Set immediately following 'The Curse'.
Consider the usual disclaimer made.
BROAD SHOULDERS
By OughtaKnowBetter
O'Neill set the small transport jet down gently on the runway of the US AirForce base in Egypt, hastily but dutifully logging in his pilot hours—had to get the time in somehow between missions to keep up his ticket. This was not the way he'd liked to do it, but the need was there, and half of his team here in Egypt.
It was Daniel. It was always Daniel.
Well, not always. Sometimes it was Carter. Or Teal'c. Or General Hammond, or his ex-wife, or, heaven help them, sometimes even O'Neill himself. But it seemed like it was always Daniel.
It had started innocuously enough, Daniel going to the funeral of a colleague and mentor. It ended up with the taking of yet another Goa'uld host, this time an innocent woman and friend of Daniel's. Carter got banged up, Doc Frasier got banged up, another archeologist/friend of Daniel's got crunched pretty badly, and Daniel? O'Neill breathed a sigh of relief. Frasier had radioed just as he'd taken off in the states that Daniel had regained consciousness. The Goa'uld Osiris had slammed him with that hand-jewel thing. Last time Daniel got in the way of one of those it had taken him three days to wake up. This one, if O'Neill had gotten his time line straight, was a mere six hours. A record, of sorts.
The heat hit him, as always, with a furnace blast both welcome and shocking after the cool mountain air of Cheyenne. Beside him Teal'c drew in a long breath, savoring the airborne aromas of this different land. What did the Jaffa notice most, O'Neill wondered. Was it the light desert sands that reached far beyond the base and rolled off into the distance? Or perhaps it was the headdress that the Jaffa donned in order to go among the Tau're. The white cloth encircled by a hand band seemed tailor-made to cover over the golden mark of shame that Teal'c wore on his forehead, symbol of his former stature as Prime of Apophis. The white set off his darker features well, if the appreciative glances of the female soldiers on the base were any indication.
O'Neill dismissed his co-pilot, a lucky kid needing a lift back to the Mid-East base along with three of his buddies also home on leave. He'd have Carter sign on as co-pilot for the trip home to return the jet. Speed was of the essence; Carter had picked up several Goa'uld artifacts that needed secluding in the secure fastnesses of Cheyenne Mountain, and O'Neill had already arranged for a team to scour the Chicago home of Daniel's former mentor before anyone else could discover anything untoward. But the sooner they could get the Egyptian situation under control and out from under Egyptian noses the better. O'Neill liked having things where he could keep his fingers on them, and having half of his team flat on their backs in the Middle East didn't qualify.
Teal'c waited until the soldiers had formally taken their leave of O'Neill, the co-pilot well aware of the good fortune he'd had to be allowed to sit in the seat next to the former Black Ops officer. Teal'c himself would have preferred to claim the honor of the co-pilot's chair, but this was international air space, and difficult questions would require excessively creative answers were they to be apprehended.
Teal'c surveyed the landing area: heat rose in waves off of the tarmac, air traffic controllers waving the next jet into position, jet jockeys positioning O'Neill's jet for a fast re-fueling. The hangar looked inviting, suggesting cooler air-conditioned air within and a welcome respite from the bright sunlight outside; thirty seconds of warmth was enough to satisfy O'Neill's need for beach weather. Further back sat the rest of the base with its multitude of buildings flanked by base housing.
"Where are MajorCarter, DanielJackson, and DoctorFrasier?"
O'Neill took his hat off, slicked back graying hair, and replaced it firmly. Not that he liked the thing, but appearances were important here. Not to wear the military hat would have invited speculation. He pointed to the hangar. "Carter said they'd have Daniel back there, waiting, along with the box of toys they confiscated before the Egyptian authorities moved in. Said she thinks they got all the good ones, and the Egyptians should be plenty pleased with the ones that really did originate on Earth. Hah—there they are."
Teal'c squinted at the figures walking through the waves of heat. Carter and Frasier had donned military garb, the better to command respect and give orders with. Teal'c frowned: both walked stiffly, clearly a remnant from their recent adventure with the cursed Goa'uld. They had drafted a young recruit to tote a large box filled, Teal'c had no doubt, with the highly dangerous artifacts that they had recovered from that same Goa'uld.
And both women had hold of an arm of a certain archeologist who had started this whole mess, a man who was staggering forward under his own power but just barely.
Be fair, O'Neill. Daniel didn't start this one. He only discovered it.
Same difference. Trouble magnet.
O'Neill rescued Frasier from her side of Dr. Jackson, figuring that, as the smaller one, if Daniel did go down she'd be more likely to get crunched. Besides, they'd need her to patch up the damage. "You folks look like you've had a wonderful time."
"I'm ready to go home," Dr. Frasier informed him tartly. "You know, the place with the cool air, with lots of nurses where I don't have to worry about Dr. Jackson opening his mouth in his sleep and saying something he shouldn't."
"I didn't," Daniel grumbled, staggering.
O'Neill shored him up. "C'mon, Daniel. One foot in front of the other, just like before."
"I'm fine, Jack. And I didn't say anything."
"I will relieve you of your burden," Teal'c informed the wide-eyed recruit, taking the box from him. He glanced from Frasier to Carter, clearly intercepting their need for secrecy and wanting to do something about it. "You are dismissed."
The kid looked uncertainly at Major Carter. Teal'c wasn't in uniform, and looked more like a visiting local dignitary than someone who ought to be toting carry-on luggage for officers. But Carter gave him a stiff nod of approval, and the kid let go. He saluted uncertainly. O'Neill returned the gesture, his hand barely making it up to shoulder height. Carter's salute was a bit crisper, and the kid headed back for the cool hangar.
O'Neill eyed Carter uncertainly. His second in command had recently showered, and that had removed a great deal of the damage done on this mission, but lines still framed her eyes and those lines weren't just from jet lag. "You up to flying back, Carter? I can request another co-pilot to join us."
"Thank you, sir, but I can manage. I can use all the air-time hours I can get, too. But I'll let you handle the take-off and landing, if you don't mind."
"Deal. You can fill me in on the details when we're air-born."
Teal'c took a seat in the jet where he could observe the scenery outside the window and still watch both Dr. Frasier and DanielJackson. That was his function: to guard. To watch. To fight and to protect. He had noticed that although many of the Tau're did not do this watching, those who were trained as fighters did. They all vied for the optimal place from which to scrutinize everything around them. O'Neill did this automatically; only his position as pilot prevented him from doing so at this moment in time, as did MajorCarter's as co-pilot.
Teal'c also did not speak, and the other two did not share details of their mission. This did not bother Teal'c. If there was a need for him to know, they would tell him. Likewise, did he disagree with their silence, he could request and receive the written reports that DanielJackson and Dr.Frasier would surely be required to generate. GeneralHammond had never denied him that request, seeing the wisdom in it.
There was wisdom in their silence now as well. Both were recovering from their ordeal. Dr. Frasier removed her cap, and her hair now escaped its confining pins. Her shoes stood empty beside her feet, and she occasionally wiggled her toes, enjoying the freedom from their imprisonment. She had not been able to take MajorCarter's example of bathing, having been involved with the care of both DanielJackson and his archeological colleague for many hours. DanielJackson's friend remained in the base infirmary under Air Force medical supervision, and, O'Neill had told him, would be returned to either the dig site or his position at the Chicago educational facility after being properly debriefed and given an appropriate cover story. Teal'c did not quite envy DanielJackson's colleague for the Tau're ability to believe what they wanted to believe. The Tau're chose not to believe in the possibility of other races on other planets, and so they refused to believe the evidence their own eyes presented them. No matter; it would serve SGC well.
DanielJackson reclined in his own chair, the seat belt loose across his waist. There wasn't a mark on him, but Teal'c still could see the results of the hand device that Osiris had used upon his friend: pain etched lines into his fair face, closing his eyes and wrinkling his forehead. Dr.Fraiser had insisted that he take medication, and it appeared to be effective. DanielJackson slept.
Teal'c returned his attention to scenery below the jet. ColonelO'Neill and MajorCarter had kept the flying as smooth and gentle as any Jaffa mother with her newborn, and they had recently left the ocean behind and were now flying over the broad plains of what they referred to as 'the Mid-West'. Green pastures were arranged in large squares with conglomerations of houses and larger buildings in neat rows along barely visible roadways. A river here, a lake there; Teal'c lost count. There had been a small amount of jostling as the jet flew over the Appalachian Mountains, but that too had been minimal. ColonelO'Neill was an excellent pilot.
Dr. Frasier stretched, too long in one position, and glanced over at her patient. DanielJackson still slept. Teal'c had no clue what prompted her actions, but Frasier unbuckled herself to check on him.
She shook his shoulder. "Daniel? Are you all right?"
"Head hurts," he mumbled. Teal'c was surprised; he would have sworn that his teammate was asleep. Dr.Frasier's skills as a healer were unparalleled.
Then Daniel opened bright blue eyes to look Janet Frasier guilelessly in the face. "Wear the green dress tomorrow tonight. It looks good on you. He'll like it." His face suddenly paled, and his eyes rolled up in his head.
"Daniel?" Frasier shook his shoulder again. "Daniel? Teal'c, give me a hand. He's passed out." Swiftly, they tilted the jet seat back as far as it would go, raising the legs. Frasier rummaged in her medical kit, pulling out an ampoule that she passed under the stricken man's nose.
It worked instantly. Daniel coughed, and tried to turn away. Frasier grimly held it in place until she was certain that he wasn't drifting off again. Daniel coughed again, and clutched the arms of his chair.
"Dr. Frasier?" Teal'c was concerned. "What has happened?"
"That's all the pain-killers for you, Daniel Jackson," Frasier announced. "Certainly for now. You're having an adverse reaction."
"Great." Daniel shivered. And shivered some more, unable to keep the tremors concealed. Frasier pulled out a blanket from supplies and draped it over her patient. Daniel swallowed hard, trying to get himself back under control and failing utterly. "Why? This has never happened before. And you've given me plenty of pain-killers, Janet."
"Pain-killers like this can cause your blood pressure to bottom out, which yours apparently did this time. You're a little shocky right now. You'll be fine in a few minutes." Frasier paused. "What did you mean, wear the green dress? How did you know that I have a date for tomorrow tonight?"
Daniel shrugged, huddling into the blanket. "I don't know. It just popped into my head. You couldn't decide." He blinked, confusion uppermost.
It wasn't much of an answer, and chances of more hovered between slim and none. Frasier handed him a mug of hot tea, making sure that his shaking hands wouldn't spill it. "I must have mentioned it earlier. You rest, Daniel. Drink the tea; get some more fluids into yourself unless you want me to stick in another IV," she threatened gently. "When we get back to the SGC, I'll be checking you out thoroughly."
"I thought you already did that," he groaned.
"I'm worried about neurogenic shock, Daniel, and any possible late effects of what you went through. We don't know what that hand device that Osiris used is capable of." She turned to Teal'c. "Teal'c, go tell Colonel O'Neill that I don't want any sight-seeing on this flight. Let's put this bird down as soon as possible."
"Janet, please." This wasn't the wheedling Daniel Jackson, trying to get away with something. This was a man who had faced more than his share of pain. "I've just lost the man who taught me archeology. I lost Sarah to the Goa'uld Osiris, and couldn't do a damn thing about it. I need some space, Janet." He tried again. "All your tests came back negative. I promise, I'll come back in the morning and let you stick more needles into me."
The infirmary, for a change, was quiet. The only victim in sight was Daniel Jackson; both Carter and Frasier herself had been cleared and were back to their respective jobs. And Frasier's job, in this case, was Daniel. A nurse dallied behind the group, restocking the shelves in preparation for whatever emergency chose to rear its ugly head. The scent of antiseptic seeped through the air.
"Let him go, doc." O'Neill came to his rescue. No jokes this time, no smart remarks; just a simple request from Dr. Jackson's commanding officer to the Chief Medical Officer. Daniel flashed him a grateful, though surprised, smile. But O'Neill recognized the signs, of the need to be in a familiar and comforting place to put the horrors of the world in perspective. "I'll make sure he gets home safely, and keep him company. That do for the night?"
Frasier sighed. "It's against my better judgment, but go. Before I change my mind. And you be sure to bring him back tomorrow morning."
O'Neill wasted no time, helping Daniel into enough clothing to make it out through the front gate without raising too many eyebrows. The trek from the infirmary to Daniel's office to pick up some work that Daniel insisted couldn't wait took longer than usual, but O'Neill wasn't complaining. The fact that Daniel was walking at all was enough for the moment. Leaning against the wall of the elevator on the way up and out of the mountain was also acceptable.
"Thanks, Jack," Daniel said, as the two walked out of SGC. "I really didn't want to stay in the infirmary tonight. I wouldn't have able to sleep. Even my office would've been better."
"That pigpen? Your chair is covered with papers." O'Neill guided him smoothly to O'Neill's own car, firmly steering the archeologist away from the little piece of environmentally friendly tinfoil that he routinely drove. "There's no place to sit, let alone get a good night's sleep. Frasier would have my ass in a sling if I let you hide in there." He opened the car door. "Get in."
"My car—"
"Will still be here in the morning. This is a military installation, Daniel. Not too many things get stolen."
"But—"
"I promised Frasier that I'd see you home safely, and I never break my word to a lady." He paused, wincing. "Not often, at least."
They made the drive in silence, Daniel closing his eyes. He'd seen this scenery many times before, loved the trees on the sides of the roads, loved the orange smell of autumn creeping into September. But he was tired, and weary to the bone. Friends were gone, never to be seen again, not in this life. Even Sarah, now Osiris, would certainly try to kill him should they ever meet.
O'Neill kept the ride buttery smooth, taking the curves slowly so as not to jostle his team member. This too had happened before: one or the other bumped up against something bigger than anyone ought to handle, and ended up being driven home by the other to retreat from reality until time began the healing process, the sense of quiet support the main requirement from the other.
He tapped the radio on, turning the volume to just above a whisper. While Daniel and Carter were in Egypt, he'd been following the local news. A story had riveted his attention: a young boy had gone missing. The media's take was a sordid kidnapping, trying to hunt up suspects, demanding answers from supposedly incompetent police, interviewing tearful parents who wanted nothing more than to have their son back. Pictures of the boy had popped up all over the area, begging for information and promising all they had if the kidnappers would only return their son. But the supposed kidnappers had kept silent. It sounded to O'Neill as if there was another explanation, even if the media didn't want to acknowledge it. Kids would occasionally run away, or get stuck somewhere in the woods. Kidnappers tended to make demands pretty quickly.
It had nothing to do with O'Neill, but one look at the boy's face on the tube had gripped him. Not identical, no, though close enough to clutch at his heart. The kid looked enough like his own dead Charlie that O'Neill couldn't help but grit his teeth every time another news bulletin went out. And he couldn't seem to put it away. Sheer perversity drove him to follow the story, hoping against hope that Jake Turner would show up, safe and sound. Don't let another parent go through what I did .No one ought to lose a child, for any reason.
Daniel swallowed hard. O'Neill glanced over at him, turning quickly back to the road to negotiate the turn. He'd thought that the man had dozed off with more of Frasier's drugs inside him. "Daniel?"
"Stop the car." In a gurgling tone.
O'Neill quickly pulled off onto the dirt shoulder. Daniel lurched out, falling to his knees just in time to prevent erupting in O'Neill's pride and joy.
O'Neill turned off the engine, locking the brakes and sighing. He hustled around the front and dropped beside the archeologist. "Daniel?" In a more worried tone. He took Daniel's shoulders into his hands.
Daniel cried out, grabbing at his head.
Fear clutched at O'Neill's gut. "That's it, Daniel. We're heading back to Doc Frasier."
"No!" Daniel clung to O'Neill, trembling. "No! He's there. Down there!"
"Who, Daniel?" O'Neill was confused.
"Charlie! Charlie Turner! Oh, God, Jack, he's hurting! We have to save him!"
"Daniel!" O'Neill steadied him. "Daniel, you just heard something on the radio. There's a kid missing, but his name is Jake. Not Charlie. You were dreaming." Daniel, please don't use Charlie's name. This is tearing me up.
"Jack. Listen to me." Daniel tried to calm down, tried to convince O'Neill that this was for real. That this wasn't a dream, and that Daniel really needed to take action. "There is a child down there, down that slope. There is a mine shaft. That kid, Charlie or Jake or whatever his name is, he's there. He fell in."
"This is out in the middle of nowhere, Daniel." Daniel's story didn't seem likely. Hell, it sounds like a nightmare, Daniel. Wake up. You're scaring me.
"He's there, Jack." Daniel tried to push the pain out through the back of his head. "Jack, please. Humor me. Just… humor me." He grabbed at a slender tree trunk for support, determined to stagger down the slope himself.
With an exclamation of disgust, O'Neill plunged after him, grabbing an arm to steady the man and help him down the slope through the trees. Daniel made a beeline for a particularly dense grouping of trees, their leaves turning golden and copper under the onslaught of autumn. Daniel's steps didn't turn aside once.
There was a mine shaft beyond the copse of trees, dark and foreboding and utterly unexpected. The blackness of the hole delved deep into the earth, shutting out all light from above. O'Neill hadn't known it was there, and he doubted that Daniel had gone hiking in this neck of the woods. Daniel clutched onto a sapling, trying to keep from falling over onto his face. O'Neill cast a suspicious glance at Daniel, and called in: "Hello?"
A tiny, exhausted voice took its time floating out. "I'm stuck." A sob followed close on its heels.
O'Neill swore. Daniel had been right. There was no rational explanation for it, but somehow Daniel had figured out that the kid on the radio had fallen down this mine shaft. He pushed Daniel down to the ground, not that it took much effort. "Stay there," he instructed harshly. "I'm going back to car to get some rope and call for help."
"Um." Daniel leaned back against the tree, and closed his eyes.
"Wonderful," Daniel groaned. He flopped back against the white sheets of the infirmary bed, all but flinging his glasses onto the stand and pinching the bridge of his nose. Breakfast—an unappetizing array of cardboard masquerading as edibles—sat untouched in a corner. "Another story for the 'crazy Daniel Jackson' file." He held up the newspaper that O'Neill had thoughtfully brought into the infirmary the next morning for Daniel—and everyone else—to read. The headline, in big and black and unmistakable lettering, read: Local Psychic Finds Boy. And in smaller print: Police Baffled.
General Hammond was not best pleased. He hovered by the bed, glaring at the newspaper because glaring at the perpetrator of the article wouldn't change the situation one iota. "Be grateful that Dr. Frasier insisted you remain on base last night after Colonel O'Neill brought you back to the SGC, Dr. Jackson. My people up top tell me that the tabloids have been staking out your place, hoping to talk to you. They didn't clear out until four AM, and were back hustling at six." He harrumphed, and glared at O'Neill. "Colonel, couldn't you have found a more conventional way to tell people that that boy was stuck in a mine shaft? We're trying to keep a low profile out here."
O'Neill winced to deflect the annoyance from the commander of the SGC. "Sorry, sir. I tried the 'we're hiking at eight o'clock at night' story but it didn't stick. People started getting the wrong idea."
"So what in tarnation did happen? Surely you're not going to tell me that Dr. Jackson has suddenly turned into a mind reader? Dr. Frasier?"
Frasier studied the papers in her hands, refusing to meet the General's eyes. "If he has, sir, it's not showing up on any test results. MRI: negative. CT scan: negative. All the blood work came back normal." She smiled weakly. "And, yes, sir, we did do some preliminary testing for extra-sensory perception. We had Dr. Jackson try to pick up pictures from Colonel O'Neill, the standard ESP deck, since the colonel would have been the likely catalyst for the Turner boy's situation to come to Dr. Jackson's mind. Then we tried Major Carter, Teal'c, and myself. Even a few of the nurses. All negative." She struggled to come up with a theory. "We don't have to resort to the supernatural to explain this, General. Best guess, sir, is that Dr. Jackson somehow put all the pieces together in his subconscious at the right time. He'd probably walked through the forest and had seen the mine shaft, possibly even months ago. He heard about the boy on the radio, as Colonel O'Neill reported. His mind was relaxed, courtesy of some opioids that I'd administered not two hours previously; Colonel O'Neill can verify that Dr. Jackson was sleeping in the car while the radio was discussing the situation with the boy. Dr. Jackson is a brilliant man, with a penchant for being able to put two and two together and come up with five. Young Jake Turner was lucky that Dr. Jackson was right. He could have just as easily been wrong. Coincidence, General, nothing more."
General Hammond looked Daniel over thoroughly, trying to figure out what was going on with vision alone.
Daniel hunched his shoulders, going for inconspicuous, a difficult task while the center of attention perched on an infirmary stretcher in the middle of the room. "Dr. Frasier is right; I just happened to put the pieces together, and was lucky," he offered tentatively. "The odds were against it, but lucky for young Jake I guessed right. Sheer coincidence, general.," he repeated, sounding like Frasier. "Nothing more."
"Humph." Hammond unfolded his arms. "I suspect you're right, Dr. Jackson." He glanced at his watch. "What're you all waiting for? Haven't you got work to get back to?"
"Yes, sir!" Daniel hopped down from the table, snatching up his shirt. Then he hesitated. "Uh, General, I can go home tonight? Janet?"
Frasier sighed. "I'd like you to stay, but I don't have any real reason to keep you."
Daniel turned to Hammond. "General?" With the hopefulness of a puppy.
"If you want to put up with the reporters at your door," Hammond told him, fighting off a small smile. He looked at his watch again. "Dr. Frasier may have cleared you, but they haven't. Did you want to make use of the base quarters?"
"Not if I don't have to." Daniel fumbled with the shirt buttons. "Jack, I can hide at your place tonight, right?"
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Daniel," O'Neill assured him, then changed the subject. He'd had spare time while waiting for Frasier to clear Daniel last evening, and he'd put it to good use by catching up on base activity. "Haven't heard recently from SG-3. They okay, General?"
It was the third time that Hammond had looked at the time in as many minutes. "Overdue, colonel. Overdue."
O'Neill's posture stiffened by just a hair. SG-3 had been expected back at ten last evening. An hour or two overdue was nothing to worry about, but this was the middle of the next morning. "I can put SG-1 on alert, General." A sideways glance at Daniel, a gentle hand on the man's arm to steady him. "Three-quarters of us, anyway. We can be ready to go in fifteen. Carter's down in her lab, and Teal'c's working out."
Hammond frowned. "Do that. It's not like SG-3 to miss their communication by this amount of time. They were meeting with a few of the Tok'ra. I don't mind telling you that I'm a mite concerned."
"Go now!"
"Dr. Jackson?"
"Go now!" Daniel's voice had a strangled sound to it, and his eyes were staring sightlessly into space. His hands clutched the sides of the infirmary stretcher, white-knuckled, the buttons to his shirt forgotten. "SG-3 is under heavy fire, not one hundred yards from the Stargate. They need covering fire in order to make it the rest of the way. There's a legion of Jaffa shooting at them, and a Death Fighter making a bombing run. The Tok'ra are with them, but one of them is a traitor. It's that Tok'ra that arranged for the Jaffa to intercept the meeting and kill all of the others. Hurry!" His face went pale. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped. O'Neill barely caught him. "Hurry!" Daniel whispered desperately. "Hurry…"
"On the stretcher, now," Frasier snapped. "Karen, an EKG. Emily, start an IV. Somebody get me some vitals." Teal'c moved in, helped O'Neill hoist their team mate back onto the stretcher that he'd so recently vacated.
Daniel's blue eyes wouldn't focus. "Jack… hurry. SG-3…" Frasier shoved the pair of them out of the way, dragging a curtain behind her. Activity rustled behind the thin fabric, phrases called out: "seventy over forty," "sinus brady," and "only getting forty palpable." Then: "pressure back up. Ninety over sixty, and rising." The relief was palpable, even beyond the curtain.
O'Neill looked up at Hammond. "Sir?" Daniel was going to be all right, again. O'Neill couldn't do anything here, but he could out there. Where SG-3 was. If Daniel had beaten coincidence again, they had to take advantage of it. O'Neill hated to leave Daniel like this, but he trusted Frasier. And he was a soldier, with the soldier's sense of duty toward his comrades. And Daniel had said that SG-3 was in trouble. There was no way that Daniel could have known that, but there was no way that Daniel could have known where the Turner kid was, either.
Hammond growled. This was against all sense. "Go."
"Incoming! SG-1's signal."
"Stand ready, people. We don't know what's following them home." General Hammond took his position behind the glass, wishing that command would let him be down there with a bazooka in his arms. There were times when a hefty piece of metal felt damn good, and this would have been one of them.
The first pair staggered through the blue event horizon: Carter, with an older man in a fireman's carry across her shoulders, sheer adrenaline the only thing powering her forward progress. She aimed for the side of the sloping ramp just in time; an energy bolt whisked past her to splatter harmlessly against the glass barrier. Hammond flinched.
"Medics!" she yelled. "We've got more casualties coming!"
Hammond relayed the message. "On their way, Major. How many?"
"Lost count, General." She tenderly deposited her burden on the floor, where two medics helped her drag him behind the line of armed men, ready for the defense of the Stargate room. "Dad?"
"I'll be all right, sweetheart." Jacob Carter strove to keep himself under control. "Selmac'll be able to fix everything. Just give him time." But would there be enough time? was the question they left unanswered. "Where are the others?"
Timing was everything. Two more men in BDO's staggered through, only to collapse to their knees. Carter helped pull them off the ramp and into the arms of the waiting medics, both smoking from energy blasts. More followed, some whole but most not. Teal'c was almost last with another SG-3 man in his arms. O'Neill arrived backwards, P-90 hot, finishing the round-up.
"Close the iris! Close the iris!" he yelled.
Not fast enough. Two jackal-armored Jaffa stomped through the shimmering blue. O'Neill's P-90 dropped one of them. It took the defending forces longer to finish the last; they had to wait for O'Neill to hit the ground and get out of the way.
"I need these people in the infirmary!" Frasier yelled. Her team was equally as active, barely able to wait until the energy blasts stopped flying before swarming through the security force to get at the wounded. "Let's move, people!" She knelt to assess Jacob Carter, curled in his daughter's arms, eyes closed and trying to keep his breathing from wheezing his last. "Jacob?"
"Not so good, right now, Janet." Jacob tried to speak lightly. The cough spoiled the grin that he demanded of himself.
"Selmac?"
"A little busy," Jacob assured her. "In fact, a whole lot busy." He tried to sit up, and failed.
Frasier pushed him down. "Get me a stretcher over here, someone. We'll have you feeling better soon, Jacob. If not Selmac, then me." She raised her voice. "I want an IV in him, a liter of lactated Ringer's, wide open. Follow it with another; Selmac can keep it from clogging his lungs."
Hammond hustled down to the Embarkation Room as soon as the iris closed. He grabbed Colonel O'Neill, needing answers. "Colonel?"
O'Neill looked bleak. "We lost Nesmith, and two of the Tok'ra, and were lucky at that. It was a slaughterhouse, general. Nobody would have made it out alive if we hadn't come through for the rescue. The Goa'uld set up a trap for the Tok'ra, and SG-3 waltzed in behind for the icing on the cake." He turned away, then turned back. "If Daniel hadn't seen what he did, if we hadn't listened to him, Carter would be an orphan by now."
"I need more stretchers." Frasier's overloud voice held a warning, clear instructions to her team. The infirmary was busier than it had ever been, with personnel bumping into each other trying to get to the wounded. "Treat and street, people. We'll clean up later. Triage is the key." She took a second look at one of her patients. "Dammit, he's crashing! Get the paddles!" She dove in on one of the SG-3 men, dragging personnel with her.
One of the medics tapped Daniel on the shoulder. "That means you're out of here, Dr. Jackson. Don't go far; Dr. Frasier'll want to follow up when she can. But you're one of the walking wounded, so walk. We need your bed."
"Good." Daniel didn't exactly jump off the infirmary stretcher, but he did hustle. His head was pounding; it felt like every person being wheeled into the infirmary was sharing his or her pain with one single Daniel Jackson. Every part of him throbbed sympathetically in time with his head. He staggered outside the infirmary, leaned against the wall to catch his breath. More people ran past him, back and forth, ignoring him. He could stand, therefore he was better off than ninety percent of everyone else inside the infirmary.
Distance helped. Not enough, but some. His headache diminished from a nuclear inferno to a mere C4 explosion.
Away. He had to get away. The further away he was, the more the pain would recede.
Good hypothesis. Testing it came next.
On the basis of a single experiment, theory apparently correct. Daniel collapsed into the chair in his office two levels away, not caring that his chair still contained undoubtedly important papers that he would want someday soon. He left the lights off; that too was better than bright reading lamps. He longed for coffee but the portable unit that he kept in the corner held only bitter dregs, and the energy to start a fresh pot was beyond him. Not to mention the smell of anything tempted his insides to rebel. How far away was the men's room? Daniel couldn't remember, and didn't want to test his endurance. Coffee could wait.
He must have dozed off. Nightmares attacked him. Horrible dreams raced through his mind's eye: cries from the wounded, shrieks from the marauding Jaffa. He imagined how the First Prime aimed his staff weapon at one of the Tok'ra, blasting away so that the woman was literally cut into two smoking halves. He saw Nesmith aim his P-90 and spray bullets across the line of Jaffa, and they fell like mown grass that the next wave of Jaffa trampled over. It was literally one hundred Jaffa for every one Tok'ra and Earthman. Pain cut across his ribs, and his dream self looked down to see a smoking sear of burned flesh across his ribs. Even the bones were burned black with ash: Nesmith died before he hit the ground.
Too vivid! Too vivid! Even when Daniel opened his eyes, the nightmares continued, only shifted to the infirmary. There was Carter, frantic with worry over her father Jacob. It didn't matter that he was blended with Selmac, that the Tok'ra was doing every thing in his power to heal the duo. O'Neill he felt as a white hot rage, anger at the deception, anger at the loss of good men. Even Teal'c smoldered in some corner, waiting to be told how the Tau're would extract revenge for this outrage.
Too much—he had to get away. Distance, that was the answer. The farther away he was, the more the horrific nightmares diminished, and the stabbing pain in his head along with them. Hands automatically fumbled with his car keys—when had he walked out the front gate? Internal auto-pilot took over, guiding the car through the parking lot and onto the road leading away from the base and to town, to his apartment.
Half way to home Daniel suddenly came to himself. What was he doing? Janet Frasier, as soon as she realized that he was no longer on the base, would be frantic. Which would lead to hysteria on the part of his teammates. He took a deep breath, willing his hands to stop shaking.
It was then that he realized that he felt better. No headache, no nightmares. Blessed peace inside his skull. Daniel never realized just how much he valued his solitude until he hadn't had it.
The thought of returning to the madhouse that the SGC had become was abhorrent; he couldn't face it. Out here, alone, in his car, Daniel was able to think, to keep his distance from everyone, to stay away from their pain and misery.
His own picture started to become clear. Both he and Frasier and everyone else had scoffed at the thought of extra-sensory perception, but now, out here and far from everyone's minds, he wasn't so sure. Frasier's dress: he had heard her talking about it while unconscious in Egypt. Hearing was the last sense to go, and he had overheard her only for it to re-surface at a coincidental time. That thing with the lost child, Jake what-ever-his-name was: another coincidence.
But three strikes, and Daniel was out. The chances of seeing the entire battle from several different viewpoints, the possibility of feeling Nesmith die as a staff weapon sliced through his ribs, was too remote for coincidence. And feeling the emotions of his closest teammates afterward? He could imagine what they must be feeling, but what he imagined went beyond imagination. This wasn't imagination; he knew.
What to do? Returning to the SGC was out of the question. He couldn't face them all, not be inundated with all the fear and pain and horror living there right now. Daniel needed help, he knew that, but it would have to come to him.
Neither could he remain in his car out here on the road. A despairing smile flitted across his lips. Really uncomfortable for the long term, not to mention little to no closet space. As peaceful as it was, as alone as it was, this was not a long term or even mildly short term solution.
His apartment, then. Alone, without others, there he would call Jack and let him know that he was all right. Daniel re-started his car, more in control of himself and his life. This would work.
He felt the thoughts of the town of Cheyenne, people bustling about, idle thoughts here and there. These he could handle: an elderly retiree wondering where her ATM card had disappeared to, a housewife trying to remember the things she had gone to the grocery store for, the joy of an infant waking from a nap and seeing his mother come to lift him out of his crib. These were good things, things that Daniel didn't particularly want inside his own head but that he could live with. They weren't loud. And they certainly didn't hurt.
However, the thoughts did get noisier and more crowded the closer he got to civilization. Still, it was background buzz, white noise; unpleasant but not as bad as SGC. He drove on, the trees slowly giving way to sidewalk-lined streets and tall apartment buildings in between quaint stores.
Daniel felt the bored thoughts of the tabloid reporters before he drove into the parking lot in front of his apartment building. Bored, with coffee being guzzled from almost every mind. Bad coffee, too, but it felt like heaven to Daniel after more than twenty-four hours without his caffeine fix. He could handle that now, too, without his stomach going into full scale rebellion at the thought of something moving past his gullet. There was coffee in his kitchen, and right now it was calling to him in the more usual sense.
He parked down the street, not in the parking lot where the tabloid reporters would spot him. Somehow, being chased by not only physical reporters but their inquiring minds didn't thrill him.
Which was when Daniel realized that he had gone from disbelief to acceptance. Crazy Daniel Jackson had one more crazy attribute to add to his resume: telepathy. Real, honest-to-Murgatroyd mind-reading, tarot cards optional.
Great.
There was no one at the side entrance to his apartment building. Either they didn't know about it or, after more than twenty-four hours, they didn't think he was going to come home. It didn't matter; Daniel appreciated the oversight. He trotted up the staircase, not trusting the elevator in the front lobby, and made his way into his apartment, carefully closing and locking the door behind him. Locking out the world.
He didn't bother to turn the lights on. There was enough ambient light coming in from outside, and the darkness suited him right now with its suggestion of anonymity. There were twenty messages on his machine, most, he figured from reporter types. His phone number was unlisted but didn't seem to stop the tabloids. People who knew him well enough to call knew to get hold of him at the SGC. And the SGC had known that he was in Egypt up until a couple of days ago. He grimaced. The answering machine could wait. Coffee couldn't. He turned the little machine on, picking up the carafe to fill it with water and coffee grounds.
Angry, unhappy thoughts crept in with ferocious swiftness. Daniel almost dropped the carafe at their intensity. He whirled around.
A dark figure stood in the doorway, ambient light from behind illuminating his shape. "You're a hard man to get hold of, Dr. Jackson."
It didn't even take a mind reader to tell what this man wanted. "If you know that, then you know that kidnapping me will bring down a lot more trouble than you want. Better leave now, before I turn the lights on. Wouldn't want to be able to identify you clearly."
The man chuckled. It sounded evil in the semi-darkness. "That will not be a problem, Dr. Jackson. Thank you, though, for being so thoughtful. Would you be equally as considerate as to put this blindfold on?" He tossed the black cloth at Daniel.
Daniel really didn't like the thoughts that were emanating from this man's mind, plans that included a black car down the street not far from where he'd parked his own, ropes and gags, drugs in syringes. But above them all was a young woman: blonde, blue eyes to rival his own, innocent smile—and missing.
"It's not necessary," he replied. "All you had to do was to ask about Isabelle."
The man betrayed nothing in his stance, but his thoughts couldn't help but give him away. "So…" he hissed. "It is true."
"Unfortunately. Can we skip the cloak and dagger routine?"
The man considered, then shook his head regretfully. "No. This is for your own protection, Dr. Jackson. The person—people that I work for will be less understanding. You may be able to identify them from their thoughts alone, but I doubt such an identification will stand up in court. Eye witness account is so much more socially acceptable. And, think of it from your own perspective: the fewer people you can identify once this is over, the better your chances for emerging from this alive."