On mental illness: "Don't ask me those questions! Don't ask me what life means or how we know reality or why we have to suffer so much. Don't talk about how nothing feels real, how everything is coated with gelatin and shining like oil in the sun. I don't want to hear about the tiger in the corner or the Angel of Death or the phone calls from John the Baptist." ― Susanna Kaysen (Girl, Interrupted)

Chapter 7

"I want Daniel released into my custody."

MacKenzie sat awkwardly, shock displacing the triumph that had been written all over his face. And if it made Jack smile a little wider and rock back on his heels happily, well, he never claimed to be anything but a chortling, gleefully sore winner.

"Colonel, I've shown you the test results," the doctor's hand flapped above the clipboard and notes cluttering his desk. You asked me for proof and I've given it to you. Daniel's treatment is working."

"Or," Jack inserted smoothly, "he's right and an alien … blob-thingy … that is now making Teal'c's symbiote sick was the little bugger that caused it all." He gestured towards the doctor's precious paperwork. "Box that all up and I'll take it with me and show it to Frasier."

"Colonel, you can't be serious!" This was outrageous. Unheard of. "I cannot allow a delusional patient to be taken from my custody simply because you would like nothing better than to believe he was never sick in the first place!" He took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself down. "Daniel is only less dangerous, less apt to act out, because of the current drug treatment, not because of some story about invisible alien devices made by a dead man."

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. Yeah, probably. MacKenzie was probably right. Daniel was talking about Machello as if the guy was hovering over his shoulder whispering in his ear. "But, and here's the thing, Doc," Jack started, "there was a guy named Machello. And he did make all kinds of crazy gizmos to fight the Goa'uld. So," he tilted his head back and forth, grimacing, "I chose to believe in Daniel's theory -"

"That is not a logical choice, Colonel."

"- and Hammond backs me up," he continued, snapping, foregoing the 'nice guy' act completely. "Now, you can come along, or send a nurse to keep him on schedule with his meds if you want to, but we're out of here." Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I've got one teammate flat on his back in the infirmary – dying – and another one locked up here because he's supposedly nutso. And that's one too many medical 'coincidences' for me."

"Colonel-"

"No." Jack mentally snapped to attention, flattened his voice into one of pure command. "Enough. Get moving. That's an order."

MacKenzie wanted to fight him – that much was obvious. Colonel to Colonel or medical man to soldier. But the guy was bright, he knew that Jack was in no mood to take prisoners. When his team was falling to pieces around him, his friends – his family – two down and counting, Jack would gladly start shooting and ask questions later. He watched the possibilities and outcomes shifting behind the doctor's narrowed eyes and forced himself to not react when he saw that he had won.

"I'll have my aides help Daniel into his BDUs-"

"Nope. I'll do it." No more cold hands, or impersonal, professional touches. Daniel needed a friend. Jack could do that.

MacKenzie's lips thinned. "Very well. But he will need to be restrained during the –"

"Again – no."

This time the doctor fought back. "Yes, Colonel. If you want to take Daniel out of here, into a closed vehicle, he will be restrained." MacKenzie's right hand smacked down on the telephone on his desk. "Or I will stop this foolishness right here, right now."

Gazes locked, the two men stared. Immovable object – irresistible force. This time, Jack yielded. Compromise. Give and take. And if he was going to get to take Daniel the hell out of here, he'd be willing to give a whole lot more. "Fine," he ground out between his teeth. "Let's get this show on the road."

~o~

He'd been more embarrassed – more humiliated, Daniel figured. Must have been. In the orphanage, or the middle school locker room. When the Abydonians had found out all the things someone as 'advanced' as Daniel had never done. Or that first night back at Jack's house, when he'd realized that his entire life, his wife, his family, had been taken away and he'd fallen, sobbing, to the floor. Yep. Must have been more embarrassing than arriving back on base in cuffs while every single airman he passed eyed him with pity. Poor sick bastard. Always thought he was a little off. He didn't need his glasses to read it in their eyes.

At least Jack was trying to act normal. Trying not to stand too close, even with his over-protectiveness at an all-time high. Trying not to reach for Daniel's elbow to steer him through hallways he knew as well as the back of his own hand. Trying not to glance his way every few seconds as if to make sure Daniel wasn't frothing at the mouth or banging his head against the wall.

After all, that was MacKenzie's job.

The doctor had insisted on accompanying them back to the SGC, had shoved Daniel into the backseat of the car and climbed in next to him. Daniel had closed his eyes and refused to watch the way Jack's jaw clenched and unclenched the entire trip. The silence was dark and solid, like a battlement between Daniel and the others, but it was better than the whispers and threats that only Daniel had been able to hear. No more voices in his head. No more footsteps or living-dead Linvris trying to kill him. No more alien old men intent on using Daniel as a weapon aimed at the Goa'uld.

His right arm jerked, elbow nearly striking the elevator wall. The damned drugs were still poisoning his mind, overwhelming his nerves and muscles, and threatening to send him into spastic tremors. He could control them – some of them, anyway. He leaned his right shoulder against the wall, pressing hard, trying to hold himself still while his half-lidded gaze watched the numbers climb on the control panel. Maybe he should be grateful for the plastic restraints around his wrists – at least they kept him from revealing quite how out of control he felt.

D2 inhibitors. Designed to reduce the production of dopamine. By now, with Machello's bug gone but MacKenzie's meds still running rampant through his system, Daniel's dopamine levels were likely to be far below normal. He knew the symptoms. Depression. Suicidal thoughts. Spastic movements and Parkinson-like weakness and tremors. From one end of the mental illness spectrum to the other in a matter of hours. What a ride. Daniel felt the muscles in his jaw bunch and release - he had to convince them to stop giving him drugs.

MacKenzie stood there, barely one step away, eying him. So convinced, so utterly sure of himself and his pet diagnosis. Daniel shook his head sharply, trying to derail the dark train of thought. At least Jack believed him. He looked up at his teammate through his lashes. Well, maybe Jack believed him. A little. Enough to get him out of that private little hell of a padded cell. Enough. For now.

He didn't notice when the doors slid open. Too busy rehearsing his arguments, shoring up his thoughts, boiling down all the humiliation and anger and pain to short statements of perfect lucidity. The military liked short statements. Daniel frowned, concentrating on his side of the upcoming confrontation, eyes nearly shut. He didn't notice Jack make a hesitant move towards the door. Didn't notice the figure stationed directly before him, waiting. Didn't notice MacKenzie straighten his shoulders, marshalling his own arguments.

What he did notice was the kind, grandfatherly voice he'd heard - warm and welcoming – so many times before. "Good to see you Doctor Jackson."

Daniel jerked backward, eyes locked onto the man before him. Something within him raised its head, some vestige of pride or confidence. No one had called him Doctor Jackson for … a long time.

"General."

Hammond didn't rush, didn't issue orders or impatiently command. His blue eyes weren't cold or professional when they checked Daniel over from head to toe. He took his time, ignoring Jack's fidgeting and MacKenzie's big-chested bluster. Finally, the general smiled, as if … as if he was happy to see Daniel. As if Daniel had just returned from a disturbing mission, from captivity, and Hammond was, above everything, above strategies or consequences or sit reps, relieved. He reached towards Daniel's wrists with one hand, the other going towards his pocket. "I don't think we need these any more, do we?"

"No, sir," Jack agreed loudly from behind him.

"General Hammond –"

"Doctor MacKenzie. Thank you for returning Doctor Jackson to us." The general cut through the plastic restraints with his pen knife, his gaze never leaving Daniel's. "I believe Doctor Frasier is waiting for you in her office." He smiled, nodding, as MacKenzie stepped out into the hallway beside him, and then quickly took the doctor's place in the elevator. "My office, Colonel."

Everything seemed to happen in one blurred motion around him. Jack shoved his keycard in the slot and poked buttons. The elevator doors slipped closed over MacKenzie's open mouth, cutting off what could only be a complaint, and Hammond placed one warm hand on Daniel's shoulder, holding him in place. It felt good. Daniel kept his head down, feeling the blush to the tips of his ear.

"Sir?"

"I believe it's time I speak with Doctor Jackson alone, Colonel. You're welcome to wait in the briefing room or go on to the infirmary."

Jack shifted uneasily and Daniel felt himself tense again. Jack was afraid – afraid Daniel would attack the General. Maybe Jack's overprotectiveness wasn't about Daniel after all.

The doors opened on 27 to continued silence. Hammond half-turned. "Something to say, Colonel?"

Daniel couldn't help but look into his friend's eyes. He searched for the fear, for the discomfort and awkwardness Jack had displayed back in Daniel's padded prison. He blinked, his mouth twitching in surprise at the warmth and friendship spilling from Jack's pores. Daniel's sluggish mind fumbled a few remembered words into place, added steady hands helping him dress, and multiplied it by the patience his notoriously impulsive friend showed when Daniel's tremors threatened to send him reeling. And then he wished simple math wasn't still a bit beyond him.

"I'll see you in the infirmary." Jack nodded. "We need to figure this stuff out."

Yes. That. Daniel gathered up the strength Jack was offering - had always been willing to lend him. Maybe Jack had not been as uncomfortable with Daniel's freedom as he appeared. Maybe he'd just been waiting for someone – anyone – to agree with him – to confirm his own belief in Daniel's recovery.

"We need to help Teal'c." Daniel hoped his friend would hear the gratitude there.

A few moments later, sitting across from the base commander, the man who made the most difficult and life-changing decisions for all of them, Daniel pressed his hands against his knees, willing the shaking to stop. He didn't know how he was going to convince the general to let him stay – to listen to him – to put aside all of MacKenzie's theories if he couldn't even control his body. His tongue felt heavy and thick, unresponsive. It took every effort to try to collect his thoughts from the morass of drugs and physical reactions – putting together a cogent argument felt far, far beyond him.

"Doctor Jackson," Hammond began, easing back into his chair, "I want to apologize, first, for not speaking with you before. For not taking the time to ensure that the decisions made concerning you and your care were for your best interests and, ultimately, in the best interests of this command." He tapped his hand on his desk. "And while I pride myself on the flexibility of this very unique command, and the ability of every division – scientist, officer, and strategist - to work together, the buck stops here."

"Wh – what?"

"Daniel," Hammond leaned close, "I know you're not quite feeling yourself yet, but I'm counting on you to put your understandable anger and fear at your treatment behind you and help us come to an understanding of this situation."

Anger. Fear. Resentment. Worry. Yes, all those and then some. But, hadn't … hadn't they been right? Hadn't he been acting crazy? "General, sir," he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, "you're putting a lot of faith in my theories."

Hammond huffed out a laugh. "Daniel, I've been putting my faith in your theories for quite a while now. And it's never come back to bite me in the ass." Concern drew deep lines across his forehead. "And, son, if you've got something to say to me, I'd sooner have that out here and now so that we can get past this and put our heads together."

A burst of anger – of embarrassment – the memory of his clothes, his glasses, his very identity stripped away from him in a cold, barren room far away from his team, his family, consumed Daniel. It burned, hot and fierce, built on feelings of rejection that still lived somewhere deep within him, embers of hurt and pain that had never been fully extinguished. His breaths came short and fast, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, his armpits, and his groin. "You don't – you can't –" His fists clenched in his lap, tremors shaking him nearly off the chair, "you don't know what it's like to … not trust … your own mind." He shook his head. "And, when the people you trust, the people closest to you, the ones you've let into your life," Daniel's mind cleared, a bitter wind sweeping the sodden clouds away, "tell you you're crazy. Send you away." His laughter tasted of ashes.

Daniel lifted his eyes to Hammond's pale face. "I'd like to know why everyone was so quick, so eager, to believe there was no other explanation. After all we've seen," he jerked his hand out, flapping it towards the Stargate, "all we've witnessed. It was as if you all were waiting for me to crack. Looking for it. Expecting it."

The general didn't contradict him, didn't hurry to deny it. He linked his hands atop his desk, unafraid to meet Daniel's accusing stare. "I've seen unbelievable things at the SGC. Alien parasites. Breath that controls my thoughts. Living dreams. Crystal beings and men who age overnight. The one thing I've learned, Daniel, is that I must be open to the very worst of my fears coming true. That I must be ready to hear that good men have died, or have been taken somewhere far beyond my reach. That's what it felt like here." He pointed at Daniel's chest. "One of my best men was beyond my reach."

"Maybe I stopped too soon. Stopped looking for another answer. Let myself be led to only one conclusion. But, know this." Hammond's eyes lightened, the lines around his eyes and mouth smoothing. "Your team never stopped. Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter, and Teal'c never once stopped looking for that answer, for the explanation that would bring you back to us. The buck stops here, son." He nodded. "Blame me."

It wouldn't be easy. Releasing the blame, the anger - the fear that still crouched there in the shadowy corners of Daniel's mind. In the deepest hidings of his soul, the darkest pits of selfishness and sulking pettiness, he wanted them to feel his loneliness, his abandonment. He wanted Jack and Sam and Teal'c to know what it felt like to be shuffled off. Drugged. Held down. All alone with the voices and the fears.

Daniel looked deep into himself and found an alien old man staring back. Selfish. Obsessed with his own hurts and woes. Lashing out at anyone and everyone, uncaring who his weapons targeted as long as he could be avenged and his enemies destroyed. Unwilling to listen. Machello.

"I – I understand, General." Daniel rubbed at the marks on his wrists, willing them to fade into the background. He remembered an airman's kind eyes and firm touch, the taste of blood, and a doctor's patience. He thought of Sam's tearful stare, Jack's appearance the moment Daniel said the word. The look of sorrow and confusion on Teal'c's face.

"I'd like to see Teal'c, now, General. Get started on figuring this out." Blame could wait. Emotions could wait. Everything else could wait.

"Of course." Hammond stepped quickly to the door. "Please tell Colonel O'Neill I'd like a report as soon as possible." He held out one hand, Daniel's keycard and glasses balanced on his palm.

Daniel stood at the open door where no guards waited, no 'escort' was poised to keep watch. A symbol of his freedom. Of this man's trust. He took a deep breath and reached out. "Yes, sir."