So very terribly sorry for the long delay in posting - too much RL stuff going on to mention - but the rest of this will be posted come hell or high water before the end of the month. Rah! A big, grateful thank you to those of you who have been so patiently waiting for the resolution of this story, and we do very much hope that it was worth the wait.
Disclaimer - Stargate SG-1 and it's characters don't belong to us, etc.
Reparations part 3
Sleep deprived, underfed, over-caffeinated, over-worked, and in need of anything else except matters dealing with those three letters "SGC," Jack and a group of co-workers sat around a blue-draped table, picking at assorted food items in the cafeteria. Now and again, when the conversation lagged, Jack would put his head down on the table. When it picked up, so too did Jack's interest, like when they were talking about Ben and Jerry's ice cream.
Daniel stayed long enough to down a cup of coffee and run his hand through his hair repeatedly, having not much more to add to the conversation except monosyllabic utterances. When he left, there was a quiet moment when three of the four remaining concentrated on forking jello cubes, peeling pie crust off pie filling, and continuously stirring black coffee. After an appreciable time, the banal discussion continued on. Janet and Sam mentioned something about going out and spending ridiculous money on manicures and pedicures that would go unnoticed and unappreciated, and Teal'c thought he might like to join them. A kibosh was quickly placed on that plan, and so the conversation continued.
They listed the things they were tired of: MREs, potable water, heavy packs, ineffective insoles, positron annihilation, the last of which when offered to the group was summarily thrown out for being too esoteric. Sam took it personally. A few at the table, Jack, Sam and Janet, would have liked to have shared that they were getting pretty tired of Daniel, but they didn't want to open up the discussion in case the others weren't aware of his erratic behavior.
So when Teal'c checked and the report for the weekend looked promising, in fact, downright gorgeous for late fall, talks began about what they would do to celebrate or put to rest (depending on who you asked) the week's end. Jack had mentioned something about immersing himself in the genius that is Homer Simpson, and that's when it was decided they'd instead get together at someone's house to enjoy what may be left of the good weather. Jack's house was quickly left out of the running. Jack took it personally.
Therefore, when Janet offered up her backyard for a Saturday afternoon barbecue—"Just the few of us, maybe the general, Siler, and plenty of tequila"—Sam hardly let her finish before she volunteered to bring dessert. Jack said he'd bring a ball peen hammer to smack against his own temple if Siler were invited. With a plan in place, each set out to put the final touches on one long week.
What a week.
Endless meetings, one diagnostic after another, training new recruits, one pissy colonel—and then there was Daniel. More and more he was short, terse, caustic, and that was when he could be found. Sam thought for sure one morning she had smelled stale alcohol on him—not just his breath, but emanating from him. He seemed constantly tired and constantly on edge.
Somehow the irony of needing a drink to forget her week with Daniel lost its humor.
The weather reported bore out, and at 2pm that Saturday afternoon, Sam pulled into Janet's driveway, right next to Daniel's car. Good sign, she thought. Daniel not only made it to the gathering, but he was early. Maybe her worries were for naught. Maybe he'd just been having a bad week like the rest of them.
Janet met Sam at the door. "Come on in."
"Thanks," Sam said, the weight of her job off her shoulders, replaced by the weight of four half-gallons of ice cream in her hands. "I didn't know what people were going to want, so…It's kind of mind boggling how many different flavors you can buy."
Sam paused when Janet didn't gregariously welcome her in, which was the norm.
"What's going on, Janet?" Sam asked, looking past her, into the house.
"You're not going to believe this," Janet said, she said, opening the door completely, taking one of the bags.
"Thanks," Sam said, following Janet into the kitchen, all the while scoping out each room they passed. When they reached the kitchen, Janet placed each cartoon of ice cream in the freezer before turning to Sam, hands pressed to her hips.
"Daniel's here," Janet said.
Sam scowled, taken aback. "He was invited, wasn't he?"
"Of course he was, but I didn't expect him to show up drunk." Janet led Sam to the patio door and pointed out where Daniel was sprawled, one leg and one arm off the hammock, swaying back and forth in a listless rhythm. Cassie sat in a lawn chair next to him, giggling.
Sam closed her eyes, shook her head and snickered. This was getting ridiculous. "How bad is he?"
"I wouldn't get close to him with a flame," Janet chimed in, monitoring the scene. While they looked on, Cassie jumped from her seat. Daniel grabbed her arm, and Cassie nodded, laughing. She jogged up and onto the patio and slid open the door.
"Hi, Sam," she said, sailing by.
"Cass."
Cassie yanked open the refrigerator, bent over to inspect the contents, and said, "Hey, Mom, do we have any beer?"
"Excuse me?" Janet said, marching to the refrigerator.
Cass stood up, rolled her eyes, and slouched, "Like, it's not for me, if that's what you're thinking."
"Like," Janet began, mocking her daughter, "then why ask?"
Cassie rolled her eyes, flipped back her long hair, shifted all her weight onto her right foot, and said, "It's for Daniel. Duh!"
Janet shut the refrigerator door and stared down her daughter. "Well, Daniel can get his own beer if he needs it."
Cassie shifted her weight again, her head beginning to do that swiveling from one side to the other thing Janet hated so much. "He, like, asked me to get it for him, Mom!"
"I don't care what he, like, asked, Cassandra!"
"Uh, Janet," Sam interjected, "I'm going to go talk to…"
"Fine," Janet answered, never taking her eyes off her petulant daughter.
Sam loped across the lawn, hoping Daniel wouldn't be as drunk as she figured he might. When she reached him, she found him to be unshaven, lacking his glasses, and snoring softly.
"Daniel," she said, eliciting no response. Sam jostled his arm, and when he cracked open his eyes and saw who it was, he drew both arms across his chest and went back to sleep.
"Daniel!" she yelled, shaking the hammock.
"I'm tryin' ta slee', Sam," he muttered.
"You're drunk."
"Am not."
Sam yanked the hammock again, almost sending him sprawling to the ground.
"What ta hell's yer poblem?" he yelped, grasping hold of the sides with both hands.
Sam shook her head in disgust. "My god," she muttered. "You're all vowels, you're so drunk."
Daniel grabbed both sides of the hammock and raised his head, trying to focus enough to see who else was in the backyard. "Did Cassie come back out?"
"You sent her in for a beer, Daniel?"
Daniel dropped back down on the hammock, and tried rolling his eyes at Sam, a motion that came across more plastered than peevish. "I jus' tol' her I was…thirsy. Ty. Thirsty."
Sam glared at him. She grabbed hold of the hammock, jerked it up, and let him tumble out. He hit the ground with a heavy thunk, face first.
"Gawdammi…" he mumbled into the grass.
Sam grabbed hold of the hammock and spun it out of the way. She knelt next to his side and rolled him over. "Daniel!" she growled, tapping his face. Daniel swatted at her hand and then his arm melted back down to the grass. Janet lived in an affluent, lovely neighborhood, and Sam was quite sure the sight of an unconscious drunk in her backyard would set the gossip mill spinning. So she stood astride him, gathered up both of his hands and forced him to sit up.
"Daniel, come on!" she yelled, wrapping her arms through his, which amounted to the equivalent of picking up a loose bag of sand. Janet slid open the door and strode across her back lawn to help Sam.
"We'll put him in the guest room," she said, taking one of Daniel's arms. Together, the women coaxed him to his feet, his arms anchored over their shoulders, and with his feet barely shuffling along, they dragged him into the house. Cassie stepped back, at once fascinated and scared at the sight of him.
"Cass, will you open the guestroom door, please," Janet said, her voice strained by the weight and disproportionate physics. Cassie slipped by them and pulled open the door. Sam thanked her as they passed, and they dropped him unceremoniously onto the bed.
Janet stepped from the room a moment, and when she came back, she was carrying an armful of towels. "I'm taking no chances," she said, tossing the towels next to Daniel. She pulled one off the top and unfolded it, spread it out next to his face, and went for a second towel. Sam grabbed one and did the same on the opposite side of his head.
After the towels were laid out, they stepped back and looked at their semi-conscious friend.
"So—what?—he just showed up at your door?" Sam asked.
"Yup."
"He actually drove here in that condition?"
"Stunning, isn't it."
"More like terrifying."
"Is there something I should know?" Janet asked.
"I'm not sure. Maybe."
"Does the colonel know?"
"I think he has his suspicions."
Cassie stood shielded behind her mother, unable to look away from Daniel's sprawled form. "Is he going to be okay?"
Janet took a step back and kissed her daughter's cheek, pushed her hair over her shoulder, over her ear. "In a few hours, he'll sober up."
The young girl couldn't take her eyes off him. "Is he breathing?"
"Yes."
"He looks awful."
"Why don't we let him sleep now," Janet said, ushering her impressionable daughter out of the room and into the kitchen where she offered her an enormous bowl of ice cream, any or all flavors. Cassie, unsurprisingly, asked for a small scoopful of each—save for the green tea flavor, which she deemed too 'weird.' Janet also planned on offering her daughter a later talk on the truth about alcohol and the devastation that can be associated with it. In a strange way, Janet was almost thankful for the Technicolor display Daniel had shown Cassie. Janet could only hope that Cassie would find it a warning and not a fascination. Or, god forbid, a temptation.
But judging from the way Cassie was listlessly dabbing at her multicolored ice cream, Janet was pretty sure the silver lining to this afternoon was the valuable lesson Cassie seemed to have taken away. Maybe Janet wouldn't need to have that talk with her daughter, after all.
"How ya doin', Cass?" Sam asked, taking a seat next to her, giving her shoulders a quick hug.
"Okay, I guess."
"Can I have a bite?" She picked up a spoon, smiled at her young friend, and snuck a little for herself. Sam thought it important to regain a sense of normality for Cassie's sake. There was no reason, she decided, for someone as young as Cassie to have to shoulder any portion of burden over Daniel's behavior. "Mmm. That's good."
"The peppermint is kind of good, too," Cassie half-heartedly offered. "I mixed it with the chocolate."
Sam dipped her spoon in and portioned out equal parts, equally large. She shoveled the entire spoonful into her mouth, tasted the mixture, lifted her eyebrows and nodded. Despite all she had seen and had to deal with today, she helplessly started to giggle, clamping a hand to her mouth to keep the ice cream from spilling out.
Janet tossed a napkin to her, smiling. "I think we've had enough drooling for one day."
Both Cassie and Sam snickered, then fell silent. Sam rested her chin in her upraised hand, and said, "Have you given any thought about what we're going to tell the colonel?"
"Tell the colonel what?" Jack asked, entering the room, two full grocery bags leading the way.
Sam and Janet shared a quick look, and Sam said, "It's Daniel. He…"
"He has a migraine," Janet took over, keeping her eye on Sam, who nodded after only a momentary pause.
"We…we told him to go lie down in the guestroom."
"I gave him some samples of Imitrex, and that pretty much knocked him out."
"Oh, yeah?" Jack said, finding an interesting kernel of information in the explanation. "What other samples do you have?"
"I have some Cialis? Interested?"
Jack dropped a shoulder, sneered, and dumped his bags on the counter.
"What this?" Sam asked, opening them.
"I brought ice cream," Jack said, pleased with himself, waiting to bask in the warmth of shared adulation. When the three women simply stared at him, Jack blinked. "It's chocolate."
"Try it with peppermint," Cassie said, returning to her ice cream.
Jack leaned over and inspected Cassie's bowl. He made eye contact with Sam, and said, "But I always bring the ice cream."
"Yes, sir," Sam said, taking the four cartons of chocolate ice cream to the freezer.
Teal'c stood quietly behind them, a large white parcel in his hands.
"Are those the steaks?" Janet asked, taking them from his hands.
With a nod, Teal'c said, "They are, indeed."
"My god, Teal'c," Janet said, stooping from the weight, "how many people did you think would show up?"
"I have observed Colonel O'Neill, DanielJackson and Major Carter's eating habits. I thought it wise to err on the side of caution."
"Well, that's very…thoughtful of you," Janet said, making room for the package in the refrigerator.
Jack took a seat next to the two and motioned for Cass to hand over her ice cream, which she didn't. "You can get more," he reminded her.
"Go get your own," Cassie said, wrapping a protective arm around her bowl. Jack spun off the stool, putting as much indignation into his movements as possible, and swiveled around the other side of the counter.
"So. Carter," he said.
"I'm not getting your ice cream," she told him, shaking her head.
"Obviously, rank has no privileges," he sighed, coming eye-to-eye with her.
Sam leaned toward her 2IC, and said, "Not when it comes to ice cream."
The remainder of the afternoon was filled with the mouth-watering aromas of perfectly barbecued steaks, corn on the cob and potato salad. Their chatter never strayed beyond anything deeper than their meals, or what happened on "The Simpson's" that week, and that was generally a one-sided conversation.
Even through all the clatter and talk, when Janet went to check on him, she noted that Daniel hadn't stirred once. He hadn't even changed position.
The glorious late fall weather acquiesced to gray clouds and rain and the party reluctantly moved to the kitchen. When fat pellets of rain began to splotch the patio, Jack and Teal'c made their goodbyes, a carton of ice cream tucked under each arm. That left Janet, Sam and Cass to clean up. Janet again checked on a still sleeping Daniel.
At seven, Janet wiped her hands on the dishtowel, and Sam put the broom back into the pantry. They were just about to sit down to watch a movie when a shadowy figure crossed to the door. Janet and Sam stopped what they were doing and watched Daniel attempt an escape. His hair sticking up in tangles and cowlicks, he opened the front door and closed it with a soft click. He hid his fisted hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the cold rain.
"You're sure," Janet said, turning to Sam.
"I disconnected the battery," Sam told her. They moved to the front window and watched him get in his car and reach to start it.
"This could seriously piss him off," Sam said.
"Good."
Daniel hunched over the steering wheel, biting his lower lip. He turned the key in the ignition, and nothing.
"Maybe we should—"
Sam stepped to the door. "No, I'll go out there." Janet gave Sam an umbrella, and Sam closed the door behind her, slid her hand into her back pocket, and sauntered over to Daniel and his useless vehicle. A sound of distant thunder tumbled over the sky. When she reached his car door, she rapped her knuckle against the window. "Daniel, it's not going to start."
Daniel ignored her and tried to turn the key over one more time.
"I sabotaged your car. You're only going to end up wearing out your starter. Leave it."
Daniel dropped his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He really didn't need to deal with this right now. What he needed, was to get home. He pressed the toggle on his power window to tell Sam just that, and when he did, nothing happened.
"The battery is dead, Daniel," Sam said, raising her voice so she could be heard through the glass and over the rain.
Daniel scowled and cursed under his breath. No, he didn't need this. He needed other things—a tumbler full of scotch, a stein full of beer, a pint full of, well, anything—but Sam's sick attempt at a practical joke, no, he didn't need that, at all.
"Whatever you did, fix it," he said through gritted teeth, never looking at her, trying to stay calm. "I would like to go home now."
"What?"
"I said whatever you did, fix it!" Daniel slammed his hands against his steering wheel. "Dammit! I just want to go home!"
"I'm sorry, you'll have to come outside so I can hear you," Sam said, wondering if Daniel was really that stupid to fall for such a trick.
Daniel groaned, swore a few more times, and kicked open his door, a snide part of him hoping it would hit Sam. Once out, he pulled his collar over his head and said, "Whatever the hell you did to—"
"I disconnected the battery."
"Then fix it," he snarled, but in place of his anger, the boom of thunder made the point for him.
"I will," she told him, "tomorrow. Tonight, I'm driving you home."
He glared at her, but she only met his angry gaze full on. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're probably legally drunk," Sam told him. "You can't drive."
"I'm not drunk."
"You were just a couple hours ago, and you still are now."
"Fix my car."
"No."
"Then I'll fix it myself."
"Without the cables, you won't be getting very far."
"Dammit, Sam!"
"You have a choice—either you go back in Janet's house and sleep this off, or you let me drive you home."
"I'm not having this conversation," he said, turning back to his car.
"You're out of control!" she hollered over the thunderous rain.
"What right do you have to—"
"I'm done covering for you, Daniel."
And for a brief moment, Daniel couldn't feel the rain. Rising panic swept over him, instead. "Covering what?"
"From now on, if I even suspect that you've been drinking, I'm making it known."
"Oh, is that right?" he managed.
"Yes!"
Daniel stared at her, furious. Then he forced himself to take a step back, both physically and mentally. What the hell right did she have to threaten him like this? With that thought, anger replaced the panic and he welcomed it.
Look, Sam," he said, speaking slowly and carefully so she'd finally listen. "Now and again, I drink. It's not a big deal, and I'm getting sick of this bullshit from all of you. Especially you and Jack butting in where you don't belong." A concussive clap of thunder made them both flinch.
"We're concerned about you," Sam said, hunched under the umbrella.
"Don't be. I'm fine."
"You have a problem."
"No… I don't," he protested. "You can't possibly understand—"
"Try me, Daniel."
Daniel shook his head and glared at her. "I have no intention of discussing my…my private life with you! Especially not here, in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm. Jesus, Sam!"
"Daniel, we've been down this road before. Remember the sarcophagus? Remember going through that, how you told me I didn't really know what love was? Do you?" she demanded. Daniel turned away from her. "Well, once again, if you were sober, you wouldn't talk to me this way, and you sure as hell wouldn't be behaving this way."
"You're way out of line, Sam, so just back the hell off," he warned, pushing her aside. Sam grabbed his hand and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to drop to his knees on the sodden ground. Daniel darted his head around to stare at her in shock. "What the hell? Why are you doing this?"
"Because I can!" she shouted, wrenching his hand higher up his back. Daniel cried out in pain. "And because you can't stop me, not anymore. Not like this." With one last torque, Sam let go and stomped through the rain to her car. "Come on. Let's go."
Still on his knees, his heart pounding with shock and fury, Daniel rubbed his shoulder and nursed his pride. There was no way in hell he was going anywhere with Sam, which left one option. Janet didn't ask questions or pass judgment like Sam did, so he'd just knock on her door and ask if he could—
And then he saw Cassie, wide-eyed and watching him through the living room window, her small hands pressed against the glass. Daniel was crushed under her gaze. He hoped the ground would somehow open up, swallow him whole and he could just disappear and this would be over. It didn't matter anymore that it was raining, that he had a pride that needed bolstering. It no longer mattered that he couldn't stand the thought of being anywhere near Sam and her damned accusations. Knowing that Cassie was behind that rain-drenched window and seeing him at his worst went beyond anything he could bear. He scrambled to his feet, slipped on the wet grass, and made his way to Sam's car.
Covered in grass, mud and soaked to the bone, he slid into the passenger seat and hoped to God that Sam would just drive. Darting a glance at her, he noticed that Sam was visibly shaking. She put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway without a word. She braked a little too fast, threw the car into drive a little too harshly. Daniel stared straight ahead, unwilling, and, he had to admit, unable to make eye contact with his friend. He didn't have the energy to face up to Sam's anger, nor could he summon any will to care. All he could he think of was that look on Cassie's face—a mingling of shock, fear and maybe disgust, even. When the nausea came, he didn't know if it was from the alcohol or from self-hatred. He forced himself not to think about it anymore. Forgetting could come later. He forced himself to remain detached from it all. It was easier that way.
They had driven maybe ten minutes in stony silence when Sam felt calm enough to make an attempt at conversation. She glanced at Daniel's profile and was struck by how pale and haggard he appeared. Taking a deep breath, and in as placid a voice as she could summon, she asked, "Did I hurt you?"
Daniel shook his head.
"Daniel, you know I've been trying to help you, but I can't cover for you anymore."
"So stop then," he muttered, rubbing his forehead and turning his face to gaze out the rain dappled passenger window.
"You know it's not as simple as that!" Sam all but shouted. The anger and the frustration were resurfacing, and she fought to keep it under control. Getting angry wasn't going to resolve anything. She had to make Daniel realize what he was doing to himself. "What I'm saying is that you need to stop this, or you're going to wind up off the team," she said, hoping she'd get through to him. When it seemed like he wasn't listening, she decided to pull her next card. "What happens when you get pulled over for a DUI, or worse, you kill somebody. Or you kill yourself?"
"Then I suppose I'll be dead."
"Stop it, Daniel. I'm serious."
Daniel let out a humorless laugh. "I think you're being a little melodramatic."
"No, I don't think so." Sam shook her head and glared at her friend, but he wasn't looking at her. "Have you even taken a good look at yourself lately? You're a mess, and even now, you can't even see straight, yet you drove from god knows where to Janet's. What the hell were you thinking? Oh wait. You weren't thinking, were you? You're too drunk to think, and that's the whole problem, isn't it, Daniel?"
"All right, fine. You've made your point, Sam." Daniel tightly clasped his arms over his chest, keeping his gaze stubbornly averted from Sam's. "I shouldn't have driven. I shouldn't have shown up. I won't bother you again."
Sam slapped the steering wheel in frustration. "Dammit, Daniel, don't twist this around…" Sam sucked in a breath, tried to think of a way to get through to her friend.
"Just give it a rest for now, Sam, all right?" he said quietly. "I'm not talking about this anymore."
Sam ground her teeth. She wanted to shout at him, but, instead, she forced herself to remain silent. Three traffic lights later, she glanced in Daniel's direction and he had tipped his head back, eyes closed, as though he were asleep, but the tense frown and tightness around his mouth betrayed that he wasn't. He was simply tuning her out. And, Sam decided, it was probably for the best for now. Daniel wasn't in any shape to see reason, nor was Sam in any mood to be reasonable.
As she drove the rest of the way, the only sounds were that of the tires whooshing on the wet streets and the wipers scraping across the windshield. As she neared Daniel's street, Sam noticed he had turned his head slightly to look out the passenger window, no longer bothering with the pretense of sleep. All she could make out of his features were the outline of his cheekbone, jaw and the slow rise and fall of his lashes as he blinked tiredly. The raindrops on the windshield cast shadows on his face, making it look as though he were crying. Sam felt like crying herself, wrung out from the tension between them.
Sam was grateful when they finally reached Daniel's building and she pulled the car up close to the main entrance. Before she could even come to a full stop, Daniel startled her by yanking his door open and stumbling out of the car.
"Daniel—wait!"
Without glancing back at her, Daniel gave her a brief, backward wave that was more of a dismissal than goodbye.
Sam watched as he strode to the front door, fumbled for his key and stepped inside, disappearing from sight. For a long time after, Sam let the car idle in front of the building, rain drumming on the roof, the world awash in a watery haze. Sitting alone in her car, Daniel's absence did nothing to alleviate the tension in the small space. All at once, Sam realized the odd feeling that consumed her whenever she was around him lately wasn't anger, nor was it frustration. It was fear. She was scared for him.
With something close to desperation, she also realized that she was completely powerless to help her friend. Sam had always been able to repair everything she set her mind to fixing. Able to sift through any conundrum from every possible angle until she found the solution, and yet despite her best efforts, her best friend was still slipping away from her.
All she had done for Daniel over the past five months was stand by and watch him drown.
---SG1---
The irony of it all had to make Daniel laugh. After weeks, months of speculation on Jack's, Sam's, Teal'c's and even Janet's part, here he was, dry for four days, and feeling fine.
And it was all thanks to the unknowing efforts of Sam and Janet.
They had arrived in Egypt in search of a stolen artifact and Steven Rayner. Knowing the severity of the situation with a potential Goa'uld threat on Earth, for the most part, Daniel hadn't had much to drink.
But that flight to Cairo was long, and the adrenaline rush was dissipating. Somewhere over the Atlantic, the crushing headaches began and the electric tremors in his hands started. Thanks to his top-level clearance, Daniel's backpack made it onto the plane without as much as a glance. At least not from the airmen who helped prepare the flight. Sam—well, Sam was a different story. Her continual, fleeting glances were that of distrust. Daniel was fairly sure he deserved them, but she couldn't possibly understand what he was going through. Even if she could, what business was it of hers?
So when he got up from his seat and pulled his pack from the cargo hold above him, Sam immediately came over to question him.
"I'm going to go shave, Sam," Daniel told her, ready with an excuse before Sam even had a chance to question him. "If that's all right with you?"
"Fine," she said, and he knew by looking at her that she didn't believe him.
"Fine."
And safe in the confines of the tiny bathroom, Daniel searched through his pack for the four airline-sized bottles of vodka he had bought at the liquor store one day on his way to work. Those two-ouncers were portable, easily slipped away, and, most importantly, were just the right size for taking the edge off when he needed it most.
And God, did he ever need to take the edge off…
He fished around in the crevices of the bag. He unzipped the sides completely and searched with his eyes, as well. Wiping sweat from his forehead, Daniel began to implore the bottles to show up. Then, his fingers found one. One. He yanked it out, twisted off the cap, and downed its meager contents without the mouth of the bottle ever touching his lips. He just poured and swallowed. The stuff couldn't get into his bloodstream fast enough. Pressing his back flat against the wall of the bathroom, he dropped his head back with a muted thud and closed his eyes. Two ounces were a start, but he needed more. He was breathing hard, as if he had just sprinted the distance between here and there. His hands went back to the work of excavation, unzipping side pockets, inner pockets, emptying containers. A second bottle turned up crammed inside his camera case and relief rushed thought him. Jimmying out the bottle with shaking hands, he gulped down the contents. It wouldn't be long now.
In the meantime, he thought he had better actually shave. From the bottom of his pack, he removed his travel kit, what Jack liked to refer to as Daniel's own personal beauty regiment kit. And Jack wonders why I drink, he thought. With hands that were now almost under control, Daniel opened the case and found his razor, his cake of shaving cream, his toothbrush and tooth paste, eye drops and a sample-sized bottle of mouthwash. Clear mouthwash. Clear mouthwash in a mint mouthwash container. He unscrewed the top and took a sniff. Decidedly not mint. Daniel stared at the bottle. He wondered when he had filled it.
He stared at it a moment longer, then swallowed it down, too.
He grasped the small sink, closed his eyes, and let his head droop for a moment. God, he was tired. There was some turbulence, and he lost balance, but caught himself before hitting the floor. At least he hoped it was turbulence. Could it have been him? He opened his eyes, and waited for another turbulent. Nothing. He studied his features in the mirror. The harsh, fluorescent lighting cast terribly unflattering shadows across his face. He pulled off his glasses, set them on the counter. He turned on the water, cupped his hands underneath the stream. He splashed the cold water on his face, hoping that it would bring some color to his gray-tinged cheeks. He looked again at his bloodshot eyes, at the sunken, dark sockets, at the deep lines around and between his eyes. He used the eye drops and it burned, like sand in his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, ran his tongue against his teeth. His tongue couldn't quite make out the texture of his teeth, which was a good sign that the shakes and the jitters and the headache would begin to abate soon after.
Which meant he'd better shave in that trough of time between how he had felt and how he'd soon feel. He lathered up, cocked his head, and pulled down on the skin of his neck. A dull blade. However, it raked against a generally numb face, so…
There. Shaved, cleaned up, and equalized. He rubbed an extra dollop of toothpaste far back on his tongue for good measure. One last look. One more dose of eye drops. Done.
Daniel made his way back to his seat, thankful for the minor set of turbulence that might mask any of his own turbulence. He tossed his bag into his seat and found a corner of his own. "I'm gonna catch some shuteye," he told Sam. He curled up amongst the supplies that were making the trip with them and closed his eyes. Still, he knew Sam was watching him, appraising him. What did he care? The bees that had been swarming through his veins only moments ago were now back in their hive. All was good with the world.
Forty-eight hours later, Daniel and Sam were sitting in Steven Raynor's military hospital room, waiting for him regain consciousness so they could fill in the holes of his memory with lies. Sam was on the phone with General Hammond, and Daniel was fingering the singed weal on his forehead. Hour after hour, they waited for Steven to open his eyes. Hour after hour, Daniel felt worse, his headache pitching up notch after notch until it was nearly unbearable.
Sam covered the mouthpiece on her phone, and looked at him. "You okay?"
"Headache," Daniel told her truthfully without opening his eyes and massaging his aching brow.
"I'll get Janet."
"No, I'm…" Gonna be sick, he decided, cold sweat breaking out on his skin. With a blinding pain behind his eyes, he staggered to the bathroom, turned on the water in the sink full stream, then collapsed in front of the toilet and vomited what felt like everything he'd eaten for the past three days.
"Shit," he gasped, staggering up from the commode. He leaned over the sink's basin and rested his pounding head on his arm. He cupped some water into his hand, sipped from it and spit it back out, trembling from head to foot. This was bad. He knew he had been a little out of control, but he had no idea how far he had allowed it to go. And he couldn't even blame his pathetic state on the ribbon device. He'd been on the receiving end of that thing twice before, and it hadn't felt like this. No, this was different. This was something worse.
He splashed some more water on his face, anchored his hands on the sink, and breathed in a few shuddering breaths. "God," he whispered.
"Daniel?" Janet called from the other side of the door.
Daniel peered at his reflection, his red eyes, his sweat-dappled skin. "Um, yeah! Give me a minute, okay?"
"Daniel, I'm coming in," she said, pushing open the door.
Nowhere to turn, Daniel braced himself for the questions he knew were coming.
"Sam said you looked ill. Headache?"
What could it hurt to tell her the truth? He nodded and pressed the heel of his palm into his eye. "Yeah. Crushing."
Taking hold of his wrist to check his pulse, she asked, "Nausea? Vomiting?"
What the hell… "Yeah."
"Well, you know what I think it is," she said, leaning back against the door. Daniel was fairly sure what she was about to say, and he certainly knew what he thought it was—that awful drying out period. "I think the ribbon device had more of an effect on you than you're letting on."
Daniel took in her expression, hoping she wasn't messing with him. "Makes as much sense as anything," he muttered.
"I've had good results back at the SGC with beta blockers to manage the after-effects of the ribbon device," she said, rubbing his arm a little to offer some comfort. "I'm going to have the nurse bring you some for the pain."
He made a show of reluctantly accepting the medication, told Janet that she was fussing unnecessarily over him, and that he was fine. All of which was met with Janet's no-nonsense attitude and doctor's orders to rest for the remainder of the day.
In truth, Daniel was grateful to her, and the medication couldn't kick in fast enough. Since he couldn't have a drink, well then, the drugs would have to suffice, and they did. They knocked him out cold for about 10 hours, and he woke up feeling a little achy, but otherwise fine. Better than fine. Good, even
Two days later, walking the halls of this US-held Air Force base in the middle of Egypt, Daniel felt great, better than he had in months. Which was good, because until he was back at the SGC, he didn't know when his next drink would come.
Maybe he didn't even need a drink. His drying-out period hadn't lasted as long as he'd thought it would. He presumed that was because he really hadn't been drinking as much as he'd thought. Maybe it was over, this latest episode.
Rounding the corner, he collided with Sam.
"Daniel! Sorry," she said. She stepped aside to let him go by. He didn't.
"I'm, uh…I'm going down to the mess hall, get some lunch. Did you eat yet?" he asked.
Sam brushed her hair out of her eyes, looking strangely bewildered by his question, and answered, "No."
"Wanna… get something?"
She sighed. "Sure."
Walking toward the cafeteria, they didn't speak. Truth be told, they hadn't really spoken about anything other than their missions in months. When he and Sam did speak off the clock, it was all arguments and accusations, and he couldn't take that anymore. Their lives—all of them: Jack, Teal'c, Sam, Janet, and Daniel—seemed to be taking opposite trajectories.
When did it begin? In Russia? No, before. Euronda, certainly. Jack had been short with Daniel; Daniel had been short with Sam; Sam was…
It was even further back. It was…
Daniel felt a sudden heaviness press against his chest. His pace hitched, briefly. The onus, he realized, was all on him. He thought he should stop, right in the middle of the hallway, face Sam and tell her of his realization. But he didn't. He kept walking, carded his hand through his hair, and just kept walking.
"I've been a little detached lately," he said, hoping he sounded sincere enough for Sam to believe him. Hoping she, too, would understand the symbolic gesture of movement, how he was working toward overcoming this inertia in their relationship by forward movement. Somehow, he knew what he had to tell her must be said in transit. Please don't slow down, Sam… "I know I've been… distant. I guess… Which is to say, it really…"
"What, Daniel?" she questioned, her voice softer than he'd heard in many months.
Daniel scuffed his feet along the floors, still gaining ground. "When Sha're died… It took more out of me than I expected."
"I know," she said, hooking her hands behind her back, walking slowly alongside him.
Daniel sucked in a deep breath. "I just want you to know that…that I'm back. I'm here. And…and I'm sorry."
Sam blinked with surprise. "Okay," she said after a moment. Even so, he didn't believe that she really was okay with his answer. Not yet anyway. They just needed some time, and they'd make it back. In time.
"Wow, I'm famished," he said with mock surprise, rubbing his stomach.
"Really?"
"Well, yeah. It's 1400. I didn't have much breakfast. Aren't you hungry?"
"It's just that I haven't really seen you eating much lately."
That seemed an odd thing to say, but he continued walking. Oddities aside, they were still making progress. "I eat," he corrected, trying not sound too indignant.
"Not lately. Lately, you just drink."
That stopped him in his tracks. Sam stopped, too, a few feet in front. She turned to face him. She squared her jaw and looked him straight in the eye. It was more than Daniel was prepared for. He dropped his gaze to his feet.
"I know. You're right," he said, and when he glanced at her, she seemed surprised by his admission. "I've, uh… I've been hitting the bottle pretty hard lately, but," he paused, then raised his eyes to meet hers, his gaze somehow both challenging and imploring, "it's over, Sam. I'm done. I, uh… I do this every couple of years. I don't know why… losing Sha're, I guess was… was too hard… but it's over now. I promise I'll make it up to you. I'm finished."
"Uh-huh. When's the last time you had a drink?" Sam asked, her expression and voice steely.
Daniel felt his face burn with shame. "I… don't recall. A couple of weeks ago, maybe?"
"No, Daniel," Sam said with almost a sneer. "Try four days ago, on the cargo plane coming over. You forgot a couple of your mini-bar empties in the sink. Good thing I was the one who found them, huh?"
He flinched as though she'd struck him. There it was, the cold hard truth of it all. Finally. He started at her stunned, sickened by his own carelessness and stupidity. Even still, he tried to think of a way to convincingly explain it, to cover up. When all he found in her eyes was pain and anger, he bit back the excuses. He'd seen that look so many times before—in Sha're's eyes, in Sara's eyes. He'd seen it someplace else, too. He stared at Sam until that other, nearly forgotten face became clear, until those familiar yet disapproving, questioning, pain-filled eyes were brought into focus.
"This can't go on, Claire," Daniel's father would say when he thought his young son was far from earshot. "We can't go on like this."
"I'm not having this conversation with you, Melburn," she'd answer, lifting her drink to her lips. Her answer to most things.
"Daniel, I need to know when this ends," Sam said, yanking him back to the present, both with her cutting words and the rough tug on his arm.
"What?"
"I need to know that all the lying, all the covering up—that it's over." Sam's eyes were bright with tears and that shamed him ever more. "I can't do this anymore."
What could he say? He knew those eyes. He understood that look of betrayal. Of realization. His masquerade had finally, fully been exposed, and there really wasn't anything more to say, was there? Something that felt strangely like relief washed over him. There was nothing more to hide.
"You know what, Sam?" Daniel finally said. "I'm not having this conversation anymore. What I need right now is to get some lunch." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the commissary. "Are you coming, or not?"
Sam just stared at him, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Okay, fine," he said with a shrug, "catch you later." With that, he turned and strode away, leaving her standing alone in the corridor.
---tbc---