Title: Waiting for the Light
Author: ELG
Author Page: ELG
Updated: November 12, 2000
Rating: PG-13
Category: Slash, J/D, humour.
Spoilers: S4
Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions - etc. etc. They're not mine, they belong to each other (and those people at MGM etc), I'm not exploiting their glistening naked bodies for any material gain just for my own warped satisfaction, and I promise to give them back when they've finished with each other in more or less the condition in which I found them. (Possibly a bit mussed and sweaty and in need of a shower but otherwise unharmed.)
Summary: Daniel has been imprisoned in a luxurious penthouse by The Slash Powers That Be because after Jack's behavior in S4 they have decided he is no longer worthy of The Wonder That Is Daniel and they must both wait until The Light until they can be reunited.

Part One

Doctor Daniel Jackson looked around his cell and sighed. As 'cells' went it was pretty luxurious, bearing more than a passing resemblance to a penthouse suite rather than a normal place of imprisonment. His bedroom had a four-poster; his bathroom had a Jacuzzi, and his kitchen had a wonderful coffee-making machine which could make espresso or cappuccino at the hiss of a steam jet. He had been given fifty different blends of coffee to try out, numerous brands of chocolate, and a full range of imported specialist cookies to sample. He could ring for take-out whenever he wanted it and order a seven-course meal cooked by a cordon bleu chef should he feel the urge. His state-of-the-art, paper-thin, wall-mounted, digital TV set had three hundred different cable channels including every history or documentary channel broadcast anywhere in the world, which meant he could also brush up on his modern languages. He also had wall to wall books, lots of fascinating artifacts to study, a top-of-the-range computer with so much RAM it could have been a successful sheep farmer, and a huge tank of marine fish, on the grounds that he'd had some once and so might want them again.

He was very, *very* bored.

His imprisonment had started at the beginning of something his jailers were referring to as 'Rerun Season'. Up until then he'd been having a very nice time with his best friend, Jack O'Neill, a handsome, silver-haired, brown-eyed, maddening yet lovable opposite to whom Daniel was extremely attracted. They were very much in love and had been for some time. The fact that Jack looked incredible naked and had the most mind-blowing sexual technique of anyone on any planet had also contributed to Daniel's happiness.

Admittedly, there had been a few problems. Jack had said he thought NID were on to them and he needed to do something to distract them. Not being the most original thinker in the world, Jack had decided to fake an attraction to Sam. He'd done it so badly that Daniel didn't think anyone was going to be convinced but Jack had doggedly persisted with attempting to ignore him and pay attention to Sam while Daniel had tried to look hurt and abandoned, sighing heavily at regular intervals before sneaking off with Jack for frantic snuggling sessions in nearby store cupboards. Daniel really hadn't thought they were fooling anyone as the moment they came within two feet of each other their sexual chemistry began to make nearby light-fittings fizz alarmingly and more than once Jack had been forced to pat him on the arm quickly to put out visible sparks.

However they had persisted with their strategy and it had seemed to be paying dividends. Jack had heard that NID had got word of the so called 'Dive and Crumble' evidence and after studying it rigorously had come to the conclusion that the Jack-Sam 'romance' although a relationship that was clearly going nowhere fast did nevertheless seem to prove that Jack O'Neill was probably at least vaguely heterosexual. Or at least so deeply in denial as to never be likely to act on any of his other yearnings. Daniel and Jack had been all ready to celebrate when word had reached them that a new problem had unexpectedly emerged.

Unbeknown to them it took several groups of people to keep their world on an even axis: one group dealt with the adventures which could be shown to the wider public, another group took responsibility for arranging the snuggling which Daniel and Jack had been enjoying so much. The second group had unfortunately not been privy to the reasons behind Jack's uncharacteristic and very unconvincing courtship of Sam and had decided he was no longer worthy of Daniel's love.

Without so much as a by-your-leave the lovers were unceremoniously separated, Jack being pushed contemptuously into a room with Sam and told that from now on only people who couldn't punctuate would be directing his private life, while Daniel was told that Jack was no longer worthy of him and so arrangements were being made for his affections to be transferred to Teal'c.

Although fond of Teal'c, Daniel was seriously unenthralled by these developments. However when he attempted to say 'But - !' he was cooed over by the Slash PTB for looking 'doable' when he had his mouth open, his shoes and socks were removed so his bare feet could be admired, he was told that from now on he would only be able to wear pajamas because he looked 'so darned cute in them' and he wasn't to bother his pretty little head about his bedroom arrangements.

He was then thrown into a room with Teal'c and told to get on with it.

He barely had time to say: "Teal'c, you know I'm really fond of you but I'm still very much in love with Jack…"

And Teal'c barely had time to stroke his strong fingers through Daniel's hair and huskily whisper: "Daniel Jackson, although I know that your heart is otherwise engaged, perhaps in time - "

When the door was opened and Daniel was unceremoniously yanked out again.

"Wh-what?" he demanded, pulling down his pajama jacket to try to cover his dignity and thinking how cold the floor was on his bare feet.

He was told: "Serpent's Venom just aired and Jack pushed your glasses up in that elevator scene so we're going to give him a second chance."

"Yes!" A great weight fell from Daniel's heart and he smiled in relief.

"*If* he comes through in The Light," they added, before marching Daniel down the corridor to the elevator, whisking him up fifty three floors then pushing him into the penthouse. "You can wait here until it airs."

"What?" Daniel demanded in disbelief. "But reruns go on for months in North America!"

"Tough," he was told sharply. "He has to prove he's worthy of you. It's for your own good, Daniel. We have your best interests at heart. And don't pout."

"But he is worthy of me! He is! He is!" Daniel hammered on the door but TSPTB had already told themselves that it was just a little tantrum, adding that he looked very cute when he did that, and he'd calm down when he'd had some coffee. In the meantime they had to give Jack a stern talking to…

***

Sitting glumly in the much less palatial basement cell in which he was being imprisoned, Jack queedled uneasily on his rickety chair, looked at his cold pizza, small black and white TV set, and jar of instant coffee powder, and sighed: "No bunny rations?"

"None," he was told. "Not until you prove yourself worthy of The Wonder That Is Daniel."

"But I love him more than life itself!" he protested.

Sternly, the charges were laid out in front of him:

"Being party to several unconvincing plot contrivances.

Being party to several Moments of Squick.

Saying lines that were eligible for a bus pass in 1972.

Smirking in an annoying way.

Wearing comedy trousers in an annoying way.

Failing to point out that at least half a dozen S4 plots had large 'used' stickers on them.

Allowing himself to be separated from Daniel for long periods of time.

Doing Simpsons impressions in a manner calculated to invite ABH.

Reducing his IQ to the point where he not only would never have made Colonel in the United States Air Force but wouldn't be able to get a job sweeping the floors in Cheyenne Mountain.

Failing to exchange a word with Daniel for an entire episode, for crying out loud!

Wearing comedy trousers in an annoying way *again*."

The Slash Powers That Be had added:

"These are serious charges deserving an appropriate punishment. Death seems reasonable but most of TSPTB can't stick Character Death Stories so your sentence is commuted to life imprisonment in a nasty room with junk food, Maxwell House coffee, and nothing but 1970s TV shows. In view of the unspeakable awfulness of the episodes which shall be known only as 'D&C' and 'BTS', TSPTB have decided to administer a PAL conversion and twenty four hour showings of 'On The Buses', 'Man About The House', and 'Love Thy Neighbour' as extra punishment."

Hearing this terrible sentence, Jack blanched. Oh God. The horror! The horror! He was doomed to live in this miserable room eating Pot Noodle and watching reruns of appalling Brit sitcoms for all eternity.

"It wasn't me, it was my actor," Jack protested weakly.

"Never mention the actors!" he was told fiercely. "Never, ever, *ever*! Or you'll be so far off the J/D list you'll never see a bunny ration again!"

"Well then it was the writers!" said Jack in desperation. "They did it. It wasn't me, I swear!"

"The writers have nice manners and some of them own dogs," he was reminded reprovingly.

"The directors…?" he croaked feebly.

"Peter DeLuise is a living god, the hem of whose garment you would be privileged to touch. But," they added grudgingly, "you can shift some of the blame onto Martin Wood if you like."

"Martin Wood made me do it!" said Jack at once. "It was him, I swear. He made me do all of it. Even the bits I did when Peter the Great DeLuise was directing, Martin Wood made me do those too. He *is* the AntiGate!"

The Slash PTB nodded sagely. The way he decapitated major characters on a regular basis had made them mistrust Martin Wood for a while and their suspicions were now confirmed. "He will be dealt with in due course," they assured Jack. "Unless, of course, he owns a dog, in which case we will probably let him off with a warning."

Racking his brains to try to remember whether or not Martin Wood had a dog, Jack realized that even if he didn't the man was probably canny enough to rush off and acquire one before anyone asked him the important question. Damn the man! He'd probably get a small cute one just to inveigle his way into the affections of the Brits. He might even think to get a cat as well for extra protection. Jack's ass was grass!

Then he saw the other sheet of paper, marked 'Mitigating Circumstances'. His heart gave a small leap of hope. Perhaps there might be light at the end of this particular tunnel?

The impressive document said:

"Before passing final sentence, the Slash PTB have decided to take into account the following factors:

Previous behavior towards The Wonder That Is Daniel. (Generally good, on occasion - COTG, Fire & Water, Serpent's Lair, Need, Secrets, One False Step, Pretense, Maternal Instinct etc - truly excellent.)

More recently we are prepared to take into account all of:

The First Ones.

Tangent.

The Serpent's Venom.

We will also allow time off for good behavior in:

Small Victories (possibly attempting to switch off video-camera to save Daniel's feelings)

The Other Side (hand-holding and apology scene)

Upgrades (scene with Daniel and chocolate bar, not to mention looking damned sexy in civvies)

Scorched Earth (some first class angsting over having to press the button)

If the prisoner shows signs of true repentance over his past lapses, promises to *never* again adopt a constipated expression when gazing at his 2IC or generally be party to a Moment of Squick, never wear comedy clothing of *any kind*, never forget that he is a Colonel in the United States Air Force and is therefore expected to show regular evidence of having a higher IQ than a bowl of Weeties, never persistently stand/sit as far from Daniel as a director can get him, and never be party to cheap 'humorous' scenes that undermine his relationship with The Wonder That Is Daniel and turn Teal'c into a comedy alien when the world's sexiest Jaffa should be striding around magnificently preferably with his shirt undone, then TSPTB *may* consider possibly allowing a restoration of bunny rations.

But that will depend largely on The Light.

Screw up in that one, O'Neill, and you're dead.

The prisoner's sentence is therefore suspended. He is free to go but is forbidden to have any contact with The Wonder That Is Daniel until the airing of The Light when his case will be reviewed again.

Signed,

The Slash Powers That Be."

The door was opened and Jack blinked from the sunlight filtering down between the skyscrapers. He staggered out into the street knowing that high, high above him in that glittering penthouse was the man of his dreams, and the man *only* of his dreams until January at the earliest. And probably more like February.

Jack sighed heavily. He was a free man again, the dreadful threat of Reg Varney had been lifted from him, but he was a man without bunny rations, unable to do more than pass notes under the door to his Daniel.

It was going to seem like a very long cold winter until The Light…

***

Part Two

From the personal files of Bertha E Scoggins, Team Leader of Alpha-Omega Security Systems.

Monday 9th

I am delighted to receive an urgent memo from an American organization called TSPTB (must ask what those initials stand for) asking if I am willing to take over the security arrangements for a prisoner who has been causing their domestic firms some problems. I fax them by return assuring them of my organization's readiness to take on the job immediately. They ask me to fly out to somewhere called Colorado to finalize the arrangements. After hearing that the person who needs to be kept in protective custody is not a criminal and is not associated with any kind of terrorist organization, I assure them my personal intervention will not be necessary as I will send them a team of crack professionals on the next flight.

Monday 16th am

Am forced to fly out to Colorado myself to reassure my American employers that the events of last week will definitely not be repeated and I have already sacked the first team of operatives for failing to stick to their duties. I also reassure them that although I had mistakenly thought that guarding an unarmed civilian could be handled by one of my ordinary teams I now realize I should have used my best people from the start. I assure them that these women are, like myself, all trained professionals and not slaves to their hormones like the previous lot.

When they express some concern over the abilities of someone from my country to outwit the Machiavellian strategies of a United States Air Force Colonel and a Doctor of Archaeology I remind them that mine is the country that gave the world Margaret Thatcher. This seems to reassure them. Or possibly just stun them into silence. At any rate I have now taken on personal responsibility for keeping the prisoner known as TWTID safely locked up in protective custody in the penthouse suite of the Monstrously Expensive Hotel.

Monday 16th pm

Get my first look at the prisoner and see that he is likely to cause me no problems whatsoever as he is clearly harmless. I impress my new employers by pointing out that some of the scanty information on the file they have handed me is obviously wrong. The prisoner's age is given as '35' and yet it is immediately evident that he is no older than twenty-nine and three quarters. Also, his nationality is given as 'American' despite the fact that my trained ear picks up at once that his accent is Canadian. A little impatiently, TSPTB insist that these anomalies 'don't matter' adding that it's 'just television'. A little bemused by this, I nevertheless nod sagely.

Having waved the prisoner back into his room (he is complaining about having to wear pajamas despite the fact they have given him a nice brushed cotton pair with an appealing blue stripe), TSPTB then hand me a picture of a man with greying hair and brown eyes and tell me with great emphasis that on No Account must this person be allowed to approach the prisoner. They add that he is 'dangerously charming' and 'licensed to wear chinos'. Again, I find their words strange but make allowances for cultural differences and once again nod sagely.

As TSPTB move off, one of them hangs on her heel, then comes back to murmur to me rapidly, 'Watch out for the little boy look. It's a killer.' She moves ten feet down the corridor then adds, 'Never look directly at his bare feet.' Her gaze lingers on the closed door of suite 101 and then she sighs heavily, murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like 'I know we have to do it but they look so damned hot together...' then blunders unsteadily down the corridor, apparently fighting back tears.

I make a mental note to self that Americans are clearly very odd and it is probably best to treat them like ordinary foreigners and Welsh people - i.e. speak to them slowly and loudly so there is no danger that they might misunderstand.

Apart from that I am confident that this job will be one of the easiest of my career.

Monday 23rd

The prisoner known as TWTID (must ask what those initials stand for) still appears to be sulking. Luckily I am used to dealing with difficult people and know how to handle him. I have also successfully identified and solved an obvious security problem: The necessity of opening the door to him three times a day to give him his meals seems to be when he has taken the opportunity to insinuate himself into the affections of my previously reliable workforce. I ask that the dumb waiter whose hatch had been padlocked by TSPTB should be reinstated and his meals sent up to him by that route. Already I have seen the benefits of this as when the prisoner tried his usual trick of refusing to order any food from the menu, I have some of my favorite dishes sent up to him via the dumb waiter hoping that his hunger will do the rest. As the plates are later returned empty this strategy appears to have been successful. Later I hear sounds suggesting the History Channel is being watched. As before requests for 'normal clothes' are met with a polite but firm refusal. The prisoner claims that his feet are cold but I feel socks are unnecessary at this time.

Tuesday 24th

When taking the prisoner his clean towels this morning I unfortunately walk in on him in the shower. Suffer serious dizzy spell. A little worrying as I have never been prone to them before but presume it was a one-off. Can confirm that the prisoner is in very good physical shape despite his lack of co-operation about eating meals. Have to put head between knees for a little while in the afternoon after unexpected flashback to seeing the prisoner showering. Later have to fire another four operatives, two for taking notes from the prisoner to pass on, and two for being seen talking to the tall, grey-haired man who I have been warned is definitely persona non grata. I cannot understand why my operatives are having so much difficulty in recognizing this man as I have taken care to issue them all with pictures of him. I am gratified to see that many of them have been diligent about pinning these pictures up inside their lockers as an extra aide-mémoire.

Wednesday 25th

After a quiet day yesterday, the prisoner is still definitely sulking. When asked by Operative 017 what he wants for breakfast his response is impolite in the extreme. I feel that I am starting to build up more of a rapport with the boy but do not want to make Operative 017 look foolish so wait until she is taking a bathroom break before tapping quietly on the door and requesting that the prisoner be sensible. I open the door a fraction and am met with a clearly penitent stare. The prisoner says 'I'm sorry, Bertha, is breakfast still on the table?' in what I feel is genuine contrition. He then ducks his head down to look up at me from under his eyelashes, which he then bats. This is around the time when I have another of the odd dizzy spells which have been afflicting me from time to time since beginning to guard this particular prisoner. When I have recovered my balance, the prisoner is gazing at me out of eyes that are I swear the biggest and the bluest I have ever...I tell him sharply that there is no point in him looking at me like that. Even if it did work on the last few...dozen...guards, it isn't going to cut it with me, sunshine. The prisoner sighs again and says, 'I know. I can see you're not the type to be won over by a nice smile.' He then proceeds to give me what I would in the interests of accuracy have to describe as a very nice smile indeed.

Gritting my teeth I say, "What do you want for breakfast?" possibly a little louder than is strictly necessary, which earns me a reproachful look. Again, that strange dizziness makes me wonder if my glucose levels are in need of adjustment. Make mental note to buy a Mars bar at the earliest opportunity. Make mistake of thinking about Mars bars as I am looking at the mouth of the prisoner. Dizziness now a serious problem.

The prisoner says, "Can I have - ?"

"Please may I have," I correct automatically.

He sticks out his bottom lip defiantly before saying, "Please may I have a Jack O'Neill sausage sandwich to go?"

I tell him he needs to wash his mouth out with carbolic and he can go to his room and not have any supper as far as I am concerned.

The prisoner proceeds to sulk for the rest of the day.

Thursday 26th

The prisoner spends the day translating something from the Arabic which turns out to be a very long and very obscene poem about two men...doing things. He reads this out to me through the closed door, saying that it is full of beautiful images. Dizzy spells becoming a serious problem and are now accompanied by hot flushes. Some of aforementioned images still causing problems very late this evening. Have resolved to take no more crap from the prisoner however much he bats his damned eyelashes at me. Had to fire another six operatives this afternoon. Notice that some of the pictures inside the lockers of my remaining operatives now appear to have been signed, presumably where they have gone to the trouble to get the man's identity independently verified. I am proud of the operatives I have left.

Mention to operative 044 today that it might be an idea to bring in more male guards for this particular job. For a reason she cannot satisfactorily explain she has giggling hysterics. When I demand to know why she is laughing she asks if it had ever occurred to me that male guards might not be any more efficient? I explain patiently that men are not affected by big blue eyes and eyelashes being batted at them when they are possessed by other men. Operative 044 looks at me for a long time before saying, 'Oh right. Got you. Well, you should probably do that then.' As she moves away a note falls out of her pocket and I catch sight of the words: 'Jack, miss you like hell but am hoping to...'

Spend evening typing up the dismissal report on Operative 044.

Friday 27th

Large dark friend of the prisoner's arrives today with specially signed note from TSPTB allowing him admittance. This seems unwise to me at first but after a few minutes conversation with large dark friend find dizziness has returned, knees showing strange weakness that involves me having to sit down for a while. Large dark friend could not be more solicitous and lets himself in to see the prisoner.

The visit lasts several hours but all conversations take place in a whisper which unfortunately makes eavesdropping an impossibility even when I borrow a glass from operative 036. (NB - operatives 017, 018 and 029 have been reprimanded and sent to work on different cases, their disciplinary hearings will be held sometime in January, when we have managed to work through the current backlog.) I do manage to overhear a few husky 'Daniel Jackson...'s which are filled with a strange intensity, longing and regret, and once I hear the prisoner murmur: "Teal'c, if it wasn't for Jack you know I'd..."

Much later I hear the prisoner murmur brokenly, "You're a true friend, Teal'c..." before large dark friend emerges looking noble, tragic, resolved, but most of all magnificent. When he shakes my hand and thanks me for taking such good care of his friend while gazing intently into my eyes the dizziness returns in force. May possibly have blacked out for a few minutes.

Saturday 28th

The prisoner known as TWTID (really must find out what that means) very quiet and well behaved this morning, sending down his request for food from the menu sensibly and without any smartarse comments. He is clearly learning that life will be better for everyone if he just cooperates. At lunchtime there seems to be something of a problem with the dumb waiter mechanism as I can hear him jumping around in agitation while his lunch is being sent up to him, murmuring 'Come on, come *on*!' He greets the arrival of his tray with so much enthusiasm I realize he was much keener to sample the toad-in-the-hole and spotted dick I had suggested than even I had realized. I call through in a friendly manner, saying I hope his custard doesn't have a skin on it. He makes a strange gulping sound before saying in a voice that sounds a little odd, "No, Bertha, it's fine, really. It's quite the...nicest meal I've had since I've been here. You were so right about that...traditional cuisine." When I tell him to make sure he tries the jam roly-poly later he begins to giggle helplessly. Sometimes the prisoner is *very* immature.

I find the ecstatic little whimpering noises he makes while eating lunch most gratifying. So few people really appreciate good old-fashioned boarding school food. The prisoner usually reads while eating - a regrettable habit of which no one seems to have been able to break him - but today he switches on the television. The commentator on the program seems to be from Minnesota although he has clearly tried to disguise his accent with an approximation of one from Chicago. I hear him say 'Oh God I missed you...' on a couple of occasions, which seems a little strange for a program about the pyramids. I call through to the prisoner to ask if he is watching something about the Valley of the Kings again and there is a short pause before he answers me a little breathlessly, saying it's a series about Great Erections of the Ancient People of North America. This is followed by a yelp of pain from the prisoner for which he immediately apologizes saying he has spilled hot coffee into his lap. I go off to fetch him some clean pajamas but find on my return that the television has been turned up so high that I can't get him to hear me. I can't quite make out what the new program is but it is something with which the prisoner evidently agrees most emphatically.

Later the prisoner is very quiet which worries me until I remember he has been eating English cooking - which to the unwary can sometimes have the effect of a cosh applied sharply to the back of the neck. He proceeds to sleep off his lunch for the rest of the afternoon while I am finally given a chance to read that book he lent me by someone called Mary Renault, which he has told me is a nice historical romance. I need something healthy and sensible to remove the memory of that poem the prisoner read to me as I am unfortunately still getting the odd flash, sometimes accompanied by images of the prisoner with his tall, dark, very muscular and rather magnificent friend. Dizzy spells are also regrettably still a problem.

Saturday 28th addendum

Operative 066 (dismissal reports on operatives 45 through to 65 to follow) phones me at my home to tell me the prisoner has been very quiet for hours and didn't order supper. She worries he might be sulking again and asks for permission to go in and check that he is all right. I tell her in no uncertain terms that no one gets to see the prisoner sleeping except me, no one, no one, and then slam down the phone. I congratulate myself on having taken the key to the prisoner's door home with me so there can be no security breaches in my absence. But can't understand where these strange mood swings and melancholy are coming from. Mental note to self: must advertise for more staff on Monday. Stay up all night reading Mary Renault.

Sunday 29th

Prisoner still very quiet and does not answer my cheery greeting. When he does not answer my question about his willingness to eat kippers for breakfast either I become concerned. I enter the suite and search it thoroughly. The bed has clearly been slept in as it is very disordered with sheets and duvet thrown all over the floor, but this could be explained by the sort of bad dreams one would generally expect after eating English food. I can find no trace of the prisoner despite looking under the bed and in all the cupboards and wardrobes. Realize when I find myself checking the cutlery drawer for the third time that I might be a little hysterical. Collect myself. Institute proper search proceedings.

I immediately notice the TV remote lying on the floor just under the hatch cover for the dumb waiter. Further investigation reveals evidence that the dumb waiter mechanism has been damaged, probably due to excessive weight, and it has jammed by the laundry chute. An extensive search of the laundry room reveals several disturbing pieces of evidence: the prisoner's pajama jacket, some of the prisoner's hair and that of another party, the other hair being grey in color; the clean duvets which had been folded neatly on the side have been thrown onto the floor and are now definitely...soiled. I can smell the prisoner's shampoo on the duvet but there are other smells as well, male sweat, another man's aftershave, and an odor which I can't quite identify but which nevertheless fills me with a strange unease...

I call up TSPTB on my cell phone and regretfully report my failure. They inform me tersely that they are less than pleased by my efforts. When I turn to operative 068 (unfortunately the last one I have left) she is smirking in a way I do not care for. When I demand to know what she's so damned happy about given that we're not going to get paid for this operation, she gives a silly sigh and says, 'Yes, but isn't it sweet that they're together again and so in love and everything...' She has clearly missed the point entirely and I make a mental note to never hire another operative from above the Watford Gap.

Monday 30th, Tuesday 31st, Wednesday 1st, Thursday 2nd, Friday 3rd...

Feel a strange lethargy I cannot account for. Have continued to have dizzy spells, hot flushes, and strange dreams in which the lines from the poem the prisoner read to me become mixed up with images of the prisoner naked in the shower, his tall dark friend, and the shadowy grey-haired figure known to me only as 'The Colonel'. Worried by the dawning suspicions to which I cannot quite put a name, I take a moment to recheck the prisoner's file to assure myself that he was indeed a married man before being left a widower. This reassures me greatly.

Decide to take my mind off the failure of my mission by going to the library and getting something to read. Find myself wondering with a strange intensity for which I cannot quite account if they have any more of those Mary Renaults...

 The End