Jack was scaring Daniel badly.

Jack was covered in the blanket that Sam had scrounged from somewhere in the house, his body finally warming up from the cold chill it had had when they’d found him less than thirty minutes before.

He still lay huddled on the filthy mattress. Daniel didn’t want to move him. He wanted Janet to check him out first. Every time that they touched or moved him it had caused Jack pain. The last thing Daniel wanted to do was to cause his friend any more pain.

He didn’t need any more pain. Jack had obviously had enough for a hundred lifetimes. More than any one man should be forced to endure.

Unshed tears stung Daniel’s eyes, but he blinked them back. He didn’t want Jack to see how afraid he was—how afraid he was of losing his best friend before he had the chance to apologize, to explain, and to mend the bonds of their friendship that he’d so roughly broken.

"Daniel?" Jack asked, his voice weak, his eyes searching for Daniel.

"What Jack?" Daniel asked, instinctively placing his hand on Jack’s arm.

Jack reacted immediately, his eyes closing tightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Daniel pulled his hand back immediately, cursing himself for his forgetfulness.

"Oh, Jack, I’m sorry," Daniel said, his voice quivering.

"Daniel…leave me…please…"

"No, Jack, I won’t leave you again," Daniel argued, his emotions very close to the surface.

Jack opened his eyes and it was as if Daniel could see right through him. Past the pain and the exhaustion in his eyes, Jack was naked—his emotions barely contained. "Please, Daniel…please leave me alone…"

"Jack," Daniel exclaimed. "I’m not leaving. We were…I was worried about you. We’ve spent the better part of a week trying to find where you’d been taken."

Tears squeezed out past Jack’s tightly closed eyelids, a low moan in his throat. "Daniel…please…"Jack begged. The sound clutched at Daniel’s heart, but he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave Jack alone in this room. He wouldn’t do it.

A commotion in the hallway caused Daniel to glance up as Janet Fraiser strode into the room. She froze just inside the door, her eyes taking everything in from the threadbare mattress to the restraints lying in a pile on the floor. This room that had only one purpose: to torture and kill.

"Janet, thank God," Daniel spoke without conscious thought, the words flowing out of his mouth in relief. "You have to help him, Janet."

"I will, Daniel," Janet said, kneeling down next to Jack, her large medical bag set beside her, her eyes already examining her patient even before she was fully settled. Jack opened his red-rimmed eyes, locking his gaze with Janet’s.

"Doc," he said, the word quiet, his eyes unable to disguise the depth of his pain.

"I’m going to help you, Colonel," Janet said softly, before glancing up quickly, her gaze locking with someone behind Daniel.

"Sam, I want you and Anne to go upstairs to the bedroom and put new sheets on the bed. I’m going to move the Colonel up there in a few minutes. It’ll be more comfortable for him," Janet ordered, before turning back to her patient.

"I didn’t want to move him, Janet. I didn’t want to hurt him anymore—"

Janet reached across Jack’s body to lightly touch Daniel’s arm and offered a weak, but compassionate, smile. "I know, Daniel," she said, her voice understanding. "It’s okay. I’m going to check him out and then move him upstairs. He won’t have to stay in this room any longer than necessary."

Daniel nodded, moving back a little to give her room to work.

"Daniel, what can you tell me? Janet asked, her eyes on Jack’s face, etched with pain, his eyes closed tightly once again.

"He’s been complaining of pain, lots of it. No matter where we touch him it hurts," Daniel said, glancing down, his voice lowering. "We…caused him a lot of pain just to get him free."

Janet nodded, her expression closed, but grim. "Anything else?"

"He hasn’t moved, Janet. Not a muscle."

"Sir," Janet asked, turning her head to look at the supine man, "is that true?"

Jack’s eyes opened and focused firmly on Janet’s face. "Drug…causes paralysis."

Daniel could feel his face pale when Jack spoke, when he explained in just those few words. But a rage burned deep inside. All those restraints had been used on a paralyzed man—a man who was unable to defend himself. Oh, God, Daniel thought, his mind flashing back to the image burned in his mind of Jack hanging from the ceiling, bound tightly, realizing just how helpless Jack had been, just how alone. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth, trying to keep his own sobs in.

"Is the pain just from your injuries or something else?" Janet asked, touching his neck lightly to check his pulse as Jack winced.

"Side-effect," Jack choked out, hissing in pain.

"Is it pain or hypersensitivity or both?"

"Both."

Daniel was mortified. Whatever they did to help Jack was just going to cause him more pain.

Janet looked up sharply, as if coming to a decision. "Daniel, Teal’c, everyone, I need you all out of the room. Let’s give the Colonel some privacy."

Looking around, Daniel realized that Sam and Anne had returned to the metal dungeon accompanied by Sheriff Lane. "Janet—" Daniel began to protest, but Teal’c cut him off.

"Doctor Fraiser, would it not be more advantageous to bring O’Neill upstairs?"

"Not yet, Teal’c," Janet answered, shaking her head. "But right now, I want everyone upstairs." When Daniel opened his mouth again, Janet shot him a stern look. "I said upstairs, Daniel."

He swallowed thickly and nodded, glancing down to look at his friend, lying so perfectly still, his eyes tightly closed. Leaving the door open, they trudged upstairs to wait.

Sam walked up the stairs just behind Anne Matthews, her body moving on autopilot. Thoughts raced through her mind, coming and going as quickly as gusts of wind—and just as intangible. Many of the same images cycled through but her thought always came back to the Colonel and the one image that would forever be burned on her mind—her friend’s body—bound tightly—hanging in the center of a small metal room.

It sickened her to her very core.

She knew that she should be able to handle this. This shouldn’t bother her so much.

She was military. She’d seen people tortured and murdered.

But, this time it did.

And she didn’t know why, exactly.

Maybe it was the sense of absolute violation. Maybe it was the utter disregard Wayne had shown for the Colonel. Maybe it was just the senseless nature of the crimes committed against her friend. Maybe it was because it was personal—very personal.

The sound of O’Neill’s voice haunted her.

It wasn’t the strong confident tones she was accustomed to. Instead, he sounded weak—and afraid.

The Colonel wasn’t afraid of anything.

She’d seen him knock heads with the Goa’uld and he never flinched, never showed an ounce of fear. Just from what she’d learned about him recently, she thought she knew the kind of man he was—fearless in the face of grave danger or unspeakable horrors.

Something had changed. What could Wayne have done to the Colonel to change him so deeply?

Her mind awash with emotion, Sam was grateful that even without conscious thought, she had been able to help Anne fix the double bed upstairs, her hands and body moving instinctively, finding comfort in the familiar task. It gave her time to think.

When she walked out into the living room to rejoin the others, however, Sheriff Lane was waiting for her, a pensive expression on his face.

"Major Carter, can I speak with you for a moment?" Lane asked, his voice quiet but determined.

"Sure," Sam agreed, absently nodding and walking to where he stood by the front door. "What’s wrong?"

"I’m been thinking," Lane started to say, his eyes unfocused, his lips pursed in thought. "Colonel O’Neill couldn’t have been the first person in that room downstairs."

Sam frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, this house was built three years ago, right?"

Sam nodded, her forehead furrowed. "Yes, I think that’s what the files said."

"Do you think Wayne could have built that room just for Colonel O’Neill? Just think of the expense. Just think of the amount of stuff in those cabinets downstairs. I doubt Wayne even used a tenth of what he had stored down there." Lane shook his head emphatically. "No, there had to have been other victims. We have to find them."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"Have you had the chance to go through everything on Wayne’s computer?" Lanes asked, turning to glance at the small spare room where the computer equipment was kept.

"Honestly, I looked a little, but I was primarily concerned with finding Colonel O’Neill at the time," Sam admitted, her eyes following Lane’s glance, her mind shifting gears. If there were other victims, Wayne might have kept records on his computer somewhere. "I can take a look and see what I can find," Sam offered.

"That would be a great help, Major," Lane smiled as he followed her into the spare room.

Janet sighed, watching everyone leave, their posture dejected and worried. But, they weren’t the only one.

Jack was not doing well.

If just her light touch on his neck hurt him this badly, Jack was going to be in excruciating pain when she bandaged his wounds. And until she knew what drug he’d been given, there was no way she could give him anything for the pain.

"Leave me…" he said, the words startling her.

Janet glanced up, meeting Jack’s bloodshot eyes, before responding. "Sir, we’re not going to leave you in here, but it’s going to hurt to move you."

"I know," he said, his voice trembling a little. "Please, Doc…leave me."

"Sir, either way, I have to examine you," Janet said, trying to reason with him.

"Just make it stop, Janet," O’Neill whispered, looking away from her and closing his eyes again, effectively ending the conversation—or at least his involvement in it.

At least he hadn’t told her no, she thought to herself, bracing herself for a very unpleasant task.

God, he was tired and he hurt.

But would his torture ever end? Even at the hands of his friends, he was continually being tormented.

He felt tired—stretched too thin. As if Wayne had laid him out again, tying him down for another torture session, his back arched over that metal bench, his muscles pulling, the blood dripping down his hands, the stun gun hovering above his skin, ready to inflict yet another burn, another welt to his abused body.

His eyes shot open in an effort to wipe the image from his mind, the image of his own skin reddening under Wayne’s device.

Janet was still hovering over him. She was worried—it showed plainly on her face and in her voice.

And she wasn’t the only one who was worried.

"Wayne?" he asked, forcing the word out. He had to know what had happened to his torturer.

Janet turned to him, her face paling slightly.

Something had happened, Jack realized, somehow, someway. He could feel himself start to panic.

"What Janet?" He cursed himself as he heard the sound of his voice, the weak and tremulous tones.

"They arrested him, but he ran the Sheriff’s car off the road while he was being taken to the station." She paused long enough for him to think that that she wasn’t going to continue, but when she did, his heart nearly stopped. "He’s gone, vanished."

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to control the emotions flooding through his mind. Wayne was out there, somewhere. He was out there looking for him, waiting for him. He could hear Janet calling him, but he couldn’t respond. Wayne was going to come back for him. It was going to start all over again. Oh, God, it was going to start again. His breath started coming in gasps and pants, the fear flushing any kind of reason out of his mind.

A sharp odor assaulted his senses as his fear released his bladder, sending his mind into overdrive. In all of his years and with all of the horrible things that he’d experienced he’d never been reduced to this. He’d never been reduced to a sniveling shell of a man.

He couldn’t escape. The smell surrounded him, suffocating him with the knowledge of what he’d done and who was there. Shame burned deep—mortification mixed with terror. Terror of something he had no control over. Fear of the one man who’d overpowered him with ease—physically, emotionally, and mentally—controlling him in every way, as a master with a slave.

He’d been beaten down and he’d acquiesced to Wayne’s power.

He was ashamed of what he’d become. He was mortified at what he’d done.

A hand on his shoulder sent tendrils of pain through his shoulder and into his head and a whimper came to his throat, but it was enough to break into his thoughts, to let him concentrate on Janet’s voice. He could hear her. Even though she was trying to be strong, her voice was quivering.

"Sir…Jack," he heard her say finally, sounding strange in his ears, "It’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine, but I need you to concentrate. You’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen to you. We’re all going to make sure of that. Please, Jack, I want to help you, but you have to come back to me. Jack, I need you to concentrate on my voice. Can you do that?"

He finally found the strength to open his eyes and was rewarded with a weak smile from the petite doctor hovering over him. "That’s good, Sir," she smiled. "I don’t want you to worry about anything. It happens sometimes and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Right now, I need you to concentrate. Can you do that?"

"Trying…" Jack said, pushing the word out through his clenched jaw, his breath still no more than ragged pants and gasps. He could feel the heat of shame on his cheeks, but he tried to push it away.

"I know you are and you’re doing great, but I need you to concentrate on your breathing. I need to get you to relax. Okay?"

Jack blinked once, trusting her, blocking out anything else but her voice and her face.

"Let’s try to get your breathing under control a little bit, shall we?" she said, making an obvious effort to keep her voice light. "I want you to concentrate on your breathing. I want you to feel its rhythm and I want you to start to slow it down. Relax your body. Okay?"

Jack blinked, his teeth fixed firmly on his bottom lip as he concentrated and after several minutes his pulse and his breathing had slowed and were under control.

"That’s great, Colonel," Janet said, offering praise. "Do you think you can handle a little examination? I’ll go slow and be careful and try to work with you as best I can, but I need to find out how to treat you. Okay?"

Closing his eyes briefly, Jack took a deep breath, trying to bury his emotions, his feelings behind an impenetrable shield. Right now it had too many cracks for any real protection, he knew, but it was the best he could do.

"Broken ribs. Left side," Jack said, opening his eyes.

Janet’s eyes widened at his statement, but didn’t comment on it. "Anything else?"

"Bruises. Burns, lots of both."

She nodded. "Okay, I still need to examine you,"

"Can’t it wait?" He knew his voice was weak, he wasn’t ready for anything.

"No, it can’t."

"Please?" He knew he was begging, but he also knew that his control wouldn’t last long. He was barely holding on as it was.

"If you won’t let me examine you now, I’m just going to call Teal’c back down here to bring you upstairs. Your choice." Janet’s voice was firm.

Those words nearly took his breath away. His choice. A painful choice whatever he decided. A choice he didn’t want to make—couldn’t make. The last time…the last time he’d made a choice he’d given up a piece of himself to the devil. This wasn’t the same, he knew, but it felt like it. He’d closed his eyes again tightly, his forehead furrowed with pain—both physical and emotional.

"Colonel…?" Janet asked, her voice concerned.

His not answering was a choice in itself, wasn’t it? She would do whatever she wanted. It wasn’t really his choice, was it?

"Be quick, please," he whispered.

Even though his eyes were closed, he could feel her nod. He felt her fingers lift the top edge of the blanket covering him. He set his jaw and tried to concentrate on keeping his breathing regular. If he clenched his teeth any harder he was sure he was going to grind his teeth down to little nubs.

But he didn’t care.

Janet nodded her head, cognizant of the amount of effort it had taken to convince the Colonel to submit to a simple examination. But as soon as she lifted the edge of the blanket, she realized that it was more than just the pain he was worried about.

Apart from the blanket covering his still frame, he was naked.

Her fingers trembled a little as she folded the blanket at his waist, keeping him covered as best as she could. Putting her professional mask on was difficult, her emotions too close to the surface. Her thoughts, though, were moving a million miles an hour. One realization stood out from the rest: his team had to have found him this way.

Glancing up quickly toward the door she noticed a pile of clothes on the floor. Someone had to have brought them down recently, Janet thought, noticing the spotlessness of the room. It also cemented her earlier assumption about Daniel’s discovery of the Colonel.

Janet grimaced a little at the sight of Jack’s bruised body and her breath caught when she saw the dark angry bruise along his side. Her fingers wanted to touch it, to verify what he’d said earlier, but she hesitated, knowing how sensitive and painful that touch would be. That part could wait. She took refugee behind her professionalism.

"Colonel, how long does the drug last?"

He opened his eyes, but they were a little unfocused. He was doing as she had asked earlier, trying to contain his emotions and his pain. She didn’t know how he was able to do it, but it didn’t surprise her. This man was anything but fragile.

"Not sure. Don’t know what day it is even. When he gave it to me he said it would last until the next evening…I don’t know how long ago that was."

"So there’s a possibility that this will wear off in a few hours?"

"Hopefully."

"Has the pain decreased at all?"

Jack’s response was quiet. "Not really. Gave me a larger dose this time I think."

Janet closed her eyes for a minute, trying to think as her heart sank lower. Jack had been given more than one dose of an unknown drug—a drug that paralyzed him. What else could it do? What other damage could it cause with repeated dosages? What else could go wrong?

Some of the burns that she’d already seen were bad and they all needed to be cleaned and bandaged. His ribs needed to be wrapped as well. His wrists were another story altogether. They were bruised and bloody and needed immediate attention. And this was just the part of him that she could see. It was probably just as bad all over his body.

Janet opened her eyes, her gaze locking with O’Neill’s. "You know that I’m going to have to bandage some of your burns, don’t you?"

"I know."

"I’m also going to have to look at the rest of you."

"I know," Jack answered as his face flushed, his voice resigned.

"This won’t be easy for either of us."

"I know."

"I’ll be quick," she said.

"I know."

"Colonel—"

"Just get on with it already," he said, closing his eyes, his teeth firmly fixed on his bottom lip.

He hissed a little when she folded the blanket back on his chest, but she kept moving. Picking up the bottom of the blanket, she lifted the edge, folding it so the seam was just below his hips, the excess covering the newly dampened spot. His legs were a mess—a mass of bruises and burns just like his chest, his ankles showing similar damage as his wrists. The red color of the soles of his feet, however, nearly took her breath away. Wayne had made sure his victim wouldn’t be walking away anytime soon. They were swollen and covered in blisters. From just an initial observation, he probably had second-degree burns on both his feet.

Taking a breath to steady her emotions, she moved to lift the blanket one last time. As promised, she was quick, and as she replaced the blanket, she glanced up at the Colonel’s tightly closed eyes and flushed face.

"I’m done for now, Colonel, but I’d like to move you upstairs. You’d be more comfortable and I need to treat some of the worst of your injuries."

It took several seconds before he opened his eyes to look at her and she was surprised by the expression in them. They were sad, resigned even.

"Okay, Doc," he said, his voice quiet. "Just give me a few minutes. Okay?"

"I’ll get Teal’c and come right back."

"Fine."

When Janet emerged from the bedroom, the Colonel’s team was waiting for her, scattered throughout the living room and kitchen. Sam was entering the living room from the spare bedroom where the computer was kept, Sheriff Lane following closely behind. Apparently, Sam had managed to find something to keep her mind occupied while she waited.

Daniel, seated on the couch, rose to his feet first, concern flashing across his face. "Janet, how is he? Will—"

Janet held up her hand, trying to forestall any questions. "He’s been better. He’s in a lot of pain from his injuries and the drug in his system just compounds the situation," Janet said, hesitating. "I know I don’t have to remind you that he’s had a horrible experience during this past week. We all want him back to normal as soon as possible, but I’m going to warn you now that it’s going to take some time. Right now, I need to bring him upstairs and I’m going to have to clean and bandage his wounds. Once I do that, I need to talk with General Hammond and decide what we’re going to do to get him back to Colorado Springs."

Teal’c stood regally. "I would be honored to assist you, Doctor Fraiser."

Janet nodded briskly. "Thank you, Teal’c. I was going to ask you to." She glanced at Sam and Anne and offered a smile. "Thanks for getting the bed ready. I really appreciate it. I’m going to be a while, but I’ll probably need your help again later." She took a few seconds to look at Daniel carefully, seeing his guilt-ridden and worried expression. She took a deep breath. "I know you all want to be there to help the Colonel get through this, but right now he needs some time to adjust. When I’m done and he’s up for it, you’ll get the chance to sit with him, but not until then."

At Daniel and Sam’s reluctant nods, Janet turned on her heel to go back downstairs with Teal’c following closely behind.

Jack closed his eyes as Fraiser left the room, releasing a deep breath. He was grateful for the few minutes she’d permitted him—the few minutes that had allowed him to organize his thoughts.

But why did he feel so scared?

His team was here. They’d found him and he’d soon be going home.

But even though he kept telling himself that everything was okay, deep inside there was another part of him that didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t that he doubted his team, he didn’t.

Maybe it was because he doubted himself. He’d given up, given in, broken. Whatever word or phrase he used did not make a difference. They were as all the same. They all left a sour taste in his mouth.

Perhaps, he thought, it was because he felt so useless, so helpless right now. Maybe it was because his emotions were so near the surface, easily accessible to everyone.

Maybe it was because he’d failed his team. He’d already lost Daniel’s trust. Maybe the others weren’t that far behind.