If Daniel had been there, he wouldn't have let them put a snake in my head. Except Daniel was there, wasn't he? Don't know if he's been hanging over our shoulders the whole way, or if he just stopped in when he saw I was over my head. Maybe he was there, and he tucked in that breeze thing of his and hid out in the corner and watched them load me into a coffin and kick me through the 'Gate to die.

Oh, sure, they did it to save my life. And I guess it worked, because I'm standing here now, aren't I? Fat lot of good that did me.

Mental note, Jack: when you get home, talk to Hammond about amending your living will to explicitly include "implantation of a symbiote" in the category of "extraordinary measures" you don't want used to save your life. Of course, that'll mean your legal documents will turn into something it's worth a prison sentence to give to someone who isn't in the program, but it's not like you're going to get tortured to death on your way to the 7-11 for some milk.

If you get home. If.

If Daniel had been there, he wouldn't have let them do it. No symbiote, no healing, no mission, no rescue, no capture. And then, kids, we would not be in this charming little room with these charming little guards, having these charming little conversations, and Daniel wouldn't have ever been here to give us that look and tell us his hands are tied and he's very sorry but he's just going to let them keep on fucking us. It's one of those neat little circular paradox puzzles Carter's always on about. If you could go back in time and shoot your own grandfather, would you cease to exist?

Me, that's never made any sense. Why shoot your grandfather? What'd he ever do to you? Unless you were Daniel, in which case I'd understand why you might want to, but I'm not thinking about Daniel right now. Trying not to, anyway. It only makes me want to punch him, and that's a little tough at the moment.

This is it, Jack. End of the line. Nobody's going to come to rescue you. Nobody knows where you are. Daniel made that pretty clear.

Well, nobody knows where you are except for Daniel. And you're not speaking to Daniel at the moment.

Maybe Kanan's out there somewhere, still. Maybe he's waiting in the woods for some other poor sucker to come along and offer himself up to get raped. I feel sorry for that guy, whoever he's going to be. Bend over and spread your legs, fella; it hurts going in and it hurts a fuck of a lot coming out and they don't even give you enough time to grab your ankles and grit your teeth and think of England. It's all for your own good. Right.

Maybe Kanan will come and get you. Maybe he picked up enough from you to know that you don't leave your people behind. Isn't that why you're here, after all?

Oh, God, I'm going crazy. Already. I'm talking to myself. They put a snake in my head and the next thing I know I'm in a cell and I'm hallucinating. Except Daniel's not a hallucination, is he? No, he's just a complete fucking stranger wearing Daniel's face. Dressed in Daniel's clothes. Sounds completely like Daniel, too, except for the part where he refused to do a single fucking thing to help me out of here. Too busy trying to get me to join his cult. Maybe they give you the free steak knives after the tenth convert.

The sarcophagus is going to change me, right, Danny? Turn me into something I'm not, take away all the little bits of Jack you walked away from. You made that part clear. Must be something there you think you'd miss, or you wouldn't have bothered showing up. But you know, if "snake in the head" is on the list of things I should have remembered to put in my living will, "turning into a glowing octopus" should be, too, because I don't like what the snake turned me into but I don't like what this turned you into even more. I remember when I could count on you to pull the plug when it needed to be pulled, and you did it. Were going to do it. I miss that guy. He was a pretty good friend of mine.

Do you miss that Jack? Say your goodbyes to him, because he's not going to get out of it this time. He's going to die a thousand deaths until one of them finally sticks and you're going to be too chickenshit to watch it and you're going to know that you could have stopped it at any time.

Not that I blame you, really. You've got your orders. Oh, wait, yeah, I do, because you never used to follow orders when they got in the way of the right thing. Guess that's something else you left behind when you traded in your body for a fancy pair of dancing shoes.

Do I sound bitter? Oops. Sorry. Didn't mean to dump that on you.

God, Daniel, no, I really didn't mean it. Where are you? They're going to come back for me soon and I don't know how much longer I can take this. I need you, Daniel. Please, God, I know I've never been a good little boy but I need You to get your act in gear here and let him come back, okay? And if you're feeling generous, send him back with a platoon of Marines and maybe a nuke or two while You're at it? Sincerely, Your ob'd't srvt, Jack O'Neill.

Daniel? It's cold in here and I think I might be going batshit. Come get me. Come end this. I don't give a flying fuck about my soul, I just want this to stop and I can't end it myself. Fucking Tok'ra. If I had my own gear, I could have killed myself six ways to Sunday by now.

Of course, then I'd just wake up in the fucking box again. Well, I always said I wanted a better way to fix the knees than having to face surgery every few years for the rest of my life, right? Don't think the FDA will ever approve it for human trial, though. The side effects are a fucking bitch.

If Daniel comes back, he's not going to kill me again. Going to not kill me again. He'll drop a few barbs and try to convince me that Ascended is the new black and really, I should be used to it by now, because the minute I met him he was already trying to talk me out of suicide. It's kind of funny, isn't it? We used to joke that Daniel had a revolving door to the afterlife, but I think I'm well past his total now. It's almost a pity I'm not going to make it back to base, because I could probably pick up a couple hundred bucks from the dead pool. Most workplaces, you know, the deceased isn't the one who collects the money.

Daniel's got better things to do right now, I guess. I wonder how much of his attention I even had while he was here. Maybe he's off somewhere figuring out how many angels can dance on the head of a pin and he'll come back to me when he finds the sound of one hand clapping. If Jack falls down a hundred-foot shaft, and nobody can hear him scream except the snake, does he make a sound? I don't know. The sarcophagus heals up a throat that's scraped raw from yelling just like it heals everything else and when I wake up I can't even separate out the last time from all the rest of them.

God, I've never hated anyone stronger than I hate Daniel right now. Of course, I've never loved anyone stronger than I loved him, either, so I suppose it's par for the fucking course. You hear me, Danny, wherever that asshole wearing your skin has tucked you away? Better drink your fill now, because I get the feeling that's one of the parts the damn box is going to take away. Is that why you don't want to let it happen? Because you know the hate's there, and you don't want to see it win? Got news for you; it wouldn't, if you'd just do what I asked. Of course, you never have before, so why should I expect you to now?

Oh, God, Daniel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I didn't. Come back to me. Please, I need you --

Okay. No. You need to get a grip, Jack. They're going to be coming back for you. You need to be ready for them. You and the snake and a bunch of things stuffed in your head that you can't remember, and that's all you've got, and that's all you can let yourself have. You've only got a few more times before you crack completely.

Better make them count. Your team isn't coming to rescue you. None of them know where you are.

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