Thanks to: The entire Pegasus B community. SF, Mara Celes and Raqs for betas above and beyond the call of duty. Kuwdora, for creating two beautiful wallpapers to go with the story. And Salieri, for making the covers and for letting us all play in the sandbox she built.

CHAPTER 1: THE WAITING ROOM

Daniel doesn't squeal like a girl when the wormhole spits him out. His breath does rush out of him, though, and he staggers a bit, crowding up against Dumais, who falls forward a step, drops her case with a clatter and says in a soft exhalation, "Damnit."

Daniel can't figure out why everyone is crowded up together in the "debarkation area." The colonel said to clear it as soon as they got through. That was an order. But everyone is standing still and the event horizon is belching the last few people and Daniel has to push up against Dumais again, who moves aside as much as she can. Her ponytail is in Daniel's face. Angling his head and spitting out the hair, he looks over her shoulder and tries to make sense of things.

At the far end of the "debarkation area" there's an open space in the crowd. In the middle of that space are the colonel and Dr. Weir. In front of them is a guy in jeans and a Green Bay Packers t-shirt and he's pressing the muzzle of a gun to Dr. Weir's forehead.

"What the hell?" Daniel says.

"Don't make me ask again, Colonel. Identify the adept and the linguist and Dr. Weir gets to keep her cortex."

With a ripping sound – one universe shearing away from another – the wormhole disengages and the blue, wavery glow is replaced by the thin, low-angled light of dawn – or maybe sunset – that seems to sluice in at knee-level, leaving the rest of the room, that wide balcony, the corridors leading away under it, in shadow. There are shapes in there, darker shadows.

The colonel doesn't answer, but Daniel can tell from the way he angles his head that he's pretty much saying, "fuck you."

The stranger sighs and bites his lip, then looks into the crowd. On the balcony, there's a sort of electric crackling sound and a dozen sparks in the darkness. The colonel raises his head. Daniel's pretty sure he's counting. Weir stands very still.

"I need Daniel Jackson and Major John Sheppard," the guy calls out clearly.

"Why?" the colonel asks.

When they guy opens his mouth to answer, there's a whining sound – it comes from outside, not from him, even though for a second it seems like it – and a sudden concussion that rocks the floor a bit. Dumais steps backward into Daniel and he steadies her with a hand on the small of her back.

"That's why," the guy says. "That's a very unfriendly thing called a Wraith. There are about a hundred more of them on their way in little fighter ships and behind them are three carriers and they are gonna bomb the fuck out of this city and suck the life out of all of us." He flexes his fingers on the gun and Weir's head leans back a bit under the new pressure. "We've intercepted the data stream from one of the ships and we need to read it and if Daniel Jackson doesn't step – "

"Who the fuck are you?" the colonel demands, cutting the guy off.

"Waitaminute!" It's Rodney, stepping around Grodin and up beside the colonel, his finger pointing accusingly. "I know you. I know you! You're – " He snaps his fingers rapidly. "That guy from Systems? Zelenka!"

"No," comes a weary, irritated voice from behind a stack of medical supplies. "I'm Zelenka."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Rodney turns toward the voice, his eyes pausing on Daniel, before he spins back to not-Zelenka and the gun. "Zewicky!" he says with a little jump as he hits on it. "You went – " a flutter fingers next to his temple, " – and bailed out of the program."

"I didn't bail," Zewicky objects sourly. "I found somebody with a bit of vision and a fast ship – " He cocks his head toward the balcony behind him. " – who made me a much better offer."

There should have been some kind of music sting, Daniel thinks, but there isn't. Still, it's kind of impressive when up on the balcony the shapes resolve into men, a lot of men in rustling chain mail and leather, and long staffs aimed down at the crowd. And front and centre, coming out of the shadows to lean on the railing, there's a guy in a long, black fitted jacket, high in the collar, a clean, elegant silhouette, sort of Demagogue GQ. He's got dark hair and a neat goatee and a strong chin and black eyes that are squinted up a little because he's smiling down at them. Part of Daniel's brain goes, "Hel-lo" and the rest of it cringes, because that smile is not a good smile. So not a good smile. Still, the renegade part of his brain isn't quite backing down, even when Rodney turns toward him and gives him a "Don't even think about it" glare. Daniel ignores him, because the dark man is laughing softly and now there's something wrong with the eyes, like for a second they're reflecting the light from a sun that hasn't yet broken the horizon.

At the front of the crowd on the floor, the colonel stiffens and then slumps just a little. "Oy," he says, and rubs his temple with his fingers.

On the balcony, the dark man straightens and lifts a hand to signal the soldiers around him, but before he can speak, the colonel interrupts.

"No, please. Allow me." Pulling himself to attention and sucking in a big breath, the colonel bellows, "Jaffa! KREE!"

– – –

"Stop!" Daniel shouted at Ba'al, who was doing...something...terrible to Rodney. Daniel wasn't sure what; it had something to do with the metal gauntlet on his hand. Rodney wasn't screaming, which somehow made it worse.

The tall, dark man closed his hand, and just like that, the beam that had been battering Rodney's head shut off. Rodney collapsed backwards, and Daniel caught him, slowly lowering him to the floor. Another pair of arms grabbed Rodney from the other side to help.

"Why do you always get between me and the bullies?" Daniel asked softly.

Rodney let out a couple of short, gasping breaths. His forehead was red and hot, and his body was shaking. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. Don't go with him."

"He'll kill you if I don't," Daniel said, pressing his cheek against Rodney's. He pressed his mouth against the other man's ear and whispered, so low that it was more a breath than a sentence, "And you can't help me if you're dead."

Rodney gasped, and sagged some more, but Daniel could feel his slight nod.

Daniel pulled away then, looking up at the other man who had caught Rodney. It was the grey-haired, flint-eyed colonel - only now his eyes were soft and wide, as if the scene before him had broken some sort of shell. "Take care of him for me," Daniel said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

The colonel nodded, and Daniel rose and turned to face Ba'al. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said.

"Kree!" Ba'al said to two of his soldiers, who immediately grabbed Daniel by the arms and marched him out of the control room. He glanced over his shoulder just before he rounded the corner to see the colonel slowly helping Rodney sit up. Rodney looked after Daniel, his eyes full of despair.

Daniel looked away, clenched his teeth, and began to write a definition of the word "Kree" in his head.

As they walked down the hall, the armored soldiers moved him double-time until he was even with Ba'al. He thought about asking questions, but the earlier cultural questions he'd tried to ask of the Jaffa had been received with shoves and careless cuffs about the head. The clouts were hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to leave bruises, and Daniel had wondered, after what was done to Ford and Zelenka, if they'd had special orders regarding one Dr. Daniel Jackson.

The handsome man turned his head to look at him. "You care for him," he said in that eerie, vibrato voice.

"He's my best friend," Daniel replied. "And you need him. I don't care what that scientist you brought along says - if he were as smart as Rodney, y-y-you wouldn't have needed Rodney to solve your defense routing problem."

His captor smiled slightly. "Oh, I believe he will be very useful to me."

Somehow, Daniel didn't think they were talking about the same kind of useful.

They came to a door - beautiful, in a Frank Lloyd Wright kind of way. It slid back to reveal a large room decorated with curtains, carpets, and opulent jewel-toned fabrics, with an enormous bed in the center. Next to the bed knelt Major Sheppard; one of Ba'al's soldiers stood behind him, both hands on his shoulders, holding him there. From the blood trickling from the corner of the Major's mouth, it was obvious that it had taken some effort to get him into that position. Sheppard looked up at him, green eyes narrowed and jaw tense, everything about him a complete reversal from the relaxed, kind man he'd met less than twelve hours ago on Earth.

Ba'al smiled, a self-satisfied smirk that sparked a thrilled trembling deep in Daniel's gut. He pulled off his tailored jacket, and began unfastening the clasps on the vest beneath. "So," he said, some sort of wry humor making his smile broader, "I imagine you both are wondering why I brought you here tonight."

As Ba'al's broad, muscular chest was bared, his soldiers began to pull Daniel's jacket from his body. Sheppard tried to fight when the soldier holding him did the same. Ba'al lifted his hand - the one with the metal on it - and waved it, with one sharp gesture causing the Major to slump, stunned.

Daniel looked from Ba'al to Sheppard to the bed. His stomach flipped. This was awful. This was horrible.

And that little voice inside his head that Daniel had tried to train himself not to listen to said, This is what porn movies are made of.

As Ba'al moved toward him, it occurred to Daniel that this was the most excitement he'd had since...well, since Rodney had left Cambridge, actually. Whatever happened next, at least he wasn't going to be bored.

Dammit, Jackson, he thought to himself, you need to have your head examined.

–

In the commissary line, McKay took a swing at Kavanagh. The crack of his fist against the other scientist's jaw was audible, even from across the room. As the Jaffa moved in to break up the fight, Jack made a break for the transporter door. Who knew McKay could throw a punch like that? Jack thought as the doors slid open. Then again, there was supposedly no love lost between the two scientists, and after only one conversation with Kavanagh, Jack couldn't blame McKay for throwing himself a little too earnestly into the role he was playing.

The Jaffa were slow to move, slow to turn, even slower to shoot. "You must be new," Jack shouted as the doors closed behind him, the singing heat of a staff blast hitting the floor near his feet just before they snapped shut. Ba'al was understaffed and overextended, too many of his men killed by the Wraith, and it was working in Jack's favor. On the screen, he touched the north pier.

Dr. McKay says the sensors are out there due to flooding, Weir had told him, drawing the map in maple syrup on her military-issue flapjack like a stylized flower. Ba'al needed the Atlantis crew if he was going to keep the station running, and little things like good food went a long way to making the captives think the captor was an ally, not an enemy. He logged your biosigns. He wrote a virus. Once you vanish into this section, Atlantis will never register you on its internal detection sensors again. Ba'al won't be able to find you.

The doors opened. The corridors were dark. Jack ran, ignoring the throbbing twist in his right knee whenever he took a step.

I can't abandon my troops, Jack had whispered to Weir through gritted teeth.

She had looked at him, jaw set. He'd seen Carter look like that a few times; there was no moving her when she did. You have to. You're the only one who has been trained for this. And Zewicky doesn't know you have the Ancient gene. Then she'd paused, and glanced across the room at McKay, who'd given her a little nod and gotten up to stand in the commissary line, behind Kavanagh. Besides, Ba'al remembers you, she'd said then. He won't leave you alone forever. And we can't afford to lose you.

He rounded a corner at full speed, the pain still spearing through his knee. He'd forgotten, in his time retired, that he could run this fast. A staticky feeling crawled over his skin, and he looked behind him to see a pale blue, shimmering energy field forming across the hallway in his wake.

He could hear the sound of the door to the transporter sliding open. He pulled a little bag out of his pocket, reached through the irritating energy of the force field, and quickly scattered the contents on the floor. The energy field wavered, suddenly looking more dense.

He sprinted down the hall again, sliding into an alcove, and waited. Moments later, the Jaffa ran down the hall, following his path. The one on point hit the force field at full speed.

He didn't come out the other side. A cascade of ashes, like a special effect from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, fell to the floor.

The next Jaffa managed to stop before he fully hit the shield, but he was leading with his head. Jack winced reflexively as he saw the results, his muffled hiss covered by the shouts of Ba'al's other soldiers.

McKay rigged an energy field. Weir had pushed something, a tiny cloth sack, into his hands beneath the table. Beckett used your blood samples to create this. When they analyze it, they'll think you were disintegrated.

The Jaffa called frantically for reinforcements, for a science team. Eventually Kavanagh and McKay came down, both looking angry and under Jaffa guard.

McKay thinks there's something down there. Something we can use. Weir's voice whispered through his head.

He'd signed on to explore new places, after all. There was just a lot less Gate travel involved this time around.

Help us.

Jack slipped back into the shadows.

–

Daniel sat on the sarcophagus, naked and shivering. Ba'al kept his chambers warm enough that clothes weren't necessary; the chill came from inside.

Ba'al had more uses for the hand device than torture, Daniel had discovered. He'd set fire to all of Daniel's nerves with it, making him shudder with pleasure, cry out until he was hoarse. He kept Daniel on the edge for what seemed like hours before taking him.

And as Daniel lay on the bed, spent and sated and barely able to move, Ba'al had brutally raped Major Sheppard on the floor. Daniel had tried, sluggishly, to come to the other man's defense, but Ba'al had thrown him aside with the ribbon device. Daniel had watched, wide-eyed and dazed, as the false god casually snapped the pilot's neck.

He listened to the low hum of the sarcophagus, feeling the slight vibrations pass through him. He'd known what it was as soon as the Jaffa had dropped John's body into it like a sack of garbage; Rodney had given him a whispered briefing on the Goa'uld while they'd been working together on the Ancient equipment.

Daniel wondered what it would be like to die as John had. It was the same curiosity that made him hesitant to stand on the edge of a cliff, or against the railing of a balcony, or on the lip of a subway platform when the train was coming. He wasn't suicidal, but if he wasn't careful he knew his inquisitiveness would override his self-preservation instinct, and he'd step off the edge just so he could know what it was like.

The hum stopped, and after a quiet click, the lid of the sarcophagus began to open. Daniel slid off it, then stood at the foot, waiting. If he were rising from the dead, he'd want to see a friendly face when he came back.

The major lay in the sarcophagus, naked, skin a little paler than Daniel had expected. He looked unmarred, the livid bruises left on him by the Jaffa vanished as if they'd been rubbed out by an artist's eraser. His eyes opened, vividly green in the eerie light, and locked with Daniel's almost instantly. There should have been some sort of a transition, Daniel thought,a few of those soft slippery moments that usually came with waking up, instead of instant clarity.

Sheppard's face barely moved, but a tumult of emotions passed through his eyes. "Where's Ba'al?" the major asked after a moment, sitting up.

"Gone. I don't know where; his Jaffa pulled him out of here in a rush," Daniel responded.

A little tension seemed to leave the man's shoulders. "O'Neill?"

"O'Neill?" Daniel replied, confused.

"The colonel."

So that was the gray-haired colonel's name. "When I last saw him, he was taking care of Rodney," Daniel said, reaching out to help Sheppard out of the sarcophagus.

"Still alive. Well, that's something." the major replied. "Who's Rodney?" He ignored Daniel's hand, standing up and climbing out with the slow movements of a man who expects everything to hurt.

"Dr. McKay. The head scientist."

"Oh," Sheppard said, looking around the room. "Is he..."

"I think he'll be okay," Daniel said, trailing after the major as he left the antechamber for the bedroom. "Ba'al used the same hand device on him that he used on you."

"Hurt like a son of a bitch," Sheppard replied in a distracted tone. "Hey, where's our clothes?"

"I don't think we get any while we're in here, Major,"

The major looked at him then, and smiled wryly. "I've watched you have sex, and you've seen me die. I think you can call me John."

Daniel reached out his hand for a handshake, reflexively. John took it before Daniel realized the awkwardness of it, and the very normalcy of the moment, with both of them standing naked in the false god's bedroom, made everything more surreal.

"I did die, right?" John said, looking at the spot where he'd been kneeling when Ba'al snapped his neck. "I mean, that really felt like..."

"I'm pretty sure you did," Daniel said, in a low voice.

"Wow," John said, glancing through the doorway at the sarcophagus. "Wish we'd had one of those in Afghanistan." He turned back to Daniel. "No clothes."

"It's a technique used by some captors in order to put their victims into a mindset of helplessness..."

John shook his head. "I got the lecture on all this in OCS." He frowned and walked over to the wall. "Although I think I skipped the day when they told us about getting killed and resurrected by an alien god."

And raped, Daniel thought. John seemed to be avoiding that part. If John wanted to deny it, Daniel wasn't about to bring it up; he'd learned over the years that a little denial could be a healthy thing, no matter what Rodney said.

John touched a cube that sat on a side table; above it, two gold panels, not dissimilar in design from the sarcophagus, slid back to reveal a screen. "Now we're getting somewhere," John said, looking at the symbols spilling over the panel. "What does this say?"

Daniel looked at the symbols, then looked closer.

"Well?" John asked, a little impatiently.

Daniel shook his head, fascinated. "It looks - I think it's a little like Linear A," he said excitedly.

"Linear A. Wasn't that the Babylonian alphabet?"

"Minoan, actually," Daniel murmured, his eyes drifting down the screen.

"You mean, when this guy says he's Ba'al..."

"Well, Ba'al was worshipped by the Canaanites and the Phoenecians, not the Minoans. " Daniel said, tapping a button. More symbols flashed on the screen. The surface was slightly glossy, and Daniel could see his own image over the symbols, John a ghostly presence behind him. "I - the whole problem we've had on Earth is that there's nothing like the Rosetta Stone for it. We haven't had a context for the symbols."

"But now you do. See? You're getting somewhere," John said.

Daniel reached out and underlined some of the symbols with his finger. "Not really. Not unless someone tells me what a few of these mean." It was the old archaeo-linguist's nightmare - a civilization with a vast library, none of which could be understood.

"I don't suppose Ba'al moves his lips when he reads," John said.

"It wouldn't be in English, anyway. I'd need a translation," Daniel said, as the slippery little beads of mercury in his head, all reflecting tiny indecipherable images, suddenly came together to give him the full picture.

It was a really bad idea.

It would give him the chance to learn about a new culture - and wasn't that why he came halfway across the galaxy?

It could save them all.

Rodney was going to kill him.

Daniel licked his lips and met John's eyes in the dim reflection of the computer screen. "He might explain it to me. If he...trusted me."

"That's a really bad idea," John said.

"There's a long tradition of enslaved former enemies becoming secretaries to their new leader," Daniel said.

"Yeah, and there's a long tradition of enslaved former enemies killing their new leader! I saw Spartacus," John countered.

Spartacus? Daniel thought, startled, but John continued, "Besides, isn't it a little too cliche?"

"Rodney said that cliche and Goa'uld go together like -" Daniel heard the door slide open; as one, they spun around.

The woman who came through, carrying a tray of food, was wearing a long, fitted dress, a reddish hue that showed off the cafe au lait color of her skin - Ba'al's taste, Daniel suspected. Her reddish-brown hair fell straight to her shoulders, and her almond-shaped eyes tensed with worry as she saw the two of them. There was something about the set of her shoulders, the way she looked at them, that made Daniel want to find out what was wrong, and help fix it.

Daniel suddenly remembered that he was naked, He automatically began to clasp his hands in front of him, then decided that limited coverage was probably worse than no coverage at all. "Ba'al said the two of you would need to be fed," she said, her voice a pleasing low alto.

"What are you, his servant?" John asked.

But she didn't move like a servant, Daniel thought. She moved like a leader. She began to draw herself up. "I -" Then she looked around the room, and her shoulders slumped, just a little. "Yes. I suppose I am, now. My people serve Ba'al in exchange for protection from the Wraith."

She serves Ba'al to protect her people, Daniel thought. She's the competition. He took the nascent flame of caring that had lit in his chest, and carefully blew it out. He couldn't afford to care about her problems, not if he was going to try to protect his own people. Not if he was going to try to protect Rodney. Rodney came first.

"I'm John," the major said, and held out a hand to her.

She reached out, clasping his forearm with her hand. After a second's startlement, John returned the gesture. "My name is Teyla," she said.

– – –

Sergeant Bates had a gun.

On any other mission, he would have laughed at the pea-shooter he was holding. It wasn't even a .38; Parker had apparently decided that the little DA Colt Diamondback .22 was of enough sentimental value to be his personal item. But Parker was dead, and the Jaffa hadn't gotten around to searching half the stuff the Atlantis team had brought with them, and now Bates had a gun. A .22 didn't have much shock power, but it would fragment inside the body and cause a lot of damage. And the dark storage room he crouched in was right next to one of the Jaffa dormitories.

Bates knew the moment he saw Ba'al that he wasn't going to make it out of this one alive. And within a day, things just got worse. Colonel O'Neill was dead, Ba'al had taken a personal interest in Major Sheppard, and Lieutenant Ford -

He didn't want to think about what had happened to Lieutenant Ford. He went back to checking the gun.

Six rounds. If he aimed well, that was six Jaffa down. It wasn't much, but it was something - and something was better than nothing. He checked the chamber, and clicked the safety off.

"Sergeant," a low female voice said behind him. He whirled around.

For a moment, all he could see was her silhouette, framed in the light streaming in from the corridor. She quickly stepped in, and the door slid shut behind her. His eyes hadn't adjusted, but he didn't need to see - he recognized Weir's soft alto. "Ma'am," he replied tersely.

"What are you planning to do with that?" she asked.

What do you think? he thought to himself. But respect for his superiors had been drilled into him by the Marine Corps, and even if she was a civilian, she was technically the leader of this now-doomed mission. "I need to do something, ma'am."

"I understand that," she said. "But firing on them - now - gets us nothing. In fact, it gets us less than nothing. If you shoot them, how long do you think they would let us move around the station without being under constant guard?"

Bates was filled with a rush of anger. He wasn't supposed to be here, making the big decisions. But all of the officers were out of action and the command structure, never clear in the first few days of a multi-branch operation such as this, had gone straight to hell. There was no one left to take orders from. "So that's it. We suck up to them? Let them enslave us?"

"No," Weir said, and the full force of her steely intensity was suddenly turned on him. In the gate room at the SGC, it had been enough to make him sit up and take notice; here it was like she had grabbed him by the throat. His spine suddenly straightened. "We wait. And we plan." She looked at the gun in his hand. "How many more of those do you think you can find?"

Bates shook his head. "I have no idea, ma'am."

"Sergeant Bates," she said, and he tried not to show his shock - he'd been the military's pick for the mission, not hers, and he didn't even think she knew his name. "I'm putting you in charge of finding out. Find every weapon you can, and hide them. I'll tell them you're our supply specialist. That should give you plenty of opportunity to search."

"Ma'am - my records say I'm military security," Bates replied.

His eyes had adjusted enough now to see the curve of her lips. "All our personnel records were lost. Apparently, an undetected computer virus came through the gate with us. Doctor McKay was quite upset at the incompetence of the SGC." She leaned closer. "Sergeant Bates, you're an expert in military security. Does that mean you know something about terrorism?"

Bates remembered bombs, and blood, and screaming. "I did a tour in Afghanistan, ma'am," he said.

She folded her arms. "Good," she said. "Because it's time for you to start thinking like the people you used to protect the bases from."

The people who a naive Marine corporal decided to trust. The people who operated in cells, who didn't let the left hand know what the right hand was doing, who seemed helpful and kind until the day they walked through the gates with a bomb strapped to their belly. The people who wouldn't give up information on the big plan no matter how much pressure you applied, because they didn't have any. He clamped his mouth shut for a moment as his stomach heaved convulsively about the thought of becoming one of them.

And between one breath and the next, the heaving stopped - because he had his orders, and he would be damned if he flinched at carrying them out. "Yes, ma'am."

– –

"Does it work?" Elizabeth whispered to Rodney as they walked down the empty corridor.

Instead of answering, he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her toward him in an affectionate motion that blocked the pair of Jaffa behind them from seeing between their bodies. His other hand slipped inside his jacket, pulling out something about the size of a palmtop computer. Four dots were at the center of the display, two of them almost on top of each other, the two just below the first pair a bit further apart. Like in a videogame, architectural line drawings of walls passed by the dots on either side. He slipped the device into her right hand, and as he let go of it the display turned dark.

She glanced up at him, flashing him a quick smile before she turned her head enough for the Jaffa to see. She brushed her lips against his cheek, and as she did breathed, "You have the Ancient gene now."

"And so will you," he murmured in reply. "Find some reason to stay with Carson when we're done. Make up an illness. He's got a syringe prepared for you. He's bringing it here."

She started to hand the device back to him; he pushed it toward her. "I've got one. Keep it. A friend sent it for you."

O'Neill, she thought, tucking it in her inside pocket as they stepped up to the door of the lab. Rodney's hand slid over her spine as he drew slightly away from her. The door slid open.

Inside stood Carson, his already creased brow sliced with deep furrows of worry. Next to him, leaning comfortably against a table, was Ba'al, a Jaffa at his side and a cool, cruel smile on his face. Elizabeth wondered what he'd said to make Carson look so scared - or if he'd terrified the doctor with his smiling silence.

"Dr. Weir," Ba'al said in his smooth, eerie voice. "Please go to the console and translate the readout as it appears."

"Why isn't Daniel here?" interrupted Rodney as Elizabeth crossed the room. "He's better than Elizabeth at translating Ancient."

Don't antagonize him, she thought, as if she could send it out over a psychic link. Rodney's forehead was a constant red from his repeated encounters over the past week with the ribbon device. His instinctive reaction to being scared seemed to be to snipe at the people he considered responsible for the situation - and Ba'al didn't take such speech lightly.

"He is otherwise engaged," Ba'al responded, with a slightly condescending smile.

Rodney licked his lips. "Is he -"

"He is unharmed, and will continue to be so long as you cooperate," Ba'al said. He gestured to the object in the center of the room. It looked like an altar, with depressions on the left and the right side of the flat surface moulded in the shape of hands. "Dr. Beckett will begin operating the device. Dr. Weir will translate the readouts. And you, Rodney, will devise a way to interface it with my computers."

Elizabeth got a sick feeling in her stomach as she heard Ba'al's use of Rodney's first name. He was singling Rodney out. We can't afford for Ba'al to kill him, she thought. Not when he just got the Ancient gene. She could see the tension at the corners of Rodney's eyes; his poker face was terrible.

Carson got just a little paler as he slowly stepped up to the mechanism. He put his hands on the surface.

Nothing happened.

They all stared at him for a moment. Sweat formed on his forehead.

"We're waiting," Ba'al said quietly.

Carson squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The console flickered to life for a moment, then died.

Rodney reached toward the surface. Elizabeth suppressed a sharp inward breath. Don't touch it, she thought. If it activated at his touch, Ba'al would know, and they were all doomed.

Fortunately, Rodney seemed to remember at the same time, and changed the motion to a touch on Carson's back. "Come on. Focus for a minute."

"I am focusing!" Carson said, his eyes flying open, full of anxiety. "You know I'm terrible under pressure."

"Are you saying you cannot do it?" Ba'al said silkily.

Carson turned around, and Rodney took a step back. "Look, I'm a doctor, not some sort of Ancient-device-activation object!" he pleaded. "If you want me to treat someone who's sick or hurt, I'll be happy to. But there are other people on the mission much better for this work than I am."

Ba'al looked at him for a moment, then nodded slightly. "Kree," he said to the Jaffa that stood next to him.

Unflinching, the Jaffa whirled his staff weapon. Elizabeth's brain raced as she saw him aim, throwing out ten ways to diplomatically defuse the situation as the active end of the weapon opened up, glowing. From across the room, Elizabeth saw Carson's soft blue eyes go wide as the Jaffa fired, hitting him full in the chest. Carson was flung back against the console by the energy; his lifeless body slid to the floor. The whole thing hadn't even taken a second; she hadn't had time to move.

Rodney dropped to his knees next to the doctor. He reached down for a moment, as if he could do something to fix the other man's broken body, then looked up at Ba'al, an angry snarl on his face. "What the hell are you thinking? You need him. He's a doctor. What are you going to do if someone gets hurt? Or sick?"

Ba'al shrugged slightly. "That is why we have the sarcophagus," he said.

The entire room seemed to waver; Elizabeth grasped the console behind her, and she wondered if Ba'al had planned this all along.

"Take his body," Ba'al said to his Jaffa, gesturing with his chin at the doctor. "Throw it in the ocean."

"No!" Elizabeth exclaimed. Carson had the syringe in his pocket - the one with the Ancient gene for her. "Please - let us bury him according to the customs of his people."

Ba'al smiled. "His body will be disposed of according to the will of his god," he said. The Jaffa threw Carson's body over his shoulder, taking his body - and the syringe - away. "We will meet here tomorrow, when Major Sheppard will accompany me," he said.

Rodney looked up at her, his blue-gray eyes enormous in his pale face, as Ba'al swept out, telling the Jaffa at the door, "Escort them back to their quarters."

She reached down, helping Rodney to his feet. "But...but..." he stammered. "The sarcophagus - it can't treat more than one person at a time! What if there's an outbreak? Or an accident?"

"Then the people who are in Ba'al's favor will get treated first," Elizabeth said as they moved into the hall.

"Oh, no," Rodney whispered, deducing the rest. "You mean anyone who doesn't suck up might not get treated at all."

"Withholding medical treatment is one of the best ways to keep a rebellious population in check," Elizabeth said, gazing down the corridor as Ba'al rounded the corner, his black coat flaring behind him. "He knows what he's doing."

Just before Daniel's fist arced toward John's face, the archaeologist's eyes flicked a little to the right. It was momentary, almost indiscernible, and John wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been working out with Teyla so much. He reacted instantly, blocking the blow with the back of his left arm.

He redirected the motion, turned his own hand to grab Daniel's wrist, and twisted the other man's arm behind his back, bringing the scholar to his knees. Unexpectedly, Daniel kicked out with one leg in an ungainly motion, throwing John off-balance. Daniel wobbled, too, and started to fall over onto his side, his weight pulling John with him.

John managed to let go of Daniel's wrist before he wrenched the guy's shoulder out of its socket, but he couldn't twist out of the way enough to keep from slamming Daniel in the ribs with his elbow. Daniel let out a sudden whuff; John cursed as a shock of pain went up his funnybone.

"You're getting better," John said as he rolled onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling as he rubbed the sore spot, waiting for his fingertips to stop tingling. He'd wound up just a couple of inches from the sarcophagus. He could hear it humming to him.

Daniel groaned. "I still wind up on the floor every time," he said.

"Yeah, and Teyla still knocks me on my ass every time we spar," John said, sitting up, trying to ignore the sarcophagus' song. "Doesn't mean I'm not learning every time she does it."

Daniel squatted for a moment, forearms resting on his knees, head bowed, breathing heavily.

John pushed himself to his feet, then put a hand on Daniel's shoulder. The muscle there was well-defined, now; he no longer had the softness of someone who did all of his heavy lifting in a library. "You're a lot better," he reiterated. "Trust me. I'm going to be paying for it later." He brushed his hand against his thigh lightly, feeling the ache through the skin and deep into the muscle, where Daniel had connected with another kick earlier in their sparring session. He was going to have a hell of a bruise there - well, if Ba'al didn't put him in the sarcophagus before it had time to form.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the sarcophagus, sitting, golden and patient, waiting for him. A little thrill went through him, and he shivered. It had only been a day since Ba'al had put him in there, and already he was wishing the Goa'uld would kill him again.

The fact that John found himself looking forward to dying was beginning to worry him a bit. His skin still cringed at Ba'al's gentler touches; whenever the system lord's skin brushed against his John felt a desperate urge to scrub himself clean. And yet…

And yet. Lately John found himself looking forward to Ba'al's more brutal behavior, because when Ba'al was violent and vicious, it meant that John was going to wind up dead at the end. Being dead was, well, relaxing, really; it was a period of several minutes where John didn't have to think, or worry, or plan, or hope. He just didn't exist. It was kind of nice, not having to exist. It was like the universe had decided to give him a time-out, a physical and spiritual coffee break.

Then he'd suddenly snap out of not-existing and see the gentle glow of the sarcophagus, hear the quiet snick as the top of his temporary coffin finished sliding open, and see Daniel's bright blue eyes – and sometimes Teyla's warm brown ones, too – staring down at him, welcoming him back. And damn if it wasn't the best feeling in the world, seeing one or both of them as he was filled with uncanny energy and well-being.

Two days ago, it had been Teyla that Ba'al killed, slowly smothering the life out of her with one hand over her mouth, blocking her nose as he pushed into her. Her eyes had been wide and frightened. John had looked on, immobile and still twitching from the zat, and wished it was him that Ba'al was suffocating. Bring it on, do whatever you want to me, hurt me, cut me, just fucking kill me already and put me back in the GODDAMN BOX! he'd wanted to scream.

When it was his turn the next night, though, all he'd let out were inarticulate howls of pain. And then there was blessed, blessed darkness, and the wonderful nothingness, and then the quiet humming glow, the gentle click of the sarcophagus doors, the cool smooth innards of it giving his skin one last whispery kiss as Daniel pulled him out, those big blue eyes full of concern.

He realized those blue eyes were full of the same concern now, peering at him through shaggy, slightly sweaty dark blond hair. "What's going on?" Daniel said, in a tone that made John wonder just how long he'd spent lost in reverie.

"Nothing," John said, shaking his head, deliberately turning his mind to something else. "Like I said, you're a lot better. But you telegraphed that last punch. You moved your eyes."

Daniel sighed, standing up and stretching. "I don't know if I'll ever stop doing that."

"I haven't stopped doing that," John said. "Why do you think Teyla keeps dropping me every day?"

They heard the door of the room slide open, and tensed up in unison. Daniel, who Ba'al had yet to harm, instantly put himself between John and the door. Yeah, Daniel was a decent guy – putting himself between John and danger, finding ways to distract John from his edgy anger when he'd gone too long between deaths. I could have a worse cellmate, John thought as he tried to recede into the background. He might have started to crave death, but he was damned if he was going to let Ba'al know it.

John saw Daniel lick his lips, saw his pupils dilate as he glanced toward the doorway into the bedroom. No, Daniel still telegraphed everything. Maybe that was why the enforced nudity didn't seem like such an issue around Daniel - even if the other man was wearing clothes, his face would still be naked, wide open.

The footsteps coming toward the doorway were soft, almost inaudible, and John felt the tension seep from his shoulders. Ba'al was never that quiet.

Teyla came through the doorway into the anteroom with a pile of clothing in her hands. Her smile was warm and welcoming as she looked at John. When her gaze turned to Daniel, however, her eyes narrowed just a little, and her smile got less friendly. John could see the muscles in Daniel's back tensing, could tell by the turn of his head that he was looking away. Daniel and Teyla had a little war going on, just under the surface, with Ba'al in the middle. Ba'al seemed to like it – in fact, as far as John could tell he was purposely upping the tension between the two of them. It made John grit his teeth in frustration; he was sure the two of them could do a hell of a lot of good if they were working together.

Then again, Ba'al had probably figured that out, too.

Teyla's eyes were back on his. "I have been told to bring you to the control room," she said, holding the stack of garments out to him.

"Wow. I get to leave the room and I get clothes," John said, pulling on the underwear. "It's a red-letter day. Any idea what he wants?"

"One of the scientists indicated that the equipment required someone with an Ancient gene to operate it," Teyla said.

Daniel looked up, his blue eyes intense and sharp. "Rodney might be there."

"Yeah?" John said, stepping in to the narrowly cut pants. Daniel had talked about Rodney often enough that John felt like the physicist was his friend too, except for one little detail; all of the scientists he'd met in Antarctica had blurred into one face in his mind. "How will I know which one is him?"

A distant look came into Daniel's eyes; though they were locked on John's face, they seemed to be looking at something just over the horizon. "He's a little shorter than me. His hair is thinning on top. And he'll probably be complaining about something."

– – –

"You seem well," Teyla said, her voice low, as they walked down the hall.

John tugged a little at the cuffs of his shirt. It was a soft blue-grey that he knew was his best color; it was the same hue as every "first date" shirt he'd ever owned. A tailored coat went over the ensemble, in that shade of slate gray that made his hazel eyes shade more toward green. Everything fit perfectly; the cut and color of each item was selected to accentuate all of his assets. It also marked him as Ba'al's property, and he would have gladly traded it in for his flight suit. "You know how it is," John shrugged. "A little time dead for good behavior and soon you're feeling good as new."

"I see," Teyla said, and even though she turned her head away he could see the concern in her eyes.

John tossed a look over his shoulder at the Jaffa, who were walking several feet behind, enough to give them plenty of room to bring up those staff weapons and fire if they had to. He leaned a little closer to Teyla and dropped his voice. "You know, there's something I just don't get."

"And what is that?" she asked.

He licked his lips. His mouth tasted like blood again, even though he knew nothing was bleeding. "Why don't you kick his ass?"

Her face went stony, and she turned her face away from him, down the hall. "No."

"Teyla, I've fought against you. You're like Buffy the Vampire Slayer." She looked confused at the reference; he thought about explaining, but decided to keep pushing forward. "I know he's got the hand device, but if you surprised him, you could take him down before he used it. We could help."

He could see bright color appearing on her cheekbones. "And then what? How would you suggest I kill him?"

John shrugged. "I dunno. Snap his neck. Something. Come on! If someone can do it, you can."

She turned her face to his, and he drew back at the anger he saw there, which he'd never seen even in their most aggressive workouts. "Do you think I did not try? After the first time he put me in the sarcophagus, I took the knife, and I buried it in his heart, to make an end to it. I drew it out and wiped it clean on his coat. Then I crossed the room, and I heard him laughing behind me. He laughed!" John's stomach tightened up at the sight of her bottled-up frustration and rage; he'd never looked past the calm surface to see what lay underneath. "Then he had his Jaffa take me before the Stargate. When he had arisen from the sarcophagus, he had one of my people brought there. Halling. Ba'al forced me to watch and killed him before my eyes." John could see a muscle in her jaw pulsing with strain. "It was not a slow death."

"I'm sorry," John said. They walked in silence for a minute. "There's got to be a – "

"There is none," she interrupted. Her tone was cool and professional, the glossy, capable veneer pulled down again. "I have seen him take many injuries that would be fatal even to a Wraith, but he recovers quickly. Even if he cannot heal himself, his Jaffa are fiercely loyal, and will place him in the sarcophagus to be treated." She shook her head. "My people have never believed in gods, but he is as unkillable as one." She sighed. "And he protects us from the Wraith."

"He kills you," John said slowly, emphasizing every word.

"But then he brings me back to life in the sarcophagus," Teyla said, looking at him with hollow eyes. "When one is killed by the Wraith, there is no way to return to life. Even the sarcophagus cannot restore one they have killed."

John wanted to ask how she'd found that out, but the doors were opening. The lab was crowded, but one man, a tall, thin figure with black eyes and dark hair, seemed to draw all the light in the room. John felt his stomach plummet. "So pleased you could join us," Ba'al said. "If you would, please – stand over there."

John walked over to a long, flat table with what seemed to be clear keys sticking in it. One step behind the device stood a blue-shirted scientist with thinning hair, his hands clasped behind his back. "Look, if you want to get my cooperation in accomplishing the impossible, how about you start by not starving me to death?" he snarled at Ba'al. John noticed the angry red mark on the other man's forehead, and realized this probably wasn't the first time the guy had mouthed off.

"You have eaten recently," Ba'al said, his voice a warning rumble.

"Yeah, four hours ago! I'm hypoglycemic!" the scientist shot back. "I need food if you want me to pull this off. Or maybe you want to leave it to Zewicky, in which case, great. I'll be down in my cell working on my last will and testament."

Ba'al rolled his eyes, then muttered something to the Jaffa next to him.

The Jaffa threw the scientist a PowerBar, which he caught in midair, instantly opening the packet and taking a bite. "Chocolate? Again? Even I get sick of chocolate. Don't you have any of the oatmeal raisin ones left?"

And he'll probably be complaining about something, Daniel had said. He realized this guy had to be Rodney.

"You will have them when you finish your work." Ba'al seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth.

"Right," Rodney said, looking up at John. "Here, put your hands on this. It should take about as much of an effort as it did for you to flop on that chair in Antarctica."

John ran one hand over the machine. He could almost feel a tickle in his brain, as if the instrument was probing him. Then suddenly, it lit up, and like Vegas, lights all over the room began flaring on in a cascade effect. Scientists began scurrying hither and yon.

"Peter, hook your laptop into the terminal behind Ba'al. Tell me what kind of readings you get. Kavanagh, let me know if we've got long-range scans that include life signs." He turned to John. "And you. Don't touch anything else unless I tell you."

"Hey, Rodney," John said in a low voice. "Daniel says hi. He said 'shop smart'." The phrase had given John flashbacks to midnight movies just before basic training.

To his surprise, the scientist smiled a little bit, though he didn't look up from the controls. "Well, tell him I still haven't seen it all the way through, because of him." Then his eyes, a stormy blue-gray, met John's. "How's he doing?"

Better than me, John thought. He shrugged. "Surviving."

Rodney frowned, and for a second his hands spasmed shut. "Yeah," he said. "Him and everyone else."

– – –

As Bates wired the tiny bomb, he chanted to himself. "If you feel like giving me," he whispered, like a mantra, "a lifetime of devotion."

He'd realized he was going insane a couple of days ago, when he found himself laughing with one of the Jaffa. Tarl'rac had made a joke about one of the female scientists speeding by, and he'd found himself laughing along. Suddenly, underneath the laughter, he'd realized. You don't even know I'm going to kill you. In that moment, he thought about what he was doing, really thought about it, and his stomach suddenly rebelled, pressing in, heaving. He'd managed to put his arms around his belly, lean against the wall, and pretend it was from the laughter. It took him just a second to think about something else, anything else, so that he could get control of himself.

But when he was alone, he had more time to think. And when he thought about it, his stomach heaved. So mostly, he tried not to think about it, to disconnect his mind from his actions when his stomach muscles started contracting and fluttering, and part of not thinking about it seemed to involve whispering the chorus of a Smokey Robinson song like it was a prayer.

"I second that emotion," he whispered under his breath.

He tried not to think about things, but it seemed like the walls were closing in; every time he turned around in his head, he was brushing against some other idea he was supposed to be avoiding. It was like being in that trash compactor scene in Star Wars.

And of course, there was another problem.

"And if you feel like loving me," he whispered under his breath. "If you get the notion."

He'd fallen in love with the Princess. Or at least, he was pretty sure he had.

"I second that emotion," he whispered, putting the tiny radio transmitter/receiver into the block of explosive.

Weir was beautiful and dark, just like Princess Leia. And just like Princess Leia, she was used to taking charge. He was supposed to be rescuing her, but instead she'd turned around and put him to work, exactly like in the movie.

"If you feel like giving me a lifetime of devotion," he whispered. If she was Leia, he was pretty sure he wasn't Han Solo or Luke Skywalker; he didn't even think he was Wedge. He was just one of the nameless X-Wing pilots who worshipped her from afar, who did whatever it took to accomplish her orders.

Hey, even Gold Three had an important part to play in that final run on the Death Star, didn't he?

"I second that emotion," he whispered, and, making his mind a glassy blank, tucked the little bomb, no bigger than a bar of soap, in with the women's clothes that sat in the corner of the supply room, for Kate to gather later.

– – –

"Are you certain this is the proper translation?" Ba'al said, underlining with his finger the words written in Goa'uld on the monitor.

Daniel licked his lips nervously. It was late, and the lighting in his quarters was low. Ba'al had sent Teyla and John away a few hours ago, under heavy Jaffa guard; tonight was apparently a working evening, and neither of Ba'al's other personal prisoners could assist with the translation in any way.

"My Goa'uld isn't that good," Daniel lied. He could read every word that Ba'al had transcribed from Daniel's oral translation of the Ancient script, but he didn't want the system lord to know that, not yet; there was too much he would be able to learn from an unguarded monitor. "But the Ancient text says the console can be keyed in to control some kind of defense weapon."

"What kind of weapon?" Ba'al asked, putting one hand on his bare shoulder. Daniel shivered at his touch.

"That's…uh, well, all the information on that seems to be held in another file, and I haven't managed to find it yet. The Ancients had some sort of system that I'm sure made sense to them, but it was based on some cultural assumptions that are very different from ours." That, at least, was no lie. Daniel had taken one library science course in college – only one, when he was trying to decide between focusing on museum work and field work for archaeology – and had learned about efforts to make information categorization "heuristic" and "algorithmic", so finding data would be instinctual. He was guessing the Ancients had succeeded in that, for their own people. Unfortunately, their data system defied his own human ability to extrapolate the connections.

"I need you to find that information," Ba'al said. "Such a weapon could be crucial in the days ahead."

Daniel turned to him, and was startled by the intensity in those brown eyes. "Why is this so crucial? Why now?" he asked. "You wiped out the Wraith just after we got here."

"But there are more," Ba'al said simply. "They will come. We must prepare." Then he looked away, and Daniel saw his jaw working for a moment. "And there are others from my own galaxy who may see the potential of an unexplored region, as I have."

"Others? What others?" Daniel asked, leaning forward, instantly curious. Ba'al had told him something about the system lords and their battles for dominance, but there was a vast culture here, and he'd only explored the tip of it.

"I will tell you when it becomes relevant," Ba'al said. "In the meantime, tomorrow you will accompany me to one of the laboratories. Your Dr. McKay has found an item there that may be crucial to our defense."

"Rodney?" Daniel said as casually as possible, carefully not looking up from the monitor, feeling his heart leap in anticipation. He'd heard a little about Rodney from John, but hadn't seen him since the night of their arrival. He'd started to wonder if Ba'al would ever let him see the physicist again, but had stopped asking out of fear that his constant requests might bring Rodney unfavorable attention.

"Yes," Ba'al said, moving away from his position behind Daniel. Daniel's back felt chilled at the sudden absence; he turned and saw the Goa'uld settling in on the bed, sitting up a little with his hands folded behind his head, his long legs crossed at the ankle. "Come here," Ba'al said. Daniel walked to the edge of the bed and sat down. Ba'al smiled, the little smile that made Daniel shiver with hot desire, and continued, "You have done well today, and I am feeling generous. I will grant you one request."

Daniel blinked, startled. If Ba'al had offered that five minutes ago, his instant request would have been to see Rodney. But he was already getting that. He looked down at the floor, his breath burning in his chest, thinking of the only other thing he'd been denied. Then he looked up again at Ba'al, through his eyelashes, and said in a low voice, "Kill me."

"What?" Ba'al asked. It was the first time Daniel had ever seen the Goa'uld caught completely off guard.

"I've just – I've – " Daniel took a deep breath, and started again. "I've watched John die so many times now. I want to know what it's like. I want to know what it's like to come back." He could hear the longing in his own voice.

Ba'al looked a little perplexed. He ran one finger along Daniel's jaw, and then seemed to come to some sort of a decision. "Lie down," he said, getting up off the bed.

Daniel slowly moved to the center of the bed, lying on his back. When Ba'al came back, he held a knife – the same knife he'd used to kill John two nights ago. Daniel's eyes opened wide, and he could feel his heart pounding. As Ba'al brought the knife closer to his skin, he followed it until it slipped out of his sight, then let his eyes drift shut.

Cool metal kissed his throat, right on the pulse point. Ba'al held it just far enough away that every beat of his heart brought Daniel's skin in contact with it for a moment, little flickers of chill that vanished between contractions of his heart – beat, beat, beat. Daniel shivered, and felt himself beginning to harden in breathless anticipation. Every bit of his skin was tingling, his instinctual urge for self-preservation fighting with his desperate desire to know. What would it feel like, when the blade dragged across his throat? Would he feel a sudden burning? Or would it be so sharp that he wouldn't notice the cut, wouldn't even notice the blood pulsing out until it started to cool on his skin when it touched air?

He felt the blade slip away suddenly, and opened his eyes. Ba'al was staring at him with gold-flaring eyes, head tilted, an intrigued look on his face. Daniel brought one hand to his throat; there was no blood, not even a drop.

Then he felt the tip of the knife gently scraping down his shoulder, toward his chest. Every muscle in his body tensed as he stared at Ba'al, who seemed fascinated by what he was doing to Daniel.

The point of the knife rested on Daniel's chest, just a little below his left nipple. The way to a man's heart is between his fourth and fifth rib, he heard Rodney's voice say in his head, that bad joke that he made at least once a week their second year at Oxford. Rodney would kill him for this, he thought, and his chest jumped a little with suppressed laughter at his own private joke. He felt Ba'al press the knife in just a little deeper, just enough so that he could feel it, and Daniel gasped. His every nerve felt electric, his thighs beginning to shake from coiled energy. This is it, he thought, breathing out until his lungs ached from emptiness.

Ba'al reached over with his free hand, and brushed his fingers against Daniel's right nipple. Daniel's back arched, his entire body taut and curved like a bow as Ba'al's touch sizzled through him. He would have impaled himself on the knife with his reaction, but Ba'al pulled it away, and Daniel's body dropped back to the bed, shaking.

He panted as Ba'al straddled him, and drew the flat of the knife along his stomach, down just above the hip bone, following for a moment along Daniel's appendicitis scar. Daniel clenched his jaw. If Ba'al decided to go in there, it would hurt. He swallowed.

But if Ba'al decided to go in there, he would finally know. His stomach fluttered, and Ba'al looked into his eyes. One blink, two, with the knife hovering over Daniel's stomach, and suddenly Daniel shivered all over. Ba'al smiled, and moved lower.

The knife continued down, down further. He felt the edge of the blade brushing down over his pubic bone. He realized that Ba'al, fascinated like a snake, could decide to make this a long process, the death of a thousand cuts. The sudden sensation of a sharp edge just touching his cock, even with Ba'al's hot breath wrapping around it, should have caused his erection to wilt instantly. Instead, he found himself getting even harder with the fear, the tension, the waiting, and wondered when he'd become such an adrenalin junkie.

Ba'al's breath continued to ghost, warm and moist, over his dick as the blade came to rest on Daniel's femoral artery. This had to be it; there was nowhere further down that Ba'al could go and inflict a fatal blow. Daniel's breath came in short, sharp bursts; his cock bobbed up and down with the rhythmic clenching of his pelvic muscles. He felt the knife press in, press just a little harder –

And then it left, and Ba'al was sliding up again, his whole body pressing the length of Daniel's, one hand wrapping around Daniel's throbbing erection. "No," Ba'al whispered into Daniel's ear, tossing the knife away and stroking his free hand tenderly along Daniel's cheek. "I will not. I will not harm you, Daniel."

"Why?" Daniel gasped, desperate, feeling his inescapable orgasm about to come crashing down.

Ba'al looked confused for a moment, and the vulnerability made Daniel catch his breath. Then he smiled, that dangerous, confident smile that had drawn Daniel to him weeks ago in the gate room. "Because you desire it too much," he said.

Everything went white as Daniel came, the pulsing roar of his heartbeat blocking out even his own gutteral cries.

– – –

"So, this is it?" McKay said around his mouthful of PowerBar.

"Yeah," Jack said, sliding one hand along the back of the chair. "I kinda figured I shouldn't sit in it until you were here."

McKay rolled his eyes. "I'm glad to see someone has a healthy appreciation of the potential dangers of Ancients technology." He tossed another protein bar at Jack.

"Oatmeal raisin. Nice," Jack said appreciatively.

"I still can't believe you don't like chocolate," McKay muttered, kneeling down next to the console and unscrewing the panel on the front. Jack started walking toward the chair, and McKay yelled, "Stop! Don't even think about getting in there."

"I thought me sitting in the chair was an important part of the process," Jack said, looking over the console at the doctor.

"If we turn it on and this energy-sucker is linked into the main power grid, it'll be an important part of the process of us getting caught by Ba'al," McKay said, not even bothering to scowl up at him as he started digging into the guts of the thing. "Sit down. Tell me about life on the outside."

Jack sat down, leaning against the edge of the console. McKay silently handed him a Maglite; Jack turned it on, and, with the practice of a now-established routine, held it up high enough to illuminate the innards of the console without allowing McKay to get into his own light. "I found a pond yesterday," Jack said.

"A pond?" McKay said, squinting up at him. The dark circles under his eyes had gotten more prominent over the last couple of weeks.

"With fish," Jack said. "Makes me wish I had my gear."

McKay shook his head, looking back at the machinery. "There's no way we're getting our hands on it. That supply guy Bates seems to be extra-friendly with the Jaffa."

Jack sighed. He knew that people would do anything to save their own skins, and he expected it from the scientists Weir had picked out, but it still bothered him that Carter had been so wrong about one of the men she'd sent on the mission. "Need me to aim this higher?"

"Lower, actually," he said, lying down on his back and sticking his head in the console. "Hold it toward the floor." McKay took a tiny silver box out of his pocket; it looked to Jack like a slightly chunky cellphone, and fit easily into the palm of McKay's hand. He plugged a cable into one end; then he clipped an adaptor to it, attached it to the console, and flipped the device open.

"Someone stick your laptop in the dryer again?" Jack said, raising his eyebrows at the thing which, for all the world, looked like someone had made a laptop for a Barbie doll.

McKay gave him a lopsided smile, then began tapping on the keys with his thumbnails. "It's a Zaurus. Japanese. Daniel was going to translate all the menus for me when we got here." The corner of his mouth pulled down, and for a moment, he didn't seem to be looking at anything. Then his thumbnails went click, click, click against the keys. "Elizabeth took care of it over the past few nights, enough for me to get into the command-line Unix interface and load up the bridge to the Ancients machines."

"Sounds like some hot dates," Jack said, chewing on his own PowerBar as McKay worked.

The doctor snorted. "Despite what we try to make the Jaffa think, she's not my type."

"What, you only go for blondes?" Jack said.

McKay grinned. "Something like that," he said, squinting at the screen. Whatever he saw there wiped the smile off his face quickly. "Just our luck. It pulls power from something in this section, but there's a built-in redundancy link with the main tower. If it needs more power, it'll suck at the naquidah generators Ba'al has set up on the station. We can't slip that by him." He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low. "I've got to figure out some way to take it off the main grid."

"Well, you programmed Atlantis to think you're in Weir's quarters every night when you're down here with me," Jack said.

McKay shook his head. "Power's an entirely different interface," he said. "Elizabeth's working on translating it, but we have to be subtle, and her Ancient's not as good as -" He let out a hiss of frustration, rubbing one hand on the back of his neck. "There was a reason I didn't want to come across the galaxy without my human Universal Translator. It's like losing a piece of my brain."

Jack couldn't remember the last time he'd depended on another person as much as McKay seemed to rely on Jackson. Then he looked at the PowerBar in his hands and realized, yeah, maybe he could. And he could list off ten teammates he'd had that hadn't been nearly as good as McKay. Easy.

He tried to think of a solution that wouldn't require translation skills. "Why don't we just cut the wire?"

"The Ancients don't have wires," McKay mumbled, not looking up. "Everything routes through connector barrels on the..." His sentence drifted off, and his head snapped up suddenly. "The connector barrels. That's it! We just need to find a way to engineer a disconnect that won't pop up on the system."

"Okay," Jack said. "Bring me over, hand me a screwdriver and tell me what to unwire."

McKay shook his head. "I wish it were that easy. We're gonna need help." He covered his face with his hands. "Crap."

"What?" Jack asked.

McKay's hands slid down, revealing a face that was the picture of distaste. "I'm gonna have to talk to Kavanagh."

Kate let one hand slide along his long, lean body as Pel'mar rolled out of the bed, making his way to the bathroom. "I had heard many rumors about Tau'ri women, but I did not realize they were true," he said, sauntering through the long, empty Jaffa dormitory and into the bathroom.

"What sorts of rumors?" Kate asked, keeping her voice low and sultry as she rolled over onto her stomach, reaching out to grab the pile of her clothes that was next to the bed.

"That you fought as fiercely outside of the bedroom as our women fight within its walls." His voice echoed out, through the dormitory, with an undertone of laughter. She heard the water-droplet sound of urine falling into a toilet.

As Kate pulled the small block of explosive from the pocket of her skirt, she put a practiced warmth into her voice. Not the warmth she'd used with her patients; this tone had a slow sultry burn in the back, a tone she'd learned to use in her undergraduate years at Tulane, when waitressing at bars had paid the bills. "And am I fierce?" she asked.

Where should she put it? Pel'mar's bed was too close to the front, and the wall jutted in a little at the head of it; from everything Bates had told her, it would direct the charge to the front of the room, and do far less damage than she needed. The bed in the back corner, now, the wall behind it was oddly shaped, a little less than a 90 degree angle.

"You are like a kitten," he said, and she rolled her eyes as she slid under the bed, the floor cold against her naked back, thinking to herself Don't come out, not yet, not yet. "Your teeth are sharp, but small," she heard him continue as she pushed the explosive solidly into the corner, wishing she had some way to bring something to direct the blast more. But she wouldn't know how to do it properly anyway. Bates didn't even know how to do it properly. The only one who did was Ford.

She could hear the stream of water slowing in the bathroom. "You play at being fierce predators, but you love to have your belly stroked, and you will wrap yourself around the man who is kind enough to give you a chunk of meat," Pelmar continued as she slid out from under the bed, looking back one last time to make sure the charge was in there firmly. If they found what she'd done, she wondered if she'd suffer the same fate as Ford, or if she'd get lucky, like Beckett had.

She pushed herself to her feet, and padded softly to the bathroom, putting on her game face. When she appeared in the doorway, he was at the sink, washing his hands. She slid behind him, and traced one finger over the bruises on his neck and shoulders. "My bites don't hurt, then?" she teased.

He turned his head slightly, and she could see his smile in profile. "Your little bites hurt just enough," he said, kissing her hand.

She pressed her body against his back, running her hands up his chest, and thought, Just wait until you feel me really bite.

– – –

Daniel could feel the tension in the room as he reviewed the Ancient files. Dr. Weir stood in one corner, her hands clasped behind her back, her face tight and drawn, a couple of scientists Daniel didn't know standing beside her. John had adopted a similar stance, looking grim as he stood next to Ba'al, who occasionally glanced up and down the pilot's body as if he were assessing a new suit or, more likely, a piece of meat. Two Jaffa bracketed John and Ba'al, making it very clear what the results of any sudden moves would be.

Daniel could shut them all out when he stared at the translucent Ancient monitor, his arms folded around himself despite the way it caused his soft, mossy-green jacket to pull in back. He couldn't, however, ignore the man next to him – and he didn't want to. Rodney was standing a few inches away from the un-initialized console next to the one Daniel was working on, looking like he wished he could lean against it and let the Ancient machinery bear his burdens for a while. Daniel didn't think he'd ever seen his friend so tired, not even the day before his thesis defense.

"Um," Daniel said, choosing his words carefully. The fate of at least one person in the room hung on what he was about to say. "These documents seem to be about weapons that are currently somewhere on Atlantis. The way it's written makes it a little obscure," he lied, glancing up at Ba'al, whose lips twisted up just slightly in a shivery smile. "Ancient tenses can be a little difficult to interpret. Its structure is similar to Latin, but more complex. The present active tense is conjugated in a way that's similar to the past imperfect passive tense – really, more like a passive past reflexive tense, which doesn't really exist in English or, honestly, in most modern languages – "

"So," Ba'al said, cutting Daniel off before he could explain further. "A simple mistake."

Daniel knew it wasn't a mistake; he knew those tenses were so easily confused because Weir had told him that herself, when she'd given him the briefing on Ancient. But he nodded. "Even if someone can work out a link to the weapons system, there's not enough power on the station to fuel it. It requires a ZPM."

"Which I am still trying to create," Rodney interrupted, turning to Ba'al. "And while I'm sure you think your theories of espionage are important enough to interrupt my work, there are some of us who would prefer not to become the next course on the Wraith's menu."

Ba'al's eyes narrowed, and Daniel thought to himself, shut up, shut up, Rodney. But the little smile never left the Goa'uld's face. "Then I would recommend you work quickly, Doctor." He looked around the room. "All of you. Work quickly. I assure you, compared to the Wraith I am a much more pleasant alternative."

The room immediately turned into a hive of activity. As Ba'al began a circuit around the room, Rodney stepped closer to Daniel. They weren't touching, but Daniel's skin tingled at his nearness, as if Rodney were radiating some sort of magnetic field.

"How are you?" Daniel asked, his voice low.

"Oh, you know," Rodney said, absently touching his forehead. "Thinking big physicist thoughts. And you?"

I've learned how to read Linear A, Daniel thought. If we can ever get back to Earth, I can translate every document we've ever found on Crete – we'll get a whole new understanding of the Minoan civilization! I'm learning about the sociodynamics of an entirely new culture. My fellow prisoner is acting as my own personal trainer. I'm having sex every night with the most beautiful man I've ever seen. And if he weren't keeping us all prisoner, if he weren't repeatedly killing John and Teyla, if I wasn't so scared he would kill you, I'd be having the time of my life.

What he said was, "I'm fine."

– – –

"I don't think you should go out tonight," Elizabeth said to Rodney as he opened the pill bottle, shaking two tablets into his hand.

He shook his head. "This must be what being married feels like. I'll be fine, Elizabeth." He popped the tablets into his mouth, chasing them with a glass of water.

"Rodney. He almost caught us today. He will still be watching us." He might have been hearing her, but he wasn't listening; his eyes already had that far away look they got when he was running through Ancient computer code in his head. "If we lose you, we lose everything," she said.

Rodney waved his hand, his sentences tumbling out one over the other. "Ba'al trusts computers. He trusts machines. He doesn't think the internal sensors will lie to him. And he can't afford to. He doesn't have enough Jaffa to guard every door. Not if they're going to sleep."

"You need to sleep, too," Elizabeth said. Rodney had stolen all the military-issue amphetamines shipped out with the Atlantis mission after Ba'al had killed Carson; she'd watched his use of them creep steadily upward over the past two weeks. He was getting more staccato and choppy with every dose, a little manic.

"Tomorrow," he said. "I've marked off tomorrow night for sleep. You need to wear one of those little nose strips, to keep from snoring."

"I don't snore!" Elizabeth said indignantly.

"It's quite charming, actually. Reminds me of my grandfather," Rodney said, pulling on the beige uniform jacket that now hung a little too loosely on his frame.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Forget the snoring! You simply cannot take this chance. Not tonight."

"It has to be tonight!" Rodney said. "Getting messages to O'Neill isn't exactly easy. If I don't show up, what do you think he'll think? He'll think I've been captured, and then he'll do something macho and military and utterly idiotic." His face was getting redder, and he gesticulated wildly. "Do you think I like going out there?" His eyes went wide, and his lips became thinner. "Every night I'm sure Ba'al's going to capture me." His voice shook a little, then became steady again. "But I don't have a choice. As you and Ba'al and everyone else remind me, I'm the only one who can solve this."

"Rodney," Elizabeth said, reaching out to him. He'd stopped telling her how scared he was a couple of weeks ago; it hadn't occurred to her that he'd ever stop talking about it if he was still frightened.

He cut her off with an angry, sharp gesture and walked away. "I'm going." The lights in the room suddenly went out, and he slipped out the door, leaving Elizabeth alone in the dark.

– – –

John could feel that cold, prickly sweat, the one that told him it was time to die again, and soon. He knew from experience that it would be a bad idea to try to grab a weapon from one of the Jaffa who were trailing him and Teyla. The Goa'uld equivalent of death-by-cop had never gone well for him. All the same, the thought had occurred to him once or twice on their way back to the Athosians' quarters. Make that fifty or sixty times.

"My people will be glad to see you again," Teyla said.

John shrugged a little, smiling at her. "Always nice to hear I made a good impression on a girl's family." She smiled back, and he felt a little flutter in his gut that momentarily pushed back the crawling need for death. "And I gotta say, the Prince of Darkness back there could learn a lot from your people's hospitality skills."

As the doors slid open, John looked forward to stepping into the other world the Athosians had managed to create, full of earth tones, thick velvety blankets, candles, wall hangings, their environment the polar opposite of the antiseptic ostentation that marked Ba'al's domain. Always open to inspection from the Jaffa, of course, but still somehow a haven.

But when they stepped through, the hallway was bare. He looked around, his nostrils flaring. He could still smell a trace of the Athosian incense, a mix of sandalwood and sage, but everything was white, bright, stripped back to the Ancient design. He turned to Teyla slowly, the prickly cold sweat he felt a moment ago redoubled as he felt his stomach muscles tense, preparing for the sucker punch the barrenness had telegraphed.

Teyla's brown eyes were wide, her mouth a little open as she looked around. She was still, utterly frozen for a moment. Then she leapt into action, running down the hallway, opening door after door after door. At the end of the corridor, she spun around. "My people!" she cried, and on her face was a look of fear far worse than the one she'd wore when Ba'al had stifled the life out of her just a few days ago. "My people are gone!"

Oh, Jesus, John thought. He moved toward her, planning to hold her and say something consoling. Then he saw her fists clench and her jaw tighten. She drew herself up and walked down the corridor toward the front door, terrifying in her determination. As the door drew open, she threw herself on one of the Jaffa, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall. The alien soldier stared at her, wide-eyed. The other Jaffa leveled his staff weapon at Teyla.

"Where are my people?" she shouted, either oblivious to or uncaring of the danger she was in.

Her volcanic rage made the Jaffa she was holding flinch. "Gone," he gasped. "Sent to the mainland, to grow crops for the base."

The other soldier reflexively stepped back, and then leveled his staff weapon in Teyla's general direction, obviously trying to figure out how to get a clear shot. John rushed forward, grabbing her from behind and pulling her off the armored man.

"Teyla, don't," he said, warningly, his voice low against her ear.

She struggled against him. "Let me go!"

He held onto her fiercely, fighting to keep her subdued, desperate to keep himself between her and the staff weapon. "If you die this time, I don't think Ba'al's going to bring you back."

"Do you think I care?" she said, her voice wrenching in despair.

"I care!" John shouted, his arms spasming around her. "You, Daniel – you're all I've got!"

All the struggle left her in an instant, her body began to go limp in his arms. He got her inside the door before she crumpled again, and he knelt beside her to hold her.

"If she should ever attack one of us again…" the Jaffa aiming the staff weapon said warningly. The door slid shut.

John kissed the top of Teyla's head, pulling her to him, stroking her hair. He expected her to begin sobbing; instead, she was quiet and still. "Hey," he said. "They're on the mainland. He didn't kill them."

She shook her head; he could feel her cheek rubbing against his chest through the silky shirt Ba'al had dressed him in. "He has," she whispered quietly, all emotion gone from her voice. "Ba'al has no ships fit to do battle with the Wraith, and they have no Gate to escape through." She shuddered once, all over. "This is his way of telling me that Daniel has filled my place," she said, and the shiver that had run through her body was in her voice. "Everything I have done – it was for nothing. Ba'al will protect my people no longer."

In the quiet blank room, the thin smell the memory of the life it had once held, John held Teyla. But she didn't weep; she only stared off into space.

– – –

Most of the time when Daniel read Ancient he was struck by its beauty, its complexity, and its elegance. It had verb tenses that simply didn't exist in any other language he'd known, such as a past negative tense and a future negative tense. Word order didn't matter at all; everything was dependent on declination and conjugation.

And then there were the times that he discovered that he'd gotten a translation all wrong, because the verb was irregular or the noun at the center of the sentence was a fifth gender that he'd simply never run across before. Or maybe it was a type of declension he hadn't seen. He still couldn't tell. He couldn't gather it from context, and he couldn't find another example anywhere, and he couldn't crack the damn sentence. He stared at the monitor like it was his own personal enemy, so deep in the whirling syllables of the Ancient tongue that he'd forgotten Ba'al was there until the Goa'uld let out a quiet sound of startlement.

Daniel jumped in his seat, and turned to see Ba'al leaning forward over his own Ancient computer terminal for a moment. He pressed a few keys, leaning forward even more, then suddenly leaned back in his chair, head tilted, staring at the screen.

Daniel cleared his throat. "What's going on?" he asked softly.

Ba'al looked at him, dark eyes intent. He shook his head, and pressed a key on the console, wiping the screen blank. Then he got to his feet. "I must go," he said, and walked out the door.

"Well. That was…abrupt," Daniel murmured to himself. He turned back to his monitor, but he'd lost any tenuous grasp he'd had on the sentence. Sighing, he got up to stretch.

As he reached up toward the ceiling, his eyes lit on Ba'al's other computer console, the one that interfaced with all the Goa'uld systems and data. It was on, shimmering golden in the dim light of the bedroom.

Daniel moved forward slowly, and looked toward the door. If Ba'al found him going through the Goa'uld files, he'd probably snap Daniel's neck.

But Daniel wanted to know what the sarcophagus was like, didn't he?

Daniel slipped into Ba'al's chair, the thick cloth warm against his bare skin, and began to read.

– – –

Jack stood on the floating surfboard, making sure it stayed steady as Kavanagh delved into the wires and chips inside the housing on the wall. The scientist kept up a constant litany of complaints about Ba'al, the minds of the US military, and Elizabeth Weir's leadership as he went. A midnight mist had formed over the ocean, and began to crawl up over the balcony. Ten more minutes of this and I won't be able to see McKay at all, Jack thought.

"– and he's not even following established scientific protocols!" Kavanagh continued. "We have no idea how much information we're losing, because he''s focused on weapons over preservation of data. I joined this mission because I wanted to be involved in science, not help the Goa'uld find a new way to fight another enemy."

"Write a complaint to General Carter," Jack drawled, and thought about dropping the Ancient surfboard ten feet, just to get the guy to shut up for a minute or two. It quivered just a little at his thought, like a dog ready to chase after a ball, and Kavanagh breathed in sharply, his white-lipped face turning quickly to stare at Jack.

"Sorry. Conversation distracts me," Jack said, counting on the shadows to hide his grin.

"Kavanagh, you ready yet?" McKay's whisper came through so loudly, Jack could swear the other man's mouth was right next to his ear, not twenty yards away. When they'd found the narrow metal channel that arced over the control trunk platform and down to the control panel Kavanagh was tinkering with, McKay had practically had a geekgasm, going on about acoustics and engineering and beautiful architectural design fulfilling necessary engineering function and brilliant low-tech solutions. Jack had blocked most of the explanation out: the channel carried sound from one end to the other, amplifying it when it reached the opposite end, and that was all he needed to know.

"He's been a little busy telling me how Ba'al's been infringing on his civil rights," Jack said, earning a burning glare from the whining scientist. "Give us a minute."

"Sure," McKay whispered, his voice like a wisp of mist. Jack looked down to see him leaning against the console, hands braced, head hanging low.

"You OK?" Jack asked.

McKay shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Just tired." He let out a weary, long breath. "If we have time tonight, there's a strange power spike in one of the central towers we need to check out."

"Define need," Jack whispered back. "Is this need, like 'imminent doom hovering over the middle of Atlantis,' or need, like that time you decided I needed to activate that little training room at the end of that hallway?"

"You got a few bruises. For all we knew, that room could have contained all the secrets of the Ancients," McKay said. Jack couldn't see his face through the mist, but he swore he could hear the smug angled smirk on the scientist's face. "The power spike is at the top of the same tower Ba'al's quarters are in. We can go to that overlook we found two days ago and take some readings. You can even use your Silver Surfer powers to get us high enough to get a clear view into Ba'al's rooms." The overlook would have been the perfect place to spy on Ba'al from – if it hadn't been for the low, fairylike tower between it and Ba'al's chambers.

Jack leaned against the sculpted metal wall. A chilly breeze cut through his T-shirt, redoubling the salt smell that surrounded them. Kavanagh shivered, and Jack silently thanked his parents for handing down the Minnesotan antifreeze in his veins. "If I'm gonna lead the way, I'm leading it right back to that pond, and you and I are gonna find where the Ancients kept their fishing rods."

"We're in the middle of the greatest scientific discovery humanity has ever made, and you want to go fishing?" McKay whispered back.

"I figure you and me catch a couple of bass, have a nice little cookout. Pop open some beers, maybe do a little snooping around the computers and figure out whether the Ancients had something like pro ball."

"I thought you said conversation distracted you," Kavanagh said, scowling.

"Sorry. I meant whining distracts me," Jack said. Then he whispered to the silent McKay, "Fine. We'll check out your tower tonight, but tomorrow I'm putting a 'gone fishing' sign on my room."

McKay was still silent. Jack was about to ask him how the heck they were supposed to get to the tower if it turned out to be interesting when he heard the gentle whoosh of the balcony doors. McKay spun around at the sound. Jack figured that any entry was bad news, and the rigidity in McKay's body, the way he backed up until he was pressed against the console, confirmed it.

Shit, he thought. He grabbed Kavanagh and put a hand over the scientist's mouth before he could speak and give away their position.

He heard the voice first, the eerie voice that followed him no matter how deeply he dreamed."Hello, Rodney," Ba'al said. As Jack watched from above, the Goa'uld walked into view, through the mist just a dark smear on the balcony.

– – –

Daniel knew that Ba'al could be back at any minute, but he couldn't stop digging deeper and deeper into the files. This was fascinating, complete access to the secret records documenting the inner workings of an alien culture that had influenced every people on Earth. The organization of the knowledge was as idiosyncratic and foreign as the Ancients' arrangement of their own database; following the connections was like wandering a long, looping path through the jungle at night, with dimly visible trails scattering every which way.

He stopped short in his wandering. This wasn't old information. He'd stumbled upon Ba'al's private correspondence.

"Oh, this is bad," he whispered to himself, scanning the lines of Goa'uld. He licked his lips nervously, then started again at the beginning, trying to burn the words into his memory.

He had to find some excuse to get out of here tomorrow. He had to find an excuse to see Rodney.

– – –

Silently, the floating surfboard drifted a little further away from the sound conduit. Jack's heart was pounding so loud, he was surprised it hadn't carried down the channel to Ba'al's ears.

"Dr. McKay," Ba'al said."It seems you know far more about programming the computers on Atlantis than you had previously disclosed."

"I – I – I don't know what you're talking about," McKay stammered, slowly sliding his way around the control panel. Ba'al followed, slowly striding toward him, four Jaffa in his wake. Jack watched, assessing the odds, looking for angles of attack, anything to get McKay out of there.

"You have altered the way the internal sensors work," Ba'al said, his voice low and dangerous, carrying up to Jack and Kavanagh as if it were being broadcast through speakers. I have to tell McKay it's not just that little metal channel, Jack thought. The whole platform is like a megaphone.

"I didn't…" McKay said, drifting off mid-sentence. The mist blurred his features, and Jack was glad for it. He didn't think he could stand seeing the look on McKay's face. He could picture it vividly enough in his mind.

"You did," Ba'al said, and Jack knew that tone. He'd heard that tone over and over again as Ba'al sat on his throne, smiling at Jack just after dropping acid on him, or battering him with heavy objects that were dropped on him down the gravity well. It was the tone Ba'al used when he knew his prey was cornered and defenseless, without even the shield of bravado."You have been subverting me. Unleashing viruses in the system to destroy data I need. Altering the operations of Atlantis to your own ends."

McKay slid further around the conduit. The control panel he gripped lit up at his touch. Jack winced.

Ba'al stood there for a moment. Jack couldn't see his face, but he saw McKay turn his head, looking down at the console he was leaning against. He could swear he heard the scientist swallow as he looked back at Ba'al.

"And apparently you have the Ancient gene," Ba'al said, sounding quietly amused. Jack could have sworn the mist around him had suddenly turned to ice. He wanted to leave. He had to stay. He knew what was coming, and he couldn't leave McKay alone. He kept the floating platform in the shadows, ensuring an errant glance by a Jaffa wouldn't reveal them.

McKay drew himself up, standing ramrod straight. "If you kill me, you're cutting your own throat. Who are you going to get to analyze the systems? Zewicky? He's a couple of motherships short of a fleet. Kind of like you, now that I think about it. You can't even phone home for help. When the Wraith come back, if you don't have me, you don't have a defense. You don't have anything. There's no one else on Atlantis who can figure out the systems like I can."

"There is one person," Ba'al said. "Me."

McKay laughed incredulously. "I'd heard the Goa'uld had delusions of grandeur, but I never knew they had a death wish. It's not that easy."

The mist came in again, even thicker, and McKay and Ba'al were nothing but dark blurs on the platform. It didn't matter. Jack didn't need to see their faces; he knew both of them so intimately that he could picture their facial expressions in his mind.

"But it is," Ba'al said, and Jack knew he was wearing that smile that was like a knife. "I have watched you work with the systems. Daniel has taught me how to translate Ancient." Jack felt a sudden flood of hot fury at Jackson. Couldn't the guy hold out even a little against the enemy? "I have found every alteration you have made in my programs." Jack saw Ba'al raise his hand to McKay's cheek. He clenched his jaw. He remembered that touch, too. He felt filthy all over, watching this; he wished he could scrub himself clean. "I do not need you. You are more dangerous than useful."

McKay, usually so impossible to shut up, was silent. The only sound was the hollow echo of the breeze rushing through metal.

"Who have you been working with?" Ba'al asked quietly.

"Alone," McKay responded, his voice shaking and high pitched."I?ve been working alone."

Jack heard Ba'al's little half-laugh as he took another step closer to McKay. McKay backed away, taking one step away from the conduit, two, three – and then he was pressed against the balcony railing.

Shit, shit, shit, Jack thought, as Kavanagh's quick breaths rushed hot across his hand, still clamped over the other man's mouth. There was no way McKay could jump before Ba'al got to him. The physicist just wasn't that fast.

"I know you have not," Ba'al said, and now there was something glinting in his hand. Ribbon device, Jack thought. Well, McKay had daily experience with it; Ba'al would melt his brain before McKay gave out any information. "And I intend to find out exactly who you have been working with, and what you have done to my city."

The mist cleared for a second, and Jack saw what Ba'al was actually holding. Jack could see McKay look at the knife in Ba'al's hand, then back at Ba'al's face. The corner of his mouth dragged down. His lips were thin and tight with terror. "You – you can't do that," he said."If Daniel ever found out – "

The mist drifted over them again, and both figures were a soft blur. But it did nothing to blur Ba'al's soft, gentle chuckle."Do you really think Daniel will notice? Do you think he will care? If you mattered to him, he would have asked after you. He would have insisted upon seeing you."

Jack could see the white blur of McKay's hands, paler than the beige of his jacket, clutching against the waist high railing. "I'm sure he has," he said, his voice suddenly hard, an octave lower.

"He has forgotten you," Ba'al replied silkily.

McKay's whisper was low, harsh as breaking glass and empty of hope."You're lying."

An errant breeze drove the mist away again, filling Jack's nostrils with the stench of Kavanagh's fear. McKay's eyes were wide in his face, his mouth an open angled slit curving down.

Don't look up, don't look up, Jack thought. If he were smart, he would have pulled out of here long ago. But McKay was his friend, and he was damned if he was going to let the other man die alone.

Ba'al extended the knife, using the tip to slide aside McKay's jacket. He rested it against the doomed man's chest, pressed there as if it were underlining his left nipple.

"I will have answers, Rodney," Ba'al said, his voice sliding over the man's first name with horrible intimacy. McKay's eyes grew even wider."When the ribbon device does not work, I am always happy to resort to cruder methods such as this. And I will take great pleasure in making you scream, and beg for the mercy of death." He paused for a moment."If you tell me quickly, I may – "

McKay suddenly threw his entire body forward, pushing himself off from the railing with both hands. Jack's hand clenched into a fist in Kavanagh's jacket as he saw the knife slide into Rodney's chest, then out again as Ba'al reflexively shoved the other man away. Obeying the laws of physics, the scientist's figure rebounded from its contact with the solid mass that was Ba'al, collided with the railing, and went over.

Jack watched as Rodney McKay's dead body plummeted down, down into the sea.

CHAPTER FOUR: A LOVE LIKE BLOOD