Each of us earns his death, his own death, which belongs to no one else and this game is life.

George Seferis

*~*~*~*~*~*

Daniel Jackson could read between the lines in twenty-three languages. The message he was reading now could have been interpreted by a precocious kindergartner. As his finger nervously tapped out a cadence on the slide projector, his gaze fluttered between the faces of his teammates and General Hammond. They landed briefly on the unmistakably bored features of Jack O’Neill, then flitted away before eye contact could be established.

He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so unsure of himself, particularly around Jack. The butterflies beating their wings frantically against the lining of his stomach were reminiscent of his earliest days in the Stargate Project when he stood like David against the Goliath of a room full of military skeptics. Chief amongst them, Colonel Jack O'Neill, looking at him as if he were some long-haired geek-like academian bug he would like to grind under his spit and polished boot.

But that had been nearly four years ago and a lot of water had passed under the proverbial bridge. A lot of water. He and Jack were friends now; best friends. Almost like brothers, who supported and fought each other in turn, pulling the other's butt out of the fire more times than either could count.

But that was before.

Before Jack's little undercover mission with Maybourne when words like 'trust' and 'friendship' took on new meanings that Webster never intended. Oh sure, Jack had said he hadn't meant it. That their friendship was as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar.

But everyone knew how Jack felt about rocks.

Even the kind you build friendships on could threaten to crumble and break away under your feet when mistrust and doubt began the steady process of erosion.

Deep down you didn't trust him when he said he was just making up all that stuff, and it hurts like hell.

God, it still hurts.

A voice penetrated his inner dialogue, causing Daniel's face to flush as he ran a mental hundred-yard dash, desperately trying to remember where he had left off with his part of the briefing.

"Doctor Jackson, you were saying, something about a Mayan sun god?" General Hammond inquired discreetly.

Grasping the verbal bone with silent gratitude, Daniel glanced at his notes and continued. "Yes, sir, Kinich Ahau was one of many gods worshiped by the Mayan people. He was thought to be the patron god of the city of Itzamal and was said to visit the city each day at noon. According to legend he would descend as a macaw and consume the offering prepared by the priests."

With a nervous glance at the colonel’s fingers, drumming out their impatience on the mission report, the archaeologist rushed on. "Kinich Ahau is usually portrayed with jaguar-like features." Gesturing towards the picture beside him, he added, "Note the pointed teeth and slanted feline-like eyes."

"Daniel, would you just move on, before I grind my teeth to nubs?" Jack sighed in frustration as he ran his hand through his hair, causing what little order there was in the silver ranks to mutiny.

No one could personify impatience like Jack O’Neill.

Issuing an unspoken order for silence to his recalcitrant colonel, the general's look promised demotion, latrine duty, or a bullet if disobeyed. Hammond then turned back to the obviously rattled scholar. "Go ahead, Doctor Jackson. You were saying?"

Unconsciously picking up his pace, Daniel shot a glance at Sam, who smiled encouragingly at him and sent an imperceptible message of support.

Nervously clearing his throat and pushing at his glasses he continued. "If you look carefully, you’ll note that Kinich Ahau wears a symbol of Kin, a Mayan day, around his neck." Ignoring the impatient sigh which Jack issued, he pressed the button for the next slide and gestured towards a close-up of the pendent around the god’s neck. "Here is a close-up of the back of the symbol."

He heard a communal intake of breath as the next picture flashed on the screen.

"Oh shit," O’Neill muttered, "the eye of Ra."

**********

Well, this Disney on drugs slide show certainly had Jack’s attention now. All of it. Front and center. Eyes focused on

the . . . Eye.

Damn.

Jack finally regained enough control to cease his muttered curses and turn his misdirected anger on the man in front of him. "Daniel, are you telling us that this Kinish Haha is Ra? Because I know for a fact that you and I blew that egocentric little bastard into Chicken McNuggets back on Abydos." He shot a uneasy glance at the scowl on his commanding officer’s face, remembering their less than auspicious meeting just before he had been recalled to duty. "Really, General. Honest. Tell him, Daniel."

"That won’t be necessary, Doctor Jackson, I have Colonel O’Neill’s report on that mission," Hammond countermanded. "I'm quite familiar with the details and I’m certain it is accurate . . . this time." He tossed a shrewd glance at O’Neill, who had the good grace to look abashed, much to the carefully hidden amusement of his team. It wasn’t often anyone had the opportunity to make the colonel squirm, but Hammond had long ago mastered the technique in order to remind the colonel just who was in charge.

"Daniel," Carter interceded smoothly on the colonel’s behalf, "is it possible that there is a connection between the people of P7X-399 and the indigenous life form on P7X-377?"

"Indigenous life form," O’Neill snorted. "Ya mean the honkin' big white aliens, don’t you Carter? How is old Nick, by the way, Daniel? Heard from him lately?"

The brief pain which flashed in Daniel’s eyes caught Jack by surprise as did the disapproving looks tossed his way by the others.

Oh crap, he really shouldn’t have made that crack. It was way out of line. Everyone knew Daniel was hyper-sensitive about his tenuous relationship with his grandfather. But dammit, he was just jerking Daniel's chain to help alleviated the tension. Daniel should've realized that.

Hell, they'd worked together long enough that his team knew not to take his smart-ass comments serious. Hadn't they? Shit, it wasn't like he went out of his way to hurt Daniel's feelings.

Too often anyway.

Ignoring the path that particular thought was charging down, and very much aware of the cliff awaiting at the end, Jack began to disassemble the Bic he had hitherto been content to twirl like a miniature baton throughout the briefing.

Once again his team stepped in, as he tried to ignore the size eleven-and-a-half boot protruding from his mouth, when Teal’c broke the icy silence. "Daniel Jackson, was not the culture on P7X-377 also that of the Mayan people?"

"Yes, Teal’c, it was. It seems probable that there is some connection between the two races since the two planets are relatively close together in the same quadrant and they both emulate the Mayan culture. That’s speculation of course. I don’t have any hard facts yet." Pausing, he dropped his eyes and studied the floor, "Maybe we can try and contact Nick again, since he hasn’t seen fit to communicate with us," or me, he mentally added, "since we left him there."

"See to it, Doctor Jackson." Hammond's eyes narrowed as he cut to the heart of the matter at hand. "Now, people, what we need to determine is whether the Ra we’re taking about on this planet is *our* Ra, or possibly another Goa’uld who has taken on Ra’s personification. Either way we need a threat assessment."

"It may be possible that the people of this planet are not aware that Ra is dead, General Hammond," Teal’c interposed. "The system lords often do not return to a planet for generations at a time. If they are not in need of slaves or hosts, it is not unusual for the Goa’uld to allow a culture to develop without interference, as long as they do not prove a threat."

"Like a savings account drawing interest, huh?" O’Neill mused aloud, rather pleased with his analogy.

The tall Jaffa stared at the colonel impassively, causing him to shift in his chair uncomfortably as he played with the ink cartridge of the disemboweled pen. Geez, what was this, pick on Jack day? Shouldn’t he have gotten a memo?

"Indeed," the Jaffa finally granted, with a slight nod and carefully hidden amusement.

"That pretty much sums up what happened to Earth, sir," Carter added, thinking aloud. "After the Stargate was buried, neither Ra nor any of the other system lords bothered to come by ship until we used our gate to go to Abydos. Then they became aware that we could prove to be a threat."

"We're all very much aware of that, Major."

"Yes, sir, of course."

There was silence around the table as each person struggled with their own demons.

Hammond cleared his throat. "Well, people, let’s get back to the matter at hand." Some things it was best not to dwell on and like his grand-dad had always said, ‘It’s too late to shoot the rattlesnake once you’ve invited him into your bedroll.’ "Do we have a viable mission? Major Carter, based on your observations and data is the risk worth what we could gain?"

"Yes, sir. Even though we have a few signs of Goa’uld influence, the MALP and UAV indicate no visible Jaffa, simply a thriving Mayan culture. There is evidence of naquadah being used within the building structures of the city as well as trinium, and several other unknown materials that could prove invaluable. If we can convince these people that Ra is dead and that the Goa’uld are false gods, I think they would make excellent allies, assuming of course, that there is any Goa’uld influence left to overcome. It could be just as Teal’c stated and they have been left alone to develop and it’s a moot concern. The signs we see may be simply historic symbols, but that’s Daniel’s area of expertise, not mine, sir."

"Sam’s right. Besides that, General," Daniel added hopefully, "this is an incredible opportunity to study the native Mayan people. There is so much we don’t know about their culture. The Maya were the first people in the New World to keep historic records. It is theorized

that . . ."

Before Daniel could kick into overdrive lecture mode, Hammond smoothly turned to O’Neill. "Colonel, if you don’t have any objections, SG-1 will depart for P7X-399, tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred hours."

The colonel leaned forward and frowned. "General, correct me if I’m wrong but, if these people worship Ra, doesn’t that tend to point them in the direction of possible hostiles towards us? I’m hearing a whole lot of maybes, mights, and possibles, not to mention the whole Jaffa-could-be-present-but-not-visible issue. I don’t want to waltz my team into a situation where we’re caught with our BVDs down around our ankles. With respect, sir."

"Your exception is noted, Colonel; however, may I remind you that the people of Abydos also worshiped Ra before you and your team 'enlightened' them, for want of a better word. This mission is a go, people. Doctor Jackson, report to me immediately if you have any success contacting Nicholas Ballard. Dismissed."

"Ah, shit!"

Anger flared across Hammond's face at O'Neill's breach of conduct. It quickly faded into hidden amusement when he saw the colonel's ink-stained fingers clutching the remains of the ravaged pen. He was hard pressed not to smile at the disgusted look of betrayal on Jack's face as he surveyed the Bic's revenge exacted on fingers, reports, and table.

Wisely, no one made a comment as the colonel wiped ineffectually at the sticky red stains covering his hands and mission report.

The team left the briefing room and separated to complete the multitude of necessary tasks. As Jack strode towards the men's room to wash up, he was unaware that Daniel was studiously avoiding him.

******

As SG-1 stepped from the swirling blue event horizon and onto the grassy field where the Stargate stood, O’Neill scanned the immediate area. At least there're no trees, he thought. Trees concealed too many unknowns. Better, by far, to see any potential threat early.

Shielding his eyes against the bright sun, he reached for his shades confident for the moment that there was no direct threat to the team.

He noted with satisfaction that Carter and Teal’c had their weapons poised and ready. Daniel, too, seemed to be searching their surroundings carefully, but the colonel was willing to bet the archaeologist’s mind was already on the collection of cultural information to come, rather than spotting any danger.

Some things just never changed and while he treasured some constants in his normally inconsistent life, Daniel’s frequent failure to recognize that alien planets were unsuccessfully below par as ideal spots to make new friends in the meet and greet club certainly was one he could live without.

"Which way, Carter?"

Before Sam could answer, Teal’c nodded towards the distant landscape with his usual vigilance and customary brevity. "O’Neill, it appears that the natives of this planet are approaching."

Squinting against the strong rays of the sun despite his sunglasses, Jack spotted three figures walking towards them. "Daniel, front and center and get ready to make nice with the natives."

As Daniel stepped forward and held up a placating hand to the approaching trio. Jack unobtrusively slipped the safety catch on his weapon. He watched, his thoughts as hidden as his eyes behind the dark shades, as Daniel walked a few paces towards the approaching people. "That’s far enough, Daniel. Let them come to you."

Without taking his eyes off the men, Daniel hissed, "Jack, let me do my job. I’ve done this a few times before, you know."

Slightly taken aback by the sharp response, Jack nevertheless carefully kept his tone light. "I realize that, Daniel, but it pays to be careful, even if all you’re going to do is talk."

Jack strained to hear when Daniel spoke softly, almost as if speaking to himself. "Speech was given to the ordinary sort of men whereby to communicate their minds; but to the wise men, whereby to conceal it."

The insult was intentional and it struck its mark. Had they been on the pistol range Jack might have boasted on Daniel’s keen eye and steady hand, had it not been his picture on the bulls eye.

"Well Daniel," his voice equally quiet, carefully concealing his hurt, "this ordinary man is still in command of this outfit and I gave you an order."

"Yes, sir, Colonel, sir, message heard and received, loud and clear." Daniel’s face hardened and another nail was pounded into the coffin containing their friendship. So quick and subversive was the communication between the two men, that their teammates were seemingly unaware of what had taken place.

Almost. But the lack of easy camaraderie which the team usually enjoyed and relied upon was valued far too greatly to go completely unnoticed. The reverberations from Maybourne’s sting operation apparently had no problem traversing the event horizon of the wormhole and striking with deadly force light years away.

Shielding her eyes against the glare, Carter sought to refocus the destructive direction of the conversation. She gestured slightly towards the advancing figures. "Daniel, do those masks they’re wearing represent something? They’re hideous."

"They would indeed make the children of Chulak believe that the Har’esatac was approaching." Noting O’Neill’s raised eyebrows, Teal’c added, "I believe you would call it a boogeyman, O’Neill."

"Ah, right." Jack nodded, recognizing his team’s effort to smooth the static charged air. He and Daniel would hash this out another time, another place.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Peachy.

But for the present he did what he did best and packed away his personal feelings and stepped into colonel mode hiding his hurt behind orders and ignoring the resentment a blind man could read in Daniel’s stiff posture. "Okay, campers, let’s boogie forward a bit. Daniel, move up fifty yards or so. We’ve got your six."

The team stepped forward and waited quietly as the space narrowed between the two groups. The three men, clad in ceremonial masks, stopped in front of Daniel, and the leader raised his hand, either mimicking the archaeologist or in the inter-galactic symbol of greeting. "Welcome travelers," the leader’s voice reverberated eerily from behind his mask. "Have you been sent from the Gods?"

Daniel took a step closer and in his friendly, earnest way, quickly explained who they were and what they did. Within minutes, he was deep in conversation with the three men. The rest of the team stood quietly, straining to catch a word now and then, as the four men communicated through the use of English, copious hand gestures, and a guttural language, Jack assumed was Mayan.

It seemed a little disconcerting to him how easily the natives had accepted them, and it grated on O’Neill’s invariably suspicious nerves. Sure it had happened before, but there always seemed to be a string attached that had a nasty way of tightening around SG-1's collective necks.

Despite Jack's reservations, Daniel was not the same naive man who had stepped through the gate into the world of Sha’re and the people of Abydos. Experience and pain had taught him harsh lessons in life which too often Jack failed to acknowledge. Even now, as he conversed with the natives of this world, a battle waged between suspicion and his never-satiated thirst for knowledge. There was something slightly odd about a group of people who accepted strangers so different than themselves so readily.

Of course, perhaps that meant no one had ever come through the gate to threaten them. Turning back to his team, Daniel raised his voice so that everyone could hear. "We’ve been invited to join the leaders of the city."

As the natives turned to lead the way towards the distant city, O’Neill waved a hand towards the departing figures. "Okay, kids, let’s keep sharp, and follow Curly, Larry and Moe back to their city."

Shooting O’Neill a sharp glance, Daniel’s raw emotions snapped. "Jack, why do you always have to be such an ass? Just once can’t you think of the consequences before you open your mouth? How about thinking about what’s at stake..." Daniel’s eyes widened as he realized what he was saying, and he drew a shaky breath. "What’s at stake," he repeated quietly. "They’re priests, leaders of their society, not Stooges. Besides that, they appear to be peaceful, friendly and are willing to talk and share information. You’re lucky their gods don’t watch slapstick TV and realize how disrespectful you are to their religious leaders. Anyone can tell from your tone you’re not taking this at all seriously. The leaders might not be as amused at your sarcastic wit as the rest of us. They might just make you wish you’d kept that irreverent mouth of yours shut for once! I told you before, let me do my job and you do yours, Colonel."

With a withering glare, Daniel moved ahead of the group to join the masked priests, leaving in his wake a speechless, slack-jawed colonel staring at his back. Before Jack donned his own tight mask of indifference.

Perhaps, in another life, Daniel had been a prophet calling down fire and brimstone on an unrepentant land, Jack thought, shaking his head in resignation.

***

The hike to the city was made in relative silence. Jack was still smarting from Daniel’s unexpected verbal scourging. Carter seemed embarrassed at having witnessed the exchange, and Teal’c simply hated discord. He had been aware of Daniel Jackson’s agitation around his friend for several weeks now. The festering of the wounded friendship and the infection which had set in causing a slow death to the harmony and effectiveness of the team.

It was most disconcerting to be in the presence of two people who were either unwilling or unable to let bygones be bygones, as O’Neill would say. He had meditated long hours hoping to find a solution to the problem, but had been unable to determine a way to resolve the conflict which was threatening the balance of the team, short of knocking the two stubborn heads together and rupturing the growing abscess. At times such as these, that solution did seem to offer the best resolution.

***

As SG-1 neared the city, a soft whistle escaped O’Neill’s lips and for the moment the tension was forgotten. They had stepped into a gloriously Technicolor living version of a National Geographic article he had once read.

He heard a gasp from Carter as the scientist took in the sights. "Holy Hannah."

"You can say that again, Carter," O’Neill replied without taking his eyes off the incredible sight. Even Teal’c seemed impressed.

Catching himself staring with open-mouthed wonder at the great pyramid which rose up from the hub of the city, Jack irritably dressed himself down. Well, color me for a tourist. It’s a good thing this isn’t our first mission or I’d have my camera out taking snapshots for the folks back home.

Glancing around at his team, Jack noticed that Daniel had momentarily abandoned his Mayan travel guides, as well as his previous anger and was, in fact, happily video taping for the folks back home.

Seeing the carefree wonder on the archaeologist's face made O’Neill forget all about the wonders surrounding him. A sudden insight surprised him. Daniel had been hurting. You didn’t have to have an IQ that was way up in the stratosphere to be aware of that fact. It had been written all over him in a body language even a jaded old colonel could understand. He knew he’d hurt Daniel with that Maybourne crap. Had had no choice. But he'd hoped they'd dealt with it long before now. Made things right. Obviously he'd be wrong.

He kept meaning to have a heart-to-heart with him, but the timing just never seemed right. It wasn’t like he was one of those touchy-feely talk-about-your-emotions kinda guys anyway, just ask Sara. Hell, it was easier for Fraiser to dig a bullet out of him than for him to pry out the right words. But seeing the awe and genuine happiness on Daniel’s face, Jack realized just how much of himself his friend had closed off.

Jack sighed. It didn’t much matter that he’d rather face a firing squad than share his feelings. Daniel deserved it, and . . . well . . . he didn’t like the space Daniel’s withdrawal had left in his life. Time to step up to the plate and pay the fiddler, O’Neill. And that combination of clichés, he thought smugly, would have had Teal’c’s eyebrow shooting skyward.

As soon as we get home, Daniel and I are going to have that talk, O’Neill promised himself. For the good of the team if nothing else. And suddenly he felt much better, as if he’d dropped a forty- pound knapsack after a ten-mile run. Even knowing he was going to have to eat a healthy slice of his least favorite dessert - humble pie, it’d be worth it. Hopefully.

After the mission . . .

After the mission . . .

***

The bustling city was an archaeologist’s dream come true and Daniel felt like the big-money Lotto winner. Every direction he looked he found sights more fascinating than the one before. If Harlan had been here, Daniel would cheerfully have begged the little man to mass-produce an assembly line of Doctor Daniel Jackson clones in order to study the myriad of information available. It was fantastic. It was mind-boggling. It was why he put up with Jack’s crap and stayed on the team.

That, and the one-in-a- million chance to save Sha’re, although the odds of that happening too often felt like another sort of lottery.

But still . . .

Love of knowledge and love of his wife . . . passions that he felt to the very core of his being. The very center of who he was. And so what if Jack’s words had begun to open fissures in the very foundations of his soul. He was strong. He’d proven it over and over when life had contrived to knock him flat on his ass. What was one curmudgeonly opinionated Air Force colonel, who knew just when and where to twist the knife in order to kill a friendship, when weighed against the cost if Daniel left the team?

Yes, it hurt. And, yes, he was still bleeding from the assault, but life would go on. His life would go on. And discoveries like the one surrounding him now just fanned that ember of determination not to let Jack’s words destroy him and the chance he had to embrace his quest, just as he longed to embrace his wife.

***

The indigenous persons on P7X-399 paid scant attention to the strangers in their midst. There was none of the gaping, awed looks of wonder and fear with which the team had become accustomed. It was a bit disconcerting to be so unimportant that they merited only a curious glance every now and then. Either they were very used to outsiders visiting their city or there was something which proved to be more important than their puny distraction. Neither choice proved an encouraging start to this mission.

"If curiosity killed the cat then these people are still playing with nine lives," O’Neill snorted. No one commented.

As they strolled towards the great pyramid through the bustling marketplace, slowly drinking in the sights, they saw a thriving city teeming with a mass of people. Although he held his weapon comfortably in his hands, where he could defend himself should the team be threatened, O’Neill did not sense anything more than the mildest of curiosity from the passing people.

The natives were relatively short people with a robust physique. Most seemed to have slightly slanted dark eyes and black hair. One of the most unusual characteristics which was readily obvious was their slanted foreheads. Here and there the team saw people trading who were obviously not part of the same native people.

Motioning Daniel away from their guides, Sam asked, "Daniel, all the people seem to have that strange skull formation. An entire society couldn’t be effected by the same birth defect, could it?"

"The Maya Indians had a unique idea of what beauty constituted. They were known to practice skull deformation by tying boards to the forehead of newborn children." Observing the look of disbelief which crossed Jack’s face, he added quickly, "A parent who failed to do this would have been considered negligent in their parental duties and would have sentenced the child to a life of ostracism. You find the same practice in various forms back on Earth. For instance, the Chinese binding the feet of girl babies or the people of Borneo stretching their earlobes with heavy pieces of metal. And Burmese women used metal rings to elongate their neck up to twelve inches in the name of beauty. It really is a case of beauty in the eye of the beholder."

O’Neill shook his head in disgust and refused comment, although his team had no difficulty infiltrating his silence.

Steering the conversation to safer ground, Daniel discreetly pointed out other interesting examples of the Mayan idea of self-beautification as they slowly walked down the street. Many of the men sported body piercings and tattoos. And they were startled when a young man smiled at them, showing off his teeth filed to a point and filled with what looked like jade.

"They could walk through the mall and no one would blink." Jack had never realized a person could pierce so many different parts of the body, and not be arrested when showing them off in public, when Carter had dragged him to the mall to find a gift for Hammond’s birthday.

"Did you ever think about getting a tattoo, Colonel?" Sam asked with a twinkle hoping to lighten the tense mood. She thought of her own tiny shooting star, she had gotten one night after having too much to drink with some girlfriends at the academy. Not that she would ever mention its existence or location to her teammates.

Completely aware of her intentions, O’Neill picked up the ball and ran with it. Grinning and feigning a look of embarrassment he smirked. "Ah, yeah, Carter, I’ve got a tattoo. It’s the Liberty Bell. I had them tattoo it on my butt. The crack ... ."

He hid the grin, as the major’s eyes widened and a deep blush spread across her cheeks. What’s the matter Major, too much information, eh?

Sam suddenly decided it was the perfect opportunity to check out her instrument readings as a far too smug Colonel strode ahead.

"O’Neill, I too have observed such marking when . . ."

"Drop it, Teal’c. Let’s quit discussing my ass and pay attention to the mission."

"As you wish." Teal’c carefully filed this tidbit away to mention sometime in the future. Perhaps the next time he and O’Neill were sparring or at one of O’Neill’s cookouts for the members of the SGC. Bra’tac was correct. Timing was everything.

There seemed to be a class distinction in the city which was obvious to them all. The respect merited the priests who led their party was easy to recognize. The citizens, rich or poor, bowed with utmost admiration while nearly ignoring the strangers in the priests’ wake.

An obviously wealthy woman strolled towards the market with a group of servants in tow. She was adorned with jade jewelry shaped in fascinating designs. Sam nonchalantly hooked her arm around Daniel’s as he stopped and stared, drinking in the rich culture.

"Daniel, don’t you know it’s impolite to stare?"

"What?" Daniel stammered. "Oh, yeah, you’re right, Sam. There’s just so much to see and learn. I could study here for a lifetime and still not know it all. Do you understand how significant this is? The Maya are practically a lost civilization and they’re here in front of me, living, breathing people, not some picture in an ancient book. A lifetime’s work and I won’t get one one-hundredth of that time."

Carter nodded in sympathy. If anyone on the team could understand what Daniel was trying to express, it was Sam. So often she had turned over her findings to others when she ached to dig in and uncover hidden secrets. But that was the downside of being on a front-line team where exploration was the name of the game. It was a tough pill to swallow, but during the many nights she had lain awake debating that very topic, Sam had decided, despite what it was costing her, she had the best of the best. But, oh yeah, did she absolutely understand where Daniel was coming from.

"Come on, Daniel," she said, deliberately making her voice brighter, "let’s catch up with the others, we don’t want them to come back and get us . . ."

"No, we certainly wouldn’t want the Colonel to worry." Daniel’s voice, heavily laced with bitterness, startled Sam, but she covered her concern and smoothly and pointedly ignored his interruption. And the fact that he had resorted to using the Colonel's rank rather than his name. Something that Daniel did only if he was seriously pissed at O'Neill.

"... and waste what time we have to explore and learn what we can."

Daniel blew out a frustrated breath and whipped off his hat, slapping it against his thigh. "You’re right, Sam. Things aren’t going to change, so antagonizing Jack’s not going to help. I guess I’d better be thankful for the time I have here."

Tossing him a smile, and happy he'd reverted to 'Jack', Sam motioned for him to take the lead. Despite his words, Carter knew that in all likelihood Daniel would immediately get distracted and without her on his six playing border collie, she'd never get her intellectual sheep herded where he was supposed to go.

With Sam using her not-so-subtle shepherding skills, the team was reunited as the trio of priests led SG-1 into a beautifully ornate meeting room. The tapestry-covered walls spoke volumes about a culture rich in history. Daniel was hard-pressed to tear his eyes from the trove of chronicled treasures hanging temptingly all around him, in order to sit on the floor at a long, low table laden with heaping platters of food.

"These folks ever heard of chairs?" Jack grumbled, as he sought a comfortable position for his long legs beneath the short table.

The rest of the team ignored his grouching.

The priests were joined by several men, obviously nobles if their dress and bearing were any indication, who took their places gracefully opposite the team. SG-1 watched as scribes removed the frightening masks from the priests and young women began to fill golden plates with the bounty on the table. Each plate was reverently placed before the guests and officials.

Jack eyed his plate skeptically. He had learned the hard way to be very cautious with what he ate off world. Montezuma may not have been Mayan, but he sure as hell would have his revenge if Jack’s digestive system rebelled after this meal.

Poking discreetly at the food with his finger, Jack was relieved to recognize most of the items. The meat looked similar to turkey accompanied by what looked like black beans, maize, and a flat kind of corn cake. With a wary glance towards his team, but abundantly aware of their hosts’ scrutiny, he took a tentative bite. It proved to be one of the best meals by far that he had eaten in ages. Hands down better than anything the dining hall had to offer. Laying aside his normal recalcitrant attitude towards his off-world dining habits, Jack determined to enjoy the repast.

If only they could package stuff like this in MREs. But who was he kidding? It’d just end up tasting like macaroni and cheese. Daniel didn’t call them Moderately Repulsive Edibles for nothing.

As O’Neill and the others savored the relaxing repose, the women returned with goblets filled with a chocolate flavored drink. As he drank deeply from his cup, Daniel turned to Sam and said quietly, "The Mayan people were one of the first to make chocolate. They called it the drink of the gods."

"I always loved chocolate milk when I was a kid." Sam's entire face lit up with the memory. She had gotten over the discomfort of being the only woman seated at the table and was thoroughly enjoying the meal, as were the rest of the team, a temporary truce having apparently been established calming the earlier hostilities.

"Carter, you’ve got a bit of a milk mustache thing going." Trying his best to vex her O’Neill motioned to his upper lip with a smirk. "That’s not regulation, Major."

"Sorry, sir." Sam laughed at his effort to tease her. "It won’t happen again."

"See that it doesn’t." His dark eyes laughed with her.

While it felt good to enjoy a break from the tension that had become the norm for the team recently, the perturbed glances of the natives brought their fun to a rapid halt. Small talk was apparently not encouraged, and the meal was consumed in silence at a leisurely pace. The women refilled plates and cups until everyone was satiated and despite many curious glances at Sam everyone was treated as honored guests.

"I could go for a siesta," Jack gave a mock groan. "I’m stuffed."

"It was quite satisfying, however I am unsure as to the meaning of a siesta."

"The old snooze-you-lose routine, Teal’c. Ya know, a cat nap."

"And for what purpose would I wish to sleep with a feline, O’Neill?"

"Daniel, what’s with the weird pyramid shaped window?" Jack swiftly changed the subject.

The bright sun streamed through a triangular window above their heads. As the rays traveled across the sky, they cast a shadow through the window onto the floor.

"It is a sundial." Throughout the meal, Daniel had paid scant attention to the bounty offered his stomach. It was his mind and curiosity which proved insatiable rather than his appetite. "The lights and shadows show the time." It was obvious he wanted to say more. Much more. And Carter watched with morbid humor as Daniel’s patience was stretched as surely as the ear lobes he had mentioned earlier. The kid in the candy store of sweet facts and nary a nickle to spend. Perhaps that wasn’t quite right. More like a child in the presence of a stern parent who would nail his ass if he screwed up deportment in front of the visiting uncles. And his ass had smarted too many times not to have learned that lesson from Daddy O’Neill.

Oh, yeah. He could feel Jack’s eyes on him daring him to do more than look longingly at the living history at his fingertips.

As the last of the dishes were removed, much to Daniel’s relief, it appeared that it was now time to socialize as one of the priests leaned forward slightly and asked formally, "Bix a belex?"

Arching one eyebrow, O’Neill never took his eyes off the men seated across from him. They appeared completely relaxed and gave him no indication of a trap. Ever the pessimist, O’Neill wasn’t sure what was being said, but he damn sure wasn’t going to be taken by surprise. "Daniel, what’s he saying?" His hand reached down to caress the weapon laying beside him.

Daniel spoke with evident irritation under his breath. "Relax, Jack, there’s no need to shoot anyone. He’s just greeting you and basically asking us how we are doing." Bowing his head slightly Daniel answered for the group. "Maloob, yum botic."

Apparently it was the correct answer and satisfied the priest who smiled slightly. "Mixba." It is well.

"Do you speak Mayan, Daniel Jackson?" The great storehouse of linguistic abilities Daniel possessed had always intrigued Teal’c.

Daniel shook his head. "Not really, Teal’c. Just a few words and phrases I picked up here and there. It’s not too difficult once you know a few basics."

A scowl creased his face as Jack snorted. "Most people pick up postcards when they travel. Daniel picks up languages."

Without a glance at O’Neill, Daniel directed his answer towards Teal’c. "My grandfather spent his life on sites throughout Belize. Occasionally he would write to me when I was a kid. I learned the phrases from him. Any witty comment about that, Jack?"

O’Neill could think of nothing to say, as he thought of Daniel’s childhood and his tenuous relationship with a grandfather who had allowed him to become a very small child within a very large machine called social services. Crap. Couldn’t someone give him a break here? Fortunately, at that moment the conversation drifted back to the present.

"You have come to observe or play?" one of the priests asked politely in heavily accented English.

"You speak English, er, our language," Daniel asked in surprise.

"As the keepers of the Circle a few of us have learned the words of which you speak in order to better serve our God. Not many, but our scholars and leaders are taught."

Ignoring Jack’s frown at the mention of their God, Daniel made no attempt to mask his delight. "That’s great. It will make it so much easier to communicate, as I was telling my friend," gesturing towards Teal’c, "Mayan is not a language with which I am fluent. There are so many things we can learn from each other."

The priest nodded with a tolerant smile. "Have you come to observe or play?" he repeated.

"We will indeed be observing," Teal’c answered for the group, well aware of the tension between his teammates.

Noting the disappointment which flashed across the man’s robust features, Carter spoke quickly. "But we would be interested in knowing what you are playing."

Glancing over at the major, O’Neill flashed her a unobtrusive look of approval at her diplomatic answer. Daniel, he noted, had lost his battle with temptation and was engrossed in reading the stories portrayed on the tapestry. Jack shook his head in amusement. Turning back to the priest he asked, "So what’s the name of this game?"

"It is the game of Pok-A-Tok. It is our most important of traditions. Only the sons of nobles are allowed to participate," the man said with a glance at Sam. "We play to honor Kinich Ahau."

"Sorry, Carter, guess that leaves you out of the running. No one’s going to mistake you for a son of anyone, noble or otherwise." Jack grinned at the blush on his second’s cheeks. "Teal’c, how about you? You been holding out on us, in the nobility department?"

Giving O’Neill a regal stare, Teal’c answered with his customary dignity. "I have not."

"Come. We will watch as a practice match is played before tomorrow’s festival," the Mayan commanded.

"Sounds like a plan." Jack was eager to work off the lethargy brought on by the feast. Leaning towards Sam he added, "I don’t know about the ‘honoring the God’ crap, but I sure would like a chance to stretch my legs. How about you Carter?"

"Yes, sir. Definitely." Everyone rose from the table. Completely absorbed in his translation and having missed the entire conversation, Daniel remained where he was.

Teal’c nodded towards him. "I shall wait with Daniel Jackson."

"Yeah, that’s good, Teal’c. Carter and I will go check out this Pok-a-mon game and meet back with you." Looking at the oblivious Daniel, he frowned and started to speak, but apparently changing his mind, O’Neill turned and followed the natives from the room.

**********

Some time had passed, according to the Mayan Timex, before Daniel consciously returned to P7X-399 from the fascinating site to which his study of the tapestry had carried him. He found Teal'c, alert as always, watching over him as he studied. "Where is everyone, Teal’c?" He could read no condemnation of the fact that he had once again lost himself in his passion for learning in the Jaffa's impassive face. But he felt a niggling of guilt eat at him.

"O’Neill and the others have gone to observe a sporting event."

Daniel climbed to his feet and rubbed the kink in his back as all thoughts of guilt fled beneath the cloud of disdain. "Sporting event. Trust Jack to find a hockey match, even off-world. He’ll probably corrupt the Maya with beer and pizza before the second half."

Daniel was completely caught off guard when an enormous hand clamped tightly to his shoulder and spun him around effortlessly to face what was obvious to those who knew him a monumentally pissed Jaffa.

"Enough." Teal’c’s voice thundered as it echoed throughout the hall. He punctuated his displeasure by striking the floor with his staff weapon. "Daniel Jackson, this behavior is beneath you. It is time that you overcame this bitterness you hold towards O’Neill. It is unproductive and serves only to make you both miserable as well as to disrupt the effectiveness of the team."

Daniel hung his head. It was so rare for Teal’c to show his anger that he had no choice but to address the issue. Glancing into the stern face, he knew Teal’c would brook no denial. Apparently, despite what the sun clock read this was high noon, Jaffa style.

"Teal’c, you don’t understand."

"You are quite right, Daniel Jackson, I do not. You and O’Neill consider yourself to be friends, closer than brothers. And now because he was ordered to complete an assignment and was forbidden by his superiors from informing his team, you have allowed your feelings of hurt to cloud every aspect of your relationship. Do you not realize this pettiness will, in the end, destroy all that you both hold dear? It will succeed in the destruction of SG-1 where the Goa’uld have failed."

Teal’c stayed his emotions as he stared into the wide blue eyes filled with hurt.

"But, Teal’c, Jack said even after all we’ve been through we didn’t have much basis for our friendship."

"And are you not aware that this was a falsehood?" The unrelenting warrior cornered his opponent and stepped in with a machete to attack the vines of deception that had taken root and were choking the relationship of his friends. He was finding it impossible to observe the death of the two men's friendship and remain neutral. If the friendship of O’Neill and Daniel Jackson was the fruit on the vine, then he had been thrust into the role of vine keeper. And as such he was hacking ruthlessly at the unproductive, diseased branches in order to assure ample room for new life and growth.

Clearly miserable, Daniel nodded. "Yeah, Jack told me it was all a lie after the mission was over."

Arching one eyebrow, Teal’c’s look forbade anything but the entire truth, ugly though it may be.

"And I told him that the reason I had come to visit him was that I had lost when we drew straws, didn't I?"

"Was this not also a falsehood, Daniel Jackson?"

Shrugging ruefully, Daniel began, "But, Teal’c ..."

"Cum tua pervideas oculis mala lippus inunctis; cur in amicorum vitiis cernis acutum quam aquila?" Teal’c interrupted, ignoring the look of surprise Daniel was unable to hide.

"When you view your own sins your eyes are dim and sickly; so why, for a friend’s failings, do you have the sight of an eagle." Daniel translated smoothly. It’s from Horace, Satirae, III. You’ve been studying again, Teal’c."

The tall Jaffa gave a regal nod and waited, saying nothing.

Nothing more needed to be said.

Daniel stood quietly for a few moments, as the words soaked into his soul. "You are a wise man, Teal’c."

"As are you, Daniel Jackson."

"Let’s go find Jack and Sam. I’ve got a lot to think about." Pausing, he looked into the serene eyes of his friend. "Thank you, Teal'c. I needed that."

"You are welcome." With that Teal’c led the archaeologist to find the rest of the team.

**********

The night passed uneventfully. As O’Neill sat observing the night sky during his watch he allowed the beauty to caress his weary thoughts. Things had seemed a little better between he and Daniel this evening. He was thankful for that; however, he wasn’t going to let himself off the hook. They would have that talk when they got home. But for now he was just grateful for a small reprieve from the tension that had grown between the two of them recently.

Sipping his coffee, Jack watched as a planet he speculated might be Venus rose. Maybe. It seemed to be dimmer than normal when he observed it from his rooftop sanctuary back on Earth. But of course it would be. That only made sense. They were further from it than when they were back home.

There was a name for when Venus dimmed. He allowed his mind to search through the stacks of astronomy magazines he had back home. ‘Oh yeah, the Superior Conjunction.’

Of course, maybe it wasn’t Venus at all. Just one more nameless planet with a history he might someday explore. It was a sobering thought.

As he sat watching the stars wink out one after another, Jack mused quietly to himself. The mission was turning out to be kinda fun after all. Great people, good food, plenty to keep Carter and Daniel happily occupied, and for once it looked like there was something to keep him busy and interested while the scientists did their thing. Normally on this type of mission he and Teal’c were the resident bodyguards. Not that he minded . . . much. But this trip through the gate had offered a little bonus for the old colonel.

That hokie pokie game had turned out to be a hell of a sport. It combined field hockey, soccer, and basketball as the players did their best to get a heavy rubber ball through a ring that looked for all the world like a miniature stargate, mounted about twenty-seven feet high, without using their hands or feet. The court itself was the shape of an I and was surrounded by stands for the crowds.

Obviously it was a popular sport. Even the practice match they had observed had filled the stands with cheering masses.

O’Neill took another sip of his rapidly cooling coffee. He had been invited to play in tomorrow’s game. Listening idly to the chirping of the early morning birds he realized it was today’s game now.

Why shouldn’t I play? Curly, or was it Moe, told us everyone will be watching the game, and no other activities are allowed during that time, so Daniel and Carter will be on down time anyway. It’ll give me a chance to show them the old man’s still got something going for him. Besides, Daniel’s always harping that we should ‘integrate into the cultural entity’ of the society we’re visiting. Guess it’s time to show the kids that I can integrate as well as the next guy.

Maybe I can teach them about tailgate parties. It’d be worth it to see Daniel’s face. But then again, why screw up the tentative truce that they seem to have established. Was yanking Daniel’s chain worth the price?

Nah. No way.

With that thought, Jack stood, threw out the last dregs of his coffee, and went to wake his team for the day.

**********

It was a beautiful day, although the temperature was sure to rise later threatening to make it uncomfortable. The excitement was almost palpable as the crowds poured into the amphitheater. It appeared that the priest was right when he had told them everyone would be there. As honored guests, the remaining members of SG-1 sat in a specially-designed area reserved for the nobles whose sons were participating in the game.

Looking around at the excited crowds, Carter could almost imagine that there should be hawkers selling peanuts, popcorn, and hot dogs to the spectators. She was so enthralled by the excitement permeating the air that she failed to notice when Daniel slipped out of his seat and fought his way towards the exit.

As he edged his way through the excited crowds, Daniel glanced over his shoulder. Sam was busy taking in the sights, and Teal’c was no where to be seen, but in this crowd it would be easy to even overlook someone of Teal’c‘s stature. Being careful not to draw unwanted attention to himself, Daniel edged out of the stands and made his way towards the exit gates.

Escape seemed at hand, when Daniel once again felt a familiar hand close on his shoulder.

"Daniel Jackson, should you not be back at your seat? The game is about to begin?"

With a sigh of frustration and feeling like an errant child, Daniel couldn’t quite rid himself of the guilty look he knew he was wearing. "Teal’c, we’ve only got today before we have to report back to the SGC. You heard yourself - - this game will take hours and then there will be celebrations and feasting. I won’t get another chance to look around and study. There’s so much to learn here. This is living history. It’s important to me. I might never get another chance like this. I’m not going to get in any trouble, I promise, and Jack won’t even know I’m not sitting in the stands. Sam can fill me in on the details of the game later. He’ll never know. I’ll slip back and watch the end and be there in time for the festivities."

Reluctantly, Teal’c nodded. "O’Neill would not approve of you exploring unattended. Perhaps I should inform Major Carter of your plans and accompany you."

For the first time, the look of a pleading child evaporated, as the Jaffa saw genuine anger flash across Daniel’s face. "Teal’c, despite what the rest of this team may think, I am not a child. I’ve been responsible for myself for many years now and am perfectly capable of taking care of myself in this situation. Who do you think babysat me before I came to the SGC? I’ve been on digs and in foreign places most of my life. There has been no sign of danger here. Everyone in the city is in the stadium. All I want is a chance to explore a little on my own. Okay? What Jack doesn’t know is not going to hurt him."

He stopped and waited, unblinking under Teal'c's scrutiny.

There was a seemingly endless amount of time as Teal'c weighed the facts in silence.

Slowly, Teal’c nodded and turned back towards the entrance. "I shall await your return before the end of the game."

Daniel smiled, not missing the emphasis the Jaffa had placed on the word ‘before’. "Thanks, Teal’c,"

And thanks for showing that you trust me.

"Do not delay your return, Daniel Jackson. O'Neill will not be pleased if you encounter a delay. Nor will I.

Waving his hand in agreement, Daniel hurried away from the crowded area. He felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through his veins. For so many years of his life he had felt unwanted and unloved. No one really cared where he was, or what he was doing for that matter. He had often wondered if anyone would even notice had he disappeared from existence. There was no angel named Clarence in his life to prove him wrong. It had not been A Wonderful Life growing up as a child in the foster care system.

That had changed drastically when he had met Catherine and Jack, and found a new family with SG-1. Now, it seemed he rarely had a private thought or moment alone in which he wasn’t watched over. While that was nice, he was basically a private person and he sometimes missed the solitude his anonymity had warranted. It could be downright suffocating, especially with Jack’s Mother Hen tendencies and Teal’c, the ultimate watchdog.

Exploring on his own gave Daniel the heady feeling that he was getting away with something. This was a feeling he hadn’t really experienced since he was a small boy and had snuck away from his tutor to spy on his parents at one of their digs. He still remembered the feeling of power it gave him as he hid from his angry tutor. It had been worth the cuff he’d received when he had finally been rousted from his hiding spot.

Walking towards the towering pyramid, Daniel stopped to study a large well in the middle of the courtyard. Translating the inscription, he sadly swore to keep Jack from coming near this area. There was no way his friend would understand the Well of Souls in which young children were thrown alive as a sacrifice to the gods. Knowing how his friend felt about children, Daniel could easily imagine just what the man’s reaction would be.

No, the well was definitely not on the O’Neill highlights tour. It was one small way he could protect Jack.

Crossing the empty courtyard to the base of the massive pyramid, Daniel mentally compared it to the more familiar Egyptian variety. He began videoing the architecture, reveling in the discoveries. Nick would have loved this. He couldn’t avoid the quicksand of regret that threatened to suck him down as he thought of how different life might have been for them both had his grandfather made a different decision.

Following the bread crumb trail of antiquity, Daniel wandered out of the bright sun and into the comforting coolness offered by the interior of the great pyramid. It was a living museum he had stepped into, a quantum leap into the past. The very air that filled his lungs was charged with knowledge.

Daniel breathed deeply, reveling in the mystique and promise that surrounded him.

As he changed tapes, another set of glyphs caught his eye. That was interesting. This was obviously the Stargate and the symbol for Kinich Ahau. He couldn't quite make out the other part. Could be a staff weapon or maybe a hockey stick, a baseball and bat. It was probably a commercial for a sports store. This place Jack would find fascinating.

After filming the small series of pictures, Daniel succumbed to temptation and moved deeper into the depths of the past.

**********

As O’Neill marched into the stadium with the thirteen other players, he scanned the stands searching for his team. In the sea of people it was impossible to find familiar faces. Shrugging, the colonel tugged on the short cloth that barely covered his loins. Shit, what was it with these people. Thank God, for the protective padding he was also allowed to wear. The uniform itself was damned indecent.

He had to admit he was pretty protected for this game. The helmet, gloves, and hip protectors gave him a feeling of security and all he could say for the knee pads was, ‘Thank God’. Maybe Janet wouldn’t kill him for this stunt when he got back to base. And possibly he could bribe the kids to keep their mouths shut. Yeah, right. Teal’c maybe. But between Carter and Daniel he didn’t have a prayer of this little outing escaping Doc’s notice.

Tuning back in to his old buddy, Curly, Jack caught the tail end of a speech which included something about the game being necessary in order to feed cosmic order.

What the hell? Where was Daniel when he needed him to translate that mumbo-jumbo cosmic karma crap. He glanced back at the crowd hoping to spot his friend. No such luck.

It was no use. He didn’t understand these guys any more than he had understood the priest back home when his mother dragged him to confession every week. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned...

His reverie was cut short as Moe and Larry walked down the two rows of athletes, each carrying a large goblet.

"Drink."

Shaking his head, Jack tried to refuse. "Fellas, I’m more of a Coors kind of guy. Ya know, on tap’s good, but pop me a cold one if it’s all you’ve got. We’ll throw back a few. This communal cup kind of thing just isn’t my style, if you get my drift."

"Drink."

The priest's stern face brooked no argument. The stands were silent as thousands of eyes waited for the ceremony to be completed before the game could begin. Realizing he had little choice, Jack drank.

As it was lifted to his lips, Jack relaxed as he tasted the chocolate ‘drink of the gods’ he had enjoyed with his meal yesterday. As the last player drank deeply, the crowds stood with a resounding cheer which echoed off the rock walls. O’Neill felt a surge of adrenalin which for too long he had only experienced in the heat of battle. God, he needed this.

The two teams faced each other. The captain of O’Neill’s team held up a hard flat bat, and giving the ball a solid whack began the game.

Sweat dripped from every part of his aching body as Jack, once again, threw himself towards the ball. It caught him in the chest with a resounding thud. He knew there would be hell to pay when Doc caught sight of the bruises he’d have, but right now it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting that damn ball in the goal.

Competitive by nature, and a natural athlete, Jack had sorely missed the pick-up ice hockey games of his youth. Now his knees wouldn’t allow him to participate and while he still loved watching the game, observing placed a dim second to actually playing. This game was fast, filled with all the strategy employed in a war game, and dangerous. He was loving every bone-jarring moment of it.

Now, after hours of play, all the athletes’ limbs were shaking with fatigue and they were drawing air in great gulps. Despite the protective equipment, most of the players sported a colorful palette of cuts and bruises.

But now the end was in sight. The priests had indicated that time was running out and that, as the scores were tied, the next team to score would win. The crowd began a chant which O’Neill felt vibrate throughout his body. It seemed to keep count and match the rhythm of his racing heart. Glancing around, Jack could see the other players being affected in the same way. It was almost hypnotic.

Adrenaline surged through his exhausted body as Jack once again raced towards the ball. A young player on his team fielded the ball towards him and on reflexes alone, Jack dropped backwards and kicked hard with his shin ignoring the fiery pain which knifed through his knee. The ball rocketed upwards over his head and towards the vertical circle above him. As he crashed to the ground beneath a tangle of legs, O’Neill was aware that there was suddenly complete silence throughout the stadium. The ball hit the bottom edge of the goal and simply rolled across to land in the grass below.

Bedlam erupted as the silence was eradicated by hundreds of screaming voices. Jack collapsed back into the soft grass and watched as his teammates celebrated with wild screeches and uninhibited celebration. He was just too tired. The seven young men on the other team hung their heads in disgrace and filed silently off the field.

Slowly the colonel pulled himself to his feet. Following the others towards the winner's circle, Jack reached eagerly for the cup of liquid that was being passed out to the victorious team. He was surprised when he realized that, firstly, it wasn’t the chocolate that these people had a thing for and which he had been given to drink earlier, and, secondly, it was very definitely alcoholic.

Taking another drink to quench his raging thirst, O’Neill shrugged. Okay, so it wasn’t beer, but it was better than that moonshine of Skaara’s. He wearily raised his cup to the kid next to him. "Salut."

Raising his own cup, the young man smiled. "Octli."

Carter had cheered herself hoarse. The game had been incredibly exciting. No slouch in the athletics department herself, Sam couldn’t help but admire the skill, stamina, and determination with which both teams had played. It had held her captivated. Wait until she told Janet about the Colonel’s final goal. Wait till she told her about the Colonel’s outfit. God, if only she had a camera. Maybe she could get Daniel to video it. She could do some screen caps. They’d be priceless, assuming, of course, the Colonel never found out. She’d be dead meat if that ever happened. But still . . .

Caught up in the excitement of the Colonel’s victory, Sam was startled when Teal’c spoke quietly. "Major Carter, I believe something is wrong with O’Neill."

Turning towards the victory circle, Sam could see the men were drinking from what appeared to be golden goblets. As she watched, the three priests joined the winners in the circle. Dread suddenly filled her as the men began to drop to the ground.

"Colonel!" But even as her scream battled a hundred others, Carter saw that she was too late.

As O’Neill turned towards her, Sam watched the goblet drop from her commander’s limp fingers and his lanky body fall bonelessly to the ground. At that moment Goa’uld transportation rings rose up. In an instant the priests, the Colonel, and the others had disappeared before their stunned eyes.

Wide blue eyes filled with disbelief, Sam turned and sought her teammates fighting to be heard above the growing noise of the crowd. "Teal’c, where’s Daniel?"

"Daniel Jackson left before the game began. He wanted to explore. He has not returned. I have, however, observed him several times from a distance without his knowledge. He is fine, Major Carter."

"We’ve got to get Daniel. He knows more about the Mayan ceremonies than you or I, even though that was clearly Goa’uld technology being used down there."

Nodding, Teal’c turned and began to make his way towards the exit with Carter following in his wake, but despite his size and strength, the sheer number of people exiting made it impossible to travel quickly. The two found themselves being swept along by the crowd and fighting to remain together.

"Teal’c, just follow the crowd. If we try to go the other way we’ll run the risk of being trampled." The Jaffa nodded that he understood. "Maybe they’ll take us to where those rings transported Colonel O’Neill. I didn't see any signs of a ship so where the hell did he go?" She shoved past two men who were engaged in an animated recap of the game highlights. "Why take him now, Teal'c? They've been on that field for hours. Dammit, how much further until he meet up with Daniel?"

Pushed along by the hordes of people, Teal'c had no opportunity to answer the string of questions before they found themselves at the base of the enormous pyramid. Fortunately, both the teammates were taller than the natives and once the mad crush had stopped they were able to look over the crowd. Sam was relieved to see Daniel working his way towards them, his beloved camera held high above the masses.

Sam signaled to Teal’c, who nodded affirmatively that he had also seen the wayward archaeologist. Hanging onto Teal’c as he pushed his way over to their teammate, Sam was reassured that just as Teal'c had promised, Daniel appeared unhurt. Now, if they could only find the Colonel.

"Daniel, where have you been?" It was an unnecessary question. One look at the flush of excitement lighting the man's face told her he had been in the arms of his mistress, Knowledge.

They were yelling in order to hear each other over the noise of the crowd even though they were holding tightly to each other to keep from being jostled away. Teal’c provided a strong anchor to keep the waves of excited humanity from sweeping them downstream.

"Sam, you wouldn’t believe everything I found. Years worth of history, there for the taking. Decade after decade of records. It was fantastic. We can’t leave now. Jack has to talk to Hammond. This is just too important." Daniel stumbled in the midst of his excited out-pouring, as a shove knocked him forward. Only Teal’c’s quick save kept him from falling. "Thanks, Teal’c." He righted his glasses on his nose. "What’s going on with this crowd? Where’s Jack, by the way? He doesn’t know about me leaving the game does he?"

"He does not, Daniel Jackson. O’Neill has been taken by Goa’uld transportation rings. We do not know the location, nor the reason. We have followed the crowd in the hopes of finding him."

Sam continued to survey the crowd as Teal’c brought Daniel up-to-speed. Although the crowd appeared excited, there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger. That is if you ignored the fact that one of their teammates was missing. "Daniel, we need to know why the Colonel might have been taken. Can you think of a reason?"

Daniel shook his head in frustration, trying to rid himself of the growing headache from the noise and push of the crowd. It was all very claustrophobic. "Tell me what happened right before Jack was taken."

"He knocked in the winning goal. Then the losing team left the field and his team walked over to the winner’s circle. The colonel looked like he was really tired, but okay. Then the priests passed out this drink and the next thing we knew all the players on the winning team had fallen to the ground and that was when the rings took them somewhere." Sam’s anxiety was apparent as she quickly related the events.

Before Daniel could pull together the pieces of a disturbing puzzle that was beginning to formulate in his head, Teal’c interrupted. "There is something occurring at the pinnacle of the pyramid."

Grabbing for her binoculars, Carter watched as the three masked priests stretched seven unconscious forms onto a large stone altar. Sam gasped as she recognized Colonel O’Neill’s graying hair, so out of place among the pitch black locks of the others.

It was obvious from his unresisting form that Jack was completely unaware of what was occurring. Sam watched as the priests stretched the limbs of the men tightly with leather bindings and gently placed jade death masks over the slack faces. Had they poisoned the Colonel? Was he already dead? A multitude of questions bombarded her and right now it didn’t look like she could answer even one of them.

So engrossed was she in watching the scene that she jumped when Daniel grabbed her arm. "What’s going on, Sam? Can you see anything?"

"Yeah, he’s up there. They’ve got him stretched out on some kind of altar." Quickly she described the scene and filled in the details. "Daniel, have you got any idea what’s going on?"

Daniel snatched the binoculars away and struggled to focus on the drama taking place far above their heads.

"Oh God, Sam, I think they’re going to sacrifice the winners of the Pok-a-Tok game to their gods! Dammit, I should have thought. I should have warned Jack, but I just didn’t think." Daniel’s eyes widened. "I just didn’t think. But . . .," he looked around, desperately, "it would all fit. Only the winners would be deemed worthy of the honor of sacrifice. We’ve got to get Jack out of here. God, Sam, do you have any idea what they will do to him?"

Taking a firm grasp on his staff weapon, Teal’c interrupted before Sam could respond. "Is there another way to the top of the pyramid, Daniel Jackson?"

"Yeah, there are stairs, Teal’c, around on the other side. I found them while I was exploring." Daniel gestured broadly in the general direction, but before the words had left his mouth, the Jaffa was running towards the long flight of stairs at a speed which belied his size, and screamed his anxiety.

Daniel remained focused on the frightening drama playing out far above their heads. The priests had painted the 'Eye of Ra’ on the bare chest of each of the unmoving men. Oh God, please let them be unconscious and not . . .

The priests moved from the bound figures to stand in a cluster away from the altar, each raising a ceremonial knife above their head. It was much too far to hear, but Daniel guessed that they were chanting in prayer. Oh God. This is my penance. His thoughts swirled around him crazily, am I going to have to watch as they sacrifice my best friend? I never even got a chance to tell Jack I was sorry for the way I’ve been acting.

Teal’c was making steady progress up the tremendous staircase. He had neared the half-way mark when suddenly he felt a growing vibration which threatened to topple him from his precarious perch.

Dropping to his knees, he looked far above him at the apex of the pyramid. A Goa’uld Tel’tac hovered directly above the pyramid. As all eyes watched, an energy beam shot out from the ship. It surrounded the altar. In a flash the men had disappeared leaving behind only their jade masks staring hideously upward and the leather thongs abandoned on the stone. The ship rose gracefully and flew from sight.

Teal’c made his way slowly down to his waiting teammates, he found a stunned Major Carter attempting and failing miserably to comfort a dazed Daniel Jackson.

**********

Jack groaned aloud as he slowly regained consciousness. Oh God, whatever that stuff was he had been drinking sure packed a wallop. He hadn’t felt this bad since he got blitzed the day he and Frank graduated Special Ops training. Shit. Another groan escaped as he squeezed both sides of his head trying to apply enough counter-pressure to keep it from exploding or imploding, or whatever the hell it was trying to do while still attached to his shoulders.

Struggling to his knees, Jack took a chance and opened one eye just wide enough to take in his surroundings. What he saw made both eyes snap open in surprise, which proved to be a monumental mistake as his stomach screamed its protest concerning his choice of beverage. Clamping a shaky hand over his mouth, O’Neill crawled over to a corner of the room and began to heave.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one with a rebellious stomach by the sounds of it. Great, nothing like listening to a bunch of guys puking their guts out, especially when you were adding your own two cents worth already. Nothing like it to calm your own stomach. Yeah, right.

Geez, the room was filled with a regular chorus in the key of hurl. Tonight's featured guests included the great composers Gagner, Fryderyk Chokin, and every one’s favorite Johann Sebastian Barf.

Spitting out as much of the vile taste as his dry mouth could muster, Jack cautiously opened his eyes again. Apparently his stomach was temporarily satisfied with its retribution for now. Thank God for small favors.

He was in a large stone room with an equally large barred door. Daja-view. Ya seen one prison, ya seen them all. But, unless he was seeing double, there were a hell of a lot more of the Mayan kids in here than the seven who had been on his team.

Glancing down, Jack saw that like those around him, he was still wearing that stupid, scant loincloth, sans the protective and less revealing padding. Well, excuse me Tommy Hilfinger, but give me my BDUs any day of the week. But considering the alternative maybe he should be grateful for the Mayan Speedo after all.

Oh yeah, he was getting a really bad feeling about this.

Figuring he was unable to effectively communicate with the others and not overly inclined to try, O’Neill didn’t waste the effort. That was Daniel’s gig. He simply scooted back against the stone wall, doing his best to blend into the rocks and ignore the pounding between his eyes.

‘I am a rock, I am an island. And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.’ Somehow, he didn’t think Simon and Garfunkel had this situation in mind when they wrote those words.

His chameleon routine would have come in handy as the door was flung open violently and a troop of Jaffa with fierce Jaguar heads and glowing eyes suddenly burst into the room. They were followed by a monstrosity which Jack recognized immediately from Daniel’s pre-game slide show as Kinich Ahau.

Great, a Goa’uld. Just what he didn’t need. Wasn’t that just special? The catch of the day O’Neill style. A heaping portion of shit with a side order of crappy for good measure.

"Kneel before your god."

That was rapidly so becoming his least favorite cliché. What was it with the Goa’uld anyhow? Did these guys go to a ‘what to say when addressing captives’ school? Jack could imagine all the little larvae lined up in a row at their mama’s knee, as she explained the pros and cons when addressing inferiors.

Shit, he was really losing it.

A low moan of terror filled the air as the young Mayan men hastened to do as the god commanded, hiding their faces from his hideous features. As the Jaffa made their way through the ranks of prostrate men, they aided stragglers in their quest to adopt the proper manner to greet a god. Jack slowly peeled himself from the wall and sank into the appropriate position.

Although it made his head pound; he knew that he needed to remain invisible as long as possible if he had any hope of escaping. Pissing off the guards in a battle he couldn’t win wasn’t going to help him get out of this mess. And draw unnecessary attention to him. His job was to stay alive by whatever means he had to until his team arrived. Bottom line: stay alive. And if sticking his ass in the air and kissing the dirt would help then so be it.

Still, it galled him have to assume this subservient, damn embarrassing position. Just remember Jack, Special Ops motto number 21 . . . Humble yourself if you have to and then blow the son of a bitchin’ bastards away.

"You have proven to be the best in each of your cities and villages through the test of Pok-a-Tok," the false god thundered. "Now, as your reward, you have the honor of serving your god with all your strength, loyalty, and courage. Those who submit themselves to Kinich Ahau will survive to serve another day. Those who fail will die a most painful and slow death." In a cloud of red smoke, which left the young Mayans gaping in fear, the god seemed to disappear before their eyes only to reappear on the other side of the room, causing a wail of mindless terror to fill the air.

O’Neill snorted, not in the least impressed. Smoke and mirrors, what’ll they think of next? David Copperfield eat your heart out.

With the prisoners, sans one, completely cowed, the guards stepped forward and began dragging the frightened men to their feet, forcing them into a line. With the threat of a staff weapon wound looming, Jack didn’t argue, but quietly made his way towards the end of the line. That bad feeling had just called in the reserves and they were all screaming retreat at the top of their lungs.

Unfortunately, he had nowhere to go. His back was against the wall and the ground was crumbling under his feet. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

**********

It was a despondent group which filed quietly from General Hammond’s office. The briefing had been long, intense, and emotion-filled. At one point, Hammond threatened to have Doctor Jackson sedated and confined to quarters if he didn’t get himself under control. He still debated the wisdom of not carrying through with his threat as he watched the remaining members of his premier team drag themselves towards the stairs. Damn, sometimes he wished he had never left the family ranch. Picking up the red phone he wished to God he didn’t have to make this call.

"This is General Hammond. I need to speak to the President."

In his own cluttered office, Daniel sat at his desk staring into the depths of the cold cup of coffee. The conversation from the briefing ran over and over through his mind.

Jack had been captured.

No, they didn’t know by whom.

No, they didn’t know where he had been taken.

And once again no, they didn’t have a clue as to how to get him back.

One, two, three, strikes and you’re out.

Yeah, Jack, you’re out.

Daniel was unaware when a tear fell into the coffee and sank into the inky depths.

**********

It was hot.

Netu could have taken lessons. He’d have to remember to mention that to old Sokar if and when the SGC discovered that the old boy had been resurrected like these damn Goa’uld were wont to do. Course the ambiance here was lacking the hot and hotter flowing volcanoes, with the lava chaser which had been such a nice touch. So he’d have to give that point to old Suck'ar. But, overall, he’d have to call this form of Hell the winner for style, originality, and total suckiness.

Maybe Sokar should have taken lessons from Kinshe baby.

Sometimes Jack wondered if maybe he had been adopted by the O’Neills as an infant, because when it came to luck of the Irish, his sucked.

Big time.

The men had been ordered into a long line. Then the master magician wannabe had done another one of his disappearing Goa’uld tricks just to keep the audience captive. He needn’t have bothered. The younger crowd was already terrified and Jack had a healthy respect for the staff weapons the Jaffa were brandishing. Submission at this point was a pretty safe bet.

As the faux god inspected his latest property carefully, O’Neill watched unobtrusively from his place at the end of the line. As each of the men was carefully examined, the Goa’uld spoke a few words to a scribe standing next to him. The servant duly noted his master’s comments and then, in turn, issued orders to another servant.

Then each young native was spun around and held in place by a pair of towering Jaffa. A wickedly curved knife was then brought into play and a design was carved deeply into the skin of the victim’s shoulder. The bleeding wound was immediately rubbed with a finely ground black power which stanched the blood flow and created a perfect outline of the design, in effect tattooing the symbol permanently into the skin.

If the screams were any indication, it wasn’t proving to be the most pleasant of experiences.

And your first clue would be, Jack

O’Neill watched, sweat trickling down his back. Had he mentioned lately that this so sucked? How about the fact that he wasn’t fond of knives. At least the cutting end. He wouldn’t mind having the throwing end in his sweaty little hand right about now. And he’d give about anything to have the opportunity to drill a nice, neat little bullet hole right through that mask and into Quiche-boy’s fucking head.

As the procession grew nearer, his eyes darted around the room searching frantically for a way out. Nothing. Nada. Nil on the options. There were simply too many guards and nowhere to go.

Suddenly, without warning, the kid next to him bolted. Even as Jack was reaching out to drag him back in line, two Jaffa opened fire, catching the young man full in the chest. He was dead even as Jack caught his body and laid him gently on the floor. Kneeling beside the remains of the youth, who only a short time before had celebrated victoriously on the playing field of his planet, O’Neill could only glare at the Goa'uld in impotent anger.

O’Neill’s fury grew as the guards tossed the body aside like so much refuse. The Goa’uld never spared it a glance. Jack did his best to ignore the crimson trail darkening the dust and focus on the enemy gloating before him.

Snapping his fingers in an unspoken order, the self-proclaimed god watched as the two burly guards wrenched the kneeling man to his feet. If Kinich Ahau was surprised by the tall, lean, gray-haired man glowering at him, it was well hidden behind his mask. But Jack had no trouble recognizing the evil in the glowing eyes as they sized him up and down.

"You are not of the Maya people."

"Yeah, well, no shit, Sherlock. What was your first clue?" He knew he was playing with fire, ignoring his prime objective of survival, but senseless death had a way of affecting him that way. "Bet you were at the head of your class with that kind of genius."

It was reckless. It was stupid. And he didn’t give a shit as he fought to break the guards’ iron grip.

So much for remaining anonymous, Jackie me boyo. Looks like the infamous O’Neill luck, fickle as ever, was fast deserting him. Crap. If someone had given him a four leaf clover, three of the petals would have crumpled up and died the moment he touched it.

His eyes blazed with anger as the Goa’uld backhanded him across the face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack. Jack shook his head, his tongue tracing the cut inside his lip, and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at the feet of the god.

"Take this one to the training camp," the scribe was ordered. "A few days under the blazing eye of Kin will remind him of his station."

****

Although Jack had no way of seeing beneath the elaborate mask, the Goa’uld watched him and smiled in amusement. It was vastly entertaining to observe his Jaffa hold the man tightly as the thrall plunged the bohlohn knife into the prisoner’s muscular shoulder, carefully carving the symbol for the skull deeply into the captive’s skin. The wound was cauterized by powder from the maguey plant. It was disappointing when the man failed to do more than hiss in pain as the acidic powder met the flayed flesh. Although the taut ropes of pain-stretched tendons in his neck gave some pleasure as they revealed the pain the Tau’ri sought to conceal.

Ah, but there would be plenty of time for real enjoyment in the future. He would hear this one scream, Kinich Ahau promised himself. And he would scream. Until he was hoarse.

The rock feels no pain ...

**********

Sam didn’t bother to knock on the door to Daniel’s office. She knew she would find the archaeologist hiding in the clutter. That in itself wasn’t the least bit unusual. Daniel had new levels to the term workaholic. But as she opened the door and walked in, Sam knew what she would encounter.

Daniel sat in the darkened office staring, unaware, at a book of the El Castillo Pyramid at Chich’en Itz’a. No surprise there. The book had been opened to those same pages for days now and had the coffee stains to prove it. That fact in itself proved just how distraught Daniel was. Normally, he cared for his books as a mother would a beloved child, never allowing harm to come to his prized possessions. Now, his carelessness was a red flag of warning about his fragile state of mind.

"Hi, Daniel." She forced her voice to project a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. "Teal’c and I are going down to the dining hall and we thought you might like to take a break and come with us. That cute redhead’s on duty." Sam was teasing despite the bleakness of the situation, hoping to get a reaction. "You know, the one who always gives you the biggest piece of chocolate cake?"

"No thanks, Sam. You guys go ahead." Daniel’s bloodshot eyes never left the page. "I’ve have a lot of research to do. You guys go on without me. I’ll grab something later."

A frown marred Sam’s features as she fought the urge to scold. Damn, Daniel hadn’t even reacted to her teasing.

"Daniel, that’s the same page you were looking at when I came by earlier today - - and yesterday, for that matter. Holing up in here and starving yourself isn’t going to help the Colonel."

"Sam, you just don’t get it." He looked up into her face for the first time since she had entered the office, shocking her with the bleak desperation flooding his eyes. "It’s my fault Jack’s gone. I have to find a way to help him. I have to find a way to get him home."

"You’re right , Daniel, I don’t get it. How do you figure it’s your fault?"

His head drooped in self-condemnation and shame. "I’m the team expert on societies. I should have recognized the possibility that the winning team would be sacrificed. Those people would only give their god their best. I ignored all the signs and allowed Jack to walk right into a deathtrap. And to top it all, I put my own desire to go exploring ahead of the team and I talked Teal’c into letting me go. Teal’c was right about me."

Sliding a chair over, Sam refused to rise to the bait. Instead she sat down and leaning over she gently clasped his hand and closed the book. "Daniel, I don’t know what you mean about Teal’c being right, but I do know what the Colonel would say if he saw you like this."

A brittle ghost of a smile glimmered broke across his wan features. "He’d say for me to get my ass out of this tomb and go eat cake."

"Yep, that’s exactly what he’d say. In fact he’d make it an order, Doctor Jackson." Squeezing her friend’s hand, Sam spoke gently. "Daniel, you’re going to solve this, but it won’t help if you make yourself sick."

"All right, you win. ‘Let them eat cake.’" Helping Sam to her feet, Daniel gave a squeeze of his own. "Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime."

As they left the office and walked towards the cafeteria Daniel suddenly stopped, a bewildered look on his face. "Wait a minute, Sam, what cute redhead?"

**********

Jack O’Neill was learning the hard way just what happened to a Tau’ri foolish enough to piss off a Goa’uld. Of course it wasn’t like he hadn’t had plenty of practice in that department: Ra, Apophis, Hathor, Seth, and the list went on; but it was never a good idea to annoy a snakehead when one was in a vulnerable position - - and boy, was he in a vulnerable position now.

It hadn’t taken more than a couple of minutes for the different tattooed groups to be divided up and marched towards their as yet undisclosed destination. Much to the Colonel’s displeasure he found that he had now acquired a matching set of his own personal guards, guaranteed to produce a multitude of bruises and abrasions or your money back. Jack wasn’t sure where they were all headed, but if the tattoo on the shoulder of the kid in front of him was any indication, that death’s head didn’t mean their destination was Oz.

Jack would have given just about anything for a pair of ruby slippers, size eleven and a half.

There’s no place like home.

But, unfortunately, the hot-air balloon had already lifted off and his team had gone home to Kansas without him.

The weary group had been marched out of the holding cell, through the streets, and towards an enormous coliseum in the heart of the city. He didn’t think it was the same one where the team had enjoyed the hospitality with the Stooges. Enjoyed it until they had brought up that damn game and everything went South.

O’Neill’s face burned at the stares he received from the people walking on the streets and he determined to wear his own brand of mask. Whereas the folks back at the other city had been friendly or had pretty much ignored them, these people seemed to be of a different caliber. While most of his companions drew nothing more than curious stares, he was not so fortunate.

A pair of merchants elbowed each other and laughed as they pointed directly at the pale stranger at the back of the line. A child picked up a stone and hurled it at the prisoners, bringing a roar of approval when it stuck Jack in the forehead. A large goose egg hatched trickles of blood which tracked down the sides of his nose making it appear that he was weeping crimson tears. His attempt to stop and confront his pint-size attacker brought an instant jab in the kidneys from a Jaffa’s staff weapon. The marketplace was filled with laughter as the hard blow drove O’Neill to his knees on the rocky pavement.

... and an island never cries.

Not waiting for their prisoner to regain his feet, the guards simply caught his arms again and continued to drag him along, ignoring the bloody, burning abrasions on his knees and shins, as well as his empty threats and curses.

There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

The weary line of men were eventually herded into a cavernous room beneath the coliseum where a muscular giant, who towered over the Colonel’s six-foot-two frame, met them.

O’Neill watched warily as he saw the man’s glowing eyes look over his new toys.

Oh, man, this is so going down in my book as one of the top ten worst vacation spots. He couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped when one of the guards struck him again.

"Kneel before the mighty Kin." The younger captives fell immediately before the powerful leader. The Goa’uld’s eyes locked with O’Neill’s, recognizing the unspoken challenge being hurled his way. Nodding slightly, Kin signaled the Jaffa to force the stubborn human to his knees. Jack fought to no avail as powerful hands pushed him firmly to the ground.

The Goa’uld strode towards the helpless human, amused by his insignificant struggles. Reaching down, Kin caressed the angular jaw. A simple twist forced O’Neill to cease his struggles or break his own neck. Flashing brown eyes glared furiously up at the towering giant.

"You will be a challenge, little man. But I see potential in you. And when I have taught you who is your master, you will be a fine achievement. And then when I am through with you, you will die." He reached out a meaty hand and stroked Jack’s cheek again, laughing as the man jerked to escape the caress despite the obvious pain his struggles caused.

"Take him to the altar."

For once the deep well of smart-ass retorts came up dry, as O’Neill recognized the truth in everything the Goa’uld had said.

O’Neill was dragged from the relatively cool shadows of the underground caverns into the blazing heat of the midday sun. As he struggled to figure out where in the hell he was, Jack recognized the playing field of a sporting arena.

Bet they didn’t play baseball here. Maybe he could teach them. Sure that was it, get the Goa’uld obsessed with baseball and they’d give up on this ‘ruling the universe’ shit. He’d have to tell Hammond when he got home, maybe even call up the President. He was a big baseball fan, even if his team sucked. Oh, but hell, the stupid Snakeheads would probable figure out a way to cheat, or at the very least draft the best players.

Okay, Flyboy, you’re so losing it and that is not acceptable. Pull it back together. Don’t let the bastards know you’re scared shitless.

Don’t let them know.

In the center of the stadium lay a large, flat, black rock. Daniel would have probably found it fascinating, an object de’ art, to be studied and prized. But it was a rock. A big, honkin’, ugly, mother of a rock. And a rock by any other name was still a rock.

This just keeps getting better and better, Jack thought as he was flung onto the stone. His inadvertent yelp as his back touched the sun-heated stone brought cruel smiles from his guards. The Jaffa quickly and efficiently spread-eagled O’Neill’s limbs to the rings imbedded in the four corners of the altar. Then, without a word, they left.

Giving a tentative tug at his bindings, Jack squinted and tried not to think about how miserable he was. Or how much worse he was going to feel soon if things didn’t change. Fight back. Don’t let the bastards know they have you where they want you.

You’ve been in worse situations and survived.

Sometime.

Somewhere.

Maybe.

Jack fought against the heavy leather straps attached to the rings, as sweat started to flush out of his skin unchecked. The unforgiving sun beat down, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut in an attempt to block the strong rays from frying his eyeballs like eggs. God, what he wouldn’t give for his shades.

Hadn’t the Goa’uld ever heard of sun screen? How the hell could they think of themselves as superior and not know about Coppertone. Right now he’d even settle for that cocoa-nutty stuff Carter slathered on herself. The stuff that made her smell like a Pina Colata.

The hot stone pressed against his freshly carved shoulder, grinding the powder deeper into the wound. Before long his entire back felt like it was on fire. He felt like he was inside an oven, like one of those little cakes Teal’c liked, the ones with the pink frosting. So what did that make him? A Jack snack? A brick oven pizza? Hold the anchovies. Could someone pass me a beer with that?

The radiated heat made it hard to draw even one breath, much less the quantity his heaving lungs were seeking.

Demanding.

Before he realized what was happening he was panting. Short, desperate panicked gasps for air. The burning hunger for oxygen numbed the pain radiating throughout his body feeding the fuel.

Calm down, Airman . . . at ease . . . that’s an order and one that you’re are damn well gonna obey.

The leather cut into his wrists and ankles. Blood speckled the hot surface of the rock and immediately dried, leaving a morbidly abstract pattern the Marquis de Sade would have proudly hung on his living room wall.

Jack could feel it as his body betrayed him, and leaked the life-giving moisture he desperately needed. The sweat dripping on to the stone, hissing out a feeble protest as it hit the obsidian surface.

Finally, Jack felt a shadow block out the torturous rays. Cracking open one eye, he saw that Kin was standing at the base of the altar, his arms folded and a benevolent smile playing on his lips, which mocked the message Jack read in his eyes.

"Now you begin your lessons and soon, when you have learned to obey me, you will be ready to learn so much more."

His eyes gleamed with malice.

"Much, much, more."

In spite of the heat, Jack O’Neill shivered.

**********

A full day and a half beneath the blistering, unforgiving sun passed before the master deemed his pupil had learned his first lesson.

Jack had never been the slow study he so often chose to portray. Long before his body had begun the process of shutting down he knew it was over. He was gonna lose this battle. He knew the score: Snakeass 1 - O’Neill 0.

Damn, it was a freakin’ embarrassing way to go, though. Cooked to death on this big hunk of stone. Pan-fried steak, well done. A little tough and grisly, but overall a nice cut of meat. A side order of mushrooms, a baked potato, butter, sour cream and a cold beer.

It was his turn to pick up the check. And wasn’t that an amusing euphemism for biting the big one? A hell of a lot better than ‘riding off into the sunset’- especially given his current situation; better than ‘buying the farm’- what’d a city boy like him know about cows; even better than ‘going to that big kennel in the sky’- although considering how many times he’d been in the doghouse that one fit pretty well.

Section 4 in the Survival Manual talked about the effects of heat on the body. He was willing to bet the guys who wrote it didn’t have this extreme a situation in mind. But, as his struggles grew weaker and finally ceased, to allow the sun to complete its task, Jack knew it was over; he had failed his team, he had failed the mission, and he didn’t even have the scant comfort of tears to mourn his own passing.

By the time Kin had judged the lesson at an end, O’Neill was unconscious. He was so dehydrated that he had long since ceased to sweat, and was nearly suffocating, as his own swollen tongue blocked his airway.

The short panting gasps and fixed stare as a meaty finger lifted a blistered eyelid told the Goa’uld all he needed to know - - the human was near death.

He was so far gone as to be unaware when his bonds were being cut. Or when he was being dragged from beneath the insensate rays of death. He was unconscious to the care the Goa’uld ordered. He was oblivious when the healing device was carefully used to eradicate the physical damage to his body, if not to his mind.

If Jack had been aware of the care he was receiving, his cynical nature would probably have wondered what price he would have to pay to give this devil his due.

**********

Weeks passed slowly. The blessed numbness, which in a way had insulated SG-1 from the pain of reality, gradually dribbled away. Sam returned to her lab, burying the hurt in her tried and trusted method of long hours and over-work. Daniel finally closed the stained pages of El Castillo and placed the book on a shelf. They seldom saw Teal’c, who seemed to spend the majority of his time in his quarters meditating.

General Hammond was finally talking about a new leader for SG-1. They knew it was only a matter of time, but it was just one more thing to try to avoid thinking about.

Life went on at the SGC, but it was a pale comparison to the norm - - the norm being when a tall, lanky Colonel roamed the halls. One who had a wicked sense of humor and a charisma that children and dogs sensed immediately, but which he kept carefully in check behind his military hard-ass bravado.

They seldom spoke his name. It simply hurt too damn much.

Like a helium-filled balloon with a pinhole prick, what was left of the team was slowly deflating. What remained could still officially be classified as a balloon, but without the gas it was useless, unable to fulfill it’s true purpose.

And wouldn’t the Colonel have gotten a kick out of being compared to a gas.

Oh, yeah, he’d have gotten some mileage with that one.

General Hammond sat at his desk, testily going over the stack of folders in front of him. He was getting pressure from higher up to quit stonewalling and officially declare Colonel Jonathan J. O’Neill MIA, presumed dead. Then some little piss ant clerk in Washington could rubber-stamp his file and officially close the book on one of the finest officers with whom he had ever served. Signed, sealed, forgotten, and oh, yeah, thanks for your years of service. Too bad you won’t need the gold watch, Colonel.

Hammond’s mind was telling him that this was the way it was when you dedicated your life to the military, but his heart just couldn’t accept the reality. Too many times Jack had pulled a rabbit out of a hat and hey presto- chango, fooled the grim reaper one more time. Hell, it had only been a few months since he had survived a meteor-storm holocaust on Edora - - not only survived, but thrived.

And that was why, while George was sitting staring at a list of Jack O’Neill wannabees’ he couldn’t give up on a man he knew was a survivor, no matter what the odds.

Slamming the folder shut, the General shoved it away. He was going to gamble and let his money ride on the long shot a little while longer. And by God, Jack had better prove him right, or they were both going to go bust.

**********

Kin proved a man of his word. Jack was learning lesson by pain-filled lesson that it was best to keep his teacher happy. Disobedience brought instant consequences involving maximum discomfort . . . agony extreme . . . hurt to the highest. However, should he choose not to fight the inevitable, he was rewarded and praised. Who the hell did they think they were dealing with here, some dog and pony show reject? Screw ‘em. He’d danced to this tune before. He knew the steps and the Goa’uld could shove their Pavlovian conditioning up their snaky- asses so far as he was concerned. He’d be damned if he’d drool every time that action figure on steroids rang his freakin’ bell.

There were long regiments of exercises which reminded Jack of Basic Training. Well, Basics of a sort, if one could ignore the armed guard who didn’t hesitate to impress a slacker, not with extra KP, but with the broad side of a staff weapon.

It was baffling. God knows he was no stranger to the whole captured-being-held-prisoner-by hostiles thingy, but this Goa’uld, for all his obvious threats and punishments was not playing by the rules Jack recognized and expected. Neither were his fellow prisoners, for that matter. It was beyond strange in his book, that they were not chained, or at least locked up at night. The single guard at the open door would have been a piece of cake to eliminate and yet not one of the young Mayans showed the least interest in even trying a bid for freedom. It was confusing and disconcerting to see them calmly return to their quarters at night when freedom loomed so tantalizingly close.

Slowly it began to dawn on Jack that they were not prisoners in the standard sense. At least not the others. For him the rules were different, but these kids acted almost like they were proud to be here. Scared shitless of the Goa’uld and his guards, but proud none-the-less. The look of determination and fierce pride on their swarthy faces reminded him way too much of himself when he joined the service.

In some twisted way, Jack could have let down his guard and allowed himself to get caught up in the excitement of the competitive training. Even though he was easily twice these kids’ ages, his training and stature allowed him to keep up and often surpass his competition. His competitive nature forced him to push harder, strain for just one bit more, drive himself beyond what his quivering muscles and gasping lungs told him made good sense. It sent him back to the time when he had joined Special Ops. Frank would have laughed his ass off, that the self-destructive stubborn streak for which Jack had been famous, was alive and well on PX-wherever the-hell-he was.

If he didn’t know better, Jack would have thought that the Goa’uld was training an army. But an army against whom? The pieces didn’t add up. And in this equation two plus two added up to for cryin’ out loud there was no freakin’ way he’d fight for a Goa’uld no matter who the enemy might be.

And so he pushed hard during the day in passive resistence. Cooperating because he had little choice if he was going to give his team the time they needed. Trying his best to avoid the personal attention of Kin. He had no desire to end up on that damn black rock again which beckoned threateningly in the center of the training ground. Or nursing a split skull because he failed to run fast enough, or complete an exercise to the Goa’uld’s satisfaction. It was an extreme balancing act. A narrow beam he walked, upon which he balanced a persona of cooperation and yet constantly watched for an opportunity to breed dissension and orchestrate a plan of escape. At night he collapsed exhausted and did his best to ignore his complaining muscles by focusing his thoughts on the code.

I am an American fighting man. I serve in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense.

And so O’Neill fought a covert battle with every ounce of tenacity he could muster, reciting the Fighting Man’s Code of Conduct over and over in his mind. His kids were coming. He just had to hang on a while longer. They’d proven it over and over: Antarctica, Edora . . .

No way he’d believe otherwise. No way. Carter was too smart to be fooled by any Snakehead sleight of hand. And Daniel was too tenacious to take no for an answer. He’d proven that fact countless times. And Teal’c, well Teal’c was his brother-in-arms and undomesticated equines wouldn’t stop Teal’c from getting him out of this mess.

I will make every effort to escape and aid others to escape.

The day was especially hot. Even the Mayans seemed to be suffering. Sweat stung his eyes as Jack ran the gauntlet of drills under Kin’s watchful eye. There had been no water break, no chance to catch his breath. Experience told Jack this was some kind of a test. He recognized the signs. Instinct told him not to slow down, not to show any weakness. Ahead, a young man stumbled to a halt and dropped to his knees, panting in painful wheezing gasps.

As he ran past the young Mayan, Jack hissed an order. "Don’t stop, kid. Come on, try and keep up."

Jack would never know whether or not the youn