cametopass

T.O's Note: I haven't read any Continuum-related missing scene fics, so I can only assume that whatever's out there would be pretty similar to this one. Still, I had the persistent nagging urge to fill in some gaps myself.

Part 1

"God. Oh, crap." Succumbing to panic was vastly simpler than achieving the task at hand, but that would only lead to agonizing terror and painful death, Daniel thought as he tried to climb out of the ship's cargo hold, through an aperture blasted into solid ice, his foot numb and offering no support. Hauling himself through the hole with gloves that kept slipping and one foot useless in supporting his heavily-clad mass, the ship's form shifting and creaking and tilting in a manner disrespectful of gravity and a body not used to climbing at such an angle minus one dead-weight limb, the only thought raging through Daniel's brain was, I'm going down with the ship. A ship he had no business being on in the first place, one he hardly wanted to be anywhere near. He'd be submerged in minutes, bombarded with ice water, frozen and dead before he could even watch his life pass before his eyes. Get a literal grip, Jackson, or you're going down with this ship.

Above the thunder of cracking ice he thought he heard Mitchell's panicked voice. “Jackson!”

“Jackson!”

His gloves found an edge and with arms forced to heft the full weight of a man's densely clothed body, he heaved and plummeted, sliding down an ice incline, grabbed by both of his teammates as he safely reached the bottom.

Out in the middle of nowhere, with no shelter in a raging wind and minus forty-three degree temperatures, safety was questionable. But at least he'd lived to find out what happened next.

God. They watched in horror and grim fascination as the ship toppled and slowly submerged behind them.

_____

No, it wasn't as though he wanted them to go, that wasn't it at all. At least, not without him. And it wasn't as though he really thought they'd find help in the few hours he had to live before severe hypothermia set in, in the few minutes he had to save his leg. But if they had any chance of surviving, they had to leave without him.

“Look, I'm being selfish here," wind swept away his breath. "Our only chance is for you guys to get within radio range of some kind of help. The sooner you go, the sooner you can send back help for me.” For a drawn-out moment, he had the distinct impression that Sam could read the truth in his eyes. She was looking through him, into him, deeply. He wanted to look away, divert his gaze, but he couldn't, not if this was the last time he'd look into those gray-blue eyes of hers, either, his closest living friend on Earth.

He hadn't fooled her.

“Daniel.” Her voice broke, soft and emotional.

Sam was saying a final good-bye, and they both knew it.

They'd been through a lot together, endured hard times and misadventures, but Daniel never in his wildest nightmares imagined they'd die like this. “'Bye.” Faux cheeriness could only make it past one word.

Sam knew she had to go; they had not a minute to spare in these temperatures. They all knew the sun would not vastly warm things up in the morning or whatever time it rose here in the near-spring, not enough to save Daniel's leg, not soon enough to save his life. He'd freeze to death on the ice, and a lowered internal body temperature - along with possible gangrene - would speed things up. Still, he was doing his damnedest to remain optimistic, to be left behind with dignity, and Sam knew she had to pretend for his sake. His tone told her not to drag this out. Would a good-bye hug crush Daniel's hope, shatter the thin illusion they were creating? She couldn't do that to him.

Reluctantly she rose, and turned her back on her dear friend, her teammate for the past eleven years. They'd become family, embedded in each other's hearts. Through good times and bad, they'd stayed at each others sides, boosting spirits, experiencing both joy and sadness. It could have been any of them back there, stepping into that water. Daniel had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, otherwise he'd have been able to get these boots on just as she and Cam had. It could have just as easily been her foot going through those decayed planks. Tears stung her throat; she couldn't allow them freedom, not in these temperatures where they'd freeze and cause havoc at the corners of her eyes. Somewhere out there, there had to be help. They had to save Daniel's life.

Daniel watched them go, the last two living beings within miles of a frozen wasteland, the last two living beings he'd ever see or speak to, ever again, never again. He knew he had little time, stranded here in a vast desert of ice, maybe nothing but a frozen strip of ocean that could crack at any moment, sending him… still… down with the ship, with a leg that was painfully freezing him to death. He tried to keep the moisture from leaving his own eyes; he'd never be able to wipe tears away before they froze. He had quickly become the last of three living two-legged creatures in an expanse of brutally cold nothingness, and the only other two in meaningful existence were walking away from him, out of necessity leaving him behind.

As for four-legged creatures, he might be terribly appealing to the palate of a hungry polar bear, one from which he would never be able to run, and a flashlight didn't serve as a formidable weapon. He was a sitting duck out here; if a bear didn't get him, the cold would, and that was indisputable. It was just a question of which would claim victory first.

“Oh, shit.”

Sounds of a ship still plunging to the depths of a partly frozen ocean, and the crunching of footsteps having long faded into the interminable moans of wind and a blackness of night broken only by the Aurora Borealis playing eerily over his head, gave way to overwhelming, extreme anguish bathed in silence, an inhuman silence maintained even in that ferocious gale, amplified by the vast emptiness of the snow-laden environment.

With the howling wind and blowing drifts, his hood pulled as low on his face as it could logically go, his two colleagues long out of the range of visibility, Daniel realized exactly how alone and miserable he would truly be… for the rest of his life.

_____

The winds chilling the bare skin of her face, Sam couldn't dare to imagine what would have happened had they not found this foul weather gear in time. Or she could imagine, and the internal chill rivaled that of the -40 degree cold. She had no idea how long they could continue walking, but the alternative was horrific. And Daniel…

Daniel didn't even have the possibility of catching up with them.

“We left him behind once before.” Guilt. The first words she'd uttered in three quarters of an hour. It was hard to talk against the wind, hard to get her lips to move the way she needed them to do, hard to breathe in the bitterly crisp arctic air. At least, she assumed this was the arctic. The ship had set out from Africa to America; how far off course had it actually drifted, and how long into the journey?

Pretty damn far, all things considered.

“When Adria got to him.” Cam knew exactly what she meant. Had their actions burned a place of guilt into his soul as well as hers?

Sam nodded, but he couldn't see.

“I had no idea how we'd get him back, then.” Mitchell's ghosts were not afraid of venturing out in this cold.

“Neither did I.” No matter how horrible that had been, Sam couldn't help feeling this was infinitely worse. They'd suspected the Ori wouldn't kill Daniel, not that death was the worst thing they could have done to him. They'd still had a diluted hope they'd find a way to save him; they could pretend. They hadn't known for certain that Adria had taken Daniel alive, or hadn't needed to revive him after doing unspeakable acts against him… like burning him to death or torturing him for information or simply out of anger, but neither had they had indisputable proof of his death. Now, though, the present reality negated even hope; they'd left him there on the ice, immobile, waiting. Waiting for death, helpless, no magic and no sarcophagus to see him through this. He'd feigned optimism, but she knew that ruse had been mostly for her sake. Daniel was intelligent; so was she. They both knew the chances and they knew the risks. They both knew how little time he had, with that frozen leg and no sign of civilization. And this was their world, their planet; they knew the environment of the arctic. Had they ever been considering a stargate mission to such a harsh climate, she could hear General, or Colonel, O'Neill's voice in her head, “Yeah, right. Over my dead body.” She felt the tears prickling again. The voice beside her brought her senses back to life, brought her out of her musings, and there was that unrelenting cold again, taunting her with 'I told you so's.

“Don't, Sam.”

She nodded, willing the tears away. Ice on her face would be the worst thing she could do to herself at the moment. She had to stop thinking of Daniel, alone back there, preparing to die. She cursed that her last, final, act might be leaving him behind.

For it was likely she and Cam would die too, sometime very soon. How far could they really get on foot, in these conditions? The probability of anyone being around within a few hundred miles of radio contact was slim, and even in the off-chance that their mayday would be picked up, then what? It would take hours for rescue to reach them. If Daniel had been here, they'd still probably all die, in each other's arms trying to keep warm. Sam's mind wandered. Would she end up dying in Cam's arms? Probably. And Daniel would die alone. She felt the tears again. Military training be damned; she'd just left a disabled friend to fend for himself in a hostile environment, and she couldn't dissociate from her human emotions. Her weakened physical state added emotional vulnerability, she told herself.

Stop.

Stop thinking about Daniel. She couldn't dwell on him. They couldn't talk about him. Nor could they talk about being hundreds of miles from help, couldn't talk about being stranded in this deserted, frozen wasteland. Couldn't talk about the possibility Ba'al had taken over Earth. Couldn't talk about General O'Neill's death.

So, what could they talk about? The possibility that bears were lying in wait, just over the next frozen ridge?

_____

It was biting cold here on the ice, too cold to lie down, and Daniel used his energy to force his body to remain upright. For all he knew, he was frozen into that seated position anyway, although he knew exhaustion would soon put that theory to the test. The clothing Cam had found might have kept him reasonably comfortable, had an icy chill not been working its way up his body from within, and had he been able to get the legwear and thickly lined boots on. Instead, the water that had seeped into his boot had frozen; his foot was encased in ice. There was no way to compensate for the cold inside him now, no way to cancel out the offensive effects of his frozen leg and the raw chill creeping through his bones. He was slowly freezing to death, and had already stopped shivering, the first sign of hypothermia. Trying again to pull the coat over his lower limb in a vain attempt to warm it up, he still could feel nothing but numbness. It was as though his leg was already gone.

What was the point of trying so hard? Finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion, to sleep, his heart doing push-ups with every movement, Daniel allowed his aching body to work its way to the ground, the wind against his back, although it felt as if the wind was coming from every direction. There was no way he could survive for the hours it would take Sam and Mitchell to find help and return for him; he had no presumptions of making it through the night. Nor was Daniel in the habit of self-deception; he'd sent his friends off to save themselves, not him, and the chances of even that were slim. As distressing as it was to think of them succumbing to the cold, he at least knew they'd give it their best shot, and they had each other for support. As flimsy a comfort as that was, it was all he could offer himself.

Thinking was a bitch.

Daniel had no idea how much time had passed; his mind told him it couldn't have been more than an hour, but his body tried to get him to believe it had been days. Days of pain, of burning bitter cold. Days of fear and sorrow, days of despair. Maybe he ought to just lie down completely and try to let go. He knew he was going into shock.

“Don't, Daniel.” Daniel opened his eyes at the sound of Sam's pleading voice, but was greeted only to the sight of blowing ice dust and the continuous sound of raging wind. His eyes slid closed again. Dreams were more welcome if he never had to wake up and find himself here.

“Stay awake, Daniel. Don't do this.” What? Again, Daniel's eyes flashed open wide, even knowing deep within that Jack was gone. He'd watched his friend die; good thing Jack couldn't see him now. Better to have gone the way he did, quickly, with friends at his side, than to freeze to death in an ill-conceived time line.

Forget it, guys. Forget me. It's time for me to sleep. Going to sleep, now.

The noise was alarming behind him, terrifying, and it jerked Daniel awake again, his heart screaming for escape from a body too close to death to need it much longer. Was that the ship completing its descent, or the ice cracking beneath him, ready to take him down? After all this, an hour of pain and mind-hell, was he going to be tossed into ice water after all?

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, an act that required more effort and determination than natural ability, Daniel turned towards the sound, preparing to see crevasses forming behind him, around him, threatening to swallow him alive.

Instead, what he saw - thought he saw - was a phenomenal rendering of incomprehension, bizarre and otherworldly. The man who'd been to hundreds of alien planets, seen more than any possible range of human acceptance, forgot he was still on Earth, as his brain and vision registered a parting of the seas, a blackness rising from the depths of hell, an outrageous monster emerging from the underworld to claim its trapped, helpless prey.

So when Daniel's mind returned inconspicuously to the present, to Earth, it was with reason that he inferred his home planet, subjected to the indignities of time travel, had indeed been taken over by Ba'al.

Daniel fell backward, dropping to the ice in exhaustion and defeat. Rescue by Ba'al, a gloating, arrogant, treacherous system lord who'd tortured Jack and delighted in playing God, was no rescue at all. Better to die now, quickly. Free.

Lights and shadow played over the ice, over him. Daniel turned his face further into his coat, only one eye peeking out.

That was when, for a brief instant, his mind cleared, and so did the shadows. The monster was looking very much like the sail of a submarine.

Numbness and shock warred with common sense as the light halted on his prone form.

“Hello- - -!”

The wind was talking. Daniel pulled his coat around himself further.

“Hello! Hello!” A more human voice was calling out, and more search lights joined the first.

Daniel raised his arm, a meek semblance of a wave. “Help.” The sound that left his numb lips was lost in his hood, in the wind, in his mind. “Help me,” he whispered.

He may have fallen asleep, or lost momentary consciousness, or dropped into some other ether, for when the bulky bodies lifted him under the arms it came as a complete surprise. The cold and numbness of a disobedient body quickly reminded him where he was, but its movements were foreign, and Daniel couldn't be sure it wasn't all a dream. He was moving, but he wasn't in control.

“Sam,” he whispered in exhaustion.

“Sam? Your name is Sam?”

Daniel's body shuddered, grew heavier, yet it continued to drift, not of his own accord. Opening his stinging eyes as wide as he could in the wind and cold, he could make out the shapes of men, one in front of him, two at his sides. If they were Jaffa, they were handling him gently.

“Cammm. Colone…el M…Mitchell.”

“You're Colonel Mitchell?” Someone was yelling, but he could hardly hear.

“No. Dan….” iel. His mumbling, stuttering voice choked in the crisp cold, ice crystals forming down his throat, and awareness kept deserting him.

Sam, Cam, Dan. They couldn't hear him in this gale, and he was likely delirious. “Alright, stay quiet until we're inside. Then you can tell us who you are and what you're doing out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Can you climb?” A voice shouted in his ear, but the wind whisked the words away.

Climb? Why would he want to climb? Sleep. That's what he needed to do. But he had to tell them first, had to let them know… his friends…

“Secure him with the rope. I don't think he can make it up on his own.”

Maybe he passed out again, for when Daniel opened his eyes he was again shivering in the warmth, and he was on his back, facing a bright ceiling. Not a Goa'uld ship, from what he remembered. Lying in a bed covered with blankets, a pillow under his head. He would have been warm, if he wasn't freezing. Something inside him was tingling, burning; no, all of him was tingling, itchy, painful. There was a stabbing pain in his lower limbs, and as he tried to focus the voice sounded again.

“We've given you antibiotics and pain medication. When that leg thaws, it's going to be hard to live with.”

Daniel nodded, his eyes closing once more. Whatever was going on, he could wait until morning to understand it. One thing, though, couldn't wait 'til morning, and if these guys were pleasant Jaffa - like Teal'c - he had to take the chance.

“My friends,” he mumbled through his haze. “Help them.”

A short silence preceded the question. “There were others out there with you?”

Daniel nodded slightly.

“We didn't see anyone else.”

“Walked. Looking. Looking… for help.”

“Colonel Mitchell. Is that you?”

Daniel shook his head, eyes remaining shut.

“Your companion?”

Daniel nodded, wanting to tell them Mitchell was real, not a figment of his imagination. Real, here, in the arctic, not dead. Not dead. Sam, not dead.

“Alright. Get some rest. We'll keep an eye out.”

Daniel heard more voices fading into somewhere covered in ice and snow, but he couldn't feel a thing as he walked toward a very, very bright ocean freighter, outlined in painted gold.

_____

He woke up slowly, flirting with consciousness, images and memories returning in flashes of black and white. Ba'al. Ice. Arctic.

Sam and Cam leaving.

A frozen leg.

Death. He was supposed to be dead.

Daniel jerked awake, the room lit dimly. He was secure in a warm bed, alone. Emotions exploded one after the other as memories came clear and insinuations embedded themselves in his psyche. Sam and Cam had walked away, into the wind and billowing ice crystals and minus forty degree night. And the simple truth of that was, if they'd been found… well, they'd be here with him right now. They wouldn't have left him to wake up alone on this strange submarine, in a time line that wasn't his, where no one alive even knew of his existence.

The next realization left him stranded in his own fear and sweat. Moving his right foot, he felt around gingerly for his left. Relief, then alarm; the limb was there, but he couldn't feel anything. For a moment, icy panic blazed into his heart, knowing but not wanting to accept.

He ought to be dead. Losing a leg was not the worst that could happen to him.

Not the worst thing.

Not the worst.

Slowly Daniel forced his composure back into his soul. The irony was nearly unbearable.

Sam and Cam were gone. They would never have survived the night. He, Daniel, the one who should have died, lay here in a bed on an Earth that was not as he had known it only twenty-four hours before. There was no way he, alone, could ever return things to the way they were supposed to be. Maybe it would have been better if he had died out there, too.

Trying to sit up, Daniel tugged the blanket off his left side, hampered by the tube attached with a needle to his arm. His leg lay there, toes bare… and he gagged. Even expecting the worst, it was disconcerting to see his foot such an odd colour, covered with blisters. It was a foreign leg, not his own. It took three tries before the blanket had covered him again, and the expenditure of energy exhausted him. Daniel sank back into the pillows, trying to control his escalating panic.

Not the worst thing.

Right now, his entire future was one of uncertainty.

For a long while Daniel lay still, trying to come to terms with his existence, to corral the pieces of his own life… what was left of them. After all he'd been through, he never in his wildest imagination thought he'd end up like this. He'd lost Sam, Mitchell, Vala, Teal'c, Jack; all those he cared about, in a single day. He had no idea where he could go from here, no one to turn to. No idea if he could deceive himself into believing it was even worth trying, any more.

The door opened and he shifted towards the sound, more from reflex than curiosity.

“Would you like to sit up, Sir?” The room light brightened.

Daniel responded limply. “Not really.”

“It's time for another dose of Duramorph.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Submarine IDC. No doctor on board.”

“Oh.”

Not liking the feeling of vulnerability before a stranger, Daniel reluctantly pushed himself into a sitting position, the pillows adjusted by the medic.

“You're lucky we found you when we did. How are you feeling?”

Daniel shrugged apathetically. “Can't feel my leg.”

“I'm sorry… but the truth is, that's a good thing; the analgesic is working. We had to take the chance that you're not allergic to morphine. There's a strong likelihood you'll lose the leg below the knee; we're sending you to Elmendorf for emergency medical treatment.”

“I can't go anywhere. My friends are still out there.”

Daniel comprehended the meaning in the medic's brief hesitation: 'if they exist'. “We're doing what we can to find them, but it's urgent that we get you to a proper medical facility as soon as possible.”

As the duty corpsman worked to make him more comfortable, or maybe to keep him alive, Daniel surveyed the room, an unsettling resignation dawning within. He was going to survive, yet he couldn't be positive that was a good thing.

"Jackson!"

Once more there was a commotion at the door, and Daniel found himself tossed into a fairy tale version of reality. Entering this time were the two people he had given up on… Sam and Mitchell. For a brief moment he believed his imagination was playing tricks, wishful thinking, Goa'uld magic… pain meds. What should have been immense relief was instead disguised disbelief.

"Hey!"

“Daniel!”

The voices sounded like heaven, and suddenly Daniel's leg didn't seem all that important to him any more.

_____

“Daniel,” Sam's quiet, strong voice assured him, “we'll help you through this. If we can't change things..." against odds that seemed insurmountable, no matter how determined she was to succeed... "we'll get a place together, the three of us. You won't have to manage on your own.”

They were there for him. If they had died out there, Daniel really didn't know how he would have coped with this situation. The one person missing was Jack, but in all fairness, Jack was gone. The Jack he knew had died days ago, in another time and place, another Earth that had, apparently, never happened. That this Jack didn't want to know him… well, that foundation had never been established in the first place. He couldn't take it personally.

Daniel told himself he was alive, convinced himself that was the most important thing. He'd forced himself to believe, coercing, consoling. But the shock of waking up with one leg gone was a hard reality to bear, and he knew that without the only two people in the world who knew how things really ought to be, knew him for who he really was, he never would have woken with the desire to set things right.

But now, getting the navy to believe seemed the most important thing in the world. They had to set Earth straight.

_____

Dead silence in the hangar. The deafening roar was his heart pounding its anger, frustration, shock; too much shock for a mind to cope with all at once. These two people were all he had left in a bizarre upside-down world. They meant everything to him.

Yet, some uninvolved, objective, unsympathetic morons, in their phobic misguided wisdom... which, oddly enough, he understood and was at a loss to condemn... were forbidding them to ever see each other again. Never speak to each other, without prior permission. All the times they'd saved Earth, risked their own lives… this was what it all came down to, in the end? A world in which they weren't even needed. In which their intelligence, knowledge, and dedication was feared by their own country's government. Bridges were burning, but the fires had been set by those who would never understand.

More selfishly this time, Daniel realized he was destined to deal with his losses - both emotional and physical - alone after all.

He saw Sam holding back the tears and knew that if she failed at that he'd be hard pressed not to follow. Even Cam appeared unable to speak.

The journey into the plane was intolerable. As Cam pushed his wheelchair… no, the wheelchair, for he would never accept it as his, Daniel kept his eyes on Sam beside him, and held tightly to the soft warm hand of a friend pressed into his own.

This couldn't be the final time they'd see each other.

_____

“Don't do this,” Sam tried again, keeping her voice too low to be overheard by Daniel, and calm enough to be considered rational. “We're all we have left. Daniel needs support; he needs someone to see him through this. I told him I'd be there.”

“He'll be supplied with physiotherapy, and eventually, prosthesis. We'll make sure he gets what he needs.”

“What he needs is his friends.”

“He'll make new ones.”

“Please - ”

“The decision has been made, Miss Carter. Pleading won't change anything.”

“At least allow us to contact each other by phone.”

“I'm afraid that isn't part of the deal.”

“Deal? What deal? You're taking everything and giving us nothing.”

“We're giving you accommodation and living expenses. That's quite fair for people who apparently don't even exist.”

People who don't exist. They didn't exist, and therefore must have no feelings, no emotional bonds. Sam was pitifully aware that was all they'd ever be, for the rest of their non-existence on this misaligned, misguided, narrow-minded clone of Earth. And it was all their fault.

She sat back, defeated. In her heart she knew that never seeing Daniel or Cam again… never mind General O'Neill… would tear her apart, yet she was the lucky one. At least she could walk.

The plane landed, and they were escorted into the hangar where more transportation awaited each of them. Cam walked at her side, head down, as Sam halted, waiting as their escort pushed Daniel a few meters behind. Her teammates… ex-teammates… looked miserable, and her heart ached for them both.

“Miss Carter.” Sam's representative was feigning patience. “Your bus is here.”

Sam ignored the sense of urgency in his manner.

“Miss Carter - ”

“That's Colonel!” She exploded. “Colonel Carter. And if this is the last time I'm going to see my friends, then the damn bus will just have to wait!” She swung back to Daniel and crouched down, capturing him in a fierce hug. “We'll meet again, Daniel. I promise,” she whispered in his ear, giving his cheek a long kiss. It was a promise she damn well meant to keep this time, no matter how long it took.

“How? You won't even know my new name. I won't know yours.” He wouldn't be in the phone book under Daniel Jackson, and even he hadn't been told yet what his name would be. Not while he was still with the others, just in case he told. And, of course, he would have. God, this wasn't happening. His arms wrapped around her, wanting never to let go, never to let this nightmare take effect.

“I'll find out. They can't shadow us forever.”

“I'll hold you to that, Sam.” Even if it takes years.

“Nothing's ever stopped me before. Nothing this important.” There was a sad wistful smile on her face as she pulled away. This time the tears hadn't been held back so well. “I wish I could help you through this,” she looked down at his leg in sincerity.

“I know. Don't worry, I'll be alright,” Daniel's own smile waned in its reassurance. “Take care of yourself.”

Sam nodded, wincing as she heard her name called again. She took Daniel's hand and gave it a squeeze, then turned and gave Mitchell a tight hug. Inhaling thickly, she released him and walked away.

Holding out his hand, Cam stepped closer to Daniel, his expression grim. “You take care of yourself, Jackson.”

Daniel reached out, grasping Cam's forearm Jaffa-style, and was immediately reminded of Teal'c. Another teammate who he'd not only never see again, but to whom he had not said good bye. “Yeah, you too.”

With a rueful hesitation, Mitchell placed his other hand on Daniel's shoulder. “Have a good life.”

“Right.”

“This isn't the end…Daniel.” Pulling from the grip and straightening up, Cam shook his head, and began walking towards the transport that would take him a world away from his friends. Where he was headed, he still had no clue. He hated that the choice would never be his. Who he would be… that evaded him too. All he knew was that his days of being a pilot and gate traveler were over.

Daniel watched them go, a churning in the pit of his stomach, as his delegate resumed pushing him towards another exit and his next flight. He watched as Sam paused, then saw her turn back towards him. “Wait,” he ordered.

Sam ran back, her eyes red, and threw her arms around him once more. “I couldn't let that be the last time,” she said, her voice dipping. Kissing him once more on the cheek and then quickly on the lips, she stood up, took a lingering look, then walked away, this time obediently following her escort out of the building.

Daniel watched her go, committing her form, her voice, her face, her touch, to memory. Then he closed his eyes and let himself be removed from that hangar and the life he had known, the person he had been, to be flown to wherever the hell he was going.

_____

Part 2

Jack was on his third post-lunch mid-afternoon coffee; he'd lost count of Daniel's. Carter and Teal'c were in the midst of some quirky hypothetical discussion when Mitchell came bounding into the archeology lab. Not so much bounding, really, as pouncing, with a look on his face that said, 'I have business to attend to and you're all invited'. No, maybe more of a “something's up” haunted sort of expression. Jack couldn't read him all that well yet.

“Good, you're still here, General.” Mitchell was dead serious; intense. Or maybe just tense. Maybe they were one and the same, in his case.

“So I am. Shooting the breeze with my old pals here.” Jack smiled ingratiatingly, but Mitchell's mood didn't ease. Jack wondered if the preoccupied colonel had even heard him.

“If I can interrupt, Sir, there's something you need to see.” Cam looked around. “All of you. And if someone wouldn't mind calling Vala...”

“She's gone for a Coke,” Sam informed him. “She'll be back any minute.”

Daniel studied Mitchell. He seemed more serious than his usual around-the-base hyper self. “What's up?”

“This,” Cam tossed a thick bank-labeled envelope onto the desk, “came for me today. It's from a bank's safe-deposit box.”

“And you want to share the wealth?” Jack inquired innocently.

“I want to share the letter. I started to read it, but Oh no, had to stop and get you all here first.”

“Who's it from?” Daniel peered over his shoulder as Vala entered the room.

Mitchell paused, “Me.”

Mild curiosity surrendered to near-silence.

“Why would you be sending a letter to yourself, and making us all listen?” Vala asked cheerily. She turned to Daniel and quietly whispered, “Sounds a bit arrogant, don't you think?”

'Because,” Mitchell answered, “I wrote it sixty-nine years ago.”

“What?”

“Before you were born?” Vala snorted impishly, as multiple sets of eyes focused on Mitchell, wondering what they were about to get themselves into this time.

“Slightly.” Mitchell threw her an agonized look. “It's dated 1939.”

Daniel reached out to take the letter, but his hand was swatted away. “You wrote a letter to yourself in 1939, and sent it in 2008…” he echoed blankly.

“The bank sent it. Pre-paid, with interest. Apparently I requested it be sent here, today. Sixty-nine years ago. Bank's changed hands since then but kept their vaults secure.”

“They had the address of the SGC?” Daniel queried uncomprehendingly. Sixty-nine years ago?

“And my name, along with today's date. And the letter is in my handwriting, with the same doodle I drew during yesterday's briefing. I had the address of the SGC.”

“Oy.” A sigh, and Jack settled back in his chair, shaking his head. “This should be good.” Stretching out his legs, he crossed his arms and waited. He didn't have to catch a flight until 7pm anyway.

“That's not all. I read the first few lines. Listen,” Cam cast them a quick sideways glance, eager to begin yet hesitant to read this through. “Hey Cam…” Mitchell looked up at the others for a moment, then lowered his eyes and continued, “it's me, Cam. Assuming I don't screw up the next few decades, give me a minute and this will all make sense. Well, maybe half an hour and some of it will make sense. I assume General O'Neill is still on base… wish I could've taken him up on his offer to buy lunch.” Cam looked up again momentarily, checking out the astonished expressions around him. Lunch had been good. “Get him. And the others: Jackson, Sam, Vala, and Teal'c. I know you're wondering what Ba'al's little speech was all about, so grab yourselves a bucket of coffee and put up your feet. Have I got a tale for you.” Cam stopped. ”That's as far as I got.”

“Oy… but I repeat myself.” Jack considered sneaking out of the room, but knew he probably ought to be hearing this, seeing as he figured so prominently.

“Oh my God,” Sam was wide-eyed in realization. “You went back in time, Cam.”

“And found out what Ba'al was talking about,” Daniel continued.

“But the question is, why?” Vala queried. “Come on, get on with it. Let's hear what we missed.”

____

They sat in spellbound disbelief for over twenty minutes. But eleven pages later, Mitchell was done. Stacking the pages, he placed the letter slowly on the desk, sighed, and settled back into his chair, feeling the stress pummeling his jaw and shoulders.

No one knew what to say. There was an uncomfortably foreboding chill lingering in the room.

“That's some story.” Jack restricted his comments, biting back second-rate sarcasms. Anything he could say would take a back seat to what they'd just heard.

“It must be true, Jack,” Daniel bit his lip. Sam stared at each one of her friends in turn, thoughts churning rapidly through her mind.

“Not denying that, Daniel.”

Daniel looked askance at Mitchell. "And what happened to you after you wrote that, anyway?" Was the Cam Mitchell they left with this morning the one here with them now? Not the same one they came back with? Could a person be in two separate consciousnesses at once? That other Mitchell would be dead by now.

"Still waiting on a follow-up letter, Jackson. Maybe I don't want myself to know."

"No, I don't think so," Sam replied. "The future was able to change accordingly, but the past would have remained as it was, and Cam became part of the past."

"Could he have existed alongside his alternate self after he was born?" Daniel asked, troubled.

“We have no idea if he, you, changed our present history in any way,” Sam commented. “Since whatever you did is what we're living now.”

“Yeah, well,” Mitchell started in self defense, “whatever I changed, it's better than the alternative.” Or had he just shot himself, in order to prevent changing history further? He didn't think he could bring himself to do that, even if everything and everyone he knew was gone, even knowing he still existed somewhere in the future.

“And it probably wasn't of any great significance; I mean, the things you said had happened to us before Ba'al's snake was removed are the things we know,” Daniel reasoned. “So his version of 2008 is pretty much the same as ours.”

“Of course it is,” Vala objected. “Because we're in the reality created by the original Cam Mitchell. If things were following a different direction before he turned up in 1939, you'd never know it, would you?”

Mitchell heaved a sigh. “At least one of us made it. I hate to think where we'd be if he… I … hadn't got through the gate that day.”

“And we'd be nowhere,” Vala exclaimed. “I'd be a Goa'uld, and a dead one, most likely. Even if I wasn't dead, I would still be trapped in the horrible clutches of that maniacal parasite.” She shuddered. “And you…” she stopped.

The others turned towards Daniel.

“What?” He looked down self-consciously. “I'm fine.”

Suddenly, Daniel realized how close they'd come to altering Earth's... not to mention other worlds they'd touched... history forever. He'd died on this mission. Sam had died on this mission, although it had taken them both a full year. Jack had died on this mission. Teal'c had gone back to being a Jaffa, this time for Ba'al. Vala had once again become a Goa'uld, Ba'al's spouse. If not for Cam existing independently in Egypt - and thank goodness the gate had been unburied the year before he arrived - hoping to hell for a decade that he could undo what had been done, one chance and one chance only, the past would have remained the way Ba'al had engineered it, unchanged, and oh so very wrong.

“Vala had it worst, “ Daniel said slowly, his eyes meeting hers and directing the conversation away from himself. She had despised having a parasite controlling her body, but being married to Ba'al… Daniel couldn't imagine a worse fate.

Vala addressed Mitchell. “Does that mean I'm indebted to you for life? Because I can think f a few ways to repay you; just say when.”

“I don't think that'll be necessary,” Mitchell rebuked her advances. “But I think maybe a celebratory dinner is in order.” He turned to Jack impulsively. “Are you buying? Seeing as I missed out the first time.”

"Me?” Jack looked up in surprise. “Hey, you were there for lunch.” Then he shrugged. “Would do, kids, but I leave at 7.”

“I'll buy, “ Daniel volunteered. His imagined lack of mobility was hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. He owed Cam as much as Vala did.

_____

Jack sauntered back into Daniel's lab and sat down, making himself comfortable. The others were doing whatever they needed to do for the rest of the afternoon, and his own final briefing with Landry hadn't taken as long as he'd expected.

“Hey,” Daniel smiled. “Just like old times.”

“You betcha.”

“You sure you want to leave tonight?” Daniel glanced reflexively at his watch; it was nearly five o'clock.

“Want to, no. Have to, yes.”

Daniel nodded. “I'm glad you came with us today.”

“Hey, other than narrowly missing the human pin cushion scenario, I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Of course, depends which world we're talking about." Noting Daniel's grim expression, Jack changed his tack. “We came somewhat close to blowing it.”

Daniel nodded. “Way too close.”

“I can't believe you spent a year learning to walk.”

“I can't believe you never wanted to see us again.”

“Ah. That.” That. Considering you came from a time line in which my son was dead. This one. For a brief moment Jack wondered if straightening out Earth had been a good thing. There were pros and cons to each side of the tale.

“Or that the rest of us weren't allowed to see or even talk to each other any more. It must have been a lonely existence for us, unable to talk about who we really were, or do the work we loved.” Daniel wondered for a moment if that's how Teal'c always felt, an alien on Earth, keeping his identity a secret, lying about his past. Then again, didn't they all have to lie about the work they did? “Except you, maybe. It was all you'd ever known.”

“For what it's worth Daniel, I'm glad I didn't have to actually watch that whole thing go down. Or the leg thing happen to you.”

Daniel's frown was thoughtful. “It did, didn't it.”

“What?”

“Happen. Mitchell saw it happen. I may not remember it, but it happened to me. Not an alternate reality me, but… me, me. This me, here and now.”

“And I was killed by Ba'al.” Jack paused. “Again. This time without a sarcophagus.”

“And we left you there,” Daniel was getting a pretty damn good understanding of exactly how wrong it all had been.

“And the others left you on the ice to freeze to death.”

"Bad time line.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They both nodded at the same time.

They'd screwed up. Let Ba'al get away with far too much. Did they know for certain he was the last?

“I'll change my flight. The President must've meant tomorrow at 7.” Jack stood, whipping out his cell phone. His eyes were still on Daniel but his thoughts were sixty-nine years away.

They may not have the memory of what had gone on, but Jack knew in his heart it had happened. And tonight he wanted to spend celebrating their precarious victory with old - and new - heroes and friends. For one never knew exactly when that might be taken from him, and life would change forever.

For all he knew, it might happen on SG-1's next mission.

_____

He couldn't keep up. Pushing himself as fast as he could go, Ba'al's Jaffa firing behind him and closing in, Daniel tried his damnedest to reach the open stargate, the others already there and impatiently beckoning him to move it, to get the hell up there before the wormhole shut down; before the staff blasts hit their mark. But no matter how hard he tried, his progress was minimal, and slowing with each step. He was painfully aware he'd never make it. As Daniel desperately tried to reach his friends, his teammates, while calling out to them to save themselves and just go go go, his mind was shouting, don't leave me.

A blast hit its mark; up ahead Jack slipped to the ground, unmoving.

“Jack!” No, no, don't be dead. Daniel forced himself forward, but it seemed as though gravity was gleefully playing a little game of one step ahead, two steps back. The gate was seeming no closer than it had two minutes ago, degrading in quality and shimmer.

Cam, Vala, and Sam turned towards him, their expressions accusing, It's all your fault. We waited for you. You killed him.

Try as he might, Daniel couldn't move faster. Angrily, he glared down at his uncooperative legs, willing them to run, to make it to the gate before anyone else died for him. “What the hell's my problem?” he cursed, jerking up the left leg of his pants and looking down.

His leg was not there.

Daniel jolted himself awake, his heart pounding. For a moment he lay still, watching the lights of passing cars skimming the ceiling.

Realizing it was nothing but a bad dream, he groaned in relief. Jack wasn't dead. Ba'al was, though, and was never coming after them again.

As for the leg, he still had two. Throwing off the covers, needing to get up, to walk, alarm shot from Daniel's leg to his throat.

His missing leg, still stumped just below the right knee. “God, no!” Not a dream? This couldn't be happening, wasn't real, wasn't. Wasn't real. Where was he? Panic-stricken, Daniel's vision shot around, realization dawning that this wasn't his bedroom, wasn't even his house. And the missing leg was the wrong one. “Wake up,” he ordered. “I don't live here. And this isn't me.” With the greatest effort Daniel forced his real eyes open.

This time the bed was his own, as was the room. His heart was still thundering, though. Daniel sat up, feeling under the covers, just in case. Both legs were intact.

Just a dream, a bad lucid dream.

And then he recalled the previous day's events, the letter. A world nearly ruled by Ba'al. For real, he had come seconds away from losing his leg... and being blasted to death in 2009. Seconds, in which Mitchell jumped through a wormhole and lived nearly in hiding in Egypt for a decade, keeping an eye on the stargate and plotting, planning, preparing… and praying he wouldn't screw up.

Daniel tossed off his blanket and rose, the creak of the bedsprings breaking the trance. Crossing the bedroom he stopped at the window and peered out. The night was dark, streetlights casting a diluted glow on misty drizzle. No one was out wandering the quiet street. A few porch lights were on here and there, and far away a car alarm sounded. Life went on, innocently, naively, unsuspecting of what fate had nearly dealt them.

Yet for Daniel, the most conspicuous aspect of the night was the absence of ships in the sky.

He turned away from the view and the window and walked on two legs back to his bed. Daniel sighed, realizing just what might so easily have come to pass.

He leaned against the propped-up pillows, his mind preoccupied. Being turned into a Prior had been traumatic. Being turned into a Neanderthal had been equally as frightening, so early in their exploration days with no knowledge of SGC medical successes. Dying of radiation poisoning had been harrowing as well, along with having a sword thrust through his lung. Not to mention being held hostage under water by a four thousand year-old sea creature, or in a shack in Nicaragua by a madman, or nearly jumping off his balcony and then flat-lining. All the stuff of horror movies and nightmares… so how could he be traumatized by something that had never happened?

Because he knew it had. This was their second time around, their second chance. Who knew what had happened to them in ancient Egypt, that time they'd hidden the camera and ostensibly gone back in time for a ZPM; there had been no records stored in an ancient safe-deposit box, that camera being their only surviving clue. This time, though, they knew, right down to the minutest detail. Their dealing with Ba'al had screwed up themselves, screwed up Earth. It hadn't been a choice to go back in time, it had been a necessity.

The ringing nearly scared the crap out of him. The clock read 5:40, and Daniel reached for the phone dreading an emergency at the other end. “Hello?” he asked tentatively.

“Daniel.”

“Sam?”

Her voice was hesitant. “Uh, sorry to wake you, Daniel. I hung up twice before letting it ring.”

“I was up. What's wrong, Sam?”

“Oh, no, Daniel. I didn't mean to worry you. Everything's fine.”

“So you're calling….?” Daniel queried.

There was a long pause. “Because I could.”

And Daniel suddenly understood. “I know the feeling.”

“I'm sorry, I - ”

“It's okay. We're okay, Sam.”

“I know. I just wanted… see you in a little while.”

“See you, Sam.”

Daniel slid back against his pillow, staring at the phone in his hand. There but for the persistence of Cam Mitchell .... Any one of them would have done it though. If not for a single Jaffa's aim, it could've been him, trapped between two time lines, removing his leg every night for the rest of his life. Then would the Daniel Jackson answering this call from Sam have been the other one, while he watched the decades go by waiting for the day he was born?

Slowly Daniel placed the phone on his night table. They were all okay. But they'd better watch their step a damned lot more carefully, from now on.