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The first thing Jack understands is that he won’t be the one to rescue Daniel. Daniel is too big, too limp, too fucking bloody, for Jack to be able to lift him on his own. They’re almost the same height but Daniel’s got him on sheer bulk. Guy’s built like a bazooka, thick and tall. No, Jack realizes from the minute he sees Daniel strung up in the square that it’ll have to be Teal’c who’ll lift Daniel out, carry him home.
Putting down his binoculars, Jack lays out the rescue plan. He’s not going for stealth and surgical extraction, but aiming for overwhelming speed and surprise. SG-6 will flank out, firing warning rounds as they race down to the square. Teal’c and two members of SG-3 will be on Rescue Daniel duty, cutting him down, dragging him away. Jack will hang back with Carter and the others, laying down cover fire, calling out any potential threats.
“You got all that?” he asks Teal’c, who nods once.
“We will not fail, O’Neill. Daniel Jackson has survived far worse.”
He has and if Jack had the time, he’d think about how fucked up that is. Hell, they guy’s died and come back to life more than once. That doesn’t make it easier though, to see Daniel tenderized like a nice steak by a rival clan of Unas who don’t appreciate his friendship with Chaka, or whatever that guy’s name is.
Going back to his binoculars, Jack can tell Daniel’s been strung up at least a day or two. There’s deep bruising around his wrists and feet. His usually healthy complexion is unforgivably pale, and a dark trickle of blood oozes from his temple. He’d gone off world in civvies and his khakis have been ripped and muddied, his shirt missing most of the collar and both sleeves. It’s cold on this god forsaken world and Jack wishes he were imagining it, but Daniel’s lips are a tell-tale blue.
“You cut him down, grab him and run for the gate, no questions asked,”Jack gives the instructions one final time. Next to him, Chaka and his band of Unas get ready to join the fight.
He scans the square one last time. A big, burly horned Unas passes by Daniel, and, as if on a whim, grabs a switch and slaps it across Daniel’s back before moving on with his day. At that point, Jack’s close to just opening fire on all of them, morality be damned, but Teal’c places a strong hand on his shoulder. Jack takes a breath, long and deep, and gives the order to go.
***
He doesn’t have time to watch the rescue. As the Unas and SG teams make a break down the hill going south, rival Unas clans come pouring out of the west and east, and Jack has his hands full calling out threats, firing on hostiles, generally keeping the shit show away from the DHD.
“O’Neill, we have freed Daniel Jackson and are proceeding to the gate,” Teal’c says into his ear piece and even as he fires two quick sniper shots that wound but don’t kill, Jack’s heart skips in relief.
“He alright?” Jack shouts.
“Daniel Jackson is decidedly not alright, O’Neill.”
“I mean, is he alive?”
“He is indeed.”
The next voice is Carter, not in his ear piece but right next to him, shouting that it’s time to retreat. “We got what we came for sir, let the rival Unas clans battle it out.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Major,” he says and they run across the tree line, dogging rocks and spears, till they stumble through the open gate and roll down the metal ramp.
“Nothing to it,” Jack says, winded, eyes searching the gate room for Daniel.
He’s being held up by Teal’c, while the medics and Janet run in with a stretcher. He’s a mess. A goddamn bloody mess that makes Jack’s eyes water. They roughed him up but good. His lip is split, glasses long gone, cuts, bruises and bad weather all leaving their mark. He’s shaking too. From hunger, fear, shock.
Jack wants to throw down his weapon, check that Daniel’s alive for himself. Feel his pulse, strong and steady under his hand, brush back his hair, check that the blue of his eyes hasn’t changed. Instead, Jack stays stock still, letting Carter help Daniel onto the stretcher, watching Janet mumble it’s alright, we’re going to take care of you.
“Colonel.” Hammond’s in his face and Jack has to tear his eyes away from Daniel, who is being wheeled down the hall. “We need you to debrief as soon as possible. I don’t like sending SG teams into hostile territory and I need to know if this Unas situation on P3X-883 is an ongoing problem.”
Jack’s feet want to run down the hall and catch the stretcher, watch Janet and the nurses hook Daniel up to IVs and fluids, but his sense of duty is too ingrained to allow that to happen. “Yes, sir,” he says and heads off with the other teams to shower. He’s fast. Out of his combat fatigues and into a fresh uniform in 7 minutes. He’s got a dumb sliver of hope that maybe he has time to pop into the infirmary, to check on Daniel, but Teal’c is waiting for him outside the locker room, hands behind his back.
“Dr. Fraiser reports that Daniel Jackson is ‘beat up but otherwise out of the woods.’ Those were her exact words.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Jack says, exhaling though somehow not feeling better. He needs to see Daniel with his own eyes, examine his breathing. Is it slow and steady like it is when they’re laying around on the sofa, watching TV? Is it quick and panicked, like they’ve been fighting, or sharp and rapid, like it sometimes gets after they kiss.
“Do not mention it,” Teal’c says. “Dr. Fraiser has also asked that you report to the infirmary after the debrief.”
“I’m fine, Teal’c,” Jack says, but Teal’c merely raises an eyebrow.
The debrief is quick and slow at the same time. There’s no ongoing threat, Jack tells the General. It’s between the rival clans now. Daniel just got sucked in because he was with the wrong person at the wrong time. Hammond doesn’t ask unnecessary questions but he’s still thorough and all Jack can think of are Daniel’s bloodied wrists, the thick cuts along his thigh. He taps his pen, jiggels his leg, till Hammond finally dismisses the room. “Good work, Colonel,” he says. “Dr. Jackson’s lucky you’re around.”
“Well, he’d do the same for me, General. Not as quickly or with as much style, but hey, he would try.”
Jack gives a little salute, shakes hands with the other SG teams and trotts down the stairs, trying not to race like a demon out of hell to the infirmary. He expects to see Daniel laid out flat, sedated with an oxygen mask, but he’s sitting up in bed, in a hospital gown, nurses all over him, cleaning his wounds.
Janet’s in the middle of her evaluation, as Jack sneaks into the room.
“—frostbite on some of your extremities, lacerations across your right upper leg, abrasions, contusions on the face and lower back, and signs of severe dehydration.” She sighs, looks him up and down like she too is tired of him wandering into her infirmary beat to a pulp. “Nothing critical that won’t resolve with rest and time, Dr. Jackson.”
“How long do I need to stick around here, doc,” Daniel says, voice hoarse and cracked.
“You’ve been through a lot, Daniel,” Carter says, holding up water so he can drink. “Don’t rush it.”
Jack steps to the side and catches Daniel’s eyes for a long, torturous second before turning away. The lump that Jack has to swallow before he can talk is not just golfball sized, but a baseball, a basketball.
“How’s our damsel in distress holding up, doc?” Jack says, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets. “Those Unas really know how to have a good time, huh Daniel?”
“The best,” Daniel mumbles. He bites his bloodied lip, a habit he has sometimes, when he’s trying to squash a particularly strong emotion.
“He’s a bit worse for wear, but no lasting damage Colonel,” Janet says. “I’d like to keep Dr. Jackson off the duty roster for at least a week. He won’t be field ready anytime soon.”
Daniel opens his mouth to protest. They’d already been on leave for a week—he’d gotten kidnapped on vacation, mind you—but Jack cuts him off before he can make his case. “Agreed, doc. Take all the time you need.” He catches Daniel eyes then, holds them till it’s Daniel who has to look away first, blinking.
“I’m fine, Jack,” he mumbles and Jack digs his nails into his palms, almost passes out from the need to cup Daniel’s face in his hands, brush his thumb gently over that split lip, kiss the bridge of his nose.
“I need you in fighting shape,” Jack says. “You gotta arm wrestle Teal’c before we let you back through the gate.”
“That is not a contest Daniel Jackson would win, O’Neill,” Teal’c says from the back of the room, in his own fresh uniform.
“I didn’t say he had to win. It would be fun though, right? You and him, mano-on-mano?”
The grimace he gets from them both is amusing enough, and with all the will power he can find Jack nods his goodbye and leads Teal’c out of the room, letting Carter pick up the pieces with Daniel. He gets it, Daniel needs saline and antibiotics and a full night of drugged sleep, but Jack wants him tucked against his side, in his bed, which is usually how they spend most nights when they’re not off-world.
Teal’c drags him to the mess for an early dinner and then he’s back to Hammond’s office, and finally to see Carter again to wrap up the day. It’s late before he heads back down to the infirmary, hoping a privacy curtain has been pulled around Daniel or that Janet’s transferred him to a quieter corner of the ward.
No such luck. When he walks in, the place is busier than ever. SG-7 has come back having just survived a vicious rock slide on PX6-993. No fatalities, thank god, but enough broken bones and bruised ribs that the entire wing is filled with their moaning.
Daniel’s bed is in the middle of it all. He’s drifting, but he clocks Jack standing next to him, in his leather jacket.
“Hi, Jack.”
“Hi.”
He tries for a smile. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Anytime.”
Daniel worms his hand out from under the blanket, lays it against the covers. It’s brief, a flash, but Jack lets their fingers brush.
“How’d you know?”
“Where you were?”
He nods, eyes glazed.
“Your friend Chaka is a good tracker. He picked up the scent of a rival tribe, knew their gate address and boom, bob’s your uncle.”
“Anyone else?”
It’s a half-sentence, a sure sign Daniel’s almost off to dreamland. But Jack knows what he means. “No, no one else got hurt trying to save you, if that’s what you’re asking. I run a tight ship.”
“Chaka?”
“Last time I saw him, him and his crew had things well in hand. We’ll send a message off-world tomorrow, to check in.”
Daniel raises his hand, expecting Jack to take it, and to his everlasting shame, Jack gently bats it aside. Daniel whines, confused and hurt, until he realizes where he is, who’s around them. Military eyes, all under the cloak of DADT. They’ve gotten away with a lot of casual affection in their time together, but there is nothing casual about what Jack’s feeling at the moment. Grab Daniel's hand now and he’ll never be able to let it go.
There’s an apology in Jack’s eyes and he hopes Daniel sees. The Air Force has given him so much, a home after Charlie died, but right now, it’s taking something precious.
“It’s okay,” Daniel croaks, understanding even in his drugged state. It’s not okay, Jack wants to scream. It is never fucking okay. All the lying and sneaking around. Not from Hammond and the team, but from the suits and the senators who’d use any reason to knock SG-1 out of commission.
Daniel’s eyes drift shut and Jack stares at him for a long time, turning only when he feels a hand at his elbow.
“Colonel?” Janet stands next to him. “I’ve given him a strong sedative. He’ll be out for the next 12 to 13 hours at least. Why don’t you get some rest?”
He drives home, knocks back two shots of whiskey and sleeps on the sofa with the TV on. Dawn comes and goes and Jack’s late getting to the base. When he walks in, still damp from his shower and a little out of breath, Carter and Teal’c are already with Daniel.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Jack says, fighting the urge to ruffle his hair. Daniel looks miles better, if you don’t count the yellow bruising around his eyes, the swollen lip, the stitches across his temple.
“General Hammond wants Daniel to brief him, sir,” Carter says. “If he’s up to it.”
“I’m up to it,” Daniel says, sighing, and pushing back the covers. “Might need some help getting to the bathroom first. Teal’c?” He holds out his hand, away from Jack, and for a second Jack worries it’s retribution for last night, but Daniel’s not like that. It’s the same reason Jack hadn’t broken protocol and grabbed Daniel’s hand and held on for dear life last night. Give these feelings an inch and they’d take a long country mile.
He leaves them to it and settles in at the mess hall where he doesn’t taste his breakfast and instead stews on the memory of that horned Unas hitting Daniel like a stray dog until Carter crosses into the room.
“Sir? They’re ready for us.” Carter stares at him with so much sympathy he knows that she knows, which isn’t a surprise. “Daniel’s waiting.” “Well, we can’t keep the good doctor waiting, can we?” Jack pushes back his chair. “He may get bored and run off on another adventure.”
They’d argued long and loud about Daniel using his week off to go on some vision quest with Chaka. “This is my only time to really learn and explore their culture, Jack,” he had said. “I’m not going to pass up this opportunity to spend a week at the cabin fishing in a lake that doesn't even have fish!”
“Catching fish isn’t the point, Daniel,” Jack shouted back, just as loud.
“I’ll be gone two or three days, at most,” Daniel sighed. “I’ll meet you at the cabin. I promise.”
Truth was, Jack didn’t mind a couple of days alone, fishing, reading, going on hikes. He didn’t tell Daniel that, but the time off and apart had been good. Absence making the heart fonder and all that. Daniel was supposed to show up Tuesday night, and by Wednesday morning there was no sign of him. At first Jack had been pissed, righteous and annoyed, but by Wednesday afternoon he was on the phone, asking if Dr. Jackson had checked in.
“He’s missed his call time twice, Colonel,” Davis had told him.
After that, it was a race. They’d gone to Chaka’s home world, where the Unas had been waiting and stewing, unable to contact them. Jack didn’t understand a lick of Unas, but even he could tell that there had been trouble, an attack, and Daniel had been taken.
“I’m not sure how much time actually passed,” Daniel says when they were all settled around the briefing table. It’s a small group. Just the team, Hammond and Janet. “Possibly 12, 14 hours?”
“48 hours,” Carter says. “44 if we’re being specific. You were gone two days, Daniel.”
Time was hazy for him. The Unas had fed him a drink meant to sedate their captives, and he’d only picked up the basics of what was happening. Kidnapped, held for ransom.
“No, not ransom,” Daniel corrects himself. “I was bait. They knew Chaka and his tribe would show up to retrieve me. Kind of nice, if you think about it. That I meant so much to them that he'd come save me.”
He smiles, mouth titled up and his lip begins to bleed. Jack wants to wipe it with his thumb, and then lick the blood into his own mouth.
“Yeah, well, don’t go making any more Unas friends, alright?” Jack cuts in. “We can’t spare the manpower.”
No one laughs, and Janet asks what, if anything, Daniel remembers about how he got his injuries. Daniel’s eyes grow dark, and Jack knows he’s trying to remember and forget at the same time.
“Typical stuff,” Daniel says, not looking at Jack. “Chains, a cattle prod, they kept the switch in the town square for anyone who wanted a turn.”
Jack’s face is probably been beet red, his eyes furious, the vein in his throat jumping like a grasshopper. Teal’c grips his shoulder hard. Hammond clears his throat and though he’s talking to Daniel, he stares at Jack. “We’re all glad you’re back in one piece, Dr. Jackson.”
“Thank you.”
Hammond dismisses the room and Jack lets Daniel walk out, Carter and Janet flanking him. He moves slow and stiff while Jack just sits there, eyes burning holes into the table.
“Sir—” he starts but Hammond cuts him off.
“We can’t retaliate, Colonel,” Hammond says, but there’s an understanding in his voice, which is how he knows that Hammond knows. “Chaka and his tribe have dealt with the rival factions. We can’t intercede any more than we already have.”
“What they did to Daniel—” He’s shaking, vibrating with the kind of fury he hadn’t let himself feel while Daniel had been in the room. “They should pay.”
“They have paid, O’Neill, “ Teal’c reminds him. “I am certain Chaka and his people have avenged what was done to Daniel Jackson.”
It’s not enough he wants to say, he wants to rip the arms off the Unas who had beaten Daniel with the switch himself.
“Colonel,” Hammond breaks in, almost grandfatherly. “Perhaps you better tend to Dr. Jackson?”
Teal’c walks with him down to the infirmary, but Janet says Daniel has asked to shower. Outside the locker room, he expects Teal’c to come inside, but he only nods deeply and leaves Jack outside the doors alone. So Teal’c knows too, which is like saying the sky is blue.
Jack gives a loud courtesy knock, which they usually only do when they know Carter’s getting dressed, and goes inside. Daniel sits wrapped in a towel, dripping on the floor, staring at his clothes.
“Hey.”
He looks up, smiles. “Hi, Jack.”
“You know clothes usually go on your body. Doesn’t do any good if they’re just lying on the floor next to you.”
Daniel huffs out a laugh. “I’m working on it.”
“Want some help?”
Jack grabs an extra towel from the rack and begins to pat Daniel down, careful to press gently along the monarch pattern of bruising. They don’t really talk. Jack dries his hair, has him lift his arms so he can scratch under his armpits with the rough terrycloth, wipes the barely there chest hair, dabs around the long cut along his thigh that has a huge waterproof dressing.
“Clothes?” Jack asks and Daniel nods. They struggle into a t-shirt and Daniel stands, letting the towel drop, so he can step into his boxer briefs. It isn’t anything Jack hasn’t seen many times before, but not in this locker room. Usually Daniel standing naked, pulling on his briefs only exists in his house, in his bedroom. Not at the SGC, where anyone can walk in on them.
“Pants too,” Jack says and Daniel’s about to reach for the green khakis but Jack’s brought him clothes from home. An old Air Force sweatshirt and beat up jeans, the stuff Daniel only wears around the house. “We’re busting you out of here,” he says. Daniel’ll recover much better in his own bed, with Jack next to him.
When he’s dressed, Daniel stands with a wince. He’s whole, steady, still without his glasses, which are in Jack’s shirt pocket. Finally, Jack lets himself look.
“You okay?” Jack asks and his voice cracks.
Daniel doesn’t look at him, eyes downcast. “I’m fine, Jack. Really.”
Putting a finger under Daniel’s chin, Jack tilts his head up. Daniel’s eyes were swimming. “It’s okay,” Jack says, and a tear slips down Daniel’s face.
“I’m fine, just tired,” and another tear. Exhaustion combined with relief flash across Daniel’s face. He’s a pro at this, used to the slings and arrows of the SGC, but sometimes even he slips.
There’s no one here, no one reason to practice restraint, so Jack cups the side of Daniel’s face and brings their foreheads together. “It’s okay, you’re all right.”
“I know.”
Jack kisses the lopsided line of Daniel’s mouth, brief, gentle, and then moves to his temple, the side of his cheek, the bridge of his nose, the middle of his forehead. “You gotta stop getting captured like that, Daniel."
“I’ll try.”
“Come here,” he whispers, ragged and harsh. “Come here.”
Jack holds him, after so long. Daniel collapses into him, burying his nose in Jack’s shoulder, shivering. Rubbing his back, kissing the side of his face, Jack rocks him back and forth.
“I”m sorry,” Daniel says, but it’s wasted on Jack. Nothing to be sorry for, he says with a sweep of his hands.
“I’m gonna take you home,” Jack says, into his ear. Where they can shut the doors and the blinds and not have to police every touch, every look, every thought. Jack grips his hair, tugs hard before he gentles the touch into a caress. “I’m going to take you home and everything’s going to be alright.”
Daniel kisses him, harder than he should, considering the state of his face. His lip splits, and when they walk out of the locker room, side by side, not touching, Jack’s tongue is coated, stained, with the ferric, life giving red of Daniel’s blood.