Chapter 2

After that first disastrous night, days and weeks came and went without Daniel really noticing. Weeks turned into months, but the archaeologist who had once been so full of life, always eager to learn and upbeat in every thought and action, had lost all interest in the world surrounding him.

His military contact called on a regular basis and asked if he was okay, and he became used to lying to him. At least the Major had stopped coming by every other week to see if his stubborn charge was managing after Daniel threw him out of his apartment on a very bad Monday. His watchdog had dared make a comment about his unsound lifestyle and even suggested that maybe he should see a psychiatrist to get a grip on his life. Daniel's only reply had been a sarcastic "Ya think?" Jack O'Neill would have been proud of, and then he'd simply slammed the door in the man's astounded face. He knew the Major was just doing his job, but the anger simmering inside of him helped him to stay sane.

He got up every morning, tired from too many sleepless nights, did his exercises, went to physiotherapy as ordered and for little walks in the afternoons to get some extra practice with his artificial limb. Daniel often sat on a bench in front of his apartment building and watched the people around him who seemed to live their happy lives.

He had always been good at surviving, he'd seen loneliness and dark times before, but this isolation in the middle of this Earth was worse than he could ever have imagined. And he couldn't even run away from it because he couldn't run at all. He was just a useless cripple, spending his days doing nothing – and he hated himself for becoming this stranger.