Archive of Our Own ^beta

Daniel hates missions like this. The brass, for some idiotic reason, always send SG1 on diplomatic missions instead of sending actual diplomats. Daniel feels like he spends just as much time corralling Jack as he does actually attending to trade agreements.

It doesn't help that Daniel completely opposes the trade negotiations. This planet has a rigid caste system that relegates large swaths of the population to abject poverty and a lifetime of servitude. The idea of sharing weapons technology with such a barbaric civilization irks him. Daniel had done his best to convince command that the trade agreement was a poor choice but he lost to the inevitable demand for more naquadah.

"Daniel, will you stop sulking?" Jack asks, leaning back in his chair. 

Daniel taps a pen on the conference table. "I'm not sulking, Jack.”

"Daniel, if your eyes were lasers, every single official we've met with today would be dead. I know you don't want to be here, but try toning it down, alright?"

Daniel sighs. "I wish I could, Jack, but their entire civilization hinges on the continued oppression of the majority of their citizens. It's a little abhorrent, don't you think?"

"Daniel, don't you think that it's a little hard to judge an entire civilization based on our value system? Maybe they judge us just as harshly," Sam says.

Daniel shakes his head. "No, see the idea that one value system is as valid as another is predicated on the idea that all participants in that system have an equal say in the structure. Furthermore, it is possible to determine if a social institution is detrimental to someone based on objective measurements such as life expectancy, quality of life, equitable access to food and medical care-"

Jack sighs. "Daniel, we get it. You don't like it here. Hell, I don't care for it either. But we have to get through this negotiation, so suck it up."

Someone opens the door to the conference hall and dignitaries begin to file back in after their mid-morning recess. 

"Yeah, Jack, I know. I'll do my best," Daniel replies.

“See? Keeping your mouth shut didn’t kill you,” Jack jokes as they walk down the street away from the high council’s meeting hall and back towards their temporary accommodations. 

“Yeah, compromising my morals for the entire day felt amazing,” Daniel shoots back.

“Daniel, it’s for the greater good. These people are as much at risk of attack by the Goa’uld as we are. Getting more naquadah helps us defeat the Goa’uld and makes everyone safer. I understand your objections, but sometimes we have to compromise our morals for the greater good,” Sam interjects.

Daniel knows her reasoning is sound. Obviously, the Goa’uld pose a serious threat to every single person in the galaxy, including the residents of this planet — oppressed or otherwise. But the idea of negotiating a trade deal with these people, who will undoubtedly use the lower castes to mine the naquadah, feels like a tacit endorsement of their social practices. 

“I know, Sam,” Daniel concedes softly. “I just wish there was an ethical way to get the naquadah.”

“As do I, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c agrees.

“I think we all wish that was an option,” Sam concurs.

Daniel wakes before the sun is fully up and decides to go for an early morning walk. As an anthropologist, there’s little that he finds more enjoyable than people watching in new environments. As he walks down the cobblestone streets, houses slowly come to life. People come out with buckets to fetch water from nearby wells, and others hurry to their early morning jobs. Minute by minute the streets come alive until Daniel finds himself bumped along among the hordes, curious looks periodically aimed his way, though no one comments. 

Daniel checks his watch and finds that he’s only been gone for half an hour and they’re not due to negotiations for another two. He’s got his radio so he figures that it’s probably fine to continue his wandering, if he’s needed they’ll simply radio for him.

His feet carry him farther south, over an old stone bridge that crosses the Agronicus River, and into the manufacturing district. Here things change. The houses are older, less spacious, and set shoulder to shoulder like row houses. There are fewer neighborhood wells, he notes darkly. 

The people are different, too. Their clothing is more worn, less colorful, and noticeably less insulating. Nevertheless, the early morning hustle and bustle seems quite similar, and Daniel watches as many residents seem to follow habits almost identical to their upper-caste cousins. 

It’s not until Daniel makes his way east, following along a road that seems possibly centuries older than the rest, that Daniel finds the poorest. They live in shanties — old pieces of collapsed houses, scraps of tarps or sack cloth used for walls or doors, animal hides for roofs. Here there are no sidewalks, just a simple stone path, long since rutted out by wagons. Gutters are full of refuse and human waste, the smell horrendous. 

Here, people watch Daniel openly. He’s clearly on the wrong side of town, his clothes clean and untorn, his skin freshly washed, his bones covered in healthy layers of muscle and fat. Daniel recalls the MRE he ate before leaving and it sits heavy in his stomach, the decadence of a full meal three times a day clearly far beyond what meager scraps these people survive on.

And for what? Daniel’s not stupid enough to think that the class system is somehow less real on Earth, not even in Colorado Springs. The poor live in trailers on the outskirts of town, their flimsy little mobile homes barely insulated against the harsh winters in the Rockies. And that’s unethical enough to turn Daniel’s stomach, but that these people, despite generations of backbreaking labor remain in enforced poverty, aren’t legally allowed to own property or learn to read, something about that enrages Daniel.

“Who are you?” a small child asks from the animal skin flap that counts as her front door.

Daniel stops, his train of thought derailed. “I’m Daniel. I’m visiting your planet.”

The girl’s eyes widen. “You’re not from our planet? How did you get here?”

“Um, well, there’s this portal thing, we call it a stargate. My friends and I came here through that,” Daniel explains. Despite having to explain this particular thing many, many times, he’s somehow never found a way to make it sound less implausible.

“Why did you come?”  the child asks.

Daniel looks at her dirty feet and feels utterly disgusted with himself. “Well, we came to make friends.”

“Oh, so you’re lost,” she concludes.

“No, no, I’m not lost. I went for a walk, to see what it’s like here. I know my way back,” Daniel explains.

Her brow furrows and Daniel wonders how a child of maybe eight can look so thoughtful. “Why would you want to know how we live?”

“Oh, well, when I go someplace new I like to see how everyone lives. Not just the rich. I think it’s important to see how everyone is treated,” Daniel explains.

Something moves in Daniel’s peripheral and he glances up to see a woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, standing at the door from whence the child emerged. She’s watching him with a pointed look, one that Daniel can’t quite decipher.

“And what’s your name?” Daniel asks the child, before she can ask another too-insightful question.

“I’m Keena. I live here, with the other filth,” she says confidently. 

“‘Filth?’” Daniel asks, hoping that she doesn’t give the answer he’s expecting.

“The name they give us in the city,” Keena’s mother answers, her voice sharp and cutting, bitter and angry.

“Oh,” Daniel answers simply. “And, um, what do you call yourselves?”

Keena’s mother narrows her eyes distrustfully. “The Nan’dim. It means roots, like the foundation of a building.”

Daniel nods. “I think that’s probably a lot more descriptive. Definitely a better name.”

Keena smiles brightly. “You think so? The people from the city never say nice things.”

Daniel smiles back. “People who work hard deserve respect for their work. They don’t deserve to be called filth just because they’re not allowed anything else.”

The woman in the doorway steps into the street and stands side by side with Keena. “I am Ren’ai, Keena’s mother. You are not like the others. You say you are here to learn about us, is that true?” 

Daniel nods. “Yes, Ren’ai. My people are trying to broker a trade agreement with yours. They claim things here are fair, but I wanted to see for myself how you lived.”

“And what do you think?”

Daniel knows what he ought to say, knows he ought to toe the line between his principles and the needs of the Earth, but here, in this shanty, Daniel can’t find a reason to lie. “I think the way they treat you is horrific and you deserve better.”

Ren’ai nods briskly. “Walk with us.”

Daniel follows along and realizes that there are many, many women and children watching their interaction from the windows and doors of their homes. He realizes that the hour for work has long since passed and that the men must be gone to their jobs. 

They walk through street after street after street, each row of homes worse than the last, until there are people living in huts made of mud and leaves, half fallen after the rains of the last couple days.

“This,” she finally says, “is how we live. How we are forced to live. Any wood we harvest, any stone we cut, any hunted animal with an unblemished pelt — all of it goes to the city. For ourselves we’re allowed trash and dirt, yet we provide the food for all. Have you seen for yourself, what you came to see?”

Daniel nods and swallows against the swell of emotion. “Yes, Ren’ai. I will make sure that my people know. I honestly doubt that my objections will sway them, I’ve already tried to explain this before, but maybe having spoken with you will help.”

Ren’ai nods, already accepting defeat, and somehow that’s even worse.

“Ren’ai, can I tell you about a time in our history when workers had very few rights and they fought to be paid fairly and treated well?” Daniel asks. It’s a long shot, probably nothing that will help, definitely something that Jack would ship him home for. But then what’s the point of knowing history if you’re not going to use it to make the world, any world, a better place.

Ren’ai blinks slowly, and then nods. “I think many of us would like to hear that.”

And it isn’t five minutes later than Daniel finds himself with an audience as he talks about slavery and the labor movement. He briefly checks his watch and notes that he has just over an hour to get back, and while Jack will be pissed, Daniel knows that what he’s doing here is far more important than anything he could do with the high council. 

Daniel’s sitting in a tree now, high enough up that the ever-growing crowd can hopefully all see and hear him, and he’s talking about the various methods of creating, growing, sustaining, and then hopefully achieving victory with strikes. Dozens of men have come in from the local fields and mines, and they ask many questions. As expected, not everyone is comfortable with the idea of disturbing the social order, and Daniel never expected complete buy-in, but enough people seem interested in change that Daniel has hope, even if the trade agreement goes through.

The crowd is mostly still, save for a little jostling here and there, listening to Daniel. So it becomes immediately obvious when six men, dressed in guard’s clothes from the northernmost side of town, begin snaking through the crowd.

In for a penny, in for a pound, he figures. “Guards!” Daniel cries, and the crowd begins to scatter. He knows that whatever punishment he’ll face for sharing Marxist theory with these people is far less than they pay simply for existing.

In moments he’s pulled from the tree and lands hard on his front, slamming his left shoulder into the ground as he lands. Several men restrain him and they manacle his hands and feet, before roughly dragging him up. With his feet separated by such a short chain, Daniel is forced to shuffle-jog along with the guards as they push him along back towards town.

Daniel kneels before the high council, his hands still cuffed behind his back, his feet still connected by a chain. Daniel knows that although he can’t see the rest of the team, they’re there with him. He can hear their combat boots against the flagstone floors and their P90s brushing against their vests. 

“Dr. Jackson,” the magistrate says imperiously. “Please explain yourself.”

“I took a walk around the city. I’m an anthropologist so it’s my job to learn about people and their ways of life,” Daniel answers. And in fairness it was his original motivation, it just wasn’t how the entire walk went.

“And what did you learn?” the magistrate asks, his tone much like that of a parent who’s tired of their child’s antics.

“I learned about the different districts in your city and how the different castes live,” he answers obliquely.

“And your purpose in teaching the filth about your so called ‘labor movement’? Was that also in service of learning about our society as well?” 

Behind him Daniel can hear Jack groan, but to his surprise Jack keeps his mouth shut.

“They’re called the Nan’dim, the foundation of your society. And no, my choice to explain to our labor movement was because I had an ethical obligation to help people who are suffering from oppression,” Daniel answers, his head held high. 

“Oh, for crying out loud, Daniel. Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Jack finally snaps.

“Jack, I couldn’t just-”

The magistrate holds up his hand and Jack quiets. “Enough, Dr. Jackson,” he commands, and then turns to Jack. “Do you share your colleague’s opinions on this matter?”

“Sir, my personal opinions are irrelevant. My orders are to negotiate a trade agreement. Nothing else,” Jack answers. 

It’s probably the most diplomatic thing Daniel can remember Jack ever saying. But importantly, Daniel can read between the lines — Jack agrees with Daniel, even if he doesn’t agree with Daniel’s actions. Of course, there’s censure there, too — censure meant entirely for Daniel — but Daniel knew that was going to happen and it’s easy to brush that off.

“And do you still wish to broker this agreement, even knowing that our social structure does not align with your own?” the magistrate asks.

“Yes, sir. My orders have not changed. We’ll be happy to send Daniel back home, get him out of the way, and continue our talks uninterrupted,” Jack offers.

Daniel didn’t expect anything else, but it’s still damn frustrating.

The magistrate smiles. “We are still interested trade talks, and we agree that sending your Dr. Jackson back to your world would be in the best interests of everyone-”

“Best interests of your greed, you mean,” Daniel interjects.

“Daniel, shut up. Just shut up right now. Hammond is already gonna kick your ass, don’t make it worse,” Jack snaps. 

Daniel grits his teeth and waits.

“As I was saying, his absence would likely be beneficial for our continued negotiations, however, there is the matter of his actions. Here, what he has done is considered a crime against the social order. It would be akin to theft or trespassing. What your Dr. Jackson has done is try to steal the labor force of this city.”

Daniel can hear Sam shift her rifle and Jack adjust his stance. He might be pissed at Daniel for mucking up everything, but he knows damn well that they won’t leave him here in some prison. Or worse.

“What are you getting at?” Jack asks, his voice low.

“There is a punishment for his actions,” the magistrate says simply.

“And what is this ‘punishment?’” Jack asks, more of a growl than an actual question.

“Twenty strokes. The administration is public. Your Dr. Jackson will not be permanently injured, but he will most definitely learn his lesson, as will anyone he attempted to corrupt with his ideas of rebellion. After the sentence is carried out, he may return to your world and our negotiations can continue as before,” the magistrate informs them.

Daniel’s stomach swoops at the thought of a public whipping and he can’t imagine that something of that severity not leaving permanent damage. 

“Are you asking or telling us about this punishment?” Jack asks darkly.

“Telling,” the magistrate answers, a smug smile on his face. He snaps his fingers and suddenly the room floods with guards, far more than they could ever hope to outshoot or outrun. 

“Shit,” Jack mutters. 

Daniel finds himself in a jail cell in the basement below the council’s chambers. It’s damp and cold. He’s been stripped of everything but his shirt and pants, and there aren’t any blankets, or even a bed. All he can do is curl up on the cold stone floor and wait for morning. 

“Psst.”

Daniel’s head snaps up and he looks around. “Hello?” he calls tentatively.

“Hey, Daniel,” Sam says, slipping around a corner. “How are you?”

Daniel meets her at the bars to his cell. “Fine. Why are you here?”

Sam holds out a protein bar. “I know you’ve got to be hungry. You didn’t even get breakfast, did you?”

By the time she gets the question out of her mouth, Daniel already has the bar completely unwrapped and halfway to his mouth. “I ate an MRE, but that was it. Thanks, Sam.”

Sam smiles, her grin always the brightest thing in the room, and waits silently while he practically inhales the food. It didn’t sound particularly likely that Daniel was going to get anything before tomorrow’s… he hesitates to use the word whipping , though that’s definitely what it’s going to be.

“Water?” he asks, as soon as the bar is gone.

Sam passes over her canteen and Daniel empties it. 

“No water, either, huh?” she asks, accepting the empty canteen.

Daniel shakes his head. “Yeah, they’re not much for creature comforts around here.”

Sam’s smile fades and she nods. “I found out some more about tomorrow, if you wanna know.”

There’s a part of Daniel that would rather not have specifics. He can’t fixate on unknowns, can’t spin himself up into a ball of anxiety about what’s coming as thoroughly as if he knows, but Daniel also knows that he can’t turn down information, regardless of the situation.

“Yeah, alright,” he finally answers.

She nods, her face dark. “There’s a stage area in the center of town. It’ll be there. They’ll ring a citywide bell to let people off from work to attend. I think they’re expecting a large crowd.”

Daniel nods but can’t meet her eyes. Public humiliation is it’s own special hell, the idea of making it literal torture makes him wish he hadn’t eaten that protein bar. 

“The actual punishment, according to the innkeeper that I asked, is supposed to be relatively quick. He said the thing they use isn’t a whip like I think we were all thinking. It’s apparently a braided leather thong, about medium length.”

“So enough to do damage but not enough to split skin too much,” Daniel says.

Sam nods. “That’s how he made it sound. But he said it’s still pretty bad.”

There’s concern in her voice, sympathy for his position. He knows that she never would have done what he did, she’s too good at following orders, even the ones she doesn’t like. But he also knows that she understands and respects his choice. 

“You’re not supposed to be here are you?” Daniel asks, deflecting from her explanation of his impending torment.

Sam smiles again. “No, but the guard upstairs thought I was cute.”

Daniel can’t help the laugh that her statement startles out of him. Sam virtually never creates any distinction between herself and her male colleagues. Being a woman scientist is hard, being a woman in the military is even harder, being both — Daniel knows that he couldn’t begin to handle what she does on a daily basis. So for Sam to flirt to get her way, something that under any other circumstances she would find entirely demeaning, Daniel knows she’s worried for him, maybe even scared. He would be a liar if he said that he wasn’t scared too.

“Alright, well just be careful, Sam. Don’t get yourself in trouble or hurt because of me,” Daniel says.

She smiles, this time deviously. “Oh I could fight that guy with one arm tied behind my back. You don’t have to worry about him.”

Daniel nods, relieved. “Good, good. Still, you probably ought to go just in case.”

“Probably. I’ll see you tomorrow, Daniel,” she says, putting her hand on his shoulder through the bars.

Daniel puts his hand over hers just for a moment, before letting go and stepping back. “Thanks, Sam. Goodnight.”

“Night, Daniel,” she says, and she slips back down the hall and around the corner so quietly it’s like she was never there at all.

Unlike yesterday, where the whole town seemed to come alive in a matter of minutes, night seems to persist forever in the windowless basement jail. He knows it has to be well past sun up, because despite his hunger, thirst, and terrible sleep, Daniel’s circadian rhythm has already adapted to the cycles of day and night on this planet.

Finally, after what feels like forever, boots — leather, not rubber soled — stomp down the hall. He stands up and swallows hard, anxiety mounting, and they stop in front of his cell. 

“Prisoner,” the guard shouts. “On your knees, hands behind your back.”

Daniel does as he’s told, letting the guards manacle him once more, before dragging him out of the cell. They walk through a dizzying series of tunnels that must take them nearly halfway across town. Like yesterday, he’s hurried along faster than he can move his feet in the chained together manacles. Unlike yesterday, Daniel doesn’t have socks or boots on to protect his ankles. By the time they begin ascending the stairs to what Daniel assumes in the city square, he can feel the wet stickiness of blood drying on the top of his feet.

Even before they make it to the door, Daniel can hear the roar of the crowd outside and his steps falter in a way that has nothing to do with the pain of the manacles digging into his ankles. His hesitation seems not to matter, and he’s pushed along the last few steps of the tunnel and then out the door.

It’s so loud here that Daniel wishes he could cover his ears to escape the communal tension that seems to all press down on him. He’s half hustled, half carried up the steps to the stage, their hands digging painfully into his biceps as they lift-drag him. The moment he’s released, Daniel’s eyes fixate on the tall wooden pole in the middle of the platform. Manacles hang from a bolt driven into the pole. Daniel knows that if he were any shorter his feet wouldn’t even touch the ground, as it is he might be able to keep his weight on his toes if he’s able to keep his balance.

Anxiety buzzes in his brain, making his thoughts swirl. The din of the crowd fades from his mind as he’s pushed closer and closer to the pole.

“Daniel!” 

A clear voice cuts through the haze of anxiety, his voice ringing out loud over the crowd. Daniel turns to see Sam, Jack, and Teal’c standing to the side of the platform. He’s not sure he wants them to see this but then again, having them there, three friendly faces against an entire world, is better than nothing. He nods once, his heart racing, before he’s roughly shoved the last few feet to the pole.

The guards press him into the rough hewn wood, his glasses getting jostled and knocked off in the process.They uncuff his hands long enough to haul them over his head and reshackle them to the post. As Daniel expected, only the balls of his feet brush the stone platform, he does his best to get his balance but his weight rests largely on his wrists, the iron manacles already abrading his bare skin.

Behind him, someone grabs the neck of Daniel’s shirt and rips it away, leaving his back bare to the cool autumn air. The crowd roars around him, but without his glasses, all Daniel can see is a rippling mass of bodies, each indistinguishable from the next. He knows that somewhere behind him is his team and Daniel holds on to that — three familiar faces against the mob. 

The magistrate’s booming voice begins to speak and the crowd falls silent. It’s nothing Daniel didn’t expect — a summary reading of his offenses, the sentence, and a short monologue about the importance of their caste system and how it upholds their social structure. Daniel focuses on calming his breathing against the hammering of his heart. He nearly misses the magistrate’s question to him.

“Knowing now the harm you tried to do to our society, Dr. Jackson, do you wish to recant your recent words?”

Daniel remembers Keena’s bare feet and the harshness of her cheek bones, the threadbare tunic that she wore and her already calloused hands. Twenty strokes of a whip compared to her life seems like nothing more than an inconvenience. 

“No, I do not,” Daniel declares loudly. 

If Daniel thought the crowd was loud before, it’s nothing compared to the absolute pandemonium that erupts. Boos and hisses dominate, but there are cheers too, and Daniel wonders how much courage it takes to be the one who calls for freedom in a crowd that considers them no more better than the dirt beneath their feet.

The crowd quiets suddenly, and he hears the magistrate’s voice. “Very well,” he snaps darkly. “Begin!”

Daniel’s brain whirls in panic, his thoughts torn suddenly from the future of these people to the very real and very immediate situation. The first stroke lands without warning and Daniel’s feet scrabble against the stone, the manacles digging into his wrists. The pain from the strike grows slowly, over a period of seconds, until it feels like fire burning across his back. There’s a deeper pain, too, and Daniel realizes that it’s from the weight of the whip, because while it might not be enough to split skin, it’s damn sure going to be enough to bruise.

The next strike lands just below the first and Daniel twists away, his wrists protesting the movement. He’s been prepared for neither blow so far, and simply by virtue of surprise has avoided crying out. But now Daniel grits his teeth tightly, determined to be stoic. If he’s going to stand in solidarity with these people the best he can do is show strength, after all he’s leaving this planet when this is over. They don’t have the luxury.

When the next stroke falls, Daniel braces himself,  taking the hit directly and forcing his feet to remain steady. It’s hard, so much harder than he expected. The pain across his back from only three strokes is agonizing, Daniel doesn’t want to think about how much worse it’s going to get.

As the next stroke falls, a small voice from the crowd cries out his name, and Daniel knows without looking, not that he could see without his glasses, that it’s Keena. He wishes that she weren’t there, a child shouldn’t have to watch something like this. She’s so small, so young, and yet Daniel knows that this — someone with nothing to gain and so much to lose, still willing to fight for her life — will be something she’ll always remember. 

With another stroke, Daniel can feel the need to scream growing in his throat, but he knows that Keena is watching. He can be strong, if only for her. 

He breathes through the pain and a trickle of blood runs down his forearm, warm and wet. The pain of the manacles is intense but dull, like a too small shoe worn for so long that it’s nothing more than background noise. Daniel closes his eyes and as the next stroke comes, he purposely loses count. He knows that it’ll be over when it’s over and no sooner.

By the time that the magistrate declares Daniel’s sentence to be served, Daniel feels like he can’t get enough air into his body to stay alive. He’s not sure if it’s the adrenaline or a panic attack or simply the pain that seems to be consuming him alive. But in any case, Daniel feels like he’s dying. Someone uncuffs Daniel’s hands and his feet slip out from under him. Quickly, he grabs the pole in front of himself, grabbing tightly, to avoid collapsing entirely. He’s managed the entire sentence without a sound, he’s not going to fall down now. 

Splinters from the wood dig into his chest and arms, joining the many others already there from the times he crashed against the pole during his whipping. Slowly, he rights himself, getting his feet fully back under him, and someone hands him his glasses. Daniel’s hands shake but he manages to get them on his face and look out across the crowd. 

Jeering, angry faces fill the square, but there are proud faces, too. Daniel takes solace in those people. Towards the front are Jack, Sam, and Teal’c. They don’t look proud of Daniel, nor are they angry at him, but Daniel can see the barely contained rage beneath the surface of all of them, and he knows it’s on his behalf. 

While they unlock his feet, Daniel examines his wrists. It’s like looking at someone else’s body — the skin is all but gone and blood has streaked down his arms. It hurts, but distantly, in the same way that this entire situation feels disconnected and unreal. He notes that his back feels similarly — the pain is there, intense nauseating pain — but somehow he’s not a part of it. He realizes that he’s dissociating from the event, which is probably not a good thing, but he finds that he can’t really bring himself to care. 

He’s pushed forward, and Daniel staggers until he gets his balance back, before making his way off the platform to the rest of the team.

“You gonna be alright?” Jack asks earnestly, his eyes carefully cataloging each injury.

Daniel nods, feeling dizzy. “I’ll make it.”

“Good. Let’s get the hell off this planet,” Jack orders.

Away from the press of the crowd, outside the city where the only sound is the crunch of their feet on leaves and the birds in the trees, the distance between Daniel and his body dissipates. Suddenly, the pain in his ankles and wrists becomes sickening, his back one agonizing, throbbing mass of damage. He begins to shake, probably the adrenaline wearing off, he thinks distantly, and before he can truly process it, he’s on his knees, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

He’s not supposed to stop walking, the guards escorting them are supposed to see them directly to the stargate with no delays. But Daniel’s body has just stopped and he’s so cold, he can’t stop shaking. Daniel wishes he had at least his socks back, but he wasn’t returned any of his missing clothing when his sentence was complete. 

Suddenly Jack is in front of him, squatted down to eye level, a careful hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Hey, Daniel. Talk to me.”

Daniel doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to explain that he’s suddenly in ten times more pain than he was not ten minutes ago. “I’m cold.”

“Okay, c’mere. Lemme check you out” Jack orders softly, pulling at one of Daniel’s arms.

Daniel manages to relax his left arm enough to peel it away from his body, but he misses the warmth immediately. Jack takes Daniel’s wrist in his hand, looking over the damage, and then he reaches up to check Daniel’s pulse on his neck. His hand is warm and comforting and Daniel wants to lean into it, but he can feel the guards looming over him, and he knows that this isn’t the time or the place to fall apart. After a few moments, Jack pulls back and releases his hand and Daniel has to stifle a whine at the loss of contact. 

“I think the adrenaline is just starting to wear off. I’m guessing the pain’s worse, too?” Jack asks.

Daniel nods, not looking up. He can’t face Jack, not after he got himself into this. He doesn’t need the “I told you so” when what he really wants is a hug, not that he’ll ever ask for that.

“Can he walk?” a guard asks brusquely.

Daniel feels sick. They’re still a couple miles out from the gate and it’s hardly an easy hike. Even if he were in perfect condition, and he’s most definitely not, it would be hard to do without shoes. But like this? Daniel’s not sure he can make it. 

“Give the man a minute to rest,” Jack snaps.

“Our orders are-”

“I know what your damn orders are. I was there when you got them. And I don’t give a shit,” Jack argues.

The guards fall silent but Daniel can hear them shifting uneasily, like they don’t quite know how to handle Jack’s absolute disregard for their authority. 

“Can you eat something?” Sam asks, suddenly beside him. “You probably haven’t had anything since last night.”

The thought of food makes his stomach roll but that’s the pain and low blood sugar talking. “I’ll try. Can’t promise I’ll keep it down.”

Jack squeezes Daniel’s shoulder, and Daniel realizes not only is Jack still holding onto him, but he’s leaning into the touch whether he meant to or not. 

“Come on, Daniel. Let’s sit down. I’m gonna look at your ankles while you eat,” Jack says, directing Daniel back and down with a firm push.

Daniel munches on the bar slowly, mostly trying to go slow to avoid making himself sick but also because he’s still shaking so much that it’s hard to coordinate getting the food to his face. Jack breaks out his IFAK and puts on gloves before picking up a foot and putting it in his lap. Daniel knows his ankles are at least as bad as his wrists, and he doesn’t want to look because it’s just one more thing he’s going to have to confront.

“I’m gonna wash these and bandage them. Think you can handle that?” Jack asks. 

Daniel doesn’t know why Jack is bothering. Even if it takes a few hours to hike out, Janet will be on him the moment he steps through the gate. It’s not like he’s going to die of sepsis between now and then.

“You can tend to his wounds back on your planet,” the guard interjects, seeming to reach the same conclusion as Daniel.

Jack turns around and looks up at the guard. “If you’d like us to get back to the gate sometime today, he needs a chance to rest, otherwise we’ll be going a helluva lot slower when we have to carry him. You wanna go back and explain that it took you forever to get us there because you wouldn’t listen?”

The guard growls lowly. “Don’t take too long.”

Jack ignores the man and turns his attention back to Daniel. “You heard the man.”

Daniel had braced himself for Jack’s regular first aid — efficient, thorough, generally painful — but Jack barely grazes the wounds, instead rinsing the raw and torn flesh, but only actually cleaning the blood off his unbroken skin. Far from hurting, it’s almost comforting, his injuries being gently tended. Daniel realizes after Jack has started on his second ankle that this was never about first aid, Jack was simply buying him time to rest. 

That realization, that Jack’s giving Daniel a chance to process, to rest from what’s been done to him — it’s too much. Jack doesn’t baby people, he isn’t soft or needlessly gentle. But that’s exactly what he’s being right now and it’s too much. Daniel stuffs the rest of the protein bar into his mouth and swallows, hoping to distract himself from the swell of emotions that he can’t begin to handle right now.

“Alright, wrists now,” Jack orders.

Daniel feels like his skin is too small, like he’s going to vibrate out of his body if he has to endure one more kindness, especially from Jack. 

“Jack, I-”

“Frasier will kick my ass if I bring you back only half-bandaged. Gimme your wrist, Danny,” Jack says again.

Daniel nods and holds out a hand. He ignores the nickname, the one Jack never uses unless things are bad, and he tells himself that it’s just work, all of it is just work. There’s nothing soft or kind or special about any of this. It’s a colossal lie, Daniel knows, but if he can believe it, then maybe he can hold it together long enough that they can get home before he comes apart at the seams.

*****

Daniel leans heavily on Teal’c as they finally make their way into the clearing where the gate stands. He’s still shaking but it’s low blood sugar now, not shock. Sam immediately begins dialing home and then taps in their IDC. 

“Well, I’ve hated your company. Have a horrible hike back to the city,” Jack says to the guards.

“Are you not returning to continue negotiations?” one of them asks.

“Today? No. A member of my team needs medical care and I’m going to go back with him and make sure he gets it. We’ll be back in a couple of days,” Jack answers tersely.

“Without Dr. Jackson?” the man asks, as though Daniel is in any hurry to come back to this damn planet.

Jack’s face grows dark. “Without Dr. Jackson.”

“We’re clear, sir. Iris should be open,” Sam calls. 

Teal’c helps Daniel past the DHD and to the gate. Daniel takes one last look at the forest and steps through.

“We need a medical team!” Sam calls. 

“Sam, it’s not that serious,” Daniel argues. He’s still walking, though only with help, and the last thing he wants is half the base talking about this because someone freaked out and smashed the alarm button for the infirmary.

Sam looks at Daniel and frowns. “It’s pretty serious, Daniel.”

“The Major is right, Daniel Jackson. You do indeed require immediate medical attention,” Teal’c concurs.

He knows there’s no use arguing with either of them, not when Jack steps through behind them and asks, “Where’s Frasier’s people?”

As if on cue, Janet and her team hustle into the room gate room, medical bags and a stretcher dragged between them.

“Daniel, what happened?” she asks, her face already contorted into a moue of worry. 

“Daniel talked Marxist theory with the wrong crowd,” Jack explains. 

Teal’c helps Daniel to the stretcher and that’s when Janet gets a look at his back. “Oh my god, Daniel. Did they whip him?” she asks, turning to Jack.

“Yeah,” Jack answers quietly. “We couldn’t stop them.”

If Daniel weren’t busy trying to get on the stretcher without screaming in agony, he’d stop to really look at Jack. He can hear the guilt and hurt in Jack’s voice, as though any part of this situation was his fault. 

“Hey, Daniel,” Jack says, breezing into the infirmary.

Daniel smiles. “Hey, Jack.”

“Oh, you’re smiling? Frasier must have you on the good stuff, huh?” Jack asks with a chuckle.

Daniel nods. “It’s not even that bad. She said you did a decent job with my wrists and ankles, and there wasn’t much she could do for my back, didn’t really break the skin except for a few minor abrasions. I think she just drugged me up out of pity.”

Jack pulls up a stool and sits down. “Yeah, well, don’t look a gift morphine in the mouth, Daniel.”

Daniel snorts softly. “So what’s up?”

“Oh, well, you know, Hammond is pretty pissed but I basically told him that after being publicly whipped and then force marched several miles back to the gate without shoes, there wasn’t much need for him to come in here and yell at you. So you’re welcome,” Jack explains.

“Thanks, Jack. I appreciate that,” Daniel says. And he means it. The absolute last thing he wants is to cry because he got a dressing down by the general.

Jack nods. “As for negotiations, Hammond is sending a diplomatic team. I have to brief them in a couple of hours, but luckily I don’t have to go with them.”

“I know how much you hate diplomatic missions,” Daniel remarks.

“Oh, I sure do, especially with people who hurt one of my team, even if said person is maybe a bit of an idiot sometimes,” Jack says.

Daniel knows it’s probably just a lighthearted jab, but it doesn’t feel like that. “Jack, I know I screwed up. I’m sorry. If you had just seen, what I saw-”

“I would have done the same damn thing, Daniel. It’s why I didn’t go looking for it. I don’t have the luxury of ignoring orders,” Jack says.

Daniel nods. Of course, Jack would have, and Daniel wonders why he ever thought differently. Jack’s job isn’t to save everyone, it's to save his team and Earth. If he can save everyone, that’s just a perk, but he’s not indifferent to suffering. 

“I hope I didn’t ruin negotiations too much,” Daniel says, not meeting Jack’s eyes.

“Ah, screw negotiations. Those pricks are desperate to trade with us. It’s not going to mess up anything, they were just bluffing,” Jack says dismissively. He pauses but when Daniel doesn’t speak, Jack sighs. “How are you holding up?”

It’s a loaded question, the one they always ask one another when someone lands in the infirmary yet again. Most of the time it’s an easy answer “I hurt” or “I was shot, how do you think?” but this isn’t that. There’s no impersonal injury to deal with. This was public torture, retribution for Daniel’s attempts at giving a damn for a people forgotten by society. It’s not just a physical attack, but an attack on who he is as a person.

“Not great,” he answers. 

Jack nods. “No, I wouldn’t think so.”

Daniel nods, the tightness in his chest already returning. The silence stretches between them and Daniel can see that Jack is getting fidgety, and he suddenly can’t imagine being alone. Desperate to forestall that inevitability, Daniel says, “That was bad, Jack.” 

“Yeah, it was,” Jack agrees, stilling once more. “You took it like a champ. I don’t know if I could have held out like that.”

Daniel nearly laughs because of course Jack could. Jack takes pain like it’s nothing and keeps going all the time. The idea that Daniel did anything special just feels patronizing. 

“Hey, I see you down there. Stop it. It was a compliment. Don’t overthink it,” Jack says. 

“Sorry. Too late,” Daniel says reflexively. “And, uh, thanks for stalling in the woods and giving me a chance to rest.”

Jack shrugs. “Eh, you needed a minute and they were being assholes.” 

Daniel nods. He’s not sure which conversation he wants to be having but he’s pretty sure that this isn’t it. 

“Daniel, what’s really going on?” Jack asks suddenly, and Daniel realizes that while he wants Jack there, he’s wholly unprepared to actually talk.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then repeats the process several more times. “I- I’m not sure.”

“We got back yesterday, Daniel.”

“I recall,” Daniel says, not entirely sure what Jack’s getting at.

Jack stares at him for a moment. “How long are you gonna keep pretending you’re fine?”

Daniel’s chest twists uncomfortably, the way it did in the forest when Jack was careful with him. He still feels brittle, like the slightest touch might shatter him completely, and maybe that’s what he needs, even if it’s not what he wants.

When Daniel doesn’t answer, Jack gets up and heads for the door, and Daniel feels like the floor’s fallen out from under him. 

“Please, Jack, I- I’m sorry-”

“I’m just closing the door, Daniel,” Jack says as he does exactly that. Daniel waits, tears already brimming in his eyes.

Daniel hasn’t been alone, out from under the watchful eye of Janet or one of her people, since he’s been back. Honestly, he should have been discharged this morning once his blood work showed he was stabilized, but she asked him to stay, just a little longer, so she didn’t have to worry. Daniel hadn’t known how to argue with that. But now, Daniel realizes that what he needs is to be somewhere he feels safe, not someplace like the base infirmary where there’s zero privacy. 

Jack pulls up a chair this time, putting himself on Daniel’s level beside the bed. He puts a hand out, planting it over Daniel’s balled up fist, and waits. If it weren’t so goddamn painful, Daniel would laugh at how effective Jack’s technique is because he has absolutely no defense against this. 

Tears stream out of his eyes and Daniel gasps at the force of his sobs. 

“There you go, Daniel,” Jack says, as though he’s trying to encourage Daniel’s first feeble attempts at sparring. 

Daniel can barely breathe and he’s not even sure why he’s crying, couldn’t label the emotions he’s feeling beyond hurt . And it does hurt, it feels like his chest has been scooped out, his heart and lungs carved out of him and that’s left is a deep, cold pain that writhes in his chest sending bolts of pain down his limbs until even his fingers and toes prickle with the agony of his wounds. 

Jack’s fingers card through Daniel’s hair, firm and soothing, and he leans into the touch. 

“It’s over. It’s over,” Jack murmurs.

Daniel nods because it’s over for him, and it all feels pointless. He feels like he suffered all of this and for what? So that Ren’ai and Keena could go right on living in their little lean-to? So that he could tell them of freedom, something they could dream of but never taste? Daniel wonders what the point of it is at all. The idea that he’s just another face in a sea of faces, all of them hurting and wanting and needing, that his sacrifice means nothing — it all feels worthless and he feels small, stupid, and naive. 

But after the ridicule of the entire scientific community and several years at the SGC, Daniel also knows better than to lean into self-doubt and negativity. Instead, he leans into Jack’s presence, something he can trust even when he feels like the world around him has gone to shit. And it takes a while, but slowly, Daniel’s sobs peter out until he’s left with wet cheeks and Jack’s hand in his. 

“Better?” Jack asks.

Daniel nods. “I guess. Still feel like shit, though.”

Jack smiles. “Yeah, it’s gonna be a little while on that.”

Whether Janet knew and was waiting so as not to intrude, or simply because she has immaculate timing, the door opens about a minute later, and she closes it quietly behind her. 

“You ready to go home, Daniel?” she asks quietly.

Daniel nods. “Yeah, if that’s alright.”

She nods. “I think it’ll be just fine. I’ve got a set of discharge instructions here, you can go over it and let me know if you have any questions. It’s pretty standard stuff, same thing you get every time. I’ve also got some pain meds for you to take home, too, just in case. Do you have any questions?”

Daniel thinks for a moment but nothing comes to mind. “I don’t think so.”

“You have a week off to be taken at home and not in your office, Daniel. After that, you can come back but light duty only. Understand?” Janet gives him a look that says “I’ve met you and I’m not taking any of your bullshit.”

“I understand,” Daniel answers, unwilling to provoke Janet’s entirely well-intentioned wrath. 

“Good. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll call to check on you in a couple of days.”

She sets the paperwork and the pills on the tray beside the bed and slips quietly out of the room.

“Well, you heard the woman,” Jack says. “Home for a week. Whatcha gonna do?”

Daniel groans. “Probably lose my mind.”

“Wanna lose your mind at my house?” Jack offers. “I make great toast.”

Daniel smiles. “Sure. Thanks, Jack.”

*****

“Unscheduled off-world activation,” the PA system blares.

Daniel sprints down the corridor after Teal’c as they run from the gym to the command center. 

“It’s P4X-722’s IDC, sir,” Walter announces.

Daniel shares a look with Teal’c. It’s been seven months since Daniel was last on that planet. A team of delegates took over negotiations after SG1 returned, and while there has been periodic gate travel back and forth, something tells Daniel that this isn’t just an unscheduled naquadah shipment. 

“Open the iris,” Hammond orders. 

Daniel watches intently, waiting to see who this is and how far away he’s going to feel like he needs to get from them.

“Ren’ai,” Daniel says softly.

“You know her?” Hammond asks, but Daniel is already sprinting to the gate room as fast as he can.

“Ren’ai!” he shouts, bursting through the door. 

She smiles brightly. “Daniel! How good to see you well again!”

Daniel stops at the bottom of the ramp, the memory of the last time she saw him, swimming in his mind. “I am well, thank you. And you look quite well yourself,” he observes, taking in her clean, untorn clothes, freshly washed hair, and the thin layer of fat beginning to cover her bones. “What’s happened? Why are you here?”

“We took your advice, Daniel. The Nan’dim have seized the means of production!” she informs him, her eyes glinting fiercely. “I come now to ask you to negotiate with us, on behalf of your planet, for the naquadah.”

Daniel knows he’s crying, but it’s tears of joy. Not a day has gone by that he hasn’t thought of them and hoped that someday their lot would change, but he had never dared to hope that it would be so soon. 

“Are you sad, Daniel?” Ren’ai asks, her face creased with confusion.

Daniel shakes his head. “No, no, I’m very, very happy, actually. This is amazing. Please, this way. I want to hear all about it.”

Daniel leads her from the gate room and as they enter the corridor Jack stops him, a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Good job, Daniel. Proud of you.”

Jack lets him go and turns to follow them, and Daniel’s feet carry him on, even as his brain struggles to catch back up. It worked . Obviously, Ren’ai and her people did all the work, but what Daniel did meant something, it made a difference, it mattered. 

Daniel feels the tight band of scar tissue on his wrist pull as he turns the knob to the conference room, but for the first time, it’s not a sickening reminder of a horrible experience. He earned that scar. It was a sacrifice, and finally, Daniel knows that it was one worth making.