gripe about that by the time everyone had maneuvered their trays to an empty table, carefully avoiding the looks that were tossed their way – small facility, big rumors – Jack had managed to kid the rest of his team into something resembling a relaxed mood.

Carter still looked like she was giving herself a serious headache trying to will being able to sense something different in him, although he wasn't even going to try and guess how that worked. Daniel was so preoccupied that he carried the tray the whole length of the cafeteria without remembering to put anything on it, so that was pretty much par for the course. And Teal'c was looking a lot like a man who was sorry he had needed to shoot his commanding officer twice to stop him from going nutso.

As for Jack himself, he really wanted to take a long, long nap, except that sleeping itself wasn't looking so good to him right now. Nothing like scratch 'n' sniff flashbacks to really dredge up those 4am sweats. Luckily, he was so pissed right now that it even overpowered the usual jumbled emotions from Iraq, not to mention the whole sane, not sane, okay partially sane diagnosis, and the niggling little fact that commanding officers were not supposed to a) attack, or b) go crazy in front of, their teams.

That damn little maggot had tried to stop him from ever going through the Stargate again. It was dead and still trying to ruin his life, which by any definition was pretty unfair. He only hoped there was an afterworld for worms and it was looking down at him the very next time he marched through the Gate to blow away some more of its relatives.

A little quiver of unease curled through his stomach at the thought of the Stargate. He had gotten to the point where he knew where he was when it turned on, and could deal with the sudden memories that flew in on its heels like he always dealt with the memories. Not that it had been exactly fun repeatedly watching the thing swirl on and getting hit in the back of the head with Iraq pressed and fresh from the cleaners. But he could function now, and it had been getting ridiculous turning the Gate on and off, like it was some kind of big screen tv.

How on earth was Hammond going to explain the expense of five successive ignitions? Maybe under misc: "Therapeutic activation for Colonel O'Neill. But don't worry, he's fine now and definitely sane enough to be 2IC of the SGC."

Whoops, too much silence; there went Daniel's Jack radar. Better stop thinking and start talking. For crying out loud, a banana? Was that all he had gotten? He hadn't had any more lunch than Jack had ....

Jack grabbed half of his sandwich and plopped it down on Daniel's tray. "When I said we should get something to eat, Daniel," he ordered, "I meant you, too. Did you even have any breakfast this morning?"

Daniel looked defensive, which meant no he hadn't, but Absent-Minded Professor Daniel was better than Portable Nurse Maid Daniel, so Jack let it pass.

"So," he continued briskly, "if you were a worm, how would you sabotage my mind? Any suggestions?"

The looks on their faces said they'd all been thinking about it. If you were a Goa'uld, what would you do? Come one, come all, let's point out the chinks in Jack O'Neill's armor.

After a long pause, Carter cleared her throat. "Well, sir, judging by your lack of reaction to everyday activity, I'd say the Goa'uld –"

"I named it Klu Klux," Jack broke in conversationally, then winced at their horrified glances. Oh well, he'd said it, he'd better stick to it. "I thought about calling it Maybourne, but it really pales in comparison to the real thing."

That didn't really make their expressions get any better. Okay, so it was weird. But he hated the thing so much that he wanted it to have a name, something he could focus on. And if he named it something like "Fred", he'd probably end up belting poor Airman Kennedy every time he saw him, not to mention his dentist, and the kid at the grocery store who always manned the 9 items or less lane.

He almost grinned at the effort it took for Carter to haul her jaw up from her shoes and keep going.

"All right," she said, obviously working to keep her voice neutral, "I'd say that ... Klu Klux ... didn't just want to make you feel bad. He wanted you dead. So he probably would have affected only things that might come up in situations where hesitation or confusion could get you killed."

"Like if you were trying to escape through the Stargate under attack," Daniel agreed. "If we were in a firefight and you, um ... "

"Flipped out," Jack supplied calmly.

"Uh, right .... Then it could have easily resulted in you being hurt pretty badly before we managed to get you through the Gate."

"Okay." Jack steepled his fingers, still doing the calm thing. And wasn't he surprisingly good at it, too! "Then taking it as a given that I have a few bad memories still left in storage, what other situations would Klu Klux have been able to exploit?"

"The firing of a weapon?" Teal'c suggested.

Jack shook his head. "I've been at the range a couple times since we got back. Both gun and staff weapon. Didn't have a problem."

"What about if you were under fire, sir?" Carter countered.

Well, he couldn't exactly ask someone to shoot at him to see what happened. "For right now, let's assume that KK wasn't that sophisticated," he decided. "I've heard weapons fire and I've fired weapons, so why don't we give that one a tentative all clear."

Carter nodded. "Yes, sir. That makes sense."

"See, we're making progress already."

"Okay," Daniel said, "what about other kinds of fighting? Um, like fist fights?"

"We call it hand-to-hand, Daniel," Jack automatically corrected. Fist fights sounded about eight years old in the back of the schoolyard.

"It's a good point, though, sir," Carter said. "A moment of hesitation in close quarters would be more than enough - "

"To get me fried, shish kebab'd or mangled," Jack completed, already getting to his feet.

"Uh, Jack?" Daniel asked curiously.

"Might as well find out as soon as possible, right?" Jack scanned the crowd. Ah, Makepeace. Perfect.

"Sir, when you say 'find out' - " Carter began, but Jack was already striding toward where the big Marine was swallowing coffee – bad coffee by his expression – and looking over some mission report.

Janet was going to love him for this.

*

Colonel Makepeace put down his cup of truly rotten coffee and looked up as he heard someone approach.

He was vaguely surprised to recognize Jack O'Neill, looking a bit worn around the edges. The Colonel and he were – except maybe where Daniel Jackson was concerned – on cordial enough terms, but aside from the odd sparring match in the gym, they didn't usually socialize.

"Makepeace," O'Neill hailed him. "I have a favor to ask."

Now that he looked closely, O'Neill was looking more than a bit worn. Makepeace usually didn't pay close attention to the rumor mill, of which O'Neill and his team were star players often enough, but he had heard some truly strange scuttlebutt lately, and the SG1 Colonel's appearance, not to mention Jackson's nose and Carter's face, suggested that maybe this time it wasn't entirely unfounded.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

O'Neill had an odd glint in his eyes. "Hit me," he replied.

"Sir - "

"Jack - "

"O'Neill - "

Not even bothering to look at his team, O'Neill just held up a hand and they unwillingly trailed into silence.

Leaving Makepeace to ask the question they had most likely been about to.

"Hit you? Why?!"

O'Neill looked impatient, like Makepeace was a recalcitrant trainee who was questioning orders.

"It's sort of an experiment," he said finally. "You take a swing at me and we'll see what happens."

The others in the messhall were definitely becoming interested in this, now.

"Listen, Jack," Makepeace said, "if you have something you want to work out with me, why don't we find someplace more private?"

"This isn't a ... fistfight," O'Neill snapped. "It's a scientific experiment. And - " he raised his voice for the benefit of the onlookers, "it's sanctioned by General Hammond. Sort of."

Judging by the looks on the rest of SG1, Makepeace was pretty sure the "sort of" was a lot closer to the truth than the "sanctioned" part, but he could also tell that there was no way O'Neill was leaving without having his way.

Sometimes he felt sorry for O'Neill for having to deal with Jackson all the time, not to mention Teal'c, who was a good warrior but fundamentally weird, and Carter, who had that tendency to speak very fast in astrophysics-ease and expect you to actually understand what she was saying. Some days, however, he felt equally sorry for Jackson, Carter and Teal'c for having to live with such a stubborn, relentless sonofabitch as Jack O'Neill.

"All right, Jack, if that's what you want," he said dubiously, rising to his feet. "Should I pull it?"

Not surprisingly, O'Neill shook his head. "Combat terms. If I dodge, try me again."

Thinking, what the hell does he mean if he dodges? Makepeace pulled back his fist and took a long, leisurely swing at the O'Neill's jaw.

The crowd winced as the O'Neill went sprawling.

Okay, now Makepeace was really confused. He hadn't pulled the punch, but he'd sparred with O'Neill often enough to know that there was no way the man shouldn't have been able to dodge the blow with time to spare. What had he been doing, taking how-not-to-duck lessons from Jackson?

Carter and Jackson helped O'Neill back to his feet as blood trickled from his split lip. Teal'c simply stared at Makepeace in a way that made him heartily glad there was no was of confusing this ... experiment? ... with him just whaling on O'Neill.

"Okay," O'Neill grunted, wiping the blood off his chin with his hand, "guess that answers that question."

"What happened?" Jackson asked. An entire cafeteria strained to hear.

O'Neill shook his head. "I froze – literally. Flashed to Antarctica."

Before Makepeace could ask what he was talking about – he hadn't hit the man that hard – O'Neill fixed him with another glittering stare. "Robert, if you're not too busy, I need to borrow you for a while."

"Jack you're not thinking of - " Jackson began, worry clouding his face.

"Yes, Daniel, I am," O'Neill cut him off.

"Then why don't--?"

"Because Teal'c would kill me, you'd completely miss me, and Sam's injured." He turned to Makepeace. "The gym, five minutes?"

Completely bemused, Makepeace just nodded.

*

" - And if you ever do something like this again, Colonel, I'll sedate you until Kingdom Come, is that understood?" Janet Frasier finished, quite out of breath and still angry as a boiling pot.

Somewhere beneath the bruises, Jack O'Neill mumbled a not very repentant, "Yes, ma'am."

Giving up on him, Janet wheeled on Makepeace, who was untouched except for an uncomfortable looking swollen lip.

"And you - " she began.

Makepeace put down his ice pack and held up his hands placatingly. "I didn't want to, I swear. But I really need to get my car's transmission fixed and - "

He trailed off, as if suddenly realizing this probably wasn't the thing to say if he wanted to get Janet to calm down. Next to him, O'Neill hung his head and muttered something not very complimentary about jarheads.

Every time the Colonel came into her infirmary – and there were so many times! – Janet promised herself that she wouldn't lose her temper. And every time he managed to win as she ended up yelling at him to stay in bed, take his medicine, get some sleep or, in this case -

"Colonel O'Neill, tell me you DID NOT pay Colonel Makepeace to turn your face into meatloaf?!"

O'Neill murmured something through his ice pack, but it was Daniel who piped up, saying, "Well, that wasn't exactly the idea. We were trying to get Jack to duck."

Janet really wished Sam hadn't gone with Teal'c try to explain to General Hammond how the leader of SG3 had come to knock the crap out of the leader of SG1. Men truly did not make any sense.

"Colonel O'Neill," she began icily, "it comes as a great surprise to me that you've never heard of using protective equipment while engaged in a - "

"Experiment," all three men chorused together.

"See, it turns out it doesn't work when there isn't an actual threat of danger," Daniel said apologetically.

Makepeace held up his hands again. "Don't ask me, I've been trying to figure it out for the last half hour."

"During which time you've been punching Colonel O'Neill - "

They nodded.

"For money - "

Nod.

"So he can learn to duck."

Nod.

If it wasn't for the Colonel's face, she would have sworn this was some elaborate practical joke.

Realizing that Makepeace knew nothing and O'Neill was only half-conscious, she riveted Daniel with her best glare, the one that promised extra inoculations the next time she had him in her power.

He swallowed and backed up a step. "See, it's about the - " he hesitated and glanced over toward Makepeace, but O'Neill waved him on.

"The guy split his knuckles on my face," he said a little indistinctly, "he might as well know why."

Daniel nodded and continued. "We were trying to discover what other 'boobytraps' Klu-- I mean, the Goa'uld – programmed into Jack. We figured it would be better to identify and, uh, neutralize them in a contained environment."

Oh dear, Daniel Jackson was using military terminology. Janet didn't know whether to laugh or cry. O'Neill snorted, and Makepeace was looking entirely amazed, although that was probably because of what Daniel had just said rather than how he had said it.

"I'd rather this stay as private as possible, Robert," Colonel O'Neill told him. Makepeace nodded, still looking a little flabbergasted.

"Of course."

"So anyway," Daniel took up the narrative again, "we discovered that Jack had a ... problem ... with ducking or retaliating when someone attacked him. He kept flashing back to Antarctica, where obviously he was in no shape to move, much less fight."

For the first time since Teal'c had half-carried, half-dragged O'Neill into the infirmary, Colonel Makepeace following somewhat shamefacedly behind, Janet felt a moment of sympathy for O'Neill. She knew only too well the kind of injuries he had sustained when he had been sent flying out unprotected through the second Gate, and it couldn't have been pleasant to relive the consequent pain and hypothermia every time Makepeace had swung at him. And judging by the assortment of bruises on O'Neill's face, ribs and sternum, Makepeace had swung a lot.

It was also a measure of just how disturbed O'Neill really was about his condition, and what it might mean to his command, that he had not only brought Makepeace into it, but had done so in the very public arena of the messhall. Makepeace was ... not exactly a rival, but as far as Janet knew, he wasn't exactly a friend of the Colonel's either. Not to mention the fact that usually the only way to get O'Neill to so much as acknowledge the remote possibility of a personal problem even to his closest friends was to catch him in the throes of pain, alcohol or exhaustion and surround him like B-Western Indians going after the wagon-train.

Well, she wanted to help him as much as anyone and fervently hoped that the list of victims of the potentially negative effects of Gate travel – something that the nursing staff did not talk about but had been poised to deal with ever since the SGC was opened -- would not headline with Colonel O'Neill. To that end she had spent most of the last 48 hours reading every article relating to PTS Syndrome and the mind that she could find, and was determined to keep researching until she discovered something useful.

But O'Neill's legendary hatred of allowing anything to stand in the way of him fulfilling his role as leader of SG1 didn't mean he was entitled to forget just the doctor was around here.

And it did not excuse the fact that only hours after being released from the infirmary, after having gone through several emotionally difficult experiences as well as having been tranquilized twice, and while he should have been reporting back to her to be checked out as per her orders, Colonel "It's only a spike through the shoulder" O'Neill had been urging a fellow Colonel to pulverize him.

"Colonel Makepeace," she said crisply, being careful not to show her pleasure at the way the man shifted nervously under her gaze, "you may go back to your quarters. I'm sure General Hammond is looking for you."

Makepeace winced. "Yes, ma'am."

"And keep ice on that lip for at least half an hour."

"Yes, ma'am." Makepeace quickly slid off the bed and headed for the door, shooting a commiserating look over to O'Neill.

"Robert." Makepeace stopped. "I owe you one."

"So next time I need someone to beat the crap out of me, I'll call you," Makepeace promised wryly.

"Yeah, just wait until the rematch," O'Neill returned, wincing as he resplit his lip.

"Gentlemen," Janet intervened, frown returning. She was not going to have any of that bonding over kicking each other across the room crap.

"Yes, ma'am," they both said immediately, and Makepeace continued to the door in a slightly too fast to be dignified speed.

"And as for you, Colonel - "

But as she turned to O'Neill, ready to pick up where her initial dressing down had left off, she realized that he had fallen fast asleep.

And no wonder. It had been a long day.

Sighing, she picked up the fallen icepack and handed it to Daniel. "Call me when he wakes up."

Daniel saluted. "Yes, ma'am!"

She sighed again. "Daniel, do me a favor? Just stick with artifacts."

*

It wasn't the first time that General George Hammond had left his office with the intent of giving Colonel Jack O'Neill a short, swift reminder that he was in fact 2IC of the Stargate Compound, not Han Solo. It certainly wasn't the first time he had to go to the infirmary to deliver the lecture. And it wasn't even close to the first time that in the end, he not only failed to deliver said lecture in anything like the force he had started out to do, but in fact went away silently chuckling at the pure audacity of SG1.

He had the same problem with his grandchildren. Start out to lay down the law, end up taking them out for ice cream.

Except this time he had truly thought he was angry enough to go through with it. Colonel O'Neill should know better. Colonel Makepeace should know better. Captain Carter, Daniel Jackson and Teal'c should know better. What had gotten into his people?!

The list seethed inside his head.

Officers did NOT ask other officers to strike them. Officers asked to strike a fellow officer did NOT agree. And NONE of this happened in the middle of the messhall! To add to which, officers CERTAINLY did not CONTINUE to hit fellow officers (who should not have been asking them to hit them in the first place) until they were semi-conscious. Junior officers and civilians who happened to be close by did NOT just watch as an officer who should not have been hitting his fellow officer even though he'd been asked to CONTINUED to hit that officer DESPITE the fact that he was semi-conscious.

And all this was salad dressing to the main point, which was that Jack O'Neill had known damn well that neither Hammond nor Doctor Frasier would have allowed him to work through his little "mental block" in the manner he had chosen, especially directly after such an emotionally and physically trying set of days. And while he wasn't exactly surprised at the Colonel's actions – now there was a man who hated inactivity in the face of a threat more than anyone Hammond knew – he was still damn displeased.

It had been less than a month ago that Hammond had watched Teal'c, who he had at the time thought was the last surviving member of SG1, walk through the Stargate presumably never to return. And it had been something of a minor miracle even by SG standards that they had gotten the team back at all, let alone more or less in one piece. So if Colonel O'Neill thought he was allowed to go bounding off and jeopardize that accomplishment without one fine reason, he was sorely mistaken.

Hammond certainly understood O'Neill's desire to be fit for duty, knew that the Stargate missions were much more than just a job to him, but he had had no way of knowing just what could have resulted in his dabble into home therapy; and as much as Hammond disliked having his 2IC temporarily grounded, it was still a long sight better than having to put him down permanently if his actions had made his condition worse.

Hammond was in fact more half tempted to place O'Neill under house arrest for the week just to remind him that despite the occasional unorthodox approach employed at the SGC, this was still a military run base, and that meant there were things Colonel Jack O'Neill was NOT allowed to do.

Yes, he was more than half tempted to do it.

At least, he was right up until the moment he stepped into the infirmary and saw Samantha Carter and Daniel Jackson turn to him with twin expressions of radiant joy. Janet Frasier was shaking her head fondly and making some joke to a grinning Robert Makepeace, and even Teal'c was, for him, beaming.

"General Hammond, sir!" Carter was practically glowing with excitement. "It works! It's gotten better! I mean, both Teal'c and I can sense the difference today!"

Jackson tumbled over her words, practically frisking around him like a puppy who had just gotten a treat. "We weren't sure it would work but it must have, which means that we can tell when he's okay again - "

Hammond, awash on a sea of team solidarity, had to work hard to keep his stern face. But after a moment, it seemed to sink in, at least to Carter, that the very thing she was extolling the virtues of was in fact what she should be apologizing for.

The family man in him hated to crush her excitement; it was unusual to see her express herself so unreservedly and it brought back memories of cookouts at the Carters', with little Sammy running around in shorts and bare feet shrieking happily as her brother squirted her with water guns.

But, this was a military base and - heaven to Betsy, O'Neill looked hideous.

Hideous, exhausted, but extremely satisfied with himself.

Face a spectacular bonanza of every color from red to black, he was trying to change his grin into a penitent expression and failing miserably.

"Colonel O'Neill - " Hammond began.

Still grinning, O'Neill waved a hand at his team. "Okay, kids," he said, "time to take the party somewhere else."

And here it was. The moment when Hammond should launch in to his big speech. By rights, he should be throwing pieces of the furniture. And yet ... and yet these were all people who worked too damn hard and it had been too damn long since he had seen any of them as energized as they looked right now.

"Colonel O'Neill - " he began again.

And although two star Generals should be immune to feeling like a heel, he suddenly knew that he would feel like the grinch that stole Christmas if he went into it now. So ... much better to have a quiet, stern talk with O'Neill in his office later on. Stern always worked better than yelling with O'Neill, anyway ....

"Colonel O'Neill," he said, giving up, "you will report to me as soon as Doctor Frasier clears you to leave the Infirmary. Is that understood?"

And barely waiting for the surprised Colonel's acknowledgement, General Hammond ran away.

*

"Come on, General," Jack O'Neill said again, "just one lousy12 hour mission!"

He was half out of his chair and glaring at Hammond, and Daniel figured it was probably only the memory of the General's recent, reputably record-breaking "talk" with Jack that was keeping his voice down to a level where it didn't shake plaster from the walls.

Hammond had that look like it was only his deep commitment to duty that was stopping him from just agreeing to anything that Jack wanted just to get him out of his face. Having been caught a time or two himself at close quarters with Jack when he was really bent on making something happen, Daniel sympathized with the General. Being on the counter – or Jack would say "wrong" – side of a discussion with Jack in this mood was a lot like taking a stun grenade between the eyes.

Sitting next to Hammond, Janet had her lips pressed together in badgered irritation, and across the table, Sam was taking the same course of action as Daniel and was doing her best to blend in with the furniture. Even Teal'c, in his usual expressionless way, was conveying a distinct impression that he was sure glad he wasn't in Hammond's shoes.

It was a week after Jack's now famous "Cafeteria Challenge" and his face was more or less back to the way nature had intended it. Daniel's own nose still ached if he left his glasses on too long, but since his eyes ached if he didn't, he was currently going with the philosophy that if he was going to be in pain, he might as be able to see.

So he could clearly view Jack's expression, which was tired, still a bit more colorful than usual, very frustrated and if you filled in the spaces, a little scared, too. All of which except for the last was average for one of Jack's post-injury I-don't-care-what-Janet-says-I'm-fine-to-go-now petitions. But that little added edginess was what was pushing the argument out of the norm into something else.

To be fair, Daniel had had his own share of fine-to-go arguments with Hammond, and a couple of those had been tinged with that same need to be out in the field proving that he could still handle himself and still be more of a help than a liability to the team. But on each of those occasions, Jack had been right there to support him and – although they didn't think he realized this -- to tacitly assure the General that Jack, Sam, and Teal'c could manage to look out for Daniel in case he couldn't. And so since Daniel wasn't the leader and technically didn't have to take care of anyone except for himself (not that anyone in the SGC believed for a second he could actually do that) he had gotten to go.

But Jack was the leader and the one who was patently never at a loss, and the thought that he might not have absolute self-control right now was obviously wigging him out at least as much as it did the SGC. As far as Daniel had gathered, military practice seemed to be to pretend that emotions didn't really exist, or at worst were like a bruised rib, mildly inconvenient but not really detrimental to getting the job done. Seeing Jack succumb to the influence of Klu Klux had aired a lot of unpleasant truths that nobody really knew quite how to deal with.

Klu Klux. Great, Jack, he was never going to think of that Goa'uld by any other name, now. Personally, Daniel would have rather thought of it in as abstract terms as possible, because somehow it was easier thinking of Hathor sticking an "it" into Jack rather than a "he". But they were sure getting a faceful of his personality lately.

And Jack was acting just like he did when one of his team was hurt; all his hackles were up. Except this time there really wasn't anything for him to fight, and that was wearing him down badly.

Hammond could obviously see that, and also obviously wanted to relent, but –

"Colonel," he said, for the third time by Daniel's count, "you know we currently have no way of telling for certain whether or not the effects of the Goa'uld have been completely overcome."

Jack scrubbed a distracted hand through his hair. "I know that General, but I'm not asking you to send us into hostile territory here. Just a nice, quiet milk run to get our sea legs back."

"But if there are any more boobytraps," Janet put in, looking torn between wanting to handcuff Jack to a hospital bed and letting him go since he so clearly wanted and needed to, "they will almost undoubtedly be triggered by offworld experiences."

"Exactly. If I'm still mindzapped -- which we don't know I am -- then the only way I can get over them is to go on a mission, find the trigger, and fix it."

"General," Sam interjected, although she clearly wasn't happy about getting involved in the debate, "Colonel O'Neill has proven that he can overcome the effects of any preprogramming with relatively little danger to himself or others."

She stumbled a little over the last part of the sentence, definitely aware that her point would have held more water if she didn't still have the fading bruise of Jack's first 'experience' of preprogramming.

"It's the "relatively" part of that that bothers me, Major," Hammond told her, then turned back to Jack. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but it would highly irresponsible for me to allow you to lead your team in an offworld situation."

"So I won't lead." Jack's response was instant. "Carter can be in charge."

Sam looked less than pleased about that suggestion, probably both because of what that might mean about how Hammond – and Jack himself – judged his stability, and also if Daniel was any judge, because the idea of having to command a commanding officer – especially when it was Jack O'Neill – wasn't ever something that was going to make her jump for joy.

But she didn't say anything. They all had reservations about Jack's insistence that he go offworld, but Sam understood as well as Daniel that Jack wouldn't be able to deal with being grounded much longer. Daniel could see the tension building in Jack's eyes, in the way he held himself a little too alertly, walked a little too quickly ....

It was a different kind of frustration than Daniel was used to seeing, although that was mainly because usually when Jack was worried it was because something had happened to Daniel or Sam or Teal'c. That was an intense emotion, shooting through him like flame; this was something gradual, eating away at his roots like wind loosening soil from around a tree until the slightest breeze could topple it. Because the unspoken fear that was growing louder every day was that the longer he was stood down, the greater the chance he would stay that way.

So Daniel had swallowed his own objections and was outwardly standing by his friend with complete confidence. But privately, he was planning to worry a lot on this trip. He had a horrible suspicion that this might be how Jack felt about him all the time.

"Or Makepeace can do it," Jack continued relentlessly, and Daniel saw the General's react to the fact that Jack wanted this so badly that he would put himself under the other Colonel's command.

Not that Makepeace had been anything but sympathetic once he learned what was going on. In fact, his initial part in Jack's 'therapy' seemed to make him feel personally involved in the situation. It had been his idea to get out half a dozen of the old Serpent and Horus Guard uniforms that had been scavenged over the years, and to surprise Jack late one night to see if coming face to face with Jaffa might affect him.

Well, it had certainly affected him, although not in any way beyond how literally running into a small platoon of the enemy would normally affect a highly stressed, Jaffa-hating, Black Ops trained Air Force Colonel who was already having a bad day.

But once they had explained what was happening, had brought down the SGC from the red alert or all systems alert or whatever kind of alert Jack had immediately initiated – the siren more or less drowned out by Jack O'Neill's high-powered swearing – and once they had talked Jack out of slowly dismembering Makepeace, the results of the experiment had proved to be a big relief for everyone.

After that, Makepeace had, to a much safer degree, been a constant help as SG1 and the entirety of the SGC nursing staff had subjected Jack to every sort of stimulus they could think of. Well, not every sort, although Daniel had heard two of the nurses giggling – in a way usually reserved for when Daniel came in with one of his more embarrassingly placed wounds -- about some further ... physical ... tests they could suggest ....

And although Jack teased him so mercilessly about the nurses' attitude toward Daniel, he had decided that he wouldn't pass on that particular conversation to Jack. At least, not until the next time Jack started making cracks about the number of sponge baths Daniel always seemed to have to 'need' when he was in the infirmary ....

"It's not just a matter of your team's security, Colonel," Hammond said wearily. "You know too much about this facility to chance - "

"Oh, come on, General," Jack cut across the protest impatiently. "There's not a memory I've got that would make me spill my guts to the enemy. You know that."

"And if we're right and the Goa'uld wanted revenge on Jack specifically," Daniel offered, feeling like it was time he made a contribution, "then it's probably not very likely that any of the mindmines are going to involve something as mundane as trying to get him to give out classified knowledge. I mean, the Goa'uld doesn't seem to have cared much about taking down the Tauri. He just didn't like Jack."

"And we do know that Colonel O'Neill won't be triggered by Jaffa," Sam added, wincing as Jack glared at her for bringing it up.

Hammond hesitated, gaze going from Janet to Jack, to Daniel, Sam, Teal'c and back to Jack. He looked, in a way, as trapped as Jack did.

"General," Jack said softly, urgently, leaning toward him, eyes locked with his, "I can't just stop doing anything because it might make my head explode."

And there it was. They all knew that it came down to the fact that if Jack O'Neill didn't go on this mission, he wasn't going to be able to go on any missions ever again. And that was just plain unacceptable.

General Hammond nodded irritably. "Very well. But you're not to carry a weapon and Captain Carter must be prepared to instantly take command if you get into trouble."

Sam swallowed, but seemed reassured when Jack just nodded and said, "That's what she's there for, General."

"I think Teal'c should bring a tranq gun, too," he added. He grimaced briefly. "We already know he can use one if necessary."

"I can," Teal'c agreed serenely.

By which, they knew, he meant he would.

"Then SG1, you have a go," Hammond told them.

"Thank you, General," Jack said, and for the first time since that short-lived celebration in the infirmary, he almost seemed to relax. "Well kids," he grinned, "looks like we're going to Disneyland!"

*

God it felt good to be offworld again!

Only his years of training stopped Jack from taking a good long minute to just soak up the atmosphere as he came out the Stargate onto P4who-cares-as-long-as-we're-here.

There was just something addictive about the air offworld, maybe nothing physical at all, just the knowledge that here you were where you had never remotely dreamed you could ever go. It was a subtle thing, more instinctive than noticing the differences of three moons or blue trees. He didn't do poetry, so he'd never mentioned the feeling to anyone, not even Daniel, but it was definitely there, and some cautious intel gathering made him pretty sure that everyone else who had ever Gated felt the same way.

Carter and Teal'c were already double-checking the perimeter. Even Daniel had jumped to like a seasoned pro. Which he was, he just never acted like it unless he was really worried about screwing up and hurting one of the team.

Which, this time, would be Jack, no doubt.

He looked around and readjusted his hat. "Well, nothing exploding so far," he offered.

The others looked at him like it wasn't very funny. The initial excitement of realizing he had zapped some of those mindtraps had definitely tapered off during the last few days, and now they were back to the subtle, almost unconscious, acknowledgement of all not quite being right in the world of SG1; a feeling which, when pressed by General Hammond, he had classified as a state of being "slightly tense".

For that matter, he was feeling a little slightly himself. The Antarctica flashes – in a bargain two-for-one memory also reminding him unpleasantly of his times in cryo - hadn't been any more a barrel of laughs than Iraq. Even now he caught himself shivering as a phantom pain or groundless chill echoed through his bones. Not to mention the bruises, both on his face and on his dignity. Being knocked flat by Robert Makepeace a dozen times in a row ranked right up there with the Tok'ra studying him like a bug on the list of Things To Avoid For the Rest of Life.

And Daniel had definitely caught his little wince when the Stargate activated. The archaeologist was so obviously anxious for Jack that it was visibly wringing him out. Even Teal'c looked strained, which was downright spooky. And watching SG1 – who he was supposed to be providing protection and stability, for crying out loud --

wear themselves out fretting over their leader's sanity wasn't making any great strides toward helping Jack's peace of mind, either.

Yet another reason this round the clock O'Neill watching had definitely got to go ASAP. He was almost beginning to understand why Daniel complained so much about SG1's so-called "overprotective" attitude - and no, it wasn't just Jack, no matter what people said.

After three weeks of getting the Treatment, Jack could now officially state that Sam and Teal'c were at least as bad as he had ever been, while Daniel was raising the phrase "sticketh closer than a shadow" to whole new heights. The difference was that in Daniel's case, he clearly needed watching after, while Jack needed it like another Goa'uld in the neck.

He had dealt with the duck-and-return thing. He was fine with the Gate. He wasn't going to break down or go catatonic or anything embarrassing like that in front of Jaffa. That was official thanks to Makepeace's little "surprise!" stunt. And true Makepeace hadn't cracked so much as a smile throughout the whole thing, but still there was a man who had some major retribution coming to him when they got back to the SGC.

But the point right now was that while Colonel Jack O'Neill might not be currently 100% guaranteed to lead a charge to save the world from nasty glowy-eyed egomaniacs, he was damned well up to watching Carter and Daniel pick up soil samples and rocks from an as-far-as-we-know entirely uninhabited planet.

"O'Neill."

He swiveled and looked to where Teal'c was pointing.

Ah. Well, wasn't that special.

"There are appear to a number of Jaffa approaching," Teal'c said unnecessarily.

"Ya think?" Jack was already gesturing Carter over to the DHD.

"Okay kids, no souvenirs this time around," he said, looking to make sure that Daniel had caught the whole "bad guys coming" thing.

Yep, there he was right on time. Maybe there were some benefits from your team thinking

you were a few chevrons short of a Stargate after all.

The line of Jaffa were getting closer. Not much of a surprise there. Someday he'd get Daniel to explain to him why not once had they found a Stargate that had decent ground cover. They always seemed to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with maybe just a couple of rocks around if they were lucky, but definitely not blending with the local flora.

"Carter how's it coming?"

Uh oh, she was making that 'I-don't-understand-it' noise. "I can't seem to get beyond the fifth chevron, Colonel!" she called back.

"That's not what I want to be hearing, Major!"

He raised his M-16 to track the approaching line ... and realized that his hands were empty. Oh, right. That little 'no weapons' order. At the time it had seemed like an okay compromise.

Daniel had gone to try and help Carter and Teal'c was clear on the other side of the DHD. Which meant he was standing all alone without any kind of -

"Sir!" Carter's M-16 came flying toward him and he automatically caught it, cocked it, brought it to bear.

"That feels better," he mumbled, but it must have carried, because Carter smiled briefly at him before turning back to the DHD.

"Just don't tell General Hammond, sir."

"My lips are sealed."

They had definitely been spotted. The Jaffa were moving faster and oh yeah, there went the first staff weapon. He could hear the whine as it charged even from here.

Hell, there was no "even from" about it. They were here.

"We need that Gate working NOW!" he yelled, beginning to fire his weapon. He could hear Teal'c start with his staff weapon and the ground erupted in front of a charging Jaffa in a way that mere bullets could never manage.

"No can do, Colonel," Carter called. "I'm trying to bypass - "

Whoa, explosion too close for comfort.

"Jack, we can't - " That was Daniel, coughing. Probably just smoke from the blast, nothing worse. Better be nothing wors -

Another blast and Jack felt tiny shards of the rock base the DHD and Stargate stood on pepper his ear.

Damn, this place was a plain ,nowhere at all to -

A white robed figure stepped out amidst the Jaffa. A figure whose eyes glowed, cold and golden. Instinctively, Jack turned toward him and targeted, squeezing off the last few rounds in the M-16 ....

... saw Carter abandon the DHD and mimic his actions with her 9mm ....

And just as quickly, the guy lifted his hand, that ever so familiar red jewel of a ribbon device already gleaming, and Jack felt the trigger click in his mind even as he was lifted up and pushed backward until he hit something hard that didn't give. The Stargate. Cute.

But what was he ....

--Pain. The pushing apart of flesh like a bullet entering in agonizing slow motion. That godawful stench of slime and fluids that had no business being anywhere except inside a body. God, going into his body. Shock. Then the first whisper of an alien voice -

And then the Naquadah caught up to him, and the rest was postponed due to immediate, city-wide blackout.

*

"Sir? Colonel?"

"Jack?"

Hey, those were his names.

With a groan that just sort of slipped out he opened his eyes. Lots of concerned blue eyes swam into view. He blinked and the number decreased to about eight. Still not great, but getting closer.

Great. Hammond was never going to let them go anywhere again ever.

"Status?" he asked, pushing up slowly from the ground.

I couldn't get the DHD to work," Carter said.

Well, he knew that much, but she was sounding guilty so he cheesed the sarcasm. "Any idea what was wrong?"

Wincing a little, she shook her head. "As far as I could tell, it's just been a really long time since someone used the DHD. There was some kind of residue around the keys that interfered with the locking mechanism."

"Basically," Daniel paraphrased for the hard of thinking, "it was rusty."

Peachy. But at least he was down to four eyes. Much more like it.

Wait, no it wasn't.

"Where's Teal'c?" he asked, getting to his feet and taking his first real look around. In addition to typical cell decor there were ...

Two very worried expressions. Uh oh.

"He wasn't here when we woke up," Daniel admitted.

The archaeologist had a big bruise on his forehead that Jack wanted to ask about; but suddenly he realized there was a lot of pain going on between his shoulders.

"Christ .... "

"Jack?" Daniel caught him halfway to the ground and helped him sit so Carter could kneel behind him, cool hands pulling back the collar of his shirt.

Not gonna find anything this time ....

And he did not have time for this. He had a team in trouble, a busted DHD, who knew what had happened to Teal'c, and yet another one of those goddamn plagues of the universe was probably going to send his Jaffa down here to get them any minute now and he could not ... god ... could not ... go through this again ....

... too soon ...

"Sir, where are you injured?"

"Not." He managed wave Carter off. "Just looks like we found another boobytrap." He gritted his teeth. "What a surprise."

There was a pause. Oh, they wanted more information. Well, since he was being so open and communicative these days, he might as well explicate. Because he knew as well as they did what they thought it was.

And to be truthful, he had been bracing himself for the last week for memories of Charlie, or to keep with the in-the-line-of-duty motif, maybe just of Daniel with his chest blown away on Apophis' ship. One of those moments when his whole world drained of color and there was the overwhelming realization that he didn't want to try to deal with this, not today, tomorrow, or ever, because he knew he couldn't. And although he had surprised himself and managed to go through it once – not well, but thanks to Daniel had just scraped by – he was fairly certain he didn't have the heart to go through it all again.

But apparently Klu Klux really hadn't just wanted Jack to just feel bad. In those last few seconds, he must have changed his mind about pure revenge and had gone for a second attempt at life instead, a kind of homegrown immortality. Because instead of Charlie, instead of Daniel, he was majorly flashing to the moment when Hathor placed KK on him and let the thing dig in.

Well, the dear little egotist had missed his mark on this one. Jack would have remembered that moment all on his own. And now, beyond the pain, mainly it just made him angry.

Except there really wasn't that much left beyond the pain ....

Daniel was saying something. Damn, when had he gotten that bruise on his forehead? Went nicely with the nose, though. What was he saying? Jack forced himself to concentrate. If he knew Daniel, he'd repeat himsel -

"Jack, what is it this time?"

Oh, right, the who-wants-to-be-a-millionaire question. They were already schooling their expressions, waiting for him to say it. But he and little KK had managed to surprise them this time.

"Not too bad, actually," he ground out.

Confusion. Worry. They were going to make him say it, weren't they? All right, hell. He'd said 'Iraq' more in the past week than he probably had in the last five years. He might as well crack out all of the other subjects he usually preferred not to stir up.

"It's not Charlie," he said, and saw the instant relief in their eyes. Yeah, he was relieved too. And now that he thought about it, also a little bothered ....

Because along with the pain – and okay, he had forgotten how much it had really hurt – and those flashes of fear, helplessness and fury ... there was ... something else.

A dry slither, twisting itself into almost words, an only briefly known but instantly recognizable whisper. And a growing coldness, as of blood slowing.

Oh, Jack thought, this might be bad.

*

Captain Samantha Carter was getting some unwelcome flashbacks of her own. She had learned from experience, though, and this time she had made certain to try the coordinates to as many other safe planets as she had time for, refusing to get stuck on trying to get back to the SGC. But more than two-thirds of the symbols had been rendered virtually useless by the purple-red ... stuff ... that had either gathered or grown in the spaces between coordinates.

So once again they were stuck without a working Gate and the Colonel was not looking well. He was trying not to show it, but his expression had hardened and his eyes were pinched, a sure sign he was in pain. Correction, in a lot of pain. When he was only mildly injured he just got loud and irritated.

At least this time she had Daniel. He knew how to handle the Colonel in ways she couldn't. And the Colonel wasn't exactly injured. He was ... well, she wasn't really certain what he was just.

"So what is it, Jack?" Daniel asked. "Is it ... " he trailed off, looking a little embarrassed at the question he had been about to ask.

The Colonel shifted so he could rub the back of his neck. "No, Daniel, it's not you, either."

"Oh." Now Daniel really did look embarrassed. "I just thought maybe ... "

"Yeah, well, he probably thought you die so often that it would have been boring to have it come up again." The Colonel turned to include Sam in the conversation. "And Jolinar probably made him jealous, so that one was out, too."

Despite the situation, Sam almost smiled. Colonel Jack O'Neill, master of the oblique compliment.

O'Neill sighed theatrically, although pain still shadowed his eyes. "Geez. SG1 and Great Traumas I Have Known. Klu Klux must've thought he was in hog heaven."

As Daniel opened his mouth to ask again what the Colonel was remembering, O'Neill shifted and sighed. "He's got me flashing to our first 'introduction.'"

Sam frowned, saw Daniel mirror the expression. "So you're remembering when he tried to take you as a host?"

The Colonel shrugged a little sluggishly. "Not the memory I would have gone with personally, but worms, go figure."

He had closed his eyes, but opened them again as Sam instinctively moved closer to him.

"That does seem like an odd choice, sir," she said, more to keep him from fading out than anything else. Oh yeah, she remembered this. "I mean, the other memory choices had an obvious agenda, to try to get you seriously injured or killed. But what's the point of making you remember this?"

"Well, it's pissing me off. And it hurts a lot. That's generally seemed to be enough motivation for the average Goa'uld." He made an impatient moue, forestalling further questions. "Look, maybe he ran out of ideas. I don't know. And once we get back to base Makepeace can put on a Goa'uld mask and jump out at me as often as he wants, but right now, let's concentrate on getting out of wherever we are and finding Teal'c and the planet's equivalent to WD-40 so we can get the DHD up and running and Gate the hell out of here. Any objections?"

"No, sir," Sam answered, as much answering the Colonel as telling Daniel to let it drop for the moment. The Colonel was hurt, and pretty much the first thing she had learned from him was that it always helped if you gave the hurt something other than themselves to focus on.

"Okay. Fine. Good." O'Neill said shortly. "So what do we know?"

"Not very much, sir."

His face was growing more pinched by the minute. He held up a hand. "Wait, backtrack. Are either of you two hurt?"

"Sam got shot," Daniel said immediately.

That got the Colonel's attention and he leaned toward her, frowning. "Shot?"

"It's not bad, sir," she said quickly, shooting a quick glare at Daniel.

Which was pretty much true. She had woken up with a headache from hitting the Stargate and found the sleeve of her shirt bloody. The bullet had evidently hit her bicep and gone right through, but while she wasn't going to be doing pushups anytime soon, she could at least move well enough.

The Colonel didn't seem entirely convinced, but had something else on his mind. "Major, those Jaffa were shooting staff weapons. How did you manage to get shot with a bullet?" He swung on Daniel. "Daniel, don't tell me you - "

The archaeologist put his hands up placatingly. "It wasn't me, I promise!"

"Sir," Sam said firmly, "I don't think anybody shot me. Or maybe it would be most accurate to say I shot myself."

The Colonel gave her a long-suffering stare. "Major, could we save the double-talk for some time when I don't have to try to convince myself there isn't a Goa'uld taking up permanent resident in my brain?"

"Yes, sir." She couldn't help herself. "Sir, maybe if you keep reminding yourself that it's all in your mind?"

"Thank you, Carter. That is so helpful."

"Ah, yes, sir." She could feel heat in her cheeks. "Sorry."

"Sam, why don't you explain what you meant," Daniel said quickly.

Welcoming the distraction, she tried to gather her thoughts, pushing the baritone sting of her arm out of the way. "What I meant was that I think when the Goa'uld, whoever he is, hit me with the hand beam, I had just shot toward him. My best guess would be that the energy field not only hit me, but grabbed the bullets, too and drove them back with me."

"And when you got stopped by the Stargate, one of them got stopped by you?" Daniel completed.

Sam nodded. "Exactly."

O'Neill closed his eyes again. "So is that something that could always happen and just hasn't or are we looking at some kind of more powerful than usual ribbon device?"

"There's no way of knowing, sir," Sam admitted.

The Colonel sighed, sounding more tired than angry. "I love it when you say that. So, you're shot. Did you take care of it while I was out?"

"Yes, sir. They took our packs but Daniel and I jerry-rigged some bandages."

"That isn't going to help much, though," Daniel put in. "You're really going to need something not made out of the bottom of my t-shirt."

"It's on the agenda," the Colonel assured them. "Daniel, how about you? Anything to match that forehead?"

Daniel reflexively put a hand to his head and winced ruefully. "No, they didn't seem all that interested in gratuitous violence, actually."

That made a striking difference from most of the Jaffa they had encountered over the years, Sam thought.

"I think they only did this because when you and Sam hit the Stargate I sort of missed and went through the middle. So they had to knock me out the old-fashioned way," Daniel explained.

"Wait a minute." That didn't make sense. "Are you saying that the Goa'uld got us all with one blast?"

"Yeah, I think so." Daniel looked surprised. "Is that important?"

"Well, it could be," she said, considering. "I mean, as far as I know, we've never encountered a ribbon device that had such a wide enough radius to hit three or four people standing so far apart at once."

The Colonel was clearly behind things. He frowned, looking ashy and distracted. "They can't do that, can they?"

"Well, I guess this one can," Daniel stated the obvious.

The Colonel didn't rise to the bait, which wasn't a good sign. "I guess they're right," he mumbled, still looking diverted. "You do learn something new every day."

"Actually, Jack," Daniel said slowly, "I think it may be a lot more than that. I got a pretty good look at that Goa'uld before the Jaffa hit me, and his eyes didn't glow."

"Whatdya mean no glow?" the Colonel beat Sam to the question. "I saw glow." He turned to Sam. "Didn't you see glow?"

She frowned. She had known Daniel to shake off some pretty heavy blows, but just how hard had he been hit this time?

"Yeah, I did. Daniel, are you sure - "

"No, no," Daniel interrupted her, "I mean his eyes didn't glow."

"Yes, they did," the Colonel repeated.

"No, they didn't. I mean," Daniel hastened to continue as the Colonel opened his mouth for another one of their legendary "did/didn't" volleys, "that his real eyes didn't. I'm almost positive the ones we saw were just decorations on his mask."

Sam stared at Daniel. The figure had been almost completely swathed in a white and gold tunic, its face covered with a stylized mask out of beaten gold. She had seen the ribbon device and the glint of glowing eyes and had assumed that it was the Goa'uld who owned the Jaffa. But if what Daniel suggested was true ....

The Colonel's voice was growing ever so slightly slurred, as if he was having to concentrate on forming the right words. "And this means what?"

"Well, I don't know, exactly," Daniel admitted. He shot a quick glance at Sam and seemed relieved to see his suspicions reflected in her expression. "But what I think it means is that we may not be dealing with an actual Goa'uld at all."

*

Any other time, Daniel would have found Jack's favorite what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about-you-haven't-been-hit-on-the-head-recently-have-you? expression funny. Of course, he had been hit on the head recently, but Sam was nodding so this probably wasn't just him suffering from a minor concussion or something.

He tried to arrange it simply in his head, because Jack was looking like he couldn't take anything over two syllables right now. Actually, he was looking like anything over one syllable would be pretty iffy. Which was odd because the other flashbacks Klu Klux had arranged had been pretty quick and dirty, and had seemed to go away as soon as Jack was aware of them. But if Jack's expression was anything to go by, this one was being a lot more stubborn and taking a lot longer to play out than usual.

Usual. Now there was a term. Stargate usual. As in, this cell we've been thrown in is a little nicer than "usual". Those Jaffa who knocked us out and dragged us here were also a little nicer than "usual". Maybe they should complain that so far their treatment had been below the "usual" standards.

"Daniel?" And there was Jack's usual fingerbreadth from losing his patience tone. "Would you care to explain what you just said?"

"Well, usually when we meet a Goa'uld he's been dressed pretty much like one of the royalty from whatever culture he or she's decided to adopt. For example Ra was - " he bit back the examples at Jack's exhausted look. "Anyway, one thing that's been pretty much a constant is that whatever they're wearing, it usually seems to be quite revealing. I mean, they spent a lot of time choosing their hosts so they obviously want them to be seen."

He paused, swallowing, as his thoughts automatically, unwillingly, shunted toward the day they had first discovered exactly how much effort the Goa'uld did put into choosing hosts ....

Jack eyed him wearily. "Big day for memories, huh?"

"Uh, yeah." Pushing past the images of Sha're, eyes cold and inhuman, one beautiful arm resting lightly on Apophis' upturned hand, Daniel cleared his throat and continued. "The point is, whoever it was we saw today was covered head to toe. I don't think there was any part of him that wasn't hidden."

"So he doesn't like the sun?" Jack clearly couldn't see where this was going, which meant he really was distracted, because usually he was the first one to sniff out a scam.

"Sir," said Sam gently, "I think what Daniel's trying to say is that maybe the reason this ... person ... was completely covered was that he doesn't wasn't anyone to see him. Because he isn't actually the Goa'uld "god" his people probably think he is."

Daniel flashed her a grateful look, glad to hear the theory said by someone who wasn't a flaky half-concussed archaeologist. And it was beginning to get through to Jack now because he was frowning as he said, "You mean you think he's just a guy pretending to be a Pod Person so he can cash in on the whole 'ruler of your planet' deal."

"That would explain why he has to wear a mask with fake glowing eyes," Daniel suggested.

"What about the ribbon device? I thought humans couldn't use them."

"Well, sir," Sam answered thoughtfully, "it could be possible that over time the king, for lack of a better word, figured out some way to, well, hot-wire the ribbon device so that it, like the fake eyes, can be controlled by a personal powersource. Sort of like having an extremely powerful battery pack. That could also explain why this one behaved differently than we've seen them work before."

That took a minute for Jack to translate. Whatever was going on with him, it seemed to be getting worse. Eventually, however, he offered a synopsis. "So we've got man-who-would-be-god with souped-up weapons."

"Looks like it," Daniel agreed without much enthusiasm. A man pretending to be a Goa'uld probably wasn't going to be all that much better than the real thing.

"What happened to the real deal?" Jack asked, treading on the tail of Daniel's thoughts. "It's not like they could just bash him over the head and stick him in the dungeon with an iron mask over his head .... "

"Well, unless I can find some records there's really no way of knowing," Daniel admitted, "but we know Goa'ulds can die. He could have lost his sarcophagus and not had any access to a new host, or maybe he was injured fighting other System Lords - "

"Or maybe he was banished here, or even contracted some kind of disease - " Sam added.

"But assuming for the moment that something like that did happen," Daniel continued, fascinated by the possibility despite the danger they were probably in, "then it would have been pretty easy for whatever human was next in charge to just announce to the court that his master had decided to wear long robes and a mask, dispose of the body, and take over."

He had almost thought Jack wasn't really listening anymore, but now the older man twisted his lips in a grimace. "The man behind the curtain. I should've known some day those Wizard of Oz jokes would bite us on the ass."

"Actually, sir," Carter took back the hypothesis, "If we're going with popular culture analogies, I think the best would be the Dread Pirate Roberts. If there isn't a sarcophagus here, then judging by the disrepair of the DHD, I'd guess this guy's family has been inheriting the same role for generations."

"In which case," Daniel suddenly realized, "the Jaffa probably aren't Jaffa anymore, either. It's like a double parody: these people are pretending to be a Goa'uld who was in turn pretending to be a god." Another thought, not as pleasant. "Maybe that's why they took Teal'c. They may not have ever seen a real Jaffa before."

"Colonel?" Sam was watching Jack with concern. "Are you following this?"

Very very slowly, Jack opened his eyes again. "Oh yeah. I'm here." He didn't look there. Or sound it. "Just speak up, will ya?"

"Speak up?" Daniel repeated, another tingle of worry adding itself to the growing collection in the pit of his stomach.

"Got little company in my head at the moment."

It took a second before they understood. Daniel felt his face pale. That was impossible. It had to be impossible. Janet had run tests. Daniel had seen the MRI scans for himself -

"Sir," Sam was also looking shaken, "the Goa'uld is dead."

"I know that, Carter," Jack snapped, teeth gritted together and looking like he hadn't really meant to let this part slip out. "But apparently I've got a really good memory."

"What's it saying?" Daniel forced himself to ask.

Jack managed an abbreviated shrug. "Pretty much standard. Threats. Gloating. Must be a course somewhere."

Sam was working on something. Daniel could tell by her expression. And surprise, surprise, she didn't seem very happy about whatever it was.

"Sir," she said carefully, "are you noticing any other ... side effects from this flashback?"

Jack let his eyelids slide shut again, as if he couldn't concentrate on two things at once.

"Stiff," he said finally. "I'm pretty stiff. Little cold. But we've been sitting here for a while."

Uh oh, thought Daniel, why does Sam looked like it's a lot more than that.

Before he could ask the question aloud, Jack's eyes shot back open. "We've got company," he announced harshly.

Two seconds later, four armed Jaffa – or at least men wearing the armor of Jaffa – stomped up to the cell.

"Don't say it, Jack," Daniel ordered immediately. They had enough to deal with without him saying it.

But not even a phantom Goa'uld couldn't stop Jack O'Neill from facing four Jaffa without a wisecrack.

"Well, kids," he gasped, barely making it to his feet, "looks like we're off to see the Wizard."

Sam and Daniel traded long-suffering looks.

"Well," Daniel sighed, "at least he didn't start singing."

*

Jack couldn't decide if he was feeling stoned, tired, or just mildly hypothermic. Thought process definitely slower than usual. Not exactly cold. More numb. Had that syrupy, encased in fog feeling and for every two times he tried to blink he was managing it maybe once.

Some part of him was burning mad. But that part was growing smaller, not because he was getting any less pissed, but because he was needing so much more energy to do those basic things like get up, put one foot in front of the other, and yes, crack jokes, that there wasn't anything left for anger.

He tried to keep track of how they were going, make guesses about where those other hallways branching off from this one went, and how many might be manned with what number guards. All those strategy things that were usually second nature, but now seemed as foreign and complex as Daniel's ancient alien stone scratchings.

He could feel the worry coming off in waves from Daniel and Carter, who was definitely getting that Antarctica look on her face again. The thought came to him, muzzily, that while Antarctica had started out with his body giving up and slowly taking his mind with it, this time it was sorta seeming to go the other way.

How the hell did that that make sense?

Exactly. Why was he having such a hard time with this? He knew where he was. He knew his body should work. The ghost of worms departed was still slithering in his mind's ear, but he should be able to ignore that. Ditto with the pain. He should be all ready to do Buck Rogers stuff, but instead he was having some serious problems just staying upright.

Damn. He shouldn't have come. How responsible. Mind messed by a Goa'uld with a vendetta and a nasty sense of humor? Then by all means you should be eminently prepared to go planet hopping in foreign parts.

He should have sat and waited like a good boy. Instead he'd gotten cabin-fever and had dragged his team along and now Teal'c might be being autopsied right now by curious fake Jaffa, and Carter was shot and Daniel, being Daniel, would probably have about another five minutes before the roof fell in on him and if that happened Jack was not going to be able to make it over there in time to push the kid out of the way.

Hell, he could barely even walk - oops, guess he couldn't even do that. Daniel hoisted him back to his feet, Carter wincing as one of the Jaffa shoved her wounded arm. Geez, give her a break. She hadn't fallen. She had a real, honest-to-goodness injury and she was doing great.

He wanted to point this out, but right now it was taking all of his concentration to cling to his balance. That tiny angry part of his mind knew all the right movements to walk, and was even mentioning how they should really be trying to escape right now because four Jaffa were better odds then whatever they were going to get in grand audience with the false false god. But as appealing as all that sounded, first he really had to be able to stay upright without Daniel's help.

Daniel was murmuring something soothing, which he couldn't hear because that damn not-really-there Goa'uld was laughing hysterically. Oh yeah. Getting a real kick out of things. Maybe there was an afterlife for worms and Klu Klux had beamed back down for a ringside seat: Jack O'Neill's mind vs Jack O'Neill's mind. And even though in a way it was him winning, he was definitely losing.

There was enough energy left for a tiny undulating ripple of panic to be winding its way through his thoughts.

Those half-conscious moments while the Tok'ra readied the cryo tank, him fighting tooth and nail against the Goa'uld's possession but inevitably being pushed back, body gradually surrendering to a new command, a new mind that could stop his lungs if it wanted to, or send out his arm to squeeze the life from Daniel's throat ... this was it all over, that loss of the ultimate control ... someone else in charge of everything that used to be him ... except this time, there was no someone else, and Jack suddenly realized with a tremor of drugged understanding, that if he wasn't able to tell his body to move, his heart to beat, his lungs to inflate, deflate ... and if no one else was around to do it either ... then that meant he was probably going to die.

Shit.

There were a lot of things he should do. Telling Carter and Daniel about this new development would be good. They would have ideas. He loved that about them. Making sure they knew Teal'c and their safety was first priority was another biggee.

But right now, even though they had stopped moving at some point when he hadn't been paying attention, forcing his body to keep standing and his lungs to keep breathing were pretty much It on the scale of things Jack could maybe deal with successfully.

On the other hand, there were some strange little synapses sparking somewhere and falling over was sounding pretty good right now, too.

He managed a couple of more minutes, then, a little core part of him cursing like a sailor, he hit the floor and stayed.

*

As Jack crashed to the ground, Daniel thought wildly: Oh shit.

Despite SG1's habit of finding missions surprisingly full of incident, that wasn't actually something he thought all that often. He was usually more of a "wha ... ?" kind of person, too busy trying to figure out what was happening to really comment on the situation.

But Jack passed out on the floor in the middle of the floor, before the false Goa'uld Haruk had managed to more than introduce himself, was an oh shit in spades. He automatically bent down to help Jack, was peripherally aware of Sam doing the same thing, then the very close and personal whine of an engaged staff weapon told him to stand very still instead.

He froze, thinking that this was twice in a minute that he had taken in a situation at a glance and reacted accordingly. Jack would be so proud of him.

Except that Jack was currently sprawled on some rather attractive mosaic tiles.

"What is this?" Haruk demanded. Apparently he was one of those rulers who didn't approve of his prisoners collapsing without it being his idea first.

"Our friend is ill," Daniel told him, automatically identifying the man's dialect and adjusting to match it. "If we could just - "

"He will stand in our presence," Haruk cut him off. Ah, so he was also an optimist.

But Daniel was very aware of that all-too-familiar buzz of staff weapons.

"Okay," he said, not taking his eyes off Haruk as he very slowly bent down to grab one of Jack's arms. "He's just not feeling so well today."

"Jack," he murmured, hauling up, "we need you awake now."

Daniel had gotten Jack almost to his knees when he stirred and slowly lifted a blank gaze toward Haruk. The king's mask hid any expression, but his gasp cracked through the room like thunder. And Daniel felt the bottom fall out of his world.

Because, for a split second, Jack's eyes had glowed.

"Sam!" he called wildly.

"It must be affecting his nervous system," she called back, cursing as her Jaffa guard held her back, tightening his grip on her wounded arm.

Daniel dove for Jack, but Haruk had already shouted a command, and more Jaffa were coming to shoulder the might-as-well-be-unconscious Colonel and haul him off somewhere where Daniel definitely did not want him to go.

"Wait! You can't –" he yelled, twisting around his Jaffa to try to get to Jack. Then a staff came down across his shoulders with an audible thump, and when his vision had cleared he found himself on his hands and knees and Jack already disappearing through the ornate doors opposite the entrance they had arrived through.

Haruk motioned and Jaffa dragged Daniel back before the throne.

"Explain this!" he ordered.

This was where Jack would say something really snotty, just for the hell of it. Except Daniel couldn't think of anything. He obviously hadn't been giving Jack enough credit for situational one-liners. But despite of the lack of the title character, this was a Jack situation. Somehow, Daniel knew that this time smiling a lot and telling the truth just wasn't going to cut it.

He gazed up at Haruk with a good deal of loathing.

Three weeks ago Daniel had stood in terror and watched as his best friend was selected to die. Or not even to die, to become worse than dead. And the fact that he hadn't done anything to even try and stop it from happening was something he was still working on living with; so he was damned if he was going to let it happen all over again now.

"Explain!" Haruk demanded again and the jewel in the palm of his hand began to glow.

Sam was biting her lip as blood from her wound soaked down her arm; Teal'c was who knows where; Jack – god, where did you even start? And Daniel smiled tightly.

"We come," he said, "bearing greetings from Apophis, our master."

*

It had been some time since Teal'c had been first separated from his teammates. Since then he had come to believe that he had been isolated because he was Jaffa. This assumption seemed to be born out as men who wore the armor of Jaffa but who did not carry the larvae or bear the mark of servitude upon their forehead had examined both him and his immature symbiote. It had been evident by their curiosity and disgust that they had not seen a Goa'uld larvae before.

Teal'c had been relieved when they placed it back into his pouch and left him alone to heal the various injuries which had resulted from their inexpert examination. He schooled himself to stay in Kel No Reem and waited for his body to repair itself fully enough that he could go in search of his comrades.

His eyes opened at the sound of footsteps, but instead of approaching his cell, two false Jaffa went straight to the examination table and dropped a body onto it.

It was O'Neill.

Breathing, but uneasily, as if a great weight was on his chest. Teal'c saw no reason for O'Neill's condition, but felt it safe to assume that he had discovered another trigger. What the reaction was remained uncertain, but it appeared to be more severe than O'Neill's previous experiences.

The false Jaffa stripped O'Neill of his shirt and began a cursory examination of his stomach and back, exclaiming over the scar of the Goa'uld's entry. Teal'c did not understand the reason for their actions, but felt some concern that throughout the process O'Neill barely moved. Even when one of the false Jaffa held out one of O'Neill's hands so that the other could more easily cut across his palm with a knife, he did not react.

The false Jaffa watched the blood ooze from the incision for a moment, then, perhaps when it did not begin to heal as it would have with Teal'c, shrugged and hauled O'Neill over to Teal'c cell. He considered an attempt to escape, but until he could determine how badly injured O'Neill was, he did not want to risk complicating his condition.

The false Jaffa slung O'Neill into the cage and departed.

After a moment when Teal'c was certain that they had indeed left, he judged it safe to attempt to rouse O'Neill.

"O'Neill," he said formally. "Wake up."

After he had repeated himself several times, O'Neill finally forced his eyes open and regarded Teal'c with exhausted recognition.

"Teal'c?"

"It is I, O'Neill."

"Okay?" The word was harsh, strained.

"I am adequate."

O'Neill made an attempt to roll over to his back, but gave it up almost immediately. Teal'c noted this in concern. It was most unusual for O'Neill to behave half-heartedly, especially when it meant his face was left in the remnants of molding straw.

"Junior?"

"Also well. How are you, O'Neill?"

For a moment, O'Neill managed to regain some of his customary spirit.

"Peachy." He winced. "Can't move much. Sam's hurt. Daniel's with the. King."

"Their leader is not a Goa'uld, O'Neill," he said. No Jaffa would have been fooled by the man's costume any more than they would believe the Jaffa were truly Jaffa.

"Yeah. Figured."

As O'Neill painfully related what they believed had happened to the original Goa'uld, Teal'c began to experience more and more concern for him. O'Neill's breathing continued labored and even short sentences seemed to cause him a great struggle. He had not tried again to get up from the floor and although Teal'c eventually draped his own jacket over his bare shoulders and maneuvered him so that he could sit leaning against a wall, eventhen he did not so much as move his head to find a more comfortable position. Nor did he appear to notice his lacerated hand while Teal'c bound it with a makeshift cotton bandage.

Teal'c had seen O'Neill in considerable physical pain and emotional pressure before, but he was not currently displaying any of the actions that usually accompanied him being at a disadvantage. Instead, he seemed to be growing more and more disinterested in what was around him, a trend that Teal'c did not wish to encourage.

"You have beaten this opponent before, O'Neill," Teal'c reminded him, hoping to

draw the man out of his increasing stupor.

Usually, a similar remark would have provoked an at least outwardly confidant return, but this time O'Neill just closed his eyes.

"I never beat him," he murmured tiredly. "Hell, he had me pinned. I was wormmeat."

Teal'c felt surprise. It had been his understanding that all involved considered Hathor's defeat to be a victory. He had not realized that O'Neill had not entirely shared this view.

"Your Goa'uld was defeated," he said sternly. "And you did destroy Hathor."

When O'Neill opened his eyes this time the Jaffa felt an almost tangible sense of shock at the blankness in their depths.

"The Tok'ra defeated it," O'Neill whispered, emotion seeming to give him a burst of strength. "I couldn't manage to do a damn thing about it one way or other. It had me, Teal'c. I would have marched up and killed Sam and Daniel without a pause if it had wanted me to. And it did."

"Nevertheless," Teal'c repeated, alarmed at the defeat in O'Neill's voice, "you did not kill Samantha Carter or Daniel Jackson. You did destroy Hathor."

O'Neill just watched him. "I can't do it again, Teal'c. Not all over. It's too soon."

Teal'c considered the matter. O'Neill was one of the strongest men he had known in a long life, and he did not believe that the Tauri would truly be prepared to give up. However, it did appear that O'Neill would need help to remember why he fought.

Teal'c knew full well the power of unpleasant memories and knew that O'Neill suffered from them more than most; knew also the sickening effect of being forced to deal with emotions that had been thought done with. If asked, he would not have advocated O'Neill's return to duty so quickly and without knowing the full extent of his handicap. He knew that Captain Carter and Daniel Jackson had also believed it to be dangerous. However, the fact that O'Neill had not asked their opinion was strong proof of how greatly he desired to 'get over' his injuries.

Therefore, he must be reminded of the strength of his desire. Teal'c had learned over the years since he had joined the Tauri that there was, indeed, strength in numbers. There was also an expression that suggested fire be fought with fire.

It was, Teal'c decided with a small twinge of regret, time for what he had heard O'Neill refer to as "tough love".

*

Jack floated in a not very interesting blackness, comprised of dry, distant cold, and pain and that damn incessant whispering. And for almost the first time in his life, he really didn't care much about fighting back, or pushing through the pain or insulting the voice.

Too much. If there had ever been a thrill to being the hero, it was definitely wearing off. Very worn. Cosmically worn, even. Highly ... off.

A distant part of him was aware that he should be ready to kick through a brick wall right about now. Maybe it wasn't even a part of him anymore, just Teal'c staring at him with censure and disappointment in those deep unforgiving eyes.

Teal'c thought he was giving up. Well, too bad.

Teal'c thought he was taking the easy way out. Didn't seem easy.

He was abandoning his team, his friends, his responsibility. That hurt. But this once, it wasn't turning out to be enough.

Teal'c was ashamed that he had followed O'Neill all these years. Damn. Teal'c had thought he was a true warrior. Teal'c ... whoops, he had missed that one. Something about purporting.

Teal'c thought he was useless. Yep, useless, worthless, all the little 'less's'. Teal'c wasn't going to shut up, was he?

He tried not to think about Daniel's expression – only worried about him-- as the staff had come around to clip the archaeologist in the throneroom. Or how pale Sam had looked, concern for him overriding her own pain ....

Teal'c thought he was a whining, nancy boy who only cared about himself. Nancy boy? You can do better than that, Teal'c.

Teal'c thought O'Neill deserved to have the shit kicked out of him for being a disgrace to his species, his friends and his son.

Whoa, what? Excuse me?

Jack forced his eyes back open and glared at Teal'c, who stared back impenetrably. "Care to repeat that?" he rasped.

"Are not the qualities of loyalty, perseverance and bravery what are valued most in your species? Are they not what you have cherished in your friends? What you taught your son to honor about all?"

Yes, they are not. No, they are. What did that sentence remind him of? Oh yeah, the planet of the naked plant guys. Yes, I think we are not the cause. Trying to think with a headache that felt like someone was dynamiting a new Grand Canyon inside his skull. And hadn't he just been a big fat way wrong on that planet. Plant Boy. Feeling bad? Just pick on Daniel! Admittedly Daniel had picked right back, but he had been right and Jack had started it, so that gave him that pesky moral superiority edge ....

Hey, here was a thought. If Jack had been wrong then, maybe he was wrong now. It seemed to be his month for it. Definitely more wrongs than usual lately. Klu Klux didn't think he was wrong. But then we didn't like him, did we? Liked Teal'c. Teal'c was a big hunka swell. And boy was Teal'c pissed at him right now.

Still, he didn't think perseverance was supposed to be there. Teal'c had just made that one up. It was really something like Brushing Your Teeth After Every Meal or Remembering To Take Out the Garbage On Thursday Nights.

Daniel would be disappointed in him. He had promised to save Sha're. And Skaara. Skaara and Daniel. All those eyes lifted up so trustingly toward him ....

Wait, what was Teal'c saying? Jack strained to hear.

"O'Neill." Yeah, that was him. What? He was going to do what? No, that wasn't right. He wasn't going to do that.

"Teal'c don't you dare –"

Oh Jesus. He did it. Pulled Junior right out and tossed him across the cell. No, no, don't pull that if-you-don't-snap-out-of-it-we-will-die-together crap. God, the Jaffa might as well as be knitting an afghan, he was so serene. Not the confidence thing, Teal'c. Don't go pulling a Daniel Jackson on me at a time like this.

Jack just wanted to not care, he really really did. Screw being a disgrace. Where in the rules did he say he had to be a goddamn role model for the planet Earth? Let Daniel be the poster boy, he was better at it anyway. Every breath was torture, he wasn't even sure the rest of him was still attached to whatever was left of his mind. It wasn't fucking fair.

Footsteps nearby suggested guards were coming back to check on the prisoners.

Teal'c smiled at him.

Sweet. When this was over, he was going to kick that Jaffa's butt but good.

And that was a promise.

*

Daniel sat on an uncomfortable pillow seat and tried not to make his discomfort from his newly acquired bruises too obvious. After making his big announcement he had, not

much to his surprise, been quickly escorted to this much smaller, much more private room. They hadn't brought Sam with him, but he was hoping that was because they were fixing her arm. Not nice to let emissaries of Apophis bleed to death. And please let that count for Jack and Teal'c too.

Oh god, was he really going to be able to pull this off? It had made sense at the time, they had needed something big, something to get Haruk's attention and to play the man's secrets against him. That sounded pretty O'Neillish. See, Jack, he had paid attention to all those talks about strategy. Well, some of them at least.

What else could he remember? Always be confident. Always get the first word in. There were a few others, but he was pretty sure they mostly pertained to ducking and realizing that artifacts were not intrinsically interesting to anybody but him ....

Movement at the door and Sam came in, followed at a moderate distance by another Jaffa. Her arm was wrapped in some kind of linen bandage and she was looking a lot less ashen than the last time he had seen her. So that was already a plus. Now if he could just manage to not get them all killed in the next few minutes--

"Daniel," Sam whispered immediately, casting a wary glance at the Jaffa who stood stolidly in each corner of the room, "tell me that was part of a plan?"

"I think I've got it under control," Daniel assured her.

"Think?"

Daniel grimaced. "Sorry, I guess I haven't got the uncontrollably confident act down quite as well as Jack. Sam, do you have an any idea what happened to him back there?"

Something winced in her eyes. "I think his memory flash is so perfect that his body is being convinced that there really is a Goa'uld in him. And when a Goa'uld takes over, it starts controlling all of the functions of the nervous system. That would explain the reason he was having so much trouble: his body's waiting for a Goa'uld that doesn't exist to direct it."

"Mind over matter," Daniel said slowly.

She nodded. "Only this time it's working against us. If the Colonel can't convince his body that the Goa'uld isn't real, he could end up catatonic or worse."

Catatonic or worse. No, that wasn't going to happen. He wasn't losing Jack, too. Not again.

"Why did his eyes glow?"

Sam shrugged. "All I can guess is the way the Goa'uld do it must be somehow linked to the host's nervous system. If the Colonel's playing out his memory of being made a host, it's probable that the Goa'uld triggered those pathways the first time around."

Daniel realized he would probably never be able to express just how thankful he was that Sam had managed to say all that without once giving the impression that this wasn't something they could deal with.

Because they would, because ... they would. Because they just really needed Jack to be okay and to have Teal'c be okay and to have this plan that Daniel, who didn't usually have plans beyond 'let's push this and see what happens', was about to try, work.

"Who is – was – Haruk?" Sam asked curiously.

Daniel shook his head. "Not someone I've heard of, although it's close to a few ancient names. Probably, he wa either a very minor ruler or his name's been corrupted over the years."

Oh, more movement at the door. Yes, it was Haruk, looking upset.

Well, not really because he had still had his mask on, but he was walking like he was upset. He should be upset. After generations on the throne pretending to be a god, a bunch of representatives from a real, nd famously unpleasant, god show up; and they not only could possibly notice that Haruk wasn't actually Haruk, but they could then spill the beans to his subjects. Or even worse, they could report back to their god who in turn might just be irritated enough by the usurper to stop by and do some pretty heavy wreaking of vengeance.

And these same representatives had just been captured and beaten up by Haruk's gods.

Yeah, that seemed like reason enough to Daniel to be upset.

"Why Apophis?" Sam whispered as Haruk hesitated briefly and unmajestorially in the doorway.

"We know most about him," Daniel said, trying to sound matter of fact, "and I saw his name on one of the pillars in the throneroom, so obviously Haruk knew him when he was alive, which I'm hoping means that this Haruk recognizes the name. Besides," he added with a humorless grin, "he owes us."

"Well," Sam said with a half-grin of her own, "looks like you're on."

Haruk had made it almost halfway across the length of the room. Belatedly realizing he was letting the advantage of the moment escape, Daniel shot to his feet and gestured impatiently at the king.

"Is this the way you always greet your family's emissaries?" he demanded doing his best to sound like an important person who was not used to be abducted, bruised and thrown into jail.

Sam, following his lead, stood and crossed her arms, registering extreme irritation.

Haruk paused, caught off-balance by the offensive. So keep going Doctor Jackson!

"Here is your dear kinsman Apophis so worried about you all these years," he went on before Haruk could say anything, "and when he finally learns of your whereabouts and immediately sends his favorite--" Favorite what, Daniel? Not warriors. Not just servants .... ummm ...

"Priests," Sam jumped in, before he could completely fumble the ... whatever sports equipment that analogy that came from ....

Okay, priests. Sure. "Favorite priests," Daniel collected himself. "His most beloved priests to make sure his dear kinsman was still well."

Yeah, like Apophis would ever do that. But Haruk had definitely winced at the Goa'uld's name, so he obviously realized that this was a guy he didn't want to be messing with. Now just let Haruk buy the story. Buy it and decide it would be too risky to just have them killed and hope Apophis never noticed.

Just let Haruk try to bluff his way out and everyone could go home happy ....

There was a slight hesitation, then Haruk cleared his throat. "You are sent from Apophis?"

His tone wasn't exactly disbelieving, because if they were who they said they were, then he obviously wasn't going to risk incurring even more of their wrath; but it wasn't

entirely convinced either. Sam could hear it as well as Daniel, and drew herself to her full height icily.

"Do you not recognize our garments as carrying the signs of Apophis?" she demanded in a searing voice that would have shriveled any airman where they stood.

Haruk might disbelieve Daniel, but there was no way anyone in this room was going to do anything except fold under Sam's regal stare.

Haruk broke.

"Ah, the signs of Apophis, of course!" he babbled, pointing to their SG1 patches. Daniel bit down a sound that was either a laugh or a sound of disgust at the irony.

"My Jaffa will be punished for their negligence and illiteracy," Haruk continued to cover gamely. He was probably sweating under that mask.

With a prim nod, Sam relinquished the seat of attention back to Daniel.

"Uh, see that they are," he commanded, silently apologizing to the men who would suffer for this little charade. But right now he had to convince Haruk that they believed him to be the god they sought.

"And now," he continued quickly, not wanting to dwell on the punishment factor, "where are the other members of our assembly? The ... High Priest, and our Jaffa?"

"The man who was with you is a priest as well?" Haruk sounded like it was only the memory of Sam that was keeping pure skepticim from lacing his voice.

Daniel had to admit he saw the man's point. There were people who you could easily picture preaching spiritual subservience and turning the other cheek, and then there was Jack O'Neill.

"He has faithfully served Apophis in many ways," Daniel hemmed, trying to think of something convincing. "And, uh, truly is O'Neill the greatly beloved - " he tried not to wince at the term, " - and most favored of Apophis."

Sam made a strangled sound next to him and he stopped, belatedly realizing just what he had made Jack's relationship to Apophis sound like. But on the other hand, as long as Jack never found out, all it could do was help their position right now.

Just don't think about Sha're ....

There was a silence, presumably as the room came to terms with Apophis' apparent sexual taste.

"His eyes did glow but we have proved he is not a god, sire," a Jaffa said dubiously, and Daniel fought down a chill as he wondered exactly what they had needed for 'proof'.

Not the time to think about it. There was a time and there wasn't a time. That was something he had learned from Jack. And another thing: that sometimes bluster was all you needed.

"Of course not!" he snapped. "His eyes glowed while he was in communication with Apophis!"

That got them.

"Communication?" Haruk wavered.

"Of course." That was Sam again, right on cue.

Thinking that there had been a definite reason why he had gone into linguistics instead of acting, Daniel just attempted to imply the inherent obviousness of the answer and hoped he didn't simply look constipated.

"Did you not see how angry Apophis was at our treatment?" she continued. "Even at this distance, O'Neill was so overcome by our lord's fury that he momentarily lost consciousness."

Good one, Sam!

The room seemed to think so, too, and Haruk definitely perked up at the mention of "distance". He seemed eager to continue the discussion in the direction of just how distant they were talking about, but Daniel held up a stern finger.

"We are ready for our comrades to be brought to us now," he reminded Haruk.

"No need," said Jack as he and Teal'c entered the room.

Haruk jumped, and as one, the Jaffa took a surreptitious step away from the newcomers. Daniel could sympathize. Lines etched into his face, shirt gone, one hand bloody and the other holding some unfortunate guard's staff weapon, Jack looked like the kind of priest who ordered the torching of villages and the murder of thousands every day before breakfast.

Come to think of it, that was exactly the kind of priest Apophis would approve of.

Watching the two missing members of SG1 walk into the room, Daniel let out a tiny breath of surprise and relief, sensed Sam do the same beside him. Teal'c's face was wrinkled with discomfort, and the way Jack was looking it was amazing he was walking at all, but they were both there and alive. And, Daniel realized with a sudden bolt of delight, not only was Jack standing and walking and talking, but he was taking in the scene before him with a familiar cool laconicism that had been missing for far too long.

And when Haruk bowed toward Jack and said, "Oh blessed O'Neill, we beg forgiveness," Daniel would have given a lot for a camera to record Jack's expression.

As unobtrusively as possible, Jack passed the staff weapon he had been holding back to Teal'c and shot an eloquent look over toward Daniel.

"Ah, Brother O'Neill," Daniel said cheerfully, "Haruk was just apologizing for this unfortunate occurrence."

"Occurrence?" Jack echoed.

"The greatest of apologies," Haruk chipped in anxiously. "Please understand I meant my kinsman Apophis no offense."

Jack's eyes tracked Daniel's expression. "Oh. Well," he said at last, "none taken, I guess."

He crossed over to where Daniel and Sam were standing. "So, Brother Jackson, Sister Carter, have you finished our sacred ... stuff ... so we can get out of here?"

Daniel sighed. He would definitely have to brush up Jack's "high priest" vocabulary when they got back.

It was amazing how 'getting back' was suddenly an absolute given.

"We delivered greetings from Apophis to his kinsman," he filled in for Jack.

"Most kind," Haruk murmured, still bowing.

Daniel wondered if the man knew how unlike a System Lord he was behaving. But then again, the System had too many War Lords already. Groveling Lords were a nice change.

Jack obviously thought so, judging by the bemused twinkle in his brown eyes. God, how long had it been since Daniel had seen that in his friend's gaze? There was still tiredness and some anger and pain, but all in all, Jack was looking a lot like someone who was almost ready to be teased about the SGC nurses' rather elaborate ideas for 'stimulating' him.

"Unfortunately," Sam was saying, "Apophis is a very busy, er, god."

"Right," Jack chipped in, getting the picture, "so he won't be able to come visit for some time."

"Very long time," Daniel agreed.

"Very, very, long."

The tension in Haruk's shoulders eased noticeably.

"Of course," Jack added, "if someone ever cancels on him, he might be able to stop by sooner."

The shoulders cringed again.

"Just to make sure you're ruling well here," Jack prompted Daniel.

"Oh, right." Daniel pushed up his glasses and thought. "You know, no wars, no cruelty to your people - "

"Yeah, he hates that," Jack put in.

"And of course the System Lords frown on slavery, murder, injustice, uh, cruel and unusual punishment, of course .... "

"All that kind of bad stuff," Jack summarized complacently. Then, while the king was still reeling from the concept that at any moment a god might drop in to decide if he was ruling acceptably: "Oh well, see you around, Haruk."

And Jack, Daniel, Sam and Teal'c about faced, marched down the main corridor of Haruk's palace, and left via the front door without anyone daring to lift a hand to stop them.

"Jack, what happened?" Daniel burst out as soon as they were clear of the palace. "Are you better?"

"And here I thought archaeologists were observant," Jack cracked. "Yep, I had a heart to heart with myself and convinced Klu Klux to skedaddle. With some help from Teal'c, here," he added with a strange mixture of affection and exasperation.

"What did you do?" Sam asked the Jaffa curiously.

"I called O'Neill a - " Teal'c began.

"Let's just say he made me an offer I couldn't refuse," Jack cut in.

"I am glad you did not," Teal'c said solemnly.

Daniel and Sam exchanged glances. Okay, there was definitely more to this than they were getting.

Sam opened her mouth, presumably to fish for details. Then she suddenly stopped and pressed a hand against Jack's bare chest, her eyes wide and amazed.

"Uh, Major?" Jack said after a second, looking down at the hand impeding his progress. "Did you want something?"

"Sorry sir." Sam dropped her hand like it had been bitten. "It's just ... sir, you're normal!"

"I'm flattered," Jack said dryly.

Sam shook her head impatiently. "No, I mean ... I can tell the difference. The mindtraps are gone. I'd bet my rank that there aren't any more left. I mean, all this time I thought I was feeling edgy for some other reason, but ... it was definitely you!"

It was true Sam had been ... not just concerned, but almost uncomfortable around Jack lately, Daniel realized. He hadn't really thought much about it, being too busy worrying himself. But ...

"It was like background noise that you don't realize you've been hearing until it's gone," Sam explained with a wince of recollection. "Really irritating background noise."

"And now I'm background free," Jack said.

Teal'c and Sam nodded in tandem.

"I concur with Captain Carter's assessment," Teal'c added.

"Sweet." Jack gave the world a highly satisfied smile. "But what I want to know," he added, with a quick frown, "is why, when we were leaving, did Haruk give me this?"

He held up a sinuously carved vial of some pink stone. Even from where Daniel stood he could smell the scent of exotic perfume.

"He said it would please my god," Jack continued, obviously fogged.

There was a muffled mhffph from Carter as she suddenly choked on a snicker. Daniel abruptly looked anywhere but at Jack.

Teal'c surveyed the vial. "I believe this is a substance used by many Goa'uld as a potent aphrodisiac," he declared neutrally. "It is in high demand. It would indeed please Apophis if Colonel O'Neill wished to use it in such a manner."

Oh god. Jack's expression. He knew it was mostly a reaction to the release of the last month's tensions .... but if Daniel didn't laugh he was going to break some ribs. Sam was turning crimson from the effort of holding it in.

Very slowly, Jack turned toward him. "Daniel?"

It was amazing how much meaning Jack could fit into that word.

"I'm sorry, Jack, it was an accident," Daniel assured him, although the escaping giggles probably didn't do much for his case. "Really. I just got carried away. I mean, how was I supposed to know you were planning to walk around shirtless the whole time .... "

"Daniel, you mean you told that guy that part of my service to Apophis was to ... service him?" Jack yelped.

Tomorrow it wouldn't funny, but oh right now they needed this. Daniel met Sam's eyes and they surrendered, collapsing into the laughter that they'd been so desperately missing for so long.

"O'Neill," Teal'c said solemnly as half of SG1 rolled hysterically at their feet, "I had believed you preferred blondes."

"Oh for crying out loud!"

The ensuing discussion about ways Jack O'Neill absolutely refused to be rescued took up most of the trip back.

*

Colonel Makepeace and rest of SG3 burst through the Stargate with weapons at the ready.

"Eyes alert everyone!" he ordered.

This might be a supposedly uninhabited planet, but given SG1's track record, they had probably already managed to discover not only hostiles, but some new transgalactic species and at least one piece of equipment that turned you inside out or transformed you into a tree or some damn thing if you touched it.

And they would have touched, it, too.

Janet Frasier was already preparing rooms for them, although privately Makepeace wasn't sure if she was responding to their usual habit of arriving home in several pieces, or the fact that Hammond had left no doubt in anyone's mind that he was going to make SG1 wish they were still back in the hands of the enemy the very moment they stepped out of the --

"Sir!"

Fully expecting the hoard of Goa'uld who seemed to always queue up to arrive at any planet that SG1 visited, Makepeace swiveled and brought his weapon up.

And discovered the four members of the SGC's delinquent team marching jauntily toward the Stargate and arguing cheerfully amongst themselves.

They had lost their weapons and packs, looked uniformly bruised, Carter's arm was bound, and for some reason O'Neill wasn't wearing a shirt, but for all that, they might as well have been taking a walk in the park on a spring day.

O'Neill spotted Makepeace and waved. "Sorry, false alarm," he called out, not sounding at all apologetic. "We're here."

Makepeace pushed up his helmet and shook his head. "Hell O'Neill, don't you have any mercy? Fourteen hours overdue! Hammond's having kittens."

"It's a figure of speech, Teal'c," O'Neill, Carter and Jackson chorused automatically.

Teal'c looked smug. "I believe I knew that," he informed them.

Makepeace eyed the foursome. Despite their condition, they looked more relaxed than he had seen them in weeks. And O'Neill looked like he could take down half a dozen Goa'uld riding charging rhinos without batting an eye.

Taking soil samples couldn't be that therapeutic. He had to ask. "So what happened?"

O'Neill waved a hand airily. "Oh, the usual. Rusty DHD. Jaffa."

"Indeed not," said Teal'c.

"Sort of Jaffa," O'Neill qualified obediently. "And a Goa'uld."

"In a way," added Carter.

"And then we escaped," O'Neill finished.

"Well, frankly I think they were pretty glad to get rid of us," Jackson admitted.

Makepeace stared at them. Maybe they were more seriously injured than he had thought.

"I thought intel suggested the planet was uninhabited?"

"Well," O'Neill said reasonably, "intel is fundamentally stupid about some things."

"The Goa'uld's palace was about twenty miles away," said Carter. "I'd suggest in the future that we try to expand our radius of recon."

O'Neill was studying Makepeace thoughtfully. "Tell you what," he said with what Makepeace considered a suspicious amount of comradery, "here's a thank you present for what would have been our rescue, and one I'm sure that would have gone much more smoothly than last time."

It was some kind of perfume or something. What was he supposed to do with that? Makepeace took the vial he held out with a dubious "thanks" and tried not to think about why they were all grinning at him like that.

"Well kids," O'Neill said briskly, "let's go de-rust!"

"Jack," Jackson said immediately, "while we're waiting can I take a look at those ruins we passed just around the –"

"No."

"But - "

"Head priest says no, Daniel."

"Just - "

"Don't make me have to call down a plague to smite you."

"Jaaaack - "

Shaking his head, Makepeace left the argument and followed Carter and Teal'c to the DHD. SG1. What a seriously weird group of people.

Half an hour later, thanks to a combination of knife blades and kerosene, the DHD was cleaned, the coordinates were input, and SG1 and 3 went home.

*

There was no escape for them this time. General Hammond paced at the end of the Gateroom like a blue-clad bomb about to explode. This time, SG1 was going to learn exactly what it meant to incur a General's wrath!

Janet Frasier was steaming behind him, waiting to drag them by the ears for complete checkups. And then they were going to explain in minute and repentant detail just how a twelve hour mission to collect soil samples had turned into a full force rescue campaign--

The Stargate swirled on and SG3 tramped down the ramp.

"All present and accounted for, sir! SG1's right behind us," Makepeace reported. Oddly enough, he smelled faintly of perfume, and seemed to be having difficulty biting back an amused grin.

The look on Hammond's face quickly made it easy for him. "Uh, we'll just go get cleaned up, sir," he added immediately, and SG3 hightailed it out of the dangerzone.

And well they might, thought Hammond furiously. As O'Neill was apt to point out, he barely had any hair left; he didn't need to go losing the rest wondering what had most recently happened to SG1.

Not that once he got through with them they were ever going to go anywhere again -

"General!"

Jack O'Neill stepped through the wormhole and sauntered down ramp, his air of complete nonchalance only slightly spoiled by the fact that Daniel Jackson had an arm around his shoulder and was leaning against him and limping. Behind them, Teal'c and Carter, with a field dressing around her arm, exited the Stargate as well.

"I'll go get my nurses ready," Doctor Frasier said without much surprise.

It was true that all four members of SG1 looked battered to varying degree, but ... the change from 26 hours ago was palpable. Hell, they were practically walking in synchronization, somehow back to four pieces of the same entity.

The same very late entity.

"Colonel," Hammond snapped, "would you like to tell me just what kept you?"

"Absolutely, General," O'Neill said brightly. "But first I need to take my team to the infirmary."

"And how did they manage to get this way on a routine mission for soil samples?" Hammond asked, clinging to his rapidly diminishing rage.

O'Neill unshipped a wide grin. "Well sir, in the process of hookwinking a really false god and saving me from an overactive imagination, Carter shot herself, Teal'c threw away Junior for a while and Daniel did pretty well for a priest of Apophis until we were fixing the DHD. At which point he completely ignored my orders, wandered off to look at rocks, and fell down a hill."

"I'd call it more of a cliff, Jack," Jackson corrected mildly.

Hammond regarded the team. "And you're pleased about all this, Colonel?"

"No sir. Just happy things are back to normal." O'Neill was still grinning like a Cheshire cat, eyes shades lighter than they had been in weeks. The rest of the team looked remarkably pleased as well.

Like kids who had skinned their knees climbing up to get the forbidden cookie jar, but had, after all, gotten cookies.

Oh my. He was thinking in grandkid metaphors again. Hammond gave up.

"I look forward to hearing about it," he admitted. "Oh, and SG1?"

Almost at the door to the Gate, they turned back, four people who looked tired and grubby and happy as could be.

"Yes, sir?" O'Neill asked innocently.

General Hammond gave them a very genuine smile. "Welcome back to business."