The Good Wife by Julie Fortune
Author's LJ/DWJ: None that I know of
Categories: Team, drama, angst, post S-3 [not specified but FIAD is referred to]
Warnings: Violence, torture
Author's Webpage/Fic list: Fanfic For the Fearless
Link to story: The Good Wife
Why this should be read: This long (17,000 words), plotty character-driven story has great characterizations of the whole team, and Teal’c and Sam aren’t just vanishing into the woodwork. This is Smart!SG-1, behaving professionally on a mission that really sucks. Jack's relationship with Sam is lovely and non-shippy; Jack's relationship with Daniel is intense but non-slashy; Teal'c is love.

Well, Daniel Jackson thought, this is all just a little too familiar. He winced as the bars clanged shut behind him, walked the small distance to the far wall, turned and sank down to the usual sitting position. Bruises sparked hot on his back and legs, but they were minor. Just a little too familiar with that, too. Not a lot of anthropologist/ archaeologist/linguists out there in academia with a sliding scale of abuse. Then again, not a lot with an in-depth personal knowledge of torture techniques, either.

At least, in his unfortunately vast experience, this was the Hilton of offworld lockups. There was fresh straw on the cold stone floor, a bucket of clean water in one corner, an empty bucket on the opposite side whose purpose was pretty obvious, given the lack of toilet facilities. A plump straw-filled mattress, a narrow high window with bars giving him fresh air.

That didn't make it a good experience, but it was far from the worst he'd ever had.

"So," said Colonel Jack O'Neill from the other side of the bars ... the side free to turn around and walk out into the sunshine. The side not under arrest. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Jack," Daniel said, and leaned his head back against the stone wall. He was down to a t-shirt, BDU trousers, underwear and socks. That was it. No belt, no weapons, not even an MRE. Even his boonie hat and BDU shirt had been confiscated.

"You gotta quit doing this," Jack said. He was angry, of course. Angry at the situation, angry at himself, and trying hard not to direct it out at Daniel.

Who more or less actually deserved it.

Daniel decided to play dumb, give his friend an out if he wanted it. "Sitting? Sorry, it's gotten to be a habit."

"Come on, Daniel. You know what I'm talking about." Jack wasn't taking the bait. No banter this time. Nothing but deadly seriousness, which Daniel acknowledged with a tired sigh.

"You'd have done things differently?" he asked. He kept it dry and mild, and as he'd hoped, it set Jack back a step and made him think. That was the good thing about Jack; he was always willing to reassess.

Though that didn't mean he was willing to change his mind.