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When they take him back to his cell on the third day, there's someone else there. Evan's not so far gone that he can't recognise the tattered remnants of an SGC uniform, but it's not one of his team. He's glad. They would have had to snake them for any to have survived this long, sarcophagus or no.
He waits until he's sure the Jaffa have gone before he drags himself to the soldier's side. He feels for a pulse, and the man's eyes flicker open.
"Captain Lorne?"
He nods.
"Collins, sir. SG-17. Here to rescue you."
"That's going well."
Collins grins. "Yessir." His mouth is bloody.
"The others?"
Collins shakes his head.
~
When they come back for him, he can't stop the whimper that escapes as they grab his ruined shoulder.
"You willnae get anything useful from him," says Collins, and the guards pause.
"Shut up, Collins."
Collins ignores him. "Disnae know shite, that one. He's a babysitter."
"Quiet! 'S an order, Coll-" He doesn't get further, because the Jaffa drop him, and drag Collins out. From the floor, he can see Collins grinning.
~
After the fifth day, Evan stops yelling at them when they drag Collins away, because they break his knee. He sees the blow coming, the bottom of a staff weapon sweeping down, and has time to reflect that the SGC likes to go on about advanced technology and how not to get yourself stunned or disintegrated, but they forget to mention that their enemy is sometimes just a bunch of vicious bastards with big sticks.
When they bring Collins back, he says, "Sorry, sir. Thought they'd leave you alone."
Evan stares at him, disbelief dulled by the pain in his leg.
~
On the eighth day, SG-1 turns up, guns blazing. They're halfway out before Evan realises they're not taking Collins with them, and he manages to choke out his name.
O'Neill and Carter exchange looks. "D'you think he talked?" asks O'Neill.
"No!" says Evan, shocked, just as Carter purses her mouth and says, "Probably."
O'Neill shrugs, then pulls out a zat and shoots Collins once, twice, three times. Evan screams as Collins disappears.
"Cut it out, Lorne," says O'Neill, not unkindly. "You know how I feel about paperwork."
"The Brits do love their paperwork," says Carter.
"Indeed," says Teal'c.
Evan howls as he tries to escape them.
"Captain," says O'Neill, his tone still gentle.
He pushes away the hands holding him.
"Captain!"
Collins puts a hand to Evan's forehead. It's cold as death.
"You really are out of it, ain't you, sir? Fucking infection."
"I'm sorry," whispers Evan, and Collins smiles down at him.
"Don't worry about it, Captain. Not your fault, is it?"
"I said you wouldn't talk, but they didn't believe me."
"That's alright, Captain."
"I'm sorry."
"Hey, hey. Not to worry, sir. Besides," Collins chuckles. "I did talk, didn't I? Fed 'em a line or twenty. Take 'em a while to untangle it."
~
He's lost count of days and nights, the Jaffa guards coming and going. Evan watches them push Collins in, cursing them. Watches them throw Collins in, hissing with pain as he lands. Watches them drag Collins in, silent.
"Don't worry, sir," says Collins, his voice unrecognisable. "Didnae tell 'em a fucking thing." He laughs, but the sound is a horrid, twisted thing in his throat.
~
One of the Jaffa guards leans over him, so close Evan could cut his throat, if he only had a knife, a sharp edge.
If only he could move.
The next time they're fed, the guards only leave one bowl.
Neither of them eats.
~
Collins yells at the guards. Evan doesn't hear what he says. Collins yells, and curses, and flings the bowl at them. Collins pleads.
~
He's aware of bright light, and warmth, and a calm that suffuses his body until his limbs seem to float. He sleeps.
~
Evan's woken by the sound of footsteps, and he's up in a defensive position before he can think. He tenses, waiting for the pain in his knee to return, but it doesn't.
He's still in rags, but the cuts on his arms, his body, are gone. His head is clear.
Evan looks at Collins, who smiles a ragged, bitter smile. "Think they want to start over, sir."
The footsteps return, and Collins pulls himself into a stance that mirrors Evan's. It looks defensive, but isn't. He kicks a fragment of pottery towards Evan, and Evan hides it in his palm just as the cell door opens.
~
"You tell them anything?" O'Neill isn't in the least accusing.
"Not much, sir," O'Neill may be understanding, but he raises an eyebrow at that. "They concentrated on Collins," says Evan.
"You think he talked?"
"Yes, sir."