Wayward Son / Sarah Connor Chronicles – No One is Ever Safe

by devra and JoaG

Daniel would rather sell his soul than admit to his father that going to school today had been one of the worst decisions he'd ever made. Okay, maybe not the worst but definitely falling within the top ten.

Alexandria had seen it, had even offered to leave school and drive him home on more that one occasion, but he'd just shook his head, placed a smile on his face and tried not to clock watch.

________________________________________

Once home, he downed three Motrin, half a bottle of Snapple, a banana and three Oreos before hobbling off to take a shower. A stupid thing to do when he was home alone but even through his jeans, he could feel the irritation from the brace.

He showered with a slowness that would make an old man proud, holding onto the wall, praying to whoever resided wherever to keep him upright. Naked and in the shower was not how he wanted his father to find him when he came home tonight.

Every movement was done with exaggeration. Turning off the water. Stepping out of the tub. Toweling off excess water. Hissing when even the soft towel skimmed along his reddened skin. Things usually accomplished within minutes were taking so long that Daniel was getting annoyed with himself, but his body refused to cooperate.

Hopping on his good leg, it took him three tries to open the cabinet under the sink and pull out the baby powder which he sprinkled liberally on his thigh. Awkwardly, he managed his socks and his sweats.

Standing, Daniel held onto the sink then took an experimental step. "Oh." Surprisingly, the sweats seemed a better barrier than the jeans.

________________________________________

The next morning was better. Not great. But better. All powdered, Daniel had put on a pair of sweat pants instead of jeans, and if his dad noticed a deviance from his usual wardrobe, he said nothing. Daniel took three Motrin and when his dad left the kitchen to get the newspaper, he pocketed an additional three Motrin for dessert with lunch.

________________________________________

Alexandria placed a sorry looking hamburger and sliced potatoes in front of Daniel. He picked up one of the potatoes and showed it to Corey.

"I know," Corey said, raising a potato of his own. "Hamburgers call for fries, not potatoes."

"Newsflash, Corey." Cassie slapped his arm when he didn't acknowledge her. "Potatoes and fries are the same vegetable."

"Vegetable?" Corey asked.

Cassie dropped her head to the table with a groan.

"What?" Corey's head whipped from person to person.

"I think this is Cassie's way of telling you that you're an idiot," Daniel said, trying to keep the smile off his own face. He patted Cassie's bent head. "There. There."

Alexandria laughed and linked her arm through Daniel's. "Stop picking on Corey, you two."

Cassie sat up with a huff, pushing her hair off her face. "Killjoy," she spat good-naturedly at Alexandria. "You're no fun."

________________________________________

Daniel settled in the chair then used two hands to extend his leg out of the way of people traffic. The Motrin at lunch had definitely helped, taken the edge off the throbbing, but he felt draggy and out of sorts, glad this was the last period of the day.

Cassie leaned her head all the way back until it was resting on Daniel's desk and she looked him straight in the eye. "I'm driving you home today, right?"

Driving home with Cassie was an adventure, a toss up between being better than the scariest rollercoaster or puking up his guts. "Yes, you're honored with my presence."

"Do you want to go straight home?"

"Yes, Cassie," he said, pushing her head up. "I need to go straight home."

Alexandria leaned over. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "but my mom—"

He kissed her quickly, before the teacher could catch them. "Text me tonight."

"Would Ms. Fraiser, Mr. Jackson and Ms. Montalbano please put away the drama and open their books."

________________________________________

By dinner he was yawning up a storm and after the thirteenth time of trying to hide how tired he was, Daniel just gave up.

"Tired?"

Daniel kept his eyes closed for a few seconds after the yawn ended. Tired was probably an understatement, thankfully he'd done his homework earlier this afternoon when he'd been awake and coherent. "Tired?" he repeated. "Yeah, I am."

"Why don't you get ready for bed?"

"Too early," Daniel answered around a yawn. "I'll be up at five if I fall asleep now."

"Maybe you won't."

"I will."

"Try it."

"All right, I will!" Daniel yelled, surprising himself with his vehemence.

His dad waved a finger at him. "You're really not doing a great job convincing me that you don't need to go to bed."

"Shut up," Daniel said quickly, the two words blending together in an exact replica of a two year old's claim of independence.

"Go to bed, Daniel." The weariness in his father's voice drew his attention but he was too tired and cranky to feel sorry for anyone else but himself.

________________________________________

Great. So he was tired at the kitchen table and now he was wide-awake in bed. Awake as in staring at the ceiling, a really uncomfortable awake. He could text Alexandria, Corey or Cassie. Or he could just stare at the ceiling, and since calling required stretching out his arm and reaching for the phone, staring upwards was his activity of choice.

________________________________________

The ache was there, just on the edge of his consciousness, slowly building until it moved from throbbing to downright pain, kicking his ass completely out of dreamland.

"Shit." He flopped onto his back from his side. The wrong side. The side he shouldn't have been laying on. His right side. Slowly, Daniel turned his head to check out his bedside clock, afraid to see if his prediction of five o'clock had come true. "Fuck." Two minutes before his alarm was due to ring was a million times worse than a five am wake up call.

________________________________________

John had slept through the next day, waking only long enough to eat, use the bedpan, exchange a few words, and fall back asleep.

Today, though, he felt stronger. More awake. He pulled himself up in bed until he was half-sitting, careful of his bruised hand and thigh.

Derek must have heard him because a minute later, he popped his head into his bedroom. "Hungry?"

"Yeah." He pushed the blankets away when Derek went into the kitchen and made himself sit up all the way. The room lurched violently to the side for a moment and righted itself before he could fall over. Still, he sat there, one hand braced against the mattress, the other resting in his lap, until he was sure he wouldn't keel over before moving his legs over the side of the bed.

There was a bruise on his thigh that was nearly as bad as the one on the back of his hand. He poked at the edges of the bruise, hissing in pain. Slowly he inched forward, preparing to stand. He only made it partway up when he realized his leg wouldn't hold him up and he fell back, sideways, onto his bed.

Teeth clenched against the pain, he dragged himself back up onto the bed, his underwear suddenly damp with sweat from his exertions.

Derek came in carrying a tray, seconds after he'd pulled himself back up against the pillows.

"I wouldn't try getting out of bed just yet," Derek said as he put the tray on John's lap.

"What day is it?" John reached thirstily for the juice.

"Tuesday. Late afternoon. School's nearly out so it'll be home soon. Your mom's gone to do some research."

"What happened to Monday?"

Derek raised an eyebrow and John shook his head. Time had all become a jumbled blur.

"What happened at the warehouse?" he asked Derek, taking his time to sip the juice before digging into the grilled cheese sandwich. He was getting better at using his left hand.

"Nothing much." Derek sat at the foot of his bed, staring out the door, down the hallway. "The place was full of bits of metal the triple-eight was putting together."

"I remember. Spare parts," he said with his mouth full.

"That's right. Your mom got the machine to destroy everything once we packed up."

"What happened to me?" He licked greasy fingers after he put the sandwich down and drank some more juice.

"The machine forgot to warn us against possible poisons in there. You opened something—"

"A bottle full of white powder—"

"It was poison to humans, some sort of antibiotic to cyborg skin."

John swallowed the suddenly cloying mouthful of grilled cheese. "She couldn't have known the stuff would be there—"

"She should have anticipated. Hell, you should have known better than to touch something in there."

"You're right." The bottle was yet another vague memory, interwoven so often with dreams that he wasn't sure which was reality and which the nightmares. "My hand?" He raised his still swollen and bruised right hand.

"The powder touched your skin there. And you wiped it off on your leg. Stuff went right through your pants."

"How did... Nobody else got hurt, did they?" He looked Derek over quickly, checking for signs of bruising or swelling. "My mom—"

"Is fine. The machine saved your life." This was said grudgingly.

"She did?"

"The nanocytes in the powder are attracted to its kind. She got to you fast enough to pull them out of your bloodstream and into her."

"And this—?" He waggled his fingers, relieved that despite the pain and stiffness, everything seemed to work.

"Toxic and allergic reaction to the nanocytes."

"Is Cameron okay? Did the nanocytes harm her?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "The stuff healed the burns on its back while it nearly killed you." Before he could say more, there was a knock at the door. Derek was out the room and hurrying into the kitchen in a flash, while John struggled to push the tray aside and tried to sit up. He relaxed again when he heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, there," Charley said, coming into the bedroom. He had his uniform on and was carrying a small black bag. John guessed he was still on duty. "You're looking pretty good, considering."

John smiled back at Charley, inordinately pleased at the visit. "Did Mom call to tell you I was sick?"

"Actually," Charley said as he sat down next to John, "I've come to visit a couple of times. You've been pretty out of it." He took John's bruised hand and began to gently palpate the area around it, slowly moving his fingers back and forth.

"You did?" The whole concept of having been so sick he'd lost days seemed odd, and he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around it. But hearing that Charley had been here and he hadn't known...

"We needed his help," Derek said quietly.

John laid his head back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. He ran the fingers of his good hand through his hair and was surprised to find it greasy and dirty. Then he remembered how long he'd been lying in this bed.

"I want to take a shower." He tried to sit up, tugging his hand away from Charley's.

"Not so fast, Johnny." Charley let go of his hand and with his hand against John's chest, pinned him to the bed with what looked like very little effort.

"Please. Let me up."

"You're too weak."

"I'm filthy. I want to take a shower."

"Your mother gave you baths—"

"Please." John felt his ears heat up in embarrassment at his uncle's comment. "Let's not even go there." He turned to Charley. "I want a shower."

A heavy sigh preceded Charley's answer. "Give me five minutes to check you out, and then we'll see what we can do. Get him some clean clothes," he told Derek, "and you may as well change his bed while he's showering."

"You're going to let him do it?"

"I know John." Charley gave him a quick smile as he removed his stethoscope from his bag. "If we don't help him, he'll find a way to do it himself."

________________________________________

Five minutes later, John endured the embarrassment of being assisted to the bathroom, practically dragged on legs that were rubbery and unsteady, having his tee shirt and underwear removed by Charley, and then helped into the tub and seated on a small stool sitting in the middle of it.

The heat and rush of water was dizzying and he was forced to throw out his good hand to keep his balance until he adjusted to it. "Do you need help?" Charley had pulled the shower curtain partly closed and was sitting on the closed toilet seat.

John shook his head, swallowed the last of his embarrassment and accepted the dollop of shampoo Charley squeezed onto his upturned palm. He rubbed the floral scented, whatever must have been on sale this week stuff, and worked the lather over his scalp, eventually leaning forward into the stream, keeping his eyes closed and sputtering water until he was sure the residue had been rinsed away.

"Doing okay in there?" Charley's voice was loud and echoey, cutting through the running water.

"Fine," John shouted, reaching over with his good hand to capture the bar of soap in the soap dish. He started washing himself, but by the time he'd done his upper body, his left arm was leaden and his back ached from sitting up unsupported.

When he reached down to rub the soap over his leg, the small, enclosed area spun and for a second he thought he was going to topple over. He yelled out for Charley even as he felt hands grab onto him.

"It's okay, I've gotcha." The shower stream stopped suddenly, and he was engulfed in a large bath towel. Before he could get his bearings, strong arms pulled him out of the tub and seated him on the toilet.

He opened his eyes, seeing two of Charley. It took him a moment to figure out that both Charley and Derek were in the small room with him, both of them stripped to their tee shirts. While Derek held John close against his chest, taking his weight, Charley wiped John down, threaded a pair of boxers up his legs, and a tee shirt over his head. Too spent to help, John felt like a rag doll.

There was no embarrassment as they helped him back to bed. One of them began toweling his hair dry as he snuggled into his pillow. Embarrassment melting away as he settled in, holding back a sigh of grateful appreciation. "Thanks," he mumbled sleepily. The smell of clean linens was comforting.

"His mother's gonna kill us," Derek grumbled from the foot of the bed.

"No. Was worth it," John said with a sigh.

________________________________________

"Morning sleepyhead. Did I not tell you that you would sleep - What's wrong?"

His dad must be falling down on his mother henning capabilities if it took him almost the entire sentence to register that Daniel looked like hell. He basically collapsed on the closest kitchen chair. "Slept." If he gently put counter pressure on the ache it felt better. "Wrong."

"Daniel," his dad softly. "I have—"

"No!" He lowered his voice, so the ordered word lost some of its bite. "It's fine."

"Bullshit."

Daniel closed his eyes. This was taking too much effort. "It'll be fine with Motrin. I'll be fine with Motrin."

He opened his eyes when a cool bottle of water smacked his hand. "Thanks." Daniel practically inhaled the Motrin, half the bottle of water and managed two bites of toast before giving up in defeat. "I don't think I can go to school today."

"How about you lie on the recliner. I'll do some work from home and we'll give it an hour or so?"

Daniel nodded. He'd say that he felt like a failure, but right now, he felt nothing but his body's betrayal. Two steps forward, a half mile backwards.

________________________________________

Seconds after he settled in, his father came to him with the rest of the toast and the bottle of water. "Motrin's hard on your stomach."

Without protest he did as he father requested.

"How about I call Chadway, see if you can get in to see him?"

"I just slept wrong." He handed the water back to his dad. "Can I have the remote?"

________________________________________

Daniel surfed through the channels - up, down - and ended up watching Sponge Bob on Nickelodeon because out of the hundreds of channels, the cartoon was actually the most appealing, distracting entertainment he could find.

The Motrin dulled the ache, but not enough for him to even contemplate getting dressed and dealing with maneuvering through the hallways. He felt old. Tired. Middle-aged. Which was funny. Not funny, ha ha... just funny.

His dad appeared in the living room, blocking the Crabby Patty Shack moment on the cartoon. "Hey," he said pointing the remote at his father, "I'm watching that."

Quickly, his father glanced over his shoulder at the TV. "I'm sure you are."

"I am."

His father moved to the couch grabbed the afghan and covered Daniel. All without asking.

"Thanks." Daniel pulled the cover up to his chin.

"I'm calling Chadway. See if he can take a look see at you today." Before it had been a question, now it was a statement.

Daniel tolerated his father's hand skimming his forehead. "I don't have a fever." Based on the way his father studied him, Daniel realized, in his father's eyes, his behavior would better be explained if he was running a temperature. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"It's okay that you didn't go to school. I'm not disappointed."

Daniel sighed, disappointed that his father didn't get it. "You made me miss the end of the show."

"Before I go lose myself in paperwork, can I get you something?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

________________________________________

"I've been taking Motrin." Daniel squirmed on the examination table. He'd slept out of boredom, had woken up feeling a million times better and had argued with his dad that he'd needed to go to school for the afternoon, rather than Chadway's office. It was no surprise that Daniel had lost the battle and the war.

Chadway glanced at his father. "The pain killers I prescribed would keep the pain level—"

"No. Motrin's fine. I'm sorry, I told my dad I'd just slept wrong. Yesterday at school I had no problem. Honest."

"Daniel doesn't do well with pain killers," was his father's lame excuse.

Chadway gently prodded, humming and nodding as he examined Daniel's right knee. His dad leaned forward as if he understood the noises the doctor was making. Chadway stood with a slight smile on his face. "I have to say, Daniel, you're doing really well."

Impatiently, Daniel waited for the but.

"But..."

Here it came.

"We're going to compromise."

Daniel severely doubted if the doctor was going to be affected by any type of compromise.

"Half days of school for the rest of the week—"

"No!" Daniel glanced at his father for support, immediately getting pissed when he saw his father wasn't watching his back.

"I'm going to give you a prescription for PT starting next week."

"After my half days of school?" Daniel asked sarcastically.

Chadway sat on the chair by the door, crossed his legs and leaned back. "Listen to your body, Daniel. Today your knee was telling you to cease and desist because you were pushing your injury beyond its capability. If you can handle full days next week, that's great. If you can't, that's okay also. You're young. In good physical condition and PT's going to make all the difference in the world."

"Can't I begin PT this week?"

"Doctor Chadway said not to push."

"I heard him." Okay, that was obnoxious and the second the three words and the tone they road in on were out of his mouth, Daniel was filled with remorse. "I'm sorry." He felt the weight of his father's hand as it settled on the nape of his neck.

"Look, Daniel." Chadway stood and rested his hip against the side of the examination table. "I understand that pain killers aren't something you want to take—"

"They don't agree with me." Daniel kept his head bent, unable to see his lie reflecting in the doctor's expression.

"There are other things. Stronger than Motrin—"

"Motrin's fine," Daniel objected, his father's fingers tightening around his neck.

"No, Daniel. The Motrin's not fine, not if you're struggling like this. Pain management is—"

Daniel tucked his chin tighter against his chest, tears pricking his eyes, blurring his vision and his father's supportive hand suddenly became an arm, snaking around Daniel's shoulders, pulling him closer.

"We understand about pain management."

________________________________________

"It's not the same thing," his father said for the millionth time on the ride home.

"Feels like the same thing."

"It'll relax you—"

"I'm relaxed."

"Daniel..."

The tears that had been threatening spilled over. "You promised me." Frustrated, he slammed his elbow into the door. Again. And again. And again.

He didn't remember his father stopping the car, or when his father pulled him with a gentle firmness into his arms but he struggled, angry and hurt at his father's betrayal. "You promised," he repeated.

"I know I did, but you're in pain. You're hurting."

"I'm afraid." Weakly he beat at his father's shoulder. "Your fault."

"Shit, Icky. I know. I'm so sorry." Were those tears in his father's voice?

"Please, Daddy. Don't make me."

"Shush," his dad demanded, petting the top of his head continuously, as if he were soothing himself as much as offering comfort for Daniel.

________________________________________

Great. So now not only did his knee hurt, but his nose was stuffed, he had a headache and his eyes burned. Barely inside the door, his father drew him into a one armed hug, kissing his temple.

"I'm not going to change my mind."

"You can't keeping taking Motrin. Chadway gave you three prescriptions. One for physical therapy. One for the Tylenol 3 and one for... It's a prescription-strength anti-inflammatory. Stronger than Motrin—"

"Fine," Daniel said, "that'll work." He stared right into the skepticism on his father's face. "I'll make it work."

________________________________________

Alexandria agreed with Chadway with too much enthusiasm for Daniel's taste. "You looked like crap yesterday."

"Thanks," Daniel said indignantly. "But I didn't feel bad yesterday."

"I was worried when I didn't see you in school."

"I'm sorry, I should've called." Responsibility of remembering to do the right thing, at the right time, to the right person was suddenly overwhelming and he must've remained silent a heartbeat too long.

"Hey, I just worry."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, pretty much because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"So, tomorrow, morning only?"

"Yeah," Daniel sighed. "I really haven't gone over the particulars with my dad."

"Can I drive you?"

"Taxi?"

"I can get you early and we can stop for breakfast."

"I'd like that."

________________________________________

And he slept. He hadn't meant to. His dad had pried him with lunch and handed him a pill. Daniel remembered opening up his book, powering up his laptop and then nothing. He opened his eyes to a pitch-black room and it took him more than a minute to realize it was early evening and not early morning. He was starving, he felt pretty damned good and he was damned pissed.

"You lied," Daniel yelled the second he hobbled into the kitchen. "You gave me—"

"Sodium Naproxin," his dad answered calmly, his anger expressed only when he slammed the pill bottle on the counter. "I promised you, Daniel. As much as it kills me to watch you suffer and be in pain, I. Promised. You."

"Dad—" He couldn't get the apology out fast enough.

"Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, my boy genius, that you were overtired, and your body was just catching up on sleep?"

Daniel studied the kitchen floor.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," his father continued. "I made you a promise, Icky."

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Damn, so am I." He pointed to the bottle. "Good stuff? You seemed to hobble in at breakneck speed."

"I love you, Dad."

"I know you do. You just gotta remember to trust me."

Daniel didn't know how to answer that. He did trust his dad. Maybe it was himself that he needed to trust.

His father broke the awkward moment by lifting the lid to a deep pot on the stove and pushing the steam towards Daniel.

Daniel sniffed the air. "Is that stew?"

"Yup." His dad replaced the lid then opened the oven, and the odor of freshly baking rolls filled the kitchen.

"Oh." Daniel's mouth began to water.

"You're drooling."

Daniel touched the corner of his mouth before realizing his father was kidding around. "It's not good manners to tease a starving teen."

________________________________________

When he woke up, John could hear the sounds of cutlery clinking against dinner plates. His stomach grumbled, adding to the reminder that it was suppertime. "Mom?"

He heard a chair scrape along the floor and a moment later, his mom was smiling down at him. "Hungry?"

"Yeah." He turned around lazily and stretched, until his thigh reminded him it wasn't a good idea.

"I'll be right back."

He took the time to try and shove his pillows up against the wall and dragged himself so that he was sitting. When his mom returned, she had two plates on the tray. One was half-empty and he realized she was going to finish eating her own meal with him. He eagerly dug into his roast chicken, which he made no comment on the fact that she'd shredded his piece into small strips, mashed potatoes with gravy and vegetables. He gave Cameron a small, awkward wave with his fork when she walked into the bedroom and stood next to the door.

"I heard you decided to get out of bed today."

"I wanted a shower." He sucked gravy off his fork, then carefully moved carrots off to the side, giving them more attention than they warranted.

"Derek said you almost passed out in the shower."

"I didn't pass out."

"All you needed to do was ask and I'd have given you a bath—"

"Mom. Please. It was embarrassing enough with Charley and Derek."

"I would have given you a bath if you'd asked." There was no flirtation or guile in Cameron's voice, and that was what made her comment so funny. John chuckled, and his mom joined in a moment later.

"So." John paused, a forkful of speared chicken held just before his mouth. "Derek said you were out doing research?"

Mouth full, still chewing, his mom nodded. She swallowed and fluffed out her potatoes before pulling the fork through gravy. "I went to research the addresses you found."

"I have a perfectly good computer over there." John waved towards it with his fork.

"Which no matter how much I fiddle with it, I wouldn't find the information I need. So I did what people used to do before computers existed."

John blinked at her innocently. "Went hunting for saber toothed tigers?"

He was rewarded with a gentle smack to the shoulder. "Very funny. No, I braved the dinosaurs and went to the library."

"Did you find anything?"

She nodded. "I was right. It's military. The coordinates correspond to NORAD, in Colorado Springs."

________________________________________

Considering he'd slept the afternoon away, Daniel had expected to toss and turn the entire night, but by ten-thirty, his eyes were crossing in the middle. Exhaustion? That seemed almost impossible, so he got up, took a shower, changed into sweats, said goodnight to his dad and literally fell into bed, daring sleep to overtake him. Which it did.

________________________________________

For the next few days, Daniel's life fell into a comfortable routine and he begrudgingly admitted to only himself, that the half days of school and the prescription-strength anti-inflammatory medication was working. Alexandria. Breakfast. School. His grandma would pick him up, feed him lunch, hover for an acceptable period of time then head back to her house. Daniel spent the remainder of the afternoon doing schoolwork, enjoying the peace and quiet with only his iPod or TV for company.

Saturday, Daniel overrode his father's better judgment and he spent the morning at the mall with Alexandria and Cassie. That was bad enough, but the afternoon? Daniel spent the afternoon sitting in the bleachers and watching his soccer team.

Between periods, Coach Dawson squatted in front of where Daniel sat, his glance sliding from the brace to Daniel's face. "You should be sitting on the bench, Jackson."

An invitation. Part of Daniel wanted take the coach up on his offer, lend his support as a teammate and not part of the cheering crowd. But he hesitated, and the coach misinterpreted his pause.

"I understand," the coach said as he stood. "I'd like you to come to practice, okay?" He winked at Daniel. "I could use your expertise."

His team squeaked by with the win and by the time they walked back to Cassie's car, soreness that he hadn't experienced for a few days settled painfully around his knee.

"You're limping." Alexandria linked her arm through his.

"No. Not exactly limping. I'd consider it dragging," Cassie said.

Daniel was in so much pain, that walking and talking was out of the question. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. All the good he'd done this week was flushed down the toilet.

"Stay here," Cassie ordered with a hand to his chest. "I'm going to get the car and bring it closer to the exit."

Daniel shook his head, standing and waiting was just as bad as walking. Wordlessly, he surged forward, Cassie caught on and sprung ahead.

"You're damned stubborn," Cassie hissed. "I wish I could throw you over my shoulder and carry you—"

"Me. Too." Daniel huffed. "Me. Too."

________________________________________

Daniel was sure his father was keeping his temper in check until Cassie and Alexandria left. He waited, standing by his father's side, a smile pasted on his face as they exchanged goodbyes. Daniel waited until the front door was closed and locked. He waited until Cassie's car drove away. He waited for the explosion when he father went into the kitchen.

"Daniel!" his dad yelled from the kitchen.

Here it came. He drew a deep breath, counted to ten, pressed the palm of his right hand into his thigh muscle then shuffled into the kitchen.

________________________________________

The second Jack had laid eyes on Daniel, he'd wavered between tearing him from limb to limb over his stupidity and holding him down and forcing a bottle of pain pills down his throat. Instead, he pasted a smile on his face, said goodbye to his son's partners in crime, waiting until they left before going into the kitchen.

He counted to ten, expecting his son to be hobbling right on his heels, but he didn't. So Jack worked backwards and laid on the counter one anti-inflammatory for the knee, two Tylenol for the headache, a Snapple, a few crackers with peanut butter and a partridge in a pear tree. The only thing missing was his son. "Daniel? Can you come in here?"

"Yeah?"

Damn. "Why don't you go lie down? Bed? Recliner? Couch? I'll bring you..."

Daniel collapsed into the closest kitchen chair.

"Or there is fine," Jack amended, pointing to the chair Daniel was sitting in. "Good. Settled?"

Daniel glared at him.

The pills, Snapple and snacks were all set before Daniel, who ate and drank before taking the pills. "Just say it, okay? Get it over with."

"I don't have to, you've punished your body enough today. Anything I would say would just be icing on the cake and the way you look, the last thing you want is dessert."

"You were right." Daniel's began to systematically peel off the Snapple label with his thumb.

"Believe it or not, Daniel, this is one of those times where I don't want to be right. Or to tell you I told you so."

The pile of label shreds grew. "I... We... went to see the soccer game today."

Great. Bleachers. Cold. Damp. Reason number two why his son was moving with the speed of a ninety-year-old man. But he could do supportive. "So did they win?" See? He could do supportive.

"Barely. Henderson was in goal." Daniel shuddered. "I mean he's good, but he's not fast. I think Coach Dawson should—"

"Did your coach see you?"

"Yup." Daniel shook his head, a wry smile touching the corners of his mouth. "He wanted to know why I wasn't sitting on the bench." Daniel shrugged, never answering the question. "Coach wanted me to come to practice—"

"Is he kidding? Holy shit, is that man—"

"To lend my expertise. Don't have cow, Dad."

"Oh, I guess that was me jumping to conclusions?"

"Yeah." Daniel made a pyramid shaped pile out of the destroyed label.

"Think maybe tomorrow you want to spend the day with your old man?"

"I'm under house arrest?" Daniel flattened the pyramid.

"If you can get past me tomorrow, then you're allowed to leave the house."

Daniel snorted. "I'm always up for a challenge."

"We'll see," Jack said, wondering if he should wager a bet on this.

________________________________________

Daniel wasn't up for anything, never mind a challenge. Not even a slow wind down, he'd gone to his room after talking to his dad, and the rest, shall they say, is history. Based on the bedside clock he'd slept over fourteen hours, which was fine, well and good. His brain was alert, refreshed but unable to convince his body to move.

Sitting up. He could sit up. And he did. Slowly, cautiously and after four attempts he was up and going... absolutely nowhere. Ten minutes later, Daniel admitted defeat. "Dad?" He rolled his eyes at his own feebleness. "Dad!" he yelled even louder, flopping backwards on the bed in frustration.

"You yelled?" his father walked into the room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

Daniel groaned, waving his hand in the air. "Help?"

"Breakfast in bed? Pills. Tylenol? Give them a chance to kick in and I'm sure your body will be willing to cooperate."

________________________________________

His dad was right. Breakfast, followed by, believe it or not, a ninety-minute nap, and Daniel felt human. Awake and moveable, enough that he showered, changed, rebraced himself then shuffled into the living room, holding tightly to the handrail for the few steps.

"Hey," his dad looked over the rim of his glasses. "Better?"

Daniel nodded.

"Good." His father cocked his chin at the pile of papers on the table.

Ahh. The Sunday paper filled with ads. And the comics. Lengthy editorials. Want ads. Daniel leaned forward, snagged the Sports section then slowly settled in the recliner. Okay, this was totally geeky, reading the paper, starting with the Sports section, then reading the remaining parts cover to cover then ending up fighting with his dad over the crossword.

But today, Daniel made it through half the Sports before tossing the paper to the side.

"Daniel?"

He plunked the chair into the down position, his leg balancing awkwardly without support until Daniel slowly lowered it to the ground. "I need to get up and move around."

"A walk?"

Daniel glanced down as his threadbare sweats and sock-covered feet. "Outside?"

"No, around the living room, with a side view of the kitchen would work well."

Daniel blinked at this father, he hated, no, abhorred, when his father thought he was being funny. "You're not funny," he said while struggling to stand.

"No?"

"No, Dad, believe me. You aren't."

"Really?"

"Do you want me to call Grandma and ask her?"

"Feel free to grab the phone on your walk, okay?"

________________________________________

Fifteen minutes sitting in front of his computer and John's head was pounding, his back was aching, and his typing was atrocious because his right fingers were still stiff, painful and barely cooperative. He began to type with his left hand, hunting and pecking, while his right hand rested in his lap. It took him longer than he'd wanted to hack into the computer system at school but he now had Cheri Westin's home address, and ergo, Sarkissian's.

He printed the address out and handed it to his mom before pushing the chair away from the table. He lurched to his feet and then Cameron was there, holding onto his arm as he limped the few steps to his bed, into which he tumbled gratefully.

"Don't take any unnecessary chances," his mom ordered Derek. "Watch him and don't try to break into the house unless you're absolutely certain there's nobody there."

"Don't worry." Derek reached for the piece of paper she held out to him.

"Go with him," she told Cameron.

"It's not coming with me."

"You're taking her along, or," Sarah said, pulling the paper back, "she's going there alone."

His mom and uncle stared defiantly at one another, until his uncle backed down.

"Fine."

His mother slowly extended her hand, waiting until he took the paper, and turned back to John as Derek stormed out of the room. Ignoring the way his uncle was slamming drawers in the other room, his mom smiled at him.

"You don't have to stay here with me."

His mom simply raised an eyebrow and John relented. This weak, he was a sitting duck should something happen, and he knew it.

Cameron stepped forward, holding something in her hands.

"I made you a get well gift." She held out something bright pink and fuzzy. She opened her fingers, and a long piece of material unraveled, the pink end falling to the ground, the other end, a sick yellowish green, still clutched in her hands. "It's a scarf." Stepping closer, she laid it across John's chest. About eight feet long, the green end was so tightly knit that it was bunched unnaturally together. A few inches down, the stitches eased off into a more normal knit pattern. There were holes here and there where stitches had been lost.

"Thanks," John said, pulling the scarf towards him until it lay in a heap on his chest. "Just what I always wanted." He glanced up at his mom, who was trying not to laugh.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah."

His mom looked away, one hand held over her mouth.

"It'll come in handy if we get a cold spell. And you know, I can always use it as a restraint, if we get attacked or something. Thanks."

Cameron stared at him for a few seconds before seeming satisfied with his answer. She left the room and a moment later John heard her in the kitchen, checking their weapons.

Throwing herself face forward onto his bed, his mom's shoulders went up and down as she laughed silently. "Cold spell? We've got a heat wave going on right now."

Shrugging, John fingered the material. "I can always use it to tie someone up, right?"

His mom started giggling again, and it was such a strange sound, that he couldn't help but laugh right along with her.

________________________________________

"Where's Derek?"

John came out of a half-doze at his mom's almost-angry sounding question.

"He followed Sarkissian." Cameron entered his bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed.

"Dammit. I said to watch him—"

"How can Derek watch Sarkissian if you won't let him follow him?"

"You should have gone with him."

"We need to find the Turk. Searching Sarkissian's house was more important."

"What did you find?" his mom asked with a resigned sigh.

"Sarkissian's not Cheri Weston's true father."

"He's not?" John blurted.

"He married Cheri's mother five years ago."

"What's this got to do with the Turk?"

"Nothing." Cameron gave John a frank stare. "I thought John would like to know."

"Yeah," John said quickly as his mother narrowed her eyes at him. "Thanks."

"What about the Turk?"

"It's not in the house. The house was empty."

"Empty, as in, nobody home?"

"Empty. As in there were signs that they'd packed hastily, taking only the essentials. Sarkissian knows we're looking for him."

"He doesn't seem like the type who'll run easily. He's probably got some plan in the works; he'll be back. We'll keep an eye on the house. Derek's got contacts. Maybe they'll come up with something."

________________________________________

The rest of the day was spent pretty much the same and Daniel was embarrassed to admit that after lunch, his body talked his brain into another nap. Sleepiness ambushed him when he least expected it and he slept until late afternoon.

He turned over with a groan. So much for his last day of the weekend. Thankfully, he'd been on top of his work, because today had been an actual waste of productivity. Blindly, he reached towards his cell phone, squinting at the number of unanswered voice messages. Without seeing clearly, he hoped for the best and hit the first one.

"I was getting worried."

Alexandria. "Sorry, my bed and I were one today."

"It was because Cassie and I dragged you all over yesterday, wasn't it? Your knee must be—."

"Fine." And it really was, he wasn't lying to her or himself. "Think it was just a lazy day and I took advantage of it." Daniel paused, then chuckled, "Big time."

"Full day tomorrow?"

"Yeah, then my dad is picking me up and I'm going for a PT consult."

"Daniel!"

Even through the closed door, with his cell phone pinned to his ear, his father's voice had wings.

"I think you have to go," Cassie giggled.

"Yeah, my dad isn't exactly subtle, is he?"

"I'm not answering on the grounds I like your dad a lot."

There was a knock and before he had time to answer with a 'come on in', his father strode into the room. "Tell Dria you'll talk to her later."

"Tell Colonel Jack I heard him."

"She heard you, Dad."

"Good." His father stood at the foot of his bed, slowly dragging down the blanket.

"I'm thinking he wants me outta bed."

"I 'm going out to dinner with my grandparents. I'll see you in the morning. Breakfast is my treat."

"Starbucks?"

"Daniel."

He hated when his dad stretched his name out into a multi-syllable word.

"Starbucks," Alexandria hurriedly agreed. "Daniel, there will be no espresso shots in any coffee drinks, do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand," he slowly repeated. "I think I really have to go now, because my father doesn't look..."

"Love you," Alexandria said.

Daniel tried not to smile, tried to clamp down and hold back the embarrassed grin attempting to fight its way out, and with his father glaring at him. "I have to go. Now."

There was a giggle. Then a dial tone.

Daniel waved the disconnected phone at his father. "I'm off."

"Company tonight for dinner."

Dismayed, Daniel glanced down. He was comfortable. He didn't want to change. Heck, he barely even wanted to get out of bed.

"You're pouting." His dad tugged the blanket down even more. "We're having Greek."

"Who's we?" he asked suspiciously.

"Carter. Teal'c."

For them he didn't have to change out of his 'seen better day sweats'. For them, he was dressed appropriately. His grandma, on the other hand, would take one look at him and drag him clothes shopping, something that he hated on a good day, never mind with his grandma holding his hand.

Lazily, he stretched, careful not to extend or push unwilling muscles. "What time?"

"Time for you to set the table."

"Was that a hint?"

"Does Mrs. Peterson's dog pee on our lawn?"

"Hint. Okay. I got it."

________________________________________

Daniel dragged a fry through the yogurt sauce. "I love Greek food," he answered blissfully.

"I never would've guessed," Sam said with a smile plastered on her face. "I think you licked your plate clean."

"And he stole my last fry." His dad feigned indignation, holding up his empty plate. "See?"

"Would you care for some of my fries, O'Neill?" Teal'c grabbed a handful from his plate.

His father held up his hand, waving away Teal'c's offer. "No, that's okay."

Daniel stuck his plate under Teal'c's hand. "I'll take them."

"I hate teenage metabolism," Sam complained.

________________________________________

When Sam entered the living room with dessert and his pills, Daniel was going to turn down the offer, until he realized it wasn't an offer.

"Your dad said you have to take these." She pushed them back to him, after he'd put them down on the coffee table. "Please," she said looking over her shoulder. "I'll never live it down if I can't get you to swallow three little pills."

"Beaten by a teen?"

Sam shrugged, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "Yeah, something like that."

With a sigh, Daniel swallowed them. "Happy?"

Sam smiled at him. "Relieved. Thanks."

"Glad to be of help."

"You know..." Sam sat on the couch next to him, tugging at the rip in his sweatpants. "I think I need to take you shopping. Wanna go with me?"

Daniel hesitated. Shopping with Sam was a mere step above shopping with his grandmother.

She laughed, taking his hesitation for what it is. "Should I be insulted?"

"No, I..." Daniel fumbled.

"I'm not cool anymore?"

"You are."

"Your son called me old," Sam complained to his father when he walked into the kitchen carrying a tray of coffee and a glass of milk.

"I did not!" Daniel cried indignantly.

"You said I wasn't cool enough to go shopping with you."

"I never said that."

"MajorCarter. DanielJackson. Stop behaving like children."

"I am not a child." Daniel stuck his tongue out at Sam who, in turn, crossed her eyes and screwed up her mouth.

"That's it," his dad said with a laugh. "No dessert for either of you."

"He started it." Sam bumped his shoulder

"I'm innocent." Daniel gave his father a beguiling smile. "Can I have a bigger piece of chocolate cake than Sam?"

________________________________________

His father placed a hand on Daniel's stomach just as he was stretching. "Easy, big guy."

Daniel glanced up and gave what he thought would pass as a smile. "Time to get up?"

"Give or take ten minutes."

He rubbed his nose, sneezed, sniffed then glared at his dad who was still standing over him. "I need to shower. Get dressed." Daniel turned towards his beside clock, squinting at the numbers. He licked his lips. "Alexandria's taking me for breakfast."

"And I'm picking you up after school. PT."

________________________________________

Daniel surprised himself. Really and truly surprised himself, because it wasn't until the last bell that he actually would admit that he'd had serious doubts about making it through the day without falling flat on his face.

Alexandria was by his side in an instant, grabbing his hand and playing defense against the hallway crowds. He should've left earlier to beat the crush of kids, but this sorta felt good. "I'm okay." He tugged on her hand. "Slow down."

She slowed down when they got to his locker and not before. Alexandria dialed his combination, opened the locker and stood there waiting for him.

Daniel kissed her, pinning her to locker next to his opened one. "I'm okay," he whispered in her ear. He felt the pressure of her hand on his chest and he stepped back, disappointed.

"I know you're okay."

Daniel reached for a loose curl and wound it around his fingers.

She sighed.

"Am I distracting you?"

"Your father's going to kill you. PT. Don't be late."

Now it was Daniel's turn to sigh, hating PT even before it started.

________________________________________

"I can do this, Dad," Daniel hissed.

"You skipped the second question in the third section." His dad tapped the clipboard Daniel was trying to fill out.

Gently, so as not to draw attention to his father's interference, he shoved his father's hand off his paperwork, then answered 'no' to the question his father had pointed out. "Thank you," Daniel mumbled.

"Just trying to help."

"I know." Daniel handed the entire clipboard over to his father. "Here. For you. Information on insurance cards and you have to sign." Daniel tapped the paperwork his father now held. "Right there," he said sarcastically.

"Not funny," his dad said, slipping on his reading glasses.

________________________________________

"What position do you play in soccer?"

Manipulation of his knee made it hard to concentrate and Daniel just sort of gave a mumbled answer in response.

"Sorry, I'm a bit distracting, aren't I?"

Daniel gave a quick nod and there was the possibility of a smile, also, he wasn't too sure. Shannon was a big guy, not Teal'c big, but still a formidable person. Probably in his thirties, military style hair cut, he sorta looked like he belonged more in the halls of the SGC than in a physical therapist's office. Sure, gentle hands manipulated Daniel's knee with confidence.

He'd already done an ultrasound on Daniel, explaining to him and his dad, who was hovering, that the machine heated the gel spread on his knee, increasing the blood flow. It had felt okay, nothing special, accepting Shannon's assurance that it was beneficial.

Shannon wrapped a pillow, placed it at one end of the treatment table and patted it. "How about you lie down."

"Sure." Daniel laid down, and listened intently when Shannon explained the exercises. Strengthening the muscle, taking pressure off the knee. Good, he got that, understood the reasoning and everything, but forty minutes later he was crabby and his mind was filled with stretches and the command of three groups of ten.

"You may be a bit sore tonight."

"Tonight?" Daniel bit back a groan as Shannon helped him into a sitting position. "Think I'm sore right now."

Shannon chuckled, a low rumble. "Make sure you take your anti-inflammatory.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't worry, I've got it covered," his father said, stepping into the picture, throwing an arm over Daniel's shoulders.

"I want to work on one more thing, Daniel, before we call it a day." Shannon helped Daniel off the table and guided him to a chair in the office. "Have a seat."

Slowly, Daniel lowered himself in the proffered chair.

"A little bit of ice, stim and then I'll let your dad take you home."

"Defense," Daniel blurted out. "I play defense for my school team."

"Don't worry," Shannon said as he placed the ice-cold stim pads on Daniel's knee. "You'll be playing again before the season's out."

________________________________________

The sensation of the stim pads had been strange but it had felt good, but now sitting in the Avalanche on the drive home, Daniel's knee and the surrounding muscles hurt.

"You're quiet."

Daniel stole a quick glance at the dashboard clock. Almost six. Great. Three days a week of this. Shannon was a nice guy and all, but this was going to get old fast. Really fast.

________________________________________

Daniel ate dinner with one hand, did his homework with the other.

"Take a breath."

Daniel looked up at his dad. "Huh?" A pill was placed on his opened book.

"Take it."

"When I finish." Daniel flicked the pill off the book with the end of his pen.

"Now."

Daniel found himself blinking in confusion at his father. "Why?"

"Because Shannon said it—"

"I know what Shannon said," he shot back sarcastically. "What I meant was why now? Right this exact second."

"It's a ridiculous thing to argue over."

"Yeah, it is."

"So just take the pill now and be done with it."

Frustrated, Daniel shook his head then turned his attention back to his homework, only to jump back when his father slammed the pill down on the page he was studying. "What the heck, Dad?"

"Just take it."

Daniel was tired, hurting, pissed and not in the mood for his father to play his 'because' card, which he knew was going to be next. So he took the pill, downed the rest of his Snapple, slammed his book and notebook shut, leaving the table in a huff, wishing he could move faster and with more dignity than his leg and brace permitted.

Shit. His father was on his ass, passing him in the narrow hallway, overtaking him and standing in front of him, blocking his way.

"I'm sorry."

Surprise overtook Daniel, and he stopped short. Too short, and his balance was compromised. He caught the wall which kept him upright, but at the expense of his books, which fell to the floor.

"Don't you dare," his dad ordered as Daniel bent down to retrieve his work. "I've got this." He grabbed Daniel's shoulders, propped him upright then gently turned him back in the direction he'd just stomped off from. "Go finish your dinner."

Slowly, he turned to face his father, waiting, accepting his fallen books with opened arms. "Dad, I'm really not hungry." There was no answer so Daniel skirted around his father to his bedroom and got as far as lowering himself to the bed before his father entered.

"I'm sorry," his dad repeated, getting no further than the doorway.

"I don't know what made me... I should've just taken the pill and—"

"I'm the parent. You need to remind me about that sometimes."

Yeah, not if Daniel valued his life. "I'm going to go shower. Finish my homework." He opened his book, hoping his father would get the hint.

"Before you know it." His father pointed at the brace on his leg.

"Too long already," Daniel answered without even looking up.

________________________________________

Physical therapy was three times a week. Monday. Wednesday. Friday. Soccer, sit on the bench, cheer his team along practice was Tuesday and Thursday. He ate dinner with his books and his father. Took his pill before dessert. Showered right after, and most nights he managed to call Alexandria before becoming incoherent and falling into bed.

Saturday morning, Alexandria picked him up brighter and earlier than he would've wanted and dragged his butt to an away soccer game.

"Look," she said with a sickening, sweet voice.

Daniel didn't want to look. Not at her, not at anything but the inside of his eyelids. Didn't she even understand that this was way too early in the day to be even upright, never mind being conversational?

Daniel tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his hoody, leaned against the window and closed his eyes.

"Hell, I don't care. Though your attitude is going to lose you your coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Yup. Hot. Three pumps of espresso Starbucks' coffee which will be ice cold when we get to—"

"Gimme," Daniel said, shoving his hand out through the sleeve and waggling his fingers.

"Open your eyes and be pleasant."

"I hate you," he grumbled. He opened his eyes, yawned, sniffed, then slowly, carefully stretched.

"Much better." Alexandria flashed him a smile before turning her attention back to the road. "Though the 'hate' comment, not so nice. I'm thinkin' you've lost your chocolate chip mu—"

Daniel leaned over. "I'll make it up to you," he whispered in her ear.

"Stop it!" She shouldered him away, giggling. "I so don't want to explain to my dad that I had an accident with the car because you were breathing in my ear."

"Where's the muffin?" Daniel walked his fingers up her arm. "Please."

"I wonder if your name is written on the bathroom wall at Starbucks. 'Will do anything for a coffee and muffin'." Alexandria shook her head. "It's in the glove compartment."

________________________________________

Alexandria picked up Cassie, who was once again on the outs with asshole Dominic, and Lena. Daniel felt more awake, the food and espresso working their magic, but their chatter was getting on his nerves. Even though he fought to keep his annoyance under control, he obviously failed big time because the second Alexandria parked the car, and Lena and Cassie were out of earshot, she was in his face, all full of concern and apologies.

"The coffee and muffin didn't make up for them, did it?"

No, it didn't, but he couldn't tell her that. "I'm okay."

Alexandria did a wonderful imitation of his father's 'yeah right' expression.

"Payback," Daniel whispered huskily, pushing against Alexandria, who backed up willingly, with a knowing smile on her face which slid from her face just as Cassie's voice carried over the din of the parking lot.

"Jeeze, come on, you two."

"I'm going to kill her. Slowly."

"Stand in line," Alexandria said, planting a quick kiss on Daniel's cheek. "Maybe we can leave her here."

"That's a possibility, though I volunteer you to tell her mother," Daniel agreed amicably, snarling at Cassie behind Alexandria's back as they passed her in the parking lot.

Mature as always, Cassie stuck out her tongue in reciprocation.

________________________________________

The coach had pulled his ass to the bench, leaving Cassie, Alexandria and Lena in the bleachers. Daniel hadn't been thrilled, and he'd been quite vocal about his unhappiness. Being a bench warmer during practice was one thing, doing it for a game was something completely different. That was until the ref blew the whistle, signifying the start of the game.

Five minutes into the game, Daniel's left foot began to tap the grass in agitation. Five minutes after that, he grabbed the coach's playbook and began to scribble in the margins. Ten minutes after that, the coach stood directly in front of him, blocking the field.

"Something you want to share, Jackson?"

"Linderman's intimidated." Okay, so much for the diplomacy Daniel had hoped to go for.

"He is?" The coach turned and observed the field. "Really? I wonder how come I didn't notice that."

There was no hiding the Coach's sarcastic tone, which sorta pissed Daniel off. He could've stayed home. In bed. Sleeping. Instead of sitting on the bench obviously wasting his time. Bullshit. "Yeah, really. Watch him. He's holding back. Switch him with Li. Put Li on defense. Linderman on offense." Li wasn't a tall kid, but what he lacked in height, he made up for it in balls. As in brass set. Living with Lena, the poor guy had no fear of anyone. No matter how big.

The coach stared at Daniel and Daniel stared back. Almost twenty minutes into the game and they were already down by three goals.

Coach Dawson called for a time out.

________________________________________

"I'm impressed, Daniel."

Daniel picked up the clipboard and handed it to Coach Dawson. "Impressed?"

"You've got a good eye. Saw what I couldn't see, and you weren't afraid to tell me."

Daniel ducked his head, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to overstep—"

"Overstep?" Coach Dawson's laugh was so loud that people turned and stared. "You didn't overstep, Jackson, you stomped."

The heat of blush worked its way into his face. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We won because of you."

The blush deepened.

"I think I'm going to have to get you a whistle and a clipboard." The coach clapped him on the shoulder, winking at him. "Going to put you to work until that brace comes off."

________________________________________

"Why is he still sick?" Sarah asked, watching her son doze on the living room sofa, huddled beneath a blanket.

"John's alive."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she hissed. While John had doggedly taken his slow recovery a day at a time, Sarah was beginning to worry. It had been close to two weeks now, and the bad days were still worse than the good days.

"Most people infected with the nanocytes don't survive."

"Still not bringing me comfort, tin girl."

"Fever is better than dead."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Thanks so much for putting things in perspective for me."

"My pleasure," Cameron said.

________________________________________

Weeks fell into a routine of school, physical therapy, soccer and homework and by Sundays, Daniel was spent, tired and crabby. It took his father about two Sundays to realize the best way to deal with him on the seventh day of the week was to leave him alone, speaking only when it was time to call him for meals.

"Grandma's going to take you to PT tomorrow."

He finished the sentence he was writing before looking up. "Are you going offworld?"

"No, going to Washington. I'll be home very late."

Washington was a million times better than offworld, and Daniel exhaled slowly. "Grandma just has to pick me up. Alexandria can drive me there."

"She wants to do. Just let her do, okay? Bad enough you haven't seen her in a while. Let her enjoy your company for a day."

"I've been busy," he said indignantly. Jeeze, it wasn't like his father didn't know. "I have two tests on Tuesday, so it's not like I'm going to be spending a whole bunch of time—"

"You'll eat dinner with her. And for your own sake, close the books."

"I have two tests on Tuesday."

"I've let you do this." His father gestured to the books opened in front of Daniel.

"I'll explain it to Grandma, she'll understand."

________________________________________

John smiled at her, turned his attention back to his monitor and Sarah withheld the urge to ask him how he was feeling. The fact that he was up and around was enough confirmation that he was doing better than the last two days, when getting out of bed to use the bathroom was all he'd been able to manage.

The sheets on his bed had more color than he did, but again Sarah resisted the urge to comment. Hell, she even held her tongue at his half-eaten lunch. Half was better than nothing. Half was much better than vomiting up everything that had passed his lips the past forty-eight hours.

"I'm fine." Chin resting in his cupped palm, John didn't even make eye contact.

"I didn't even ask," she said indignantly.

Shaking his head, John looked up at her, tired resignation made him look older than fifteen. "You don't have to ask. You're hovering."

Quickly, she plopped down on the edge of the bed. "I'm not hovering. I'm sitting."

"You can hover from a sitting position."

"Really?" Opened mouth, she feigned innocence. "I didn't know that."

The smile was gone in the blink of an eye, the dimple left in its wake slowly fading into oblivion. "I'm up."

"I can see that."

"I'm even doing research." Quickly, he slid the laptop over so Sarah could get a view of the monitor. "Look."

"Very nice," she nodded, clueless at what she was looking at.

John repositioned the laptop then tapped the plate on the desk. "I ate half my sandwich."

It was very hard not to ask why he hadn't eaten the entire thing, but she was being good.

"I might even ask for a Snapple or something in like half an hour."

"Got a fridge full."

"Maybe a banana?"

"Tin miss can make a grocery store run."

"I like the crunchy cheesy puffs."

Sarah bowed. "I'll add that to the list."

John peeked through the blinds. "Looks like a nice day outside."

"It is."

Slowly, John stood and held onto the desk until he was upright, ignoring Sarah's outstretched hand.

He said nothing.

Sarah remained silent, grabbed the plate with the half-eaten sandwich and just followed him.

________________________________________

"No, I don't understand, Daniel."

Daniel had a horrible day at school. Shannon had been running late and besides the two tests, he had reports due and to top it off, his grandmother had been breathing down his neck over everything and she hadn't been happy that PT had run late. And now? She was giving him grief because he was eating and writing. "Please, Grandma, I have to—"

"Mhuirnin, you have to eat."

Daniel held up his forkful of spaghetti, swiftly using his elbow to wipe away the splatter of sauce that fell on his opened book. "See, I'm eating." He shoved the fork into his mouth, stripping the prongs of the spaghetti.

She wasn't happy.

With a sigh, Daniel closed his books and moved them out of the way, then slid his plate in front of him. "I hated that Shannon ran late today, I'm sorry."

"Does he hurt you?"

Daniel shrugged. "Sometimes." He glanced up, caught the horror on her face and quickly amended the sentence. "I tell him when it hurts and he always says not to push. Pretty soon, the brace will be off for good."

"And you'll be done?"

"No." Daniel twirled his fork in the mound of spaghetti. "Still need PT probably only twice a week."

"And soccer?"

Daniel shook his head. "Not yet."

"Soon, though, right?"

"Hopefully really soon."

________________________________________

John sat on the swing, face raised into the sun. "Damn, this feel good."

"I'm sure it does."

He stuck out his hand and waggled his fingers at her.

Smiling, because sometimes even the mothers of messiahs know best, she gave him the remainder of the sandwich.

"Maybe next time," John said, peeling back the bread before taking a bite, "I'll be able to go a few more days before feeling like shit."

One could only pray. Recovery was like a see saw. Good days and bad days. Driving John semi-nuts with being cut out of the real world and driving her nuts with worry.

"Did you hear what I said, Mom?" John asked.

"Um, no, sorry."

"Do you think you could bring in pizza tonight for dinner?"

Pizza? Sarah wanted to say no, cleaning up puked pizza wasn't fun. "Sure, no problem."

"Order extra," John said, "in case I feel okay tomorrow, I'll have leftovers."

"Okay." How sad, Sarah thought, that like everything else thrown his way, John was taking this in stride. "I'll order extra."

________________________________________

Daniel dreamed of playing soccer. Shannon was on the sidelines yelling something that Daniel couldn't understand. His grandmother was there. His father. Alexandria. General Hammond. Teal'c. Sam. Cassie. Suddenly, he wasn't sixteen anymore, he was forty, and the goal wasn't a net but an active Stargate. He was running, trying to get there before it disengaged, but he couldn't. The brace was hindering his movement and—

"Hey, buddy, wake up."

Daniel woke with a gasp, his heart pounding out of his chest.

"You were dreaming."

Slowly, he opened his eyes, staring into the concerned face of his father's. "You're home."

"And you're sleeping in your clothes."

"That's nice," Daniel said.

"Hold on."

He felt his father untie his sneakers, drop them to the ground then cover Daniel with the quilt. "Better?"

"Much." He turned on his side, wrapping his arms around his pillow.

"Was it a bad dream?"

While the dream was taking place, it had felt bad, scary and foreboding. But now it just felt ridiculously stupid and he was pretty sure that by tomorrow he wouldn't even remember it. "Not bad. Soccer. Gate. Silly."

"It sounds silly." There was a gentle kiss to his temple. "No more silly dreams, okay?"

"Okay," Daniel answered, but it didn't work. The rest of the night he tossed and turned, slumber interrupted to his inability to reach the Stargate in time, until finally, around five thirty, he just got up and went to shower.

________________________________________

"Colonel?"

"Rodney." Jack, up to his ears in paperwork, continued typing even as Doctor McKay entered his office. "What can I do for you?"

"Remember the computer software I helped build?"

"The one that was stolen?" Jack remembered something about Rodney's friend murdered and the computer stolen. He continued typing, letting Rodney speak. He grimaced as he made a typing mistake and backspaced to erase the word.

"Yes. The Turk. I've just gotten wind that someone's trying to sell it to the highest bidder."

"Are you positive it's the same computer?"

"Yes, I'm positive. Well, I'm pretty sure it's the same computer. I mean, they haven't come out and said it's the same computer and until I actually see it in action and take a look at the software, I can't be positive, but my source is pretty reliable."

Jack stopped typing and looked up at Rodney. "Why wait all these months before trying to sell it?"

McKay shrugged. "Waiting for some of the heat to die down? The police investigation on Andy Goode's murder has pretty much died down; they have no new leads. I guess the murderer thinks it's safe now to come out of hiding."

"I thought they caught the murdered."

"He escaped. Weird set of circumstances, too." Rodney stared at Jack, obviously lost in thought.

Jack reached for his mug of coffee and took a sip. "And you want the military to approach the person selling the Turk and buy it from them?"

"He murdered Andy for it. For something I helped build. He's trying to sell a piece of software whose applications could be invaluable to the military."

"Aren't you already putting those applications to use in your work?" Jack put the mug down and stared at his report.

"Colonel, Andy Goode was my friend. And while that may come as a surprise to some because I'm not the type of person who makes friends easily, he was murdered, and finding his murderer is the least I can do for him. This lead with the Turk is probably our best chance of finding his murderer. I really would... appreciate... your help."

Jack nodded as he saved his document. "Let me speak to Hammond. It's probably also in our best interest to get our hands on that computer as well."

"Thank you."

"How about you go give Carter the details. If Hammond agrees, she can work with you on setting up a meeting with this guy who's selling... What's his name?"

"Sarkissian. Margos Sarkissian."

________________________________________

Daniel made it through the remainder of the week on autopilot; the only good news was that he was now brace-free. And he felt great. Freedom was a wonderful thing. School sucked. Soccer sucked. But now, at least, he could move without feeling as if he were dragging a ball and chain around.

The soccer game on Saturday was a home game but Alexandria couldn't drive him, so his father ended up playing chauffeur, which really wasn't great because there was no chocolate chip muffin or coffee with some extra pumps of espresso waiting for him.

"You're staying?" Daniel asked, horrified when his father got out of the truck with him.

"Not in the mood to drive back and forth."

Daniel kicked a pebble in his way, resigned to the fact that his father was going to literally be watching his back while sitting in the bleachers. He forgot about his father the minute the ref signaled for the start of the game.

________________________________________

Daniel blew his whistle before Coach Dawson could blow his, signaling for a time out. He switched Corey and Nate's position, which he knew would drive them nuts but so be it. They grumbled for a second, but that was it. Experience had taught them, even in the past few weeks, that Daniel was usually right.

"Good call, Daniel," Coach Dawson said. "Next time, though, how about you discuss your idea with me first."

"Sorry."

"You can apologize after the game, okay?"

Daniel pasted a smile on his face, feeling like an idiot.

"Only if we lose. If we win, no apology is necessary."

________________________________________

They won. Barely, but Daniel still felt the need to apologize to Coach Dawson because he'd overstepped his boundaries. "I'm sorry, Coach."

"No need to apologize. I told you if we won—"

"I understand that, but I just..." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I miss playing."

"I know you do, Daniel. I miss you on the field. Your team misses you and hell, if you don't get out there soon, I'm going to lose my job to you." The coach looked around the field. "Go. I see you dad's waiting for you."

Daniel handed his clipboard to the coach, then began to head towards his dad.

"Jackson?"

Daniel turned. "Yes?"

"Thank you," the coach said. "For everything."

________________________________________

A week later, he was back on the field, this time playing defense. He was allowed half the game. That was it, no more, no less. And those twenty-two minutes were exhaustingly invigorating. Goddamn it, being back to normal felt great.

________________________________________

"Where were you?" Cameron strode into the living room even before the door slammed shut behind John and his mother.

"I took John to the pier for some air. Why? What's going on?"

"Derek got a tip from Moishe. Sarkissian's back in town."

"He came back?" His mother froze near the door. John headed for the nearest chair; exercise and fresh air still tired him out immensely.

"He's back, but not for long. Something's going down; he's trying to sell the Turk. Derek followed Sarkissian, while I broke into the house again. I found this." Cameron held out a piece of paper to his mom.

"What is it?"

"Phone numbers. The area code is from Colorado."

"NORAD?"

"Yes."

"Mom, you don't think Sarkissian is selling the Turk to the military?"

"It's starting to look that way, isn't it?"

________________________________________

The argument in the kitchen woke John up.

"What were you thinking?"

"Doing my job," his uncle replied almost as loudly as his mother.

John sat up, curious as to what was going on.

"You went out alone, without Cameron."

"I don't need the machine—"

"I don't care. You shouldn't have split up."

John stood and limped to the doorway. He hung onto the doorjamb, resting a moment before going on.

"What's your problem?" Derek blurted as he went to the fridge and took out a bottle of beer. "We went out there to try and find out what Sarkissian was up to. If you're done yelling, I'll tell you what I found out." He twisted off the cap and took a long drink.

"Mom?"

"John. What are you doing out of bed?" The anger on her face was quickly replaced by concern as she hurried over to him. She put a hand on his arm and John walked forward, forcing her to come with him and help support him.

"What did you find out?" He stopped at the table and gratefully lowered himself into a chair. "I'm okay," he told his mom.

"I followed Sarkissian to a hotel where he met with two military stiffs."

"The Japanese got the contract with the military. Would they be interested in the loser also?" He gently rubbed his thigh with his uninjured hand, feeling the muscles throb. The walk earlier today had really taxed him.

"Why not?" His mom spoke softly as she came up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. "With both computers, they can study them and come up with a mixture—"

"They'll increase the chance of a technological singularity by merging the two computers together," John said tiredly.

"Did Sarkissian finalize the deal with the military?" His mom leaned her chin on the top of John's head and wrapped her arms around his chest, pulling him gently back against her.

Derek shook his head. "I got the impression he was making them an offer. They're meeting him again tomorrow, at one, in the Chinese restaurant in the hotel lobby."

"Anyone feel like Chinese tomorrow?" His mom leaned over his shoulder and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "You can have my doggie bag, okay?"

________________________________________

tbc