Daniel Jackson walked into the embarkation room wearing his drab green field BDUs and carrying his open field pack. It was stuffed to the brim—too full to be closed with anything close to precision.

He was grateful to the Museum Company in this instance, since he had managed to find some unique Celtic broaches and jewelry to bring to Lord Kentigern and Lady Morgana. Usually, he just discarded whatever he found there out of hand, considering it as merely refuse—why settle for a cheap reproduction when you can have the real thing, he always contested.

For this occasion, however, cheap imitations—even at these prices—were the perfect gift for some misplaced Celtic priestesses and lords. So what if they were mass-manufactured, it was the thought that really counted. Besides, they’d never know—and he’d never tell.

In addition to the gift boxes, Daniel was determined to bring some reference books with him. He hadn’t caught up on his reading for this trip and he could use the opportunity to brush up on his knowledge of Celtic beliefs and customs—especially since everyone expected him to know just what to say.

His job was a lot tougher than it looked—having to converse with representatives of various races and cultures—thankfully not at the same time—without accidentally hitting on some taboo subject. Granted, he’d gotten the hang of the Texas two-step over the past few years—dancing around the sensitive areas when he stumbled across them—partially thanks to his badly broken speech.

Alien languages made Earth-based languages look like a walk in the park, Daniel thought wryly.

But, I digress, Daniel thought, as he knelt at the base of the Stargate ramp, trying for the fourth time to rearrange his pack in some semblance of order—stuffing the books, the gifts, and all his supplies into the bag. Years ago, he hadn’t been able to comprehend the reason for actually carrying all this stuff on his back—now he couldn’t carry enough.

He glanced up quickly toward the control room. It was still empty this early in the morning, with only Graham Simmons monitoring the controls. General Hammond hadn’t made his appearance yet either. Casting a quick glance at his watch, he noted that he was early—very early by his standards—he still had fifteen minutes.

Just as he began musing about taking a quick jaunt back down to his lab to grab another book and an extra chocolate bar, Sam Carter walked in with Major Paul Davis, the Pentagon’s liaison to the SGC, chatting up a storm.

From Daniel’s perspective, it seemed like Sam was trying to bring Paul up to speed on the mission objectives. Why Sam was doing it now, Daniel wasn’t sure. Usually General Hammond gave very complete briefing notes, especially when it involved an off-world mission. With everything going on, Daniel was positive that Davis had probably gotten a more complete briefing than they had. Oh well. Either way it didn’t matter. It was better late than never, Daniel thought, vaguely realizing that Paul must have flown into Colorado this morning. At least someone had been up earlier than him.

A few steps behind them, Major Stan Kovachek strode in—a pack in his hand and a chip on his shoulder. Major Kovachek was responsible for the treaty itself—getting it arranged and making sure all parties were in agreement. For this mission, however, Sam was in charge. Major Kovachek wasn’t happy—and had expressed his displeasure quite loudly last night—but was willing to follow General Hammond’s commands, even though he didn’t agree with the orders.

You’ve got to love the military mind, Daniel thought. Blind obedience was something he’d never understood. Maybe that was why he’d never joined the military when they were recruiting—or it could have been the fact that he was probably out of the country at one dig or another. Why he was in the military now was beyond him.

Why are you kidding yourself? Daniel’s mind retorted. They had you—actually Catherine had you—hook, line, and sinker as soon as you set your beady little eyes on that cover stone all those years ago.

Daniel shook his head in an effort to clear his mind and stood up to greet the rest of the team.

He could tell Sam was a little nervous about the mission. She was keeping up a pretty continuous monologue about Meath and SG1’s previous mission—which in itself would be quite normal since Paul needed to be kept in the loop—but her words were rushed and her hand gestures broader than they usually were. Plus, after every few gestures, Daniel observed her trying to unobtrusively wipe an obviously sweaty hand on the back of her fatigue pants.

Daniel put what he hoped was a supportive and non-threatening smile on his face and broke into Sam’s dissertation. "Hey, Sam, Paul. You all ready?"

Sam and Paul Davis had stopped just a few feet shy of where Daniel’s backpack was doing a very good impression of Mount Vesuvius. Paul leaned forward, offering Daniel his hand in greeting, which Daniel shook warmly, while at the same time flashing Paul a welcoming smile. As cautious and "by-the-book" as Paul had been over the years, Daniel had developed a certain respect for the man. It was hard enough to work for the military, let alone having to worry about what the Pentagon and the Joint Chiefs had to say about everything that happened halfway across the country—and in this case, the other side of the galaxy.

"I think so, Daniel." Sam aimed a glance at the over-stuffed pack resting at his feet. She sent an amused smile his way. "Do you have enough stuff?"

Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and matched Sam’s smile with an embarrassed one of his own. "I hope so. I’d hate to have to hike all the way back to the gate just to get a book."

Daniel didn’t think it possible, but Sam grinned even wider. "Amen to that. It’s bad enough that we have a two hour journey ahead of us as is."

"I know. I was just considering running back down to my lab to grab one other book."

Sam looked quickly at her field watch, checking the time and glanced up at the control room. Daniel followed her gaze upward and found the control room still empty except for Simmons. "You have time if you want to go. If you need help looking, I can take a walk with you, as long as you tell me what it is I’m looking for."

A weird feeling passed over Daniel, but he shook it off. "That’s okay, Sam. I don’t think I really have to run down there, but thanks for the offer."

"Okay, Daniel, but I don’t want to hear it later," Sam said, trying to keep her tone light and joking, instead her tone fell flat in the uneasy silence left between them.

Tension filled the air, buzzing just beneath the surface, and it was all coming from the direction of one hovering Major. While Major Kovachek was part of the team for this mission, he had been a little standoffish during the pre-mission briefing, in the infirmary during the pre-mission medical check, and even later in the locker room when they were getting ready. If Major Kovachek’s attitude was going to cause a problem, Daniel was sure that Sam would address it here and now—before they left the planet. Sam wasn’t one to beat around the bush and she was used to speaking her mind, so Daniel wasn’t surprised when she brought up the subject a few minutes later.

"Major, I know you were not happy with the choice of commander for this mission, but I want to reassure you that I won’t step on your toes during the negotiations. SG1 was never meant to be a diplomatic team. We’re strictly first contact and reconnaissance. I just need your assurance that, until the negotiations begin, you will trust in my abilities to lead this team safely to Meath and to judge the situation there." She glanced at Major Davis, who offered her an encouraging nod before she continued. "While Major Davis is part of the Air Force, he has not been part of a front line unit in many years. Daniel, on the other hand, has plenty of experience in the field, but is not militarily trained. I need to be able to rely on you if something happens. Can I?"

Daniel was sure that if the solider could look remorseful, Kovachek would have. Once Sam had started speaking, the Major had quickly found that his bootlaces were very interesting. Even now that Sam was finished and waiting for Kovachek’s answer, he couldn’t meet her steely gaze.

"Major Carter, please believe me when I tell you that my…disagreement with General Hammond was never an insult aimed at you or your abilities to command." Kovachek chanced a quick glance at Sam, trying to see if she was actually listening. She was—very intently—causing Kovachek to drop his gaze once again. "I was merely expressing my…concerns about having only one diplomat on this mission, especially since this is both a much needed and highly desired alliance for the SGC. At the time…I felt that in light of the situation it might be best to have a diplomat in charge. General Hammond was considerate enough to explain the entire situation to me."

Daniel knew that Kovachek was walking on thin ice—Sam, while patient never liked double-talk—but so far, Kovachek was doing well. He hadn’t insulted Sam directly, yet. I guess that’s why he’s the professional diplomat, Daniel snickered to himself.

Daniel looked at Sam, noting her stiff back and the tension in her face and shoulders. While she wore a calm expression on her face, trying to show that she was open to Kovachek’s comments, Daniel knew that she wasn’t a happy camper. Kovachek had waltzed around her question with the greatest of ease.

"Major Kovachek, before you even set foot on that ramp," Sam said, gesturing to the metal structure before them. "I need to know that I can rely on your training and your expertise if the situation turns on us. Do I have that assurance?" Sam’s voice was like steel.
Kovachek swallowed before answering, his tone meek. "Yes, Major. You can rely on me."

"Thank you. That was all I needed."

A thick, stifling silence descended on the gateroom as they waited for General Hammond. Each member of SG1 found a different part of the gate room fascinating, everyone trying their best not to make eye contact. Minutes passed before Daniel inched up to Sam and leaned into her, speaking softly. "You were a little rough on him, don’t you think?"

Sam sent a surprised glance his way but answered in an equally quiet voice. "Yeah, I know." Daniel saw apprehension in her eyes. "I’m just worried. I didn’t mean to take it out on him."

"You might want to tell him that."

Sam glanced over at Major Kovachek, who was now intently scrutinizing his fingernails.

"Damn," Sam swore softly.

"Yeah, I know."

"I should talk to him."

"Probably be a good idea."

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing a hand through her short blond hair, ruffling it slightly. Her blue eyes were intense, showing clearly the battle that was raging in her mind. Normally, there was never a question about Sam’s ability to command any situation, but for some reason, this time things were different. It was as if this whole mission had them on edge and, unfortunately, that meant that Kovachek got the short straw.

Sam knew intellectually that she had come down too hard on Kovachek and she had to straighten things out with him before they left. For a team to function effectively there had to be trust between all members. Forcing her will upon a team member didn’t exactly make for a very solid foundation—especially at the beginning of what could very well be a long and complicated relationship. Treaty negotiations were never easy in the best of times and were typically even more convoluted when it involved people from other planets entirely.

Her emotional side had other thoughts on the matter, however. Daniel was sure that if Kovachek walked naked into an incoming wormhole she wouldn’t have cared in the least. He could almost hear the thoughts running through Sam’s head, because they were the same ones he had had when he heard the ruckus last night. Where did he get the nerve to go over her head to General Hammond? It was astonishing to Daniel that a diplomat, who was supposed to be tolerant of others, would even begin to imply that Sam was incapable or unable to perform her duties.

Unless the grapevine in the mountain was faster than usual, Daniel thought. News about SG1 usually traveled quickly, especially when something happened. News of SG1 finding an imaginary race of people or under possible alien influence was a hot topic any day of the week.

Daniel watched the battle rage in her eyes for a few moments before she nodded her head. "Yeah." Sam glanced up, watching Kovachek carefully as he tried unsuccessfully to blend into the concrete wall behind him. "Major?" Sam said. As Kovachek’s head shot up, Daniel had a quick mental image that was a cross between a deer in headlights and a lamb being led to the slaughter. Not a pretty picture.

"Sam…" Daniel said, his tone warning her that she was still coming on a little strong.

Sam glanced at Daniel quickly, exasperation on her face, but realized he was right. She took a deep breath and started again. "Major Kovachek, can I have a word with you for a minute?"

"Sure, Major," Kovachek said, stepping forward.

Sam looked around quickly and realized that she didn’t want an audience for this. She gestured for Kovachek to follow her as she walked toward the door to the gateroom. "Let’s step into the hall for a minute."

Sam stepped through, with Kovachek following meekly behind her, leaving Daniel and Paul Davis to stare at the remnants of Daniel’s overflowing backpack. Paul broke the silence a few seconds later.

"You know, Daniel, you’re never going fit all that in there."

Daniel looked up, catching the spark of laughter in Paul’s dark eyes. "Yeah, I know," Daniel said, conceding the point with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I really can’t afford to leave any of it behind."

"Why?" Paul asked, dropping his own pack next to a now kneeling Daniel.

"I’d just rather be on the safe side. Besides, it’s not like it’s a short trip back to the gate if I do forget something," Daniel said, trying to make some sense out of his backpack before General Hammond made his appearance.

Paul reached over and grabbed some of the books from Daniel’s hand. "Here, let me take these."

"Paul, you don’t have to do that. I’ll manage." Daniel’s voice held a note of warning, but Paul pointedly ignored it. Daniel didn’t like to be coddled—never had, even as a child. He was accustomed to fending for himself, taking care of himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust anyone, he just wanted things done in a particular way…and he didn’t trust anyone else to do it the way he wanted it done.

Ever since he’d joined the Stargate program, he had gotten a lot of attention from everyone—the way people deferred to him for an opinion; the "can we help you carry that back to your lab?" from men who were twice his age; the protection off-world. It could get suffocating at times, especially when Sam and Teal’c were in one of their "mother hen" moods—but that usually only happened after he had managed to injure himself.

"Daniel," Paul said, looking Daniel in the eyes, "there is physically no way all of this will fit into your pack. How many times have you tried?"

Breaking eye contact, Daniel shifted his gaze back down to the boxes in his hands and the pack lying in front of him. "This would be the fifth or sixth time."

"So, what’s the problem with a little assistance?" Paul asked, neatly packing the books he had snatched from Daniel’s hands into his own pack.

"Nothing, I guess," Daniel mumbled, shifting a few items in the pack to fit one of the gift boxes. "Thanks," he added. The words were so quiet they barely left his mouth, although Paul heard them loud and clear.

"You’re welcome." A few more seconds of silence passed before Paul spoke again, his words accompanied by a perplexed expression on his face. "What is it about this planet that has you and Carter so jumpy?" Paul snagged another item from the pile on the floor, much to Daniel’s dismay. Daniel sighed deeply, knowing it was pointless to argue with him as Paul continued to pilfer articles from Daniel’s pile.

"I don’t know what you mean," Daniel said, glancing up quickly, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He knew exactly what Paul was talking about—he just didn’t think…he had hoped…and prayed…that he and Sam hadn’t been so obvious about it. Besides, it wasn’t something he really wanted to talk about—especially not just before they were leaving. If General Hammond got wind of what was really going through his mind, he’d be back in his lab so quickly his head wouldn’t catch up with him for weeks. And to top it all off, he’d probably never set foot anywhere near the Gateroom for the rest of his life. Not an option he was willing to consider.

"I mean, Carter has been talking my ear off since I set foot in the mountain this morning. She’s normally a little more…reserved. And add that to the fact that she nearly ripped Major Kovachek a new body orifice this morning…" Paul said, leaning back on his heels while his eyes locked with Daniel’s. "You, on the other hand, while maintaining your normally calm and professional exterior, have decided to pack your entire office in your backpack."

Daniel shrugged noncommittally, fitting another item into his bag. "We’ve just been under a little stress lately, that’s all."

"Stress?" Paul asked. Daniel could tell that Paul wasn’t buying that answer any more than if Daniel had told him that there was some type of winged pig hovering just above his head.

"Yes, stress," Daniel said, his voice firm. "It isn’t every day that we get the opportunity to make an alliance with a new race. We just want to make sure that everything goes smoothly."

"Smoothly?" Paul huffed in disbelief, glancing around the gate room once again. To Daniel it looked like he was trying to put his thoughts in order and, at this point, Daniel was sure he wasn’t going to like what Paul had to say. "Daniel, I’m trying to say this as a friend. Both you and Carter aren’t looking like the flagship SG team we’re used to seeing. It’s painfully obvious to all of us that there’s a big problem, but you just can’t see it. You know, if Colonel O’Neill was here—"

"Well, he’s not here. And in any case, we have everything under control," Daniel said, abruptly cutting Paul off and stuffing the last item into his bag and zipping it closed.

"Daniel," Paul said as he grabbed Daniel’s shoulder and turned him, forcing Daniel to look at him.

"What?" Daniel said, defensive.

Paul’s eyes flashed angrily, his mouth set in a thin, tight line. "What’s really going on here? What the hell happened to you on that planet?"

Daniel closed his eyes in resignation, his arms going limp at his sides. "Paul, I don’t know. We went, we met the natives, we attended a nice dinner party, found that they were friendly and willing to share their knowledge and forge an alliance, and then we got back here and all hell broke loose."

Daniel’s blue eyes bored into Paul’s with an intensity and determination that was startling. "Paul, there’s something going on over there and I need to find out what they did to us. When Colonel Yearwood returned with SG5, Dr. Fraiser found a trace chemical in their bloodstream that could have something to do with why we seemed to have…suffered from some…memory problems."

"Memory problems?"

Daniel cringed slightly at Paul’s tone of disbelief, although it was better than having him angry—at least he was listening. "Apparently…all of SG1…well, at least Sam, Teal’c, and I, seem to have…forgotten…completely forgotten…that we have a fourth. At the very least, we seem to have left him behind on the planet somewhere…at least that’s what they’ve been telling us."

"You what?" Paul’s eyes were just about ready to pop out of their sockets. In the back of his mind, Daniel vaguely wondered what that would be like. If Paul’s eyes did pop out of their sockets that might be kind of cool. Wondering where that morbid thought came from, Daniel shook his head before he continued.

"And if that wasn’t bad enough, when SG5 went back to check out our story, they didn’t find any signs of civilization whatsoever, which made things a look a little worse for us than they originally had. It seems that the native population has the ability to block out selective memories from our consciousness. In the case of SG1, it appears that it was the memory of Colonel O’Neill. For SG5, it was their entire race—that is if they even looked for them in the first place," Daniel said, standing up before his legs cramped up on him.

Paul’s eyes were still wide in shock as he rose to stand beside Daniel. "And we’re going back to make an alliance with these people?"

Daniel waved his hands emphatically, his tone passionate. "Paul, these people could be a powerful ally in our fight against the Goa’uld. They were capable of fighting and defeating the Goa’uld and the Goa’uld haven’t returned. We need to know what they know. This might be the race that helps us turn the tide in the war against the Goa’uld. How can we turn our backs on that?"

"But, Daniel, if they have the ability to block memories, do they have the ability to add memories to your mind as well?" Paul spoke cautiously, choosing each word carefully. "Could everything you saw on that planet be just a figment of your imagination, merely suggestions planted in your mind by a powerful alien?"

Daniel pulled off his glasses to rub his free hand across his eyes. "Paul, you have no idea how many times I’ve kicked myself for forgetting to bring along my digital recorder the last time. At least if I had a picture of what we saw, I would have some kind of visual confirmation that what I’m saying was true."

"Do you have it this time?"

"Yeah, plus five extra blank memory cards and four sets of extra batteries. I’m going to document everything." Daniel offered a weak smile.

Paul chuckled quietly. "I think you may have it covered." An easy, contemplative silence fell between them that Paul broke a few minutes later. "No wonder you’re stressed."

"Huh?" Daniel turned toward Paul, noticing the thoughtful expression on the other man’s face.

Paul looked up, smiling slightly. "No wonder you’re stressed. It’s difficult enough to prove to the military that you’re sane when you have doctors and scientific reports to support your side of the story. It’s next to near impossible trying to prove it when you have nothing but your word."

"So, that’s why General Hammond’s been looking constipated," Daniel said, a broad grin spreading across his face.

"Yeah, probably," Paul said, as a laugh found its way to his throat.

Daniel and Paul were laughing heartily when Sam and Major Kovachek walked back into the gate room, moving to stand at the base of the metal ramp beside the chortling men.

"So…what’s so funny?" Sam asked, looking back and forth between Paul and Daniel, trying to figure it out. Her clear blue eyes searched Daniel’s face for an answer that wasn’t forthcoming.

"Nothing, Sam," Daniel said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye with his hand. He was fitting his glasses back on the bridge of his nose when General Hammond’s voice echoed throughout the gateroom.

"SG1, are you ready to embark?" Hammond said stiffly, causing Paul and Daniel to glance at each other conspiratorially.

Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching the look between the two men. "Yes, sir. We’re ready to depart," she answered Hammond.

The inner ring of the Stargate starting spinning seconds later and the group started prepping themselves for the journey to the other side. Every now and then, an absent chuckle would emerge from Paul or Daniel as they shrugged their packs over their shoulders. Daniel’s, while lighter than it had been originally, was still considerably loaded down. He was grateful that Paul had packed several of the heavier items in his own bag and made a mental note to himself to make sure he thanked Paul as soon as they had a private moment.

Sam eventually managed to catch Daniel’s eye and a silent communication passed between them. Daniel shook his head at the questioning look Sam sent his way, adding the mouthed words "later" as an afterthought.

Making a face of displeasure, Sam nodded reluctantly.

"Major Carter, I expect to see you back here in three days’ time. If you need more time, we can decide then what our course of action will be," Hammond said, his voice echoing strangely off the hard concrete and metal surfaces of the gateroom.

The ka-whoosh of the opening wormhole prompted the team to take their positions on the ramp, waiting for Sam who had turned to acknowledge the General’s order. "Yes, sir. If Lord Kentigern is anything like he was when we were there last, we shouldn’t need any more time than what you’ve already allotted us, sir."

"Very well, Major. God speed."

"Thank you, sir." Sam turned back to the open wormhole, the blue and white light glinting off her face. She eyeballed each member of the group and offered a smile. "Well, if we’re ready to go, let’s get a move on. There’s no time like the present."

At least this time, it wasn’t raining, Sam Carter thought, picking her way across the rocky ground to stand next to the DHD and wait for the rest of her team to emerge from the open wormhole.

Her blue eyes scanned the horizon, noting the lush vegetation, the varied shades of green with hints of color dotting the landscape. Winged creatures soared high above, circling, welcoming the travelers with their cries before they moved on, deeper into the valley and forests below. There were no gray mists to obscure her vision and for that she was grateful.

Sam took a long deep breath of the crisp air and felt some of the tension leave her body. She’d finally gotten back to the planet where everything had started. Maybe that meant she would finally get answers to the questions that were running through her mind—questions that were in desperate need of answers.

At the very least, she was pleased. She’d had a good conversation with Major Kovachek before they left and things seemed to be better—not great, but better. At least she didn’t have to worry that Kovachek would second-guess her commands during the mission. If something did happen while they were here, the last thing she wanted to worry about was someone getting injured or killed because he couldn’t obey a simple order.

Hearing the gate discharge an object—a person in this instance—Sam glanced back and watched as Daniel walked across the open track toward her, his eyes firmly fixed on the ground beneath his feet—oblivious to his surroundings. When it came to Daniel, you couldn’t teach him new tricks—and God knows, she’d tried. While she stood at attention, her weapon aimed at the wooded area beyond, her eyes constantly scrutinizing the perimeter; Daniel only glanced up to judge the distance he still had to travel before he reached even ground.

Majors Kovachek and Davis stepped out of the wormhole side-by-side and, a few beats later, the gate closed with its usual snap-hiss behind them, the rock wall at their backs.

Kovachek and Davis, Cater noted, were immediately on guard, their eyes sweeping the trees before them, their weapons held at the ready. Assured they were doing their job, she turned her attention back to Daniel, who had finally reached the DHD and was trying to lean against it nonchalantly. The heavy backpack prevented his stance from being anything remotely casual. Sam was sure he was just using the DHD as a shelf, allowing the structure to hold up his pack and alleviate some of the pressure on his back. Sam was glad that she wasn’t in Daniel’s shoes this mission.

Glancing around once again, she voiced the question foremost in her mind. "Daniel, where is everybody? Do we just head out or are we supposed to wait and meet up with someone from the village?"

"Well," Daniel said, rubbing a hand through his short brown hair and gazing at the other two men approaching their position. He turned back to Sam to answer her, his eyes distant in thought. "Since it doesn’t look like there’s anyone here to greet us, I guess we can just make our way to the village. They know we’re coming. I wouldn’t be surprised to find Egan on the trail somewhere."

"That was my thought too, Daniel. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page," Sam said, nodding to Kovachek and Davis as they stopped before her. "Well, it looks like the welcoming party isn’t here yet, so we might as well get started. We have a good two hour walk to get to the village."

While Sam was speaking, Daniel had slid his pack off his shoulder and was digging around inside. Moments later his digital camcorder emerged and he zipped the pack shut, levering it up onto his back. "Sure, Sam. I just want to get started with some recording," Daniel said, pressing a few buttons on the camera’s side, his concentration fully engaged on the device.

"I’ll take point. Kovachek, I’d like you to take our six."

"Yes, Major," Kovachek said, gripping his P90 a little tighter.

"Major Davis, if you don’t mind, can you keep an eye on Daniel?" Sam asked the question with a smile, as they watched Daniel wander off to take some recordings of the Stargate itself.

"No problem, Major," Paul said smiling. "I’ll try to keep him in line, make sure he doesn’t stray too far."

"Let me tell you, that’s easier said than done. One of these days it might pay to put a leash on him or something," Sam said, her manner joking, but a strange shiver ran up her spine. Shaking off the feeling, she glanced around the clearing, watching as Daniel ambled around the area. "Daniel," she called, trying to get the archeologist’s attention.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming." Daniel’s distracted reply floated over the air. Daniel was aiming himself toward the ruins now, barely paying attention to the rocks beneath his feet. A few times, Sam was almost certain he was going to trip and injure himself.

"Daniel, at this rate you’re going to run out of space on that camera before you even get to the village," Sam said, gesturing for the rest of the team to follow her toward the path that led to Meath.

Daniel snapped off the recorder a minute later, after panning the camera slowly around the site. "That’s all I need right now. Are we ready to go?"

"Yes, Daniel," Sam said, her voice ever indulgent of his quirks, as she led the way into the forest.

Moments after Kovachek’s form disappeared into the undergrowth another figure emerged from the trees on the far side of the Stargate clearing. He gazed after the figures, but did not follow, instead choosing to turn back the way he had come.

A lone black bird circled overhead, making careful patterns in the sky.

For the first time in a very long time, Jack O’Neill was warm. Not the suffocating, unpleasant, sitting too close to the fire warm, but the comfortable curled up under a down comforter in bed on a winter morning warm.

He smiled to himself and burrowed back down under the covers and the heat they held. A few seconds passed, however, before his mind caught up with the sensations of his body. Once it did, his eyes flew open, taking in the dirt floor, the rough blanket covering him, the open door, and the pitcher sitting nearby.

He squinted through the dark, the only light from the torch burning brightly in the hallway beyond the door. He closed his eyes briefly, breathing deeply before opening them once again to be greeted by the same sights. It wasn’t his imagination. He was back in his cell with no recollection of how he got there.

He settled back down onto his makeshift bed, trying to think, trying to remember what had happened the night—and day—before. His last memory was of a bath sometime the night before, washing away the grime and the sweat.

Lifting the blanket, he glanced down toward his chest to confirm what he already knew—he was dressed in new clothes—even down to his undergarments. The reassuring weight of his dog tags was gone, as was the comfortable feeling of cotton next to his skin, replaced instead with a rougher fabric, less refined than what he was accustomed to. Vaguely he hoped that nothing chafed.

Dropping the blanket, he sighed deeply, rubbing his hands savagely across his eyes. His thumb and forefinger stopped briefly to squeeze the bridge of his nose as he tried to ease the throbbing pain in his head.

Things were so disjointed. He was weary, tired to the bone. He felt drained—of feeling, of strength, of will.

Memories kept flashing in and out—faces…words…kept coming back, echoing through his mind. Memories of pain—incredible pain—were the strongest. His body shivered as it recalled the sensations.

It would be so easy to give up, to turn over and go back to sleep, and later, to give in to Lady Morgana’s demands. Part of him wanted to. Part of him was ready.

His team had already given up on him. They’d come to their conclusions about him not long ago, realizing that the people who got close to O’Neill were the ones most likely to be hurt—or even killed. They’d started distancing themselves from him—especially after that whole NID undercover incident.

They had already begun to realize the things everyone else had figured out eventually—that they really didn’t need him. When it came to SG1, they already had a linguist/archeologist, a scientist, and a very capable warrior. What did they need him for? What had he done for them lately except manage to attract trouble to the group?

It was Daniel who figured out how to stop the ship from wiping out the Enkarans—even willing to go out on a limb and place his life on the line to find a solution to the problem. It was Daniel who perceived that the Eurondans were not to be trusted. When all was said and done, it was really Carter who discovered that the Zatarc was Martouf and saved the day—and the president’s life. It was Carter who found a "stupid idea" to defeat the Replicators. And where was he when Daniel, Carter, and Doc Fraiser were running around the planet in search of a missing Goa’uld? Fishing.

They didn’t need him. They never had. It had taken him this long to finally figure it out himself.

He couldn’t really blame General Hammond for giving up on him. What did the General need with a washed up, over the hill, set in his way Colonel who never listened to orders? Sure, he helped keep the base running as second in command, but any desk bound paper pusher could fill out the same forms he did—and they would probably do a much better job. Knowing Hammond, he had probably already listed him as missing in action, dotted the "I"s and crossed all the "T"s, filed all the paperwork in triplicate, and had written him off with barely a second thought.

He closed his eyes as the weariness settled into his bones.

But, out of that lassitude, a small spark emerged—barely an ember. O’Neill realized that he wasn’t finished. He wasn’t ready to stop fighting. Yes, he was tired, he admitted to himself, but that was no reason to give up.

As long as I’m alive, there’s always a chance. That had been his motto years ago, at the hands of other demented, psychotic madmen passing themselves off as respectable generals. He survived four months under their care—four months of his life spent rotting in an Iraqi hellhole that had come to be his home away from home.

If he didn’t give up then, why should he give up now?

Even if everyone was against him, why should he give up when there was still the possibility that he could escape—that he could return to his world and try to make a difference, try to make up for all the lives that had been lost on his account? Trying to survive was the least he could do.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his breathing, gathering his strength. Several moments passed before he moved, sitting up slowly and carefully, the chain clinking behind him as he adjusted the blankets around his body. He was pleasantly surprised to find himself merely sore and aching, the pain infrequent and minor. From the bits and pieces he could remember from his last encounter with Lady Morgana, he had expected to be much worse off.

But, he was thirsty.

And there was a pitcher of something within reach.

After a moment of indecision, his eyes flicking quickly back and forth between the door and the pitcher, he reached out, his arm shaking with exertion, and lifted the pitcher to pour some of the liquid—a weak tea of sorts—into the glass. After spilling some of the precious liquid, he grabbed hold of the pitcher with both hands, slowly guiding it to the tumbler, the liquid finally reaching its goal.

Placing the pitcher back down before his trembling hands dropped it, he sat back, winded, his heart beating frantically. He was disgusted with himself for being so weak.

A few moments passed before he reached out again, this time to grasp the cool glass between his hands, bringing the tumbler to his mouth. Drinking deeply, he closed his eyes as the cool liquid washed away the dryness that had settled in this throat. As soon as the liquid hit his stomach, warmth spread through his middle, making him sigh in relief. He could feel his strength returning bit by bit.

In the back of his mind, a voice warned him to be careful. The voice warned him about the possibility that there was something in the water, but his thirst drowned out that tiny voice.

Putting the tumbler down, he reached for the pitcher again with both hands, pouring another glass full with arms and hands that were steadier than they had been moments before. It was sheer ecstasy to him as the liquid filled his mouth and cascaded down his throat bringing him that much needed relief. He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes, and leaning back against the stone wall.

His eyes flew open seconds later, when a soft voice resounded throughout the room.

"Are you feeling better, my love?"

He squinted through the darkness, trying to follow the sound of Lady Morgana’s voice. He cleared his throat, trying to reply. "What?" O’Neill asked, his voice rough and raspy.

Her shapely, graceful figure formed out of the darkness and settled down before him, her earth-colored dress flowing around her, pooling before him. Her auburn hair framed Lady Morgana’s face; her green eyes were firmly fixed on his chocolate brown eyes. Her hand caressed his cheek, her fingers brushing through the short hairs on his chin.

"It is good to see that you are better, my love," she said, gazing deeply into his eyes. Her close scrutiny was disconcerting and disquieting, but he couldn’t turn away. He knew this couldn’t be right—it shouldn’t be right—but her eyes were all that he saw, her green eyes piercing deep into his soul.

Her smile lit up his heart.

While he held her gaze, drowning in her luminescent eyes, the voice in the back of his mind was trying to issue a warning. Danger Will Robinson! Danger! Danger! The voice was screaming out the words in an effort to be heard over the rushing white noise that was quenching all of his thoughts.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see her lips moving, but he couldn’t make out the words. It was strange, he thought vaguely. He knew that he should be able to hear what she was saying—understand what she was saying—but her eyes were all encompassing—drowning out all of his other senses.

Vaguely, he realized that her hands were on either side of his face, rubbing his temples, easing the throbbing pain in his head, only to be replaced with a feeling of contentment and serenity.

A thick haze was falling over his mind, suffocating his sense of free will.

Part of him realized that she had to have put something in the tea—and he had had two full glasses on an empty stomach in a weakened state. Smart thing to do, O’Neill, his mind chided him, trying to fight for control.

But control was not to be had, at least in this instance.

When she removed her hands and leaned back, he almost surged forward, trying to maintain contact with the hands that had so lovingly held him moments before. That comforting presence had become so welcome, so needed.

"Shush, my love. I’m not going far. Would you like something to eat?" Her smile enveloped him, lighting the room and his soul.

O’Neill nodded his head slightly, without breaking eye contact. She was his world. There was nothing else that mattered.

"Good. Just sit there and I’ll get something for you. Can you remain still for me?"

He nodded quickly. He’d do anything to make her happy.

"Good," she smiled, getting up and moving toward the open door. "Turlough," she called from the doorway, the flickering light from the burning torch casting highlights and shadows on her face. Her eyes, though, never left O’Neill’s expectant face.

"Yes, my lady," O’Neill heard Turlough’s faint reply from the hallway.

"Please bring us some food to break our fast this morning."

"Yes, my lady. I shall bring it right away," Turlough said, his retreating footsteps indicating he was running to comply with Morgana’s request.

"See, my love, that was easy," she said, stepping back to sit before O’Neill on the pallet of blankets. He closed his eyes, leaning into her palm as she gently caressed his face.

A few moments passed before her hand slid down to finger the metal collar around his neck. She dropped her eyes to gaze at it, but quickly looked back up into O’Neill’s now open deep brown eyes. "Would you like me to remove this from you?" she asked, tapping a fingernail against the metal band.

O’Neill nodded his head slightly, clearing his throat to get the words out. "Yes…yes, my lady." Part of him cringed as the words left his mouth, but he knew that there was no other answer to be found.

Lady Morgana smiled widely at him, her green eyes glinting with an emotion he couldn’t read—wouldn’t read. "Very well, my love," she said, reaching with both hands to grasp the collar. A few seconds later a quiet click was heard and the collar dropped into her hands, the chain rattling behind him. She smiled at him. "Is that better?"

"Much better, my lady. Much better," he answered automatically, the real O’Neill shouting in his mind, railing against the brain-dead sycophant he had become.

She reached down and poured another glass of the tea from the pitcher on the floor. "Here, my love, drink more of this. It will help you to regain your strength."

Even though his mind howled at him to hurl the glass far away from him, to not take another sip, he watched in horror as his hands took the glass from her and he drank deeply from the tumbler, finishing it in one long swallow. O’Neill felt a wave of pleasure flow through him when she commended him, taking the glass from his hands. "Very good, my love."

A rustle of fabric against stone announced Turlough’s return with a tray full of food. Turlough placed the tray next to Lady Morgana and stepped back, awaiting her next order.

"Thank you, Turlough. Please make sure everything is in readiness for our guests. They should be here within the hour. Return to me here when they arrive."

"Yes, my lady. I will do as you ask." Turlough bowed, turning on his heel, and strode from the room, a man with a purpose.

Lady Morgana turned her attention back to O’Neill’s whose eyes had never left her face. "Are you hungry?"

He answered, although his voice was still hoarse from the cries and screams from the day before. "Yes, my lady."

"Good. Then let us eat something, so you can regain some of your strength. We have a long day ahead of us," Lady Morgana said, leaning down to put some butter on the still oven-warmed rolls.

His mind screamed at him to fight, to flee from her, but his body was not cooperating. While his mind tried to plan and scheme a way for him to escape this nightmare that had become his reality, his body—his own hand—accepted the roll from her. A feeling of intense pleasure rolled through his body and mind when she smiled at him, drowning out all other thoughts and senses.

His own voice spoke the words he never thought he would utter. "Thank you, my lady."

"There is no need for thanks, my love," she said, tenderly running her fingers through his hair. "You shall be my new beloved. How does that sound?"

"I look forward to it, my lady."

All he could see was her bright green eyes and her lovely, tender mouth turned upward in a smile.