Wayward Son: Subterfuge

by JoaG

A *Teen Daniel* story that is not only AU, but takes place in a setting where Jack never becomes General, Daniel never ascended and Janet still remains part of the SGC. Subterfuge - something intended to misrepresent the true nature of an activity

1. Chapter 1

Wayward Son - Subterfuge

by devra and JoaG

Authors' Notes: This is a Teen Daniel story. If this isn't your cup of tea, you may leave now and not say that you weren't warned.

Also, yes, it's AU, so don't rely on canon to keep you on the straight and narrow :) Characters may make cameo appearances in odd places where they didn't normally belong.

This story follows right on the heels of Wayward Son.

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"I'm hungry."

"As soon as you're done with your physical, I'll take you out for breakfast."

"I'm hungry now." Daniel was well aware that he was being pissy and pigheaded, but the last thing he felt like doing was going to the SGC for tests. Fasting tests.

His father took a deep breath, fortifying his patience.

"I don't want your empathy." Daniel held his stomach.

"I wasn't giving you any," his dad said, turning onto Norad Road, which led up the mountain. "I was praying for patience or the absence of witnesses so I could kill you."

"Not funny," Daniel grumbled.

"I'm serious."

"I can feel the love."

"Snot."

His dad parked the car, turned it off, and the two of them sat staring through the front windshield.

"I'm so cooked, Dad. I don't want any more blood work, MRIs, psychological assessments, questions, stares, unanswerable questions—"

"I know, Icky."

"You know," he insisted sarcastically, "but you're still making me do this. I want to be like most kids my age. Physicals once a year—"

"Never gonna happen. Especially now that you're getting double teamed by Fraiser and Lam with a side order of Carter."

"Please?" Daniel pleaded.

"No. I'm not writing a note, excusing you... I'm too chicken to bear the wrath of the docs. Besides, it'll be over before you know it."

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"More?" Daniel demanded, glaring at Janet as she drew another vial of blood.

With a practice born of years of experience, she undid the tourniquet, labeled the vial, cleaned up the mess and stood, even before Daniel could spit forth another gripe.

"I'm all done playing vampire, Daniel."

He picked up the cotton ball covering the pinprick and snorted. "Still bleeding."

She patted his knee with a laugh. "You'll survive."

"How's our patient?" Doctor Carolyn Lam walked over next to Janet and helped herself to Daniel's chart.

"You mean victim." Daniel didn't even raise his eyes. God, he hated being discussed as if he were an invisible idiot.

"We're not the Marquis de Sade, Daniel." Janet's voice was soft, apologetic, almost an exact replica of his dad's from this morning.

He looked up, but refused to answer her smile with one of his. "From where I'm sitting, you're doing a damn good imitation of torturing me."

Carolyn laughed. "A bit dramatic, Daniel?"

"No," he replied indignantly. "You stuck me with a gazillion needles and—"

"A gazillion?" Janet glanced at the other doctor and winked. "Over-exaggerating?"

"Oh, just a bit," Carolyn answered, closing the chart and placing it on the bed next to Daniel.

Daniel jumped when the klaxons sounded, followed by the intercom. "Med team to the Gateroom."

"Go ahead," Carolyn said to Janet. "I'll finish up with Daniel."

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Daniel hated MRIs. He especially hated how cold the procedure room was and the fact that the thin scrubs offered no protection from the chill.

"Ow." He tried to jerk his arm away from Carolyn's steadfast grip. "What's that for?" Hadn't he been stuck with enough needles?

"Contrast," she said. "This way we can check out all the nooks and crannies of that brain of yours as opposed to just the nooks."

"Let's just get this over with." Daniel stood, nearly falling on his ass when the wheelchair scooted out from under him.

"Hold it," Carolyn admonished. "Let me set the brakes before you hurt yourself and need a doctor."

"You know," Daniel said as he got up onto the MRI table, "you and Janet should take your show on the road."

"Lie down." Gently she pushed on his chest. Doctor Lam was basically a blur. Hell, this whole room was a blur without his glasses. He blinked again. Then one more time. Strange as it might seem, the room appeared to be getting blurrier.

"Carolyn?" Panicked, he tried to sit up.

"Shush," came a soft voice in his ear. "Relax. It'll be over before you know it."

"Dad?" His dad had said the same thing. Was his dad here? Now? Daniel yawned as the table slid into the cavernous mouth of the MRI. He'd ask him later; right now, closing his eyes seemed like a better idea.

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"He's awake, look. The kid's eyes are open."

"Doesn't make a difference. He won't remember anything."

He knew that voice.

"Are you sure?"

And that voice? Not as familiar, but it was there, somewhere in his memories. Daniel tried to turn his head, but no body parts appeared to be responding to his commands. Strange dream.

"Why are you suddenly getting cold feet about this? It was your idea."

"Not cold feet, just cautious."

Someone was circling where Daniel lay and he tried to bring them into focus, blinking a few times. A smaller person came to stand next to the tall, blurry man.

"I'm not comfortable with this technology."

"I truly don't care if you're comfortable with the technology or not, Doctor."

"I can't make promises that the device will work."

"I don't want promises. I want data. And information."

"You'll have your data. Whether he'll produce anything that's worth this, is another matter altogether." The words were spat out at the tall man. "Two weeks worth of stolen data."

Daniel tried to move. He was so cold. They needed to know he was cold. Cold wasn't right. Not this type of bone-chilling cold that permeated every cell of his body and froze him in place.

"Two weeks? That doesn't seem like enough—"

"That's all the time you're going to get. We've discussed that. Any more and we're putting his life in danger. And I don't know about you, but I don't want a late night visit from Colonel O'Neill or any of SG-1. Personally, I don't have that much of a death wish nor can I hide behind Washington constituents to save my life."

There was a pause, mumbling. Words that Daniel couldn't make out and as hard as it was, even around the numbing cold, he felt himself drift. He roused only when a precise set of footsteps approached.

"Enough. I have to begin otherwise I'm going to be missed. Or he's going to be missed."

Ow. Ow. Ow. Daniel's eyes flew open.

"He felt that. Look. Don't you tell me—"

"With all due respect, Senator, please be quiet. Yes, he feels this but he won't have a single memory of what happened."

"Are you sure?"

There was a heavy sigh that tickled Daniel's neck.

"You asked that previously, and I'll give you the same answer I gave you before. Yes. He'll remember nothing. The filament is fitted under the skin and the entrance wound will be closed up with this."

An uncomfortable buzzing sound filled Daniel's head, then lowered in pitch until it disappeared. A soft, familiar touch wiped a drop of moisture from the corner of Daniel's eye.

"I'm sorry, honey."

"I'll be in contact with you." The voice sounded further away.

"You get two weeks. Not a second more. Oh, Senator?"

"Yes, Doctor." The voice was filled to overflowing with annoyance.

"Don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out."

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Daniel smothered a yawn behind his hand. "All your fault," he complained to his father. Pushing up his glasses, he scrubbed at his tired eyes.

"I don't remember forcing you to stay up last night." He jabbed Daniel's plate with his fork. "Eat your breakfast so you're coherent enough to go to school."

The pancakes smelled delicious and his stomach growled, trying to prod him to pick up his fork and take a bite, but he couldn't get past the gnawing headache.

"The headache will go away if you eat." His dad leaned over and cut a triangle of pancake. "Open up the hanger."

Daniel grabbed the hand with the fork. "Dad, please."

"What? I'm embarrassing you?"

"Dad," Daniel hissed, glancing over his shoulder.

"Now, if I really wanted to embarrass you, I'd make a noise like this... Vrrmmmmm, to go along with the hanger... and the airplane pancakes."

"Please," Daniel begged. "I'll eat the pancakes. I promise, just please—"

"Jeez, you used to love that." His dad released the fork to Daniel, leaned back in the booth, and smiled evilly.

Daniel pulled the plate closer and wrapped an arm around it while he ate, protecting his food and himself from his father's warped sense of humor.

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"Icky..."

Daniel stopped from getting out of the truck and turned toward his father. "Yeah?"

"Headache gone?"

Daniel nodded. "Feels better."

"That's not exactly what I asked you."

"I'm. Fine. Dad. Honest."

"I'll try and talk to the docs about—"

"No, it's okay. I understand." Daniel sighed. "I really do... It's just—"

"Annoying?"

"I was going to say a pain in the ass."

"Watch the language, Mister."

"I'm not a kid."

"I know. If you were a kid, you would've let me play plane and airplane hanger at the diner."

"On that note, I'm outta here. See you tonight."

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Daniel made a volcano out of his mashed potatoes, then looked expectantly at his father.

"You know, Carter has taught you the vilest eating habits." He poured the gravy onto the potatoes and it slid into the crater that Daniel had created.

Daniel dropped a spoonful of corn into the gravy then sat back to survey his handiwork. "This dinner is a thing of beauty."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a strange child?"

He cut off a piece of meatloaf then dragged it through the mashed potatoes, upsetting the volcano, the gravy lava spilling out and across his plate. "I'm not strange," he said through a mouthful of food.

The headache slowly niggled its way back and by the time Daniel was sopping up the last puddle of gravy with a slice of fresh bread, the lights were too bright in the kitchen and his stomach began protesting the meal. He didn't even realize he was rubbing his temple until his dad held his hand in place.

"Headache?"

"Yeah. Think I'm just tired." He glanced towards the pile of pots in the sink.

"That's why we have a dishwasher. Go shower. Go study. Go do homework. Do not talk on the phone or use the computer for anything other than work. Which means no IMing Dria, et al."

"Yes, Colonel." Daniel gave his dad a sloppy salute before leaving the kitchen.

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Daniel felt a million times better after the shower and he stretched out on the bed with a modicum of guilt, but his bed was far more appealing than loading the dishwasher. He opened his laptop, refused to open his AIM and set to work studying, lasting all of two minutes before opening his chat window. Thankfully, no one was around so he went back to studying, this time falling asleep before he'd answered a single Global History question.

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Lunch tray in hand, he stood surveying the noisy cafeteria. He smiled as a madly waving Alexandria caught his attention. He dropped the tray on the table then sat across from her.

"Oh, you got the meatball hero." She separated her sandwich, the melted cheese forming a bridge between the two halves. "I got grilled cheese."

"Wanna share?" The grilled cheese looked a damn sight more appealing than the heavily sauced meatballs.

"Okay."

Daniel tucked into the grilled cheese, regretting that this hadn't been his lunch choice.

"Sorry I didn't call you last night." She picked a meatball out of the sandwich and popped it into her mouth. "I kinda got read the riot act. No phone. No computer. Yadda yadda yadda. You'd think I was failing instead of being in all the enriched classes and in the top five percent of the class."

"Been there. Done that. Got the same riot act read to me." He reached towards Alexandria's plate to snag a fry only to have his hand slapped.

"Next time, just give me your money and I'll buy your lunch, since my tray always seems to hold such fascination."

"Does that mean you won't share any fries with me?"

"No," she said, dropping a handful of fries on Daniel's plate, "...it just means that you're a pain in the ass."

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The headache began anew sometime around gym. Luck of the draw would pit him, Alexandria, Cassie, Dominic and Corey in the same class as Tony and two of his cronies. Nothing was said, Tony wasn't that stupid, it was just the tension and by the time the bell rang, the pain in his head was like a vice grip.

"Go home, take two Tylenol, forget the riot act and call me tonight," Alexandria instructed. She planted a light kiss on his cheek before running off to catch her bus. Daniel trudged along the row of buses, looking for his. A gentle tap on his shoulder and he jumped and spun around, fists raised.

"Whoa." Sam raised her own hands. "I surrender."

"Sorry." Embarrassed, he dropped his arms. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Do I want to know who you were expecting with that wonderful greeting?"

A sudden thought occurred to Daniel. "My dad?"

"Colonel O'Neill?"

"Yes." Suddenly, Daniel couldn't breathe. "Is he—"

"Fine. He's fine. Honest."

"Without sounding rude... Why are you here?"

"He's going to be late. I thought that maybe you and I could go to dinner?"

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Daniel must've dozed off in the front seat of Sam's car, because he had absolutely no memory of her driving from the school to her house.

"Hey," she said softly, gently shaking his shoulder. "Awake?"

He blinked at the afternoon's brightness. "Yeah. Up." He stretched, then smiled.

"Care to let me in on the secret?"

"Nothing." Except the headache was gone and for the first time in a few days, he really felt good.

"Hope you don't mind, I have to do a few things before dinner tonight."

"Nah. It's okay." Daniel patted the backpack resting between his knees. "I have more than enough to do to keep me busy."

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"Hungry?"

Daniel checked the clock on Sam's computer and then looked up. "Wow. Umm... I didn't realize it was that late."

"So does that mean you're hungry?"

"Yeah, I am."

"What'll it be? Pizza. Greek. Chinese..."

"Steak?" Daniel asked tentatively. "Potatoes?"

Sam got a dreamy look in her face. "Medium rib eye... Dressed potato."

"O'Malley's?"

Sam licked her lips. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

"Sam," Daniel asked as he shoved his work back into his backpack, "can we take the motorcycle?"

She hesitated just for a moment, but it was long enough for Daniel to catch on. "Please?"

"Your father, my commanding officer, will kill me."

"Not if he doesn't—"

"No secrets, remember?"

"Well, does not saying anything constitute lying?"

"Always the diplomat, Daniel. Always. You'll have a great future at the SGC."

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Daniel threw back his head, allowing the rush of wind to wash over him. Damn. Screw a car, this was what he wanted. This freedom. He allowed memories of his adult self to surface and he smiled as he recalled soloing on Sam's motorcycle. He tightened his hold around her waist and dropped his head on the back of her leather jacket. Through his adult eyes, the open road stretched before him and he shifted and weaved this powerful bike through traffic. He laughed, burying it against her back, recalling the shock and surprise on her face when he had returned whole and hearty from his expedition. She'd been surprised at his level of expertise.

They pulled into the gravel parking lot of O'Malley's. Daniel got off the bike before Sam, his enthusiasm barely containable.

She took off her helmet and shook out her hair. "What?"

"I remember," he said, practically dancing around the bike, pulling his helmet off. "I remember riding it. Shifting. You were surprised. Stunned. I. Can. Do. This."

"Don't even go there, Daniel," she warned with a wag of her finger, her somber expression deflating his happiness.

"Fine." He stomped up the stairs, not even waiting for Sam before stepping inside.

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"I'm sorry." She reached out and plucked at the menu Daniel was hiding behind.

"They're not all good, you know. The memories. So when I find something—"

"Oh God, Daniel, I'm so very sorry."

He shrugged. "Sometimes it's just nice to be able—" Daniel looked around; the restaurant wasn't the place for this conversation. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"Let me talk to your dad, okay? I'm not making any promises. No streets or anything, but maybe we can work something out."

"Thanks, Sam."

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Sam's smile was wickedly evil. "Remember how to play pool?"

Daniel nodded.

"Come on, let's have some fun."

"He's just a kid." The pool cue guy balked at her suggestion.

Daniel kept silent, letting Sam do the talking.

"Afraid he's going to beat you?"

Daniel remembered that sometimes the trouble SG-1 got into wasn't all his fault.

"You're on."

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"Best outta five?" The larger of the men in the group threw another five on the table.

Sam went to reach for it.

"Sam," Daniel whispered, checking the clock over the bar. "It's getting late."

"Sorry, guys." Sam gathered up their winnings, leaving the last five on the table. "I have to get Daniel home before his curfew." She tucked the money into her pocket. "Let it be a lesson to you. Never judge a book by its cover."

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"Why not?" Exasperated, Daniel doggedly followed his dad from the kitchen and into his bedroom. He nearly bumped into him when his dad turned suddenly just inside the room.

"Let me repeat myself, for the last time. You are thirteen years old, and I am not teaching you how to drive until you are old enough to get a learner's permit. So I don't want to hear one more word about this subject for another three years. Got me?"

"But Alexandria's dad is teaching her and she's only fifteen—"

"You're thirteen."

"Soon to be fourteen and I already know how to drive. I remember—"

"Knowing how to drive and having the experience and maturity to drive are two different things."

"So let me have the experience. I can't get any when you drive me everywhere—"

"You're thirteen," his dad repeated.

"So you mean I'm not mature enough." Daniel's head began to pound; the vague headache he'd woken up with was stirring along with his anger.

"To be honest, no, you're not."

"Oh, gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Daniel, you may be mature for a thirteen year old, but we're talking about your life and the lives of everyone else out there while you're behind the wheel. And let's face it. Some of your decisions recently were not necessarily the most mature."

Daniel clamped his teeth together. His dad was right about that, but the situation had been different. "It's not the same thing."

"No, but the fact remains that you're still thirteen."

"But Corey and Christian and Nate and Li are taking driver's ed—"

"Daniel. Not. One. More. Word."

"It's not fair," Daniel mumbled as he went back to the kitchen. He tossed his half-eaten breakfast into the garbage, grabbed his schoolbag and went outside to sulk while he waited for his father. Resting his head on the ivy-covered cement wall, he closed his eyes and wondered if he could accompany Corey and talk his father into teaching him at the same time.

He heard the front door close behind him but didn't move until his father walked past him. He got up slowly, feeling tired, as if the argument had sucked all the energy out of him. Still sulking, he got into the Avalanche, avoiding looking at his father as he searched for his iPod in one of the pockets of his backpack.

Reaching up to stick the ear buds into his ears, his father placed a hand on his arm, stopping the motion. "I have to go on a mission today."

A surge of remembered excitement accompanied a horrible sense of anxiety at his dad's words. His father hadn't been offworld since Daniel's trip through the Stargate this spring and now that he had all of his older self's memories, Daniel knew exactly how dangerous those missions were. He fought back the envy and the worry.

"Through the...?" Daniel made a quick, circular motion with his finger.

"Yeah. It'll only be for a few hours but there's a good chance I might be delayed coming back until later tonight. If that happens, I want you to go to your grandma's, like we discussed. She should be home by the time school's out." His dad started the engine and began backing out of the driveway. "Leave a message with her when you get home and you and she can make plans if I end up being late, okay?"

"Yeah." Daniel slouched as far into the seat as his seatbelt would allow him and wished he were going along with his dad. The nightmares he'd experienced when his memories had started coming back had faded and while he still had bad dreams occasionally, he could remember how much his other, adult self had enjoyed going through the Stargate and meeting all those new people and cultures. It wasn't fair.

Life sucked sometimes.

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The last exam had been a struggle. It'd been strangely chilly in the classroom, enough to make Daniel uncomfortable and antsy, tempting him to rush through the test so he could leave early. He'd learned his lesson, though, and forced himself to read through the questions a second time, just in case he'd missed something.

It was with relief that he handed the paper in and headed for the school bus. He joined his friends, staying on the sidelines of their conversation.

"We're going to be really roughing it," Corey bragged. "Mom got us these really great lined sleeping bags and you're all warm and toasty in 'em." He leered at Lena and waggled his eyebrows. "Be even toastier if I were sharing it with someone."

Lena rolled her eyes and pushed Corey away. "In your dreams, hotshot. I wouldn't share a blanket with you, let alone sleep in a tent." She shuddered delicately, then glared at her brother Li, who was grinning at her. "What are you laughing at? There are bugs and wild animals in the woods."

"Nah, we've seen rabbits and skunks but never anything bigger."

"No, she's right. There are wolves and bears," Nat added. "You have to put your food up out of reach so they can't get to it, and far from where you're sleeping."

"I know that. That's why I said we never saw any." Corey winked and turned to Daniel. "So, what are you doing this wonderful Memorial weekend?"

"Not going camping, that's for sure." Daniel shrugged away the draggy feeling and was glad that his dad hadn't made any plans. "I need to study for the physics exam on Tuesday."

"Be glad you're not a girl." Lena sighed as she took out a tube of lip gloss and applied it to her lips, talking while swiping the applicator back and forth. "Alexandria's mom's taking her on that dumb school retreat to that spa." She smacked her now glossy lips together. "I don't know how those two would want to spend time together. I mean, isn't it bad enough you live with your mother? Who'd want to go away on vacation with her?"

"I dunno. It's always kinda nice to do things alone with my dad." Daniel suddenly had a hankering for spending some time with his dad, out in the countryside. Cassie was doing that mom and daughter thing also, and suddenly he was jealous. His dad was off with Sam and Teal'c, having adventures, and here he was, looking forward to a long weekend with nothing but studying on his agenda. Maybe he could talk his dad into going hiking on Sunday or Monday.

"Yeah," Nate said. "Dad and I go to the movies sometimes 'cause mom doesn't wanna come. We always have fun. Dad lets me eat what I want without nagging me about ruining my supper."

On the bus ride home, Daniel listened to his friends, feeling too sluggish to join in except for a comment here and there. He got up reluctantly when his stop was next, waved to his friends and walked the two blocks home. He contemplated eating something but his stomach felt funny and he wasn't hungry. Unlocking the door, he kicked off his shoes in the hallway, dropped his schoolbag in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Snapple Iced Tea from the fridge, and sprawled on his bed.

He opened the Snapple, brought it to his mouth and just the smell of it turned his stomach. With a sigh, he put the bottle down and wrapped himself in his comforter, trying to chase the chill away. He'd think about supper when his dad got home; right now, he'd just be lazy for a little while. He'd just gotten comfortable when he remembered he hadn't called his grandma. With a sigh, he got off the bed, retrieved his backpack and fished his phone from it.

After ten rings, he hung up and decided to go downstairs and watch a movie. He looked through their DVD selection half-heartedly, decided on a Kung Fu-type movie and settled on the couch, getting up a moment later to snag a blanket from the closet and made himself comfortable.

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The phone pulled him out of what felt like a very deep sleep. He staggered off the couch, his head pounding heavily and nearly tripped over the blanket. Stumbling up the stairs, his sock-clad feet slid awkwardly on the wood floor as he hurried to the kitchen.

He grabbed the cell. "Hello?" he said breathlessly.

"Daniel?"

The voice at the other end was familiar, and his groggy brain fought to recognize it. And the moment he did, his heart fled into his throat. "Walter?"

"Hold please for General Hammond."

His mouth was suddenly dry and spitless as his heart pounded so fast, he could hardly take a full breath. "Walter, is my dad okay?"

"Daniel."

"General? Please, what happened to my dad?"

"Your father is fine, son. I promise, the whole team is fine."

The relief was so intense that Daniel's knees suddenly felt weak and he had to grab onto the counter to stay upright. He fought the rising nausea by swallowing hard.

"SG-1 ran into a slight problem and they'll be delayed returning home tonight."

"You spoke to him?"

"Yes, Daniel, I did." There was a touch of amusement in his voice. "He asked me to remind you to call your grandmother."

"I did," Daniel replied vaguely, trying to imagine what sort of problem might have prevented his dad from coming home. Jaffa was right up there at the top of his list, followed by everything from alien creatures to angry inhabitants.

"So everything's under control?"

"Huh?" Suddenly it occurred to him that his dad wouldn't be home tonight and that he needed to get in touch with his grandmother. "Yes, sir, everything's fine. When will my dad be coming home?" His voice wavered and he hated himself for that weakness.

"With any luck, sometime tomorrow. Unfortunately he's not in a position to call very often so I may not have any news for you until he actually arrives. But if anything comes up, I'll make sure to leave orders for someone to contact you."

"Thank you, sir." He hated General Hammond's vague explanation. He just wished that he could be told exactly what was going on and how much danger his dad and the others were in. He hung up the phone with images of danger and injuries and torture coming to the fore. Suddenly he hated knowing everything. Hated knowing the danger his father could be in. Hated that he couldn't be there to help them and hated that he was a kid. Once upon a time he'd killed a god. He'd met aliens, spoken to them, traded with them, married one, and today he couldn't even go out and drive a fucking car.

"NO!" he screamed, pulling his arm back in anger and frustration to throw the phone across the room. Anticipating the satisfactory crash and tinkle of broken pieces scattering across the kitchen floor, his stomach contracted in such a way that he aborted the throw and was running for the bathroom. He slid across the ceramic tiles, banging his knee painfully against the sink as he sank to his knees, dry heaving loudly.

After several false attempts to throw up, he sat back on the floor, thankful he hadn't eaten or drunk anything. He passed his hands over his face, rubbing away sweat and feeling the heat against his fingers. He sat there for a few minutes, waiting for his stomach to settle and then scrabbled on the floor for his cell phone.

He speed-dialed his grandmother's number again. When there was no answer, he called her cell, rubbing his free hand against his arm, trying to chase away the goose bumps.

"Mhuirnin."

"Hi, Grandma." He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. His clothes still felt sweat-damp and he was cold despite the sunshine shining into the room.

"I'm glad you called. I was just about to phone your dad to tell him I'm going to be stuck here for at least two days. My damn car broke down and they can't get a replacement piece in for a few days."

"You're still in Mesa Verde?"

"Yep. Just so you know, the hotel Gwen and I are staying in has no cell reception so I'll have to give you the phone number."

Daniel hurriedly lunged for a pencil and dutifully wrote the number down.

"Is your dad there? Can I talk to him?"

"Um... no, Grandma, that's why I was calling." He tossed the paper and pencil onto the coffee table and sat back on the sofa, bringing his sock-clad feet up onto the sofa so he could curl up and conserve heat.

"He's working late?"

"Yeah. Sorta. I was supposed to come and stay with you but seeing you're not home..."

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I can try and rent a car, maybe I can be home in a couple of hours—"

"No, no, I've got it covered." Daniel knew the chance he was taking by lying. "I can call Corey's mom and go stay there until Dad comes home."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. It'll be great. Corey got this new game he was telling me about so..."

"Okay. I'll call tomorrow and check up on you."

"Okay."

"Love you."

"I love you, too, Grandma."

He hung up and rubbed the back of his aching neck. He tried to think of what to do. He knew he wasn't allowed to stay home alone overnight. But everyone was going away this weekend.

Corey. Maybe he could go camping with the Maddisons, if they hadn't left yet. He didn't have his dad's permission to go camping but he was sure his dad would prefer that to the alternative of staying home alone. He grabbed his cell again and speed-dialed his friend, only to get his voicemail. He tried the main number, and got their answering machine.

He tried Cassie's cell next. Except she and Janet were already on their way and he spent the next fifteen minutes listening to every spa service and feature she was going to try. By the time he hung up with Cassie, he was shivering. He got up to check the central air, but it wasn't turned on.

There was no use calling Alexandria. He'd try Li, but he knew the family was going away to visit his aunt and he'd never been close enough to Nathan's family for a sleepover.

He'd exhausted his list of friends and family. He contemplated calling General Hammond, wondering if he could stay at the base, but wasn't sure how he could get there. Maybe he could take a cab. He trudged up the stairs to his bedroom and raided his piggybank.

One minute later, he sat there, staring at the woeful collection of coins and the two one dollar bills that were all that remained after his previous raiding of his piggybank last weekend in order to buy the latest CD of his favorite group. Not enough money for a cab ride to the mall, let alone Cheyenne Mountain.

With a grumbled curse, he grabbed the small handful of coins and dropped them haphazardly on his bureau, not patient enough at the moment to feed them back into his bank.

His last option was to call General Hammond and ask for a lift to the mountain, but if he did that, the general would know he'd lied to him because he'd given him the impression he was with his grandmother.

Okay, so his options were limited, and it looked like he was spending the evening here, at home, by himself. And he could do this; he had the memories of having lived alone, he just needed to remember them.

First off, he needed to prove to his dad that he'd done all he could. So he found some paper and wrote a list of who he'd called and why they were unavailable, who he'd thought of calling and why he hadn't.

Then he wrote that he'd thought of going to Cheyenne Mountain but didn't have enough cash for a cab. He added next to that notation that if he'd had a car and a driver's licence, the problem would have been solved then and there because he'd simply have driven himself back to the SGC.

Next he needed to show he was responsible. He went through the house, locking the front door and checking the windows. He emptied the dishwasher, took out the garbage and made notations of all his chores on the paper.

By now it was past suppertime. His brain said he should eat but his stomach didn't feel up to it. He opened the fridge and stared inside for several minutes. The thought of eating cold pizza, for once, churned his stomach, ditto leftover casserole and Chinese takeout, although the fried rice sounded almost half-appealing.

Next he opened the pantry and looked over his options. Finally he decided on canned soup and crackers. He took out a can and just as he put the can opener to the lid, decided that he'd rather have the fried rice. He put the can away, took the container of rice out and grabbed a spoon.

Sixty seconds later he was downstairs again, sitting on the couch, and trying to find the spot in the movie where he'd fallen asleep.

He managed only a few mouthfuls of cold rice before the shivering began in earnest. With a disgruntled sigh, he put the container down onto the coffee table and huddled under the blanket. "Shoulda had the soup, after all."

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Halfway through the movie, he suddenly felt so awful that he needed to lie down. His whole body hurt, his head felt too big and heavy for his neck and he didn't seem to be able to get comfortable. The couch wasn't half as appealing as his bed, so he shut the TV and DVD off and still wrapped in the blanket, trudged upstairs, shutting the lights off behind him.

With the blanket dragging behind him like a cape, Daniel detoured to the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of Tylenol, shook out two and put his mouth to the faucet as he ran the cold water. He drank directly from the tap, intending to drink his fill but the chill of the water hit him and he began shivering again.

He changed into his pajamas quickly, the air of his bedroom causing goose bumps to spread on his naked skin. He hurriedly slid into bed, tossing the blanket on top of the comforter for good measure, and curled up into a tight little ball to try and minimize the trembling.

It was too early to go to sleep. Maybe, he could just warm up first then retrieve the DVD and finish watching the movie on his laptop, but right now he'd lost interest and going back downstairs felt like too much trouble. He could always read or study, but he'd had trouble concentrating on the movie, reading was even less appealing. He could play computer games but sitting up would be too uncomfortable.

He leaned over the side of the bed, found his pants, dug into his pockets, and pulled out his iPod. With shaking hands, he shoved in his ear buds, tossed the pants off the bed and burrowed under the blankets. Music was mindless. Even under the darkness of the blanket, he found the playlist he wanted and closed his eyes.

He shifted position. Changed the playlist and shifted again. The songs played on and he drifted, his body becoming one with the mattress. Too heavy to even move, no matter how much he ached.

Hunched over in a self-hug, with his knees drawn up to his chest, totally hidden by the quilt, Daniel fell asleep.

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"Dad?" Daniel shot up in bed, ripped out his ear buds and flung his iPod the length of the bed. "Are you home?" He tossed back the blankets and stood, holding onto the dresser when the floor tilted dangerously. "I'm in here."

There was no one anywhere in the house, a shaky house check proved that. The alarm was still set, the windows and doors all locked and alarmed. Hell, even the outside motion detector floodlights in the back yard were still off. Nothing. Just his overactive imagination. He dragged himself back to bed, hugging the wall. With eyes half-closed, he fell back into bed without even trying to find his iPod.

The damage was done, though, and Daniel remained creeped out, lying on his back, listening to nothing but silence. His self-deprecating deep sigh set off a spasm of coughing, the urge of which hadn't even been a tickle in his throat seconds before.

"Great." The one word seemed extraordinarily loud. Daniel flipped over, punched the pillow and dropped face down into it. He forced his burning eyes to close and stay closed. What he couldn't stop was the parade of horror movie ghouls and disemboweled teenagers marching in his brain.

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Daniel settled in on the living room couch. His bedroom had been too stifling, was the excuse he'd used to rationalizing moving to the living room. His laptop was open, set up on the coffee table right at eye level. The movie Cars was playing with sparkling clarity and Daniel tucked his comforter around his body, stretched out, stuck his pillow under his head and watched. And watched some more. Then some more. Just before the closing credits, Daniel fell into a restless sleep.

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He dreamed horrible disjointed dreams and woke just before dawn. Drained and tired, but feeling a touch more human, Daniel dragged himself to the bathroom. He peed, washed his hands, then spent the better part of ten minutes dry heaving into the toilet. So much for feeling a touch more human.

Once in his bedroom, he changed out of pajamas into sweats, socks and for good measure, and because he couldn't believe how cold he was, his hoody. He made tea and toast, moving around the kitchen sluggishly. He tried to reproduce the tea his grandma would make and ended up with a poor and overly sweetened copy. The only thing Daniel used it for was to wash down two slices of toast.

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Threw in a load of laundry, Daniel added to his list, leaving out that he had to wipe up a cupful of laundry detergent that had dropped on the floor or that tee shirts were getting washed with towels. It was the thought that counted; he was being responsible, proudly showing his father that being home alone with a cold wouldn't deter him.

Responsibility. Daniel needed to study and he tore himself away from the mesmerizing spin of the washing machine to head back upstairs. Since half his bed was already in the living room and dragging his backpack over to the couch took less energy than the amount of energy he would expend bringing his pillow, backpack, blanket, and himself back into his room, he settled on the couch with his books.

Twenty minutes later, his books were an untidy pile on the floor while Daniel was curled up on the couch under a mound of blankets, miserable, his head pounding while he lay there with absolutely no energy to do much of anything. "I'll just close my eyes for a little while," he promised himself.

From far away he heard the washing machine spin to a stop, and knew he should get up and put the clothes in the dryer. That thought was on his mind as he drifted off to sleep, and was still there when he woke up.

The day had become gloomy while the clouds outside thickened and darkened, throwing the living room into dreariness. The air, even inside the house, promised rain soon. He cast a longing glance at the fireplace as he stood and dragged himself down to the basement to put the clothes in the dryer. Lack of wood prevented him from lighting a fire, plus the promise he'd given his father to never use the fireplace if he wasn't home.

Climbing back up the stairs left him weak in the knees and seeing stars as his head pounded in time with his pulse.

"This is ridiculous." With one finger, he rubbed at the spot behind his left ear where the pain seemed worse as he grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from his bathroom's medicine cabinet and shook the last two remaining pills into his palm. "Oh, great." If he didn't shake this cold soon, he'd have to go out into the coming rain and get some more.

He swallowed the pills with a small sip of water, waiting as that bit of liquid coursed down his throat and into his stomach. There was a moment of defiance from his stomach, but his willpower finally prevailed and he left the bathroom confident that he wouldn't be running back there, at least for a few minutes.

Wandering the house aimlessly, he stepped into the kitchen to look outside, and was shocked when a glance at the clock showed he'd slept for nearly four hours. It was past lunchtime, but he felt no inkling of hunger. Even the thought of food turned his stomach.

He stared out at the laden clouds, wishing for sunshine so he could sit outside and soak up the sun's rays. Even as he watched, large splats darkened the wood of the back deck. The raindrops fell slowly at first, then erupted into a sheet of water that splashed loudly on the wooden slats.

As it was already mid-afternoon, maybe his dad would be coming home soon. Feeling stupid for feeling so lonely, he reached for the house phone, intending to call the SGC, then remembered General Hammond's words – essentially Don't call us, we'll call you. But he must have an idea now when his dad would be coming home. Today? Tonight? Tomorrow? He began to dial the main number, then cut the call before it could go through.

"Stupid. Stupid." He knew better than that. If he spoke to General Hammond, he'd want to speak to his grandma, and then he might suspect he was alone. He was just about to put the phone back on the cradle when it rang loudly in his hands. The sound startled him and he fumbled and almost dropped the phone.

"Hello."

"Hi, Daniel."

"Walter." His heart skipped a beat and he leaned dizzily against the counter.

"I just wanted to let you know that we heard from your dad a little while ago and he still doesn't know how long it'll be before he can make it back home."

Daniel understood the subtext, even with his pounding heart making it hard to focus. Most likely cut off from the 'gate but within radio transmission whenever the SGC dialed the planet. "Okay, thanks for letting me know."

"They'll be fine, Daniel," Walter said in a low voice.

"I know," Daniel answered equally as softly before he hung up. He tried his grandmother but got her voice mail. He left a quick message, telling her he missed her, and made his way back to the couch. A sense of obligation made him pick up a textbook; the inability to focus made him put it back down. He tossed his glasses to the side and huddled beneath the comforter, lying on his back while he stared out the window, watching the rain cascade down the glass. The blurry motion was hypnotic and before he knew it, his eyes were closing.

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"Dad?" he said quickly into the phone, not even checking to see who was calling.

"Oh, nice to see that you're missing me."

"Alexandria." He wiped his sleep-crusted eyes with a knuckle; even that small motion hurt the muscles in his arm. "Where are you—"

"At the spa, silly. You should see this place! It's amazing. I had this really stinky seaweed wrap where you're wrapped up like a mummy and you can't move and then I soaked in a hot tub with this wonderful bath oil which I'm begging mom to buy for me but she said we already spent too much money here and then I had a sugar scrub and mom had this shower where they spray all these showerheads on your body at once and..." She stopped a moment, taking a deep breath.

"So I guess you're enjoying yourself?" Great, glad one of us is, he thought, fighting to keep the loneliness out of his voice. He squinted into the dark, wondering what time it was.

"Oh yeah. And Cassie and I were sitting in the lounge earlier and these ladies came up and brought us tea and cookies, just like you see in the movies. I'm having another massage tomorrow and having a pedicure and a flower soak. And I saw Monica, you know, Monica Taylor? Would you believe she was having a cellulite wrap and treatment? Like the girl is so thin, and she's worried about cellulite?"

"Really?" He forced himself to sit up, ignoring his pounding head and reached for his glasses as Alexandria continued her monologue.

"And they have these little slippers you can wear, and bathrobes. Everyone's walking around in robes. It's so cool."

Daniel sat forward with his head in his free hand, massaging his temple and scalp. He burped, and felt bile rise into his mouth, which he swallowed down quickly, leaving a burning sensation in the back of his throat. "That's... weird."

"I know! But you don't feel weird because everyone else is just like you. But we got dressed up for supper. That was kinda fun. Cassie's mom is so funny. Oh, I have to go. We're going to the movies. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Great," Daniel said, but Alexandria had already hung up and he was talking to the dial tone. He checked the time on his phone and sighed. It was after seven; the storm outside made it feel like it was later. As he tucked the phone into the pocket of his hoody, lightning lit the room up for a second.

He stood and wavered a moment as his body adjusted to being upright. He hurt everywhere, even his skin. Shuffling carefully in the dark, he made his way to the back of the house, turning lights on as he went, until he entered his dad's bathroom. He'd intended on looking for Tylenol or Advil but he spotted the thermometer in the medicine chest.

Fingering the plastic implement a moment, he figured he might as well see if he really was truly sick. It hit him as odd as he stuck the thing into his mouth that no matter how irritating it was when his dad or grandma wanted to take his temperature, it was always an act of caring. Now, alone in the house, he missed having someone doting on him. He stood there, one hand holding the thermometer while the other hung onto the sink for balance, listening to the thunder rumble outside, until it beeped.

He stared at the numbers in surprise - 102.7. He blinked, and looked again, but the figures didn't change.

No wonder he felt so lousy. He really was sick. And now that he could see he had a fever, he felt worse than before.

A quick search of the medicine cabinet came up empty. A more careful search of both bathrooms and kitchen cabinets came up short of anything he could take for his fever. There was nowhere else to look except... maybe his dad had some in the first aid kit.

He began rummaging through his dad's closet, looking for the kit. His neck was stiff and felt like it wouldn't hold his head up for much longer. Desperate for something to ease the fever, he shoved things to the side until he finally spotted the white box sitting on the top shelf, right in front of him in plain sight.

He was just reaching for it when the lights went out with a spectacular crash of thunder. "Oh, damn it." He reached again blindly and pulled the case out. He fingered the contents, unable to tell what he was touching. "Of all the stupid timing. Now I need to get a damned flashlight."

The bedroom was pitch-dark, except for the frequent lightning flashes. With the box under his arm, he'd made it to the door when a voice stopped him cold. He couldn't make out the words, but it wasn't his dad's voice, and it was coming from the living room.

"Shit, shit, shit." He stood there, frozen, when he realized there was an intruder in his home.

For a moment his mind went blank, then he realized he needed to get some help. Instinct had him hitting the speed-dial for his dad's cell, but the moment he hit send he remembered his dad wasn't even on Earth.

The voice was getting closer, footsteps coming down the hallway as the beam of a flashlight bounced off the wall. Slowly Daniel backed up out of sight, trying to think of what to do. He hit 911, but even as the phone rang at the other end, the intruder's voice was nearly at the door so he cut the connection. He shrank down behind the bed, his whole body shaking from both fear and fever.

"I don't care what favors you have to pull, just get the power back on in here. I can't see a bloody thing."

The flashlight played over his head and Daniel hugged the edge of the bed. The man was talking softly, giving Daniel the impression he was trying not to be overheard, and most likely talking into a radio.

"No, the kid doesn't know I'm here. There's signs he was sleeping, he's probably just holed up in the dark, waiting for the lights to come back on." The voice moved on, heading towards his bedroom.

If he could hear the intruder talking on the radio, then the intruder would most certainly hear him talking on the phone. Daniel knew he had to call for help; he just had to do it from somewhere else.

For a moment his mind went blank, then his adult memories kicked in. He had learned how to load and shoot a gun. His dad had made sure he would never make the mistake Charlie had. And he had shot a gun, had injured and killed people in self-defense as an adult. He knew he had the balls to do it; he just needed to get to the gun.

On hands and knees, he crept towards the closet. He'd seen the gun case in his search for the first aid kit. Slowly, he began feeling through the contents of the closet.

Luck was with him; he found the case within seconds. That had been the easy part. Now he needed the key, and ammunition.

He stood quickly and groped for the large cloth bag hanging behind his dad's dress uniform. He pulled the bag off the hook, reached inside and took out a magazine clip. Then he got down and on hands and knees once again, he crept to his dad's bureau and reached for the sock drawer. He pulled it open slowly and felt around, searching for the key which he knew was in the far right corner. He got it, shut the drawer and crawled back to his hiding place behind the bed. He realized he couldn't hear anything and he listened, trying to figure out where the intruder was. Maybe he could try calling the police now...

He fingered his phone but a familiar creak in the hallway stopped him. That piece of wood always creaked whenever someone stepped on it. The guy was right outside Daniel's bedroom.

With badly shaking fingers, Daniel stuck the phone back into the hoody's pocket and fumbled the key into the lock, opening the gun case. He touched the cold metal and pulled it out as the footsteps got closer. He thought he'd feel safer with the gun in his hand, but the memories in his head told him that he'd just made himself more of a target.

The sudden thought of having to shoot someone sickened him and coupled with his already existing nausea, he gagged.

He heard the footsteps come rushing into the room and he tried to shove the magazine into the weapon even as he spewed bile. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and try to pull him upright.

"Got him," the man said triumphantly.

Daniel coughed once, still doubled over and struggling with the gun. And once again, acting instinctively on the memories in his head, he let go of the gun just long enough to grab the leg next to him and gave a sharp jerk, throwing his assailant off balance. He rolled sideways and grabbed the gun, finally getting the magazine in.

Lightning illuminated the room and the man's face. He was staring intently at the gun now aimed directly for his forehead.

"Who the fuck are you?" Daniel screamed over the ensuing thunder. His head was pounding so hard that his vision was greying on the sides, and he was trembling so badly the gun kept wavering off target even with his two-handed hold on it.

"Put the gun down, Daniel." The man's gaze crept past the gun and stared hard at Daniel.

"You broke into my house."

"Put the gun down before you hurt someone."

"I'm calling the police." Holding the gun in his right hand, he reached for the phone with his left. His heart was beating wildly and his legs kept threatening to give out on him, and he just knew that the intruder would make a move the second he took his eyes off him. Trying to dial from memory, he began punching in the numbers.

Everything happened so fast. The man moved forward and Daniel pulled the trigger. Except nothing happened. For a split second, he stood there, until the impossible happened. Again.

Just like when Tony attacked him at the mall, Daniel moved without thinking. He threw himself sideways and kicked savagely with the sole of his foot. He felt a satisfying crunch even as the blow jarred his leg right into his hip and then the man screamed in pain as he fell heavily to the ground.

Daniel wasted no time. On legs that could barely support him, he ran, slamming his shoulder painfully into the wall as he lost his balance and stumbled forward. His mind was racing and he didn't know what to do. He couldn't hide inside the house, the intruder had been talking to someone else and he'd be found within minutes. He had to get outside and call for help.

He ran downstairs to the basement, heading for the garage. He slapped the automatic door opener with the palm of his hand, then swore when he realized it wouldn't work without power. He grabbed his bike, taking only a second to put the gun into his hoody pocket, along with his cell phone, and waited for a clap of thunder, hoping it would mask the sound of him manually opening and closing the garage door.

Peddling furiously into the storm, he gasped at the chill of the rain as he pulled out of the driveway and down the street.

It was difficult to breathe. The wind tossed the rain at him in waves, each one so cold against his fevered skin that it took his breath away. He kept looking back anxiously, shoving his sodden hair out of his eyes constantly, but nobody ran out of the house and no car started up. Still he turned on the first street, and then turned again, and again, until he was able to pull into an alleyway near a small strip mall.

He dug his phone out with fingers that felt numb and frozen and dialed his dad's cell.
"Dad!" he screamed above the roar of the pounding rain. "Someone's in the house." His teeth were chattering so hard, he was having trouble forming words and the wind kept tearing the breath from him. "I got away but I don't know if they came after me. I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. I'm alone. Grandma's stuck in Mesa Verde. Dad! I don't know what to do!" He leaned against the meager shelter of the building and waited, then finally disconnected. He started to dial 911 again, but knew that it was all too possible that his attacker hadn't been an ordinary robber. Actually all the memories deep in his brain were telling him that this had to do with the SGC.

And so again, he disconnected the call and began dialing the SGC's main number, only to stop and plaster himself against the wall as well as he could, considering he was still sitting on his bike, when a car very slowly cruised past on the street.

He needed to get out of here, and he needed to go now. He walked his bike to the corner of the building, watched nervously as the car turned right, counted to ten, and took off. Riding like a maniac, he tore through the streets, glancing down the avenue the car had taken as he flew by and seeing only taillights.

He was twenty minutes from Sam's house; he could go there and call the SGC from the safety of her home.

Unfortunately the adrenaline that had given him the strength to bring down an adult and run out of the house into a storm was wearing off. He was shaky, barely having the strength to pedal, forcing him to begin coasting to conserve his strength. His bare feet hurt against the pedals and he kept changing the angle to ease the discomfort. Harsh tremors coursed through him, making it difficult to steer in a straight line even when the rain eased into a normal downpour. Twenty minutes became thirty when he finally pulled up into Sam's street.

He stopped next to a tree and watched the street. Thankfully, her part of town hadn't been affected by the blackout and lights were on in every house, even Sam's. But he knew no one was home. She used timers to give the appearance that she was.

Sheet lightning lit the sky beyond the houses, but barely illuminated the streets. Slowly he kicked off and pedaled to her house. He was tired, very tired, but the aches and pains of fever had eased. He just wished his headache would get better as he pulled into her driveway.

He looked around furtively but couldn't tell if anyone was watching. Quickly he punched in the security numbers to her automatic door opener, and ducked inside the moment the garage door was high enough. He was about to shut the door when he had an idea.

He hitched his sweat pants up as he walked around her motorcycle, his bare, wet feet picking up grit from the cement floor. He could call the SGC and ask for help, and then wait here for hours before someone came for him. He had tons of memories of having to wait for the military to get things done. Which meant he'd have to sit here in wet clothes until they came for him Or, he could go to the SGC and tell them what had happened, get something from the infirmary for his headache and get something dry to wear. And he wouldn't be alone there. Plus, at this point, his attacker must be long gone so time was no longer of the essence.

Decision made, he hurriedly entered Sam's house, grabbed the spare keys to the motorcycle and a helmet, and climbed on. He had a second of doubt, knowing his dad would probably kill him for this, but his desire to be with people he trusted overrode his caution and he put the key in the ignition.

A minute later, he was slowly driving down the city streets, heading for Norad Road. He knew better than to try and take the highway. The bike didn't handle as easily as his memories led him to believe but still he managed to keep it running despite his lack of practice with the clutch, and he was careful of the slick streets. There wasn't much traffic on the road, for which he was very thankful.

His clothes were soaked, and the current of air kept him at a constant shiver. The bike's headlight and those of oncoming traffic, and streetlights, began to make his headache worse and his eyes water. Quickly the pain began to creep down his neck and into his shoulders, and his attempts at handling the bike weren't helping. By the time he came up to the turnoff for Norad Road, he was in so much pain, he was on the verge of crying.

"Almost there," he mumbled to himself in a litany as he took the turn a little too wide and the bike nearly swerved off the road. He righted it with difficulty, nearly choking the motor, then gassed it and began heading up the final leg of the journey towards Cheyenne Mountain.

He began to relax, easing off on the motorcycle, careful on the winding road. He'd made it. Not only had he escaped his attacker, but he'd driven Sam's bike by himself. He couldn't wait to tell Corey and Alexandria and Cassie, even if his dad grounded him for the summer.

Despite his headache and exhaustion, he felt smug, so when headlights flooded him from behind, he turned around, surprised to see an SUV quickly bearing down on him. His reactions were slow, so by the time he began to accelerate, the SUV was almost on top of him. Half-blinded by the strength of the headlights, Daniel could barely see the road. He felt the front tire leave the asphalt just as an electric jolt struck him. And then he was flying.

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"C'mon, hurry up, Doc. We're right out in the open here."

Daniel tried to open his eyes as a voice came out of a tunnel, but they felt glued shut.

"I know. I need more light." The voice was that of a woman and it sounded familiar. He couldn't place her, but he somehow knew he should recognize who it was.

Then a bright light shone in his face, sending shards of agony through his closed eyelids. He moaned in pain even as hands were shoved under his shoulders and he was turned onto his side and thankfully away from the painful glare. But his body was limp, he couldn't move.

"Be careful. He could be injured." The voice sounded angry.

"Just get that thing out of him." Then the light was back, and fingers were pressing against the back of his scalp, near his ear, where his headaches seemed to emanate from. "And take care of the residual bugs. We don't want anything traced back to us."

He felt a sharp pain and realized that someone had cut into his scalp. He tried to buck but he couldn't move.

"Jesus, is it supposed to bleed that much?"

"It's a head wound. They bleed a lot due to the rich blood supply which—"

The woman did something that caused Daniel's head to literally erupt in pain. The bright lights behind his closed eyelids turned red as all sounds faded. Then slowly the pain eased as his hearing came back. He heard footsteps on the asphalt, car doors slam shut, and a vehicle drive off, the headlights flooding over him and then fading.

It felt like an eternity later, but he managed to open his eyes. All he could see was the glistening asphalt right before him, illuminated by the headlight of the downed motorcycle lying on its side. He managed to slowly sit up, feeling scrapes and bruises along his right arm, ribs and leg. There was no sign of the SUV, or anyone else, for that matter. He could see the highway in the distance as blurs, which he presumed to be headlights, zoomed by.

He put a hand to the spot that the woman had touched, and winced as his fingers came back warm and wet with blood. The killer headache was gone, but there was a pressure in his head and neck that was making it hard to think.

Somehow he got to his feet, wavered and teetered dangerously, having to take a couple of steps sideways before he got his balance. He looked at the bike and realized there was no way he was going to get it upright. He could walk, couldn't he? The SGC couldn't be that far away now. He looked around for his glasses, found them a few feet from the bike and put them on. The world focused slightly but things remained oddly fuzzy around the edges.

He turned his back on the highway and started walking, soon leaving the headlight's illumination. Thanks to the overcast sky, he was walking blind within seconds, forced to stop and turn around. He looked around dazedly, wondering what to do. He was so tired, hurting so badly, his bare feet already stinging from the asphalt, that he was tempted to just sit by the bike and wait for someone to drive by, even if it was his attackers. It took everything for him not to cry.

Then he remembered how close he was to the SGC. Maybe he could call them, ask if someone could come and get him. He reached inside his hoody's pocket for his cell phone, but felt nothing but the gun.

He looked around on the ground, searching for his phone. He spotted it just beyond the circle of light from the motorcycle and he trudged over to it. He bent down to pick it up, and suddenly found himself sitting on his ass, his teeth jarring painfully together.

Feeling oddly light-headed, he turned his phone on, but nothing happened. He shook it and stared at it in confusion. It should work; all he had to do was press this button. He'd done it hundreds of times. He stabbed his finger at the button again and again, but the phone wouldn't turn on.

"Daddy," he sobbed as he brought his arms around his chest, bent over at the waist. A breeze suddenly blew across the road, sending him shivering in his sodden and torn sweats. Sitting here would accomplish nothing, so he got to his feet again and began walking.

This time it wasn't so dark, he could still see the road before him. He kept walking, heading towards the base, towards sanctuary, towards friends, towards his dad, when the sudden deafening sound of a siren blasted for a couple of seconds directly in front of him shook him from his daze.

"Are you hurt, son?" A man stepped out of a police car and was coming towards Daniel. He stopped walking and watched him curiously. Police were good, right? He was safe. "What's your name?"

Name? He had a name, didn't he? Daniel, yeah, that was it. He licked his lips and told the officer what his name was.

"Were you riding that bike?" A second cop stepped out of the police cruiser. "How old are you, Daniel?"

"Forty," he answered without hesitation.

"Ah. Been drinking, have you?" the second cop asked.

"He doesn't smell of booze, Brian," the first cop said, stepping into Daniel's personal space. "Might be stoned, though." He took Daniel by the arm and pulled him to the right. Daniel stumbled behind, nearly falling against the officer when he stopped. "I want you to walk this line, just like in the movies. Toe to toe, like this." The officer began walking along the white line in the middle of the road, putting one foot close in front of the other.

"Now, your turn."

Daniel looked at the policeman, not sure why he wanted him to walk when there was a perfectly good police cruiser parked right behind him. "I need my dad."

"Oh, don't you worry. Your dad's going to hear all about this." He gave Daniel a nod. "Now, start walking."

Daniel took one step, then another, and found himself sitting on the asphalt once again. This time the cop was kneeling next to him while the other one was talking into a radio.

"Why the hell didn't you tell us you were hurt?" The cop, who was now a fuzzy blur, ran his hands across Daniel's body, causing him to wince and pull back when he pressed against a sore spot.

"Ow." He pushed the hands away, holding his own hands protectively across his stomach.

"Easy." The cop pulled his hands away and then froze.

"What the hell?" The cop fumbled at his hoody, and then the next thing Daniel knew, he was flat on the ground on his stomach and his arms pulled cruelly behind his back. "You're under arrest for driving under the influence, concealing a weapon, and attempting to pull a weapon on a police officer."

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(tbc)