Karen Greim Mullian
© August 2003

1.

Col. Jack O'Neill followed the trail of worn clothes from the living room through the bedroom, picking up the green fatigue trousers and black t-shirt that had seen more service than they were intended to. He tossed the clothes over the back of a chair. He didn't touch the briefs lying just inside the open bathroom door.
Steam poured from the shower. Too many hot showers had caused the paint to peel.
"Fall asleep on the sofa again, Daniel?" Jack called out by way of a warning.
The shower stopped abruptly and a hand reached from behind the curtain groping blindly for a towel. A long wet leg stepped over the side of the tub, missing the mat by a foot, dripping like a monsoon on the tile floor, followed by the other leg. The chosen towel was too small for its task and scarcely covered the lean torso of Daniel Jackson as he emerged from the bathroom, bleary-eyed, hair soaking.
He's a hopeless case, thought Jack as he opened a drawer and pulled out a clean black t-shirt. He turned toward his friend, shirt in hand, and closed his eyes in despair. Daniel had already pulled on the clothes Jack had picked up from the floor. The briefs he had judiciously left in the bathroom were no longer in sight.
"God, Daniel!" Jack groaned.
"What?" Daniel asked, truly clueless. He rummaged among the rumpled sheets and retrieved a single sock. Unsuccessful in finding its mate, he sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, looking from side to side, as if he didn't recognize his surroundings. He reached into the bedside trash can and retrieved his glasses. A sudden burst of energy propelled him into the living room. Still standing, he pulled on his left boot barefoot. The right one was less cooperative, and he sat down on the sofa to do battle with it.
Instinctively, Jack knelt down, ignoring the stiffness in his knees, and began helping his friend with the boot.
"It helps if you wear socks, you know," he said, taking the boot in his hand and loosening the laces.
"Jack," Daniel said sourly. He loved this brusque, gnarly man more than he could say – he'd go to the ends of the earth and beyond for Jack O'Neill – but he hated how Jack and the others at SGC always felt he needed their assistance with the simplest things. He was a genius for crying out loud, could speak twenty modern languages, not to mention four dead ones, and a smattering of alien tongues as well. Okay, so he'd been laughed out of academia for some of his theories on alien origins of ancient civilizations, and the fact that, thanks to the Stargate Program, he now had proof that he would never be able to publish tended to make him edgy and short-tempered. The death of his wife a year ago didn't help matters, but he tried not to think about that right now. Like he ever stopped. Jack handed over the boot, and Daniel squeezed his foot inside.
"You're probably right about the socks," the archaeologist admitted. "Coffee?"
"Did you take your vitamins?"
"They're in the kitchen." Jack rolled his eyes at the subtle "somewhere" he wasn't meant to hear.
The coffee maker was buried behind a pile of academic journals, the carafe boiled dry. Beneath a stack of bills, he found a green plastic container marked with the days of the week. Dr. Fraiser, the medical officer assigned to SGC, had prescribed a vitamin regimen since Daniel rarely seemed to eat. Major Carter had filled the container on Saturday, but all of the pills were still in their respective daily slots.
Jack slipped the vitamins into his jacket pocket. "Let's get breakfast at the base," he suggested with a frown. Commissary food wasn't the best in the world – in the universe, for that matter – but ingested quickly, it could actually be fairly tasteless. Daniel would eat if something was put in front of him – as long as he could be kept quiet and made to sit still long enough.
They stopped at Starbucks on the way to the base. Jack had a small cup, black. He preferred the tamer coffee at SGC. Daniel had almost finished a large double espresso before they left the parking lot. No wonder he was never hungry. He probably didn't have any tastebuds left, much less a stomach lining.
"You know, I called you last night," said Jack, as they drove toward Cheyenne Mountain. "Your phone's been disconnected."
"Really?" Daniel replied absently, draining his coffee. He reached down to the floor and retrieved a second large cup.
"Miss another payment?" Jack asked.
"No mailboxes on P3X702," his friend shrugged, gazing out the window at the misty sunrise.
"Daniel, you've got to stop taking your mail off world," Jack admonished him. "Leave it with someone on the base."
"Um, okay. Jack?"
"Yeah?" Jack gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Daniel was going to ask for a favor.
"When we get back from this mission, could I stay with you for a few days?"
"Another eviction notice?"
Daniel didn't answer.
"Maybe you should just move to the base. You could always bunk with Teal'c."
Still no answer.
Jack didn't say anything else. When Daniel lapsed into silence, it was best to let it lie. It wasn't that often that Daniel kept his mouth shut. He was a college professor, after all. But Jack knew what these silences were about. He'd preferred silence himself after his son Charlie's death. Long stretches of it, and long stretches of solitude. The difference was that Jack's sense of honor and service to his country had pulled him through eventually. Daniel didn't seem to have that same drive. His loyalty lay with people, not ideals; and the further Daniel got from his wife's death, the further he withdrew into himself. Even when he was busy at the base or off world, he wasn't really there.
It was time to rein him in.

2.

Following morning briefing, Daniel Jackson escaped to his office. His first office at SGC had been little more than a broom closet that had quickly outgrown its usefulness. It had taken a couple of years before senior command appropriately recognized his value to the Stargate Program and granted him larger space. This room was hardly palatial. Still he had managed to cram an awful lot of stuff in here. There were crates of artefacts from his many trips through the Gate. File folders and loose papers lay in no particular order that anybody else could discern, but he always seemed to know where things were. And tucked into every nook and cranny were books, most of them old, some tattered, a few of them from the University library that he had forgotten to return. It wouldn't be the first time his stack privileges had been revoked. Usually, he managed to sweet talk his way back into the librarian's good graces; this last time, though, it had required General Hammond's intercession when the Dean got involved. Daniel still didn't see what all the fuss was about.
Under his desk he kept some clothes in a cardboard box for an emergency that never seemed to materialize, a habit he'd formed during his foster care years. Never knew when he'd be moving on. The shadow of the latest notice from his landlord didn't exactly constitute a crisis. If the next mission lasted longer than forty-eight hours, he might have to break into his apartment again to collect his belongings. Sam and Teal'c would go along, Sam because she could pick any lock ever made and Teal'c because his hulking presence could intimidate a sumo wrestler. They always went with him. That's what friends did.
Daniel opened a drawer to look for a pencil. From the corner of his eye he saw the charcoal drawing of Sha're that Sam had done for him for his birthday. He had smiled and thanked her. "It's lovely," he had said when he finally found his voice.He hadn't told Sam how painful it was to see those beautiful eyes looking back at him. No words in any language he knew could express the ache he carried or the longing that gnawed at him every night. He wanted his wife, not a charcoal sketch of her. So he kept the picture in a desk drawer. He didn't care if Sam knew or not.
By fourteen-hundred hours, it wouldn't matter. Once he and Jack and the others were through the Stargate, there'd be another adventure to keep him occupied for a few hours, maybe a few days. Maybe, if he was real lucky, he'd get hit in the head and wouldn't have to think about anything until he woke up. Getting knocked unconscious was the only way he could sleep without dreaming, so he only slept when exhaustion stopped him in his tracks. He'd tried drinking his way through his misery, only to discover he really didn't like beer and anything stronger made him sick. Dr. Fraiser had prescribed a sleeping pill that didn't work; and because of his experience with the Goa'uld sarcophagus, she hesitated to prescribe a controlled substance. Instead, Janet had suggested he talk to Dr. MacKenzie – he could hear Jack's sarcastic tone when he said "the Mental Health Expert" – but MacKenzie already suspected he was crazy. He didn't want to give the guy any more ammunition.
He gulped down a cup of base coffee. It tasted like dishwater, but he was thirsty; and the sugar would give him a rush. He had to get some work done before they left through the Gate after lunch. He had managed to evade Jack's invitation to breakfast. How Jack could eat the food in the commissary was a mystery, but he was a combat-hardened soldier. Almost anything tasted decent to him.
There was a knock at the door, and Major Samantha Carter entered, a cheerful smile on her pretty face.
"Morning, Daniel," she chirped. "I tried calling you last night, but your phone's been disconnected."
He slammed the desk drawer shut.
"Uh, yeah, I know," Daniel answered, hoping she hadn't seen. "Jack told me."
"Tried to call you a couple of minutes ago, too," Sam added. She picked up the telephone receiver and put it back on the hook.
His blue eyes narrowed as he stared at the phone. He said in his usual, slow manner when slightly curious about something, "I wondered where that whine was coming from."
He gave her his most disarming smile, and she melted into a playful kid. "Come on, it's time for lunch," she announced.
"Already?" He blinked behind his large round glasses and looked at his watch. How long had he stared at Sha're's picture?
"Yup. Jack was pretty pissed when you didn't show up for breakfast, ya know."
"Yeah, well..." Daniel's voice trailed off. He didn't really have an excuse. "I wasn't hungry. Sam?"
"Yes, Daniel?"
Sensing he was still slightly distracted, she navigated him through the door and down the hall toward the commissary.
"If we're delayed coming back from this mission," he said, warming up to his question, "you know, like after Thursday, say, uh, could I stay at your place for a little while?"
The playfulness left Sam's face. "Oh, Daniel, when are you going to learn? How many times will this be?"
He shrugged, trying to figure out her cause for concern. "I dunno, three?"
They entered the commissary and took their places in line. "Of course, you can stay with me," Sam told him. "But you have to keep your stuff picked up. I'm still finding your socks under the sofa from the last time. And none of them are mates."
"Now you know what to get him for Christmas," said Jack O'Neill as he joined them in line.
The white-uniformed worker behind the counter asked Sam, "What can I get you for lunch, Major?"
"Salad for me, thanks, Stella," Sam replied.
"I'm just gonna have coffee," said Daniel, starting to wander off in the direction of the chrome urns across the room.
"Daniel."
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"You're going to eat something if I have to hold you down and force feed it to you," Jack threatened.
"You go, Colonel," Stella cheered. "This boy don't hardly eat enough to keep a cat alive."
Jack gave Stella a sarcastic smile. "Now who'd wanna do that, Stella?" Everybody on the base knew the only thing Jack liked less than cats was the NID. "Whatcha got good today?"
"Oh, Colonel," the woman replied with a wicked wink, "everything behind this counter's good, you know that. We've got meatloaf and baked beans and mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese and roast chicken and boiled cauliflower, baked whitefish, nice salad, pickled beets, lima beans..."
Without waiting for the rest of the menu, Daniel replied, "I'll have baked beans."
"No," Jack decided to Sam's obvious relief, "not the baked beans. Remember the last time? Stella, he'll have roast chicken, a little salad, some of those green beans over there, and milk. And if he's a good boy and eats it all, he can have dessert."
"And what about you, Colonel?"
Jack smiled at her again. "Ham sandwich with mayo, tomato and lettuce, and a Coke, thanks. And they say the Army travels on its stomach."
Sam and Jack corralled Daniel to the table where Teal'c sat meditating over his meal of fish and salad greens.
"It's always a good idea to pray before you eat here, Teal'c," Jack said cheerfully.
"Hey," said Sam, "Daniel's staying at my place when we get back. Why don't you guys come over Friday night, and we'll do something."
"Hey," said Jack waspishly, "he asked me first."
He looked at Daniel wondering why he had changed his mind. Just because he made him pick up after himself?
The Jaffa looked up from his meditation. "Will we watch sports?" he asked. Teal'c never admitted to liking TV, but it was one of the things he actually relished now that he lived on Earth.
"I think there's a football game on," Sam said with a sly smile.
"There's always a football game on, Carter" remarked Jack, "Can't wait for hockey season, right, Daniel?"
"What? Watch a bunch of guys with padding and sticks beat each other up?" Daniel said derisively, knowing how much Jack loved hockey.
Teal'c's right eyebrow rose, and he tilted his head. "Daniel Jackson has a point, O'Neill. We can see that anytime just by going through the Stargate."
"Good one, Teal'c," laughed Sam.
Jack laughed, too. Teal'c frowned. He was serious. He didn't like ice hockey. Nobody knew what sport Daniel liked. He never sat still long enough.
"Maybe there's one of those Egypt-ee things on Discovery," Jack suggested.
"Pseudo-science garbage," Daniel snapped.
"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" Jack asked. Daniel's theories on aliens and ancient Egypt had been dismissed as exactly that.
Daniel ignored him. Sipping at the carton of milk Jack opened and set in front of him, he asked, "Speaking of going through the Stargate, shouldn't we be leaving? I'm anxious to see some of the artefacts on P6X822. The stuff that SG-4 brought back looked pretty cool."
"Cool, Daniel?"
"Yeah, cool."
It was more enthusiasm than he'd shown for days, and Jack didn't want to snuff it out. "So you were actually paying attention at this morning's briefing," he snorted.
"Yes, Jack, I was." He finished his milk. He hadn't touched anything else on his tray. "May I go now?"
"Geez, Daniel, you know the government pays good money for this food," Jack complained. "The least you can do is try it."
"I pay taxes," Daniel sniped back. "If I want to leave it for the birds, I can."
"A damned good thing the government takes the taxes out of your pay," said Jack, "or we'd all be starving. At least take these, will ya?" he added, pulling the vitamin container from his pocket.
"Dammit, Jack, you had a son." Angrily, Daniel pushed back his chair and stood up, nearly knocking his tray into Sam's lap. "I'll see you guys in the Gate Room."
"He's concerned about you, Daniel," said Sam. She was beginning to wish she hadn't come on this mission. She didn't mind getting dirty, but there was no hard science going on here, just grubbing through mud and rocks to see if there was anything of interest.
"I think SG-4 got all the good stuff," muttered Daniel, ignoring her defense of her commanding officer. "Wait. Sam, look at this."
He held a rough stone up in the sunlight to get a better look.
"What is it?"Sam asked trying desperately to hide her boredom.
He tossed it aside. "Nothing."
"Daniel, you've gotta ease up on him."

3.

Daniel sat back on his heels, hastily pulled off his sunglasses, and glared at her. "Ease up on Jack? He's the one who's been at me for weeks."
"He's worried. And so am I. Look at yourself. You're a mess. You don't eat. You look like you sleep in your clothes. Anybody says boo to you, you either give them the cold shoulder or you bite their head off. You've always been a little distant, but geez, Daniel, you've never been cruel. What you said to him at lunch was inexcusable. You really hurt him, Daniel."
Daniel let his backside take his weight, his elbows on his knees, his head pressed against the back of his hands.
"Daniel."
"Shut up, Sam. Just shut up."
"Daniel!"
"Just leave me alone," shouted Daniel, as he stood up and marched away.
"Daniel, wait!"
He turned back toward Sam, his blue eyes brimming as he struggled to keep a tight check on his emotions. "Please, Sam, just let me be."

4.

"How's it goin', Carter?" Jack asked, P90 slung casually over his shoulder.
Sam looked up at the Colonel, squinting in the sunlight. "Well, Sir, since I don't know what the hell I'm looking for, I'd have to say it's not going very well."
"Well, you can stop whenever ya want. Camp's set up. You can honker down with Teal'c and me. Sit around the campfire and tell ghost stories all night."
"Sounds like fun. Did you bring the marshmallows?" Sam scanned the horizon. "I don't see Daniel anywhere, Sir."
"He'll come back when he's hungry," Jack responded nonchalantly. "Or not."
"He feels terrible, Sir."
"I don't really give a rat's ass how Daniel feels."
"But, Sir –"
"Leave it, Carter."
"Yes, Sir."

5.

It was getting late, almost sunset, and Daniel still hadn't come back.
"I hate it when he does this," muttered Jack to no one in particular.
Sam looked up from the field notes she was entering on the laptop. "I don't think he's gone too far, Sir."
"Oh, I think he has," Jack answered. He was getting restless. He didn't like it when one of his crew strayed. Especially Daniel. Carter and Teal'c could take care of themselves, but sometimes The Professor behaved an awful lot like Gilligan.
"Perhaps, O'Neill," said Teal'c with a tilt of his head, "we should provide Daniel Jackson with a Goa'uld homing device."
"I'll give him a homing device," Jack answered, "upside his head."
Teal'c raised an eyebrow as he considered the logic of Jack's recommendation and allowed as how it might have its advantages.
"Look, guys," said Sam, "I'm sure he's okay."
Jack looked back at her. "I'll bet he's not."
"Sir –"
"Carter, you know how Daniel gets, and when he gets that way, he usually gets into trouble." Picking up his P90, Jack said decisively, "I'm going out to look for him."
"You can't do that, Sir."
Jack turned on her. "Can't, Carter? I'm in command last I checked."
"Uh, what about that rat's ass you didn't give earlier, Sir?"
Jack frowned at her. "Teal'c, you coming?"
The Jaffa picked up his staff weapon to indicate his readiness.
Jack smiled grimly. He liked the fact that dogs and Jaffa traveled light, ready for action at a moment's notice. "Carter, stay here in case Daniel comes back. And if he does, shoot him for me."
Sam sighed as the two men headed out of camp. She knew how the Colonel felt about Daniel. They all did, from General Hammond on down. Sweet and innocently charming, Daniel could be infuriatingly quixotic. He hated injustice but cared more for those unjustly treated, going to ridiculous lengths to protect the disadvantaged. Yet he'd never learned to think of himself first; he was too busy trying to prove himself, to please everyone else. Jack just wanted him to follow directions, since he couldn't make him follow a direct order. It wasn't that Daniel didn't respect Jack; they'd come too far together not to have reached a level of understanding. Daniel simply wasn't military, never would be, and sometimes he played the civilian card because it was the only thing he knew.

6.

Jack and Teal'c moved purposefully toward a muddy creek bed. The Jaffa knelt to examine some tracks.
"Daniel Jackson has been here," he murmured.
"Can you tell how long ago?" asked Jack, surveying the landscape for any sign of the archaeologist.
Teal'c examined at the footprint. "Within the hour." He pointed to other tracks. "It appears he has removed his boots."
"What?"
"He is now barefoot."
"You're sure it's Daniel?"
Teal'c touched his fingers to the tracks, then to his nose. "Most definitely," he murmured.
They followed the tracks about a quarter of a mile with still no sign of Daniel. Then, just as Jack was really beginning to worry, Teal'c put a hand on his arm.
"O'Neill," the Jaffa said. He indicated with the thrust of his jaw that Jack should look to his right.
Ahead of them, under some trees, stretched out on his stomach, lay Daniel, head resting face down on his arms. His shoes and fatigue jacket were thrust carelessly to one side.
Jack struck a pose, glanced away with a frown. "For crying out loud, we come a million miles from home so he can take a nap," he grumbled. "Come on, Daniel, it's getting late."
"I do not believe he is sleeping, O'Neill," Teal'c said quietly.
They saw Daniel take a deep breath. It was a moment before he raised his head.
"Go away, Jack."
"Come on, Daniel," Jack ordered, persistent as a Border Collie with a stray sheep. "Let's go."
"Teal'c," Daniel pleaded.
"Daniel Jackson," the Jaffa called out, "it will soon be dark. It may not be safe for you to remain here alone."
Jack snorted disapprovingly at Teal'c's tactic. He was rapidly losing patience. If Daniel wanted to behave like a child, he'd treat him like one. "You don't know what's out here, son. There could be all sorts of things – spiders, snakes, tigers-and-bears-oh-my. Or God knows, Hathor."
Daniel finally stood up. Snatching his fatigue jacket and boots from the ground angrily, he joined his friends. His face was dirty and streaked, but he didn't care what they thought. He stood toe-to-toe with Jack, glaring at him intently. "You can't scare me, Jack," he said, his voice steadier.
"Least we're talkin'," Jack called after him, relieved that Daniel's eyes hadn't started to glow Goa'uld-ishly.

7.

It was three-hundred hours when Jack checked his watch. The camp was quiet, except for an occasional sigh from Sam as she turned over and settled back down into deep sleep. Here and there an animal moved through the underbrush, drawing his attention, but nothing to be alarmed about. A double-moon rose brilliantly over the mountains in the distance, and the scent of the creek mingled with the fragrance of the forest in a sweet, earthy perfume.
This was living, a paid vacation. Sometimes Jack wished he never had to go back to Earth. Maybe once a year to watch the Stanley Cup series or pickup the latest Grateful Dead remix and a couple of cases of beer, but there wasn't much reason beyond that. No fuss, no muss; leave the scene, and leave it clean – words to live by from his youth. Then it was "don't trust anybody over thirty." Hell, where Teal'c came from, thirty was still childhood.
There was motion in the tent as the Jaffa rose from his bed to take his turn on watch. In the darkness Daniel's whispered, "I'll go. I'm already awake."
"No, Daniel," Jack said decisively. "I want Teal'c. He's rested."
Sam groaned groggily. "Would you guys make up your minds. I'm trying to sleep here."
"Teal'c," said Jack.
"I'm okay, Teal'c," he heard Daniel say.
"Daniel!" Jack called back heatedly.
"O'Neill is correct, Daniel Jackson. And it is my responsibility, not yours."
"Fine," snapped Daniel. He stood up anyway and put on his glasses.
"Where do you think you're going?" Jack demanded as Daniel came out of the tent.
"To take a leak."
Jack shouldered his P90. "I'll go with you."
He was stopped in his tracks by a defiant chorus of "Jack," "Sir," and "O'Neill" from the others.
When Daniel was gone, Jack hissed to Sam and Teal'c. "I could bring you two up on charges, you know."
Sam rolled over on the other side. "He has to drop soon, Sir," she mumbled. "I only brought along decaf."
"I love you, Carter," said Jack emphatically.
"I know, Sir," Sam replied before falling back to sleep.

8.

"Chevron Seven locked," reported the sergeant in the control room.
The Stargate event horizon vaulted into the Gate Room. When it had receded, SG-1 stepped through, Jack and Daniel in the midst of a heated argument that their trip through the wormhole had done nothing to diffuse.
"Welcome back, SG-1," said General Hammond.
"Sir," said Carter with a nod of her head. She pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes skyward.
"I admit sometimes I'm impulsive and a little emotional –" Daniel said peevishly.
"A little?" snapped Jack. "You're a moving target!"
"Then at your age, I suppose that makes it just a little harder for you to hit me."
"You're just itching for me to rip you a new one, aren't you, Daniel?" taunted Jack. He handed his P90 to Sam and let his flak jacket hit the ramp with a resounding crash.
Daniel carelessly thrust his glasses at Teal'c. "Go ahead, take your best shot."
"You don't really want me to beat the crap out of you, do you, Daniel?" Jack asked.
"If you think you can, bring it on."
"Gentlemen," shouted General Hammond, signaling to two SG-1 troops to stand ready to separate the two quarrelsome friends. "Both of you stand down. Colonel O'Neill, that's an order. Dr. Jackson, it's a request."
"He started it," Jack complained.
"Colonel," the General said tersely.
"Did not," Daniel retaliated.
"That's enough now!" General Hammond demanded. He looked at both men and shook his head. "I don't know what's going on here, but get it settled before you report to me tomorrow morning at oh-nine hundred hours."
Without waiting to hear their responses, he turned and left the Gate Room at an angry clip.
Jack glared at Daniel.
Daniel glared back. He was more haggard than when they'd gone through the Gate yesterday afternoon and uncomfortably in need of a bath. The last thing he knew he should want was a physical confrontation with Jack O'Neill. Based on his own personal history, he had no doubt how he'd end up and he liked breathing through his nose, but fatigue made him reckless.
"You've got to stop treating me like I'm eight years old!"
"Well, maybe it's time you stopped acting like it," Jack said craning his neck to get closer.
"Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"For months you've been sulky and whiney–both of which you are very good at, by the way–"
"Jack, I haven't slept for nearly seventy-two hours. I think I'm entitled to be a little cranky."
"Now, see, that's just what I'm talking about," Jack replied, pointing his finger in the air.
Daniel shook his head quickly. "How did this get to be about you?"
"See what I mean? You're all over the place."
"You're impossible, Jack," Daniel said, turning away and walking down the ramp.
"You're not focused, Daniel. I need you to focus."
Daniel turned back at the base of the ramp and shouted, "For crying out loud, Jack, for once can you stopacting as though I can't put on a jock strap without your help.""Sometimes you need a little reminding that it goes on under the uniform."
The following morning General Hammond looked up from his laptop at the knock on his office door. Closing the lid, he said, "Come."
"You wanted to see me, General?" asked Jack.
"Come on in, Jack. I wanted to talk to you privately before our briefing."
"Oh?"
General Hammond wasn't smiling.
"Anything good to report from P6X822?"
"Oh, I dunno, Sir. I might have to kill Daniel, and that might not be such a bad thing."
"Well, it will probably come as no surprise that the feeling is mutual," remarked the General. "In fact that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Sit down, Jack."
Jack crossed slowly to the chair that General Hammond motioned to.
"Dr. Jackson came to see me last evening, Jack. He's requested reassignment to another Stargate team."
Jack practically fell into the chair. "Did you explain to him that I have to approve his request?"
"He's not Air Force, Jack. He can go over your head."
"Did he say why?"
"He said he needs a change."
"A change back to the old Daniel we all knew and loved might be nice."
"Jack, I saw you two in action last night. I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it. Now, I'm the last one to fix something that's not broken, but SG-1 isn't functioning as a team just now. Maybe reassignment for all of you would be a good idea."
"Break up SG-1?" Jack asked incredulously. "With all due respect, General, I never mistook you for Yoko Ono."
"It's not the military way to coddle people who can't get along."
"Teal'c and Carter are fine, Sir."
"I'll take that into consideration. But Dr. Jackson feels there's a problem, and I won't have the Program compromised. I can't take that chance."
"Who are you going to give him to, Sir? Daniel's the kid nobody ever picked for sides at school."
"You didn't exactly pick Dr. Jackson for your side," General Hammond reminded him. "As I recall, you were downright hostile toward the idea at one time."
"Daniel's a geek, Sir. A cute, cuddly puppy-dog-sort-of-geek who's a little hard to paper train."
"Cut the sarcasm, Jack. This is serious."
"I've been trying to reach him, George," Jack said earnestly, the extent of his exasperation evident in bringing the conversation to a more personal level. "But he just puts up walls. Maybe it's time for him to see the Mental Health Expert."
"Actually, Jack," General Hammond said with a sigh, "Daniel suggested the same thing about you."

9.

The grinning face of Charlie in his last school picture always made Jack smile. Hard to believe that he'd been gone for six years. He'd be almost fourteen now.
He really should call Sara. He hadn't talked to her since April. After coming back from Abydos last year, he'd made it a point of keeping in touch with his ex-wife on special occasions – like Charlie's birthday, their former wedding anniversary, that sort of thing. She'd moved to LA since the last time they'd talked, had a new job, too. She had even hinted that there was somebody new; but as full as her life was these days, even after the divorce, Sara always made time for him. That was nice. She didn't have to.
There was a knock on the door.
"Yo!"
Sam poked her head in. Seeing the picture of his son in the Colonel's hand, she said, "I'll come back, Sir."
"It's all right, Carter," said Jack, smiling again at his son's grin before putting the picture back on the credenza. "What's up?"
"Just thought you'd like to know that Daniel finally crashed at my place last night. He was still asleep when I left this morning.
"Must have been the decaf," Jack answered. "Good thinking, Carter."
"Anything for the good and welfare, Sir." She crept a little further into the room, her sincere smile fading a little. "You all right, Sir?"
"Yeah, Carter, I'm fine," he said, grateful for her concern.
"You look a little – thoughtful."
"I do think occasionally, Carter," he snarled, but she knew he wasn't as annoyed with her as he wanted her to think.
"Well, Sir, if you need me for anything," she said with a smile, "I'll be in the lab."
"Thanks, Carter. For looking after Daniel, too."
When he was alone again, Jack picked up the other picture on the credenza. He put it back and quickly dialed the phone.
"Hi, Sara, it's Jack."

10.

Moonlight streamed through the gap in the side of the tent, casting a gentle halo around Sha're's form as she leaned down to him. As she did, her hair slipped from its fastenings and swept across his chest.
"You're so beautiful," Daniel murmured.
He touched his wife, longingly, eagerly returning her inviting kisses. They joined, fitting together as if created as one from the beginning, two halves seeking wholeness. In their union, all basic needs – food, shelter, rest – were to be found.
Suddenly, a brilliant flash tortured their night. Sha're cried out his name – "Dan'yel! – but for her there was no pleasure.
She lay still beside him. He reached for her outstretched hand. Her fingers were cold and as hard as marble.
Daniel sat bolt upright in Sam's foldout bed, breathing as hard as if he'd just run a marathon. The sheets, a tangled mess around him, were damp with sweat. His shirt clung to his skin. His body ached for what he could no longer have, though clearly it had sought its own release.
The spell of sleep not quite broken, he called out Sha're's name. There was no answer. There never was.
He said her name again, over and over, beating his clenched fists against his head. He opened his hands and looked down at them, the hands that had just a few moments before so lovingly caressed his wife – his dead wife. He knew she was dead, had seen her killed, shriven, and buried. Yet every time he awoke, the wound of her killing lay ripped open as fresh and as raw as the day it happened.
A sensation filled his chest, tightening, squeezing, wringing his heart until he could no longer bear the pain. Tears welled in his eyes, ran down his face. Slowly, he gathered the pillow he had slept on into his arms and wept inconsolably.

11.

Jack knew he had been hell for Sara to live with, even before Charlie's death; but he hadn't been around for a lot of their marriage, so the distance between the two of them since their divorce seemed pretty much like more of the same. Still there was that moment of renewed contact, as he watched her walk into the hotel restaurant to meet him, when his heart skipped a beat.
Sara O'Neill accepted her ex-husband's embrace and kiss warmly.
"How ya doin'?" he asked, pushing her chair under for her.
She looked great, still slim, her hair a little longer than the last time he had seen her. He felt a little like this was their first date.
"I'm good, Jack," said Sara with a welcoming smile. "How's everyone back at the base?"
"Good, good. Everybody's good."
He didn't say that any of them said hello, so she suspected he hadn't told them where he was going.
"And how are you, Jack?"
"Good, good," he answered. "I'm good."
"Well, we're all good." Sara had detected a slight guardedness in his words that she knew he hadn't intended her to hear, but nobody, not even SG-1, knew him as well as she did. "So what's wrong?"
"Nothing, why?" He was playing hockey with the salt shaker, shooting the small bottle back and forth in front of him between his index fingers.
Taking the salt away from him, Sara replied, "Jack, you didn't fly a thousand miles just to take me to lunch."
"I'm in the Air Force, Sara," he answered flippantly. "I fly. It's what I do. Maybe you remember that."
"Jack – "
He was quiet for a few minutes. He didn't mean to piss her off but always managed to somehow. Why did he find it so hard to be honest with her?
"I needed a reality check," he said finally.
"You? Mr. Pragmatist?" She laughed.
"Yeah, me. And that's Colonel Pragmatist to you," he replied, happy he could still make her laugh. She had a great laugh. It was one of the things that had made him fall in love with her, one of the things he missed most.
Seeing through his self-deprecation, Sara reached across the table and took hand. "Come on, honey," she said, "out with it."
"I love it when you call me that."
She started to withdraw her hand, but he held it firmly.
"Are you in some kind of trouble, Jack?"
The gravity in his deep-seated brown eyes was obvious only to her, and she immediately took charge, ordered him a scotch on the rocks, and watched him drink it down when it came.
"I'm really bad at this," he said finally by way of apologizing for being unable to find a good place to start.
"It's okay. Take your time."
He wanted to stand up, to get away from the restaurant, away from prying eyes. All he could do was squeeze her hand.
"I know," she said. "I still miss him, too."
Jack looked around the dining room, awkward. "I don't want to talk here," he said.
"Okay. Your room?"
"You sure?" Being alone with her that privately might not be a good idea.
"Don't worry, Jack," Sara assured him. "I'd never let you make a fool of yourself in public."
Upstairs they sat on either side of the table from one another by the huge picture window overlooking the pool. It was a nice room, decorated in Spanish colonial, dark curtains, blood-red carpeting, nearly black wooden furniture, not the pressboard stuff you find in a Best Western. Jack was clearly making a much better salary than he had a few years ago if he could afford this sort of accommodation.
It took awhile for him to relax long enough to open up to her. He had to turn on the television, watch the Weather Channel, catch up with the sports reports, the stock market, the national news. When Truly, Madly, Deeply came on HBO, Sara had hoped he'd leave it on; but he grumbled something about chick flicks, and they settled on the StarTrek Marathon on the SciFi Channel for background noise. Jack didn't pay much attention to the program except once to comment on how cheap the sets were.
"The uniforms are pretty cheesy, too," he said. "The Air Force would never let female officers dress like that."
"So you're here in LA to try to find a job as a tv consultant?" Sara teased.
They ordered room service and ate lunch through most of the last episode, the one about the renegade Khan played by Ricardo Montalban. They agreed that the original was far better than the movie, then Jack turned off the set and told her about Daniel, not everything – that was impossible – but enough that she could grasp the tragedy of the man's life.
"What are you trying to do, Jack?" she asked when he had finished speaking.
"What do you mean?" Jack replied.
"When Charlie died, you expected everyone to give you your space. Why can't you give Daniel his?"
"He's a goofball, Sara. A geek. A screw up. He can't find his way home at night without a trail of breadcrumbs, for crying out loud."
"He needs time, Jack. I don't know what it is you guys do up there in the Mountain, but I know you're all under a lot of pressure. It doesn't sound as if he's had much chance to mourn his wife. From the little you can tell me, it must have been pretty awful for him to watch her die and not be able to do anything to help her."
Jack looked at her in amazement. She was so wise, so smart. And she was better looking than Dr. MacKenzie. One of the things he admired about her was that she almost always knew what to say to him, even if he didn't take her advice.
"And you've got to take care of him," she said.
"Somebody has to."
"Jack, you're not responsible for every lost soul on the planet."
"Not all of them, Sara. Just Daniel. How am I supposed to help him if he keeps shutting me out?"
"I might be the wrong person to ask," Sara admitted. "If I knew the answer, you and I might still be together."
"Yeah, maybe, but this is different."
"You really care about him."
"I don't know. Yeah, sure," Jack answered, uncomfortable about expressing his feelings so openly. "Aside from Sam, Teal'c, and me, he doesn't really have anybody else. He's my friend, Sara."
"And you want to fix things for him."
"That's what I do. I fix things. I need to fix things." He got up and began to pace the room. "Before he goes postal."
"Is it that bad?"
"He's asked to be reassigned."
"Ouch, that's gotta hurt your ego."
"I have no ego," Jack protested.
"That's a lotta crap," she said with a smile.
"Geez, this is a lot like old times, isn't it?" he sniped.
"Hey, Jack, you called me."
"How's what's his name?"
"Who?" Sara was taken totally off-guard by the question.
"Your new boyfriend," he said slowly.
"Is that what this is all about? You're using your best friend's grief to find out if there's a new man in my life?"
He was annoyed with himself for letting things get back to way they used to be, for letting his being a jerk get in the way of helping Daniel, even more annoyed when she picked up her purse and started to leave. He had to stop her. He gently laid his hands on her shoulders to keep her from leaving. He could still call her, hear her voice when he needed to, see her, argue with her, touch her.
"Oh, God, Sara, don't go. Please. Stay. For a little while."

12.

Daniel Jackson wasn't the first uncooperative patient Dr. MacKenzie, the base Mental Health Expert, had ever encountered, but the divide between his reputation as a brilliant researcher as well as a kind and decent man and the brittle façade he displayed in MacKenzie's office was wide indeed.
"So your parents died when you were eight," MacKenzie stated.
"It's all in my file," Daniel said unhelpfully. "I'm sure you know everything there is to know about me."
"We're not here to test my knowledge about your personal history, Dr. Jackson," he replied.
"Then why are we here? You already know what you need to know, so I don't quite see the point."
"The point is, Daniel – may I call you Daniel?"
Daniel shrugged. He refused to invest anything in this meeting or any possible positive outcome. He didn't like Dr. MacKenzie and resented having to do this.
"The point is, General Hammond asked me to see you. He's concerned about your emotional state."
"Then shouldn't I be seeing the Emotional State Expert? I mean, Dr. MacKenzie – may I call you Dr. MacKenzie? – I'm really fine."
"We're here to find out how you feel –"
"I said I'm fine. And I'd like to state for the record, that I am doing this only because General Hammond asked me to."
"Why you're not sleeping –
"Sam says I drink too much coffee."
"And why you and Colonel O'Neill have had a falling out."
"Because Jack's an ass, basically. But you probably have that down in his file. May I go now?"
MacKenzie pulled out a manilla folder from his file draw and set it on his desk. It was half an inch thick, and Daniel's name was on the tab in thick black letters. "How long have you been with the Stargate Program, Dr. Jackson?"
"Oh, I see, we're back to Dr. Jackson. Okay. Off and on since 1994."
The psychiatrist laid his hand firmly on the folder as if trying to compress it.
"You seem to have all the answers, Daniel," he said.
"Yeah, well, only sometimes the problem with having all the answers is that nobody asks you the right questions."
"Do you find this to be a recurring problem in your life?"
"No, actually, I'm usually the one asking the questions."
"How did you feel when your parents died?" MacKenzie asked.
Daniel blanched at the abrupt return to that topic. "Terrible. How would you have felt? How would anyone feel?"
"You saw it happen."
"Yes."
"And there was nothing you could do."
"I was eight years old. What could I have done?"
"You lived in how many foster homes? Six?"
"Seven."
"Never adopted?"
"People want to adopt infants, not older kids."
"Did that bother you?"
"You get over it."
"So it did bother you?"
Daniel shrugged. "I guess it did at the time. Didn't hold me back. There were always my studies."
"Did you have many friends in school?"
"Not too many, not until college. I didn't stay in any school long enough to make friends."
"Why do you think you had so many foster parents?"
"They didn't know what to do with me. I didn't like to do things other kids did. I was clumsy. I couldn't play baseball and any other sport. I liked to read. I liked to be left alone. I was smarter than most of them. Except for Major Carter, I'm smarter than most people with whom I'm currently acquainted."
"How do you feel about Major Carter?"
"I dunno. We're good friends."
"And Teal'c?
"He's a good man. He's saved my butt a couple of times."
"And Colonel O'Neill. He's saved your butt a couple of times, too."
"You know," Daniel said, standing up, "this is really beginning to feel like an inquisition. I think I'm gonna go now."
"Daniel, please sit down."
"Okay," he answered, complying. But he was back up again in an heartbeat, pacing frenetically. "Jack and I are good friends."
"But you haven't been getting along lately."
"No."
"Why is that?"
"I think you should ask him."
"Oh, I will. But I'd like to hear what you have to say."
"You know, I really don't feel like talking anymore."
"It's my job to try to help you, Daniel," MacKenzie insisted in frustration.
"Thanks," Daniel said, his words hollow. "It's nice of you to wanna try, but you really, really can't."
"You lost your wife tragically not long ago."
"That's it, I'm outa here."
"Your family is completely gone. Except for a grandfather, I believe."
Daniel stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing. "What about him?"
"He was in a mental institution in Oregon, wasn't he?"
"He was released," Daniel replied warily. "But you already know this."
"What was his diagnosis?"
"He was declared insane. What are you trying to say?"
There was a pause before MacKenzie asked another question.
"Do you worry about going insane, Dr. Jackson?"
Daniel held Dr. MacKenzie's gaze for a long time, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes wide. By the time he could speak again, he was boiling. White-knuckled, he grasped the door handle to let himself out. He turned abruptly and answered menacingly, "You were very eager to diagnosis me with schizophrenia not long ago, Doctor. You were wrong then, and you're wrong now."
"Am I?"

13.

With a grunt, Sam swung her pack up onto her shoulder. She and Teal'c had finished their recon of this sector and were crossing a broad plain a few miles from the Stargate. They were to meet up with the rest of SG-7 at fifteen-hundred hours.
"Let's pick up the pace, Teal'c," she suggested. "Don't want to give Murderous Mahoney
any cause for complaint, now do we?"
"I do not believe either us have done so up until now," answered the Jaffa, but he followed her recommendation and sped up.
"And I don't intend to" replied Sam.
Since their reassignment to SG-7, Sam had been tense, on her guard. When they received their orders to report to Colonel Mahoney, she hadn't been especially happy. Mahoney had a reputation that started with his aftershave and went downhill from there.
There was nothing to worry about, she told herself time and again: Her training was thorough, and she was prepared for any situation. Teal'c was with her, and she was grateful for his presence. Still she wished Jack had gotten back to base before they'd had to ship out through the Gate. She could have used one of his non-pep talks.
Static buzzed over the radio, and they heard Mahoney's gruff voice. "Hope you're on your way back, Major."
Sam clicked in. "Yes, Sir, we are. Everything's clear in Sector Three. We should be at the rendezvous point in about thirty minutes."
"Make it twenty, Major. Mahoney out."
"Twenty, it is, Sir," Sam said without clicking in again.A thirty-minute trek to be done in two-thirds the time. And Mahoney would expect her to arrive without a drop of sweat. Appearances were everything to Mahoney. More cadets dropped out of the Program, more airmen retired early when serving under him because he was a hard-nosed bastard, but his teams were always spotless, crisp, and clean.
"Could be worse," she reasoned out loud as they walked on in unison. "I heard Daniel drew SG-12. Major Atherton will make his worst day with Jack look like Girl Scout camp."
Teal'c did not understand the reference.
"Atherton will eat Daniel for lunch," Sam went on, almost enjoying the prospect.
"I did not realize that Major Atherton was a cannibal," Teal'c replied.
"Teal'c, you're so literal. I love it."
The pair moved faster as they reached a ridge. At the crest they could see the Stargate to the south. Mahoney, Sgt. Myers, and Airman Little were approaching from the east at a trot. Something didn't look right. Little was limping unassisted a good distance from the others. At fifty paces behind him was a Jaffa scouting party. One of them fired his staff weapon, and Little went down.
"There's trouble, Teal'c," said Sam, and they broke into a run, weapons raised.
They met up with Mahoney and Myers at the bottom of the ridge where they took defensive positions. Sam and Myers opened fire with their P90s, and two of the Jaffa went down. Mahoney fired his service revolver but missed. Teal'c rolled out from behind a rock, set off a shot from his staff weapon taking out another Jaffa, and rolled back to where he had been.
"Get to the Gate, Major," ordered Colonel Mahoney, "and dial it up."
"We can't leave Little behind," Sam replied.
"Forget Little. He's a casualty," Mahoney said. "I gave you an order, Major."
"Yes, Sir," Sam answered, getting off another round and dropping two more Jaffa warriors. She ran for the DHD. Before she could reach it, she felt a stinging in her left leg and cried out as she went down on one knee.
"Major Carter," Teal'c called to her.
Sam crawled to the DHD, dragging her leg. "I'm okay, Teal'c." She pulled herself up, dialed the device, and threw her weight onto the red center ball.
The three men hurtled toward her, Myers and Teal'c still firing their weapons. Teal'c ran up behind Sam and, grabbing her around the waist, pulled her through the Stargate.

14.

"It wasn't your order I was questioning, Sir," said Sam. She shifted on the infirmary bed while her leg wound was being attended to. "We should never have left Little back there."
"This is why I don't like women in the field," Mahoney replied smugly. "They make decisions based on emotion, not practicality. There were too many Jaffa, Major. We would all have been killed had we tried to bring Little out."
"Respectfully, Sir – "
"Stand down, Major," Mahoney said bluntly. He turned on his heel and left Sam and the infirmary in his dust.
Sam closed her eyes for a moment and let her head fall back against the pillow. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn't give Mahoney the satisfaction of even hearing about it.
"Son-of-a-bitch," she snapped as the nurse finished dressing her wound.
"I'm sorry, Major, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't, Lieutenant," Sam murmured, giving the nurse a small smile.
"I'll just get you a pair of crutches," the nurse replied, smiling back. "I'll be right back. Then I'll help you up."
Sam closed her eyes again, listening to the beeps and chirps of the equipment all around her. A much better sound than the crackle of zat guns and tattoo of automatic weapons, it was almost peaceful in the infirmary. The anesthetic the nurse had applied to her leg was beginning to wear off; but she let her breathing come easily, concentrating on the oxygen flowing into her lungs, imaging herself anywhere but in the presence of Colonel Mahoney.
"Hey, Carter," a deep voice said above her, "heard you had quite a day."
She smiled before she opened her eyes. "Hello, Sir," she said, sounding relieved. She pulled herself up in the bed. "Am I ever glad to see you."
"Me, too," said Jack as he pulled up a chair. "How's the leg?"
"Just a flesh wound," she answered. She was a little groggy. She must have fallen asleep. "When did you get back, Sir?"
"Yesterday afternoon, right after SG-7 went off world. Sorry I missed you."
"Me, too. Mahoney's a jerk."
"Yeah, I know. It's part of his charm."
"Charm's not what he's got in biggest supply," Sam said emphatically. "I don't even like how he trims his nosehairs. We lost Little, Sir.
"I heard. I'm sorry."
"Do you know what Mahoney said to me?"
Jack made a face "I can imagine."
"Ow, it hurts," Sam complained, drawing her left up slightly. "I could kill Daniel for this."
There was an awkward moment between them. Neither of them quite knew how to handle the change in their group dynamic.
"Wonder how old Danny Boy's making out," Jack said.
Sam gave him a bitter smile. "Just remember, Sir," she assured him knowingly, "revenge is a dish best served cold."

15.

Sounding every bit like the trumpet-voiced teacher in A Charlie Brown Christmas, Major Atherton intoned monotonously at the front of the auditorium.
Daniel couldn't understand a word the man said, much less see the AV monitor because he had dropped his glasses under the seat beside him, and even a third cup of Starbucks double espresso proved useless in preventing his eyes from closing. Finally, he'd found something to help him sleep, and it had to be his new boss. To keep up appearances, he crossed his left arm over his chest and rested his face against the fingers of his right hand, content to doze with one eye open. Wading through Atherton's presentation was worse than the college calculus class he'd practically slept through, the only class he had ever failed.
An image and another monotonous voice flashed into his numb mind: "A polynomial function f is a function of the form f(x) = anxn + an-1xn-1 + ... + a2x2 + a1x1 + a0 where a0, a1, ..., an are real numbers. If an is not zero, then f is said to have degree n."
"Right," he murmured slowly to no one in particular.
The cadet beside him slid his glasses across the table to him without a word. He slipped them on gratefully.
"Over fifteen years later, it's all suddenly perfectly clear." Daniel smiled sweetly at the young woman and said, "Thank you."
She stifled a giggle. Daniel blushed in the darkened room.
"Dr. Jackson," Atherton called, apparently for the second time.
"Yes, yes, thank you. Yes," he stammered as he made his way, a clump of loose papers under his arm, to the front of the room where he received the remote control for his slide presentation from Major Atherton.
This was the first of six sessions he'd been asked by the Major to lead at the Air Force Academy for a group of cadets none of whom would ever begin to understand that archaeology could possibly be of any practical use during their service with the Air Force; and because SGC was classified, he couldn't even tell them why they should bother to think it would be.
This was his punishment for requesting a transfer. From space monkey to desk jockey in the seven seconds it had taken to sign his name on the dotted line. He must be nuts.
In the time he'd been with SGC, he had forgotten the sheer terror he used to experience on the first day of classes; but it came back two-fold when he saw the large gathering before him. He shouldn't be nervous. He'd been a good teacher. The only thing that had diverted his career was a simple theory about aliens and space travel.
"Good morning," he said into the microphone.
Feedback.
He winced at the sound, and his students laughed. He grinned winningly. "That's probably music to your ears," he said. "Uh, I'm Dr. Daniel Jackson."
Some pens in the front row scribbled down his name. He couldn't see further back than that even with his glasses.
"I'm going to show you a few slides, and then we'll talk a little about why we're here."
The first picture appeared on the monitor.
"What we're looking at in this image is an ancient form of writing used by the everyday workmen who lived in the village at the foot of the Valley of the Kings," he told the class of blank faces. He wasn't fairing much better than Major Atherton had.
"This next slide shows the papyrus rolls found at Garket, the home of the village scribe."
He could do this talk in his sleep. Good God, he was giving this talk in his sleep.
"Archaeologists were amazed to discover that these were often receipts for quantities of beer purchased from neighbors or even shopping lists. ‘My beloved Omanhopchet, don't forget to bring home milk, Love, Hapshepsut.'"
There was a twittering of laughter from the primarily female class.
"The writing is a form called pictographs, a distillate of hieroglyphs which appear inside the tombs in the Valley of the Kings. Each pictograph represents not just a word but also a sound and, therefore, together substantiate the first known use of an alphabet."
He switched off the LCD projector and asked for the lights.
"Now you're probably wondering why you should be asked to waste your seven-o'clock hour listening to a lecture on archaeology," he said, his sweaty hands thrust into his pockets to keep them still. "But in your careers with the Air Force, you're going to travel to many places, and hopefully you'll learn something here about foreign cultures that will help you to recognize what's important to people with whom you otherwise have absolutely nothing in common. By being open to new things as well as to the history and culture of these so-called Others, we might actually one day be able to prevent war, eliminate class distinctions, and put an end to such atrocities as ethnic cleansing."
There was a buzzing undercurrent in the auditorium.
"We're not discussing politics," Daniel continued, taking a conciliatory tone with what he knew was, by nature, a conservative group. "We're talking about different cultures and how knowledge of them can impact on your representing this country effectively when stationed around the world."
"Dr. Jackson," a cadet in the back said firmly, "this country is the strongest, most powerful nation on Earth. We lead the world militarily, industrially, economically, you name it – why should we worry about the culture of other countries."
Undeterred, Daniel plunged in to meet the affront. "Western civilization – particularly here in predominately white North America – we're mere children compared to other cultures. In fact, there are those who contend that we have no culture except what we've scavenged from others."
"Isn't that an unAmerican attitude?" the cadet countered.
"You and I can debate the merits of what's American and unAmerican another time, but for now let's stick with the subject of archaeology."
"You're not Air Force, are you, Dr. Jackson?" the cadet asked.
"I'm a civilian in the employ of the Air Force."
"In fact, you were once considered a crackpot by your academic colleagues, weren't you? For your theories on aliens and the construction of the Pyramids?"
How Daniel longed to tell this cadet, whom he was certain now was a plant, what he knew, that he had been right all along, that there not only had been ancient space travelers to Earth, but that there were thousands of alien races through the universe, and that Earth was but a small, insignificant speck in its own galactic dust.
Instead he said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "We are privileged to live in a remarkably free society, Cadet. You are entitled to believe that I'm a crackpot if you want to. But let me say this – there are things in this universe far bigger than any of us, things that we are only now beginning to comprehend and explore. There are some people whose knee-jerk reaction is to hurl bombs at what they don't understand, but I've learned – no, I think that I've always known – that blowing up what we fear isn't the answer. Because when the dust clears, the fear remains. In order to overcome our fears, we must be willing to admit first, that we are not the best, the biggest, or the only kids on the block and second, that those we perceive to be our enemies can actually be our friends even if we don't like what they look like or agree with the path they choose."
It was a long speech, even for Daniel, and he was shaking by the time he reached the end, because he was so passionate about his long-held philosophy. He didn't expect to convince anyone here. His audience had been reared in the very military complex for which he worked and which he resisted with all his might. They couldn't understand, would never believe, the destruction he had witnessed. Here in this environment his was a lone voice in the wilderness.
"This certainly isn't the lesson plan I sat up half the night writing, I assure you," he said with a self-conscious laugh when he realized that the room had gone silent. "Maybe we should end here for today. Please take a look at the handouts you picked up when you came in, and I'll see, well, hopefully all of you next week."
After all the students were gone, Daniel had gathered up his papers and collected his CD from the computer. He headed toward the exit, but his way was blocked by Major Atherton.
"I don't like you," the Major said bluntly.
"I'm sorry?" Daniel replied, taken slightly aback, uncertain that he had heard correctly.
"Don't like you, don't like your kind, don't like your left-wing philosophy," Atherton went on. "And I don't like you flirting with the female cadets."
"I beg your pardon."
"I'm watching you, Jackson. You're a civilian, but the rules still apply. Get out of line, and I'll bust your ass from here to wherever it is you came from, do you hear me, Mister?"
"Uh, yeah," Daniel said slowly, "but I don't actually believe I'm hearing it."
"Well, hear this, Jackson. You had a good time of it under Jack O'Neill's wing. You and that Jaffa. There's no place on the Force for either one of you. If I had my way, you'd have been sent packing long ago. I know O'Neill covered for you, which only proves to me that he's almost as crazy as you."
Daniel stood up straight, his shoulders back, his eyes even with Atherton's, his jaw set. "Excuse me, Major."
"Now I know that O'Neill runs a pretty loose ship. Discipline's a little ragged under his command, and he deserves to be taken down a notch or two in my opinion. I can't whip you into shape like I wish I could, but believe me, Dr. Jackson, I'm gonna make your life a living hell until such time as you go running off to General Hammond with your tail between your legs pleading with him to accept your resignation. And O'Neill won't be far behind you. Do you understand, Civvy?"
Daniel set his briefcase down on the table by the door and folded his arms across his chest. "Do whatever you feel you can to me," he said softly, sure sign that his patience was at an end. "After the things I've seen and done, I don't scare easily. But you make one move against Jack O'Neill, and I swear to God you'll regret it. Do you understand?"
"Are you threatening me?"
"No, Major, that's a promise."

16.

Following his unpleasant conversation with Atherton, Daniel Jackson retreated to the University library. Surrounded by books, Daniel felt protected by old friends, ones who demanded no explanations for his feelings, no discussion. They drew him in and held him fast, loyal and unchanging, carrying him on their pages to strange, mysterious places from which he always returned safe and sound, all parts of himself still under his own control. Were he ever to publish his own travel journals, it would have to be as science fiction or fantasy. The Stargate and the Goa'uld were hard enough to explain, but who would ever believe that anyone as beautiful as Sha're had fallen in love with a geeky, nervous, highly allergic archaeologist?
He looked up from the sheet of paper that the librarian had just handed him.
"All of these?" he asked softly.
"Yes, sir," the woman answered. She had freckles across her nose and cheeks. She wasn't smiling.
Daniel took off his glasses and looked closely at the bottom right-hand corner of the page. In large letters it read: FINES $263.15
"Dr. Jackson," the librarian said as kindly as she could, "we are authorized to call the police who will accompany you to your house to retrieve the books that are overdue."
Daniel's mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out.
"You can pay the fines with a credit card," she said.
The gentleness of the woman's voice attracted Daniel's attention, and he turned his blue eyes toward her. "Of course," he replied, reaching for his wallet.
"But we do want the books back," the librarian continued. "As I indicated, we are within our rights to have the police go to your home to get them."
"That won't be necessary," Daniel said slowly. "They're at my office at work."
"I'm sure the police wouldn't send a uniformed officer," she assured him. "We don't want to embarrass you. We just want the books."
"I'm afraid that's impossible. The police can't come to my office." He didn't want to have to lie to this pleasant-looking woman with the kind voice, but he couldn't exactly tell her the truth either. "You see, I work for the Air Force, and General Hammond wouldn't like that very much. I'll bring the books in tomorrow."
"Today would be better," she said, finally allowing a gentle smile to improve her appearance.
"That going to be a little difficult. I left my car at the Academy. I walked over following a lecture I gave earlier."
"That was a long walk on such a cold morning," the librarian said. "I'm going to meet a friend off campus for lunch. I'm happy to drop you off at your car."
Despite his good looks, Daniel had never been a ladies' man. Most women made him feel terribly inadequate, even the girl he had dated through grad school. Unfortunate episodes with two of the most vile women in the world – Hathor and Linnea – had done little to improve his self-confidence with the opposite sex. But there was something very engaging about the woman on the opposite side of the counter.
"That's very kind of you," he heard himself saying very slowly.
"Nonsense," she said, firmly as a librarian should sound, "I want those books back. By the way, my name is Sherry–Sherry Tyler."

17.

The drive across town to the Air Force Academy was shorter than he expected because Sherry kept up a running commentary. She asked about his job.
"Classified" was all he would tell her.
"So why do you read all those books on archaeology?"
"I'm an archaeologist."
"With the Air Force?"
"It's part of a program to help airmen learn about different world cultures," he said, glad he didn't have to lie to her about that.
"I imagine you've seen some pretty amazing things in the field."
"You could say that," he replied evasively.
"You don't talk much about yourself."
"There's not much to talk about."
"Oh, I don't know. I've known your name for ages, and the books you borrow are fascinating. In fact, I did a little research on you, Dr. Jackson–
"Daniel's fine," he said without thinking, surprised that this chatty little freckle-faced woman was interested in him.
"–Daniel, then," she acknowledged, "and I tracked down your last few articles."
"Oh," he said softly. Well, if she read National Enquire, she probably would think he was right up there with Van Danniken and L. Ron Hubbard.
"Cross-polinization of ancient cultures is stretching things just a little, don't you think?" she asked.
Oh, thank God, she was normal.
"I did write the articles," he said in self-defense, the corners of his mouth turning up just enough to keep him from looking dour.
"Yes, and it's an interesting theory," Sherry added. "But not the alien bit, surely."
Daniel let her see a self-conscious smile.
"You believe it, don't you?" she said, her tone telling him all he needed to know.
"I wrote them a long time ago."
"So you think better of it now."
"Guess it doesn't really matter," he shrugged. "I haven't published anything since then. My work with the Air Force is far more interesting."
"Considering what a small world it's become."
"You have no idea," Daniel commented enthusiastically.
"It's nice to meet someone who enjoys his work."
"Oh, I do. I work with a great team–worked."
"Is the Air Force downsizing, too? It's happening all over. I'm surprised we still have separate branches of the military. You'd think by now the government would have found a way to consolidate them."
They had reached the Academy parking lot. Daniel thanked her for the lift but didn't make a move to get out of the car until she looked at her watch.
"I'm sorry. What was I thinking? You said you have a lunch date."
"Not a date," said Sherry. "I'm just meeting a friend."
He put his hand on the door handle, then turned toward her. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in having dinner with me tonight?"
"That would be nice, Daniel," she replied. "We could meet somewhere."
"O'Malley's too posh for you?"
"O'Malley's is just fine. Seven o'clock? That'll give me time to get home and change my clothes."
"Sounds like a plan."
"And just in case something comes up – you can't make it, run late, or forget about me – here's my number."
Sherry handed him a cheerful yellow business card with blue printing that he stuffed into his wallet. He gave her a tenuous smile as he got out of the car, already wondering what had ever possessed him to ask her out.

18.

The restaurant was busy, and they had to wait nearly an hour to be seated. Daniel tried not to fidget, but he was more nervous about meeting Sherry Tyler again than he'd been at the lecture this morning.
He told himself repeatedly that this meant nothing more than just a nice way to repay the librarian for not calling the police about the overdue books and for the lift to his car. In fact, he'd been so grateful to her that as soon as he got back to the base, he found all the books on the list and a couple that weren't and packed them up, carefully xeroxing the list so that later he could see if any of the titles were available from Amazon or Alibris. As much as he had to pay in overdue fines, he may as well buy the books.
"I was beginning to worry," she said with relief when he finally showed up twenty minutes late. "This weather is awful."
Sherry wore a pretty red sweater that set off her freckled complexion and reddish-brown hair much better than the yellow one she had worn earlier and a black skirt and a pair of high-heeled black patent leather shoes. She was a little on the plump side but not unattractively so.
"I had a little car trouble," he confessed. "I think it's the battery."
"I'm glad it wasn't anything more serious."
Daniel smiled, and Sherry felt her patience rewarded. Daniel only felt awkward.
When they were seated, Sherry ordered a glass of Chablis, Daniel a Coke with lemon while they waited for their meal to come. The place was noisy, and they spent a lot of time just smiling occasionally at one another.
Then Daniel heard his name. Jack, Teal'c, and Sam waved from across the room. Their expressions at seeing him with an unfamiliar woman indicated that the news would be all over the base tomorrow. He waved back, wishing he could disappear.
Dear God, they were heading this way. A pain began to throb just behind his eyes.
Seeing Sam on crutches momentarily tempered Daniel's concern about SGC gossip. He stood up and offered her his chair which she took gratefully.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
Sam wrinkled her nose and shrugged off his question. "A little run in with some advanced technology," she replied. "I'll be fine. Janet told me to stay off it for a few days."
"Hello, Daniel Jackson," said Teal'c, a Chicago Cubs baseball cap hiding his forehead tattoo.
"Teal'c. Nice hat."
"Thank you."
"Hello, Daniel," said Jack, unable or unwilling to take his eyes off Sherry. "Don't see nearly enough of you these days."
"I'm sorry," Daniel apologized to Sherry. He began speaking very quickly as he often did when agitated. "Where are my manners? Sherry, this is Major Sam Carter, Teal'c, uh, just Teal'c, and Colonel Jack O'Neill."
"Nice to meet you," Sherry replied, extending her hand first to Sam, then to the men. "I'm Sherry Tyler."
"I know you," said Sam with a welcoming smile. "You're one of the librarians at the University."
"The one who drew the short straw," Sherry laughed. "I got to read Daniel the riot act about his overdue library books."
"Well, Daniel sometimes forgets where he leaves things," said Jack, finally noticing Daniel's uneasiness. He was going to enjoy this for all it was worth. "You know, things like his keys, his library books, his friends."
"We've only just ordered," Sherry said. If she caught on to Jack's sarcasm, she didn't show it. "Perhaps you'd like to join us."
"Coming apart, are you?" quipped the Colonel.
Daniel shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Jack."
"What?"
"He used to be my boss," Daniel explained to Sherry.
"Until just recently," Jack added.
"He's having a hard time with separation anxiety."
Jack closely examined the plates the waiter brought for Sherry and Daniel. The image of Daniel actually eating was too good to let pass. He pulled up a chair and signaled to Teal'c to do the same. For an awkward moment, Daniel was left standing. Jack gave him that impish smile that always spelled trouble. Swallowing hard, Daniel realized he'd have to sit too close to Sherry. He was beginning to sweat.
To his surprise, it was Sam who made the next comment. "Wish I had my camcorder, Sir," she said, unable to resist joining in the teasing. "This should be recorded for posterity."
"It is a pity," added the Jaffa. "This would seem to be a momentous occasion."
"Et tu, Teal'c?" moaned Daniel.
Teal'c raised an eyebrow.
"I'm sorry," said Sherry bluntly, "but I seem to be missing something. You three are Daniel's friends?"
Sam at least relented. "Maybe we have gone a little overboard, Daniel. Forgive us?"
"There's nothing to forgive, Sam," Daniel assured her, his voice frosty. "You're all just acting naturally."
"You see, Sherry," Jack explained, happy to be of help, "Daniel sort of gave up food awhile back. You know, it's a Zen thing. He likes to be one with his food but not actually consume it."
"This is a tough crowd," Daniel said to Sherry with a self-deprecating smile.
"Well, I can only speak for myself," Sherry announced, "and I'm starving."
Daniel played with his food while Sam and Jack chatted amiably with the librarian. Even
Teal'c seemed to be enjoying himself. Why wasn't he? He liked Sherry, he missed his friends; but he felt miserable, out of place, disconnected. He smiled at a joke, answered the occasional question. Yes, he told Sam, he had his key. At long, suffering last Jack, Sam, and Teal'c said their goodbyes, and he was alone with Sherry again.
"You really didn't eat anything," she commented, looking at his less-than-half-eaten steak and untouched grilled vegetables. "I thought your friends were kidding."
While Sherry enjoyed a piece of cherry cheesecake for dessert, Daniel sipped a cup of coffee, wondering at what stage in the evening he could make his escape. He was glad they had agreed to meet at O'Malley's. It meant he wouldn't have to drive her home.
But in the parking lot, his escape plan began to unravel: His car wouldn't start. It was freezing, and the rain had turned to sleet. Sherry offered to drive him home.
"I'm staying at a friend's," he explained, hoping she wouldn't insist.
"Why don't you come to my place?" she suggested. When he hesitated, she said, "I'm cold, and I'm getting in the car. If you want a ride, you can do the same."
He got into the passenger side and struggled with the seatbelt.
"It sticks," she told him, leaning across him. "I'll get it."
"It's okay," Daniel protested.
She was much too close to him. He pressed himself into the seat so as not to make contact with her, but it was too late. The kiss Sherry gave him took him completely by surprise. Even more surprising, Daniel returned her kiss, a long, warm kiss that told her more about him than he could ever have imagined. He couldn't remember the last time he'd held a woman in his arms, tasted a woman's lips, thought the thoughts he was thinking, felt her promising curves as he let his hands slip inside her coat.
No, that was a lie. He remembered all too well.
And he didn't ever want to fall in love again
"I'm sorry," he heard himself say, "but I'm not comfortable with this."
What? Was he nuts?
"Let me guess," Sherry answered with a tired sigh. "You're gay."
"No, no, no," Daniel said quickly, his hands leaving the warmth of her coat.
"Then you've got to be married."
He looked at her.
"Y-yes," he stammered. "I mean–no–I'm a wid–my wife died a year ago."
"Oh," said Sherry. "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. Sorry if I misled you." He unbuckled his seatbelt. "I didn't expect–"
He motioned helplessly, unable to explain to her what he couldn't explain to himself.
"I should go."
"You don't have to, Daniel."
"No, I do. This isn't right. I can't–"
Over her protests about the weather, Daniel made a feeble excuse and practically exploded out of Sherry's car as if he'd been shot out of a cannon. For a moment, he thought he really shouldn't let her to drive home alone in this sleet, but the thought evaporated when he nearly slipped on the iced-over parking lot when he reached his own car which still wouldn't start. Swearing in frustration, he slammed the car door and started the long walk to Sam's house.
By the time he got across town and was standing on Sam's front porch, his fingers were so numb he dropped his front door key. He heard it bounce once, and then nothing. He looked at his watch; it was after two a.m. He hated to wake her, but he was cold and wet and so angry with himself he could spit. What would Jack have done in his place? Daniel knew that, for all his bravado, Jack still carried a torch for Sara; but Jack had more testosterone than most men, except maybe Teal'c. He wouldn't have stopped. He'd have made a good job of it and had no regrets afterwards.
Daniel slammed his fist against the brick wall. A moment or two passed before he felt anything, he suddenly cried out in pain. The porch light went on, and Sam opened the front door to see him cradling his injured hand and rocking back and forth.
"I thought you said you had your key," Sam said, leaning on her crutches with her eyes half closed.
"I just dropped it," Daniel answered, his voice tense. "I'll have to look for it in the morning."
Sam looked out at the street. "Where's your car?"
"O'Malley's parking lot. It wouldn't start. Is there any ice in the fridge? I think my hand's broken."
"You'd better let Janet take a look at it first thing," she said, examining Daniel's right hand. It was already swollen and discolored. She hobbled into the kitchen where she dropped some ice cubes into a plastic bag. "If you want, I'll drive you over to emergency now."
"No, not with you on crutches," he replied. "Besides, the roads are really bad. What happened anyway?"
"Got hit with a zat gun a couple days ago. Sure you don't want to get it x-rayed?"
"I'll be fine," he muttered. He danced around when the ice pack hit his knuckles, but finally he sat down on the sofa with a defeated sigh.
"How was your date?" asked Sam.
"It wasn't a date," he snarled.
"Looked like one to me."
"It was just dinner. I don't even know why I suggested it."
"Don't you?"
"No. I was never so uncomfortable in my life. And then you guys turned up. That was a magic moment."
"Sherry seems nice."
"She is. She's just not–"
"Sha're?"
"No, she's not."
"Daniel–"
"Sam, please don't say anything else."
"Okay, I won't. I'm gonna go back to bed. You look like you could use a good night's sleep yourself."
"Yeah, you're probably right. Good night, Sam."
She hadn't been back in bed very long when she sensed a presence in her room. She sat up and turned on the light to see Daniel hovering just inside the door.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "Did you change your mind? Do you want to go to emergency?"
"No. I just can't sleep," Daniel answered.
"You woke me up to tell me something I already know about you?"
"I'm sorry, Sam. I shouldn't have bothered you. Go back to sleep."
He turned away to leave, but something in his voice worried her. She pulled on her robe, lurched out of bed with her crutches, and crossed the room to stand beside him.
"Daniel," she said softly, reaching up to touch the back of his head.
"I should have been there the other day. When you got zatted."
"It's not your fault."
"Of course, it is. Everything's my fault."
"Daniel, don't do this to yourself."
"Oh, God, Sam, I miss her so much."
He allowed himself to be gathered into Sam's arms, giving way to all the pent up tension that had tormented his soul since long before Sha're's death. He had stoically mourned her loss from the moment of her capture three years ago by the bastard Apophis, mourned the loss of her honor, as well as his own, when the Goa'uld's host got her with child, and again when Sha're died at Teal'c's hand. He had blamed himself for all of it, counted himself less of a man for his inability to protect his wife. Even when Apophis fell into SGC's control, he had been unable to exact revenge and, in an act of incredible selflessness and compassion, had spoken the funeral rites for the innocent dying man who had for thousands of years housed the monster. The last voice the ancient Egyptian heard had been Daniel's promising that his spirit would finally find peace. Even that promise Daniel couldn't keep, when the body was returned through the Gate to be repeatedly revived and tortured by Sokar.
And for all of his broken promises, Daniel could foresee nothing less for himself.

19.

Two airmen accompanied Sam on her trip to the library, one lugging the box of Daniel's overdue books, the other carefully carrying a huge arrangement of flowers.
Sherry Tyler wasn't at the front desk when they arrived. Sam could see her through the office doorway, shaking her head vehemently in response to her assistant's news that someone wanted to speak to her. The other woman came back out front and apologized.
"Sherry's not feeling well this morning," she said. "She asked if you would kindly return the flowers to Dr. Jackson with a message that she doesn't want to see him again."
Tired from her all-nighter with Daniel, Sam forced herself to smile. At least one of them was getting some rest: Daniel had fallen asleep in her bed about six this morning while Sam was taking a shower. She secretly hoped he was having as bad a day as she was.
"Look," she said wearily, "the flowers aren't from Daniel, they're from his friends. We just wanted to say how sorry we are for interfering last night. We were way out of line. We're going to apologize to Daniel, too, whenever he shows up for work."
The assistant librarian went back into the office to relay the message. Sherry came out to the counter. "They're not from Daniel?"
Sam thought she detected disappointment in the woman's voice. "If I know Daniel," she said, "you'll get twice as many from him."
"Please tell him to save his money," Sherry answered curtly. "I won't be seeing him again."
What on earth had Daniel done to deserve such a hostile reaction? This was not generally how women behaved toward him.
"I probably shouldn't tell you this," Sam confided, "but the last couple of years have been really hellish for Daniel."
"I know about his wife dying. He told me."
"They were separated for a time before she died. He's been on the proverbial emotional roller coaster ever since."
"Sam, I know you and Daniel are good friends. I'd expect you to take his side."
"There are no sides here, Sherry," Sam insisted.
"Daniel has some issues he needs to deal with."
"Oh?"
"He's afraid of women who take the initiative."
Sam's eyes widened. That was hardly Daniel's problem. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Strong women were his greatest weakness.
For Daniel's sake, Sam had been prepared to like this woman, had liked her for her own sake; but in an uncharacteristic moment of pique, Sam ordered one of the airman to take the flowers.
"I'm glad these aren't from Daniel," she said decisively. "That way I have no problem giving them to someone who really deserves them."

20.

The flowers were on Daniel's desk when he returned to his office from the infirmary that afternoon. The note was in Sam's handwriting. "Sorry about last night. XOX."
He smiled. Why did he allow himself to be such an easy target?
Suddenly, he started to sneeze and promptly hit his nose with the hard plaster cast that enveloped his right hand up to the wrist. Dr. Fraiser had recommended orthopedic surgery, but he had begged her for an old-fashioned cast.
"I'll only poke my eye out with all that hardware, Dr. Fraiser," he replied. "Or someone else's. Probably Jack's."
A cast it was then, Dr. Fraiser had agreed, "for everybody's safety."
A spurt of blood splattered over the papers on his desk.
"Oh, great," he muttered as he grabbed a handful of Kleenex and put back his head.
What else could go wrong?
"Dr. Jackson?"
Charlie Brown's trumpet-voiced teacher – Major Atherton – marched into the office. Daniel felt the beginnings of a migraine.
"Dr. Fraiser informs me that you are unfit for duty," Atherton announced.
Daniel held up his cast as evidence, keeping his head back and the wad of tissues pressed against his nostrils.
"You're a mess, Jackson," the major declared with disdain.
"I couldn't agree with you more, Major," Daniel answered nasally. "Could you push that box of tissues over here please?"
Atherton made no effort to help. "You've been with the Air Force long enough, Doctor.
You should have come to me immediately."
Daniel lowered his head and faced Atherton, his mouth set in reflection of his distaste for the man. "I don't think you would have wanted to see me at two in the morning, hopping up and down on your front porch because I had just broken my hand in four places."
"I prefer not to see you at any time of the day, Jackson, but you're under my command; and until such time as I can find a way to get rid of you, I guess I'll have to put up with you for the brief moments we're together."
"Nice to know where things stand, Major," he replied.
"Your nose is bleeding, Doctor," Atherton said stiffly.
Daniel reached for the box of Kleenex. "Thank you," he said, glaring. There was no danger of their ever becoming friends. It would make killing him so much more satisfactory.

21.

"It's just a nose bleed," Daniel protested.
"That won't stop bleeding," Dr. Fraiser said.
He sat on the edge of one of the hospital beds in the infirmary, his head tilted back, an ice pack on the bridge of his nose.
"How long has it been?" the doctor asked.
Daniel tried to read his watch without his glasses. It was useless. "I have no idea," he admitted. "Maybe an hour."
"Your nose has been bleeding for an hour and you just now decided to come up here? Daniel Jackson, what's wrong with you?"
"I didn't want to be any more trouble," he said plaintively.
As if he were ever any trouble. Dr. Fraiser would rather have Daniel as a patient than almost anyone else in SGC. Daniel was a model patient, did everything he was told, and never complained, not even about a sponge bath. He was always careful to thank the medical staff for the smallest kindnesses they extended. In return, they all adored him and hated those times when he had to be in their care as much as they hated having to deal with Colonel O'Neill who was probably the biggest baby any of them had ever met.
"Any headache?" she asked
"Uh, yeah, some. I blame that on Major Atherton."
"How bad?"
"Oh, he's pretty awful."
"The headache, Daniel."
"It's pretty bad about now."
"Tell you what," she said as she worked, "while I have you here, why don't I give you a physical. You haven't had a complete work up in a few months."
"Complete?"
"Complete."
"Maybe some other time, Dr. Fraiser," he said, standing up. He swayed slightly, a little light-headed. "I've got a lot of work to do."
"Daniel, I've been your doctor for over three years," Dr. Fraiser replied, a reassuring hand on his arm holding him steady. "I know everything there is to know about you, probably more than your own mother ever did. Sorry, that was a poor choice of words."
"No, no, it's all right," Daniel answered with a wistful smile. "She knew me when I was a lot smaller."
"JoAnne," Dr. Fraiser said to the nurse assisting her, "would you give Dr. Jackson that tetanus booster he managed to avoid when he was with us earlier."
"Yes, ma'am," JoAnne replied. The nurse took a minute or two for prep, then said, "Okay, let's drop those pants, Dr. Jackson."
"How?" he asked. His right hand was in a cast, and his left was occupied with the ice pack.
"Here," she said, with no effort to hide her enjoyment of his embarrassment, "let me help you."
"Look, we don't really know each other well enough–"
It was useless. By the time the protest left his lips, his trousers and briefs were at his ankles. At least he'd thought to put clean ones on today. He received the injection with a grimace, but he made no sound.
"I can't cough with my head back like this," he replied to Dr. Fraiser's next order.
"Just relax, Daniel," Dr. Fraiser said as she proceeded with her examination. "You know the drill."
The ice pack fell from Daniel's hand. A drop of blood hit the floor. Daniel hit the floor a moment later.
"Just go to sleep, Daniel," a familiar voice said.

22.

Daniel rolled over onto his back, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and sniffed. "Why can't I go to Egypt with you and Daddy?" he asked.
His mother stroked his hair. "Because we'll be busy the whole time," she said. "There will be no one to watch you."
"I'm almost eight," Daniel replied sullenly. "I don't need anyone to watch me."
"For crying out loud, Danny, go to sleep now."
That was his father, who sounded an awful lot like Jack O'Neill. His father always yelled. "Danny, don't touch that," "Danny, pick up your clothes," "Claire, do something about that boy."
Daniel sniffed again.
"Sweetie," Claire Jackson told her son, "we'll be away for only a few weeks."
"But you won't be here for my birthday," Daniel said, bravely battling his disappointment. "You weren't here last year either."
"You know that summertime is the dig season, Daniel." Claire touched the boy's cheek and then gently tapped his upturned nose. "I'll tell you what. We'll be back in early August. Daddy and I will take you to New York when we install the mausoleum display, and we'll celebrate your birthday then. I promise."
Daniel gave his mother a disbelieving look. "You'll forget," he said accusingly. "You always do."

23.

"Daniel? Daniel, can you hear me?"
"Mom?"
"Daniel, it's Janet Fraiser."
Daniel's eyes fluttered open. He lay on a hospital bed wearing scrubs. He could feel the needle from an IV drip in his good hand. His nose felt strange. He started to put up his right hand but vaguely remembered that that probably was a bad idea. With his left, he touched his face gingerly. His nose was swollen and stung like hell. He wanted to sneeze but sensed that that was a bad idea as well.
"Did I break my nose, too?" he asked.
"No," said Dr. Fraiser. "We had to pack it to stop the bleeding. You fainted."
"Did not."
"You did, Daniel."
"Then you won't mind if I do it again."

24.

Teal'c and Sam met Jack in the Gate Room when SG-1 returned from P7J898 late that evening. By the grim looks on their faces, Jack knew there was a problem. He didn't say anything, just made a gesture with both hands and tilted his head questioningly.
"It's Daniel, Sir," Sam announced.
"Why am I not surprised?" Jack said.
"He's ill, Colonel. He's in the infirmary."
"With?"
"A nose bleed," was Teal'c's laconic explanation.
"A nose bleed," Jack repeated incredulously. He looked at Sam. "You get zatted and hobble around on crutches. Daniel has a nose bleed and winds up in the infirmary. Why does everything have to be such a freaking drama with him?"
"He broke his hand, too, Sir," Sam said. She hoped it might make things sound a little better.
Jack raised his forefinger. "Carter, tell me this all happened because he picked a fight with somebody. Please tell me that."
"Wish I could, Sir, but I can't. He broke his hand on my front porch. What happened to his nose is a little more nebulous."
"Damn, I was really hoping you were going to say it was Atherton. I'm just lookin' for an excuse to nail his ass."
"Sir," said Sam, "Daniel and I had a heart to heart when he came home the other night. He talked about Sha're for hours. I had no idea how hard it's been for him."
Jack's face softened. He was practically useless in emotional situations, and he knew it. "I thought the worst was over," he said.
"We all did, Sir. I don't think he wanted us to know."

25.

Eight-year-old Daniel wandered through the house, opening doors, peering inside rooms, unable to find what he was looking for. He felt so lost. He wanted to cry, but he wouldn't let himself. Nobody else in this house was crying. The other kids kept telling him he had to be brave.
A tall blonde-haired girl put her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "It's all right, Daniel," she said. "I'm a girl, and I don't cry."
The black boy bowed his head. "You carry a heavy sorrow, Daniel Jackson, but you must bear it if you wish to be a great warrior."
"I don't want to be a warrior," Daniel insisted. He crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm going to be an archaeologist."
The older boy with the short hair pointed his toy gun at Daniel's shoulder and pushed, knocking him down easily. "Geek" was all he said as he stepped over him.
"Wait, Jack, you've got to help me," Daniel shouted, picking himself up from the ground and running after the boy. "Please, help me. You've got to help me find Sha're. Jack, please. You promised."

26.

Jack's head fell back, waking him with a start. Slowly, he brought his feet down from the edge of Daniel's bed, his knees so stiff he could scarcely straighten out his legs. He sat up in the chair, backside tingling, and the blanket that someone had covered him with slipped to the floor.
A nurse came into the dimly lit room to change the IV bag on the pole. Jack watched as she flushed the tubing and checked the filtration site. The monitor that followed Daniel's vital signs chirped and bleeped at a slow pace. Every once in awhile, there was an irregular spike in his heart rhythm that made Jack uneasy.
"How's he doing?" he asked when she was finished.
"About the same, Sir," the nurse reported.
"That's good, right?" he asked.
"I think so, Sir."
Jack looked at his watch. Four hundred hours. He'd been here for five hours without a shower or anything to eat since he got back. He had no idea what was going on in the world, and he cursed himself for falling asleep in a chair. His back was going to ache for a week. He yawned and stood up to stretch.
He weighed his next move. There was a briefing at ten-hundred hours. That wouldn't give him much time to rest. Despite being cranky and smelling pretty ripe, Jack didn't want to leave the infirmary.
"Colonel," suggested the nurse, "why don't you talk to him?"
"I can do that?"
She nodded. "He's been pretty restless tonight even with the sedative. Maybe hearing your voice will settle him down."
Jack drew the chair closer to the bed and rested his right arm just above Daniel's pillow.
At first he didn't know what do say. It felt kind of strange talking to someone who wasn't likely to respond.
"Hey, Daniel," he murmured.
Daniel stirred as if uncomfortable in the bed. A furrow formed between his eyebrows.
"Since you're getting your beauty sleep, I think I'm gonna hit the showers and get some rest myself," Jack told him. "Or maybe the other way around."
Daniel sighed.
"Hang in there, Danny," Jack said, stroking his friend's hair. "You're gonna pull through this. You gotta."

27.

With only a couple of hours of fitful sleep, a hot shower was just what Jack needed. He moved his head first toward his left shoulder, then toward the right several times to loosen up his neck and let the water beat on his stiff back. When he bent a couple of times to touch his toes, he wished he hadn't. He straightened up again and rinsed the shampoo out of his hair but stayed under the spray. It just felt that good.
Through the rattle of the shower he heard the locker room door open and close.
"Sir, are you in there?"
"What the –" he muttered to himself, irritated at the disturbance. "Carter?"
"Sorry, but I need to speak with you now, Sir."
"Unless it's about Daniel, this isn't a real good time," Jack shouted over the running water.
"Sir, I just heard through the grapevine," Sam shouted back. "Major Atherton's requested a meeting with Janet and General Hammond. And Dr. MacKenzie's here, too."
Jack turned the water off abruptly. He stood there dripping for a moment. There could be only one reason for MacKenzie to be at the base. He grabbed a towel and gave himself a cursory rub down.
"I'm sorry, Colonel," Sam said, her back turned to him. "I thought you should know, and I wanted to tell you myself before SG-7 goes through the Gate."
"You did the right thing, Carter," Jack said as he zipped up his trousers. "Now get out of here and, whatever you do, be careful of that leg."
"Yes, Sir."
Unshaven, hair still dripping from the shower, Jack raced down the corridor toward the Gate Room, pulling on the rest of his clothes as he made his way to the steps leading into the control room.
"Get the hell out of my way," he shouted to a couple of technicians who inadvertently blocked his path.
He took the two flights of stairs to the upper level two steps at a time, cursing as he ran into a female airman.
"Sorry, sorry," he apologized as he helped stay on her feet.
He pulled on his jacket as he burst into the briefing room. The people around the table – Major Atherton, Dr. Fraiser, and Dr. MacKenzie – looked up in surprise.
"Colonel O'Neill," said General Hammond, "this is a private meeting."
"Not if it concerns Daniel, Sir," Jack said bluntly. He took a chair opposite Major Atherton and glared.
"Dr. Jackson is under my command," Atherton responded pointedly. "At least until this meeting is concluded."
"If that's the case, General," Jack said offered, "I'm happy to have Daniel back on SG-1."
General Hammond looked from the Colonel to Dr. Fraiser and Dr. MacKenzie. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but that's not likely. I think it's time we faced the possibility that Dr. Jackson's fitness for duty with the SGC may be questionable."
"I don't believe I'm hearing this," Jack muttered.
"Colonel O'Neill," said Dr. MacKenzie, "I had an opportunity to spend some time with Dr. Jackson just ten days ago. At that time he was hostile and agitated."
"I'm hostile and agitated right now," Jack hurled back at the psychiatrist.
"Colonel," the General said, "you may remember that Dr. Jackson requested a transfer out of your command."
"He didn't know what he was doing."
"My point exactly," said Dr. MacKenzie. "Colonel O'Neill, I've read your mission reports and those submitted by other members of your former team members, including Dr. Jackson. Over the past few months, a clear change has taken place in his attitude toward his work. As a result of those reports and my recent interview with him, it is my considered opinion that Dr. Jackson is emotionally unstable."
Jack looked at Dr. Fraiser. "Doc, are you gonna jump in here?"
"I'm sorry, Colonel," she said, "as much as I'd like to take Dr. Jackson's side in this, you know as well as I do that he's neglected his health lately. That's what's led to his being in the infirmary right now. Hypertension, hypoglycemia, anemia –"
"So he needs to stop drinking coffee, eat some red meat once in awhile, and get more rest. Who doesn't? He had a nose bleed for crying out loud, not a nervous breakdown. Right?"
Dr. Fraiser's eyes were sad. She hated having to do this, but she finished her statement. "His loss of appetite, his refusal to take the vitamin supplements prescribed, the long periods without sleep, withdrawal from his friends, irritability, the self-inflicted injury to his hand – Colonel, Dr. Jackson is manifesting depressive and self-destructive behavior. And his present medical condition is quite serious. "
"He's mourning his wife, for God's sake," Jack shouted at her, pushing back his seat.
"Which is exactly why I want him off my team," Atherton finally chimed in. "I won't risk having someone I can't depend on one hundred percent. The Stargate Program can't risk it, Colonel."
Jack turned on Atherton and hissed, "If it weren't for Daniel Jackson, there would be no Stargate Program, I'd be staring at my neighbors through my telescope, and you –" Jack pointed his finger at Atherton "– you'd still be a pay sergeant in Omaha."
"General!" the Major protested.
"Colonel," said General Hammond. "I have to consider the possibility that the doctors are right. It may very well be the case that as soon as he's recovered sufficiently, Dr. Jackson will be asked to submit his resignation."
"Once he's recovered sufficiently," said Jack, "he won't need to. I'm telling you, General, Daniel's going to be fine. He just needs a vacation. He's been working nonstop for months."
Atherton saw his opening and took it. "Maybe, General, Colonel O'Neill is too close to the situation to see it clearly."
"Meaning?" asked Jack.
"Meaning you're emotionally involved. Perhaps too much so."
"Meaning?" Jack asked again, his eyes narrowing.
"Meaning, Colonel, that your attachment to your team is unprofessional, to say the least."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning exactly what I said."
Jack drew himself up in his chair. "Are you deliberately trying to provoke me, Atherton?"
"Are you threatening me, Colonel?"
"Oh, you'll know when I am."
"Colonel, Major," interjected General Hammond. By the set of his chin it was clear that the General considered this side exchange at an end. "Since you've made yourself a part of this discussion, Colonel O'Neill, I'm going to have to insist that you control yourself. Don't let your friendship with Dr. Jackson cloud your judgment. Major Atherton's right. The Program cannot sustain any individual who might have long-standing psychological problems, no matter who he is."
"That would rule out about two-thirds of the members of SGC, Sir," Jack said carelessly. "Including myself."
He noticed that Dr. Fraiser would not look at him and that Dr. MacKenzie and Major Atherton's eyes met.
"That's a subject for another meeting, Colonel," General Hammond replied.

28.

Dangling over Daniel's bed were a couple dozen cards – bright, cheerful Hallmark greetings, bunches of flowers and sunshine on the outsides, thoughtful if unoriginal and sentimental get well wishes inside. Rigged with plastic tubing and duct-tape draped over a traction bar so Daniel could see them easily, they managed to get in the way of the nursing staff, but they took it in stride.
There was a card with teddy bears and balloons from the General's granddaughters Tessa and Kayla and a sedate, dignified, one from Dr. Fraiser's adopted teenage daughter Cassandra, the kind you'd send to your favorite uncle.
The biggest one, showing Schroeder banging away on his grand piano, was signed by the three shifts of technicians from the control room. Most of them had written their names big enough for Daniel to read without his glasses; there were lots of hand-drawn smiley faces and a Kilroy from Sergeant Siler. Nobody ever gave Daniel the kind of cards they gave Jack – somehow people seemed to think he'd be too embarrassed – but at least they'd thought of him.
As he drifted in and out of an ataraxic-induced sleep, he was aware of the feeling the medication left him with that the swaying cards over his bed did nothing to help – a slight sickness in the stomach that never quite developed into anything, yet never quite subsided. Even in his sleep he noticed it, sometimes dreaming that he was adrift in a small boat in the middle of a stormy sea, at others trying to find his way to safety amid fierce, rolling tremors.
People came to see him, although those episodes often seemed like dreams as well. It was difficult to remember who had been there. They all asked him how he was feeling, but heavily sedated, he couldn't even tell them. Fighting the medication was grueling and took every ounce of his strength, but he struggled against it, once in awhile, like now, breaking through to notice what was going on around him.
For a long time he watched Major Carter, afraid he was dreaming again. Finally, she looked up from the magazine she was reading, and her eyes met his. She smiled warmly, approached the bed, and kissed his cheek. Brushing his damp hair from his forehead, she asked him how he was doing.
"Better," he murmured, even though it wasn't exactly true. He hated what was happening to him, hated this sense of oppression, the loss of control and the total dependence on the mercy and kindness of others.
"Do you like what Colonel O'Neill did with the cards?" she asked.
Daniel managed a weary smile and nodded slightly. "Jack?" It was so difficult to get any words out, he wasn't sure he had spoken.
"Yup. Last night while you were sleeping. The Colonel's been here every chance he gets. You have to hurry up and get well. He's driving us all nuts. General Hammond said to tell you he'll come and see you when you're more yourself. My dad sends his regards, too. And I have some good news. Janet says if you can manage some food, she'll consider lowering your meds."
"Okay," he agreed quickly. About now, he's strip naked for the entire female population of SGC if Dr. Fraiser would lower his meds.
"How about a milkshake?" suggested Sam.
"Okay," he said again, although not as quickly as before. The very thought of food made his stomach churn.
"Good. One milkshake coming up."
Sam had no idea how prescient she might be, but she was gone before he could go back out on his part of the agreement. Serve them all right if he threw up.
Daniel closed his eyes for a few minutes, hoping he wouldn't fall asleep again. From the far end of the ward, he heard voices. He tried to focus on them and recognized the all-too-familiar trumpet-like tones of Major Atherton. Nurse JoAnne said something about her orders. Atherton brushed past her and stopped at the foot of Daniel's bed.
"Feeling better, Jackson?" Atherton asked.
The slow, steady bleeps on the monitor changed pace.
"I was," Daniel answered uneasily.
"I've taken the liberty of discussing your situation with General Hammond," Atherton informed him as he moved around to Daniel's left. "It was quite an interesting meeting. Some of your old friends were there. Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Fraiser – and Dr. MacKenzie. I'm happy to report, Jackson, that this little episode of yours was just what the doctor ordered. Or the Major, in this case."
Daniel began to sweat. Nurse JoAnne noticed the changes on the monitor and hurried to Daniel's side. His blood pressure was rising, and his breathing grew more rapid.
JoAnne checked his pulse against her watch.
"Major," she said, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"What's going on?" asked Sam, returning with Daniel's milkshake. She was not happy to see Major Atherton at Daniel's bedside.
"Just checking on the welfare of one of my people," Atherton explained smoothly.
Sam set down the milkshake, naturally suspicious of anything Atherton said or did. At the same time she noticed the change in Daniel's skin color and stepped to one side. Daniel made an odd, gulping sound, reached out for JoAnne's hand, pulled himself upright, and without warning vomited on Atherton's trousers. The second round caught his spic-and-span boots.
Atherton swore; and almost clicking his heels together like a Nazi, he abruptly left the infirmary.
"You're almost as good a shot with projectile vomiting as you are with your Beretta," Sam told him proudly.
Daniel allowed Nurse JoAnne to wipe his mouth and change his shirt and bedding. He sipped a little water, then gave Sam a wearily triumphant smile.
"I think I may have room for that milkshake now."

29.

Long years in the military had made George Hammond a firm believer in keeping his head when those around him were losing theirs, and today he seemed surrounded by raving lunatics.
He had listened to Major Atherton's complaints and to Colonel O'Neill's counter-, off-the-cuff, and snide remarks for over an hour. He let the two men have at each other until it appeared that they had actually worn themselves out, then he dismissed them both so he could think.
Atherton was one of the longest-winded men he'd ever met, full of galloping great statements that could out-obfuscate a politician. In his own way, O'Neill was just as bad, intolerant, smart-assed, and angry. In the Colonel's favor, as bristly as he sometimes could be, he was at least likable. Being from Texas, Hammond mistrusted politicians, rigid men, and supercilious intellectuals. Yet in his time in command of SGC, he'd learned which of the three he could trust with the Stargate Program, and he'd rather have a dozen Daniel Jacksons underfoot to serve as a perpetual thorn in the side of a dozen rigid Jack O'Neills than one Major Atherton with his eye always to the main chance and no other allegiance than to his own career.
Colonel O'Neill had pointed out at their meeting two days ago that the Stargate Program might never have gotten off the ground had it not been for Dr. Jackson. Major Carter might have figured out the address sequencing, but it had been Daniel's insatiable curiosity and drive that had solved the mystery of the Cartouche Chamber on Abydos and really provided the momentum for the Program. That, and the fact that Jack O'Neill had disobeyed orders which had bought Jackson the time to do his work.
Jackson's losing his wife to the Goa'uld Apophis was a tragedy that Hammond had felt intensely, suffering every setback in the man's desperate search as deeply as if Jackson was his own son. His position as commander of SGC did not allow him to take more than what appeared to be a professional interest; but the truth was that Daniel Jackson had a knack for getting under people's skin before they even realized that they had been charmed by his innocent honesty, eagerness, and sincere faith in what he was doing. There wasn't a malicious bone in the man's body. As non-military as they come, he had a respect for military tradition even while he had little use for military protocol. Simple enough on the surface, accommodating, eager to please, there was a subtly and stubbornness to Dr. Jackson, especially when he knew he was right. Then he could be downright irritating. Problem was by the time you realized just how irritating he could be, you also realized how much you liked him. The only grudge Jackson held was against the Goa'uld, especially Apophis, knowing first-hand what atrocities that race was capable of.
How was he, Hammond, to dismiss one of the most important and integral members of SGC?
The infirmary was practically empty when Hammond arrived. Dr. Fraiser reported that Dr. Jackson was eating as ordered – "Not as much as I would like, but it's a start," she said – and as promised his medications had been reduced. Daniel was quiet but conversant.
The general pulled up a chair beside Daniel's bed.
"It's good to see you, Dr. Jackson," he said, very glad to see Daniel alert. The last time the General had seen him, he had been barely breathing.
"Thank you, Sir," Daniel murmured. He didn't feel much like talking but couldn't very well say so.
"Feeling better?"
Daniel made a face. He was sick to death of that question. "Yes, Sir, I am. Dr. Fraiser says – "
"Give it another week."
"Do I have another week?" Daniel asked, his voice doubtful. "With SGC, I mean."
"You come right to the point, Doctor."
"I've been fired before, Sir," he admitted ruefully. "I'd just as soon get it over with if you don't mind."
Hammond refused to play his hand. "If you were to leave the Program," he posited thoughtfully, "what would you do?"
Daniel shrugged. "Try to get a teaching job somewhere, I guess, then get back into field work. It's what I'm good at. Or request permission to return to Abydos."
"Wouldn't there be an awful lot of memories on Abydos?"
"Memories are all I have, Sir," Daniel answered, giving the General a wistful smile.
"You know, Dr. Jackson, I lost my own wife to breast cancer three months before I joined SGC," General Hammond confided. "She fought long and hard for three years, but the odds were against us from the first. In the end, the doctors told me there was no hope. I had to face the fact that the situation was out of my hands. I was angry for a long time. I blamed God for what had happened. I lost a number of friends who didn't like who I had become, and I didn't much like myself either. I felt as if I hadn't done everything I could. I don't know what was harder – saying goodbye to Peggy or accepting that there wasn't a blessed thing I could have done to change the outcome."
Daniel didn't speak. For a moment or two the fingers of his left hand played nervously with his blanket. He pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead trying to maintain the facade, but it was useless. He turned his head away, unable to look at General Hammond.
The General pulled over the box of Kleenex from the bedside stand and handed one to Daniel.
Daniel blew his nose. "I'm sorry, Sir," he murmured softly.
"Grief is not a sign of weakness, son," Hammond said kindly, a strong hand resting on Daniel's shoulder. "And anyone who knows you knows you did everything humanly possible to save Sha're."
Daniel shrank from the General's touch.
"But I failed, General," he replied harshly, his voice full of self-loathing, "and that was never an acceptable option."

30.

"Well, Dr. Jackson, I have some good news."
Daniel looked up from the New York Times Crossword Puzzle and put down his ballpoint pen. Most of it was finished, and there weren't any crossouts or erasures.
"I'm still waiting for this afternoon's MRI," said Janet. "There was a delay in radiology, but I should have it later tonight. All of your other tests are good, so I think you're good to go."
"I can go home?" Daniel asked hopefully.
"Well, not back to your apartment, no," Janet answered. "I was thinking something a little more local, like the VIP Room."
Daniel's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Just as a precaution," the doctor assured him. "And only for a couple of days. That way, you can rest without all the ruckus around here, and help is just a phone call away if you have any trouble."
His tongue ran over his lips. "Will you turn off the security camera?"
"I think that can be arranged."
"And no guards?"
"Why would there be guards? Daniel, you're doing much better. As long as you take your Paxil at the same time everyday and do all the other things we've talked about, there's no reason why you can't go back to work next week."
"Great," Daniel said with a warm smile. "I'm ready."
He started to get out of bed, but Dr. Fraiser put a hand up to his chest to hold him still. "JoAnne will take you down in a wheelchair."
"I can walk," he protested.
"Don't start complaining now, Daniel. You're getting out of here. You should be grateful. I still want you to rest. Tomorrow you can start walking around the place, but today you're grounded. JoAnne will help you get settled downstairs."
He sat on the edge of the bed and waited impatiently for the nurse, swinging his legs in boredom like a kid.
"So you're finally going to escape from my clutches," JoAnne said with a twinkle in her eye, locking the wheelchair in place.
Daniel swallowed. He was a rational man, trained in rhetoric and logic, and yet there was something just a little scary about Nurse JoAnne, especially when she seemed annoyed – which frankly was a lot of the time. It was always wise to be on his guard when she was around.
"Dr. Jackson, relax," she said. She helped him into his blue bathrobe and then into the wheelchair. "You're going to the VIP Room, not the gas chamber"
"Yes, of course."
"It'll be a big change from being in here," JoAnne chatted, as they left the infirmary and headed toward the elevator. "I understand that you'll be going back to work soon."
"That's what Dr. Fraiser tells me."
"You must be looking forward to that."
"Let's just say, I'll believe it when it happens."
The elevator doors opened. Waiting for them inside was Dr. MacKenzie. Daniel recoiled visibly. JoAnne put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but it didn't help. He looked from one to the other as the elevator slipped down into the Mountain, finally stopping at Level 23. The three of them passed down the corridor to the VIP Room. Dr. MacKenzie nodded to the armed airman to unlock the door.
JoAnne helped Daniel out of the wheelchair, pulled back the sheets on the bed, and taking his bathrobe from him, steadied him as he climbed in. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, Dr. Jackson," she said. "Try to get a good night's sleep. Good night, Dr. MacKenzie."
"You can't stay for awhile?" Daniel asked quickly. He couldn't believe he had asked the question, but his disdain for the Mental Health Expert far outweighed his fear of JoAnne. "Wait, I forgot my glasses. I must have left them in the stand in the infirmary."
"I'll bring them down when I go off duty later tonight," JoAnne promised.
Daniel stared at the door long after she was gone. When it was obvious she wasn't coming back anytime soon, his breathing grew a little more rapid. He'd much rather be alone with Nurse JoAnne than with Dr. MacKenzie.
"Dr. Fraiser said there was no need for a guard," Daniel said. He looked up and saw the red light on the security camera. "And she said the camera would be turned off."
"Now, Dr. Jackson–"
"What's going on?" Daniel demanded. "Why are you here? Dr. Fraiser released me."
"From the infirmary," Dr. MacKenzie informed him. "At Major Atherton's request, you're in my care now."
"I want to see Dr. Fraiser."
"Daniel, I think this would be a good time for us to talk."
"It's Dr. Jackson, and I don't want to talk to you."
He crawled quickly to the bedside stand and reached for the telephone, but before he could dial a number, Dr. MacKenzie advised him to hang up the phone. The menace in Dr. MacKenzie's voice sent ice water through Daniel's veins, and he put down the receiver.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice rising stridently.
"Just to talk. You must be glad to be released from the infirmary at last."
"I think I might actually like to go back," Daniel answered, wide-eyed. The last time he had any dealing with this man, he was confined in a padded room. If he didn't put a stop to this nonsense now, that's certainly where he was headed again. "Does Dr. Fraiser know you're here?"
"I said you're under my care now. Are you feeling more like yourself now?"
Daniel pressed himself against the headboard of the bed. "Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. So I don't see any point to this at all. I'm really tired, Dr. MacKenzie, and I think I'd like to get some sleep."
"You seem a little agitated. Would you like something to help you relax?"
"Yes. I'd like you to leave. Now."
"Dr. Jackson–"
"Get out."
"All right, Dr. Jackson, I'll stop by tomorrow. Hopefully, you'll be a little more cooperative in the morning. Good night."
Once Dr. MacKenzie was gone, Daniel scrambled out of bed, pausing to glare up at the security camera. The little red light was still on. He dragged a chair from the other side of the room and put it directly beneath the security camera. He decided against climbing up and trying to figure out how to disconnect it. He'd probably fall and break his other hand. If they wanted to watch him, they were going to have to do better than this. He sat down in the chair, drew his knees up to his chest, and folded his arms around them, rocking himself on the chair while he thought out the situation.
He held this position until his knees ached. Then he got up, keeping himself close to the wall and tried the door. To his surprise, it wasn't locked.
"Is there something I can get for you, Dr. Jackson?" asked the guard.
"Uh, yeah, can you tell me what time it is?"
"Yes, sir, it's almost twenty-two hundred hours," the guard replied.
"You know what? I'd really like to take a shower before I go to bed for the night," Daniel told him. "Would that be all right?"
"I'll have to go with you, sir," the soldier replied apologetically.
"That won't be necessary."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I have my orders."
Daniel shrugged. "Okay."
"Thank you for understanding, sir."
Together, Daniel and the airman walked down the hallway to the locker room. The room was empty. For a few minutes, Daniel looked through the closet that bore his name. Then he grabbed a clean towel from the stack on the storage cabinet and headed for the showers. The airman respectfully remained in the outer room.
"Airman," Daniel shouted over the running water, "I don't know where my head is. I left my bathrobe back in the VIP Room. I hate to ask, but I don't suppose you could go back and get it for me."
"I'm afraid not, sir. I'm not supposed to leave you unaccompanied."
"Where am I going to go, Airman?" Daniel asked. "I'm in the shower, for God's sake."
The Airman was clearly thinking it over. "All right, sir. I won't be a minute."
When the door closed behind the airman, Daniel crept out of the shower area, still in his hospital scrubs. In about thirty seconds he had discarded the scrubs and was dressed in a cream-colored sweater and khaki pants. He grabbed his spare shoes and a pair of socks and turned to his locker. Damn, he couldn't remember the combination. On a hunch, he tugged at the lock on Jack's locker. It opened just as he thought it might – invariably, Jack dialed the combination after locking up just to save time. He snatched Jack's leather jacket and ran out of the locker room barefoot, darting into a supply closet where he managed to put on his shoes and socks in the dark. With Jack's coat on and his head down, Daniel walked right past the airman returning with his bathrobe and slipped into the elevator just as it was about to close.
"You're up late, sir," said Sergeant Siler who was going home for the night.
"Yeah, well," Daniel said sleepily, "an archaeologist's work is never done."
"When did you get out of the infirmary, Dr. Jackson?"
"A few hours ago. I had to check out something in my office, and now I'm going home to get some sleep. It was impossible to sleep around here with alarms going off every few hours."
"I know what you mean. I'm on my way home, myself. Can I drop you off at your place?"
"Yeah, that would be great," Daniel answered gratefully. "If it's not out of the way."
"Not at all, sir."

31.

It was late when a corpsman delivered the stack of films from radiology to Dr. Fraiser's office. She yawned and rubbed the back of her neck. She was so tired. The last thing she wanted to do was look at a bunch of routine MRIs and X-rays. It was nearly eleven p.m.
"Good night, Dr. Fraiser," JoAnne called as she went past the office.
"Good night, JoAnne. Thanks for your help with Dr. Jackson tonight."
"Always a pleasure, Ma'am. I promised I'd stop in to see him on my way out," JoAnne told her holding up Daniel's glasses. "We ran into Dr. MacKenzie in the elevator. Dr. Jackson seemed very uncomfortable about it. I don't think Dr. MacKenzie's one of his favorite people."
"No, I don't suppose he is," Dr. Fraiser replied, rifling through the films to see if there was anything that couldn't wait until morning. She pulled out the sleeve marked "Jackson, D" and shoved the latest film and the previous one under the clips on the light box.
She didn't like what she saw.
"JoAnne, are you still here?" she called out.
"Yes, Ma'am, I am." JoAnne returned to Dr. Fraiser's office. Seeing the look on the doctor's face, she asked, "Something wrong?"
"I hope my eyes are playing tricks on me." She tapped the left side of the image of the newer film. "That wasn't there three days ago."
"Is that a bleeder?" asked JoAnne.
"Yes, I think so. And that," Dr. Fraiser said, pointing to the smallest of bulges in an artery, her voice tense, "looks suspiciously like an aneurysm."
"An aneurysm in the frontal lobe?"
"It certainly would explain an awful lot. We've got to get Dr. Jackson back here now."

32.

Daniel bade Sergeant Siler goodnight several blocks from his apartment building. It would do him good to stretch his legs, he said, and besides he liked walking in the snow. Confident that his apartment was the first place they'd look for him, he decided against trying to get past the doorman. He tried to think what to do next. The makings of a headache were beginning. He shook his head to clear it, but it didn't help.
"Coffee," he said out loud.
He slipped his wallet from his back pocket. In it were a five-dollar bill, his credit cards, and a picture of Sha're. He let his finger run across the photo, and the need for coffee subsided slightly. General Hammond had given him some sound advice, but he hadn't told him anything he didn't already know. What he needed now was an answer for the ache which burned in him again. It had almost been a relief not to feel this way for a few days, but now that the effect of the drugs had worn off, things he hadn't missed were coming back.Reluctantly, he closed the wallet, shutting Sha're's face from his sight. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Sherry Tyler had made the best offer he'd had in a long time, and fool that he was, he'd run from her like a whipped dog. She wasn't likely to make the same offer a second time.
There were, of course, always other possibilities, but never in his life had he ever resorted to them. Besides, with only five dollars to his name at the moment, it was pretty much a moot point. He was pretty certain credit cards were accepted.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" he muttered out loud to himself. "Maybe MacKenzie's right, and you are crazy, but you're certainly not stupid."
What he really needed was to think more clearly. He had wandered pretty far from his building, into a section of town that wasn't the politist. Across the street was an all-night diner that sported a pink and green neon sign, "Mollie's." He went in and ordered a cup of coffee at the rather grubby counter. It was probably the worst coffee he'd ever had, over brewed and a little burnt, but he wasn't particularly interested in the flavor of the month. After a free refill which turned his stomach even as the caffeine kicked in, he accepted his change from a young female cashier with dyed black hair and Egyptian eye makeup.
He opened his wallet again to return the three dollars the young woman had just handed him, and he noticed a bright yellow card with blue printing.
"Is there a pay phone around here?" he asked the girl.
"Across the street," she replied, chewing her gum with the energy of a cow before popping it so loud it sounded like a P90 going off.
It was getting colder, and the snow fell harder. There was already about an inch on the ground. Huddled beside the doorstep of an abandoned building was a street person, gender unidentifiable in an oversized coat and a dirty hat that was pulled down nearly to the eyes. Daniel checked the change in his pocket to be sure he could make a phone call, and handed two of the three dollar bills to the distinctly scented heap of filth.
"God bless you, sir," said a voice that lent nothing to its owner's identity.
"And you," Daniel answered.
He deposited a quarter into the slot of the telephone. The receiver smelled of cigarettes and stale beer, and he felt sick. The phone rang and rang until a sleepy woman answered.
"Sherry?" he asked.
"Yes, who is this?"
"Daniel Jackson."
"Do you realize what time it is?"
"No, actually, I don't. I left my watch at work."
"It's after midnight. What the hell's the matter with you? Are you crazy?"
"No, Sherry, I'm cold."
"What?"
"I'm really cold, and I'm not actually sure where I am."

33.

"Why the hell was there a guard on him in the first place?" Jack demanded to know. "He's not dangerous. After the way you treated him the last time something like this happened, I don't blame him for finding a way out."
Dr. MacKenzie bristled at the implication. "The last time we had every reason to suspect that Dr. Jackson was suffering from a serious mental illness."
"Which, I don't need to remind you, he wasn't," Jack blasted back.
"Colonel," said General Hammond, trying to break the tension in his office, "lower your voice."
Jack exhaled sharply. "Sir, Daniel's out there, God knows where, in the middle of a snowstorm, in my good leather jacket, because this man's incompetent."
"General Hammond," complained Dr. MacKenzie. "Major Atherton asked me to see Dr. Jackson. He's been very concerned–"
"The hell he's concerned!"
"That will do, Jack."
A telephone rang, and Sergeant Davis announced that the call was for General Hammond.
"Will you gentlemen excuse me," the General said. "Dr. MacKenzie, we'll talk about this later. Jack, stay nearby."
Jack closed the door behind him and walked down the spiral stairs to the briefing room as Sam and Teal'c entered from the lower stairs. Obviously, they hadn't turned up any trace of Daniel on the base. Jack cursed under his breath and turned toward the window overlooking the Gate Room.
"We've looked everywhere, Sir," Sam reported. "Daniel's simply vanished."
Jack scowled. "He can't have simply vanished, Carter," he said. "Unless he was beamed up by Thor, he's somewhere on this planet."
"Daniel Jackson will not have gone far," Teal'c advised.
"What makes you think that?" Jack wanted to know, squinting as he did when he was annoyed. "When has Daniel ever done anything that makes sense?"
"Despite his inquisitive nature, it seems likely that he will go somewhere familiar for shelter and safety. I have no doubt of it."
"He hasn't gone to his apartment," General Hammond added, joining them from his office. "That was the police. Dr. Jackson didn't make any attempt to enter his building."
"Excuse me, General, Colonel."
The General and SG-1 looked up to see Dr. Fraiser standing in the doorway.
"Come in, Doctor," said General Hammond.
"I've just heard about Daniel," Dr. Fraiser said. Her face was tense. "I'm sorry, Colonel, but I had no idea this was going to happen. I should have been consulted, but I wasn't. And I'm afraid I've got news that makes it imperative that we find him."
"Oh, crap," said Jack, still pissed with MacKenzie.
"I should never have released him from the infirmary, Sir," Dr. Fraiser said, addressing the General. "I didn't have his last MRI back until tonight. The previous one was fine. I never anticipated any problems."
"What are we talking here, Doc?" asked Jack.
"The MRI from this afternoon shows an anomaly that wasn't there earlier in the week. Everyone has clusters of blood vessels throughout their bodies, especially in the head. Once in awhile an injury can disrupt the blood flow and weaken an arterial wall causing it to swell."
"An aneurysm?" asked Sam.
"Yes. In Daniel's case an aneurysm has developed in the prefrontal cortex of the anterior frontal lobe which controls higher cognitive functions such as behavior and emotions."
Sam listened intently to Dr. Fraiser's explanation and then said, "And hence, the headaches Daniel's been having."
"Yes."
"But you said an injury, Dr. Fraiser," observed Teal'c. "Daniel Jackson has sustained no such injury."
"Yes, he has, Teal'c," said Sam intently. "Daniel's been attacked on at least three occasions by a Goa'uld ribbon device, the last time a year ago when Ammonet used one on him." She turned to Dr. Fraiser. "It makes perfect sense that the ribbon device would cause an injury to the frontal lobe – especially for someone as emotional as Daniel. It's directed at the victim's most vulnerable place, the emotions."
Jack was still a little skeptical. "Then why," he asked Carter, "hasn't such an...anomaly...shown up on any of my MRIs?"
Sam tried hard not to look directly at Jack. "I can't explain why it hasn't affected you, Sir, unless–"
"I'm a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch?" Jack finished her sentence, his eyebrows raised quizzically. "I'll buy that. But what about you? Or Teal'c?"
"Because, Sir, when the ribbon device was used on me," Sam explained, "I had Jolinar to protect me. Teal'c has Junior."
"And Daniel Jackson does not have a symbiote to protect him the ribbon device," added Teal'c.
"Dr. Fraiser, what sort of problems can this kind of injury cause?" asked General Hammond.
"Irritability, heightened anxiety, an inability to concentrate, increased sexual appetite –" the doctor replied.
Sam moved her hand above the table as she tried to restate what she was hearing. "So what you're saying, Janet, is that anything that might be considered an aberration or out of character for Daniel could be caused by a break in weakened blood vessels."
"Like all the arguments he and I have had over the past few months?" suggested Jack."And the irresponsibility we've noticed," Sam added. "Not paying his bills, wearing the same clothes repeatedly."
"Irrational responses and angry outbursts," commented Teal'c.
Jack gestured with his hands, beginning to more fully appreciate the situation. "Like asking the librarian out on a date."
"It wasn't a date, Sir," Sam advised him.
"Whatever."
"Exactly," said Dr. Fraiser.
"So bottom line this for me, Doc," said Jack, having heard enough to know that he didn't like what she was telling them.
"Daniel's in serious trouble, Colonel," she answered. "An aneurysm can burst at any time, causing major bleeding in the brain."
"Can that be prevented?" asked General Hammond.
"If he has immediate surgery. The aneurysm can be clamped off and the rupture interrupted. It's a common enough treatment these days if the condition is caught in time."
"So," said Jack, "how much time have we got to find him?"
"That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question, Colonel. It's a small aneurysm now, but it could enlarge and be that much more devastating if left untreated. And where it's located, if it does rupture, it could do worse than kill him."
"There's a worse than dead?" asked Jack.
"If it doesn't kill him, it could have the same affect as if he had a frontal lobotomy."
Jack lowered his head into his hands.
"Oy."

34.

All during the car ride back to Sherry's place, Daniel was restive and unsettled and a little vacant at moments. Even after she unlocked the front door to let him into her apartment, he fidgeted, and his right leg jiggled like he had a twitch. At the restaurant last week he had been a little nervous, understandable considering he hadn't, by his own admission, been socially active for some time. But the man who paced in her apartment at three a.m. was not the same Daniel Jackson she had seen at the library over the last four years.
"I'm glad I don't have to go to work in the morning," she said to make conversation. "I had a hell of a week. How about you?"
"Pretty much the same," he answered.
"It must be a full moon or something."
"Or something," Daniel said, pressing his lips together.
"Daniel?"
"Yes?"
"What is it? I've never seen you like this before."
"Like what?"
"You're really wired."
"Am I?"
"Yes. Is there anything you want to talk about?"
"No, why?" Daniel looked around Sherry's living room, his brow furrowing with concern. "This isn't my apartment?"
"No, it's my place," Sherry told him. "Don't you remember? You called me. I picked you up on the other side of town and brought you here. Daniel, are you doing drugs?"
"No," he answered hastily. "No, they stopped everything days ago."
"That might explain it then," Sherry replied.
Finally, he stopped pacing, although his foot kept tapping. He ran his hands through his hair and looked anxiously at Sherry, his eyes as big as saucers. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he said. "I've never felt this way before. It's kinda creepy."
"You need to relax," Sherry told him. She patted the sofa. "Come over here. I'll rub your shoulders for you."
"That's not necessary," Daniel murmured, but he took her outstretched hand and sat down beside her.
She knelt behind him and placed her hands on his back. He jumped the moment she touched him as if her hands were branding irons, but eventually he breathed more easily, closing his eyes as she massaged the back of his neck.
"That's better, isn't it?" she said in a quiet, calming voice. "I studied massage while I was in college. I got a license in 1992 and went into practice to help pay my tuition. Where did you go to school, Daniel?"
"I started at UCLA in eighty-one and graduated with a bachelors of science in anthropology from Penn," he told her, already calming down. "I studied with John Cotter. I minored in languages, French, German, Russian, and Italian. I did my masters and PhD in anthropology/archaeology at the University of Chicago with David Jordan and a double doctorate in Linguistics Theory and Philosophy of Language under Chomsky at MIT. I was on the faculty at the University of Chicago until 1994."
"Wow," Sherry said, her hands working their way from his neck to his shoulders. "you really know how to sweet talk a girl."
Daniel smiled and put his head back against her shoulder. He'd almost forgotten what human touch felt like. "I speak twenty-three languages, including ancient Egyptian, Greek, and Etruscan," he murmured.
"Is that a fact?"
Sherry pulled up the cream-colored sweater from his waist. He raised his arms, and the sweater was gone. Her hands glided over his smooth chest. His breathing changed, deeper and quicker but not as frenetic as earlier.
"Are you sure this doesn't make you uncomfortable?" she asked.
"No, not at all. Why would it?"
"The last time we were together, you couldn't get away fast enough."
"Really?" Daniel smiled. "I don't remember. I must have been crazy."
"Say something in ancient Egyptian," she whispered in his ear.
Daniel murmured almost inaudibly. Her fingers unfastened his belt and his trousers. When she asked him to translate, he couldn't speak right away.
"The moon has set beyond the stars, and your hair is the color of the ebony night sky. I would give all of my father's cows for one night in your arms."
He turned toward her and found her mouth open to his. Moving from passive to active participant, Daniel kissed her face and her throat, opening her blouse, letting his lips play between her breasts. Sherry slipped out of her bra, permitting him to explore her; but his exploration was scarcely peaceful, and he wanted nothing to do with the patience she urged on him.
He pushed her back onto the sofa. His temper flared when his left hand frustrated his efforts to remove her slacks and underwear. What language he spoke, Sherry had no idea; but by his tone, she knew better than to hinder him, intent as he was on possessing her. She asked only if they could be more comfortable. He said nothing, impatiently following her into the bedroom. He kissed her furiously, determined to be put off no longer than it took for the necessary precautions.
For once in his life there was no bashful groping, no fumbling, none of the embarrassment he had so often experienced with women before, and he urgently sought complete intimacy with her. He still spoke without her understanding as he strained toward his ultimate goal. When the moment arrived, he gasped and cried out a single word:
Sha're.

35.

Sha're smiled at him. "Are you happy, my husband?" she asked, touching his cheek.
"Yes, you make me very happy," Daniel answered sleepily.
"But I did not."
"What are you talking about? Of course, you did."
"Not this time, good husband," Sha're answered, moving away from him in their bed. "You have chosen another."
"Sha're, there is no reason for you to be jealous." He shook off his slumber and reached out to her. "I love only you. I will always love only you."
She pushed back the blankets and drew her robes around her. "I will no longer listen to your sweet speeches, Dan'yel," Sha're fired back at him. "You are like a thief in the night. You stole my heart, and now that you have no further use for it, you cast it aside like accursed grave goods. You say you love me, but your deeds show me how well you have learned to lie since your return to the Tau'ri."
"I do not lie, Sha're," Daniel protested. He sat up and tried to touch her, but she eluded him. "I could never lie to you. I love you. By my very soul, I swear this to you."
"Then be forsworn and suffer for your infidelity."
Sha're raised her left hand, her eyes aglow. The gold ribbon device blazed as it bore into Daniel's skull, penetrating his brain. The god-awful burning sensation was all too familiar.
"Sha're!" he pleaded.
The pain radiated like fire to his arms and legs. He was on his knees before her, paralyzed with blinding agony. Daniel longed for death rather than to have to endure this torment, but that blessed relief was denied him.
"Dan'yel," Sha're laughed. "Liar of the Tau'ri. Cursed among men. Did you think you could betray your vows and remain unpunished?"

36.

Daniel sprang from the bed and groped his way blindly to the bathroom, barely making the toilet bowl in time to throw up. The throbbing in his head would not stop. He'd had migraines before, but never anything like this.
He pulled himself up to his feet, clutching the sink for support. He tried to make out his reflection in the mirror. Without his glasses, all he could see were shadows, particularly those under his eyes. He looked like hell and felt worse.
There was a knock at the door.
"Daniel, are you all right in there?"
He looked again into the mirror. The early morning light coming through the bathroom window hurt his eyes.
"I'm fine," he lied.
He splashed cold water on his face. It didn't help. He still felt sweaty and clammy and sick. He didn't know how much longer he could remain standing.
The decision was made for him. He let go of the sink and knelt down again in front of the commode. There was nothing left in his stomach to bring up but bile. It must have been the battery acid they passed off as coffee in that dive across town. Or else the flu. Or something. No, Dr. Fraiser would never have discharged him from the infirmary if he were still sick. He'd be safely under her care instead of in this strange place, talking through a door to a woman whose name he wasn't sure he could remember.
He remembered, however, what they had done.
Daniel grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Then he opened the bathroom door and pushed Sherry aside. He couldn't make himself look at her or the bed as he passed through the bedroom, down the hallway, and into the living room. All he wanted was to escape from this place. What had ever made him think it was a good idea to come here?
"You're not leaving," he heard her say. She tightened the belt of her robe around her.
"I really think I should."
"Daniel, are you always like this after you've had sex?" she teased.
"It's been awhile," he s irritably. "I don't really remember."
Daniel zipped his pants and bent down to pick up his sweater from the floor. Something behind his eyes flashed, and he was on his knees, his head in his hands. The cry that came from him was like nothing Sherry had ever heard in a human being. It was at once the sound of profound grief and great agony, as if both his body and his spirit were being torn to pieces.

37.

Sam had hidden herself away in her lab with the door locked. Jack was pretty sure she was crying her eyes out. He didn't envy Sam the need to deal with her emotions even in private, but he respected it. Teal'c had kel-no-rim to help him manage with what Jack called "deeper issues" – things he himself didn't feel a need to address. You couldn't let life get to you, even when your best friend was involved. The cops would find Daniel and bring him back, he'd have his brain tweaked, he'd be fine.
Jack gave his locker a swift kick. The door swung open, nearly hitting him in the face. He wished it had. It couldn't hurt any worse than the lump in his throat.
"For cryin' out loud, Daniel," he shouted into his locker, "did you have to take my jacket? If you think your head hurts now, just wait ‘til–"
He stopped yelling, unable to finish the thought out loud. Daniel's head was going to hurt a lot more than it did now. They were going to drill a hole, open up his brain, fiddle around with an artery, and hope they didn't do any more damage than had already been done. Daniel's overabundance of emotions was a continuous source of friction between them, but the possibility of Daniel without any emotions gave Jack the creeps. Daniel without an emotional outburst on any given day was like a day without – well, it was just a little hard to wrap your head around that idea. Daniel cared deeply about things, about people he didn't even know – he cared without shame, without having any other agenda than to give people a choice in how they lived their lives.
And the irony of it was that, if the worst did happen, Daniel would have no choice. A man to whom the very thought of living was precious, Daniel might not be fine when all was said and done: He might be less than alive.
The lump in Jack's throat felt like it was going to explode.

38.

The waiting room at County Hospital was crowded. A weather-related six-car and tractor-trailer pile-up had closed the Interstate close to town, and most of the accident victims had been brought here which meant that Daniel had to wait to be seen by the overworked ER residents. The doctors didn't have time to see someone whose only complaint was a headache.
Daniel lay curled up on two uncomfortable black vinyl chairs, his head resting in Sherry's lap. The pain had receded a little, but his vision was so blurry his glasses wouldn't have helped even if he could remember where he had left them.
Sherry stroked his hair gently. She was so kind despite the way he had treated her. He hadn't meant to yell at her. None of this was her fault. Sha're had no right to be jealous. They might even like each other.
A little boy sat quietly on the tile floor, a picture book open in front of him. He turned his large blue eyes to Daniel.
"Are you sick?" he asked.
"Yes," Daniel said softly.
The child got up and stood in front of him. "Did you throw up?"
"Yes, I did. Twice."
"Did your mommy bring you here?"
"No, she didn't."
The child was silent for a moment. "Where's your mommy?
Daniel sighed. He was tired of talking. He wanted to sleep. "She's not here," he told the boy.
"Where'd she go?"
"She went away. Please leave me alone."
"Did she die?"
"Yes. A long time ago."
"My mom died, too."
"I'm sorry," Daniel murmured.
"I'm sad," the child said.
"Me, too."
The boy stepped closer, a tear clinging to his long lashes. Daniel forced himself to sit up. The waiting room swirled a little.
"I'll tell you a secret," the child confided, now that he had Daniel's attention. He leaned closer and whispered in Daniel's ear, "I know where they are."
"Who?"
"Them. Will you go with me?"
"Okay," Daniel said.
He stood up, towering over the child. A tiny hand slipped into his. They walked together down a long corridor, then another and another. There was a sign at the elevator that read "Out of Order," so they took the stairs. Lots of stairs.
"Why is the morgue always in the basement?" the boy asked.
Daniel gripped the handrail tightly, so as not to fall on the steps. "I have no idea," he answered.
Finally, they reached the bottom. Another long corridor, this one decorated with Egyptian hieroglyphs, stretched out before them, and at the end of it a door, sealed tightly with cartouches, most of which Daniel could read without any trouble. He'd seen them all before many times.
"What does this say?" the boy asked, pointing to one of the cartouches.
"P'tah Ra. Ra protects me. It's ancient Egyptian. Sha're told me. It's what my name means. God, though, not Ra – we killed Ra – God protects me. That's what Daniel means. Otherwise, it would be –"
"Then this is where you must look," the boy said, cutting off Daniel's detailed explanation.
"For what? What am I looking for?"
"Your answer."
"I didn't know I had asked a question."
"You always ask questions."
Daniel reached up and broke the seal, and the door swung open. In the room were hundreds of gurneys, each one with a sheet covering what could only be a body.
"Is your mother here?" he asked the boy.
"This is your room."
"My room? What do you mean?"
The child dropped Daniel's hand and approached the first gurney. "These are your people," he said. He pulled back the white sheet. Sha're's face, pale, discolored by death, stared straight up at the ceiling.
Daniel gazed at his wife. Even in death she was the most beautiful woman he would ever know. He longed to stay with her, to put his arms around her, to sleep beside her, but the boy pulled him away. Daniel followed the boy through the room and looked at the faces beneath the sheets. This was pretty weird. Some of the faces he knew only from old photographs. Others he remembered seeing in childhood. So many of the men and women who had died on the other side of the Gate – Major Kawalski and others whose names he never even knew. His Jackson grandparents were there, as was his Grandmother Ballard. No sign of his grandfather Nick. No one ever seemed to know where Nick was. He was always wondering off somewhere.
"Daniel, why are you here?"
Daniel turned and saw his mother brushing her long dark hair.
"I used to watch you do that when I was a kid," he said softly.
"You don't belong here, Danny."
That was his father. He sounded a lot like Jack. Daniel was really beginning to find that irritating.
"Don't make faces because you don't like something," his father admonished him. "Claire, didn't you teach your son anything?"
Claire frowned. "I did my best, Melburn. He does take after you in a lot of ways."
"Do I?" Daniel asked hopefully. He had always wanted to be like his father.
"Nonsense," Melburn said dismissively.
"You can be very rude at times, Melburn. And rash, and you jump to conclusions."
"I don't jump to conclusions," Daniel protested, but neither of his parents heard him. They were too busy arguing.
"And you have always been too kind to strangers, Claire. I mean, you took to the girl, and look what she did to him."
"Sha're made him happy, Melburn. Now be quiet."
"She tried to kill him."
"No, no, no, that was Ammonet," Daniel told his father, literally jumping up and down in his wife's defense. He didn't care for the idea that his father disapproved of his choice of a wife, but somehow he wasn't surprised either.
"She's a silly pretty thing which is exactly the kind of girl I always imagined you'd pick. Not a brain in her head. What were you thinking, Danny?"
"I wasn't thinking I needed your approval. You being dead and all."
"Don't misunderstand, Danny. She's very nice. Very nice."
"But she is dead, Daniel," his mother said quietly but firmly.
"And so will you be if you do not leave this place, good husband."
Daniel looked away from his parents. Sha're wore the robes she'd worn at their wedding. She was as alive and as beautiful as the first time he'd laid eyes on her.
"I never lied to you," he assured her. "I love only you."
"Have that woman take you from this place," Sha're told him.
"Can't I stay here? With you?
"No, Dan'yel," said Sha're. "You do not belong here."
"I don't feel like I belong anywhere."
Melburn made a face and raised his voice. "Well, you can't stay here, son. Tell him, Claire."
"You must obey your father, Dan'yel," Sha're said.
Another face from his father. "He never has before this. Why should he start now?"
Claire took Daniel's arm and hugged him to her. "Melburn, leave the boy alone."
"Claire," Melburn said in exasperation, "perhaps it's escaped your notice. He's not a boy anymore."
"Thanks for noticing, Dad."
"You still don't pay any attention."
Sha're took his other arm. "Good husband, you must go."
"Do as you're told, Daniel," his mother said, looking up at him. "You must go."
"But where? I don't know where to go."
"Back to the mountain, Danny," Melburn advised.
"Why?" Daniel asked, clearly losing patience with this whole conversation. "I mean, why can't the mountain come to me for a change?"
"Danny," Melburn declared, "you've always been damned stubborn. He gets that from your father, you know, Claire."
"Leave my father out of this, Melburn."
"This is pointless. Mom. Dad."
"For crying out loud, Daniel," his father said, using his full name for the first time that Daniel could remember.
"Dad, are you sure you don't know Jack O'Neill?"
"What's he published lately?"
Daniel thought for second and shook his head. "Nothing. Jack's never published anything in his life. He can barely get his reports written."
"Then why'd you ask?"
"You remind me of him."
"Dan'yel, you must go," Sha're said urgently. "There is little time, and they cannot help you here. Have that woman take you to the mountain."
She raised her left hand, and Daniel flinched. "You're not going to use the hand device again, are you?" he asked plaintively. "I already have a real bad headache."
"No, Dan'yel." Her hand touched his cheek. "That was not me. That was Ammonet. She does not like you."
"I've never been too crazy about her either. Geez, why do you still have to put up with her? Isn't she dead, too?"
"Danny, this is no time to play twenty questions," Melburn warned him. "Get a move on. There's not a lot of time left."
"I know, Dad," Daniel said. He started to rub his eyes but stopped, certain someone would yell at him about that, too. "Back to the mountain."

39.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we can't treat him here. His Cheyenne Mountain Complex ID card indicates that he can only be treated by Air Force medical personnel. It has to do with the kind of work he does there. They don't call it Area 52 for nothing."
"But look at him," Sherry told the doctor. "He's in a lot of pain."
"I don't make their rules, ma'am. All I know is that if we even examine him here, there'll be hell to pay."
"You're a doctor."
"And I want to stay a doctor. As soon as we realized he works over there, we called. They're sending transport, ma'am. Someone will be here in about ten minutes to take him to the Air Force Academy Hospital. Their orders were that the waiting room had to be clear when they arrive. Colonel O'Neill said he might be dangerous."
"What? This is insane," Sherry argued. She looked down at the pale face in her lap. "Does he look dangerous to you?"
"Ma'am, we have to evacuate this room. That means you."
"Go to hell."
"Ma'am. I'm calling security."
"Call the freaking President, for all I care. I'm not leaving him."
The screech of tires sounded outside the emergency room doors, followed by shouting and footsteps. The doors opened, and a dozen armed men and women in military fatigues, weapons drawn and primed, filled the waiting room.
"Hold your fire," ordered Jack as he and Sam approached.
"You were ordered to clear this room, Doctor," announced a tall black man with a gold tattoo on his forehead.
"She wouldn't leave, Sir," the doctor explained.
Teal'c glared at the man who melted away through a set of double doors as quickly as he could. To Sherry, he said, "You shouldn't have stayed, Ms. Tyler," Teal'c said. "Daniel Jackson could be a danger to you."
Sherry frowned and rolled her eyes. "Really, Teal'c, he's not dangerous. He's been lying here like this for over two hours. He can't even stand up."
"Check him for a you-know-what," said Jack.
Sam crouched beside Daniel. "She's right, Sir. I don't sense a Goa'uld."
"A what?" asked Sherry.
"Never mind," Sam said with a reassuring smile.
"Check the back of his neck to make sure," Jack suggested.
Sam brushed the hair from Daniel's neck. "He's clean, Sir."
Jack lowered his P90 and knelt down next to Sam. "Daniel? Can you hear me?"
"Dad?"
"No, Daniel. It's Jack. Daniel, you've got something going on in your head, but Ol' Doc Fraiser's gonna fix you up good as new."
"Why are you talking like we're in an episode of Gunsmoke?"Daniel asked.
"You remember Gunsmoke?" asked Jack.
"Jack."
"What?"
"Could you please shut up. I've got a real bad headache."
"Daniel?"
"What?"
"Where the hell did you leave my jacket?"

40.

Dr. Fraiser wasn't optimistic when she saw the pre-operative scan in her office at the Air Force Academy Hospital. The aneurysm had grown larger and Daniel was now in and out of consciousness.
"His condition is very grave," she informed SG-1. "He can hardly speak, although he has asked several times for you, Colonel, and for Sherry. At first, I thought he meant Sha're, but he was adamant. Sam, do you know who he means?"
"Yes," Sam replied, sniffing hard and taking a deep breath. She was having a hard time with it all and desperately needed something to make her feel as if she was helping. "She's the librarian at the University, the one he went to dinner with last week. He went to her when he felt he couldn't trust any of us. And she stayed with him when his condition got worse. She got him to University Hospital and argued with the doctors there when they said they couldn't treat him. Hell, she even argued with Teal'c, and he had a P90 in his hands. She's a gutsy woman."
"Thought you decided you didn't like her," Jack reminded her.
"I'm entitled to change my mind, Colonel," she said without looking at him. "Besides, Daniel admitted he gave her a hard time, and she still stuck by him."
"Daniel gives everybody a hard time, Carter."
"Yes, Sir, he does," she answered, returning Jack's sad smile, "and we all stick by him."
"Well, let's hope he asks for her after surgery," Dr. Fraiser said doubtfully. "That will be a very good sign indeed. I'd better scrub up so I can assist Dr. Nathan."
"Yo, Doc, is this guy any good?" asked Jack.
"He's the best neurovascular surgeon the military's got," she answered. "Probably in the entire field. This sort of thing is routine to him. He can do it in his sleep."
"So Daniel's in good hands?"
"The best."
"How much does Daniel understand about what's happening?"
"I explained the procedure to him and the possibilities, but I'm not sure how much of it registered."
"Maybe I'd better talk to him."
"Colonel, he may not be completely responsive."
"Then it will be just like old times," Jack said.

41.

He stood outside Daniel's room for a long time before deciding what he wanted to say. There wouldn't be any speeches, nothing about how much their friendship meant to him, none of that honor-and-privilege-to-have-served-with-you crap. Jack had made up his mind that it wasn't necessary. Daniel was going to get through this, just like he'd gotten through all the other crap. Daniel had been through worse.
He opened the door and peered in. Daniel's eyes were open. They held Jack's. There was no apparent fear in them, as if he seemed prepared for whatever lay ahead.
"Come to say goodbye?" Daniel said. His voice was barely audible.
"Nah. You know how I hate that kind of stuff," Jack said as he came closer. "Dr. Fraiser said she told you what was going on. You're going into surgery in a few minutes."
Daniel nodded slightly.
"Doc says the brain surgeon they found is the best."
Daniel raised his eyebrows as if to say he didn't think it really mattered.
"You're going to be fine, Daniel."
Daniel closed his eyes. He evidently wasn't as confident as Jack had thought.
"Know the risks," he got out with effort.
"Good."
"Jack, do something."
"What?"
"Cuckoo's Nest."
"What?"
"The movie."
"What about it?"
He was clearly struggling to make his point. "McMurphy," he said, then raised his left hand over his mouth and nose.
Jack realized what he wanted and shook his head. "I'm not doing that, Daniel. You're not going to end up like that, and I sure as hell am not going to put a pillow over your face if you do."
"One thing more."
"Yeah, what?" Jack asked impatiently.
"Bury me on Abydos."
"Daniel–"
"With Sha're."
"It's not going to come to that."
Daniel's eyes pleaded, glistening. A tear rolled down his cheek.
"God damn it, Daniel!" Jack shouted at him.
"I'm not asking, Jack!" Daniel answered through clenched teeth.
"You'd better hope this guy Nathan is every bit as good as Fraiser says he is," Jack replied, just as angrily, "Because I'm not doing that. I'm not doing any of it. Do you hear me?"
"Should have told Teal'c," Daniel murmured.
Jack took Daniel's head in his hands and brought their faces close together. "For a smart guy, Daniel," he said with icy precision, "sometimes you come up with some pretty stupid ideas. One more stupid, stupid idea, and I'm going to reach through that turned-up nose of yours and pull that aneurysm out with my bear hands, do you understand?"
"Great bedside manner," Daniel replied tartly.
"Ah, geez, Daniel," Jack muttered, as he drew Daniel toward him and held him tightly.

42.

Daniel's surgery was now well into its fourth hour. Jack paced up and down in the OR waiting room. He was sure he'd go nuts long before they heard any news. Every once in awhile, he ran his hand vigorously through his greying hair and made a sound as if he was having his throat examined.
"Colonel, could you please sit down?" Sam asked tersely.
Jack growled something unintelligible and threw himself into the chair between Teal'c and Sam. He sat still for all of twenty seconds before he burst out of his seat again. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaa," he groaned. "What the hell is taking so long?"
"Neurosurgery is a delicate business, Sir," Sam explained. "You can't just yank aside the good stuff to get to the bad stuff."
"Is that a technical explanation?" Jack snapped.
"I'm an astrophysicist, Colonel," Sam answered bluntly, "not a brain surgeon."
"Sometimes, Carter, your explanations as about as useful as–"
"Thank you, Sir."
Jack put his hands and his forehead against the window overlooking the hospital garden. The garden was ablaze with chrysanthemums, purple, gold, and red, colors that contrasted sharply with the grey sky and drizzle that had washed away most of yesterday's snow. "I hate waiting like this. I hate not being able to do anything."
But he managed to sit down for the next twenty minutes. He played with a pencil that finally snapped in his hands. He took a pen from Sam and doodled all over a handful of magazines on the coffee table, drawing mustaches on the faces in the cigarette ads. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop, tapped his foot, took another pen from Sam and drummed irritatingly on an upturned glass.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaa," he erupted at last, throwing the pens across the room. "I'm going down there. I've got to know what's happening."
Teal'c moved from the immobile position he had held for nearly the entire time SG-1 had been together in the waiting room.
"O'Neill," he said quietly, "I fail to see how your current behavior is of any value to Daniel Jackson in this particular situation."
"My thoughts exactly, Teal'c," replied Sam.
Teal'c continued rather testily. "O'Neill, if you do not sit down and do so at once, I will be forced to restrain you myself."
Allowing as how Teal'c probably would do just as he threatened, Jack tried desperately to be still. He sat down on the floor, his back to the garden window, making faces the whole time.
"For crying out loud," he complained, "this is like listening to my beard grow. Or worse, listening to Daniel's beard grow." He shrugged when the others looked at him. "Daniel's grows a lot louder than mine does."
It wasn't in his nature to sit idly by when one of his own was in trouble. He didn't care if Dr. Fancy Pants Nathan was the best neurosurgeon in the world – in the universe, for that matter – he wanted to be down in that operating room watching every move the man made. This was Daniel's brain they were messing with.
Actually, he wanted to be anywhere but in that operating room. He wanted to be outside, wanted to see the sun, blue sky, snow on the mountainside. When this nonsense was done, he was going to Minnesota – oh, youbetcha – to do some serious fishing. Of course, this time of year, it would have to be ice fishing, and he was gonna take Daniel with him for a long vacation. Yep, that would straighten Dr. Jackson right up – a long overdue vacation in the Land of Sky Blue Waters. Jack closed his eyes and envisioned his cabin in the woods. Oh, yeah, it was an infinitely better place than being inside Daniel's head.
The waiting room door opened. The three of them looked up expectantly but were disappointed when they saw it was only Major Atherton. Teal'c rose from his seat and towered menacingly over the smaller man.
"What do you want?" Jack snarled from across the room. Even though Daniel's illness wasn't this man's fault, Jack blamed him for everything. It made him feel better to have an actual target for his anger.
"I just wondered how Jackson's doing," Atherton explained.
"That's Doctor Jackson to you," Jack answered, "and he's doing just fine, thank you very much."
"Which I'm sure is pretty distasteful to you," Sam chimed in.
"Colonel O'Neill," Atherton said somewhat pathetically, "I admit I wanted Jackson off my team – still do – even out of SGC if it could be arranged, but I swear I never wanted anything like this to happen."
Sam stood up and joined Teal'c to block the man from entering the waiting room.
"I'd get my ass outa here if I were you, Major," Jack warned from his position on the floor. "Carter's been itching to try out some new jiujitsu moves she just learned. And I think Teal'c will be happy to hold you down just until I can get over there to kick the crap out of you."
Sam and Teal'c moved closer. Atherton took the hint and departed without another word.
"I really hate that little weasel," Jack said with a frown.
Some four and a half hours later at about nineteen hundred hours, Dr. Fraiser came into the waiting room, tired and still in her surgical scrubs. Cartons of half-eaten Chinese food, coffee cups, and soda bottles littered the coffee table. One aluminum pan with the lid still on it – General Tso's Chicken, Daniel's favorite – remained untouched.
Sam slept with her legs over the arm of the chair next to her. Teal'c sat in a state of kel-no-rim, or something akin to it as there were no candles in the room. Jack snored loudly, his entire body jammed against the wall beneath the garden window.
Dr. Fraiser knelt down beside him and said gently, "Colonel, the worst is over."
"Hm...what? Huh? Doc? Daniel?" He sputtered as he woke himself up out of a sound sleep.
"He's out of surgery," Dr. Fraiser explained. "It was touch and go for awhile, but he should be okay."
Jack stretched and tried to unknot his neck. "Can we see him?"
"Not for a few hours. He's still in recovery. He was awake for a few minutes though. He asked for you."
She helped the Colonel get to his feet.
"So Daniel's got all his screws in the right place?" he asked.
"We'll know better over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, but it looks like it at the moment."
"No more headaches?"
"His head's going to hurt a little for a bit, but at least not from the aneurysm."
"Good." Jack put a hand on Dr. Fraiser's shoulder. "Thanks. I'll tell the others." He looked around the waiting room. "Man, we really made a mess out of this place. You gonna call Hammond?"
"Just got off the phone with him. He's calling a briefing to let everyone at SGC know. He said that you, Sam, and Teal'c are to go home and get some rest. He doesn't want to see any of you for a few days. I fully concur. You must be exhausted."
"What's going on, Colonel?" asked Sam as she roused herself. She tapped Teal'c gently on the arm.
"Daniel's come through, as usual, with flying colors," Jack reported. "And we've got some time off."
"I can't wait to see him," Sam said eagerly. It was the first genuine smile she'd had since this madness began.
"Why don't you guys get something to eat and come back later tonight. Daniel won't be out of recovery for at least an hour, and that will give the nursing staff time to get him situated. He's not going to be too talkative for awhile anyway."
"I'll give Sherry Tyler a call," her voice bright, despite her fatigue. "She'll want to know how Daniel's doing."
"How much are you going to tell her, Carter?" Jack asked.
"Only as much as she needs to know, Sir," Sam answered, "but she deserves to know something."

43.

Sherry listened quietly while Sam sat in her living room and explained what had happened to Daniel.
"So the headaches, the nervousness," Sam said over tea, "were all or mostly all caused by the aneurysm."
"I knew he was different," Sherry replied. "For the last four years he didn't even know I was alive unless I had to talk to him about his overdue books."
"For the last four years, he wasn't sure he was alive," Sam told her. "I told you that he and Sha're were separated before she died. What Daniel will never tell you is that Sha're was kidnaped. When Daniel found her, she was about to give birth. It wasn't Daniel's child, and Sha're went back with the man. Then last year, Daniel was almost killed himself when Sha're came back into his life. Teal'c saved Daniel by killing Sha're."
"Teal'c killed Daniel's wife?" Sherry asked in disbelief. "In front of Daniel? But they're such good friends."
"I can't tell you anymore, Sherry," Sam confessed. "These are all things I know Daniel will not tell you himself. But in case he doesn't coming dashing back to you, you have a right to know why. Janet – Dr. Fraiser is concerned that his short-term memory may be impaired. Recent events may not remain with him."
Sherry tried to listen. Her thoughts were filled with other things, things she didn't feel comfortable discussing with Sam – Daniel's kisses, how great he looked out of that awful cream-colored sweater and those dreadful khaki slacks, how passionately he'd made love to her. And here was this woman who knew Daniel better than just about anyone else telling her that Daniel might not remember any of that.
"He might actually have already forgotten about me, you mean."
"It's a possibility that you should be prepared for.
Sam watched Sherry deflate a little as she processed the information. She bit her bottom lip and tried not to let her disappointment show.
"Would you like more tea?" Sherry asked to cover the strain.
"No, thank you. I've had enough. In fact I want to get back to the hospital soon. He should be awake by now. Why don't you come with me, Sherry."
Sherry shook her head. "If he remembers me without my being there, you can tell me. If he doesn't, I don't think I want to know. I don't think I could bear it, Sam."
Sam put an understanding hand on Sherry's shoulder. "Listen. You were wrong about Daniel when you said strong women intimidate him. If you care for him – and I think you do – then stay strong. He's very, very sick, and he's going to need your strength. If you want him, Sherry, then fight for him."
Sherry didn't give Sam an answer.
"Well, I think we've kept you from your rest long enough, Dr. Jackson" said General Hammond, a broad smile on his face. He was delighted to see his chief archaeologist again.
Daniel smiled a little, quick smile. He was exhausted, but it had been good to see all his friends.
"We'll catch ya later, Danny Boy," Jack said. He patted Daniel's foot and headed toward the door.
Teal'c nodded and said in his sonorous voice, "It is good to see you looking so well, Daniel Jackson."
Daniel waved to the three men as they departed. He called Sam's name, and she came back to his bedside.
"Daniel, what is it? You look upset."
"There's something – someone – missing. I'm missing someone." As he said this, he put his hand to his chest to emphasize the statement.
"Who?" asked Sam.
"I don't know. But...someone..."
"Sha're?"
"No, no, Sha're's..." He lowered his head, licking his lips. "Sha're's dead. I know that.
That's something I'll just have to deal with – along with everything else. No, there's someone else." He raised his head again and looked at Sam, his eyes brimming. "I can't remember, Sam."
"If you're meant to remember," Sam assured him, filling up herself – she could never see him upset without feeling his pain – "it will come back to you."
Daniel put a hand to his forehead, struggling for the memory. It wouldn't come to him.
"It hurts, Sam," he gasped.
"Your head?"
"No," he replied. His hand fell helplessly to his side. "Not remembering." His voice broke. "Why can't I remember?"
"Daniel, you knew this might happen. Short-term memory loss is not unusual after neurosurgery."
"You don't understand, Sam. I need to remember this. It's important. She's important."
"Don't try to force it, Daniel. You have to let it happen naturally. Now, look, I'm gonna go. You try to get some rest. I'll stop by later, okay?"
"Okay."
Sam leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. Daniel put his arms around her and held her close, not wanting to let go, not wanting to be left alone.
"It's all right, Daniel," she assured him. She pulled back a little and smiled. "You're safe now. You're going to get well. There's nothing to be worried about."
"You'll come back?" he asked.
Sam knew how deep his fear of abandonment ran. Daniel Jackson was one of the bravest men she knew. He'd stood up against the worst the Goa'uld could hurl at him. She'd seen him shot with a staff weapon and hardly make a sound. Daniel had endured Jack O'Neill's most withering sarcasm and usually gave as good as he got. He willingly faced death almost every time they went through the Gate, not just to save Earth and other worlds, but to protect his friends. The only thing he truly feared was separation from those he loved most. He'd endured so much loss. Nearly all of his life, he'd been alone. The very nature of his work with the Stargate meant that the bonds he'd formed with SG-1 were always at best transient, tenuous, fragile, precious, so easily lost.
She caressed his cheek and brushed back his hair. "Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep?" she asked.
Daniel nodded and scrunched down into the bed, turning onto his left side to make some room for her to sit beside him. He was so tired. What he wouldn't give for Sam to lie down beside him and hold him, like someone he couldn't remember had. No, not entirely as she had. He loved Sam with all his heart and soul, but that wasn't what he wanted from her.
"Close your eyes, Daniel," Sam told him.
He did as she said and listened while she hummed a tune. Then as she softly sang the words, he drifted into sleep.
"‘Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard Times, hard times, come again no more
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
Oh, hard times, come again no more."

44.

Daniel hung up his jacket in the hall closet and tossed his keys on the dining room table. Only a month after surgery, and he'd been back at work, part time, four hours a day, for the past week. He wouldn't be cleared for off-world duty for another month, but he was ready.
In the kitchen he put a teakettle on the stove and counted, "Three, two, one."
On cue the telephone rang.
"Hi, Sam...I'm fine...What are you going to do when I start driving again?...Yes, I have something for dinner...Yes, we're on for Thanksgiving. I'll bring something...No, no, I want to...I have no idea. I've got a week to think about it...I don't know yet. If I don't sleep too late tomorrow, maybe I'll go over to the library...Sam, are you still there?...Look...look, Sam, you don't have to call me every night. I'm okay. Really...Thanks...Me, too. Good night, Sam...Yes, yes, I did...Good night."
He hung up the phone with a smile, his hand lingering on the receiver tenderly. The kettle started to whistle. A mug, teaspoon, and teabag were already set out on the cleared counter top where he had left them before going to work. When the tea was made, he carried the mug into the living room and sat down at his desk to go through his mail – journals in one spot, bills in another, junk, with a sense of deep satisfaction, right into the trash.Everything was beginning to fall into place.
Once the mail was sorted, Daniel reached up to the bookshelf for his latest journal. There were a lot of empty ages. He hadn't done much writing for the past few months, and what he had written was sparse, disjointed; he didn't even recognize the messy handwriting as his own.
Well, all that was about to change. He wrote the date at the top of the first blank page.
"I'm back," he wrote on the next line. "It's been a long while, but now I feel well enough to resume work full time. Major Atherton apologized to me this afternoon. Jack wants me back on SG-1, and General Hammond said I have a go as soon as I'm medically able. Dr. Nathan thinks it might be a few more weeks yet. Dr. Fraiser plans to closely monitor all personnel who go off-world in the event they are attacked with the hand device. Sam thinks the reason it affected me as it did was because of my close emotional ties to –"
His pen hovered over the page for a moment. He closed his eyes and saw Sha're's face.
"– the hosts," he continued writing. "But Apophis and Ammonet can't hurt me anymore. I hate the Goa'uld for what they did to those I love and to all those I'll never know. So many lives wasted, so much destruction. I swear I will fight them with my last dying breath. I guess it's just as well I don't remember everything that occurred during the few weeks before Dr. Fraiser figured out I had an aneurysm. I know there was someone who came to mean something special to me during that time, but I have no recollection of her whatsoever. The strange thing is, I feel her absence deeply. But for her safety and my sanity, I must not try to bring back her memory. I cannot put the life of one more person I care about – and I know I cared about her – in jeopardy."
He put down his pen and closed the journal. The decision made him sad, but he knew it was the right thing to do. So he was back – back where he had been before all this started – back where he belonged – with SG-1 and with his friends.
And alone.