Thor blinked his inky black eyes up at Jack and then turned them towards Daniel, who lay unconscious and naked on the bed. As if suddenly understanding the cause of Jack's uneasiness, Thor opened a wall panel and took out a clean bed sheet, which he then carefully spread over Daniel.
"Thanks," Jack mumbled under his breath, and he took a step closer to his injured friend. "So…I guess it's time to tackle that arm, huh?"
Thor gave him a delicate nod. "It will require a great deal of force to get the bones properly realigned. I am afraid you will have to do most of the work, O'Neill," he said apologetically.
Jack's lips hardened into a grim line, but he nodded—it had to be done, and at least Daniel wouldn't be awake for it. He got in place, kneeling next to the bed with his hands poised over Daniel's right arm, waiting for instructions.
With Thor guiding him, Jack pulled, twisted and splinted the broken arm, wincing every time he did something he knew would be excruciatingly painful. He was certain Daniel would come to in the middle of it, and the thought of it made him queasy. And that was something new…Jack was anything but squeamish, and he couldn't help wondering if he'd have been so disturbed if it had been Teal'c or even Carter lying there. Then he couldn't help wondering why he'd wondered that in the first place.
Damn it, he thought to himself—even unconscious, Daniel had the ability to thoroughly fluster him. Flustered. Yeah, that was the perfect word to describe what Jack was feeling as he tucked the battered archaeologist under a warm blanket. Flustered…and maybe a little spooked over his own reactions. That was Daniel. Just Daniel. Nothing had changed…had it? Jack figured that if he kept telling himself nothing had changed, he might just start to believe it.
With Daniel now laid out on the bed, all tucked in and cosy (or at least as cosy as an unconscious person could get), Jack got down to the distasteful task of disposing of Daniel's soiled clothing. Thor had finished taking various samples from the clothes to study, and had refused to let him set fire to the offensive garments, so Jack would have to settle for transporting them off the 'Carter' and into the vast emptiness of space to rot and reek for all time. Considering that was almost how O'Neill himself had gone out, he figured there was a kind of poetic justice to it.
With the offending garments held at arms' length for the sake of his olfactory senses, Jack sat on the floor and began rifling through the pockets, emptying them of everything but the toothpicks. When he got to the jacket pockets, he came across Daniel's recorder and noticed that it had been switched to voice activation. The little tape inside was at the end of its spool, and Jack took a quick peek back at his unconscious friend, wondering what he'd found to talk about while pinned to the ground on an alien planet that could possibly fill and entire tape. Was it a final farewell? A last will and testament?
Another peek at Daniel confirmed that his snooping would go unnoticed for a while yet, and Thor was too busy plotting a course back to Earth to pay him any mind, so Jack hit the rewind button. The little machine whirred to life in his hand, and when the tape was roughly half rewound, Jack hit the play button.
Throat rending screams erupted from the recorder's speaker, shattering the silence in the cramped Asgard vessel. Shocked, Jack fumbled with the machine, trying to shut it off. When silence was finally restored, Jack shot an anxious glance over his shoulder at Daniel, sure that the nerve-wracking screams must have awakened him, but the younger man continued to lay motionless on the bed only a few feet away. However, when he turned around again he found himself eyeball to big, glossy eyeball with Thor.
"Jeez! Thor, you shouldn't sneak up on a guy like that!" he said, casting a quick look over his shoulder again.
"I am sorry, O'Neill," said Thor. He blinked his large eyes as he studied the recorder in Jack's hand, and then he returned his passive stare back to Jack.
"Hey—it's not like I'm reading his diary—Daniel used this to make field observations; he'd expect me to listen to it."
Thor tilted his head ever so slightly and continued to blink at Jack in silence.
"Okay," Jack admitted, "he probably wouldn't want me to hear him screaming like that, but it's too late now. We gotta listen to the whole thing—find out what happened to him."
"I agree," said Thor. "Under the circumstances we do not have the luxury of respecting Daniel Jackson's privacy."
Jack winced. That was exactly how the whole mess had started—they'd pried into Daniel's most intimate thoughts and loosed up a big pink elephant to trample all over their status quo. Oh yeah—a really big pink elephant. And it was stomping all over Jack's peace of mind.
Trying not to think too much about it, Jack rewound the tape to the beginning, and then had to fast forward through a rather embarrassing personal moment of his that Daniel had caught on tape.
"Dammit—I thought I told him to erase that," he mumbled as the tape rolled forward.
Stop. Play.
Daniel's strained voice crackled through the recorder's speaker: "…as I suspected, the flag drew the weapon's fire and I was able to get close enough to plant the C4 in the power source and set the timer. The power source was definitely naqahdah based, if the magnitude of the explosion was anything to go by..."
There was a pause and a blip as the voice activation stopped and restarted the recording. "Found out the fruit is edible…"
Another pause/blip: "…it, uh…helps with the pain…makes me feel kind of numb…numb is good…"
Pause/blip: "…Teal'c…blue-y green like the colour…"
The entries after that point stopped making any sort of sense, and soon Daniel's short, nonsensical attempts at speech had deteriorated into grunts and hisses of pain. Shortly after that the screaming had started.
Unnerved, Jack forced himself to listen to the whole thing on the off chance that his friend may have become lucid enough at some point to speak coherently again. But the rest of the 45 minute tape recorded nothing else but screams.
When the tape ended, Jack rubbed the heels of his fists into his eyes and shuddered. He placed the recorder down on Thor's console and jolted when the screaming started again. Jack looked down at the machine in confusion—he was certain he'd turned it off. That was when he realized the screaming was live, not Memorex.
In two long steps Jack was at Daniel's side. The man's voice quickly petered out—the abused vocal chords too raw to sustain the blood-curdling vocalizations for long.
"Daniel? Daniel, can you hear me?"
Blue eyes popped open, but although Jack was right in front of him, he knew Daniel couldn't see him. Daniel's left hand patted desperately around on the bed beside him, and Jack instinctively reached out to grab hold of it. But Daniel grabbed him first, his hand gripping tightly around Jack's fist.
Jack felt Daniel squeeze his fist cautiously before drawing it up to his face to sniff at it. Jack watched Daniel curiously as the other man continued to smell him, a small frown of confusion building on his team-mate's pain-ridden face. It wasn't until Daniel licked him that Jack tried to yank his hand away. Unsuccessfully.
"Whoa there, Daniel! I'm not your next meal, if that's what you're thinking."
Daniel had Jack's fist in a death grip and had brought it back up to his face again. His brow drew together in deep concentration as he continued to sniff and taste Jack's hand, despite Jack's attempts to extricate himself. Daniel's tongue darted out to wet his lips, which then parted as he mouthed out: "Jack?"
"Right here, Daniel," said Jack. "I'm right here."
"Jack?" Daniel mouthed again, trying in vain to get his vocal chords to work.
That was when Jack realized that Daniel couldn't hear anything either. Blind and deaf and left suffering and alone on a planet countless light years away from home… It was enough to bring a lump to Jack's throat.
"Yeah, Danny, it's me," he said softly and gave Daniel's hand a good squeeze.
Daniel's face broke into an expression that was half smile, half painful grimace. "Knew you'd come," he whispered hoarsely before his body curled up into a tight ball of agony on the bed.
Thor arrived beside Jack and injected something into Daniel's shoulder. "For the pain," Thor explained.
They stood side by side next to the bed, watching the drug take effect. Slowly, Daniel's ragged breathing evened out and his features smoothed into a peaceful expression. Jack raised a questioning eyebrow at Thor.
"He is merely asleep, O'Neill," Thor assured him.
"Uh-huh," Jack said, clearly having some doubts on the veracity of that pronouncement.
"You, too, should try to get some sleep, O'Neill," Thor stated and went back to his command chair.
"And where, exactly, am I supposed to do that?" Jack asked sarcastically, pointedly looking around for another bed.
Thor didn't feel it was necessary to answer that question and simply blinked at him in a way that was really starting to get on Jack's nerves.
Jack looked down at the bed and the huddled figure of Daniel Jackson taking up half the space. Theoretically there was enough room for the two of them to be relatively comfortable, but it would involve touching…and right now Jack wasn't so sure that was a good idea. However, the only alternative would be to sleep on the floor for the rest of the journey home.
Jack seriously contemplated it. But in the end, comfort won out over decorum and he cautiously climbed onto the bed next to Daniel.
He needn't have been so worried—Daniel was completely oblivious to his presence. Jack lay ram-rod straight on his back, staring up at the projected night sky on the ship's ceiling. Oh yeah—this is comfy, he thought, and forced his eyes shut.
Jack was barely drifting off to sleep when he sensed something was wrong. Instantly alert, Jack sought out the source of the problem. He didn't have to look far. Lying next to him in the bed, Daniel had begun to pant and moan—two things Jack really didn't need to hear from his naked bedfellow at the moment. Jack reprimanded himself, realizing that Daniel was obviously in a great deal of discomfort.
"Daniel?" he asked, then mentally smacked his forehead—Daniel couldn't hear him!
The moaning had become a pathetic whimpering that was too much for Jack to bear. "Thor!" he shouted. "Can't you give him something? Daniel's suffering here!"
Thor, who'd been quite happily sleeping until Jack had barked at him, took a moment to get his bearings. "It has only been forty-three minutes since I gave him his injection. I will not be able to give him another for some time."
Exasperated, Jack turned his attention back to Daniel, who was now twitching and causing himself even more pain. Not knowing what else to do, Jack wrapped a protective arm around his friend's waist and hugged him close. He had no idea if Daniel even knew he was there…but he wasn't doing it for Daniel's benefit. This was all about his need to do something—anything—to feel useful. He was actually a little surprised when Daniel responded to the hug and relaxed in his arms.
The next morning Jack woke up with a smug-looking Asgard watching over him. With some embarrassment Jack realized he still had Daniel in a bear hug, his face buried in the other man's neck. Jack hastily disengaged himself and jumped out of bed, brushing out the wrinkles in his clothes as if this was his regular morning routine.
On the bed, Daniel rolled onto his back and gasped voicelessly at the spearing pain in his shoulder, ribs and thigh. It was almost unbearable, and he let out an exhausted whine.
Waking up to the pain was so much worse after the dream he'd had. It was a good one, for a change. He'd dreamt that Jack had found him. It was so real he could almost taste him…okay, that was weird. In his dream, he'd licked Jack, tasting him like he was one of the overripe fruits he'd been collecting and eating. It was a weird dream. Weird, but damn good, too.
"Jack," he sighed sadly, mourning the death of his dream. And then he felt something. Actually felt someone grab his hand. "Jack?" he said again, and was rewarded with a distinct squeezing of his hand. His sensations muted, like his whole body was wrapped up in thick gauze, he nevertheless distinctly felt Jack squeeze his hand. He didn't think he'd ever felt anything so amazing in his life. It was enough to make him temporarily forget his pain, and he was sure he must be grinning like a loon.
He couldn't imagine what he must look like. He knew he must be bloody and battered and covered in filth, and he could envision Jack's concerned face frowning down at him, even if he couldn't see it. Were his eyes even open, he wondered? Daniel tested them, blinking his eyes a few times until he was fairly certain they were open. He looked around, deluding himself that if he tried hard enough he could will his blindness to retreat. He decided to try speaking again—his voice seemed to be the only part of him still worked properly.
"Thirsty," he said, but he had no clue how it came out. He still couldn't hear a damned thing. A minute passed and then Daniel suddenly found himself coughing up a lungful of water, the action setting his ribs on fire.
When the coughing stopped and the pain in his ribs levelled off in intensity, Daniel tried talking again. "Need to smell it. Taste it. I can't feel anything. Only in my fingertips."
A few long moments passed before Daniel could smell something sweet. He tentatively stuck out his tongue and tasted a drop of the sugary liquid. He wasn't sure, but he guessed that Jack would have given him a straw, so he tried closing his lips and sucking, and was instantly rewarded with a flood of juice in his mouth. Nothing had ever tasted so good. He gulped it down as fast as he could, but soon it was gone. He tried reaching for the straw with his lips and tongue and figured that Jack must have taken it away from him.
"Still thirsty, Jack," he grumbled. He felt Jack squeeze his hand again, but got no more juice for his efforts. It was then that Daniel noticed that the pain was receding. "Feeling better now," he said, drowsily. "Did you give me something?"
He got a firm squeeze in reply.
"So…that's one squeeze for yes, two for no?"
Another firm squeeze. Daniel smiled. For the first time since his tumble down the ravine he felt tethered and safe.
"Am I still on the planet?" he asked.
Two squeezes. No.
"Am I home?" he asked, wondering just how long he'd been out of it.
Two squeezes. No.
Okay, so…not home and not on the planet. That meant they must be travelling, Daniel surmised.
"Is Sam with you?" he asked, licking his parched lips.
Two squeezes.
"Teal'c?"
Two squeezes.
Daniel frowned at that. Jack had come alone to rescue him? How? Why? He had so many questions, and all of them required more than a simple yes/no answer.
"More juice?" he finally asked, feeling the drugs pulling back towards sleep. He got a single squeeze, and after a moment's fumbling, he was sucking down more of the sweet drink.
Some time later—how much later he had no way of knowing—Daniel resurfaced. He mentally braced himself, expecting the same agonizing pain he always felt when he woke up. But this time the pain was manageable. He immediately became aware of two more things: the first was that something smelled incredibly good, and he thought he recognized the salty-broth smell of chicken noodle soup; the second thing he noticed was that he felt chilly. It was the first time he'd felt anything other than pain in a long time. It was still an oddly distant feeling—like a tiny chill through a heavy parka, but it was a start. It meant that his sense of touch might not be lost to him forever.
He'd had plenty of time to think, and he'd figured out early on that the fruit he'd been eating on the planet was the source of his sensory deficits, and also the reason why his pain was so much worse than it should have been. He tried a couple of times to stop eating the fruit, but in the end the pain was too overwhelming. And with nothing else available to eat, it was either eat the fruit or slowly die of starvation. But now that he'd been fruit-free for a while, it looked like the effects were starting to wear off.
With the prospect of possibly returning to normal one day, and knowing Jack was taking him home, Daniel smiled and stretched languorously.
Or, at least he tried to.
As he stretched his knotted muscles, he froze up with the sudden, sharp pain the movement caused, letting out a string of colourful expletives in a variety of languages as he did so.
He felt the bed dip, felt a strong hand engulf his own and give it a squeeze. Jack.
And was it his imagination, or was Jack's thumb actually stoking the back of his hand? No, of course he was imagining it, he thought ruefully. But if it wasn't his imagination… Daniel knew he should probably let Jack know he could feel what he was doing, but then he would stop, and he really didn't want him to. Best to play dumb. For now, anyways.
"Jack?" he asked, feeling the raw scratchiness of his voice, but still not hearing it. "Is that soup I smell?"
He got a nice, strong squeeze in response, and his stomach rumbled. Daniel felt Jack pat his hand, and then he was gone. Daniel found that he keenly missed the contact.
The soup went down more slowly than the juice had, mostly due to the fact that Jack was spoon-feeding him and was taking his sweet time about it. That was probably a good thing, though, because if Daniel had been left to his own devices, he would have scarfed down the hot soup and scorched his tongue and palate in the process. Also, it didn't hurt that the slow feeding ensured Jack's closeness for a while, and right now, having him close was a very good thing. After all, Jack was his only link to the world outside his own head.
When Daniel finished his soup, the bed shifted again and Jack got up. Daniel shot his hand out and grabbed hold of Jack's arm. At least it felt like an arm—solid and muscular, flexing under his fingers—and Daniel urgently gripped it in his hand.
"Don't leave," he said. Daniel felt his fingers being pried off of Jack's arm and he gave in to a moment's panic. "Jack, please!" he called out pitifully, and blindly reached out for the other man.
With an almost overwhelming sense of relief, Daniel felt his hand come into contact with Jack—his chest, by the feel of it. Daniel needed to feel more of him, and he let his fingers slide up Jack's chest towards his face. Reading the face like it was Braille, his fingertips brushed over a stubbly jaw, trailed upwards along a strong cheekbone, and then smoothed over a scarred eyebrow.
Definitely Jack.
He felt the bed dip again, this time from behind, and tried to control his shock when Jack's arm pulled him into a hug. Warm breath puffed against his ear, and Daniel didn't have to hear the words to know what Jack had whispered:
"I'm not going anywhere, Daniel."
