Daniel’s pacing the confines of the small med bay, waiting for Janet to come release him, and ridiculously grateful for the curtain hiding him from the rest of the infirmary. If he was in full view he’d need to sit down and wait patiently, and that just wasn’t an option right now. He should have known it was going to be, as the children’s book said, a ‘terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day’ from the start. Or, in this case, couple of days. If he’d read the signs better that morning, Daniel would have just called in sick and given the briefing on the P3X-888 another day. 

Jack had been touchy from the get-go; out of bed before Daniel woke, showered and dressed before he had his first coffee, breakfast finished and gone to the mountain before Daniel had a chance to sound out why he was so grumpy. Because, okay, they’d been a little at odds on their last scheduled trip out to P39-865, and the stress of having almost destroyed those people hadn’t helped, but Daniel thought they’d gotten past it, when they’d all come together to fight for Cassie. 

So, despite all signs to the contrary, he assumed that Jack just got up on the wrong side of the bed and shrugged it off, following him to the Mountain and settling in for a day of paperwork. But the first thing across his desk was new footage from P3X-888 of Chaka getting abducted, and he hurried to the General’s office and was standing in front of the team giving a rushed briefing less than an hour later.  That’s the second chance he had to realize today was going to be a bad day.

Jack’s interactions with the Unas hadn’t been resoundingly positive. The Goa’uld’ed one had tried to kill him and Teal’c on Cimmeria, and then Daniel had been kidnapped by the ones on Chaka’s world. It didn’t matter to Jack that in that case, all was well that ended well, the initial offense was the presiding memory. Plus, they’d lost quite a few people in that incident, and Jack wasn’t very forgiving of that. Still, it had been an unpleasant moment when Jack interrupted his presentation with a callous and abrupt ‘I don’t care’. Daniel had been momentarily startled into silence, hurt, and only slightly mollified by the censorious looks Jack had received from Hammond, Sam, and Teal’c. 

But he hadn’t recognized the signs then, either, that today wasn’t a good day and when his own feeling of personal responsibility wasn’t enough to convince them the mission was important, he’d pushed the Goa’uld weapon angle until Jack and the General agreed to make the trip, and everything had gone alarmingly downhill from there. 

Jack didn’t think this mission was a good idea. Not that he didn’t understand that Daniel was upset about the Unas’ capture, and not that he didn’t sympathize, but SG-1 was still a little off after Cassie and the planet with the sun they’d royally screwed. Almost wiping out a whole planet’s society would make even the best team a little shaky, and little introspective, and he’d planned to do some team training sessions before they got back to regular missions. Unfortunately, the thing with Cassie had happened. They’d dropped all other plans to find a cure for her, of course they had, but it meant that now they were still off-balance, add in emotionally raw on top of it, and he knew they were off their game.

It made him twitchy, which made him grumpy. He knew when he woke up that he needed to get his own head on straight before anything else, so he’d rushed through his morning routine to get to the Mountain as fast as possible, maybe talk Teal’c into a really hard workout session to burn off some of his orneriness. Jack was very aware that his standoffishness bothered Daniel, but he honestly thought it was better that way than snapping at him for things that weren’t his fault. They’d have a Monday of downtime, he’d get in some hard physical labor while Daniel caught up on his translations and artifacts; he’d make up his poor behavior to Danny after work and then the next day they’d do the team trainings he’d been planning and by Wednesday they’d be ready to take on their next mission.

So, when Daniel threw a wrench into his well-laid plans with concerns about a missing Unas, of all things, he was a little bit of a jerk. What’s more, he didn’t even realize he’d shot Daniel down like that until he got the disapproving, silent glares from Carter, Teal’c, and the General. Only then had he looked over and caught the tail end of the hurt look Daniel was swallowing down, and he felt like a huge asshole. Stuff like that was exactly why he’d been in such a hurry to escape his partner that morning – when he was in a mood like this, it was too easy to growl at Daniel. But, in the end he’d capitulated and agreed to go investigate Chaka’s disappearance.

Now, staring down into the village where the people appear to be using Unas as, at best, beasts of burden or, at worst, slaves, he dearly wishes he’d insisted they stayed home. This is exactly the kind of situation where Daniel’s huge heart and strict moral code, as much as he loves the man for them, are likely to get them in over their heads. All Jack wants is to insist they turn around and come back another day, but he can’t justify that yet from a command standpoint. He glances over at Daniel’s tight, worried face, and sighs. 

“We’ll check things out down there. Carter, you and Teal’c hang back, cover us in case these folks don’t like visitors.” While Carter reaches up to unhook their small pack of supplies, he looks over at Daniel. “Any ideas?”

Daniel doesn’t look at him. “Well, let’s see how far honesty gets us.” Oh yeah, Daniel’s still upset about that morning and about the briefing. There’s a wealth of information encoded in that simple statement – a subtle dig at how poorly Jack’s recent attempt to insist Freyr was an alien had gone, as well as an oft-aired complaint about Jack shutting him out instead of talking to him like this morning. 

Well aware of Sam and Teal’c waiting in heavy and aware silence, Jack sighs again. “Okay.” They stand up and head down the ridge, but as soon as they’re out of earshot and mostly hidden by the trees, he swings around and fixes Daniel with a serious glare. “No going off half-cocked.”

Daniel has the audacity to look puzzled. “Jack?”

“I mean it, Daniel. We’re just going down to see what’s up, see if they even have Chaka, gather some information. Then we reconvene with Carter and Teal’c and discuss further moves with the General.” Though he’s staring down at Daniel, the archaeologist isn’t quite meeting his gaze. “We’re not here to do anything drastic. You read me?”

“Sure, Jack.”

He should have insisted on a promise. Or, better yet, a nice solid military-approved ‘Yes, sir’. 

They’ve barely walked into the village when Daniel abandons his supposed plan of ‘honesty’ and tells this man who just killed an Unas in front of them for trying to run away that they’re Unas traders, and before Jack knows it they’re sitting down to drinks with a man who is lying through his teeth about what he knows about the Stargate. Still, he’s talking to them in a way Jack supposes he’d never have talked to them if Daniel had led with the fact that they were looking for Chaka, so he plays along. 

Through drinks and as they are walking around the village with the man, Daniel is nearly vibrating at his side with tension. Jack’s not comfortable with how they’re treating the Unas either, with this blatant brutality, but from a tactical standpoint he’s all too aware of how many people (how many armed men) seem to be in the village, and they don’t have a reason or the orders to get into a firefight to free the Unas. Jack’s not even totally convinced they need freed, though he wouldn’t be opposed to Daniel finding a way to convince these people that they could communicate with the Unas through some method that isn’t torture. 

Of course, because today’s just shaping up to be a great day, the damn golden goose Burrock is raving over is Chaka. And of course, the first thing Chaka does is use Daniel’s name. Even butchered in the strange accent of the Unas, Burrock recognizes it at once. And, three for three in the trifecta of doom, Daniel makes a claim on Chaka, and becomes the one thing standing between Burrock and being ‘the wealthiest beastmaster in the land’.

Jack wants to strangle him.

Jack looks around the barn, but the only exit is the door they came in. Burrock gets more agitated with every word that leaves Daniel’s mouth, and just as Jack is ready to drag his pain-in-the-ass scientist back to the Gate and make this someone else’s problem, the half open doorway is filled with the dark silhouettes of two men. 

Men with zats. He tenses up, shifting to cover Daniel’s six, but the men do not advance any further. Most likely, waiting on orders.

Jack turns a deadly glare on Daniel, who at least has the grace to look nervous. But it doesn’t stop him from continuing to argue that Chaka is his. “Daniel.” He makes it a quiet order – shut up, Daniel.

“Jack!” comes the expected protest, his eyes wide and begging. He’s so caught up in the capture of his friend, he’s not paying the slightest bit of attention to the threatening way the men at the doorway are watching them, or the threat in Burrock’s movements. 

“Why don’t we discuss what we can offer the man in return? Shall we?” Daniel shuts his mouth but hesitates, and Jack can see the wheels turning. Before Daniel can decide following orders isn’t in him today, Jack adds, “Outside,” in a voice that leaves absolutely no room to be interpreted as anything except an order. 

Then he leaves the little barn quickly, Daniel scrambling to keep up as Chaka yells his name behind them. He keeps walking quickly so that Burrock and his goons fall behind, and growls at his infuriating partner, “Daniel, we’re not going to get into a firefight over this right now.”

Burrock has caught up to them, his voice full of bluster as he calls out, “If you expect to trade for that Unas, do not think it will come cheap.”

Daniel turns around, fury in his eyes, and Jack turns around as well to put himself between the archaeologist and the red-in-the-face beastmaster, taking up the argument so that Daniel will not. “So, what's your price?” He allows himself to hope that it’s something they can just pay and get out of here before anything else can go wrong. 

“Two Unas of equally pure lineage.”

Or not. “Two for one, eh?” he goes for the bluff, making it sound as if that’s unreasonably high, but Burrock has been paying attention to everything they’ve done and said. 

“Your Unas is worth it, or you would not have travelled all this way. Besides, you obviously have more sophisticated methods for capturing and training them.” In other words, he’s onto them being something other than traders of Unas, and he wants to capitalize on it. It doesn’t matter – Daniel would never agree to capture two Unas to trade for Chaka, and neither would the General. Or Jack, if he’s being really honest with himself. Chaka, leader of his clan, probably wouldn’t either.

Already braced for an argument from Daniel, and possible a cold shoulder and a lonely bed tonight, he responds with, “We'll think about it,” and turns away from Burrock, thumping Daniel’s shoulder lightly to get his attention. “Come on.”

As expected, Daniel isn’t willing to leave it at that. He argues with Jack all the way back to their teammates, and while it’s frustrating and annoying, Jack lets him, because he doesn’t want to have to leave the poor creatures here, especially the one Daniel thinks of as a friend, so the least he can do is let him have his complaints. It doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t think they can or should get involved right now, but he lets Daniel make his case. Against his own better judgement, and knowing that in all likelihood Carter and Teal’c will agree with Daniel even if Sam would never argue with him like this and Teal’c would just stare disapprovingly, he lets Daniel convince him that they have to at least go back for Chaka after dark, and then they can go explain the rest of this situation to Hammond and let him tackle it from there. Jack doesn’t want to be the one who lets Daniel down, any more than Sam and Teal’c do. 

Even Daniel admits that they can’t save all of the Unas today, and Jack is feeling okay about the plan. He spends the time until nightfall giving Daniel several fierce, quiet speeches about following orders, sticking to the plan, not taking human lives if they can’t get in and out covertly, not being able to save everyone, and so on. Carter and Teal’c, bless them, pretend to be oblivious to what’s going on. Under Jack’s watchful eye Daniel looks frustrated, and somewhat embarrassed at the length at which Jack lectures him, but Jack’s learned his lesson already today and he extracts the promises he should have gotten this morning. 

Daniel breaks every single one of those promises without a thought when Chaka balks, refusing to leave his fellow captives, and the building is surrounded before Jack can grab him and drag him out. Carter’s warning about company puts him on high alert just as something moves overhead and he spins around, but he’s not fast enough. He shoots at the man on the parapet but out of nowhere there’s zat fire, the sound of Teal’c’s staff weapon and Carter’s rifle, Carter over the radio again; then his whole body is burning and he’s falling, and he doesn’t remember anything else until he wakes up chained in one of the cages, with the familiar migraine and whole-body aching that comes with being zatted.

“Jack?” Daniel’s voice floats over from a few cages down. His first thought is overwhelming relief that Daniel is alive and awake, but the fury follows hard on its heels, because they are chained up at the mercy of a man who shot an Unas in cold blood yesterday, and its entirely Daniel’s fault. 

“Shut up, Daniel.” Jack hears himself say in a flat and furious voice, and Daniel does for once, sitting down against the bars in an easy, graceful way that Jack is relieved again to know means Daniel isn’t in any sort of major pain or distress. 

None of them speak, and time passes like slow molasses, miserable guilt rolling off of Daniel that he can see even from two cages away. It seems their oblivious young genius might have finally clued in to how pissed off Jack is and how much trouble they’re in, because he doesn’t try to speak to Jack again beyond furtive, questioning glances that Jack ignores. The crackle of the radio from somewhere between them is a wonderful, welcome disruption. 

Sam’s voice comes faintly over the radio, which Chaka digs out of the straw. It takes a moment for Daniel to convince the Unas to hand over the radio, and being Daniel, he manages to get distracted from their very precarious position to wonder over learning new words in Unas. Valiantly resisting the urge to yell, Jack makes a “get on with it” motion with his hand. “Daniel…”

“Right,” he gets that flustered little look over the top of Daniel’s glasses, but Daniel does adjust the radio and speak into it. “Sam, it’s Daniel. Do you read?”

“Daniel, are you okay?”

“Uh…” Daniel glances at him again and sighs. “I’ve been better.”

“Colonel O’Neill?”

“Uh, physically fine. But I’m not expecting a birthday present any time soon.” Daniel’s laying on the guilt trip and the unspoken I’m-sorry-please-forgive-me act pretty hard, with his tentative looks and his coded words, and Jack is starting to thaw. He doesn’t let it show, because honestly, Daniel in a guilty mood is more likely to follow his damn orders and maybe they can actually get out of here and home safe. 

“Ko!” He uses Daniel and Chaka’s new word for ‘give’, gesturing for the radio. The Unas looks over and Jack repeats the order. “Ko!”

Of course, Chaka doesn’t take Jack’s orders any better than Daniel apparently does, and so he looks back over at Daniel, who is smart enough not to press his luck, immediately handing over the radio with an agreeable, “Ko.”

They don’t establish much with Sam except that she and Teal’c are fine, and they’re trying to get reinforcements. He doesn’t have anything to add to help them, so he leaves them to it and turns his attention to the conversation Daniel’s having with Chaka. Jack can’t even begin to understand the words, but his familiarity with Daniel’s body language tells him most of what he needs to know. Still, when the Unas turns to address him directly, he can’t help but wish he knew the exact meaning of the mournfully whispered words. “What he’s saying?” he stoops to asking Daniel to clarify. 

“Well,” Daniel looks resigned now, and a far cry from his vehement argument with Chaka, his words to Jack are muted.  “Actually, that means a lot of different things.” Daniel looks away, another one of his particular tells, and then continues. “In this particular case, I'd say "Thank you for trying to free me. Sorry for getting you into this mess."

Ah. After Jack shut him down hard earlier, Daniel’s not ready or willing to try the explanation or apology thing again, but he can make himself heard anyway. Jack’s considering a response, but he can still feel the frustration and irritation festering inside and he doesn’t want to say something he doesn’t mean. 

“Chaka!” Chaka interrupts, clearly not sure about the tension between them and wanting to make sure his meaning to Jack was clear. 

“Chocka full of nuts…” Jack tries but it feels ridiculous, not even knowing what the word means. “…whatever.” 

“Jack, it’s not his fault,” Daniel protests the obvious sarcasm, though honestly Jack thinks sarcasm is probably something that does not even register on the Unas’ radars.

“Daniel,” he says warningly, “I’m chained up in a madman’s barn with a bunch of Unas. Who’s to blame is not at the top of my list of concerns…just yet.” Daniel takes the threat as it’s intended, and stays quiet, looking down and away. It’s like kicking a puppy, and Jack’s ire and his better nature are already engaged in an all-out war over whether to keep kicking him or to lighten up a little. Ire is winning so far, but as the silence stretches between them, the urge to reassure him that all will be well is building. 

Out of nowhere into the crackling tension between them, Daniel exclaims, “That’s amazing!” 

“What?” He was just convincing himself to go a little easier on his friend, but the demand drops harshly from his lips. 

“Language is a learned behavior.” The harsh reception he gets from Jack doesn’t even phase the linguist at this point. His explanation is even accompanied by the slightest of tiny little smiles; the expression of Doctor Daniel Jackson who has just made an important discovery. Only Danny could do that under all of this stress, locked up by a madman with a group of creatures whose language he barely speaks and who may or may not kill people for fun (Jack’s never been quite sure on that point). “Chaka must have taught this Unas his word.”

There’s some sort of interaction between Chaka and the Unas around them, and Daniel in his natural habitat translates for Jack almost absently. “They’re saying Chaka is their leader! They must recognize that he wouldn't leave without them.”

“Daniel,” he answers, striving for a patience he doesn’t feel, “dogs sniff each other’s butts, and they’re friends for life. We still keep them as pets.” Jack’s still not sure that fighting these people for the freedom of the Unas is such a good idea. He’s not convinced, though Daniel clearly is, that the Unas are people. After all, they say creatures like dolphins and octopi are brilliant, but nobody is comparing them to human intelligence. Language exclusively does not a person make. 

“No, no, this is different,” Daniel’s rebuttal is immediate and fierce; he turns towards Jack with open earnestness. “Chaka made a choice. Choice is freedom. These Unas have placed their allegiance in him because of that.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that they want to be free, they recognize what that means.”

“All he said was ‘Chaka zo’.” Jack snaps, though he’s aware of how dumb it might sound if that actually means something to the Unas, and Daniel isn’t just guessing. From the cells around them, the Unas echo the phrase again and again. 

“I was wrong! Chaka—Chaka isn't different!” Daniel’s voice is starting to take on the slight tone of distress again, and Jack can feel himself getting tense. A subdued Daniel who was feeling bad about disobeying Jack’s orders was easy to corral in whatever escape or rescue Sam and Teal’c were able to mount. A distressed and righteous Daniel who thought he was doing the right thing…. “These Unas may have been born into domestication, but they still know what freedom means. They know it enough to want it.”

Crap. That’s the last thing he wanted Daniel to say. That’s sliding them back towards Daniel wanting to rescue all of the Unas, not just settling for getting Chaka and getting the hell out of dodge. Jack isn’t completely sure he’s wrong, but he is sure he doesn’t want the complication of it when their lives are on the line. He tries to diffuse the situation. “You said yourself. This is their way of life here.”

“Well, it has to change.” Daniel’s voice is full of conviction. 

“How?”

“Well, we've meddled in other planet's cultures before…”

“Well, now you're talking about moving in an army.” Jack growls, already knowing he’s lost this argument. Their escape has gotten a million times harder if Daniel can’t be persuaded to leave and await the General’s permission to return. 

“I'd like to think that there was another way.” It’s the low, discouraged tone that gets to Jack. That’s the tone of a man who holds such strong convictions, but the people he’s working for are grinding them further and further into the dust at every turn. The tone of a man who had once never fired a gun at another living thing, who now nine times out of ten finds himself in the middle of a firefight instead of an archaeological dig. It’s a tone that tears into Jack’s heart because he never wanted to hear it in Daniel’s voice. 

“Look,” he lowers his voice, trying to get and keep Daniel’s full attention.  “In principle, I agree with you…” But he’s cut off, unable to finish his argument, when the door swings wide, admitting an Unas and a young boy. Jack has to catch his breath – what is this, some sort of Unas nanny? They’re beating these poor creatures in the street for not wanting to work in slave-like conditions, but yet some are so broken that they feel they entrust them with the safety of their children? 

Okay, Daniel has more than a point. This has too many parallels to Earth slavery, it’s totally wrong and Jack knows it’s totally wrong. But he’s still not sure it’s their fight. The boy and his Lizard-person nanny walk right up to the bars of Jack’s cage and the little boy accuses him of hurting his dad – probably the one man he’d managed to shoot the night before, before he was zatted himself. A part of him is glad that the kid said “injured” and not “killed”, even as the tactical part of him wishes the man were dead so he couldn’t help keep them captive here (those are the sorts of thoughts he can never, ever share with Daniel - Daniel would never understand). All he can say to the boy’s accusing face is, “I’m sorry.”

They sit in silence again until Carter checks in, with bad news. They can’t get to the Gate without casualties. Jack is trying to weigh that decision, the lives of these people who don’t know better against their likelihood of escape, but the heavy sound of approaching footsteps makes him demand radio silence and bury the radio back into the hay. 

Burrock is back, and Daniel immediately engages him in argument. Jack approves – it’s as good a strategy as any to try and draw out more information from their captor, and it gives him the chance to study the man and try to find a weakness. He claims their ‘crime’ of stealing Chaka can be punishable by death, but if it were that easy, he would have already killed them. Another small advantage in their favor. 

Unfortunately, Daniel’s arguments quickly wind up the beastmaster and not in a good way. Daniel’s voice is getting more desperate, more unhappy, and Jack decides to interfere and divert the angry man’s attention. “Look, we're not going to tell you anything, so you might as well just let us go. We'll go back to where we came from, you can go on doing what you do so well.”

Burrock quickly turns on him, waddling over imperiously. “Because now I know for certain, there is more out there.”

“Yeah, I know, the grass always looks cleaner. Fact is, there's a whole bunch of bad guys with glowing eyes out there, and you really don't wanna mess with them.” It’s flippant, off the cuff, but he’s hoping it will succeed where Daniel’s heartfelt argument did not. Burrock draws closer and closer, something cold and oily in his pudgy gaze, and Jack swears silently in his head. He’s seen that look on captors before. Without batting an eyelash, the man lifts the Goa’uld pain-stick he carries and touches it to the door; white-hot pain immediately flares up all over Jack’s body, spreading from the leg chain and shackle, and he collapses with a cry, unable to do anything else. 

“Stop!” he can just barely hear Daniel’s shout of panicked anger over the wash of incandescent pain, which abruptly stops though the after-shocks leave him lying helpless on the floor. “He’s not going to tell you anything!” 

Then it’s Daniel crying out, a short sharp sound, before he collapses as well. You can’t scream under the influence of a pain-stick and Jack can’t get his feet under him to turn over and look, but the eerie sound of sizzling metal and skin and the unique energy discharge of the pain-stick tells him that Burrock isn’t letting up. 5 seconds becomes 10 as the Unas around him growl and yell and rattle their bars and Burrock demands their silence. An icy fist is squeezing Jack’s heart – humans were not meant to take such prolonged abuse from an instrument of torture designed for Jaffa (and probably, come to think of it, Unas). They have not discovered the exact limits of the human body, but he knows Daniel will be reaching it. 

15 seconds tick by and Burrock cannot take the defiance of the Unas any longer. He turns from the attack on Daniel, walks over to the still growling Unas, raises Jack’s gun, and empties the clip into the poor creature. The remaining Unas lift their voices in their strange mourning cry, and Burrock aims the rifle at another Unas. 

Somehow, even though he’d been under the influence of the pain stick longer and more recently than Jack, Daniel manages to roll to his knees and scream his protest against another death. Jack has not been so relieved to hear the hollow click of an empty gun in a long, long time. Burrock starts to expound on the value of the P-90, walking over to ask Jack to reload it.

Not a chance in hell. Fighting through the still-heavy fog of pain, he mumbles, “Give it to me, and I’ll show you.”

“It was simple enough to learn how to shoot it.” Burrock shrugs indifferently.  “I will learn this part on my own as well. In the meantime, hunger and thirst will weaken you. Perhaps tomorrow, you will tell me what I want to know. I do not understand why, but it seems that you care for Beasts more than you care for your own well-being.” He wanders over to Daniel. “So be it. Every morning and every night I will come in here to learn what you know. If you do not tell me, I will kill a Beast. It may cost me, but I believe it may be worth it. Until tonight.”

He walks out, leaving them still reeling from the pain-stick and the senseless violence. An empty, heavy silence settles over the barn. Jack doesn’t bother trying to move until the click of the radio on and off gets his attention. “Yeah, Carter? I got ya.” Slowly, he rolls over and sits up. 

“Sir, what's your status? We heard shooting.”

“We're all right.” He glances across just to make sure, sweeping a fast and assessing look over Daniel, who is propped up against the bars of his own cage looking dazed and pissed off. “One of the Unas took a hit.”

“Chaka?”

“No, he's okay.” Thank whatever gods were actually listening, or lady luck, because Chaka not being the one gunned down is probably all that’s still holding Daniel together.  “I thought I told you to hold your position at the Gate.”

“Yes, Sir. However, Teal'c thinks we might be able to create a big enough distraction to attempt a rescue, and I agree. But, we can't guarantee zero casualties. If that's still your concern, please advise. Over.”

He looks over at Daniel again. “I don't think we're going to talk our way out of this one.”

“Well, for once, I'm not asking us to.” The silent screaming has roughened his partner’s voice and his eyes are closed as he lets the cage take his weight, and the emotionless quality of his voice is painful to hear. 

Jack needs to get his hands on Daniel and assess how much of it is pain, and how much of it is emotional, but they’re separated by two cages of Unas, lots of chains and locks, and the angry words he’s already spoken today. He has to settle for muttering a very sincere, “Dammit, Daniel.” It’s totally different from all of the recriminations of earlier, and Daniel knows it. 

“Let's get out of here,” Daniel’s eyes open slowly, and he’s pouring a million things he can’t say into the look, already knowing that Jack’s going to give in to his next request after everything that’s happened. He already knows that Jack wouldn’t force him to leave Chaka behind, and if they’re breaking one Unas out of prison, they might as well take three. “All of us.”

“Sir, still awaiting your orders.”

“Yeah. We've got three Unas who are going to be joining us. Do what you have to do, Carter.”

The escape had gone relatively well, all things considered. None of SG-1 has sustained any more injuries beyond scrapes and bruises, and they’d only lost one of the three Unas (though Daniel feels guilty for being relieved it wasn’t Chaka).

Jack was still going to kill him. 

The click of shoes on linoleum draws closer and he forces himself to sit down just as Janet sweeps the curtain aside, looking up at him from her clipboard full of notes. “Well, Daniel, your test results are all normal. And given everything that happened, your injuries are all fairly mild. I’m enforcing downtime for SG-1 for the next four days, but you’re free to go and nurse your wounds at home.” She smiles a little. “Let me know if you have any issues that don’t resolve over the next couple of days.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he gives her a little teasing smile, hiding his own nerves behind a chuckle when she gives him a sardonic look. The issues he has to resolve in the next four days aren’t going to have anything to do with his singed fingers, residual muscle aches, minor twisted ankle, or fun bruises. Janet pats his shoulder and leaves, so Daniel pulls his fatigue jacket back on and leaves the infirmary. There’s nothing in his office he needs, so he heads for the locker room, which is deserted. He was the last one out of the infirmary, and it appears his teammates didn’t waste any time taking Janet and Hammond up on the four days off. 

When he opens his locker, he’s greeted by a fluorescent blue post-it at eye level. Three words, ‘DINNER. BRING DESSERT.’ are scrawled on it in Jack’s handwriting. Daniel winces. It’s not a request, it’s an obvious order, just disguised as something that wouldn’t look unusual if someone else had seen it over Daniel’s shoulder. 

The guilt is starting to weigh heavy on him, so he drags his feet a little as he changes out of his BDUs and makes his way unmolested to the surface and his car. The gloom on his face must discourage people from trying to make small talk with him.  As he gets into his car, he considers just going to his own home. It would only buy him a couple of hours though, maybe the night, and then Jack would just show up. Still, depending on whether Jack has cooled off any, a couple of hours might be worth it. 

Cruising down the highway, Daniel searches his memory, trying to remember if Jack made any....unfortunate.... ‘promises’ about the next time he put them all in danger disobeying orders. There’s nothing specific that comes to mind other than the standing threat of Jack’s evil wooden spoon. As he pulls into the bakery parking lot and climbs out of his car, Daniel casts his mind back to the previous weekend and tries to envision the crock of cookware on Jack’s counter. Had the large wooden spoon made a reappearance? The last time Daniel saw it, it had been the morning after the last time Jack had used it on him; Daniel had been making coffee while Jack was in the shower and his butt had still been sore. In a fit of petulance, he’d taken the particular wooden spoon Jack had used every time and hidden it.

Jack had never mentioned it since, and after a few days Daniel had forgotten he’d done anything until this moment. 

He picks out an apple pie from the bakery counter, checks out in a sort of fog, and gets back in his car with a sigh. The clock is inching towards seven pm, so he bites the bullet and pulls back out onto the road to make the short drive to Jack’s house.  There’s welcoming, warm light pouring out of the windows onto the yard and the front walk, and even though his stomach is still knotted up with anxiety, the feeling of coming home spreads through him and makes him smile a little.

The door is unlocked as per Jack’s usual, and he doesn’t bother knocking. Just inside the door he kicks off his shoes and pads into the kitchen to put the pie on the counter. There’s something in the oven which smalls delicious and makes his stomach growl hungrily, but no sign of his colonel. He turns around to glance into the living room but it’s empty too, and if Jack had been up with the telescope he would have called out when Daniel parked. 

As he leaves the kitchen and turns the corner towards the bedroom, the bathroom door opens. For a moment they simply stand in the hallway and look at each other; both remember vividly the past few days. Daniel looks away first, glancing back the way he came. “Uh. Dinner smells good.”

Jack crosses his arms and props a shoulder up against the doorframe and makes a noise of acknowledgement, but Daniel can feel Jack’s eyes still locked on his face. When he drags his gaze back up, his partner’s brown eyes are assessing him, soul-searching. He doesn’t look as pissed off as he had at many points during their most recently ended mission, but he doesn’t look happy either. “Dinner first, or discussion first?”

Involuntarily, Daniel’s face scrunches up in consternation. There’s approximately zero chance that Jack means discussion with words, and the euphemism is not lost on him but as a linguist he wants to protest the abuse of the language. Or maybe not; if he objects to the invented synonym, he doesn’t put it past Jack to just start using mortifying words like “spanking” instead.

“Um….” He considers the cold lump of shame that’s suppressing his appetite, weighs it against the desire to put off all possibility of actually being spanked as long as possible, and sighs. Dinner had smelled so nice; it would be a shame to waste Jack’s efforts because he was too guilty to eat anything. “’Discussion’, I guess,” he grumbles.

“Okay, Danny.” There’s just the barest hint of wry affection underneath his displeasure as he straightens. “I’m going to turn the oven off. I’ll be back in a minute.” Jack lays a warm hand on his shoulder as he walks past, giving it a brief squeeze and then vanishing around the corner. Daniel forces his body into action and meanders down to the bedroom, perching hesitantly on the end of the bed. 

The bedroom is too far from the kitchen, he can’t hear anything Jack is doing, which makes time seem to stall uncomfortably. He doesn’t really have time to get any more anxious, as Jack walks in just a moment later. Daniel opens his mouth to say something, though honestly he hasn’t quite figured out what, but he ends up snapping his mouth shut on a deep frown when he notices that Jack hasn’t come empty-handed. Which is odd, because Jack doesn’t have hair of any notable length, so what does he need a hairbrush for?

“Jack?”

“Daniel?”

“Why do you have that?” 

“This?” Daniel’s brows are deeply furrowed, and he can’t seem to look away from the hairbrush as Jack lifts it up, contemplating it for a moment as if it’s the first time he’s seen it too, before meeting Daniel’s gaze steadily. “Well, Daniel, it seems that the spoon I usually use is missing.” 

“J-jack…” He climbs to his feet and moves a few steps towards the windows, away from the bed and away from Jack.

“It’s fine. This is a family heirloom, and it’s tanned plenty of bottoms just as effectively as any old kitchen utensil.” Jack, purposefully misinterpreting his alarm, sounds almost cheerful. Daniel, staring at the hairbrush, doesn’t feel cheerful at all. It’s got at least twice the surface area of the spoon, and is a dark mahogany color with the soft shine that comes with decades of use rather than a quick application of glossy lacquer. 

“I don’t think you need either,” he manages, though even to himself his voice sounds faint and unconvinced. “Just your hand is sufficient.” 

Jack drops the fake cheer and pins him with a hard look. “Would you care to count how many direct orders you ignored the past two days? And how many times doing so put you directly in danger? How many times it ended up with the rest of us directly in danger?”

Daniel shakes his head.

“I didn’t think so. Do you think you shouldn’t get spanked for it?”

He bites his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and gives an even smaller shake of his head. Jack sits down on the side of the bed and places the hairbrush down behind his hip. Shifting, he gets comfortable with his feet flat on the ground and then crooks a finger at Daniel. “C’mere, kid.”

Ignoring the rampaging rhinos in his stomach, Daniel sidles over to Jack, who reaches out and snags his waistband to tug him the rest of the way when his nerve fails him. While he unbuttons and unzips Daniel’s pants, he starts speaking in a low, even tone. “I understand that Chaka is your friend, Daniel. I never wanted to have to leave him there either,” he lowers Daniel’s pants and underwear, and then warm hands guide Daniel down over Jack’s lap. Those hands and Jack’s voice ground Daniel, whose mind is spinning and fuzzy.

“But, we could have found a safer way to do it.” One of Jack’s hands is wrapped securely around his waist, and the other falls with the first, stinging spank on the crest of Daniel’s bottom. It’s followed by a dozen more, which is enough to leave his butt stinging. Jack pauses, hand resting on Daniel’s thigh below where he’s smacked. 

“It was one thing to change the play in the village,” despite clearly considering this a minor offense, Jack lifts his hand and applies it with vigor, landing another couple of dozen swats that leave Daniel squirming a little in his grasp. “But for cryin’ out loud, Daniel, when the rescue went south, you broke every promise you made, not to mention every protocol we have!”

Jack’s hand falls again, and he gives up his scolding and concentrates on spanking, landing fast and stinging smacks methodically all over Daniel’s butt, painting it a dark pink bordering on red from the crest all the way down to the tops of his thighs. Jack is starting at the top of one cheek and working all the way down to his sit-spots and the top of his thighs, and then repeating the pattern on the other side. Resisting the urge to cry, Daniel can’t quite form any words, just whine under his breath and occasionally yelp when a spank lands particularly true. 

On the next circuit Daniel kicks his legs a little, involuntarily, and tugs the comforter into a ball in his arms so he can bury his face in it. Jack doesn’t pause this time when he speaks, enunciating words clearly between swats. “Daniel, you could have died! Again! Chaka was making his own choice when he stayed behind, and the risks you took with all of our lives were unacceptable.”

Then Jack stops, his now hot palm resting back on Daniel’s bare thigh. For a long moment he says nothing; Daniel can feel the tears scratchy and suffocating in the back of his throat and hot behind his eyes, but he’s still stiff and feeling awful, the memory of Jack being zatted and tortured with the pain-stick replaying in his head. He knows he’s still spiraling, but it’s out of his control. On the very edge of his awareness he hears Jack, as if from far away, when his partner sighs. “You’re not there yet, are you kid?”

The words themselves don’t have a lot of meaning to Daniel right this moment, but the guilt rises up dark and swallowing and he gives a completely ineffectual heave against Jack’s hold, a half-hearted attempt to esacpe. Some part of him buried deep worries that Jack’s done, and he panics because the guilt hasn’t been vanquished. “I did what I had to do!” he mutters.

“Well, then I guess I will do what I have to do, Daniel.” Jack shifts underneath him, adjusts his restraining hand to grab Daniel’s wrist and bring it to the center of his back, and then something cool and flatter than Jack’s hands taps once, twice on Daniel’s butt before there’s a sharp crack and he jerks and yelps, kicking both legs in instant protest. He had completely forgotten about the hairbrush and now he is wishing he hadn’t – it hurts way more than he remembers the spoon feeling, and it’s covering more ground. “O-ow! Wait, no, J-jack,” the tears well up in his eyes immediately as his voice rises in distress. 

He squirms hard, kicking out both legs in an embarrassing parody of swimming, as the brush comes down in the same pattern Jack had established with his hand – the crest of his left cheek, then the middle twice, then down directly onto the place where his butt meets his thigh, and then once at the very sensitive top of his thigh; then starting over on the right. Each smack hurts and for a minute he is breathless to do anything but struggle and try to plead.

Jack ignores all of this and starts a second round with the brush – when he brings it down twice in the middle of Daniel’s left butt cheek he gasps out, “I’m s-sorry! J’ck I won’t d-do it agAIN!” and when the brush reaches his left thigh he gives in to the tears, collapsing over Jack’s lap and letting the sobs overtake him. 

Briefly squeezing the wrist in his grasp, and his thumb moving gently against Daniel’s back where his shirt has ridden up, Jack murmurs, “That’s it Danny, let it go. Five more.” Without changing his pace or intensity in the slightest, he brings the brush down exactly five more times from top to bottom on the right side to finish his circuit and then tosses the brush onto the bed somewhere behind them. Murmuring meaningless reassurance, he slides a hand under Daniel’s shirt to rub slow, deep circles on his back while using his other hand to massage Daniel’s hand where it had been clenched hard or straining to reach back since the brush started to fall. 

When the tears start to slow and he catches his breath, Daniel pushes himself up from Jack’s lap and starts to pull back, but his partner catches him and pulls him over between his legs, wrapping his arms around him so that Daniel can bury his face in Jack’s shoulder and Jack can keep up his steady, reassuring stroking from the back of Daniel’s neck all the way to just above here he had been spanking. “Yeah, let go Danny. No more guilt.”

Though the sobs have turned into a near-silent stream of tears down his cheeks, Daniel’s voice isn’t quite steady. “I’m sorry, J’ck. I r-really didn’t mean to get us int-to t-that much trouble, I j-just was s-so worried.”

Jack presses his head down alongside Daniel’s, which is nice and Daniel hums a little bit of his approval. “Let it go, it’s over,” he says quietly, and adjusts his grip to lift Daniel just a foot or so back, wiping tears off of his face and leaning in to gently kiss his forehead. “You’re forgiven. It’s okay, Dannyboy. You just have to find a little more control over your worse impulses. We can’t afford to lose you, kid.”

They sit there for a long while, until well after Daniel’s tears have dried and he’s simply soaking up the cuddle, arms wrapped around Jack’s waist and face pressed into his shoulder. Eventually, though, Jack drums his fingers on the small of Daniel’s back and says quietly, “Why don’t you crawl up here and veg for a minute, and I’ll go salvage dinner?”

Daniel’s stomach grumbles as if on cue, and though he blushes a dark red and squeezes his eyes shut, he works with Jack as his colonel pulls him to his feet and helps him kick off his pants and underthings and lay face down on his stomach with only a little bit of a whine as his hot and smarting backside stretches and moves. He leans his head into the firm tug of fingers in his hair, making a sound akin to a purring cat; then as Jack makes to pull away, he slits his eyes open and peers up at him.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, Danny?” he turns back to the bed and runs his fingers once more through Daniel’s hair.

“The spoon is behind your vinyl collection.” He hated it, but he can officially say he hated the hairbrush more and he doesn’t want to encounter it again. The guilt is well and truly gone, but he doesn’t think he’s going to sit comfortably for a month.  “Maybe you could get it back out instead?”