O'Neill travelled the familiar passageways of the palace once more, remembering the last time he'd walked down this particular corridor. Back when everything he had thought secure and certain about his life had first been turned upside down by the words of a runaway slave.

He had to wonder if he would have done any different, if he'd realised then what he was letting himself in for. After all, skulking round the palace, a hunted fugitive, wasn't exactly how O'Neill had envisaged spending his time.

O'Neill felt the beginning of a smile form on his face, a reaction which he quickly stifled. It was in his interests to still appear the grim Jaffa; that alone was his best defence against the curiousity of the servants he occasionally passed.

O'Neill glowered at the next one he saw in an appropriately superior manner and frowned to himself as her gaze dropped to the floor, subservience written in every line of her body.

In hindsight, O'Neill realised that he hated it all. The looks, the way the palace servants would cringe against the walls to allow him as much space as possible as he passed them by.

How was it he hadn't noticed any of this before?

Had he been blind to it, so driven by his own desire for power that he didn't notice the people who he ground underfoot to achieve it?

O'Neill stopped at the junction of two corridors, considering which way was best. One led more directly to the kitchens, but the other gave more places to hide should that become necessary, even though this was something he had never had to consider before now. In the end he took the safer, if less direct, route.

After all, he reminded himself, before he met Daniel the most attention he'd pay to one of the palace servants would be if they did something amiss. If his food was cold, his chamber unswept. Otherwise they might as well have been ants, for all the notice O'Neill had taken of them.

He shook his head, wondering at the way Daniel had turned his life upside down. There was nothing he could do about that now, no way O'Neill could change how he'd behaved in the past - all he could do was change the future, both for himself and those around him.

When Daniel woke from a restless sleep, for a moment he wasn't completely sure where he was. A faint light came from the candles around the bed, a couple of which guttered as they reached their end, their light barely penetrating the entirety of the room. He blinked a couple of times while he focussed, taking in the rich decorations and the overall splendour of his surroundings.

It was as if his time in the palace had come full circle. His first introduction to the man he had come to know so intimately had begun in a room not much less splendid than this one.

Daniel remembered the way O'Neill had left him just hours before, with an ardent kiss and a promise to return, and felt a smile begin. He ached in unfamiliar places, the legacy of O'Neill's ardent attention, but there was also an unfamiliar emotion stirring inside him, he realised, something that would stay with him long after the aches themselves had dissipated.

And on top of that he felt a little embarrassed that he'd forced such a promise from O'Neill in the first place, that he'd been so easy to read, his insecurity so close to the surface.

Daniel sat up, stretching as he thought about what might happen next. That level of reliance on O'Neill had to stop, otherwise they might never get out of the palace alive - he had to pull his own weight in future, not rely on the Jaffa as he had been doing.

Which meant that he had to get dressed before O'Neill returned.

Reluctantly, Daniel picked up the smelly robe he had discarded only hours before, his nose wrinkling at the unpleasant odour coming from it. If anything, it seemed to be getting worse rather than better, though surely that shouldn't be the case?

Still, they had an escape to manage, and lying there on the bed spread out like an offering wasn't going to get them any further on in that plan, even if Daniel's body still ached with the memory of their intimacy.

Daniel shook his head, shoving those tempting memories to the back of his mind. He shrugged his way into the robe, sucking in a breath before the material went over his head and only letting it go once the robe was settled on his shoulders.

He had to get something else to wear, something that didn't smell quite so bad, and soon.

That invisibility that made him so uncomfortable, that air of arrogant disdain, served O'Neill in good stead. No-one questioned him as he entered the palace kitchens, no-one asked him what he thought he was doing as he piled food and jugs of water onto a tray and headed for the door.

He was aware of the servants eyes on him none felt brave enough to challenge a Jaffa, though their eyes followed him till he left the room. As he left the room, something else caught his eye and another item was added to the tray.

He headed back towards their impromptu sanctuary as fast as he dared.

It was partly a need to be certain that they had not been followed, O'Neill told himself, stifling the small voice that reminded him he needed to be sure Daniel was well. Let alone the memories that pursued him, heating his blood as he recalled what the two of them had shared not hours before. He took a deep breath - there was no time to consider that now.

O'Neill paused at one place where the corridors branched, listening intently, but heard no sign of pursuit. He would have said this escape was too easy - something about it niggled at him, something that made him uncertain. Still, there was nothing he could do but deal with any pursuers when they showed themselves. That was the only choice he had any more.

The trip back was more direct, a different route just in case they were being watched, and it seemed only a matter of minutes before O'Neill was pushing aside the curtain that covered the Queen's former rooms.

"Hungry?" he asked, crossing to place the tray of food on one of the low tables.

The question helped to cover the surprise O'Neill felt on seeing Daniel up and dressed. He had to admit to himself that he felt a little cheated, or disappointed perhaps? All the way back here O'Neill had been anticipating the pleasure of waking Daniel, but it seemed that particular pleasure would have to be deferred.

Daniel nodded, crossing to the food immediately. O'Neill stood back and let him have first pick - he, at least, had eaten with the resistance before he came to try and rescue Daniel. As for the former captive, O'Neill had no idea how long it was since he had last eaten. The way he was tearing into the bread O'Neill had brought seemed to argue that it had been a while.

He waited for Daniel to move away from the food, his eyes examining the finery of the room they were as if he had never seen it before.

It had been a while since this room had been inhabited; Ra's petulant and demanding Queen had only spent a matter of weeks in it before declaring that she would stay here no longer. New rooms, more splendid than these, had been her demand, ones to which Ra had been only too willing to acquiesce.

She had always got what she wanted - in this case her new rooms had been closer to those of Ra, closer to the centre of power in the palace itself. Her relationship with Ra had rendered him vulnerable, susceptible to demands that would have been ruthlessly quashed, along with the life of the person making them, had they come from anyone else.

O'Neill shook his head, trying to dismiss that train of thought.

Daniel sat on the edge of the bed now, intent, it seemed, on eating as much as he possibly could. At least he had reacted to the food, if he hadn't seemed pleased that O'Neill himself had returned.

A familiar cold feeling began to take up residence in O'Neill's stomach, driving away his appetite. He picked up a piece of bread, as much to give his hands something to do as for any other reason, and considered the possibility.

Daniel had seemed willing, eager in fact. But O'Neill's experiences in the past had all been about someone wanting something from him, the intimacy they shared becoming a stepping stone that would ensure that the First Prime gave them what they wanted. Like Ra's Queen had used her relationship, in fact, her motives cold, calculating and thorougly self-centred.

O'Neill watched Daniel eat, hardly conscious of his own fingers pulling apart the food they held - every movement was mechanical, he chewed on morsels of bread without realising he did so.

Could he have been so easily fooled? Could Daniel be just like the others he had known, just out for what he could get?

He couldn't be sure, O'Neill decided, as he thought back over the things they had experienced together, but something seemed to have changed between them since having sex together. And, try as he might, O'Neill couldn't quite figure out what that something was.

Suddenly the bread was like ashes in his mouth - he turned and dropped what little was left on the table, filling a cup with water to wash away the taste if he could.

"Is something wrong?" Daniel asked, crossing to the table to place a now-empty bowl there. He looked concerned, but O'Neill wasn't convinced, closing his eyes as his stomach did a slow roll. "O'Neill?"

He opened his eyes once more, the concern he saw in Daniel's face thawing the coldness inside himself a little.

"It's nothing," O'Neill said, the words still more sharp than he intended. "We should go soon."

O'Neill was right, Daniel knew that, but that didn't stop him from feeling uncertain about the idea of leaving this unexpected sanctuary. He had been tired, hungry and frightened, and now all those things had been dealt with - as a result, Daniel almost felt ready to face whatever Maybourne might throw at them next. Almost.

As he filled a cup with water, Daniel noticed a glint of light on metal. After taking a hearty swallow, he put the cup down again and pushed aside dishes till he came across its source. Daniel smiled to himself as he picked up the knife, running his thumb over its edge and frowning at its relative bluntness.

Of course it was a kitchen implement, not something a warrior would use and keep honed for action at any moment, but just holding it made Daniel feel a little safer. A little more able to defend himself should the circumstances arise. He would show O'Neill yet that he was able to look after himself, that he didn't need protection.

"When did you want to leave?" he asked, turning to where O'Neill sat. Daniel frowned to himself as he saw, or thought he saw, an odd look leave the Jaffa's face. "I'm ready when you are," he continued, studying O'Neill's face.

The only response was a terse nod.

"Did you think to steal a waterskin?" Daniel asked, turning back to the tray of food.

He lifted the jug of water, considering how much was in it. Daniel was proud that he didn't flinch too much when a skin slapped down on the low table beside him; he just nodded, picked it up and filled it.

Once full Daniel laid the skin on the table and considered the matter of the knife. After a moments thought he squatted, using the knife to start a hole a couple of inches above the frayed hem of his smelly robe - a few moments later he had a makeshift belt, which he secured around his waist and tucked the knife into. The dark hilt was almost invisible against the material.

By the time this was done, O'Neill had picked up the waterskin and was waiting by the doorway. His eyes seemed to rest anywhere in the room but on Daniel; this was oddly familiar, Daniel decided, and it wasn't an experience that he ever wanted to repeat.

"What is it?" he asked, crossing to where O'Neill stood.

"It's nothing," the Jaffa replied, turning to sweep aside the hanging.

Daniel shook his head. Getting information out of O'Neill when he was unwilling was like pulling teeth, an unpleasant experience for both of them. Perhaps they had gone full circle in more ways than one, not just in the place they currently inhabited, but in their attitudes towards one another?

As he followed O'Neill out into the corridor, Daniel considered this possibility. Although he had some evidence that things had changed between them, and not for the better it seemed, why was O'Neill still here with him if he didn't trust him any more? And what had he done to change the trust he thought he had seen when they had been so intimate?

It was a puzzle, one Daniel intended to solve.

They travelled in silence - to O'Neill the corridors seemed more oppressive now because of it. Not that they had talked much before while travelling the passageways of the palace, but the silence then had been a comfortable one, imbued with the trust that had grown between the two of them. This was different.

It took all the self-control the Jaffa could muster to stop himself from turning to Daniel, from demanding an explanation from him, looking for answers to questions he hardly knew how to ask. Instead O'Neill had to focus on each step he took, taking the two of them onwards and deeper into the palace.

He didn't know how he felt any more; his emotions were too twisted up with one another, becoming a knot of confusion that just kept on growing. All this was new to O'Neill, something he had discovered about himself in the time since he'd known Daniel, and he didn't like it at all. It left him feeling unsettled, uncertain, out of control. None of those were feelings with which he was familiar, or comfortable.

He'd learned to trust Daniel, some small instinctive voice telling him that he was doing the right thing. Had that been his downfall? Why was it that O'Neill had turned his back on his experiences, pushed them all aside as if they no longer mattered at all, when the two of them had met? He couldn't explain it, at least not in a way that made any sense.

O'Neill shook his head, pausing at a junction to consider which way they should go. He took a mouthful of water from the skin and then passed it to Daniel without looking round.

He'd trusted that Daniel was different, that he wasn't just after what he could get but that Daniel felt something more genuine than that. Surely he couldn't have just been taken in by a pair of blue eyes? No, whatever it was that had made him believe Daniel, it had been more, much more, than just a physical attraction. It had to be. After all, O'Neill told himself, he had never reacted this way to anyone else.

He made a decision on which corridor to take, trusting that Daniel would follow him. O'Neill could almost feel Daniel's gaze as it bored into his back - still, Daniel followed the Jaffa without comment, his bare feet slapping on the marble floor.

He had to believe that Daniel was everything that he'd thought he was, or else what was left for him now? O'Neill knew that he had thrown away everything because of what Daniel had told him, become a fugitive from the only life he had ever known. If Daniel wasn't what he thought, if all of that had been based on a lie, what could he do next?

Was he paying less attention than he should to their surroundings? That could have been one explanation for the way that the two of them rounded a bend in the passageways and found themselves face to face with a group of guards.

Before he could turn to Daniel, tell him to run, O'Neill saw more guards step out from one of the rooms they had just passed. An effective ambush, but one that he should have avoided, if he'd just been more alert.

Daniel looked nervous, his face drawn, lips compressed to one thin line.

"Move," one of the guards said, levelling his staff weapon at the two of them.

There were too many guards for him to try something heroic, even if he'd been alone - O'Neill nodded, then began to walk in the direction that the guard indicated.

He was barely aware of Daniel's presence beside him. O'Neill didn't look round - he chose to ignore Daniel, not wanting the guards to realise his inherent weakness, that they could harm him by hurting someone else. Maybe if he pretended that he didn't care about Daniel's fate that would protect him somehow?

If only these guards weren't taking them straight to Maybourne, that plan just might work. Assuming, of course, that Daniel would choose to go along with it. And that in itself was no certainty.

O'Neill lengthened his stride a little, stiffening his back and plastering as arrogant and hostile a look as he could on his face as he headed down the corridor into the unknown.

Daniel had been glad that O'Neill seemed to know where he was going, as the corridors they travelled turned and twisted till he'd lost any sense of which direction they were going. He'd been studying the back of the Jaffa's head as they walked, as if all the mysteries of the universe were written there, as if he could somehow get inside O'Neill's mind and figure out just what had changed between them.

One minute everything had been fine, better than fine in fact. O'Neill had left in search of food, the look in his eyes indicating that he would be hungry for something else as well when he returned. But when he *had* come back, laden with food for both of them, he'd seemed different somehow. Cooler, more withdrawn, as if something had changed between the two of them in the intervening time - the only problem was, Daniel had no clue of that something's identity.

So Daniel had studied O'Neill as they travelled, puzzling over him like he was a tricky translation, a section of hieroglyphics he could make sense of if he just kept at it. But he didn't seem to be making any progress.

None of it made any sense. They'd not spoken with one another, not argued over something trivial that now threatened to tear the two of them apart. For what seemed like the twentieth time, Daniel ran over the events of the previous few hours in his mind, step by step. There was something, it was there in the corner of his mind, Daniel was certain of it - elusive, it hovered like an almost-seen figure, disappearing when he turned to face it.

If anything the coolness with which O'Neill was currently treating him meant that Daniel kept expecting O'Neill to leave, that he would just turn a corner in the Jaffa's wake and find himself alone.

And that thought was one of the worst things he could imagine, worse possibly than being captured by Maybourne. After all, he had survived that twice, escaped from Maybourne twice. But Daniel knew he could never find his way out of the labyrinthine palace complex alone - would he be doomed to wander the halls as a ghost when the water he now carried ran out?

Daniel felt the reassuring weight of the skin slap against his side, rubbing the hilt of the knife he carried into his ribs. Maybe it had been a mistake bringing it? He'd shifted the waterskin a little, slipping his hand into the makeshift belt to move the knife a couple of inches either side when suddenly there was movement ahead.

O'Neill had stopped, sharply, and Daniel almost walked into his back - he peered round the Jaffa's shoulder at what stood in the corridor ahead. His heart made a desperate attempt to escape through his mouth when he saw what it was. Guards, three of them, with staff weapons.

O'Neill had half-turned, probably to tell him to make a break for it, doubtless planning some suitably heroic move to delay the guards. Daniel frowned. Instinct told him that wouldn't work, even as the other guards stepped into the corridor, effectively trapping the two of them.

Some days he hated being right.

Within a matter of moments they were travelling once more, this time with an escort. O'Neill stalked ahead, his back rigid with defiance and something else, something that Daniel couldn't quite identify. If he had thought that O'Neill was pulling away from him before, that the Jaffa had created a chasm between the two of them, then he had been mistaken. This time the gulf that stood between them was clear - it was written in every line of O'Neill's body, unmistakably written.

Damn him, Daniel thought, realising just what O'Neill was up to.

Just when he was starting to think it had all been a mistake, that the Jaffa was regretting the closeness they had experienced together, something like this came along and made Daniel think again. For someone who clearly had ambivalent feelings towards the person he was travelling with, O'Neill was doing a good job of protecting him, drawing all the attention of the guards to himself as if he could make Daniel invisible.

Daniel added another matter to his mental list of things to discuss with O'Neill. Assuming, of course, that the two of them survived whatever might happen next.

They had travelled much faster over these past few minutes than the relatively leisurely pace that O'Neill had set. The only sounds coming from behind him, as he walked, were the clomping of boots, the familiar metallic sounds of armour and Daniel's slightly wheezing breath.

These corridors looked familiar - they were travelling back into the heart of the palace complex.

The guards halted beside an ornate doorway and O'Neill felt a familiar sinking feeling. Of all the places that they had to be brought, it was a bittersweet irony that their final destination should be here.

He wanted to warn Daniel, caution him to keep silent and play the role that O'Neill had placed him in, but he wasn't sure what Daniel's response would be. He might go along with the charade, or he might rebel against it, that stubborn streak in his character surfacing at just the wrong moment. There was no way of telling, and O'Neill didn't have time to explain why he needed Daniel's cooperation.

One of the guards gestured for O'Neill to precede him into the chamber, his staff weapon's head blossoming open ominously when the Jaffa hesitated. He heard Daniel's indrawn breath - why should that sound of concern seem so right, so expected?

O'Neill led the way through the doorway, knowing just what he would see when he entered the chamber concerned.

"So," a voice said. "O'Neill. Then the rumours are true."

They had halted at a doorway, one which O'Neill seemed strangely hesitant to enter. For a moment Daniel thought that the Jaffa would do something foolish, regardless of the overwhelming odds against them, but in the end sense prevailed and O'Neill led the way into the chamber beyond.

If Daniel had thought O'Neill's chambers, and those that they had so recently left behind, were ornate, he knew now he would have to think again. This room was even more splendid, the candlelight that illuminated it glinting off the gilding on every wall. The rest of the walls were a deep rich red, clearly some kind of material as they seemed to move a little with each step that the newcomers took.

It was too much. Daniel felt his head begin to throb, even before he realised that they were not alone.

"So," a voice said. "O'Neill. Then the rumours are true."

Daniel found himself forced to kneel, one of the guards shoving him so that he hit the floor in an ungainly heap, the waterskin slipping from his shoulder to slap loudly onto the stone beside him. In front of him, Daniel could see the soles of O'Neill's boots - the Jaffa had clearly been made to kneel as well, though somehow he doubted he had made such a spectacle of himself.

The voice he had heard echoed oddly, but seemed strangely familiar.

He looked up, straight into the eyes of someone he recognised. Someone Daniel hadn't seen for a long time, had thought never to see again after the day she had just vanished without trace from amongst the slaves who served the palace.

"Samantha!" Daniel had blurted out her name before he realised something was wrong. The look that she gave him was not the look of a friend - her eyes glowed golden, she was clearly angry at his presumption.

"Who dares speak in our presence?"

He didn't dare glance round at Daniel, though O'Neill wanted to tell him to keep silent, that drawing Hathor's attention to himself this way was nothing if not a bad idea. He had seen the servants she had killed when her petulant nature had determined that one of them had wronged her somehow. Hathor's favoured position, as Ra's Queen, meant that she could do no wrong, that no-one was immune from her power, and O'Neill didn't want Daniel to be the next victim.

"My Queen," O'Neill said, looking up to where Hathor sat on her ornately carved throne. He had to bring Hathor's attention back to himself, away from Daniel. "It has been many moons since I was last in your presence."

She was still angry, that much was clear, her eyes flashing with golden light, but he had distracted her a little, at least. It was still very possible that she could lash out, end Daniel's life with as little thought as O'Neill himself might squash an insect, but the longer he distracted her, the more chance Daniel could survive this encounter.

"You are welcome here, O'Neill," she said, her eyes returning to their normal blue. There was something about them that was similar to Daniel - was it possible that Hathor's Host and Daniel were related somehow? It was clear that he had known her, at least. "But that you enter our presence with such a disobedient slave pleases us not."

O'Neill could almost hear Daniel begin to protest, to state that he was no man's slave. He had to act, before Daniel spoke again and sealed his fate once and for all.

"He is merely overawed by your presence, my Queen," he continued, falling back on the flattery that had always worked with Hathor in the past. The words choked him even as he spoke them, their hypocrisy left a bitter taste. Had he ever believed the honeyed words he had used on Hathor in the past? "Who would not be overwhelmed to see their Queen for the first time?"

Hathor looked unconvinced and O'Neill considered saying more; it was possible Hathor believed he spoke from his heart, but he had no way of knowing what she knew about his fall from power. Did she even know that he was a fugitive?

"I had not thought to find myself in your presence again," he said, after a brief moment of silence.

That was enough to bring her attention back to the first thing she had said, it seemed. Hathor smiled, a cold and avaricious look, no joy or life within it.

"We had heard tales of your downfall, O'Neill. That you had left the palace, left your position as our husband's First Prime." Hathor paused, as if waiting for him to deny it. "And we are interested in offering you a chance to regain your former position." She had risen from her throne as she spoke, descending the steps of the dais on which it stood. "Rise."

Slowly, O'Neill stood, his eyes fixed on Hathor as he did so. When the two of them were standing face to face, Hathor spoke again, her voice so quiet that O'Neill had to lean forward to hear her words clearly.

"We shall gift you with our trust, O'Neill," she said. "Serve us, and we shall reward your loyalty as we take what is rightfully ours."

From where he was still kneeling, Daniel wondered just what was going on. He wasn't close enough to either of them to be able hear the words exchanged between O'Neill and Hathor, and even if he had been he was still reeling a little from discovering what had happened to his childhood friend.

He had known Samantha for years, they had been more like brother and sister than anything else, but he knew that Samantha's father had considered they might marry. That wasn't such an appalling idea, Daniel had decided - after all, they were friends first and foremost, so that relationship could form the basis for something deeper.

Except that this had changed dramatically one winter day. Samantha had been taken away by the guards, along with a number of other young women from the village. And while they had been returned, most of them, telling stories of the ornate room in which they had been held, Samantha and a couple of others had never been seen again. Daniel had always wondered what had happened to them, always feared the worst but never thought he would see any of them again.

Samantha looked so different. Where once she dressed in common robes like him and the rest of the villagers, now she wore a dress of iridescent material, clasped about her waist with an ornately jewelled belt. Though her face was essentially unchanged, there was something about her eyes that proclaimed her as a Host for Hathor, something cold and calculating that Daniel had never seen in his friend before.

Was there still anything of the Samantha he had known in this woman who stood before him now?

Hathor was face to face with O'Neill now, the words that passed between them a mere whisper. Even if he craned forward, conscious of the guards that stood ready to slap him down to the ground once more, Daniel could only hear the occasional hissed syllable. Not enough to know what was being said, or offered, or promised.

He thought he saw O'Neill waver slightly.

What could Hathor possibly be saying to the Jaffa that would interest him? Yet he still stood there, intent, unmoving.

Surely O'Neill couldn't turn his back on what he had learned to follow Hathor? It seemed impossible that he could do so, but with the way things had changed between them so recently, Daniel was no longer completely sure.

After all, O'Neill had served Ra faithfully for many years, so what was to stop him from changing his mind about his rebellion? He could give his allegiance to Hathor, serve her in whatever plan she was making, and all that Daniel had worked so hard to achieve could be thrown away. More perhaps, since O'Neill knew where the resistance were currently hiding.

Daniel considered this, growing more concerned as each moment passed. Had he made a mistake after all? Done just what Skaara had accused him of and brought destruction to the tiny resistance movement?

No, he had to believe that the change he had seen in O'Neill was a real one. He couldn't have been fooled, or misled into thinking that O'Neill was against Ra now, could he? Or was it just that O'Neill had seen what sacrifice he would be making and decided that the price was too high?

She was standing close to him now, so close that their faces almost touched, her voice low and soothing, so low that he had to strain to hear the words. And it seemed right, the way it should be, the way it should have been all along.

"Serve us, O'Neill," she said. "Kill our husband and regain your rightful place as our First Prime."

He had been a fool. What could have given him the idea that he should turn from everything he knew, everything he had worked for, to follow a foolish slave into the desert?

"We shall rule this place. You shall lead our armies and crush all who would stand in our way."

His rightful place was as the servant of the Goa'uld, O'Neill knew that now. How fortunate he was that his Queen would take him back and that, despite all that he had done, she should trust him to serve her once more.

Hathor turned, crossing the short distance between where O'Neill stood and the dais and took her place on her throne once more.

There was something about the expression on Samantha's face that Daniel just didn't like. He had to keep reminding himself that the woman who currently sat on that throne wasn't his friend, that she was merely the puppet of a parasitic creature, but that didn't stop the pain he was feeling.

He wondered what it must be like for Samantha, whether she had any awareness of her fate. Or was she merely the shell inhabited by the creature who now ruled her? There was no way of telling - even if she was aware, the creature was strong.

"Guards, leave us," Hathor said.

Rough hands grasped the shoulders of Daniel's robe, in preparation for the guards to drag him from the room. He had to fight this - who knew what would happen to him if they took him from here?

"No, leave the slave." Daniel was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor once more, his knees impacting with the cool stone. "We have need of him."

Why did those few words send a chill through his body, Daniel wondered. He risked a swift glance over to O'Neill, only to see that he was still just standing there. He had not reacted at all to Hathor's order, not moved a muscle to protest Daniel being taken away. If he had a bad feeling about this before, Daniel knew now that something was wrong.

The guards bowed their way from the chamber, leaving the three of them alone - Hathor sat on her throne, O'Neill like a statue before her.

"A test," she purred, the words husky. "Prove your loyalty to us. Kill the slave."

Daniel began to get up from his knees. In hindsight, that order hadn't been completely unexpected, and he wondered what chance he stood of making it out of the chamber alive. Of course, Hathor's order relied on O'Neill's obedience.

"Of course, my Queen," O'Neill said, turning to where Daniel was crouched.

Their eyes met. There was nothing alive in O'Neill's gaze, nothing that could give Daniel hope that this was somehow a ruse, a way of making Hathor trust him so that he could destroy her. All he saw was blankness, which meant that he had to think fast or he might be dead very shortly.

"You don't want to do this, O'Neill," Daniel said, backing away. "Trust me, this isn't what you want."

There was no response, not even a flicker of recognition in O'Neill's face. It was clear he had no idea who Daniel was, no memory of what they had shared together in the time they had known one another. He had to be under Hathor's control somehow, it was clear he wasn't acting of his own accord.

"Slowly, O'Neill," Hathor said, her voice carrying from where she sat, watching avidly. "We would enjoy this fully."

Daniel's back was to the wall now, there was nowhere left for him to run to. Death was facing him with a face he had come to know better than his own. This was wrong, this was something that O'Neill couldn't live with, wouldn't be able to live with once he realised what he had done. If he'd been afraid for himself, unable to believe that this was really happening, Daniel knew he had to act, to save both of them from what was about to happen.

O'Neill was reaching for him now, hands outstretched to take Daniel by the throat and choke the very life from him. He couldn't let this happen. With one swift movement, Daniel pulled the knife he carried from its place in his belt and slashed upwards, catching O'Neill across the palm of one hand. If he had been completely honest, Daniel hadn't even been sure it would draw blood, but it did so, making O'Neill hiss with the sudden pain.

The effect was amazing. It was as if O'Neill woke from sleep, his face regaining all the life that it had formerly lacked, his eyes bright with life where before they had been blank.

"Daniel?" he croaked. O'Neill took a step back, cradling his injured hand to his chest, eyes wide with confusion and pain.

Daniel's horrified eyes fixed on the knife he still held. The knife that was red with O'Neill's blood. Even though he had known it needed to be done, that there was no other way to even try and break whatever control Hathor had over him, Daniel hadn't considered how harming O'Neill would make him feel. Daniel's stomach churned uneasily, rebelling against the idea of drawing his lover's blood.

Movement from behind O'Neill drew Daniel's attention away from the knife. It was Hathor, her face twisted with fury, advancing on the two of them with her hand outstretched, the jewel that nestled in her palm blazing with light.

"You have failed us, O'Neill," she snarled. Then she turned to Daniel, raising her hand a little more. "We shall kill this one who defies us, then you shall join him in death."

The pain blazed through his hand, fire ripping through his mind in its wake, making O'Neill wonder just what had happened. The last thing he remembered clearly was being brought into Hathor's presence, wondering whether Daniel would keep quiet about being called a slave and then.. nothing. Until the pain.

He glanced at his hand, automatically cradling it against his chest as he tried to stop the bleeding. Where *was* Daniel, anyway? O'Neill looked up from his hand, only to find Daniel just standing there, staring with wide eyes at the knife he held, the knife whose blade shone red with fresh blood. Just what had happened here?

Hathor's voice shook him back to reality and he turned to see her advancing on the two of them, her eyes glinting with the same power that made her hand device so deadly. It seemed that she planned to kill both of them now, but why had she waited so long to do so? And why send her guards out of the room, if that was her plan? Or... O'Neill's mind fumbled for the memories he knew were there.

No. He couldn't have allowed himself to be seduced by her, somehow made obedient to Hathor's will. Could he? But that was the only explanation that fitted. Knowing her cruel nature, Hathor had doubtless ordered him to kill Daniel, as a test of his loyalty no doubt, and he had obeyed. Except that she hadn't reckoned on Daniel fighting back in any way.

He had jostled his hand somehow and a fresh wave of pain swept through O'Neill. Daniel had done the unexpected, found a way through Hathor's control, even though it had clearly horrified him to do so.

Now it was his turn. If Hathor wasn't stopped, then she would do what she promised, kill both of them without any more thought than if she stepped on an insect. Even if he had been a fool, letting her control him, he couldn't let Daniel die at her hand. And it was clear that Daniel was in no state to fight her, still shocked by what he had already been forced to do.

As Hathor passed him, ignoring him, O'Neill stepped forward, grabbing the knife from Daniel's grasp. He was standing behind Hathor now, and he sank the knife into her side before she could turn on him, feeling its point rake across a number of ribs.

"Move, Daniel!" he snapped, as her hand jerked upwards. Daniel threw himself to the floor as the blast from the hand device took out a sizeable piece of wall roughly where his head had just been.

As Hathor struggled in his grasp, O'Neill pulled the knife out once more, before finding the right place this time, the blade slipping easily between the ribs it had hit before.

He had been so sure this time that he was going to die. How many times could one person cheat death, anyway? Daniel had seen the look on Hathor's face, the rage that fuelled the device she was about to use on him, and wished that it could have been different.

If only he and O'Neill had met in another place, another time, then it might not have come to this - they could have had time together, learned whether what they had was something that could last. Instead, it seemed everything would end here, in a room much like the one in which it had begun.

Daniel closed his eyes, not wanting to see his own death approach.

Then movement, as the knife he still held was taken from his hand, making Daniel's eyes snap open in surprise. O'Neill had reacted, even when Daniel had been sure no help was coming from any source, using Daniel's knife on Hathor now, as she struggled in his embrace.

The rage in her face was overwhelming, almost hypnotic. It was a combination of Daniel's own reflexes and O'Neill's snapped command that made Daniel move just before Hathor killed him, letting lose with a blast from that hand device of hers that would have taken his head off for certain.

From where he lay sprawled on the floor, Daniel watched the struggle between the two of them, recognising the death blow when it came, the ease with which the knife slid between Samantha's ribs. As the blade slid home, her struggles ceased and Samantha's body slumped against O'Neill's body and he lowered her to the ground.

"She's dead?" Daniel's voice sounded shaky, and O'Neill watched him out of the corner of his eye as he levered himself up from where he lay by the wall.

"Is not one tyrant bad enough?" O'Neill asked, as he crouched beside Hathor's dying body. "Should I overthrow one and replace him with another? What would be the good in that?"

"What about Samantha?" Daniel asked, sinking to his knees next to the body of his friend.

"Would you have preferred her to be Hathor's host forever?" O'Neill's voice sounded cold even to himself, each syllable he spoke clipped and harsh. "Trapped in a living hell, a helpless witness to every evil deed and word that Hathor chose to commit?"

His words were too harsh, he knew that, but somehow O'Neill couldn't stop them. He had to make Daniel understand that this wasn't something he'd enjoyed doing, it was something over which he'd had no choice, no control.

And he was angry too, O'Neill discovered, angry that he'd allowed himself to be controlled so easily. Angry that he had put Daniel in a position where he had to harm one he cared for in order to save him.

The truth was that he had Daniel to thank for his freedom and he didn't know where to start. Harsh words were easier than the apology that he needed to make, the words that he didn't know how to begin to say.

Daniel reached out and stroked a stray lock of hair back from Samantha's forehead, stopping himself from flinching when those so familiar eyes turned to him once more, somehow still alive. This wasn't his friend, it hadn't been her since she had been taken - what things had she witnessed, what had she experienced?

"You're right," Daniel said, finally. The words alone were painful, more so the realization that Samantha wouldn't have wished to live that way. She had been so full of life, a life that Hathor had stolen from her as surely as if she'd killed Samantha the day she was taken as a host.

He was reaching out once more, to make what gesture Daniel wasn't quite sure, when he became aware of a swift movement. Something was happening to Samantha, even as her eyes closed finally in death and her face relaxed.

He'd reacted without even thinking, instinct making him snatch up the fallen knife and use it to impale the symbiote as it escaped from its former host. O'Neill winced at the pain that raced up his arm as he drove the knife through the Goa'uld's quivering body over and over again. He couldn't allow this to happen, couldn't allow Daniel to be taken by that creature, enslaved by it.

It was Daniel's hand fastening over his, his fingers being peeled away from their grip of the knifes rough hilt that brought him back to reality. His hand ran with blood from the cut Daniel had made.

"It's over," Daniel's voice said, even as the world spun around him.

As much as he hated to pick up the knife, the one he had used on O'Neill and then had killed Samantha and the Goa'uld she was host to, he had no choice.

Daniel pulled it from the Goa'uld's body, wiping it quickly on Hathor's robe before using the blade on the edge of her formerly immaculate robe. He tore off a strip of material from a part not sullied with her blood, turning O'Neill's hand over palm-up and wincing at the damage he had done.

"You had no choice," O'Neill said. Daniel looked up from his contemplation of the Jaffa's hand. "I would have killed you."

"I know." He turned his attention to bandaging the cut, glad that the bleeding had slowed. "I just wish things could have been different for Samantha."

"She has been dead since Hathor took her." Daniel felt himself wince at the words and realised O'Neill must have seen his reaction when the Jaffa's voice softened. "You did what was right, for all of us, and didn't let your own feelings get in the way."

"And that makes it easier?"

"No." Daniel let go of O'Neill's hand and watched him flex it, tentatively. "Nothing makes it easier," O'Neill said. "Not now, but it will be better in the future. One day it won't hurt as much. Trust me."

"I do," Daniel said, surprised at his own ability to smile after all that had happened here. "And I think we should leave before Hathor's guards return."