Daniel didn't think it could get any worse.

Padding through the silent hallways he'd thought several times about turning around and going back to Jack. He'd managed to talk himself out of it, but each time it had gotten harder and harder to do.

Right now he wished he had listened to that quiet nagging doubt.

He'd found Sam; the sight of her suspended and obviously in pain had not been pleasant. It had taken every ounce of his strength to hold down the revulsion he'd felt.

And then Sam suddenly disappeared, a brief flash of light illuminating the room. After a momentary disorientation, he found himself hanging heavily, his arms above his head, his body's weight causing the already bloodstained cuffs to dig into the flesh of his wrists.

They started almost immediately, the blows pounding from every conceivable location, forcing the breath from his body.

Every time they paused, he'd drag in great gulps of air, his frame shuddering and shaking from the abuse. But even as winded and pain wracked as he became, questions continued to fall from his lips—even after they grew in size and split, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

They didn't answer him. At least not at first.

After they managed to rip the fifth scream from him, Kyran finally looked up and saw him. Not that they hadn't looked before, but for some reason, something had made him finally pay attention to the human dangling from the ceiling of their lab.

"Why do you insist on questioning us?"

"It's…our nature," Daniel replied, grateful for the reprieve, however brief, that he'd gotten. His head drooped down onto his chest, too tired to pull it upright. "It's what we do."

"What is your race called again?"

It took a moment for the question to register, his attention wandering as he tried to push some of the pain away. Forcing his right eye to open so he could see through the swelling, he tilted his head to gaze at Kyran. Nouri had moved to the back of the room and was fussing with some of the machines. Apparently technical difficulties permitted conversation. "We're known by various names, but the most widely known would be Tau'ri."

"But you are different from your companions."

Daniel offered a single head-nod in response before he found his breath to speak. "We're all different. Part of our genetic make-up."

Kyran shook his head, moving forward another step, his pale eyes glistening oddly. "You and your companions are more different than you know."

He turned briefly toward the rear of the room as if the very motion helped him to hear what his companion was silently saying. A thin smile graced Kyran's lips. A flick of his wrist and the edge of his sleeve flew up to reveal a small device strapped to his forearm.

And then, it began again.

When the second rib broke, Daniel thankfully passed out, but not before offering up a silent apology to his friend.

'I'm sorry, Jack. I should have listened to you after all.'

Sam was bored.

At first it hadn't been bad. She and the Colonel had talked, mainly about missions, about some of the things they'd seen and done over the past two years. There wasn't anything confidential or classified, just reminiscing about their experiences. The Colonel had a good memory and he saw everything, even what he wasn't supposed to see—something she hadn't realized until now.

But now, nearly two hours after she'd been returned, they'd run out of things to say, each absorbed in their own thoughts and worries. The not knowing was the worst.

Colonel O'Neill had started pacing about twenty minutes ago, prowling the edge of his prison, each step barely concealing the pent up emotion running through his frame. Each time he strode by her position only emphasized the frustration she was feeling. For him though, it had to be quadrupled.

She could see the guilt lying heavily on him—the quick short motion of his limbs, the abrupt turns when he reached the corner of his cell, the tense muscles in his back and jaw, the ramrod straight posture, the near constant muttering.

He was not a happy camper. But then again, neither was she.

Daniel was the civilian. He wasn't supposed to be tortured. It wasn't in the job description—at least not typically. When it came to SG-1, things were always a little off center.

Sam sighed as she glanced up from her seated position as the Colonel prowled past. "Sir—"

"Not now, Carter," he growled without a pause in his step.

"He'll be okay."

O'Neill huffed, but refused to stop moving. "As good as you were, eh?" The look she shot her was full of anger mixed with frustration and guilt. His words dripped with sarcasm, the Colonel's own defense mechanism at its highest level, and something to which she'd grown accustomed. "Hope Little Miss Fix-it is taking house calls cause he's probably going to need it."

"He's stronger than you think, Sir," she began, but he turned sharply and strode to the edge of the platform where he stopped, glaring down at her.

"I know what kind of man he is, Carter. And no one should have to go through anything like this—especially if there's something I can do to stop it from happening."

Sam began to move, as if to rise to her feet to face off against him, but thought better of it. She was frustrated and his pacing was getting on her nerves, but it didn't make much sense for her to antagonize him. She sighed instead, breaking his gaze.

O'Neill echoed her sigh a few beats later, his mumbled reply tossed over his shoulder as the pacing began anew. "Not that there's anything we can do about it anyway."

She shook her head, biting her tongue. There was no point in answering him, especially since the comment wasn't aimed at her. Besides, he did enough damage beating himself up, why add to his misery or to the forcefulness of his pacing?

Back and forth.

Forth and back.

She wished he would stop.

A muffled thump answered her prayer—but not in the way she wanted. The Colonel was sprawled on the floor, slumped over, partially held up by the flickering force field along the far edge of the platform.

And he wasn't getting up.

"Colonel?" She scrambled to her feet, leaning as close to the shield as she could, trying to see him better, but the view didn't change. A bright flash of light distracted her, pulling her attention away from O'Neill and to the pile of Daniel that was on the floor at the far end of the platform.

"Daniel?" Glancing back and forth between her friends, her body moving closer to the younger man, taking in his bloodied wrists, the welts and bruises already a dark shade of purple under his waxen skin, blood and sweat leaving trails on his face where the drops had traveled.

The tingling of the force shield against her skin warned her not to press forward, but it did not stop her from worrying.

She glanced back toward the Colonel and her stomach twisted inside her gut. The sparking of the shield gave him a strange aura as he leaned against it, as it supported his unconscious frame.

From her growing familiarity with alien technology and her knowledge of energy fields, any extended contact with such a device—such as what the Colonel was currently experiencing—was not good. The human body was only designed to withstand so much. And Sam feared that if she wasn't able to move the Colonel away from the energy barrier he might not survive.

What had happened? One minute he was walking and the next he was on the ground, unconscious, his pacing a quickly fading memory. Could a shield have sprung up in his path, forcing him back? But that didn't make any sense.

Or did it?

Daniel had appeared only seconds later. Could their captors have sectioned off another area of the platform to give Daniel his own cell?

And what if the Colonel had walked into the force shield? The intensity of his forward momentum might have caused the shield to push him back with the same intensity, forcing him into the second shield.

And this might not have been the first time he'd been thrown by it. What if the effects were cumulative? He had been rubbing the back of his head and his temple when he thought she wasn't looking.

Damn it! Why didn't that man mention anything?

Her anger, however, didn't give her any advantage. Both of her teammates were unconscious and neither looked good.

A brief flash of light blinded her momentarily and when she opened her eyes once again, trying to blink away the "flash effect" lingering in them, the female alien was standing outside their prison, her face serene, but her movements hesitant as she glanced between the two unconscious men.

"Please," Sam said, her voice a breathy whisper drawing the woman's gaze. "Heal them, please. They need your help."

Holding Sam's gaze for a few beats more, she finally broke it, moving toward the Colonel. The field shimmered as she passed through, becoming unseen again a moment later. The technology these aliens possessed…Sam sighed. In more ideal circumstances she'd love to get her hands on it.

Watching carefully, Sam moved slowly toward the back corner of her cell, as close to the Colonel as she could get. She continued to cast worried glances toward Daniel, but the archeologist hadn't moved.

The alien kneeled down next to the Colonel, her head tilting to the side as she examined him, her gaze never leaving his still form.

But when the alien didn't move, Sam nearly tore her hair out in frustration. Why wasn't she helping him? Why was she just sitting there staring at him?

"Please do something," Sam said, the frustration in her voice thick. "That shield is going to kill him if you don't turn it off. Do something…please."

A few beats passed and Sam thought that the woman hadn't heard her, but then she moved, pushing up her sleeve, her fingers flying over the device strapped to her forearm.

And the shield the Colonel was leaning on vanished. He would have rolled onto the floor if it were not for the woman's quick movement, catching him and settling him carefully on the platform, his head lolling to the side.

And for a brief moment it looked like he wasn't breathing.

Had she waited too long?

Placing her hands on the Colonel, one on his head and one on his chest, the woman closed her eyes and bent her head. It only took a few seconds before she moved again, rising to her feet as she walked away from the Colonel and toward the archeologist, the shield between the Colonel and Daniel shimmering as she stepped through.

That was it?

Sam's eyes raced back to her commanding officer to find his confused gaze linking with hers. "Sir?"

He blinked twice before the word registered in his mind. "Carter?"

"Colonel, are you okay?"

"Headache," he said, pushing himself to a seated position, his eyes tracking slowly around the room before they landed on the alien, a strange expression crossing his face. It was gone, though, before she could identify it, his face hardening into the mask he usually wore.

She just barely caught his muttered words, however. "…wasn't a dream."

"Sir?" she asked, her forehead furrowing a little. The Colonel though ignored her question, directing the attention to their teammate.

"What happened to Daniel?"

But before she could answer him, a sudden flash of light illuminated the room and she ducked her head, trying to shield her eyes from the brightness. Once she looked up, however, the Colonel was already gone.

Sam sighed, letting her breath out in one explosive whoosh.

How much longer could this go on? How much longer could they last?

Shaking her head, she moved to the far end of her prison, watching as the alien breathed life back into the archeologist, as his wounds slowly faded from his body.

Several minutes later the alien stopped, removing her hands from Daniel as he opened his eyes, confusion deeply etched on his face.

"Daniel?" Sam probed, trying to see around the woman who had not moved, her own movements slow. It appeared as if healing them had drained her, sapped her energy.

Then why did she do it? Why did she heal us?

"I'm okay, Sam," Daniel said, his words clear, his tone thoughtful. He turned his head toward her, catching her gaze. "You? The last time I saw you—"

Sam nodded. "I know. I'm fine. She healed me as well."

Daniel, though, observed something more—the emptiness behind her. "Jack?"

Shaking her head, she watched fear enter Daniel's eyes. He knew what was in store for the Colonel. "They took him." Fastening her eyes on the alien, Sam was surprised she hadn't left, that she hadn't flashed away immediately after she'd completed healing Daniel. "Why are you doing this to us?"

The alien's eyes showed her exhaustion, her pale features even more transparent than before, but she met Sam's gaze without blinking, unfazed by the anger emanating from Sam. "It is our nature," she replied, her voice solemn, yet very different than the other aliens, holding a more musical quality.

Sam shook her head, disbelief in her voice. "Torturing people is in your nature?"

"Sam," Daniel said, gesturing for her to calm down a little as he slowly rolled to a seated position. The ridge between his brows deepened as he focused on the alien sitting before him. Sam could see the tension and the anger in his frame, but he held it in check. All she could think of was what was probably happening to her commanding officer on the other side of the facility. As much as she wanted to push it out of her mind, she couldn't, especially after seeing how Daniel had fared.

The archeologist, however, seemed to have a much more lenient and forgiving frame of mind. The female alien wasn't the one torturing them. She was healing them, making them better. Maybe that was how Daniel could separate the two.

It still wasn't easy.

"This is a scientific outpost, isn't it?"

The alien nodded once before she elaborated, clearly encouraged by Daniel's non-aggressive tone. "Yes. We have only just entered this galaxy."

"But this outpost is within a city of the Ancients. Is this section," Daniel gestured to the room around them, "yours? I remember seeing two forms of writing in the room with that crystal."

She shook her head. "Not entirely, no." She paused for a moment and Sam was unsure if she would continue. "It was first the possession of the Ancients, and then it was our peoples' when we passed through this galaxy. We have only just returned. The crystal provides access to these chambers from the city above."

As nice as that information was, it wasn't the time or the place. They were trapped here and the Colonel was being tortured for information. "But what is it that you want? Knowledge? Technology? Why exactly did you kidnap us?"

"We are explorers and scientists. We seek only to learn and to better ourselves. Is that not the same with you?"

"We do things a little differently," Daniel said, always the diplomat.

"I see," the woman said, her expression curious and thoughtful.

"Why did you cure the Colonel before Kyran took him away?" Sam asked breaking the silence that had grown between them.

The alien tilted her head, looking at Sam intently. "Do you believe us to be uncaring? We do not desire your deaths. On the contrary, we wish all of our subjects to live."

"But the Tok'ra—" Daniel began, only to be cut off by the alien.

"Were weak. You, however," she said, her gaze taking in the two of them, "are strong. There is a strength within you which we find most encouraging, most promising."

"So, you'll let us go when this is all over?"

A thin blue smile accompanied the alien's reply. "Of course. A way out is always provided."

The world around Jack shimmered and shifted. A cold concrete floor replaced the warmth of the carpeted platform. The sight of Daniel lying unmoving morphed into two towering aliens and hard shades of black, white, and gray.

It was a strange contrast, his brain protesting strenuously as he tried to wrap his thoughts around the concept. The aliens, however, decided that only seconds were needed for him to adjust.

"Colonel O'Neill, we are glad you were able to join us." Kyran's pale eyes gazed down at him, their color only broken by the small blue veins that ran through them.

Jack's mouth turned up in a humorless smile. "I don't think I had any choice in the matter."

Kyran didn't answer, instead moving to the other side of a table, leaving Jack where he sat on the floor. Shaking his head, trying to clear out some of the cobwebs, Jack climbed to his feet, his eyes narrowing as he got a closer look at the laboratory in which he found himself.

It was different than before. The gadgets and gizmos were all turned on, their lights blinking a dizzying array of colors. A single pair of shackles hung from the ceiling, their pristine white color marred by the reddish-brown streaks of blood.

The blood of his teammates.

Jack's stomach clenched, his jaw hardening as his eyes continued to scour the room. Kyran and his cohort were busy with their machines, ignoring him entirely.

Why did they bring him here?

Pushing down his frustration and revulsion, his eyes continued to track around the room, the gleaming metal surfaces screaming cleanliness, a stark contrast to their real purposes.

Here, these aliens tortured people for fun and games, for pleasure, while proclaiming their own superiority. Since when was the quest for knowledge paved with the bodies of the dead—or the dying?

His anger and frustration continued to grow, building up from the inside. They had to get out of here. After so much inaction, after seeing the results of their experiments on his friends and teammates, he could finally do something.

And Jack was not one to stand around gawking.

With the recent Superbowl victory still fresh in his mind, Jack took a page out of the Broncos' playbook. He wasn't as thick as their linebacker, but he knew he had the muscle to get the job done. And, as long as he didn't break his neck doing it, they'd all go home happy campers.

At least, that was the plan.

With a start to make Mike Shanahan proud, Jack launched himself at Kyran, a primal growl rumbling from deep within his chest. In all honesty—and with the way things had been going with the sudden appearance of force fields—he didn't think he'd make it. But, on the oft chance that he did, Jack wanted to make sure it counted.

He managed to avoid the sharp edges of the table—at first. It was only after making contact with Kyran did he realize that he'd made it, tackling the alien in one fell swoop. They landed hard, Jack on top, several machines crashing to the floor as the tables were shoved.

In a tangle of arms and legs Jack tried to keep the upper hand, managing several good shots before Kyran started blocking the blows. But even as he worked Kyran over, Jack tried to keep Nouri in view, knowing that his intervention could happen at any moment.

If he got just a little closer…

A brief glance toward the approaching alien and Jack was on his feet again, leaving a bruised and slightly bloodied Kyran behind, drops of blue blood drifting down the alien's chin.

His right hip skimmed an unmoving table, but he ignored the pain, anger fueling his forward charge. If he could take care of these two he'd be able to find a way out of this hellhole and get his team to safety. They could go home.

He had to get this right. Their lives depended on it.

Nouri, though, was quicker than he looked—and he was prepared. His hand flew to the device on his forearm, his fingers flowing over the controls. And without clenching a single hand, Nouri made the air around Jack harden and fists made of air struck him.

Pushing forward through sheer force of will, Jack made it several feet before the blows became too much, too strong, too many, too often.

Crashing to his knees, his body rolled, hitting one of the cabinets, the edge digging into his side. Pain flared and through the encroaching darkness and the maelstrom of blows, he heard a voice telling them to stop, that it was too soon, that more time was needed.

A final blow to his chin forced his head back into the metal cabinet and he knew no more.