Note: This is the third (and last) in a series of stories (Retribution and Face of a Friend were the first two).  It will make a whole lot more sense if you've read those stories first.

No Second Chances, Part 2
  
Daniel groaned, raising a hand to cover his eyes as stars filled his vision.  After a few moments, he tried opening his eyes again, squinting at the harsh light coming from the fluorescent light overhead.  He pushed himself up into a sitting position, running a hand over the tender bump on the back of his head.  His glasses bit into his face, and he took them off gently, bending the wires back into something approximating their original shape as he looked around.

"What the hell is going on?" he mumbled, as he glanced around the bare room.  The concrete walls were chipped and peeling, and a network of pipes ran around the room's walls.  The low ceiling was adorned with only one fluorescent light, and it was beginning to flicker.  It reminded him of the basement laundry room at his apartment complex.

He thought back to the events earlier, and what he could remember filled him with shock.  Did he see what he thought he saw in Jack's truck.  A body....and Jack nowhere to be found.  And he said Pirelli was here, in this area.  Could he have....no.  Pirelli didn't have time to kill...to overpower Jack and tie him up in the truck before Daniel returned.  There simply wasn't enough time.  A involuntary shiver ran through him, and he rubbed his hands along his bare arms.

Daniel scrambled to his feet as a key scraped in the lock, immediately cursing himself as his head reacted with a jolt of pain.  Pirelli shoved Jack into the room before coming in himself, pulling the door shut behind him.  Daniel felt a rush of relief as he saw Jack, looking a little haggard but uninjured.  Pirelli gave him a smile as he pushed Jack forward, earning a glare from him.  "Jackson - how'd you sleep?" he asked, motioning for them both to sit down on the floor with the barrel of his pistol.

Jack looked Daniel over as they sat down.  "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah - so far.  You?" Daniel asked.  

Before Jack could answer, Pirelli interrupted.  "That was a really stupid idea, Colonel.  You should have known you couldn't take me by surprise.  And I only wanted to talk," he said, looking down at them.   

Daniel's mouth tightened in anger as he watched Pirelli.  Pirelli was dressed immaculately in civilian clothes, and his dark hair was still clipped severely short, but not in the military style he'd worn before.  His olive skin had a paler cast than Daniel remembered, as if he'd been unable to spend time outdoors lately.  Daniel caught sight of a heavy gold watch on his wrist.  Being a fugitive certainly didn't appear to be causing him any hardship so far.  "What do you want, Pirelli?" he said.

Pirelli turned to him.  "You know, that's part of your problem, Jackson.  No discipline, no training.  You'll speak when I tell you to speak."

Daniel's face clearly showed the distaste he felt at being lectured as Pirelli continued.  "You know, if you were in the military, you'd get some brig time for that kind of attitude toward a superior officer.  Not so many years ago they would have flogged you for the same."  He gave them both a grin.  "Sometimes I think they made a real mistake when they dropped that practice."

Daniel watched in alarm as Pirelli unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops of his pants.  He then tossed the belt to Jack, where it landed beside him.  "You're his commanding officer, O'Neill.  It's your responsibility to discipline him."

Jack made no move to pick up the belt.  "Forget it," he growled.  

In response, Pirelli aimed the pistol he was holding at Jack.  "Now which knee was your bad one, O'Neill?"

A moment passed, then Jack reached out slowly, taking the belt and forming it into a loop as he climbed to his feet.  "Stand up, Daniel," he said quietly.

Daniel stood numbly, but when Jack moved to push him firmly against the wall, he pulled away.   

"You're only going to make this harder, Daniel," Jack snapped, grabbing his arm.  

Daniel jerked away, looking at Jack in surprise.  "Jack, you can't seriously be thinking of doing this."   

"I don't have a choice, Daniel," Jack said, and in the next moment, Daniel felt Pirelli's pistol against the back of his neck.  

"I'm trying to keep you from getting killed," Jack hissed in his ear.

"Tie him up, " Pirelli said, handing Jack two plastic ties, the pistol pressing harder against the base of Daniel's head.  Daniel bit back his protests as Jack secured one wrist and then the other to the pipe above his head, tightening the restraints until the plastic bit into his skin.  He strained to look behind him as Jack withdrew, but their position prevented it.  He turned back to the wall, focusing on the crumbling cinder blocks, his hands clenching in helpless anger as he waited. 

"I came here to talk, but that can wait until later," Daniel heard Pirelli say.  "Continue until I say stop." In the next second he jerked in surprise as the first stroke left a stinging welt across his back.

"And put your arm into it, O'Neill," Pirelli said as the next blows landed.  Daniel's thin shirt offered no real protection as the leather belt left a criss-cross of burning streaks on his skin.  He tightened his hands into fists, willing back any expression of pain more than sharp intakes of breath as successive blows landed on his already throbbing back.

"Like you mean it, O'Neill," Pirelli taunted as the beating continued.  Daniel choked on a cry as the belt cracked against his skin.  "He's never going to know you're serious about this otherwise."  Each blow seemed to be landing with more ferocity, but whether that was because of the beating he'd already endured, Daniel couldn't tell.  He concentrated on staying silent, sheer stubbornness keeping him from giving Pirelli the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

"Ten more and you can stop -  I know your arm is tired," Pirelli said mockingly.  Daniel sighed in relief, but the first of the blows almost took his breath.  "Count, Jackson," Pirelli ordered.

"One," he said through clenched teeth.  The second blow landed, the snap of leather loud in his ears.  "Two."  He continued to count, the numbers a mantra that in some small way helped steady him.  The last blow landed, and he almost lost his balance, swaying slightly.  "Ten," he said, with conviction.  Pirelli strode forward and cut through the plastic bonds with a knife, leaving Daniel to wearily sink to the floor.

Pirelli chuckled a little as he motioned to Jack with the gun.  "You're coming with me, O'Neill," he said, opening the door.  "We still have some talking to do."

Jack didn't meet Daniel's eyes as he handed the belt back to Pirelli and walked out, leaving Daniel alone in the room as the door shut with a thud. 

Daniel wearily rubbed his tingling arms, trying to get the blood flowing back into them.  The motion caused the welts on his back to flare up suddenly and he groaned, dropping his arms to his sides.  He leaned forward, rocking a little as the pain throbbed and burned its way across his back.  After a few moments, he eased himself against the wall, leaning a shoulder against the cool concrete.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Jack," he said.

Pirelli turned as he finished locking the door to the room where Daniel was being held, and smiled at Jack.

"So how am I doing?"  Jack said, as they walked down the corridor.

"You're doing an adequate job, Alex," Pirelli said, as Alex pulled off the device.  Jack's image shimmered and disappeared, leaving a tall, blond man whose appearance and gait marked him as military walking by Pirelli's side.  "Just remember that when you take Colonel O'Neill's place at the SGC - more sarcasm, less anger."

"I'll try to remember," Alex said mockingly, leaving him.  Pirelli slipped out into the darkness, and walked to another deserted warehouse.  He went inside, pulling out his keys and opening another locked door. 

Jack struggled against the handcuffs holding him to the chair, pulling in frustration as Pirelli walked in the room, locking the door behind him.  "You're not going to get free, O'Neill.  Might as well keep a little of that skin around your wrists."

"Where's Daniel?" he asked angrily, jerking again at his restraints.

"He followed his 'Colonel O'Neill' here, just as I expected," Pirelli said.

Jack started to speak, but Pirelli interrupted.  "I make a damn good colonel - I think I'm an even better colonel than I am an archaeologist.  But then again - you're so much simpler than Daniel.  I mean that in the most flattering way, of course." 

"What are you doing to him?"

"I'm not doing anything to him - you, however, just taught him a little bit about military discipline."  He smiled at Jack's expression.  "You know, he's tough for a little bookworm."

"You son of a...."

"You're not going to toss some cliché at me like 'you'll never get away with this, Pirelli', are you?  Because I am going to get away with this."  

"That's what you think," Jack said bitterly.   

"That's what I know, Colonel," he said.  "I know he's loyal to you.  He'd tell you things he'd never tell us, no matter what we do to him.  Once he becomes a little more discouraged, more desperate...I think he'd listen if his commander told him to tell us what we need to know."

"He'll never fall for that," Jack said with conviction.  "He'll figure out it isn't me."

"No, Colonel, he's just one of many who won't figure it out - not until it's too late," Pirelli said, backing out of the room. 

He walked through the corridors with ease, nodding at the passing airmen.  He checked in at the guard station before descending to the SGC, and was allowed through with hardly a word.  "Would you like us to let General Hammond know you're here, Colonel?" the guard asked.

"No, that's not necessary," he said, boarding the elevator.  He'd never really noticed before how easy it was for him to get into the SGC, the most top secret of the military's projects, but now the relative ease of it jumped out at him.  He got off the elevator, and made his way to General Hammond's office.

"He's not in at the moment, sir," Hammond's assistant said to him.  "You can wait for him in the briefing room, if you like."

"I'll do that - thanks," he said with a smile.  He only had to wait a moment before General Hammond joined him. "I wasn't expecting you here, Colonel."

Colonel Simmons smiled.  "I trust I'm not inconveniencing you, General.  I've been asked to talk with you about an ongoing issue here at the SGC."

"Which is?" General Hammond said, not bothering to hide his impatience.

"I'd like to talk to you about Major Nick Pirelli," he said, taking a seat at the table.

"Back so soon?" Daniel asked, as Pirelli came into the room, and locked the door soundly behind him.   

"Miss me?" he said, hauling Daniel to his feet by one arm.  

Daniel grimaced at the ache the sudden movement sent through his body, and tried to jerk his arm out of Pirelli's grasp.  The motion only caused his back to register another protest.  "What do you want, Pirelli?" he asked.  He was answered only with silence as Pirelli thrust him against the concrete wall, and every welt on his back reacted with a wrenching burst of pain.

"I said - did you miss me?" Pirelli asked, slamming him against the wall again.  This time Daniel's head connected with the concrete, and stars began to dance in front of his eyes.

"Where's Jack?" he managed, ignoring Pirelli's question.

"Learning to behave himself," Pirelli said.  "Something you don't seem to be able to master.  You know what I think, Jackson?" he said, smiling at the gasp of pain Daniel couldn't keep inside as he again flung him into the wall.

"You actually think?" Daniel said, tensing for the responding shove that would send him into the wall again.  Instead, Pirelli pulled off his glasses and dropped them to the floor, grinding them under the heel of his boot.

"What's next - stealing my lunch money?" Daniel said.

"I think you're failing to realize that you are in deep shit here," Pirelli said.

"No, you're wrong there - I did realize that," Daniel said, before a fist to his stomach took his breath.  Three more followed in quick succession until he was doubled over, gasping for air.  Pirelli backed up, waiting for him to recover.

"You know, if you're trying to get me to talk, you really should try to let me breathe," he finally gasped out.

"What makes you think I'm trying to get you to talk?"  Pirelli said, leaning against the wall casually.  "You didn't consider the possibility that I'm just a sadistic son of a bitch who wants to hurt you?"

"You must want something," Daniel said.  In response, Pirelli pushed him against the wall again, this time with his hand over Daniel's mouth and nose, cutting off his air.  His struggles were effectively cut off by several well-placed punches to his side, and before long, his already blurry vision faded to a pinpoint of light.

"You'll soon find out," Pirelli whispered, as Daniel crumbled to the floor.  "Because I can't keep stalling forever," he said quietly, before leaving the room.

"Can you explain to me why Major Pirelli developed this grudge toward Dr. Jackson?" Colonel Simmons asked.

"Dr. Jackson was responsible for bringing to light certain weaknesses in his command decisions.  As a result, he was confined to base duty," Hammond said.

"Dr. Jackson was part of a military action to have a soldier removed from command?  Why was that not given to another soldier, instead of a civilian?"

"I received approval for the action, and stand by my decision."

"Okay - let's pick it up from there.  Pirelli was then assigned to Area 51, where he proceeded to hatch the plot to impersonate Dr. Jackson and infiltrate the SGC.  Just why was he reassigned?"

"He was not performing his duties in a satisfactory manner here.  The change in command, it was hoped, would improve his motivation."

"It certainly motivated him to do something," Simmons mumbled, then went to his next question.  "How did he manage to impersonate Dr. Jackson all those days?  Aren't there safeguards..."

"Area 51 neglected to inform us that they had engineered the devices to defeat our safeguards.  An oversight that was clearly documented in my report on this situation."

"But his own team, I mean, General," Simmons said in mock amazement.  "Dr. Jackson is highly trained in linguistics and archaeology.  Are you telling me that Pirelli managed to impersonate him to the point that his own team didn't know the difference?  Correct me if I'm wrong, but these files," he flipped through several pages, "tell us that Pirelli was only fluent in one language, English, and that he wouldn't know the first thing about archaeology.  Are you saying that in two weeks, he was never called upon to perform any of Dr. Jackson's primary duties?"

"He was very adept at impersonating Dr. Jackson," Hammond said.

"Just what does Dr. Jackson do on SG-1 if for two weeks he wasn't called upon to perform tasks related to his chosen fields?" Colonel Simmons replied.

"He was called upon to perform them.  He did so poorly, and his commander informed me there were problems with his performance and behavior.  We attributed them to other causes."

"So there were problems with Dr. Jackson's performance.  So why wasn't he grounded?  Why let him go on a mission that gave Pirelli the opportunity to wound one team member and effectively strand the others off-world?"

"Colonel O'Neill felt the situation was in hand, and I supported him in that decision."

"And you were both wrong," Simmons said, drilling his finger into the pages in front of him.

"Daniel, hey - wake up," a voice coaxed softly in his ear.  Daniel stirred, and his body reacted with a merciless onslaught of pain.  He managed to wearily roll over onto his stomach, burying his head in his arms.  "Daniel."

"I was really hoping to stay unconscious, thanks anyway," he whispered, his eyes screwed shut.

"Can you sit up?  He's brought us some water."

"Jack?" he said, opening one eye and looking up blearily.  Sure enough, his commanding officer was sitting beside him, holding out a bottle of water patiently.

"Yeah, it's me. Let me help you," he said, reaching for Daniel's arm.  Carefully he pulled him up, but not before Daniel's body was throbbing with renewed strength.  

He tiredly took the bottle Jack offered and drank.  "Where is he?"

"Oh, I wasn't really looking for him," Jack replied, with a glance toward the door.  "I'm sure he'll be back before either of us want to see him again."

"So how do we get out of here?" Daniel said.  He felt a wave of heat wash over him, and took another drink of water.

"I don't think there is a way out of this," Jack said, climbing to his feet.  

Daniel squinted up at Jack in surprise.  Even without his glasses, Jack seemed to be getting a little blurry, and as he paced around, the blurriness increased.  Daniel put down the water, and rubbed a hand over his eyes.  "That's...that's a little pessimistic, isn't it?  I mean - we've been in some pretty grim situations before.  There has to be..."

"Another way, Daniel?" Jack said angrily.  "God, I am so sick of hearing that from you.  'There has to be another way, Jack.'  Well, Pollyanna, sometimes there isn't another way.  This is one of those times."  He scrubbed a hand through his hair in anger.  "I can't always ride to your rescue, Daniel."

"No matter what happens to us now, Jack - making some sort of deal with Pirelli would have been the wrong thing to do."  He tried climbing to his feet, but a wave of dizziness forced him to sit down again.  He looked over at the water he'd been given in alarm.

"You did what was right for Daniel.  And it probably will cost us our lives.  You happy about that?  Because I could have compromised a few morals to get out of here alive," he said, his eyes boring into Daniel's angrily.

"We're not dead yet," Daniel finished, his stomach churning.  The dizziness increased, and beads of sweat formed on his face.  The walls of the room seemed to be moving closer, and he scooted backward until he came in contact with the cold cinder block wall behind him.

"Yet," Jack spat out.

As if on cue, the key scraped in the lock and Jack turned as Pirelli came in, and motioned to Jack to silently move aside.  Daniel remained hunched against the wall, staring at the floor in confusion, Jack's words still echoing in his ears.

You did what was right...for Daniel.

"God, what's happened to you, Jack?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes wearily.  His attitude, his words, held a belligerence that Daniel had only seen on occasion, and rarely aimed so directly at him.  This wasn't like Jack... he thought again.

"You're looking a little sick, Jackson," Pirelli said, kneeling down beside him.  "Don't like our water?" he said, picking up the bottle.

"What...what was that?" Daniel asked, trying to focus on the bottle, which morphed into ten images as Pirelli gave it a gentle shake.  The entire room, including Jack and Pirelli, seemed to split into layer upon layer of images.  He blinked again, struggling to focus.

"Just something to help you relax.  I know you've had a hard day," Pirelli said mockingly.

"They want information, Daniel," Jack said.  "They want to know how to get into the SGC."

"Well, there's this big, big hole in the side of the mountain..." Daniel started.

Pirelli frowned and gave Jack a glance as he stood.  "You better convince him to tell us what he knows, Colonel."

Jack knelt down beside Daniel, putting a hand on his shoulder.  "Listen, Daniel.  This is not a game.  You have to tell them what you know about the safeguards put in place at the mountain to keep anyone from impersonating us and gaining entrance."

"Why don't you tell them?" Daniel asked a moment later.  

Jack paused before answering.  "I did.  They need to confirm my story.  Our stories have to match," he said.  "Please, Daniel - there's a chance we can come out of this alive.  They just want to do some surveillance...."

"Jack, you know they won't be able to get in," Daniel said, trying to lay his own hand on Jack's shoulder, but missing.  "Not while he's there."

"While who's there?" Pirelli asked.  "Hammond?"

Daniel managed to raise his head to look at Pirelli.  "Not Hammond.  Dumbledore."

"What the hell..." Pirelli mumbled.

"Hogwarts is just about the safest place anywhere.  Voldemort wouldn't dare try to come in with Dumbledore protecting it," Daniel finished.

"Shit," Pirelli said, shaking his head.  "I can't believe this."

"Daniel!" Jack shook him hard, and Daniel's body reacted with a jolt of pain that forced a small cry from him.  "You have got to tell them."

"That's enough for now, Colonel.  Obviously he's had too much.  We'll try again later," Pirelli said, motioning him out of the room.

Daniel watched them go through a blurry haze, a cold realization settling over him.  This couldn't be Jack.  Jack would never tell me to betray a secret like this, no matter what.  It couldn't be Jack.  We were separated after they arrived here.  His mind raced, recalling the last few hours.  Pirelli had both the devices.  He could have pulled it off.  God, that body in Jack's truck....that could have been Jack.  I could have followed an imposter to this place to begin with.  He pushed the thought out of his head.  They wouldn't kill Jack.

But if that was true...then that would mean Pirelli had an accomplice.  Someone who was helping him pull off this little nightmare.  Daniel looked back toward the door.  It was probably equally likely that Pirelli had managed to drug Jack, alter his personality in some way.  Maybe he was wrong; maybe Pirelli was here alone and was manipulating Jack in some way.

He had to know for certain.  Daniel settled back to wait for Pirelli to return, and gave into the drug's effects. In moments he was asleep, slumped against the wall awkwardly.

Go to Part 3