An Unofficial Evolution, Part III

by Karen Greim Mullian
© November 2003

1.

Daniel awoke shouting Jack's name. A few moments passed before he realized he was not still in the small hut in the Nicaraguan jungle, a few more before the door opened and he was no longer alone.
"What?" came a gruff voice in the darkness.
"Turn on the light," he pleaded, his breathing rushed.
Jack O'Neill switched on the light at the wall and walked to the side of the bed. Daniel was sitting up, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, rocking slightly.
"What was it this time?" Jack asked, his tone kinder than when he first spoke.
"The snake," Daniel answered, staring straight ahead.
Jack moved the pillows, checked under the bed, looked in the closet.
"No snake," he said gently.
"Thank you for checking," Daniel replied. He licked his lips and slowly turned his blue eyes toward his friend. He said softly, sadly, "I'm sorry, Jack."
"For what?"
"For everything."
"Daniel, will you stop?" Jack said, a little impatient now.
"How many times tonight?" Daniel asked.
"Who's counting?
"You're not getting any sleep. That's not what you bargained for when you said I could stay with you. Maybe I should go back to the infirmary."
"No," Jack said firmly. He leaned forward, fluffed the pillows, and ordered Daniel to lie back down. He sat on the edge of bed. "It's nearly five. That's almost two hours longer than last night. You know what MacKenzie said."
Daniel frowned. Doctor MacKenzie, the SGC's Mental Health Expert, was a crank. He didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. He was more than a little disappointed that Jack put any stock in what the man had to offer.
Ignoring the look, Jack asked, "So what was the snake doing this time?"
"Smoking a cigarette," Daniel said, feeling a little foolish.
Jack nodded thoughtfully for a moment. "How did it light it?" he wanted to know.
"How the hell should I know?" Daniel snapped. He wished he hadn't said anything.
"Okay, okay." Jack reached over to the night table and got a notebook and pen. He handed them to Daniel. "Here. Write it all down."
Daniel took the book and pen from Jack. He held them in his hands and looked at them. Then he put them down beside him on the bed.
"This is really stupid," he announced. "I've been writing this stuff down for nearly three weeks. They're just dreams. They don't mean anything."
"They're just dreams that all relate to your being held hostage. Look, Daniel–"
"No, Jack, you look," Daniel said, his voice rising. "All I need is to get back to work. That's the best thing for me. All the psychotherapy and dream journals and relaxation tapes in the world aren't going to do anything unless I can get my life back to normal."
Jack stood up wearily and looked down at the archaeologist. Sometimes the man was really obtuse. Fifteen days in that filthy, vermin-infested shit hole of a shack where he'd been beaten and tortured to within an inch of his life, five days in intensive care at Guantanamo before the doctors there would even let him out of bed to use the can, another six days before they released him, and only then because he had refused all medications or food unless they would. Upon arrival back at SGC, Fraiser had clapped him into the infirmary for another eleven days where he had tubes everywhere including places where a man oughtn't to have tubes until she was certain the malaria was responding to treatment. Even now, almost a month after he'd been rescued, he continued to run a nightly fever with staggering chills, and the bruises and contusions on his face and body were only just turning that sickly greenish-yellow that meant they were finally beginning to heal. Doctor Fraiser still had concerns about his left eye, but Daniel never complained about the pain unless it was really unbearable. And then he only asked for Tylenol.
And he wanted to get his life back to normal. As if that was ever going to happen after all he'd been through. Like his life had been anything close to normal since he opened the Stargate nine years ago. Normal – from a man who had been ascended to a higher plane for a year.
Jack rubbed his hands over his tired face. "We'll talk about this later," he said. "I'm gonna fix breakfast. You want anything?"
"No, thank you," Daniel said, drawing the covers up to his shoulders. "Maybe I'll read for a little while. Or something."
Jack yawned. "Don't forget your meds," he reminded him. "What time's your appointment with MacKenzie?"
Daniel shrugged. He hated taking his medication because it made him nauseous. He hated giving Doctor MacKenzie the time of day, much less telling him anything about his ordeal in Nicaragua. He hated talking to anybody, even to Jack, about what happened in that shack. Only William knew, and that was enough.
"I'm not going," he said petulantly.
"Excuse me?" Jack said from the bathroom where he was filling a glass with water.
"I'm not going."
Jack came out of the bathroom and handed him the water. With an annoyed look on his face, Daniel swallowed two antibiotics, a Paxil, and two extra-strength Tylenol. Then he scrunched down and pulled the covers over his head.
"You're wake-up call is for eight-thirty," Jack said. "I have to see Hammond at ten while you're with Fraiser, so you'd better be ready to leave here by nine-fifteen at the latest. You've got MacKenzie at eleven."
"I'm not going," Daniel repeated.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Jack said, as he switched off the light at the wall and closed the door.

2.

"What was your temperature last night?" Janet Fraiser asked as she examined her patient's abdomen.
"One-oh-one, I think," Daniel said, wincing but giving no other indication that he experienced any discomfort. "You'd have to ask Jack. I think he's writing it all down."
"And how long did it last?"
"I dunno," he confessed. "I fell asleep."
"Are you sleeping better?"
"When I sleep."
"Still having nightmares?"
"Yes."
"How often?"
"I'm down to two or three a night. Three last night."
"And do you wake up completely?"
"Pretty much. So does Jack."
"Do you want something to help you sleep?"
"No. The antibiotics make me sick to my stomach as it is."
"How's the eye?"
"Sore."
Doctor Fraiser had him follow her fingers with his eyes. The movements made him blink, and he could feel a migraine starting. Something must have been noticeable because of her next question.
"How long do the headaches last?"
"Depends."
"On...?"
"How long you make me follow your finger. And the penlight really hurts, too."
Doctor Fraiser lowered the light. "I really think you should see Doctor Cassel," she said. "She's the best ophthalmologist I know."
"I'll think about it," Daniel replied noncommitally. He carefully put his glasses on and looked at his watch. "Must need a new prescription."
"It's ten-thirty," Doctor Fraiser said helpfully. Her concern went unnoticed. "Don't wait too long, Daniel. If you observe any of the symptoms we discussed, make sure you get it seen to immediately. Okay, on the scale."
Daniel slid off the examination table and stepped up on the scale. He didn't watch as she adjusted the balance. She'd give him the bad news whether he wanted to hear it or not.
"Congratulations," she said sarcastically. "You've managed to lose the weight you gained last week."
"I'm eating," he protested.
"Are you still throwing up?" she asked.
"Whenever I can, it seems. Especially when the headaches are bad. Or when I smell eggs cooking. Or cigarettes. Or my own sweat."
He could have gone on, but he saw Doctor Fraiser's eyes start to glisten. He knew she wanted to help him. He also knew she couldn't, not with this. He didn't want her to know what he'd gone through in Nicaragua. He wanted to spare her, to spare all of his friends that, and he wanted to spare himself their pity.
He just wanted to get on with his life.

3.

The next stop was the one he dreaded. Doctor MacKenzie was his least favorite person at the SGC. General Hammond had all but ordered the appointments, and out of respect Daniel had acquiesced; but he deeply resented having to do this.
"Good morning, Doctor Jackson," Doctor MacKenzie greeted him at his office door.
Daniel sat down opposite the Mental Health Expert, a sullen look on his face. He had no respect for the man whatsoever and no intentions of cooperating with what he always considered to be an invasion of his privacy and an inquisition.
"What do you want to talk about today?" Doctor MacKenzie asked, trying to be pleasant. He didn't play well against type.
"Absolutely nothing," Daniel answered bluntly.
"Doctor Jackson, can we possibly get past your hostility toward the psychiatric profession and move on to your situation?
"I don't have any hostility toward your profession, Doctor MacKenzie," Daniel said with a little shrug. "Just toward you."
The psychiatrist's face reddened. Like Doctor Fraiser, he had taken an oath to do no harm, but these mandatory confrontations with Daniel Jackson – he could never think of them as sessions – were a sore trial. Doctor Jackson's obvious resentment of authority went a long way to explaining why none of his foster families had ever adopted him.
"Did you read the material I gave you on post traumatic stress syndrome?" he asked.
"I started it," Daniel said. "Like most government documents, it's written on a fourth-grade level. It was pretty boring. I hope there won't be a test. I never finished it. "
"You're not helping yourself, Doctor Jackson." Doctor MacKenzie said. He decided on a different approach. "Doctor Lee continues to speak highly of you. He can't say enough about what you did to preserve his safety."
Daniel frowned and looked away. "It was nothing."
"Doesn't the fact that you saved his life – at great risk to your own – mean anything to you?"
"Don't misunderstand. I'm happy I was able to help Doctor Lee," Daniel explained. "I'm glad he's back at work. He's a fortunate man."
Following Daniel's lead, Doctor MacKenzie asked, "Why do you say that?"
"Because he's been allowed to move forward with things, to put the nightmare behind him." His voice, his face, his body language were flat, impassive.
"Do you envy him?"
"I wish people would let me do the same thing."
"What people?"
"You for one," Daniel responded, adding a little reluctantly, "Doctor Fraiser. General Hammond. Colonel O'Neill. I keep telling everyone that I don't want to talk about what happened. I just want to forget. I want to get back to work."
"Doctor Fraiser hasn't released you yet, has she?"
"No, she hasn't. I tell her I feel fine, but she just ignores me."
"Why do you suppose that is?"
"I have no idea."
"And what about Colonel O'Neill?"
"What about him?"
"Does he ignore you when you tell him you're fine."
"He just tells me he knows how I feel. But that's not really possible, now is it? He didn't go through what I did. So how can he know?"
"What did you go through, Doctor Jackson?"
"Why don't you just get out the anal probe?" Daniel suggested with a little more animation to his voice. "As I said in our last time together and the one before that, I'm not interested in going over it. I lived through it. Isn't that enough? I will not relive it for your amusement."
"I don't find your experience amusing at all, Doctor Jackson," Doctor MacKenzie assured him. His words were conciliatory and kinder than usual. "And anything you say in this room stays in this room."
"Doctor Lee has already told you what happened. Why do I have to tell you?"
"Because he can only tell me what he saw and what he felt. He can't tell me what you saw and how you felt about it – how you feel about it."
"I've already told you. I don't feel anything, and I don't feel like talking about it. "
Daniel wanted to leave, but he guessed it wasn't going to be that easy to escape. He remained seated long after he knew he should walk out.
"You killed the man who tortured you," Doctor MacKenzie said gently. His tone was non-accusatory. It was simply a statement of fact.
Daniel pressed his lips together, his mouth suddenly as dry as it had ever been during his captivity.
"Yes," he murmured.
His breathing grew a little more rapid. His palms began to sweat.
"And how do you feel about that?"
Daniel's eyes riveted onto the Mental Health Expert, reddening, filling. He began to tremble with anger. He'd killed before, many times, and had never been asked to explain how it made him feel. It was never easy, but he'd always found a way to justify to himself what he had done. Why not this time?
"Maybe you didn't hear me. I said I don't feel anything."
"This...Rafael had threatened to kill you."
"He threatened, but he seemed to enjoy inflicting pain much more."
"Were you afraid of him.?"
"No," Daniel said quickly.
"You weren't afraid he would kill you?"
"I never thought he would."
"But how could you be sure of that?"
"I just never believed that he would."
"Then why did you kill him?"
"So he wouldn't hurt William–Doctor Lee."
"And you weren't afraid for your own safety?"
"No," Daniel answered with a confidence he didn't feel, either in Nicaragua or in MacKenzie's office. He tried to divert attention away from himself. "I knew Colonel O'Neill would find us."
"You never doubted it for a moment."
"Never."
"Not once."
"Nope," Daniel answered with a shake of his head. It wasn't exactly the truth, but if he sounded as though he believed it, maybe MacKenzie would.
"Why is that?"
"Because Jack promised. In seven years, he's never broken a promise he's made to me."
"You trust him."
"Implicitly. I trust my life to him every time we go through the Stargate."
"Hadn't Colonel O'Neill already shot Rafael?"
"Yes. Well, someone had. Colonel O'Neill or the men who were with him."
"But you felt compelled to shoot him yourself."
"I already told you. I had to protect William–Doctor Lee."
"Was there ever a time during your captivity, Doctor Jackson, when you wished you could kill Rafael?"
"Is this a counseling session or an auto de fe?" Daniel asked. "Because if it's the latter, you might like to try a pain stick to extract the information you want. I'm sure they've got some in the armory. We brought back a whole bunch from P3X-403."
"That's the second time you've mentioned torture devices, Doctor Jackson," Doctor MacKenzie said. "First, anal probes, now pain sticks. Do you think this is significant?"
"Your insisting I regurgitate every detail of my captivity is torture. Do you think that's significant?"
"Doctor Jackson," the psychiatrist said in exasperation, "I'm trying to help you. You survived an horrific ordeal."
"Yes, I did. And if you really want to help, then just let me deal with it in my own way."
"But you're not dealing with it," Doctor MacKenzie told him. "You're acting as though it never happened."
"So?"
"Are you still having nightmares?"
Daniel hesitated. Then he confessed, "They're getting worse."
"Are you writing them down as we discussed?"
"Not all of them."
"Which ones aren't you writing down?"
"Only one – about the snake and the cigarette."
"You had that one again?"
"Almost every night."
"What do you think it means?"
"I don't know. It's a snake smoking a cigarette." When Doctor MacKenzie didn't say anything, Daniel gnawed his bottom lip. "How could a snake light a cigarette? It's got no hands. But if the snake isn't a snake – if the snake is really a Gould, then it could acquire hands, couldn't it? When a Gould takes a host, it acquires hands. A Gould can make its host do anything. It could make its host light up a cigarette." Daniel closed his eyes to shut out the image of Rafael and his glowing cigarette. "It could make the host torture its victim."
"Like Rafael tortured you?"
"Yes."
"Do you think Rafael was a Gould?"
Daniel slumped back in his seat. "No," he said slowly, the pain behind his left eye much worse than it had been when Doctor Fraiser examined him just an hour ago. He looked at Doctor MacKenzie, as a single tear escaped and ran down his cheek. "And he had no right to do to me what he did."

4.

A knock at his office door startled Daniel, and he spilled his coffee on the papers on his desk.
"Damn it," he shouted, grabbing for some paper towels to clean up the mess.
There was a second knock, and he yelled, "Who the hell is it?"
The door opened, and Doctor Lee hovered uncertainly at the threshold.
"In or out, Doctor Lee," Daniel said somewhat formally without looking away for his mop-up operation.
"I heard you were in today," Doctor Lee said quietly. "I thought I'd stop by to see how you were doing."
"I'm making a mess of things," Daniel said impatiently. "What can I do for you?"
"Nothing," Doctor Lee replied, surprised by his boss's uncharacteristic ill will.
"Then let me get back to work," Daniel responded, dumping the soaking paper towels into the trash can with an irritated look on his face.
"Daniel?" said Doctor Lee.
"Doctor Lee?" Daniel said.
"Oh," Doctor Lee said. He sounded very disappointed. "We're back to Doctor Lee."
Daniel sighed and closed his eyes. "William, I'm sorry. I haven't...since we got...well...William, you've been to see Doctor MacKenzie, haven't you?"
"Yes, twice a week...since we got back."
"Really? Twice a week?" Once a year was more than reasonable.
"Yes," Doctor Lee continued, "Doctor Fraiser thought I might find it helpful."
"And do you?"
"Yes, I do."
Daniel eyed his associate suspiciously. "What have you told him, William?"
"What happened to us. How you saved both our lives."
"About that – I was wondering if you might do me a favor. Don't tell MacKenzie anything else about me. I mean, I didn't do anything out of the ordinary. And the less anybody knows about what happened, the better. Let's just keep it between us, okay?"
Perplexed, Doctor Lee asked, "Daniel, is this going to affect my performance appraisal?"
"Is what going to affect your performance appraisal?"
"The fact that I'm seeing a psychiatrist."
"Oh, that." Daniel frowned. "No, of course not."
"And Nicaragua?"
Daniel tilted his head to one side. "I think it's best if we don't talk about it anymore. Let's just forget it, shall we?"
"I can't do that," Doctor Lee confessed. "You saved my life. When I think about what that...bastard...did to you–"
"I've put it all behind me," Daniel lied.
That was two lies he'd told today, and it wasn't even half past twelve.
"Daniel?"
Daniel took off his glasses and put his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.
"If you don't mind," he said, closing his eyes, "uh, William...could we talk about this later?"
Or not at all would have been his preference. He'd rather not see Doctor Lee ever again if it could be arranged. He wanted to be well shut of anything that reminded him of those fifteen days in the jungle.
"Doctor Jackson – Daniel, are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Please go."
"Of course, Doctor Jackson," replied Doctor Lee. "It was good to see you."
"And you, William."
It was his third lie of the day. Without looking back, he kicked the door closed.
In the hallway, Doctor Lee collided with Major Carter as she sailed around the corner.
"Hey, Doctor Lee," Sam said, giving him a pleasant smile, her large eyes sparkling. "I just heard Doctor Jackson's in today. Have you seen him?"
He looked her, his eyes troubled. "I think he just threw me out of his office."
"Really?" she said, her smile fading. "That doesn't sound like Daniel."
"No, Major, it isn't like him at all," Doctor Lee said seriously. "You know, the entire time we were in Nicaragua, he never once lost his temper. Well, twice he did, but only after he was really ill, and I know he didn't mean anything by it. But just now, he...Major Carter, I think this experience has changed him. He seems different...preoccupied."
As the words left Doctor Lee's lips, a crash reverberated from Daniel's office, followed by shouting in what Sam knew to be Abydonian. Doctor Lee shuddered at the sounds. More crashing and more shouting, then the door opened, banging so hard against the wall that the handle stuck into the plaster. The look in Daniel's eyes as he brushed past her reminded Sam of the day they had found him on Vis Uban and how he had pushed her hand away when she tried to touch him.
"Find Colonel O'Neill," Same told Doctor Lee, as she hurried after Daniel.
She caught up with him at the top of two flights of stairs when he stopped to catch his breath. He ignored her when she called his name, heading in the direction of his quarters. He was clearly on a mission.
"Daniel," she said again, following him into his room.
"It must be here somewhere," was all he said.
He took a half-dozen books from the shelf near his bed and tossed them onto his desk. He rifled through the papers lying there, carelessly scattering them on the floor.
"It's not here."
"What are you looking for?" Sam asked.
"It's not in my office. It's not here."
"Daniel, what's not here?"
He stopped for a moment and looked at her, not understanding why she didn't know what he was talking about. Sam took hold of both of his arms to get his attention. With a strength she never realized he possessed, he pushed her away from him and continued his frantic search, practically trashing his room in the process.
In the nick of time, Jack caught Sam before she fell. Certain she was steady on her feet, he left her and grabbed Daniel, shoving him against the wall.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" he shouted. "Have you gone nuts? You could have seriously hurt her?"
Daniel struggled in Jack's grasp for a moment; then suddenly, his eyes widened and the color drained from his face. When Jack finally let him go, Daniel crumbled to the floor, his arms shielding his head from the anticipated punishment.
Recognizing a conditioned response when he saw one, Jack quickly crouched down beside him.
"God, Daniel," he said, "I'm sorry. Carter's all right. You didn't hurt her. Daniel, look at me."
It was a while before Daniel raised his head. When he did, he stammered, "I've lost Sha're's picture. I can't find it anywhere. Jack, it was all I have left of her, and it's gone."
Were he a betting man, Jack would have laid even money that there would be a problem when Daniel discovered his wife's photograph missing. He'd not mentioned it at all since his return; but once he was back on base, Jack had sensed there would be an ugly scene. What caught him so unawares was the ferocity of Daniel's reaction.
Giving the top of Daniel's head a short caress, Jack reached to his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. From the billfold, he drew out the picture and handed it over to his friend.
Slowly, Daniel unfolded the damaged photograph. He stared at the spoiled, fractured face.
"How did it happen?" he asked softly.
"You don't remember?"
Daniel shook his head.
"Daniel, I watched you pack it when you were leaving for Honduras," Jack told him as gently as he could. "I don't know how this happened. It's the way I found it."
"Rafael did this," Daniel muttered in outrage.
"Probably."
"Son of a bitch," Daniel swore. "Where did you find it?"
"In a stream about ten miles from the camp. Daniel, if it hadn't been for Sha're, I...we...you might have been lost again." Jack smiled at him, and stroked Daniel's hair a second time. "You have a guardian angel, friend."
Daniel clutched the photograph to his heart.
"I don't believe in guardian angels, Jack," Daniel said, unable to staunch the flow caused by this new wound as two large tears rolled down his cheeks."I don't believe in miracles. I don't believe in anything anymore."

5.

The shower was so cold, Daniel thought he was going to freeze to death. There were worse ways to die – staff blasts, fire, lethal doses of radiation. Right now, he didn't care. He only wished he might die, right here, right now. The dream from which he sought frigid absolution was definitely not one for the dream journal.
He'd had his share of erotic dreams over the years, but most of them in the recent past had been about his wife, not about female SGC personnel. Until now, even in his dreams, circumspection was his usual modus operandi. On the rare occasions – very rare indeed – when the opportunity presented itself, he didn't date anyone with whom he worked. He'd grown used to his physical needs not being fulfilled as often as he'd like, learned to sublimate them, until the lack had simply become a part of who he was.
This dream, though, he found every bit as disturbing as the snake. He supposed in a way there was a correlation, but that was neither here nor there. He couldn't remember a time when he'd put his own desires before a lover's, let alone when only his desire mattered. Upon reflection, it was clear that in this dream neither love nor desire had anything to do with his actions. A room full of women, screaming, begging for mercy, none of them able to prevent the inevitable. He remembered taking particular enjoyment in tormenting Major Carter and Doctor Fraiser, prolonging their agony as long as he possibly could.
These women were his colleagues, Sam and Janet two of his closest friends. Why would he want to hurt them, especially in that way? It made no sense. Not to mention that it was biologically impossible for a man of his age to do what he dreamed he had done. He doubted he could have managed it as a teenager.
He turned off the shower and, wrapping a large towel around him, returned to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed in Jack's spare room, dripping, shivering. The ice-cold shower had done the trick. The worst was over. All that remained now were the questions. It had to mean something. A long time ago he had been told that dreams teach. What was he supposed to learn from this one? That he sought vast sadistic physical power over women? That deep down inside he longed to punish them for – for what?
"Daniel," he heard Jack call from the other side of the door, "what's going on?"
"Go away, Jack," he answered. He didn't want to talk.
Disregarding Daniel's response, Jack opened the door. "I got up to take a pee and saw the light on under your door," he explained. He stopped and stared at Daniel half naked on the bed, gooseflesh covering his arms and legs. "It's two-thirty in the morning? Did you just take a shower?"
"Yes."
Jack ran both hands through his wiry short hair, making it stand comically on end. "What the hell's the matter with you?" he asked.
"Um...Did I just say, ‘Go away, Jack'?" Daniel commented.
"Did you? I didn't hear you," Jack replied. He went into the bathroom and brought out another towel. He threw it to Daniel. "Dry yourself off."
Daniel thrust the second towel away.
"Daniel, what's with you? Ever since you were at the base last Thursday, you've been behaving strangely."
"Oh, like I've never behaved strangely before?" Daniel asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Okay, you're behaving strangely...differently."
"I know, Jack. I don't know what's happening. Maybe it's time I moved back to my apartment."
"At this hour? Are you crazy?"
It never ceased to amaze Daniel how insensitive Jack could be at times.
"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I am going crazy. I'm definitely being selfish. You've looked after me for the past three weeks. I think it's time I was on my own again."
"Daniel."
"Jack, have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror lately? You've got bags under your eyes big enough you can use them for suitcases. You're not getting more than five hours sleep a night – "
"Neither are you."
"– and you go to work everyday."
"And you're starting back soon. We've both been sleep deprived before. What's your point?"
"Please don't think I don't appreciate everything you've done for me," Daniel said. "I really need to get back on track, to start looking after myself."
"Fine, Daniel, but can it wait until daybreak?" Jack pleaded.
Daniel leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.
"The snake again?" asked Jack.
"Worse."
"I thought the snake was the worst."
"So did I. Jack, do you mind if I ask a personal question?"
"Now?"
Daniel ignored him. "Do you ever dream about women?"
"Whoa, Danny," Jack said, putting up his hands. "That is a little personal."
"Ever dream of overpowering them?"
"Uh, no, can't say that I have."
"Didn't think it was normal."
"Hey, who says I'm normal?"
"This is serious, Jack."
"Daniel, it was just a dream."
"No, this was...oh, what's the difference?"
"What did you do...in this dream?" Jack asked, picking up on his friend's sense of frustration.
"Things I don't think I'm really capable of doing. Or wouldn't like to think that I could do."
"You're gonna have to be a little more specific, Daniel. Subtlety isn't my strong suit at three a.m."
"Rape," Daniel said bluntly.
"Don't beat around the–" Jack answered, unable to stop his mouth from giving voice to his thoughts. "Sorry, bad metaphor. Daniel, did Rafael–"
"No, Jack. He did a lot of things, but not that."
"You're sure? You didn't remember what happened to Sha're's picture."
"He had every opportunity. But he didn't. If he had, this might make sense. Jack, last week, when I pushed Sam, I didn't see her. Not as Sam, not as a woman, not as a person. If you hadn't stopped me, I don't know what I might have done to her." He clenched his fists, pounding them against his thighs. "God, Jack, there's this thing inside of me, this burning rage. It's like a wildfire, and I don't know how to put it out."

6.

General Hammond was livid. It wasn't often that he showed his anger, but the report on his desk had pushed one button too many.
He opened his office door and shouted at Sergeant Davis, "Get Doctor Jackson up here now."
"Yes, Sir."
The Sergeant placed the phone call immediately. Through the open door, the General could hear half of the conversation and didn't like what he heard.
"Yes, Doctor Jackson, I'm sure you're very busy," Davis said, "but the General...no, Sir, I don't think I can tell him that. Perhaps you had better convey those sentiments personally, Sir."
Hammond walked out to the Sergeant's desk and grabbed the phone.
"Doctor Jackson," he barked, "I suggest you get your ass up here right now and not a minute after, do you understand me?"
When Daniel finally arrived forty-five minutes later, General Hammond was red faced with the pure rage usually reserved for Colonel O'Neill.
"Doctor Jackson, get the hell in here," he hollered when he saw the archaeologist climb the steps from the Control Room.
Pausing at Sergeant Davis's desk, Daniel quipped, "Guess you didn't give him my message."
"No, Sir," Davis replied. "I figured you're already in enough trouble."
Daniel shrugged. "You're probably right."
He took a deep breath and entered Hammond's office.
"Close the door and sit down," the General ordered.
Daniel remained standing in the doorway.
"You are not going to get an engraved invitation this time, Doctor. I am not asking you. I am telling you. Sit down."
Daniel jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Do you still want me to shut the door?"
The General glared. Daniel pulled the door closed and sat as directed.
"Are you out of your mind?" General Hammond demanded. He picked up a manilla folder and slammed it down on his desk. When Daniel gave him only a blank look, he continued. "Where do you get off writing an appraisal like this? If I didn't know you better, I'd think this evaluation was a personal attack against Doctor Lee."
Daniel shook his head and smiled disarmingly. "All I'm suggesting is that Doctor Lee's talents are likely better suited for the academic environment."
The General opened the folder and read from the paper on top. "Quote: ‘Doctor Lee is at best indiscreet and at worst untrustworthy, albeit unintentionally. His temperament is unsuitable for service in a top secret military facility such as the SGC.' Unquote."
"I did go on to say that Doctor Lee's enthusiasm is unquestionable," Daniel admitted but unraveled the compliment with, "but the rigors of the Stargate Program are more than he can manage, considering the stressful circumstances SGC personnel often experience."
"Need I remind you, Doctor Jackson," the General said icily, "that Colonel O'Neill wrote something very similar to this effect for your first evaluation?"
"Yes, I seem to remember that," Daniel replied slowly. "In fact, I used Colonel O'Neill's assessment as a model. They're my own words, so you can't accuse me of plagiarism."
"I'm going to ignore the sarcasm, and get straight to the heart of the matter."
"Direct approach," Daniel said approvingly. "That's always good."
"Shut up, Doctor, and listen to what I have to say, because I'm only going to say it once. I don't know who you think you are, but this review is unacceptable. You will rewrite it to reflect an honest assessment of Doctor Lee's performance and have it back to me at thirteen-hundred hours. Is that clear?"
"Are you doubting my word, General?" Daniel asked seriously.
"Only your judgment, Doctor."
"You never used to."
"You never used to allow your personal feelings to affect your professional behavior. Now rewrite this review."
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't do that."
"I beg your pardon."
"Perhaps I should rephrase that," Daniel said, his words tinged with uncustomary arrogance. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I won't do that."
"I am not going to stand by and watch you ruin a good man's career."
"Doctor Lee wouldn't have a career for me to ruin if you had chosen Robert Rothman's replacement with a little more care."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
"Then you're living in an alternate reality, General. In my reality, Doctor Lee is insufferably incompetent and unspeakably unprofessional, not to mention the fact that he's a coward."
"Doctor Jackson–"
"You forget, General, I have personal knowledge of the man," Daniel said, his voice rising a few decibels to match General Hammond's. "I witnessed first hand how he behaved in a crisis situation. My God, General, if it hadn't been for me, you and I wouldn't even be having this conversation because Doctor Lee and I would both be dead."
"Is that all, Doctor Jackson?" General Hammond asked quietly, holding the performance appraisal out for Daniel to take with him.
Daniel snatched the papers from the General's hand and slammed the door behind him as he left.

7.

Doctor Fraiser stood at the open door of Daniel's office for quite awhile before she cleared her throat to get his attention. He jumped at the sound, dropping the artifact he was studying on the floor. It shattered. Daniel closed his eyes in exasperation and swore in Abydonian.
"Thought I'd find you here," Doctor Fraiser said with a frown. "You missed your appointment this morning."
"No, actually, I saw Doctor Warner yesterday," Daniel answered, stooping to brush up the broken pieces of pottery onto a piece of paper. "Would you open that plastic bag?" he asked.
He let the shards fall into the Ziplock bag and took it from her without thanks, marking on the label the date and time of the artifact's destruction with a Sharpie.
"Why did you see Doctor Warner?" Doctor Fraiser asked. "Your appointment was with me this morning."
"Oh, I changed it," he said, turning his attention to the onscreen database where he entered the same information he had written on the plastic bag.
"But you knew I wouldn't be here yesterday," Doctor Fraiser remarked.
"Yes, that's why I changed it."
"Daniel, I don't understand."
"There's nothing to understand, Janet," Daniel said, as if he changed his medical examinations as frequently as he took off his glasses. "Doctor Warner had the time to see me yesterday."
Daniel's use of her first name awoke a suspicion in Doctor Fraiser's mind.
"Was there some emergency that couldn't wait?" she asked. "Your eye?"
Daniel shook his head. "No, I just didn't see any point in waiting until today. Doctor Warner and I were both free at the same time. It worked out for both our schedules."
"Daniel, you haven't got a schedule," Doctor Fraiser reminded him. "I haven't cleared you to return to work yet."
"Doctor Warner did that yesterday."
"Daniel, Doctor Warner doesn't know your case as well as I do."
He smiled at her patronizingly. "There, you see, Janet, you really do understand. See how simple it was? I knew you were a smart woman the first time I met you."
"Are you still running a temperature at night?" Doctor Fraiser asked.
Daniel ignored her.
"I saw from your chart that you lost three more pounds."
"Janet, if you like, you have my permission to discuss this with Doctor Warner. You might be able to help him now that he's taken over my case."
"What? Since when?"
"Since he agreed to see me yesterday. Trust me, Janet, it's better this way."
"Oh, really."
"Yeah, it's nothing personal. I just think that I should see a male doctor from now on. I think a man will have better insight."
"So, Daniel," Doctor Fraiser asked pointedly, "when did you become a male chauvinist?"
She turned on her heel and marched all five-foot-two-inches of herself out of his office. He followed in her wake as far as the door and called after her, "You forgot pig. The correct expression is male chauvinist pig."
"If the shoe fits, Doctor Jackson," Doctor Fraiser hollered, tight-lipped, over her shoulder.

8.

Sam stared at Doctor Fraiser, her mouth open in disbelief.
"Daniel did what?"
"Fired me," Doctor Fraiser repeated, as she raised a forkful of salad to her mouth. "It seems Doctor Warner has better insight into the male psyche than I do."
"Daniel said that?"
"Not in those precise words, but that's what he meant. How's your arm?"
"Fine, considering the torn ligaments in my elbow. I don't mind telling you, Daniel really frightened me. I never knew he was so strong." She took a sip of tea, then added, "Or such an idiot."
"What do you mean, Sam?"
Sam leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "Rumor has it he really pissed off General Hammond. Hammond told him to revise a report yesterday afternoon, but Daniel didn't do it. Doctor Lee was right, Janet. Daniel is different. Sergeant Siler said he quarreled with Teal'c this morning, and Jack said Daniel's planning on moving back to his own apartment by the weekend."
"He's nowhere near ready to be on his own," Doctor Fraiser confided.
"I wouldn't worry too much," Sam assured her. "Colonel O'Neill will never let him move out."
"Oh, Colonel O'Neill might."
The two women looked up at Jack standing beside their table with his lunch tray. Sam smiled quickly and invited him to join them.
"He cancelled his appointment with MacKenzie," he informed them as he sat down. "You ladies probably wanna keep out of his way. Daniel's got a hard-on about something."
"Colonel," Sam and Doctor Fraiser scolded him at once for his crassness.
"What? How's this? Daniel's got a bug up his butt. A pole up his ass. Sorry, I can't think of a more delicate way to phrase it. He's really been pissing everybody off."
"Even you, Colonel?"
"Imagine that, Carter?" Jack sniped.
"Sir, did you know he had an argument with General Hammond yesterday?" asked Sam.
"And he's dropped me as his doctor," Doctor Fraiser said.
Jack threw down the sandwich he'd been holding in his hand as he spoke. Somehow this all seemed strangely familiar, as if he'd been through it before. The trouble Daniel was in had nothing to do with making General Hammond angry or pissing off his friends. He was sending them a message. Jack was pretty sure he knew what it was, and it wasn't what he'd brought Daniel back from Nicaragua for.

9.

Over the hum of the washer and dryer in the laundry room, the mournful melody Daniel had listened to for months after Sha're died drifted through the house when Jack got home from the base. Jack only knew it as the theme from Platoon. At some point Daniel had bored him nearly to tears in a noble attempt at enlightenment about how the Adagio for Strings had become a part of the national repertoire with the deaths of Presidents Roosevelt and Kennedy, even though it had been written at a time of happiness for the composer. The implications of the incredibly beautiful and delicately sorrowful music weren't totally lost on Jack, though he never let on. It was one of the CDs Jack had taken from Daniel's apartment following his death last year.
Other sounds emanated from the spare room at the back of the house – drawers opening, the medicine cabinet closing. The door stood ajar; and as Jack moved down the hall, he could see Daniel folding clothes and placing them into his black gym bag. The intent look on Daniel's face warned Jack to rattle before striking. Lately, the man practically jumped out of his skin if he was startled.
"Daniel?" he called over the music before he reached the door. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" came the expected answer.
"If I had to guess, I'd say you're packing."
"You're good, Jack," Daniel commented.
Okay, so it was going to be one of those conversations.
"Why?"
Daniel raised his blue eyes to meet Jack's. Since Nicaragua, those eyes had been sad, and the sadness had only increased as time passed. So far, nothing could pry loose from him the cause.
"It's time I moved out. Wouldn't want people to start talking."
"People always talk. Mostly about you at the moment. You've cut quite a swath through the SGC – first Hammond, then Fraiser, and Teal'c. Ready to pick a fight with me? I'm not as easy to bowl over as Carter."
"Jack, would you just let me get finished here?"
"Why are you doing this, Daniel? What's it going to accomplish – besides proving you're an idiot."
"Well, thank you, Jack. That makes me feel a whole lot better." He started to fold another sweater, then put it down. "I need to be on my own," he said, not too convincingly.
"Yeah, yeah, I've been hearing this from you for three weeks. What's the problem, Daniel? Do I smell bad or something?"
"God, Jack, do you ever stop making things out to be about you?"
"The only thing I want to stop, Daniel, is you from making a fool out of yourself. You came back from Nicaragua a hero. Now you're just acting like an ass."
Daniel struggled to stay calm, to seem as if he didn't care what Jack said, but the frustration in his eyes was all too apparent. In a moment the rant would start. Just as well, Jack thought. Let him get it all out, ease some of the pain. There was nothing else either one of them could do.
To Jack's surprise, Daniel said nothing. There was no tantrum, no tears, nothing hurled to the floor in futility. He quietly continued with his packing, zipped up the bag, and carried it down the hall to the front door.
"You don't have to leave, you know," Jack said, following him into the living room. "You can stay here as long as you want to."
"That's what I've done," Daniel answered, giving Jack a faint smile of gratitude.
A horn honked on the street. Daniel shouldered the bag. Jack saw the wince of discomfort.
"That's my cab," Daniel said.
"For crying out loud, Daniel, you don't need to take a cab. I'll drive you home."
"Thanks, Jack. For everything."
"Daniel, don't do this."
"I'm not a hero, Jack," Daniel said as he pulled open the front door. "I was stupid."
"Oh, here we go," Jack moaned.
"I went to Honduras, against your advice. I went without backup, against your advice. I got William and me kidnaped, and I got the crap kicked out of me every day for fifteen days. I got lice, flea-bite dermatitis, boils, burns, and malaria. The ocular muscles on the left side of my head are torn, and the retina will probably detach and I'll go blind. I still have headaches, diarrhea, fever, and chills. I'm so dizzy I can hardly stand, and I throw up after almost every meal. And every night in my dreams there are snakes that smoke cigarettes and I violate my closest female friends. That doesn't sound to me like the stuff heroes are made of."
"Daniel, how long are you going to continue to beat yourself up?" Jack asked in earnest. "You didn't plan to get kidnaped. You didn't ask for any of the stuff that happened to you. From what Doctor Lee says, everything you did, every risk you took, was to keep him alive and out of harm's way. You made yourself a target so that he wouldn't be. Okay, maybe that was stupid, but it was also effective. The man is alive today because of you. And if you hadn't done all that, Doctor Lee wouldn't have been alive to take care of you when you got sick, and I'd be listening to this music at your funeral. Now where I come from, that's heroic."
The horn blew again. Daniel looked around the room as if bidding goodbye to the one place where he'd found sanity and safety during his lifetime. Then he looked at Jack, swallowing hard.
"I've gotta go," he said softly, his voice breaking. "Don't call me."
"Daniel."
"I won't answer the phone."
He paused for a moment on the front porch as if there was something else he wanted to say but for some reason changed his mind. Without looking back, he walked quickly down the front steps to the waiting taxi. Jack watched him disappear into the early fall evening twilight.
As he turned back into the house, his cell phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Jack."
"Yes, Daniel?"
"Don't forget to take the sheets out of the washer and put them in the dryer. Otherwise, you'll have to do them all over again."
Jack closed his eyes, already missing Daniel's company. "Don't forget your appointment with MacKenzie is at ten tomorrow."
There was a brief hesitation on Daniel's end of the line; then he said, "Jack, you can keep the CD" and hung up.

10.

Daniel sat down in the seat he usually sat in. He was immediately made ill at ease when Doctor MacKenzie took the chair next to him and crossed his legs, instead of sitting behind his desk. Daniel detested this man, and such close proximity to him – to anyone these days – pushed him right into fight-or-flight mode. The adrenalin was flowing, and he felt a slight continuous undercurrent throughout his body.
"I'm glad you decided to keep our appointment today, Doctor Jackson," the psychiatrist told him. Doctor MacKenzie smiled his uninviting smile.
"Well, about that...our mutual friend General Hammond thought it was something I should strongly consider," Daniel confessed, trying desperately to keep his leg from shaking. He felt as though he had no control over what he was saying, but he made no effort to stop himself. "He seems to think that butting heads with you every week will somehow show me the error of my ways."
"He's concerned about you, Daniel," MacKenzie said, using his given name for the first time in a few years. "And so are your colleagues."
"That's kind of them, but I keep telling them I'm fine. They just don't want to listen."
"Tell me why you had Doctor Fraiser removed as your physician."
"That's my business," Daniel replied, his jaw set firmly.
"But you believe your reasons are adequate."
"It's really very simple. She's a woman."
"She's an internist, Daniel. A trained professional who is concerned only with your welfare."
"Who happens to be a woman."
"She's been your doctor for seven years."
"Six, technically. I'd rather have Doctor Warner. Can we move on?"
"All right. So you had words with General Hammond."
"There aren't any secrets around here, are there? He had words with me."
"Semantics?"
It really wasn't a question, but Daniel's mouth was getting ahead of him. "No, just facts. He wanted me to do something I felt was unnecessary. His request was inappropriate."
"And what was it?"
"That's between General Hammond and me."
"Daniel, I can't help you if you continue to shut down every time we meet."
"Then perhaps we should stop meeting like this."
Doctor MacKenzie exhaled patiently. As much as Daniel claimed to detest these sessions, they presented a challenge the psychiatrist knew he couldn't resist.
"Why do I have to repeat myself every time I'm here?" he went on. "You can't help me. Nobody can help me. I'm unhelpable. An incurable. A leper."
"Is that how you see yourself?"
"All I need is a bell around my neck, so people know to steer clear."
"People like Major Carter?"
"She got in my way," Daniel said indignantly.
"You nearly broke her arm."
"I didn't mean to," he admitted, a hint of sincere penitence creeping into his eyes.
"And you've moved out of Colonel O'Neill's house."
"I don't need a nursemaid."
"You needed someone to get you away from Rafael."
Daniel back went rigid at the mention of his captor. He drew himself up. "That was then. This is now. I can take care of myself. I've taken control of my life."
"What about the nightmares?"
His eyes widened for just a second, enough time to betray the accuracy of his next statements.
"I'm sleeping much better," he lied. It was becoming a bad habit.
"No more snake dreams?"
"No."
"What do you dream about?"
"Rape, pillage, and murder, if you must know," he blurted out, again unable to stop himself. "Not necessarily in that order."
He said it with such sincerity that Doctor MacKenzie knew it was no exaggeration.
"Who is doing this all of this...violence?"
"I am."
Doctor MacKenzie showed no surprise. Daniel guessed that even though he was a lousy psychiatrist, the man must have heard it all before.
"Who are your victims?"
That was an odd way to put it. Daniel hadn't considered the women to be victims, at least not in his dreams. He tried not to think of them at all when he was awake.
"All sorts of people," he said evasively.
"Men or women?" asked Doctor MacKenzie.
"Pillaging? Everyone. Murder? A select few. I shouldn't name names. It might get out."
"And the rapes?"
Dodging the last question, Daniel remained focused on murder. "You're at the top of my hit list," he confided with a childlike look of delight. "Apophis, Hathor...there are others."
"Doctor Lee?"
"Why do you mention him?" Daniel seemed genuinely surprised.
"You have reason to want him out of your life."
Daniel paused. He didn't want William dead. He only wanted him to go away. What the hell? Doctor MacKenzie had been looking for an excuse to put him back in that padded cell for ages.
"Now that you mention it," he said recklessly, "I suppose we could add Doctor Lee to the list."
"You expended a great deal of energy, endured incredible brutality to save his life."
"I wish I knew why. I can't stand the sight of him now."
"Is that why you refused to revise his job performance evaluation when General Hammond asked you to?"
Daniel folded his arms across his chest and remarked with a certain degree of triumph, "I didn't refuse exactly. I simply failed to meet the deadline. It's not the same. I think it's called passive resistance."
"In the military it's viewed as non-compliance with a direct order."
"I can't be court-martialed. So sue me."
"Your hostility has increased since our last meeting, Daniel."
"Has it? I hadn't noticed."
"Others have. People who have trusted you, befriended you, stood by you in times of crisis. Why are you trying to alienate them?"
"They clearly have me confused with someone who cares."
"Let's talk about the rape dreams."
The abrupt redirection of the conversation startled Daniel. He looked away, troubled. The smirk that had been on his face almost since walking in the door faded.
"Whom do you rape in these dreams?"
Daniel moistened his lips. Even had he wanted to, he was unable to say anything.
"Are you sure it's you doing the raping?"
Daniel's eyes flashed again. He nodded slowly, ashamed to make any confession.
"And whom do you rape in these dreams?" Doctor MacKenzie asked again.
A furrow formed between his eyebrows.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore." He bit his bottom lip nervously.
"I've been doing most of the talking today, Daniel. Perhaps you can help me out. Whom do you dream you are raping?"
"How will this help?"
"Are they less powerful than you?
No answer.
"Do you enjoy the act?"
His face paled, but Daniel still made no answer.
"Do you ever beat or torture your victims? The way you were beaten and tortured by Rafael?"
A cold sweat oozed from his pores. He felt it forming on his upper lip and under his arms. The smell sickened him.
"Did Rafael do anything besides beat you, Daniel?"
His agitation became visible. He felt dizzy and nauseated. He shook his head. His lips formed the word "No," but nothing came out of his mouth this time. Doctor MacKenzie wasn't making himself clear, that was all. He couldn't possibly mean – no, he'd remember if anything else had happened, surely.
"Is that why you don't want to talk about what happened in Nicaragua?" Doctor MacKenzie asked, his voice penetrating through the wall Daniel had been busily constructing around himself for the last few weeks.
"Daniel, did Rafael hurt you in another way?"
Daniel continued to shake his head. He tried to inhale, but there was no air in the room. Every wound, every bruise, every burn that Rafael had inflicted on him cried out in sheer terror as if his flesh had just been freshly torn open. He wanted to escape, but his legs refused to move. He ached for the safety of his mother's arms, but she was thirty years in her grave. Sha're was gone. Everyone who had ever made him feel safe had been taken from him. Jack's strength could not shield him from this horror that made all the other horrors he'd suffered seem like playing with matches. It clutched at his soul, strangling him, blinding him, paralyzing him with a fear he'd never known. There was no place to go where he could be safe. There was only safety in silence. If he said nothing, no one would know.
No, that wasn't quite true.
Doctor Lee knew.

11.

Except for the woman across the hall who owned a brace of noisy Jack Russell terriers, Daniel liked the studio apartment he rented in downtown Colorado Springs. It was less than an hour from Cheyenne Mountain in good weather and central to the cultural heart of the city. The building had been a textiles factory built around World War One, abandoned in the nineteen-eighties, and renovated just a year ago.
The apartment was at the back of the building with a breath-taking view of the Rockies. He didn't spend a lot of time here, but it gave him a place to go when he needed to be by himself without alarms going off every few hours. At first, comfortable with his much simpler accommodations at the base, an apartment had seemed superfluous. Then he discovered just how many of his personal belongings his friends had kept. His antique piano had gone to live at Sam's house, even though she couldn't play a note; his bedroom suite had been stored in her basement, along with half of the boxes of his books. The other half, not to mention many of his precious artifacts, were still in Jack's garage. His living room furniture had found a temporary place at Jack's, too. This apartment was too small for the full dining room set still in storage in General Hammond's attic; it was supposed to go to the General's younger daughter when her new house was built. What he couldn't fit in the studio but wanted to use he had taken to the base, sharing some of it with Teal'c who was beginning to accumulate more and more possessions the longer he was on Earth.
Imposing on his friends any longer had been out of the question; and he couldn't see the point of renting a storage facility, once he remembered the point, so Sam had helped him find this place. Living among familiar objects had sped up the return of his memory.
Surrounded by the things that spoke of his life, this should have been the one safe place left, yet the slight flicker of fear that he had been unable to shake since Nicaragua gnawed at him continuously. Two months ago he would never have dreamed of double-bolting his door, posting the chain, and using a floor lock. It was crazy. This was Colorado Springs, hardly the crime capital of the world. His kidnapers were all dead. They could do nothing more to hurt him. But he still didn't feel comfortable.
He'd been on his own for eight days, and already it seemed like forever. Except for nineteen months with Sarah Gardiner in Chicago and a year on Abydos with Sha're, he had lived alone most of his adult life. Less than three years out of the last twenty had he shared living space with anyone. Sha're was dead. Sarah might as well be. He'd been unable to save the two women he loved, and their loss weighed heavily on him. As a result, he had come to believe that he had never really deserved either one of them, that he was meant to endure the remainder of his days with only himself for company.
Not that he was lonely. He had plenty of things to occupy his time. The latest translation of an ancient Latin text was taking far longer than it should, and a backlog of paperwork had accumulated while he was away. Daniel found concentrating on anything while on base next to impossible; but here in his apartment, with no off-world activations, no sirens, no old friends dropping by to see how he was doing – or to pry – he could work late into the night, even if sometimes he never made it into bed, often falling asleep at his desk. Jack had called a couple of times over the weekend; as Daniel warned him, he hadn't answered the phone. He hadn't even checked his messages. He had tried to make it plain to everyone that he didn't just want to be on his own, he wanted to be left alone.
He still had nightmares, and occasionally he recorded them in his journal. Usually, he didn't. Usually, there were too many of them. New ones though were surfacing since he'd moved out of Jack's place, just as confusing as the cigarette-smoking snake and the one in which he ravished his female colleagues. Why MacKenzie had been so fascinated by the latter was a question for the ages. The man must be a deviant.
Daniel fixed himself a cup of decaf tea and started in on the stack of reports General Hammond wanted reviewed by the first of the month. He had always hated working weekends, but at least he was working at home and not at the base. The first six reports were easy, simple, straightforward, just a few corrections and questions for the compilers.
The seventh folder he opened looked familiar: It was a photocopy of Doctor Lee's evaluation. Daniel closed his eyes. He should have known Hammond would be persistent. He took off his glasses and touched his left temple. The pain in his eye was getting worse. Last night when he had gone to bed, he had seen sparks when he had closed his eyes. It was one of the things Janet Fraiser had warned him about. He really should have it looked at.
He put his glasses back on and read over the evaluation. He had been rather harsh in his assessment. William Lee was a good man, as General Hammond had said. He had a wife and kids to support – Daniel had to admit he was even a little jealous of that – and this job meant the world to him. It was the first place he'd been accepted as an equal by everyone; that was the nature of the men and women of the SGC and something Daniel understood all too well. The General had made the decision to hire him while Daniel was off world, knowing that they would never agree on the choice – Daniel had had a difficult time with Robert Rothman's death and resisted replacing his old friend for months – but until Nicaragua Daniel had had no real reason to complain about Doctor Lee. Even after Nicaragua there was no reason. Without William's help, Daniel would never have survived long enough for Jack to find them.
He took off his glasses again and went in search of the Tylenol. If it weren't a quarter to three in the morning, he'd call Doctor Warner and arrange for an appointment. It could wait until later, he decided as he sat back down at his desk. Again he looked at the review, closing his left eye and straining with the right. He picked up his favorite pen, an old-fashioned cartridge fountain pen, and tried to focus on the yellow tablet on the desk. The greenish-blue lines were practically invisible.
He felt lousy, his body aching despite the Tylenol he had taken. Great. Another bout of the ague, as they had called it in the eighteenth century. He should get up and take the chloroquine, but he was so tired. Maybe after a short nap he'd feel better. He put his head down on top of the papers on his desk and was asleep in a heartbeat.

*****

The door to the hut opened.
"Buenos noches, muchachos," Rafael said cheerfully, puffing on his cigarette. "Hey, Doctor Jackson, I have a special treat for you this evening."
Daniel heard the hammer of a gun being pulled back.
Oh, God, he's going to kill us, he thought.
He heard Doctor Lee praying in the shadows. Daniel had stopped praying days ago.
Someone moved behind his head, spread out his arms, and knelt on them. Then he felt hands at his belt, unbuckling it, dragging down his trousers and underwear, pulling them off over his boots. A pair of strong hands levered up his backside, hairy thighs supported his buttocks. Hot ashes from Rafael's cigarette landed on Daniel's abdomen. The pain was unimaginable but nothing compared to what he knew was about to happen.
This isn't real, Daniel promised himself. God, it can't be. Where was Jack?
Sick with fear, he tried to extricate himself from his captors; but between Rafael holding his legs tightly and the pressure of the weight on his arms, there was no way out. His hands began to tingle as they were slowly deprived of blood.
He reasoned that if he struggled enough, maybe the man with the gun would put a bullet through his head. Instead, a fist shot out, cutting his mouth. He struggled once more. With the next blow, his head was slammed into the ground, and he gave up fighting.
Something wet and warm anointed his rectum, and then all hell broke loose. With slow, murderous thrusts, Rafael penetrated and worked his way into Daniel's body, tearing him in two.
There was no earthly escape from the pain; but long before his humiliation was complete, Daniel let himself go, cutting himself off from the thing being done to him. He closed his eyes and, against the backdrop of Doctor Lee's recitation of the Twenty-third Psalm, recited in ancient Egyptian a prayer for the dead:

Awake out of thy sufferings, O thou who liest prostrate. The gods keep watch over thy head in the horizon. Thou art lifted up for thou hast spoken the truth of the things which have been done by thee. Ptah hath cast down headlong thine enemies. Thou art Horus who giveth back the head after it hath been cut off. Thy head shall not be carried away from thee.

After that, he felt nothing, was aware of nothing. This abomination could not touch his heart or his soul. The agony receded though the assault continued. The place where he lay melted into oblivion. His mouth and throat dry as dust, he whispered the words of a hymn he had learned as a child from his deeply religious Grandmother Jackson, the hymn he had sung unrehearsed at his parents' funeral, his small eight-year-old boy's voice rising tearfully in the museum hall where the service was held:

"I would be true,
For there are those who trust me;
I would be pure,
For there are those who care;
I would be strong,
For there is much to suffer;
I would be brave,
For there is much to dare."

The torment lasted over an hour, first by Rafael, then by the others. Whatever they told him to do, he did without thinking, without any connection to the man they tortured or to his torturers. Before they were through, there was nothing of him left, not even the lonely motherless child, adrift in a world of adults who did not know what to do with him.

*****

Daniel sat up straight in his chair, the dream vivid in his mind.
"Oh, God," he muttered out loud over and over again. "Oh, God."
Hot tears scalded his aching left eye and burned his cheeks. He stood up quickly, knocking over his chair, and stumbled half blind toward the phone. He could scarcely see the buttons. Thank God for speed dial. He punched in the memory code. The line connected. It rang. And rang. And rang. And rang.
"Come on, come on, come on," Daniel said desperately.
"Hello," he heard Jack's voice on the other end. "You have reached the number for Mary Steenburgen. At the tone please leave Ms. Steenburgen a message, and she'll call you back. And Daniel, if you're calling from that higher plane, don't even think about reversing the charges."
Jack had added that last bit when they returned from Vis Uban, and it had helped reconnect the two men through the biting sarcasm they had shared before Daniel's death. Now it didn't seem quite so funny.
No light reached his left eye. The pain made him dizzy.
"Oh, God, Jack," Daniel gasped at the answering machine.
Grumpy and sleepy, Jack picked up, swearing. "God damn it, Daniel, do you know what time it is? Daniel? Daniel, are you there?"

12.

Jack blew through every red light between his house on the south side of Colorado Springs and Daniel's apartment building, making the forty-five minute trip in under half an hour.
He pulled into the space next to Daniel's Jeep. From the street he could see lights on in the apartment; but when he pressed the buzzer, there was no answer. Pulling out his cell phone, Jack dialed Daniel's number. It was busy. He reconnected and dialed Daniel's cell but got only the answering system.
He swore in frustration as he looked at the fire-escape. The lower ladder was nearly three feet beyond his grasp. He moved the pickup closer. Climbing on the hood, he was able to reach the bottom rung and pull himself up. He made his way to the fourth floor where he let himself in by a hallway window.
It took awhile to find Daniel's apartment. He hoped a fire never broke out here. It was like a rabbit warren. He hadn't liked the building when Daniel signed the lease. Like a couple of kids Sam and Daniel found the stairways and narrow halls great fun and had spent hours exploring hiding places while Jack and Teal'c moved all the furniture. Jack spent the next week on vicodin for his bad knee and in a splenetic rage against his two scientists. He hadn't even bothered to go to the housewarming Carter and Fraiser threw.
Ten minutes later at the top of a short flight of steps, Apartment 4-W-13 came into sight. Jack rang the bell and waited. Nothing. He knocked on the door, setting off the Jack Russell terriers in the apartment across the hall. He looked at his watch – twenty minutes past four – almost an hour since Daniel's call.
He pounded on the door again, calling Daniel's name. The dogs barked louder. Jack could hear them throwing themselves against the door.
"Daniel, open up!"
The dogs were beside themselves.
"Come on, Daniel. I haven't got all day."
Inside the apartment, there were sounds, as if someone were stumbling clumsily, knocking into a chair, falling, crying out, rising only to fall again.
If Daniel's gone and got himself drunk, Jack thought, hastily rescinding the accusation. Daniel would never get drunk unless he was held down.
"Jack!" Daniel called out.
The dogs barked louder.
"Jack, help me!"
Jack had heard that sound in Daniel's voice before. He was in trouble. Jack threw his full weight against the door to try to break it in. It was one of those steel-reinforced doors. Great! The walls could burn down, but the damned door would still be standing.
The woman in 4-W-14 peered through the opening of her door, her dogs trying to escape.
"What on earth is going on?" she asked. "It's four thirty in the morning. Do I need to call the police?"
"Sorry, ma'am," Jack shouted over the dogs. "I don't suppose Doctor Jackson left a key with you?"
"No, he did not," she said, clutching her bathrobe. "I don't really know the man. He's not here much, you know. Travels a lot. Told me he just got back got back from Central America."
"Yes, ma'am, that's true," Jack confirmed. "As a matter of fact, I was there with him." Jack pulled out his ID for her to see.
"Air Force," she said. "My late husband was in the Air Force."
"And I'd love to talk to you about that sometime, but I really need to get into Doctor Jackson's apartment. He called me a little while ago to say he's sick. He came down with malaria in Nicaragua."
"Malaria?" the woman said. "That's serious. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No, ma'am, there's not," Jack said, hoping she'd grasp the urgency of his mission. "I'm going to take him to the infirmary at the base. Once I get into the apartment."
"My balcony is right next to his. It might be a bit of a leap, but you can get in that way."
With the dogs yapping at his heels, Jack raced through the small apartment to the balcony Daniel's neighbor was right. It was a bit of a leap, about five feet. Balancing precariously on the railing, Jack jumped over to Daniel's balcony, growling in misery as he landed, jamming his bad knee. Daniel was damned lucky they were friends. He wouldn't do this sort of thing for just anybody.
Through the sliding doors, he could see Daniel on his knees between his bed and the couch, struggling to get up. A chair and a lamp were overturned. The sliding door was locked with a bar wedged against the frame to brace it. Jack took off his coat and wrapped it around his arm. Turning his face away, he smashed at the glass until it shattered.
"God, Daniel," he said as he rushed to his friend's aid.
Daniel was still trying to get himself up off the floor. His eyes were wide, unseeing, and his hand slapped at the air in an effort to locate the source of the familiar voice.
Jack took Daniel's hand. "It's okay," he assured him. "I'm here. What happened?"
"I can't see very well," Daniel understated. The strength with which he clutched at Jack's hand conveyed his terror.
"How bad is it?"
"Mostly, I can't see a damned thing. There were floaters and sparks, and then all of a sudden this black cloud sort of thing, and that was it. Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"Janet told me to see a specialist," he confessed. "I blew her off."
"Doesn't matter now, Daniel. You'll be seeing one soon enough. Can you get up?"
"I'm blind," Daniel snapped, "not crippled."
Jack helped him to his feet and guided him to the couch.
"Where are your keys?"
"Look on top of my desk. That's the last place I remember seeing them. Jack."
"What?"
Daniel was quiet for a moment. Jack found the keys and came back to the couch. He knew the look on Daniel's face. It had nothing to do with his sudden loss of sight. There was something else pressing.
"What is it, Daniel?"
"I remembered something."
Jack waited while Daniel formulated what he needed to say.
"I remembered something that happened in Nicaragua."
Jack closed his eyes, already knowing what he was about to hear.
"He...they...God, Jack, why couldn't he just have killed me?"
"Daniel, take your time."
"One of them held a gun on William, one of them held me down, and he...Rafael...he...Jack, I tried to stop him, but I couldn't. I didn't know what else to do. I submitted. Oh, God, it hurt so much. When he was finished, he gave me to the other two...They made me...do things...They laughed when it made me sick...They called me...names...They..."
Once started, Daniel was unable to keep silent, the particulars of his humiliation pouring out of him in gasping phrases, in staggering detail. His body shook as he spoke, and large tears washed over his face, his hands clenching and unclenching impotently.
Jack knew all too well the depths to which humanity could stoop. He wanted to hurt someone for the outrage Daniel had been made to endure. He wanted it so badly, but the bastards who had done this were dead. It wasn't enough. He wished he had known before spraying the rebel camp with gunfire. He would have made them suffer.
He buried his fury in favor of easing his friend's grief. His fingers gently caressed the younger man's cheek, his hair, the back of his head. He tried to draw Daniel toward him; but Daniel resisted, the pain that the touch of another human being could inflict still too fresh. At last, he relented, delivering himself into Jack's embrace, allowing himself to receive solace from the one man who had protected him since they first met.
"I wish I were dead," he whispered
"Hush, Daniel," Jack said.
"I do, Jack. I don't want to remember any more. I don't want to think about what they did to me. I want to die. I tried to tell you. I tried to tell MacKenzie, Fraiser, Hammond, everyone. God, I'm so ashamed."
"Daniel, what they did to you, what they made you do – it wasn't your fault. They didn't kill you because they wanted you to remember. They wanted you to feel the way you do. It was the only way they knew they could demoralize you."
"Well, it worked," Daniel said bitterly.

14.

"We always knew this was a possibility, Jack," General Hammond said, as they looked down at Daniel lying on his side in his hospital bed in the isolation room.
"Yes, Sir," Jack replied.
His face was drawn and haggard. He'd been here for over twenty hours, pacing, complaining, grumbling, worrying. Suicide watch was never easy. He'd much prefer being down in what Daniel had long ago dubbed "the Pit," but Daniel refused to see anyone. He had grudgingly yielded to Doctor Warner's insistence on emergency surgery to reattach the retina in his left eye. His vision had not improved, although the ophthalmologic surgeon said there was no organic reason. At least that left room for the likelihood that his blindness was not permanent.
Doctor MacKenzie joined the two men in the observation deck. His habitual complacency was less apparent, but it was difficult to determine if the concern he showed was genuine.
"Doctor MacKenzie," Jack said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.
"Colonel, General," MacKenzie replied.
"No luck, huh?" asked Jack.
"I'm afraid not, Colonel. He's refused all food and medication."
"He's starving himself," General Hammond surmised.
"In a nutshell, Sir."
"Damn it, MacKenzie," spat Jack, ready to pounce on the psychiatrist, "you're a God-damned fucking idiot."
"Jack," said the General with infinite patience.
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I've always said this man was incompetent. I've seen nothing in the past month to alter my opinion." The contemptuous glare he gave Doctor MacKenzie he usually saved for select few, such as Senator Robert Kinsey. At last, he had found an appropriate target for his wrath. "You're supposed to be a doctor, for crying out loud. You're supposed to help people. This isn't the first time you've screwed up where one of my team is concerned or tried to railroad Daniel for that matter. I wanna know whose side you're on."
"That's enough, Colonel," General Hammond said quietly.
Jack wasn't listening. "You put Carter through hell making her remember what happened to us on P8X-362. You're such a brilliant student of the mind, you couldn't tell that Teal'c had pulled the wool over your eyes when he was still under Apophis's control. And now Daniel is slowly self-destructing by going on a hunger strike. I'm telling you, Doctor MacKenzie, you're coming that close–" Jack indicated a very small space between his thumb and forefinger "–that close to getting on my last nerve. And once that happens, I am not gonna be a happy camper."
General Hammond's fondness for his second in command made it difficult for him to rein Jack in, but he tried.
"No, no, it's quite all right" said Doctor MacKenzie, prepared to do battle. "The Colonel's affection for Doctor Jackson is well known. I've often thought how fortunate you two are, Colonel O'Neill, that the military has adopted its ‘don't ask, don't tell' policy. It was rather cruel of you, though, to use Major Carter as a cover, considering her feelings for you."
Jack was very near apoplexy. "You–"
Putting a paternal hand on Jack's arm, General Hammond said, "Colonel, let me handle this." He turned his usually benign expression toward the psychiatrist. Without raising his voice or changing his tone, he said, "I have given you the benefit of the doubt for a very long time, Doctor MacKenzie. Still you have yet to grasp what my people go through on a daily basis, of the deep and abiding friendships that are forged as a result of the kinds of adversity and danger they encounter each and every day. They would go into hell and back for one another – they have gone into hell and back for one another – and I would go into hell and back for them. Even if what you're implying were true – I happen to know for a fact that it is not – I would not stand by and allow you to denigrate three of the finest people this nation – no, this planet has ever known. So let me make this clear. I believe in second chances, but you've about used up your store with me. Now get out of my sight before I throw you out, you worthless, sanctimonious, arrogant son-of-a-bitch."
Not quite certain he had heard what Hammond had said, Doctor MacKenzie blinked several times. Then finally taking the hint, he left the observation deck. Jack exhaled and gave his commanding officer a nod of admiration.
"Couldn't have said it better myself, Sir," he commented with a slight smile.
"You probably could have, Jack, but it wouldn't have been nearly as effective."
"Why's that, Sir?"
"Because I'm a General, son, and you're still only a Colonel."

15.

Sam pulled up the sheet and thermal blanket over Daniel's chest. She stroked his arm affectionately as she'd done so many times before. Daniel withdrew as quickly and as far as he could, burrowing into the bed in an effort to escape her touch.
Sam let her hand fall. She hated seeing him like this. She could only begin to imagine how he felt, this kind, generous, loving soul who had been through so much in his life. Of all losses, the loss of one's dignity, of one's self was the hardest to bear. After Sha're's death his anger had sustained him. This time it seemed that nothing remained to give him direction.
"Is there anything else I can do, Daniel?" she asked.
Daniel shook his head, then tried to moisten his dry lips with his tongue. Sam took a piece of ice from the plastic cup on the table and held it to his mouth. At first he ignored it; but the visceral memory of thirst overcame his reluctance, and he accepted the ice without acknowledgment.
"I'm gonna go now," she told him. "I'll stop by later, all right?"
His only response was to retreat further, turning onto his right side, his back toward her. He tucked his right hand under his head as a pillow, his left hand resting open on his arm. He hooked his left foot around his right ankle and drew up his knees.
Sam wrestled with the tears that kept her from saying the next thing she wanted to tell him. Instead she abruptly left his bedside in the Pit. In the corridor, she stopped and looked back at him. There was nothing she could do to help him but give him some ice to quench his thirst. A naquadah-enhanced generator she could strip down and rebuild with one hand tied behind her back. Nothing she knew could ease her friend's pain.
"How's he doing, Carter?"
Not expecting to hear her Colonel's voice, Sam started but rebounded quickly. "I'm sorry, Colonel," she said bravely. "I didn't realize you were here. He's not good. It's been two days, and he hasn't said a word to me. I think he just wants to die."
"That's why they call it a suicide watch," Jack answered bluntly. "That's why he has no glasses, no IV, nothing he could use to hurt himself."
The tears Sam had struggled to subdue finally breached the dam. "Sir," she choked, "we can't let him go again. I don't care what he's been through. We can't lose him again."
"I know, Carter. I don't intend to."
"I don't know what you can do."
"Neither do I, but I'll think of something."
Their eyes met, and they tried to find strength in one another. Jack wished they weren't on base right now so he could comfort her as she deserved, as the situation deserved; but some things were beyond their control. He only hoped that saving Daniel wasn't.
In the Pit, Daniel stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. Jack crept around the bed and standing on the right side waved a chocolate power bar under Daniel's nose.
"Naan," he said, drawing out the word in the best Unas imitation he could manage.
At the sound, Daniel started.
"Geez, Jack," he complained when he recovered, "didn't anyone ever teach you not to tease the disabled?"
"I usually avoid the sensitivity training sessions," Jack quipped.
"No kidding," Daniel murmured. "What do you want?"
"I want you to feel better, Daniel."
Jack waved his hands in front of the archaeologist's face. Not so much as an eyelash moved.
"Could you please stop?" Daniel asked him. "You're stirring up a breeze."
"Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor," Jack said, looking closely at the archaeologist.
"Just my eyesight," Daniel said bitterly.
"It's temporary, Daniel," Jack replied, a little impatient with what he saw as Daniel's usual hysteria.
"Whatever," Daniel answered doubtfully.
"The eye doctor says there's no reason–"
"Ophthalmologist," Daniel corrected him.
"What?"
"Dr. Cassel's an ophthalmologist – an ophthalmologic surgeon, to be more accurate – and I'm sure she's right," Daniel said. "It's all in my head. That's what MacKenzie thinks."
"I wouldn't worry too much about him," Jack announced. "His days are numbered. Hammond gave im a dressing down he won't soon forget."
"Really?" There was a considerable lack of enthusiasm in Daniel's voice.
"You might be getting a new shrink if you play your cards right."
"Just what I want – someone else to know what happened to me."
"You know, you were making progress. Even Quack MacKenzie said so."
"If you wanna call remembering rum, sodomy, and the lash making progress."
"Hey," said Jack quickly. "This is the United States Air Force, not the Royal Navy."
Daniel closed his eyes. "More inappropriate sarcasm."
"You're not giving me any room to work here. You've got to let me in."
"I don't want to be in," Daniel hurled back at him. "I want to get out. I feel like I'm being held hostage all over again. You can't help me this time, Jack."
Jack sat down on the other side of the bed, his back to his friend, his head lowered as he tried desperately to make a point.
"Daniel, I'm not going to tell you that I know what you've been through because I don't. But I can tell you what's going through your mind because being suicidal is something I do know about. As I recall, you were the one who made me realize that I had a reason to live."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Daniel said.
Now Jack turned and faced him. Taking him by both arms, he pushed Daniel onto his back and spoke directly into his widened, unseeing blue eyes. With all his strength, Daniel struggled to escape, but Jack was stronger and even more determined.
"Damn it, Daniel, you're a survivor. Okay, so the Ancients voted you off the island, but you survived everything those Nicaraguan bastards could throw at you – because there's something bigger, something more important for you to do."
"Like what, Jack?"
"Like kicking Anubis's greasy ass," Jack said, still clutching his friend's arms.
"I'm blind. I can't even see Anubis's greasy ass."
"Daniel, look –"
Finally, managing to free himself, Daniel pleaded, "Jack, I'm tired. When do I get to rest?"
"When our work is done."
"My work is done."
"I don't know how to get through to you."
"Don't try to talk me down, Jack. I know what I want. And if you were really the friend you claim to be, you'd put me out of my misery."
Jack beat his hands on either side of Daniel's pillow, then threw them up in defeat.
"Fine," he said, turning his back. "How about I just walk down to the armory and sign out a nine-mill for you to eat for lunch. Will that make you happy?"
"Make my day," Daniel dared him.
Pushing himself away from the bed, Jack began to pace the Pit. He was having trouble controlling his rage. He was furious with the men who had made this discussion necessary; furious with Daniel for being the one, for once, failing to see that there was might be another way; furious with himself for failing to get him to see it.
"Daniel, I know that what they put you through in Nicaragua was the worst thing you've ever had to face. If it happened to me, I wouldn't want to remember or talk about it either. But you're the bravest man I know. I've seen you face death dozens of times and never blink. And I know you can get past this. You're not a quitter, Daniel. You fought for Sha're long after another man would have given up. And when she was gone, you continued the fight in her memory. Because you refused to surrender, this world and hundreds of others are better places.
"I thought losing Charlie was bad. When we lost you, it was like Charlie dying all over again, only worse. I've lost friends before, but I never felt so empty. When you died, I didn't just lose the best friend I've ever had, I lost my center. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that I was continuing your battle. But I swear, Daniel, I can't go through all that again. I'm not going to watch your friends mourn you. I'm not going to mourn you. If I have to sell my soul to save you this time, then God damn me to hell, Daniel, I will. Do you understand? I'm not letting you go again."
Unused to giving voice to his most intimate thoughts, Jack's last words escaped from him in a great gasp.
"God, Daniel, don't let me make an ass out of myself," he said. He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Not with all those people watching from the observation deck."
"Jack?"
At the sound of his name, Jack turned around. Daniel stood beside the bed, his left hand outstretched as he tried to find his friend.
Afraid to move forward, he called out, "Jack, please help me."
"Look at me, Daniel," Jack said softly, taking a half-step toward him. "I'm right in front of you."
"I can't see you, Jack," Daniel said, gulping down tears.
"All you have to do is look at me. Look at me, Daniel."
Straining, blinking, squinting, Daniel's eyes, still blind, searched for something – anything – to see. Gradually, an imagine, unfocused but visible, appeared before him. With uncertainty, Daniel stumbled toward it.
"A little closer," Jack murmured, brushing a tear from his own eye. He walked forward another step.
At last Jack relented. His arms opened and gathered Daniel to him.
"Welcome home, Spacemonkey. Welcome home, my friend."