Fire And Ice

Rated: PG-13 (adult themes, violence)

Category: H/C, Angst, Mild Daniel/Janet Inferred, Jack/Daniel Friendship, Smarm.

Season: Seven

Spoilers: Heroes

Summary: After Janet's memorial, Daniel is most definitely NOT ok.

Note: Original Story is Ice, or chapter 2. Also, catatonia has two forms-stupor and excitement. Interesting…

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FIRE

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Daniel didn't remember the memorial. He didn't remember driving home.

He barely remembered the day and a half that had passed since. The blinking light on his answering machine told him a few people had called, but he knew he hadn't talked to anyone other than Jack, and that was only for a few minutes yesterday. He didn't think he had read, or watched TV, or done much of anything, but he wasn't sure.

In fact, he didn't remember a lot of things, and that was what ate him up inside like a consuming flame that started in his guts and rose all the way to the top of his head, constricting his chest and making it difficult to breathe. His vision would periodically fail him, too, and his world would become dark at the edges.

He felt like he would die, shattering into a thousand pieces, from the pressure of the heat inside.

He did remember watching her die. He remembered in full vivid color the lifelessness of her eyes. Scenes of her stillness and the raw, bleeding wound came to him when he was quiet, like phantoms from another world.

If he didn't stay busy, it was all he could see. He remembered every detail from that fateful trip to P3X-666. He didn't need a tape to give him an accurate picture of what had happened that day. He only had to close his eyes, and images came cascading through his consciousness like old photographs from a dropped box. Airman Wells. Janet, alive and vibrant, assessing her patient. Staff blasts. Their cover fire. Rolling Wells, with Janet every so gently but professionally holding the injured man's head. Janet. Starting treatment, encouraging the airman. Wells' tortured expression as he asked only to leave a message for his wife. More staff blasts, all around. And then Janet, once more. Cold and dead on the ground.

It was this last picture that haunted Daniel most. He couldn't get it out of his head. It had been several days since Janet had been killed, and things had been busy. Daniel had had to make decisions that he'd never wanted to make. He did feel good about his choices regarding the video footage of Janet's horrific death, but that didn't change the fact that she was gone. It didn't change the fact that while dealing with that nasty little NID stooge, Woolsey, was far from what Daniel considered a fun day, the patsy had kept Daniel's mind occupied and had given him a target to attack. It had been easier to be angry at Woolsey than to actually deal with the fact that Janet was gone. Woolsey had been a convenient target for Daniel's anger. Now that he was gone, Daniel was only angry with himself. He tortured himself with thoughts of how it should have been him, or that he should have seen it coming, or that if he hadn't agreed to let Wells put a message on tape, Janet would still be alive.

Now, sitting on his couch, alone, after the memorial, when things were supposed to go back to normal, Daniel felt that normalcy was as far out of his grasp as the moon. Farther, in fact. He could always borrow a ship to get to the moon.

Daniel was no stranger to grief. It had been a familiar housemate many times. The guilt, the anger, the unfairness, the 'if onlys' and the 'what ifs' he could handle. The pain nauseated him and sometimes he couldn't control the tremors and rough sobs that escaped his body, but he knew it was healthy to let his feelings out. He'd been here far too many times. It was awful, but he knew grief well enough to know how to deal with it, at least historically.

But this time was different.

And it was the not remembering that made it so hard.

Daniel remembered Janet fighting to save him from his radiation sickness. He hadn't lied to Brigman. He knew how hard the short doctor had worked on him. He knew she gave her all for her patients, never allowing anything to come between them and the best care possible. He'd seen it countless times since he returned to Earth after his ascension. Only a few months ago, Janet had compassionately patched up his many injuries after that little fiasco in Nicaragua. He remembered her gently cleaning his wounds, bandaging the little cuts, and calmly reassuring him before he was put under anesthesia to repair the bullet wound to his leg. Janet had made him feel safe.

These memories brought Daniel comfort now, but he knew there were so many more. He tried as hard as he could to remember more. They were there, just at the edge of his consciousness, but they wouldn't come to him. Almost everyone thought Daniel was one hundred percent true blue recovered from his memory loss after his return to Earth. Sure, Sam and Teal'c occasionally shot him an amused or questioning look when he said something not quite right or missed something that would have been obvious to him before, but most assumed he was back to normal. Jack suspected there was more missing than the archeologist let on, but even he thought Daniel was mostly ok. Daniel had them fooled, though, because he wasn't. Not by a long shot. Only Daniel knew that there were still some pretty big holes in his Swiss cheese brain. Odd little things, like whether he liked a certain kind of food, evaded him daily. Bigger things, reminiscent of his struggle to remember who the hell Cassie was, didn't come up often now, but still occasionally hit him hard.

This was one of those times. He knew he should have a thousand memories of Doctor Janet Fraiser, but they just wouldn't come to him. He wanted to comfort himself by remembering the good times: the laughter, the easy comradery, the times everyone had gotten together off base to celebrate a birthday or holiday. These things had to have happened, and Daniel knew in his heart that they had. He even had vague recollections of them, but specific memories eluded him. He could no more latch onto a happy memory then he could hold fog in his hands.

Daniel sat up from leaning back on his couch, placing his elbows on his knees. His fingers scrubbed roughly over his face and through his hair and he squeezed his temples hard, willing himself to just remember one detail more. His eyes clenched shut in concentration. He tried, hard, to come up with something. Anything. One little image or sound or smell that would capture Janet for him.

Nothing came.

Daniel sat that way for what seemed like forever, rocking back and forth slightly. Sometimes a thought would come to him and he would pull on it a little, like a thread, to try to get more of the memory to come back. Always, though, the thread unraveled and he was left with nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing but frustration.

And suddenly the flame inside consumed him. It became a roaring inferno, engulfing everything in its path.

Daniels hands released their death grip on his head and then returned to his skull, smacking into his temples with more force than was healthy. It hurt, but Daniel liked that. He wanted to feel something other than this grief and aggravation at not even fully knowing the one he was grieving.

His eyes opened, and his gaze landed on his long forgotten coffee mug on the table in front of him. In one fluid motion that would have made an Olympian proud, Daniel stood, snatched up the mug in one hand, and kicked over the table. His momentum carried him forward only a half step before his body spun around and his arm sent the full cup flying into the kitchen. It seemed to spin in slow motion for a second, coffee spraying through the air, before smashing into the wall and falling to the floor in a hundred tiny pieces.

As the coffee leaked onto the floor, Daniel was just getting started. His vision blurred to a haze, and all of this mental faculties left him. He was no longer an educated archeologist who cared about things like vases and art and symbols of status. He was merely a vessel for the all consuming rage within him.

The next thing to go were the pictures. Every photograph was either flung to the floor, broken, turned down, or, if it was unlucky enough to be loose, torn into tiny pieces. Daniel couldn't bear to look at the faces of his friends now. He knew there was so much more to them than he could remember, and it was like a Claymore went off in his soul every time he had to look at them and be reminded of his inadequacy.

After the pictures, Daniel turned to his bookshelves. He was so angry that he just had to hit something. Anything. He struck the side of one case repeatedly with his first, not noticing the blood from split knuckles coating the wood and only stopping when his ears registered a sharp cracking thunk. The wood had cracked. It didn't matter. There were plenty of other things in the house he could punish.

Books were pulled off their shelves and thrown around the room. Decorations were ripped off the walls. Some things broke, while others escaped without permanent harm. Daniel didn't notice in either case. His heart was threatening to rip its way out of his chest. He was an unseeing overdose of emotion. Tears streamed down his face, and a terrifying type of laughter escaped his throat in sporadic bursts. Time lost all meaning.

There was no way for Daniel to know how long he was like that, but as suddenly as it had started, the fit stopped. Daniel froze, straddling a box of papers and photos that was now in the middle of his living room floor, next to the overturned table. His eyes still didn't take in the devastation around him. His muscular arm was pulled back in mid strike, aiming a punch at the offending box, but the blow never connected.

Daniel looked like a sculpture, frozen in time. For the space of a few heartbeats, there was complete and utter silence in the house. Then Daniel's arms began to tremble, and he collapsed to the floor, deflating in an instant. A second after his body hit the floor, several ragged breaths could be heard. They grew into full body sobs, and the broken man on the floor curled into a fetal position involuntarily, surrounded by his once precious but now unnoticed possessions.

If Daniel had been able to, he would have laughed at the irony of what had stopped his tantrum, but he was unable to feel anything other than raw pain. The anger was still there, but the memory that had abruptly solidified in his fury-soaked brain had stopped him dead in his tracks, replacing everything else with a grief so profound it threatened to tear him apart from the inside out.

XXX

He'd been watching Cassie one night for Janet. Long after the alien girl was in bed, Janet had returned from an emergency trip to the SGC, tired and hungry. Delivery had seemed like a good idea, and after the pizza came, Daniel and Janet had enjoyed a meal in companionable silence.

When the dinner was over, Janet had sighed contently. "That really hit the spot. Man, do I hate these long nights. It's so late when I get home, but I still need a little downtime to relax before turning in."

Daniel had suggested that they watch a movie to unwind. It wasn't that late, and he'd just started a video when Janet had come home. He hadn't been in any hurry to return to his empty house anyway.

Janet had looked at Daniel in surprise, but she'd accepted his offer. "Sure. Why not? Stick around. I could use the company. Be right back."

Fraiser had then slipped off to her bedroom, returning in comfortable sweats and a large tee-shirt. Daniel remembered thinking that he was glad she could feel comfortable enough around him to dress that way.

The rest of the evening was a blur. The friends had watched some average movie with an average plot, and Daniel didn't feel cheated by not remembering it.

The whole night had been rather average, really, with the exception that Daniel was pretty sure he and Janet had sat a little closer together on the couch than was necessary sometimes.

That is, it had been average until the movie was over, and Daniel prepared to leave. The heavy weight of a drowsy but not quite sleeping human head on his shoulder slowed his progress, and as Janet registered his movement, a soft breath whispered in his ear.

"Just stay, Daniel. Sleep. Here."

He'd wanted to. He really had. He'd been sleepy himself, and had wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the couch and succumb to slumber next to his friend, but he'd been scared. He hadn't known if the night was just a case of two lonely friends merely taking comfort in each other's company, or something more, and it had made him nervous.

He'd said the only thing that came to mind.

"But what about Cassie?"

Janet's motherly side had kicked in then, and she'd become mostly awake in an instant.

"You're right. It would look bad. I'm sorry. You should go."

"No, no. It's ok. I understand. I'll just get my coat."

Daniel had stood then, and collected his things. After slipping on his shoes, he made his way to the door, pulling his jacket over his shoulders as he went. Janet followed him.

"Be careful driving home. It's late."

"I will. See you tomorrow, Doc."

Daniel had hugged Janet good night then, and that was all that had been supposed to happen, but somehow his hug turned into a longer than friendly embrace, and as he held the small woman in front of him, Daniel couldn't help but drop a light kiss onto the top of her head.

"Good night, Janet. Thanks for a nice night."

As he loosened his arms, Janet had looked up at Daniel for a moment, uncertainly in her eyes. Her head dipped a little, then raised toward his. She stood on her tiptoes briefly, and it looked like she was going to kiss him full on the lips for a second. At the last instant, her head moved sideways and her chaste kiss landed on the corner of Daniel's mouth.

"Night Daniel. Thanks back."

Daniel had let go of Janet then and stepped backwards. His hands had lingered ever so briefly on her shoulders, though, and before he turned to leave, one had raised up slightly and given the tiny woman the lightest caress along one cheek.

XXX

That was all he had. An evening, two friendly kisses, and a tender moment that could have been so much more. Daniel didn't know when it had occurred exactly. He didn't know if anything like it had ever occurred again, or if Janet Fraiser had ever been more than a friend to him.

The fact that he would never know that now and the pain of his loss overwhelmed him.

He just wanted it to stop.

He hadn't been wounded, unfortunately, on P3X-666. If he had and there had been any pain pills in the house, he would have taken as many as it took to numb himself. As it stood, he saw only one option.

He hadn't thought about it in a long time, at least not when he was in full possession of his faculties, but he'd thought about it more than once in his life, when he'd been walking a dark path. He did have it in him to be a bit self-destructive, contrary to popular belief.

As the sobs wracking his body slowly subsided into a type of physical exhaustion, Daniel slowly uncurled himself and shakily crawled a few feet, then stood and made his way into the kitchen. While most people tossed their keys and spare change on their entry tables, and Daniel was no exception, Daniel's gun usually sat there, too. He didn't bother to lock it up most of the time since he lived alone. For a long time, he hadn't taken it home with him or even considered having it with him when he wasn't on missions, but things had changed over the years. He'd become more paranoid, and it gave him some comfort to know the gun was there in case he needed it.

When he reached the table, Daniel picked up the heavy case and hefted it a few times in his hands. It amazed him that something so small could be so deadly. Without any thought, he unzipped the carrying case and just looked at the gun in his hand for a long time. Slowly, with no effort on his part, Daniel's feet carried him the rest of the way into his kitchen, where he set the gun on the counter. He continued to just look at it, marveling at its simplicity. His clinical brain began to lose itself in convoluted histories of weapons in ancient cultures, and the distraction numbed his pain a little. The sharp knife that had been twisting in his gut became a dull ache, and he began to somehow feel a little better.

As always, if he stayed busy, he could forget.

But not for long. As his mind wandered, it eventually came back to why he was looking at the gun in the first place, and the familiar rage began to build inside of him again. He was angry at himself for not even being able to kill himself properly. For being a coward and chickening out. For getting distracted, like he had on P3X-666, and paying the price yet again.

As the rage and guilt took hold again, Daniel's stomach decided it had had enough of this level of emotion. Nausea gripped the archeologist and doubled him over in gut-wrenching heaves. Daniel stumbled away from the counter to vomit, but nothing came up. His abdomen continued to contract, though, and Daniel knew it was only a matter of time before he really made a mess.

He stumbled to the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet. Daniel had barely made it to the porcelain bowl before what little he'd been able to eat in the last few hours, bile, stomach acids, and saliva spewed out of his mouth violently.

When Daniel's stomach was empty, he dry heaved for a few minutes before finally willing himself to settle down. He was mentally and physically exhausted, and he realized with a shiver that he was freezing. He tended to get cold when he was upset. Late afternoon sunlight was slanting into the room from the small window above the shower and Daniel realized it must be almost dusk. Outside, a beautiful Colorado summer's night was beginning, but none of that beauty reached inside the house. Daniel sighed, and did the only thing he could think of to do. He reached one hand over to the tub, behind the shower curtain, and turned on the hot water for a shower. Maybe that would make him feel better, and then he could just turn in early and try to sleep some of his pain away.

Daniel undressed wearily as the steam from the shower started to fill the room.

He was so tired, he didn't feel much of anything as he stepped into the hot shower. The water felt good on his skin, and slowly Daniel felt relaxation begin to creep into his body. He leaned forward on the wall of the shower letting the steaming water hit him in the back, loosening knots in his muscles and calming his inner turmoil. His eyes were closed and for just a second, his world seemed to have at least a tiny bit of peace in it. After a few minutes of pure self-indulgent warm water massage, Daniel opened his eyes and turned around to actually wash up.

As he grabbed the soap and washcloth off the small rack in the shower, Daniel caught a glimpse of his own hand, and suddenly his world was moving in slow motion. Daniel's head cocked sideways, and a puzzled expression claimed his features. His mind registered one thought before his hand started to tremble. 'Not again', he thought, with a growing sense of dread.

While Daniel's eyes acknowledged the blood all over his hands, his brain could not register that it was his own.

It had to be Janet's. He hadn't been injured on the planet, and the last few hours were nothing but a blur to Daniel. There was no reason for his hands to be bleeding as far as he was concerned. Somehow, his frazzled brain said, he must still have Janet's blood on him. There was no other reason for him to be bloody.

In his mind, Daniel was instantly kneeling in a field on a planet far from home, crying for help that wasn't coming. The images that he'd fought so hard to keep at bay for the last few days came complete with sounds now. Daniel was literally back on that planet. It wasn't like he was watching a movie.

He was there.

The entire scene, from finding Airman Wells to crying for help over Janet's dead body, played itself out in Daniel's mind, three times, while the hot water poured over his body, before he suddenly blinked and shook his head. He looked around like he didn't know where he was and, in fact, it did take him a moment to realize he was in his own shower, in his own house, on Earth. When he figured out where he was, he frantically resumed his shower, trying desperately to get all the blood off his hands and body.

He couldn't get it off. No matter how hard he tried, it just kept coming. Daniel scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to make sense of why there was so much blood. He still couldn't feel his own wounds, and it was almost as if somehow he could scrub away his loss if only he just kept at it long enough.

Daniel washed his hair four times. He scrubbed his body mercilessly with the washcloth as least a half dozen times. His hands and face were viciously soaped, rubbed, and rinsed innumerable times.

Nothing helped.

It still hurt. He still couldn't stop the sense of loss: the pain, the guilt, and the anger refused to leave him alone.

Finally, as the last rays of daylight found their way into the dim room, Daniel gave up. He sat on the floor of the tub, and gave into his grief again. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, and he hugged himself tightly, rocking just a little in an attempt to comfort himself.

It didn't help, either. The pain was just too great. Daniel couldn't be comforted.

The light from outside gradually vanished, plunging the house into darkness. The water slowly ran from hot to warm to cold, but the trembling man didn't notice. He just sat, while oblivion mercifully took hold of Daniel Jackson and welcomed him with open arms into the unfeeling void of complete shutdown.

Catatonia had its advantages.