“How long do you think it’s been?”

Eyelids slowly parting, Daniel batted them a few times and trained his unfocused vision on Mitchell. “I have no idea,” he groaned. “I started counting the seconds in Goa’uld, but I lost track somewhere around twenty two thousand, seven hundred.” Getting no reply from Mitchell, other than a confused gape, he nervously cleared his throat before admitting, “It’s something I do to keep myself occupied.”

Mitchell continued to stare for a moment. “And here I thought I knew all your eccentricities. You really are an enigma, aren’t you?”

Daniel lifted his left shoulder in a quasi-shrug. “I like to keep them guessing,” he quipped.

Seemingly exhaling his mirth with his responsive snort, Mitchell turned solemn. “So, you know General O’Neill better than anyone. What did you make of all that bluster?”

“I wish I knew,” Daniel lamented. “I’d like to think it was just for show or to buy time for an S and R team to get into position, but…” The thought trailed off and he shook his head. “I’ve seen Jack act out of desperation before. I do believe, though, his only concern is getting us out of this mess.”

“I, for one, appreciate that sentiment, but there’s no way he’s going to get anyone on the other side of the gate to agree to send munitions through.”

Daniel’s gaze drifted to the shadowy figure limping in a tightly controlled line before his son. Rigar determinedly marched eight paces, turned a crisp military about face, and followed the line back the same eight paces. “Well, let’s hope Jack did a better job of convincing Rigar that he could pull it off.”

The expectation inherent in that wish was still swirling in the air between them, offering some measure of solace, when a thunderous report ripped through the calming spell.

Mitchell flinched. Twisting gingerly, he glanced over his shoulder. “What the hell? Who is that?”

A thin figure shot through the door, which had rebounded from the force exerted to open it. The legs obscured by the skirts that billowed around them, the individual seemingly floated, ghost-like. Followed closely by Galen and another guard they’d not seen before, the woman headed at a determined pace for Rigar.

Daniel squeezed his eyes together, squinting to bring the hazy gray figure into focus. “Mallin?”

“Mallin?” Mitchell parroted. Confusion etched lines in his forehead a second, smoothing as he recalled her identity. “Parey’s aide? What is she doing here?”

Shaking his head vaguely, Daniel kept his attention on the small group huddled conspiratorially across the way. He cursed internally, the gap between himself and the others too great to pick up more than muttered undertones.

The conversation ended and Mallin stepped back, looking pointedly at Daniel.

“Uh oh,” Daniel breathed.

Whirling, Rigar stabbed a glare in their direction. “Do they take me for a fool?” he bellowed.

Daniel rolled his gaze to Mitchell, and something in the look apparently shook the colonel.

“Seriously!” Mitchell grunted under his breath. “That one is rhetorical. Don’t even think about answering him.”

“Believe me,” Daniel smirked ill-humoredly. “Goading that maniac is the furthest thing from my mind.”

Mitchell’s corresponding grimace lent wholehearted support to that plan. He cast his gaze to the place where Rigar had once again set up his frantic pacing. “Were you able to hear anything?”

Daniel shook his head. “Other than that last bit, nothing. And I still haven’t figured out why Mallin is here. I doubt Jack would have suggested using her as a go between, and if she’s here under Parey’s direction, then we’ve got a real problem, because that could mean she’s allied with Rigar and part of his plan to take Optrica back.”

“It was Parey’s idea to send Rigar into exile, though,” Mitchell tendered. “What kind of a plan includes sending your main collaborator to a secluded island?”

“I don’t know, unless… crap.”

“Jackson?”

“Unless Mallin’s not acting on Parey’s orders.” Studying the willowy figure, Daniel took note of the way she watched Rigar’s every move, her regard too much like an adoring pet for his liking. “What if Rigar did more than erase Mallin’s memories? Do you think he could have influenced her in some way? Made her absolutely loyalty to him or his faith?”

Mitchell considered the question. “Turned her into a zealot, like himself? As someone who’s had false memories of murder seared into my brain, I’d say anything’s possible, but, in that case, would she just have sat back the last, what, seven years and just let the Optricans take over?”

“Maybe. If it was somewhere in the instruction Rigar gave her. Look,” he quickly tossed out when Mitchell shot him a skeptical frown. “Rigar had to know the Optricans were not going to let him run the streets espousing resistance to their rule. His son would have been about ten years old at the time. He had faith, obviously well placed, that Rigel would look for an opportunity to bring him back from exile and fight to get their country back. Maybe he thought it would be useful to have someone else on the inside.”

Following the trail of Daniel’s logic now, Mitchell tagged on, “He somehow gets access to the device that erased Mallin’s memories of who she was and alters them to assist Rigel in his plot to reclaim their society when the time is right.”   

“Yeah,” Daniel confirmed.

Mitchell stole a glance at Mallin. “So, all this time she’s been a spy in the Optrican’s midst.”

Daniel frowned. “Which means if Jack was just blowing smoke, stalling for a rescue team to get into place, Rigar probably knows all about it.”

Growling, Rigar spun, his momentum carrying him in their direction.

“Guess we’re about to find out,” Mitchell announced.

“Mallin has some interesting news,” Rigar called out as he approached.

Situating herself between the prisoners, Mallin tossed her head haughtily and glared from one to the other. “Their comrades are planning a rescue. They are using an unmanned aircraft to pinpoint their location. O’Neill has requested arms as he told you he would, but they will be ineffectual.”

Tugging the Beretta from his waistband, Rigar caressed the barrel with one long finger. “O’Neill has left you to your fate then,” he said, disappointment coloring the declaration. He took a step back and raised the pistol. “If he doesn’t intend to honor the agreement, I have no more need of hostages.”

“Wait a minute!” Mitchell shouted.

“He didn’t have a choice," Daniel argued. “This is Parey’s show. Jack would have to follow her lead.”

“O’Neill is in command of the operation,” Mallin countered. “Parey’s troops are taking orders from him.”

“You still have the upper hand here, though,” Mitchell suggested. “I’m willing to bet O’Neill doesn’t know you had a mole in Parey’s ranks. That gives you the advantage. You can still pull this off.”

“Mitchell, what are you doing?”

“That would be my job. I told the general I’d get you back in one piece and I intend to do just that.”

Daniel scoffed. “By helping this psychopath get what he wants? You do know he intends to destroy what has finally, after decades of war, become a peaceful society?”

Rigar scowled and tilted the gun in Daniel’s direction.

“Yeah, I’ve been here the whole time. Thanks for the recap,” Mitchell snapped impatiently. Dismissing Daniel, he turned to Rigar. “Why don’t we just wait and see what General O’Neill has to say once he makes contact. There is still time to make this right, but I promise, you will lose his cooperation absolutely if you kill Jackson.”

"He is that important to O’Neill?”

“He is.”

“But you are not so valuable," Rigar deduced. Turning the gun on Mitchell, he pulled the trigger.

“No!” Daniel yelled, his panicked cry lost in the explosion.

His tee shirt exploding in crimson, Mitchell grunted. He teetered like a drunk, valiantly trying to stay on his feet, but overbalanced, tipped the chair, and crumpled to the ground.

Daniel had just enough time to register the fact that Mitchell was not hanging as he’d expected, when his solid footing was kicked out from under him. The noose tightened briefly, the coarse rope scouring his neck before giving way. He hit the floor on his left side, the force of the impact knocking the breath from him. Panicked, he closed his eyes and concentrated, gulping air once his body began to respond.

Slowly peeling his eyes open, he shifted until Mitchell came into view. The colonel lay partially on his back, facing Daniel. His eyes were closed, his face a shade paler than normal. Daniel scrutinized the black clad chest, his own clenching at the lack of discernable movement. Sliding his eyes lower, he stared unbelieving at the evidence of Mitchell’s wound: the red blood stark against his black shirt. The stain spread, droplets accumulating to create a small pool beneath Mitchell’s still form. 

Tearing his gaze away, Daniel glared at their captor. Rigar looked back coldly, wholly unaffected by Mitchell’s apparent death. Daniel wanted to scream, to rail against the loss of someone so much more valuable than this maniac, who reveled in mental as well as physical torture.

For his friend, he held his tongue. His life had been bought at too high a price, and he would not dishonor Mitchell’s sacrifice by throwing it away now.

“I do not understand,” Mallin said suddenly. “The ropes were not secure?”

“Mallin.” Rigar’s utterance was low and threatening. “How many times must I warn you against questioning my motives?”

Visibly cowed by the reprimand, still Mallin pushed. “What of O’Neill and his attempt to deceive you?”

“This one’s death will serve as a warning to O’Neill.” Rigar sneered down at Mitchell’s motionless body. “And a promise that unless he follows through on his bargain, I will kill Daniel as well.” Stepping back, he gestured haphazardly towards Mitchell. “Get rid of him. Take the other above.”

Daniel stiffened as two of the guards hefted him from the floor. One of the men roughly pulled the rope from around his neck and they marched him forward.

Stealing a last glance at Mitchell, Daniel silently vowed to avenge his friend.

*****

Jack scanned the area just outside the shuttle before cautiously stepping down. Wearing an exterior that projected calm confidence, internally he was on high alert. Something was different. He’d felt it the moment he’d boarded the shuttle back in the park. His guard had been a little less vigilant and lot more condescending.

And now, Daniel and Mitchell were conspicuously missing. No chairs, no ropes. Just a dark puddle marring the otherwise dull gray floor.

He pulled a tight grin at the two men who greeted the shuttle. Their youth seemingly intensifying the ache in his knees and back, he acceded to the gesture to precede them. Approaching the spot where he’d last seen his men, Jack swallowed the bile rising to his throat. Blood.

“Daniel?” he called automatically.

“Up here.” Though strained, Daniel’s voice carried, the open space amplifying his response.

Gaze jerking upward, Jack masked his dismay at his friend’s new predicament. Daniel stood in the middle of the catwalk, hands still tied behind his back, noose pulled firm around his neck. The rope had been shortened considerably, the other end tied around the railing of the catwalk.

Beside him, Rigar looked down at Jack, smarmy grin in place. He tightened the hand resting on Daniel’s shoulder, and the archaeologist fidgeted slightly. Jack read the message loud and clear: given the slightest provocation, Rigar was prepared to become Daniel’s executioner.

Jack drew a calming breath. “You alright?”

“He shot Mitchell,” Daniel croaked.

 “Dead?”

“I don’t know,” Daniel said solemnly. “I think so.”

Briefly dropping his gaze to the blood-stained floor, Jack roared, “Rigar, what the hell gives? You said you’d keep my people safe.”

“And you said you would give us weapons,” Rigar replied, voice gruff with accusation.

“I’ve got weapons,” Jack returned stridently. “Two cases of them. By the way, you might want to recruit a few more young guys. These two you sent to get me were no help –”

“Enough!” Rigar bellowed. “I know of your duplicity, O’Neill.”

“I’ve got your weapons,” Jack repeated succinctly, as though speaking to a child. “How exactly does that translate to duplicitous?”

“Mallin tells me you have tampered with the weapons.”

“Mallin?”

Rigar puffed up, verifying smugly, “Yes. You did not suspect I had an operative within your ranks, did you?”

Jack closed his eyes a second, an image flashing behind his eyelids: Parey’s mousy assistant sitting quietly at the table while they made rescue plans. Mentally running through that meeting, Jack saw her get up and leave, a strangely self-satisfied grin lifting her usually doleful features. “No, I guess not,” he said.

“I had no choice but to kill your Mitchell as a warning against attempting additional deception. However, I am a reasonable man. I believe we can still negotiate.”

Recalling with some measure of relief that Mallin was dismissed before the discussion concerning maneuvers and his listening device, Jack sighed dramatically. “What do you want?”

“You rendered the weapons inoperable,” Rigar said. “I believe you can make them effective again.”

Jack considered the comment, seeing it for the demand it was. “Yeah, I can.”

“Don’t do it, Ja – guh!” Rigar tugged on the rope, and Daniel cried out, his distressed shout choked off as the noose pulled against his throat.

“Daniel, stay out of this,” Jack ordered. “Has it not occurred to you that your position is a bit precarious at the moment?”

Rigar grinned. “All the more reason for you to comply with my requirements.”

Jack grumbled, “Yeah, okay. I’ll need help getting the crates out of the shuttle. Can I borrow the two younger guys?”

Rigar frowned. “Rigel, Galen,” he directed, “assist the general with his cargo.”

Jack led the small procession back to the shuttle. He stood to the side; the guard who had twice been his travel buddy held his weapon on him while the younger men unloaded the crates.

Casting his gaze skyward, Jack locked eyes with Daniel. He nodded. Fully aware that Daniel might not recognize the gesture at this distance without his glasses, still he trusted his friend would pick up on his confident stance.

He broke the connection, the distinctive snap of a crate’s catch being thrown drew his gaze back to the men around him. Tossing the lid off the crate, Rigar’s son yanked out one of the automatic rifles and thrust it in Jack’s direction.

Hesitating for just a heartbeat, Jack took the weapon and quickly demonstrated the means to make it fully functional.

“Here,” he said, pushing the rifle back at the kid. “Shoot it that way,” he instructed, motioning over the young man’s shoulder. “Careful you don’t hit anyone.”

Spinning, Rigel brought the rifle to shoulder level. A single bullet shot from the barrel and ripped through the tin-like ceiling. The other guards startled, one man covering his ears with his hands, and Jack scoffed lightly.

“Okay,” he called to Rigar. “You know how to make the weapons work. Now let Daniel go.”

Rigar canted his head, making a show of considering the demand. “No,” he said.

“What do you mean no?” Jack marched forward a few steps, Rigel shuffling after him. “That was the deal.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave either, O’Neill,” Rigar decreed. “Rigel.”

Rigar’s son turned the SGC-issue weapon him, and Jack scowled. Glaring up at the kid’s father, he shouted, “Listen, you lunatic –”

The wall burst open in a shower of metal and flames. Men poured through the opening, led by a large dark warrior.

Jack whirled on Rigel and managed to grab hold of the rifle. Sliding his hand around the trigger housing to prevent the weapon from firing, Jack tugged it out of the younger man’s grasp. In the same motion, he brought the butt up and under Rigel’s jaw. It struck with a muted crack and Rigel staggered backward and fell.

Tucking the butt of the rifle into his shoulder, Jack raised the weapon, centering Rigar’s head in the crosshairs. His target lurched out of the sight and, glancing around the muzzle, Jack cursed. Rigar lunged towards Daniel, his position placing the archaeologist between him and his would-be assassin.  

A quick scan revealed that his teams were swiftly gaining the upper hand, and Jack again turned his attention to the rebel leader. Up on the catwalk, Rigar grappled with Daniel, pushing him towards the railing. The archaeologist put his head down, driving his shoulder into his captor’s midsection.

Jack ran to the stairs, taking them at a greater velocity than was probably advisable given their dilapidated condition. On the landing, he pivoted towards the battling duo, cursing as the sudden change in direction shot pain through his right knee. He stumbled, expelling an oath as the P-90 slipped from his grasp and slid down the stairs. Using the railing for support, he righted himself.  Catching sight of his friend, he staggered forward, the rifle forgotten.

Daniel was on his back. Rigar had one of his legs, dragging him towards the edge of the catwalk.

“Rigar!” Jack yelled.

Rigar turned, snarling, and redoubled his efforts. Daniel kicked out as Rigar twisted the leg, and his upper body slid over the side. Flailing, he managed to hook his knee behind one of the railing supports. Suspended upside down ten meters above the ground, still Daniel shouted defiance.

Leaping towards him, Jack shoved Rigar backward. Heedless of the agony it caused him, Jack fell to his knees and grabbed at Daniel’s belt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rigar lurch forward, a USAF issue Beretta clutched in his fist. Instinctively lifting his arm to ward off the shot, Jack flinched instinctively from the blood and brain matter that rained down from Rigar’s ruined head. Gaze following the body as it tumbled from its perch, he raised a thumbs up to Kal’toc, who kept the enemy in his sights while Grogan checked for life signs.

Unconcerned whether Rigar had survived the shot or the fall, Jack heaved on Daniel’s belt.  Grunting, Daniel bent at the waist, executing an inverted sit up, and got himself close enough that Jack was able to wrap his other hand around his upper arm and pull him to safety.

His archaeologist safe on the catwalk, Jack fell over backward. The two men lay together in a tangled heap, breathing heavily. After a moment, Jack gingerly slipped the noose over Daniel’s head.

“Thanks,” Daniel rasped.

Grinning, Jack patted him on the shoulder. “All part of the job.” 

Daniel snorted and struggled to a seated position. Jack was untying his bound hands, when he asked urgently, “Has anyone found Mitchell?”

“Shit,” Jack spat, reminded that he might not be getting all of his kids home safely. “Teal’c,” he called over the side. “Find out where they took Mitchell.”

“Already on it, sir,” Carter hollered back. “He’s weak, but alive.”

“He’s alive?” Daniel gasped elatedly.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Carter continued. “Parey’s sent a medical detail, which should be arriving at any time. How is Daniel?”

Capturing Daniel’s gaze, Jack winked. “He probably won’t be giving any lectures for a while, but, all in all, I’d say he’s gonna be just fine.”

“That’s good to hear, sir. Are you going to need help getting him down?”

His neck warmed, and Jack pulled a face. “Actually, I think we’re both gonna need help,” he griped. “I took that turn at the top of the steps a little too quickly and my knee didn’t quite keep up.”

“Yes, sir,” Carter returned evenly. “I’ll send someone up to you.”

Collapsing back on the catwalk, Jack waved a dismissive hand. “No hurry,” he sighed.

*****

Careful of his outstretched leg, Jack expertly navigated his wheelchair through the narrow doorway. He winced in sympathy, his expression mirroring Mitchell’s as, recognizing his visitor, the junior officer automatically came to some semblance of attention, the move pulling on his wound.

“At ease, son,” Jack ordered mildly. Propelling himself to Mitchell’s bedside, he set the brake and inquired, “How are you doing?”

“I’ll be fine, sir,” Mitchell assured him. “According to Dr. Lam, the bullet just skimmed the surface before lodging in the muscles of the abdominal wall. No organs were damaged; I just bled a lot. I should be released tomorrow, but I’ll be out of the field for a few weeks.”

“You can use the time to catch up on paperwork,” Jack suggested. “That’s what I do.”

“Yes, sir.” Mitchell replied quietly. Scowling, he dropped his gaze to the hands resting in his lap.

“Something on your mind, Colonel?” Jack asked after a moment, the pensive knot in Mitchell’s forehead speaking volumes.

Mitchell startled, a hand automatically going to his injured side. He pulled a cautious deep breath and locked eyes with Jack. “I owe you an apology, sir,” he said evenly. “I promised to keep Jackson safe and I let you down. Those rebels should never have gotten the drop on us.”

Waving a hand, Jack figuratively batted away the self-rebuke. “Oh, get over yourself,” he said. “First off, you were ambushed. I was reminded once by a very wise man, that the key to a good ambush is that you don’t see it coming. You had assurances that these rebels only operated at night and you had two of their guards watching your six. There was nothing you could have done. Secondly, once they got the drop on you, you were right not to try anything. They were the ones with all the weapons, not to mention superior numbers. You might have gotten yourself killed, or worse, gotten Daniel killed. You were right to wait him out. Besides, to my recollection, the only thing you promised was to not let Daniel out of your sight and, except for the part where you were shot and dragged off, you stuck to that bargain.

“Plus, I understand you took that bullet for him.”

“As much as I’d like to take credit for being a hero, that wasn’t my intention. I was just doing what any good team leader would do, trying to distract the bad guy from hurting someone under my command – temporary or not.”

Snorting softly at the notion that Daniel was under anyone’s command, Jack nodded concurrence. “Still, I appreciate you looking out for my team. Thanks.”

Mitchell shrugged off the comment, giving no indication he begrudged O’Neill the ‘my team’ reference. “Well, his skin is much more valuable than mine.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Jack advised.

*****

Daniel absently sipped his coffee, his full attention on the friend sitting at the commissary table across from him.

“Mallin just showed up in Parey’s office a few days later,” Sam reported. “They’ve questioned her, but she apparently doesn’t even remember leaving the council room, let alone going to the warehouse. Parey’s turned her over to one of the doctors for observation. Speculation is Rigar’s control over her died with him, though they’re not even sure how he did it. Parey’s hopeful, though, that Mallin can one day return to her place as her assistant.”

“I hope so, too,” Daniel replied earnestly. “Rigar’s influence ran pretty deep. She was obviously instructed to do whatever it took to remain at Parey’s side so she could keep an eye on things. She diligently took on the role of devoted follower to her adopted gods, even going so far as to go into hysterics when I disparaged them.”

“Well, she had to be convincing, I guess. Rigar wouldn’t take the chance that those close to her would suspect that her commitment wasn’t genuine.”

“I suppose it could have been worse; imagine if Mallin’s dedication to the Ori had been real.”  Daniel set his cup down with deliberation. “Actually, the events on Optrica have got me thinking. The Triumvirs admitted that the prior’s visit played a role in the population’s discontent with the government and made them susceptible to the rebels’ influence. How many more people have been left confused and hurting since the Ori were exposed as frauds? How many others have chosen to ignore the priors and gotten lost along the murderous path the Ori set them on?”

“That’s a distressing thought. What can we do about it?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Daniel confessed. “But we brought the Ori to this galaxy and we were responsible for their demise. It just seems right that we should organize some sort of assistance program to help those the Ori victimized – soldier as well as civilian – regain some semblance of their past lives.”

Sam nodded. “It’s a worthy endeavor. Parey said the riots stopped after Rigar died and his followers were returned to exile, but she’s still concerned about the full effect of the prior’s revelation. I’m glad Nyan and his sister decided to stay on Earth.”

“Me, too.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Daniel watched Sam rub her fingertips around the rim of her mug, as though she were a glass musician and her ceramic cup a crystal goblet. She stared at her hand, forehead puckered in concentration.

“Sam? Something else bothering you?”

Startled from her thoughts, Sam snatched her hand from the mug. She pressed it against the table and met his gaze evenly. “I wasn’t going to say but, it’ll be in my report, so…”

A flutter of dread stirred Daniel’s stomach. “What?”

“Rigar was going to use that memory altering technology on us,” Sam disclosed. “Parey said he’d already decided before he zatted the Colonel and me that, if you didn’t give him the information he wanted, he was going to take it by force.” She dropped her gaze to her cup. “That secure facility he ordered us moved to had a medical wing and trained technicians –”

“Who had the knowledge necessary to remove and rewrite memory and no compunction about using it,” Daniel finished bitterly.

“Yeah.”

“Where is the device now?”

“It was destroyed, along with the rest of the Bedrosian interrogation technology when Optrica took over.”

Daniel nodded. “So, you and Parey have struck up a friendship, huh?”

“It’s more a mutual respect,” Sam amended. “I know you don’t understand this, but she was just following orders.”

“You mean when she stood by and said nothing while Rigar tortured and nearly killed us?”  Daniel grimaced. “Sorry. I really don’t want to revisit the past. Are you going to recommend that Optrica be added to the list of possible allies?”

“I already have. They have a lot to offer in the way of technology. General O’Neill is insisting we take it slow, but Cameron has already put his name on the waiting list in case the Pentagon approves their shuttle design for general use.”

Daniel smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Well, I’d say he’s earned it,” he said.

*****

Daniel halted at the threshold of Nyan’s office, a fond smile stretching his features. Oblivious to the attention, Nyan flipped through the topmost of a half dozen tomes open on the table in front of him.

Passing his gaze around the brightly lit interior, Daniel touched on the collections of photographs, small plants and other personal touches before returning his consideration on the room’s occupant. Watching Nyan work, Daniel’s expression transitioned from affection to awe as Sam’s revelation came back to him. Rigar had planned to use the memory device on them; to extract information by force without regard to the damage it would have done to their memories, their intellect, their psyches. He would have shattered their souls long before he destroyed their bodies.

Nyan had saved them from that. By allying himself with Teal’c, he had rescued them all from something far worse than death at the hands of the enemy.

Nyan glanced up. “Daniel,” he greeted. “Come in. Would you like some coffee?”

“Talk about your rhetorical questions,” Daniel chuckled, his melancholia lifting immediately.

“Huh?”

Daniel waved off the comment. “Nothing.” He pulled out one of the tall stools at the worktable and climbed onto it. Nyan poured a second cup of coffee and set it before him. “Thank you,” Daniel said and took a sip. “I heard you were back from Optrica. Have you retrieved all of Nala’s belongings?”

“Everything that she wanted to bring with her, yes.”

“How’s she settling in?”

 “She’s finding the traffic a bit aggravating. Watching for cars was not something we ever had to worry about on our home planet.”

“I imagine she’s going to find a lot of things are very different here.”

“Yes,” Nyan concurred. He glanced down at the hands wrapped around his own coffee cup before hesitantly continuing, “Actually, I was hoping I could get a few weeks off, maybe help her acclimate.”

“Of course,” Daniel readily agreed. “Take as much time as you need. Leave a list of ongoing assignments with Dr. Bailey before you go.”

“Thank you. I’ll finish out the day and start my leave tomorrow. You’ll still be able reach me on my cell, if you need me.”

“You are essential to the department,” Daniel laughed lightly, “but between the two of us, I think Dr. Bailey and I can manage until you get back. I may need help on that text you brought back from P2X-345, though. I think, with Jack out of action for a few weeks, I’ll finally have some time to work on it.”

Nyan smiled. “Sure, just give me a call.”

“And you let me know if I can help you and Nala with anything,” Daniel countered. He downed his coffee in a few hearty gulps. “Well, I should let you get back to what you were doing,” he said, sliding from the stool. “Let’s plan lunch when you get back.”

“That would be great. Good-bye, Daniel… and thank you.”

Smiling faintly, Daniel turned and left Nyan to his work. He made his way down the hall to the office he maintained on Level 18. Again, he halted on the threshold and contemplated the room. In contrast to Nyan’s warm, inviting space, this one seemed dim and gloomy. Not yet ready to immerse himself in the solitude of work, Daniel headed to the infirmary.

Making the turn into Jack’s room, he hailed, “Hey.” He pulled up short, grinning at Jack’s decidedly discontented pose.

Slumped awkwardly, Jack struggled upright when he saw Daniel and flapped a hand at the nurse who was adjusting the pillows under his knee, shooing her from his bedside. “Hey,” he returned brightly. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be taking advantage of the downtime to catch up on some of your translations.”

“That was the plan.” Daniel shrugged. “But, then it occurred to me I hadn’t been down here since they got you settled, so… how’s the knee?”

“Sprained. How’s your throat?”

Daniel swallowed convulsively, gingerly fingering the abrasion on his neck. “Better. Lucky for me Rigar enjoyed the threat of death far more than the actual killing.”

“He was a sadistic bastard,” Jack decreed.

“Yet, you were willing to give him weapons,” Daniel charged. “Though, if he knew you better, I don’t think you’d have gotten away with the ruse.”

“What makes you think it was a ruse?  I told you, Daniel, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you guys home.”

“Well, you never would have gotten the okay from our government.”

“Rigar had no way of knowing that,” Jack said offhandedly. He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a diplomat. I failed miserably at keeping my cool during those negotiations.”

Daniel shook his head. “Not a valid example,” he opined. “You were never going to get cooperation from Rigar, and you knew it. He wasn’t worth the effort, but you can be diplomatic when it counts.”

“You think so, huh?” Jack asked dubiously.

“You must be doing something right. Angius is eager to resume talks with you.”

“The Solar Guy? You talked to him?”

Letting the purposeful mangling of the name pass without comment, Daniel confirmed, “Yeah, earlier this morning. He said we should contact him as soon as you’re back on your feet.”

“Oy,” Jack grunted, “more bowing. I’ll get my knee back in good working order just in time to throw my back out.”

“Go ahead and complain if it makes you feel better. But, I have it on good authority you’ve done an admirable job following Solarjaian customs.”

Jack snorted ill-humoredly. “Carter’s got a big mouth.” 

“Actually, it was Angius who sang your praises. He didn’t expect you to make such a concerted effort, given your high standing. He said he’s never been so honored by the mindfulness of an outsider. You’ve left a very favorable impression.”

“Well,” Jack said around a mischievous grin, “that’s all well and good, but I’ll never have the heart of his daughter.”

Daniel winced. “Which reminds me, thank you so much for tossing out that little remark about Desirata just as we were going through the gate to P2X-416. Vala found the comment especially intriguing. Not only did I have to fend her off as soon as we reached the other side, she’s tried to corner me twice since we’ve been back. I’ll have to see if I can get Sam to take her shopping or something…”

*****

Jack relaxed into his pillows and pulled a contented sigh. The words washed over him like a series of gently lapping waves, calming in spite of Daniel’s agitation. The contentment would wear off – it always did – and he’d once again gripe that Daniel was disturbing his rest.

But, for now, having brought Daniel back once again from the brink of disaster, Jack reveled in the sound. He’d come so close to never hearing that voice again. And that specter of silence was a far worse consequence to contemplate.

The end

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