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Sam knew she'd find what she was looking for. She didn't even dare hope that she'd find nothing. Standing in the middle of Daniel's office, she knew it was just a matter of looking in the right place. She'd been suspecting it for months. And after her conversation with the colonel and Janet, yeah, she knew. She knew she'd find something here.
Sam slid open his desk drawer, pushed aside papers and supplies. Nothing. She straightened up the contents and closed the drawer again. Was it possible that there really wasn't anything here? No, Daniel simply would be that obvious about it. She'd find what she was looking for. Opening his file drawer, Sam flipped through papers and files angled back toward the divider. Nothing. She closed the drawer. And thought about angled files. Angled files have a way of collapsing on themselves, not remaining straight. She yanked open the drawer again and pulled the group of files forward.
There it was. On its side. A wedge to prop up all those files. A pint of vodka. Sam lifted it carefully, as if it were evidence, as she supposed it was. She placed it on the desk, sat back heavily in Daniel's chair, and shut the drawer with her foot.
"Dammit!" she shouted, seizing the bottle and the garbage can next to his desk. She shot up from the chair, pitched the bottle into the can, and vowed to find every last damn bottle in his office. She knew there were more here. She could feel them. She felt them mocking her, from all corners of his office, taunting her that they had been in his office all along, right under her nose.
Throwing open lab-table drawers, rifling through papers and equipment, Sam came up empty. Maybe she had found the one and only bottle. No, she quickly quashed that thought. There were more of them here. She knew it.
The bookshelf, she thought even as her gaze fell upon the rows and books along one wall. Behind ancient textbooks, books on mythology and dead languages would be the last place Daniel would ever expect anyone to look. She began to carefully search behind each book. But that took too much time. Instead, she pushed whole sections of books as far as she could flat against the shelf, figuring that if anything was hidden behind, certain books wouldn't slide back, like a piece of the puzzle revealed.
And there it was – three books stuck out. Sam grabbed hold of the books on Celtic mythology and inched them out. A nearly full bottle of whiskey was stashed behind them. "Nice," she said, sliding it off the shelf and tossing it, too, in the garbage can. It landed with a sharp clatter.
"Wonder what I'll find behind the Russian section," Sam muttered under her breath, and going with the same tactic, she shoved every book on the shelf against the back. Then on to the next shelf. With each smack of books against the wall, her anger and resentment grew. How the hell had it come to this? How did Daniel, who was so smart, who seemed so far beyond something like this…
And then she noticed another bulge in the row of books. She ripped the books from the shelf. A fifth of gin. She hurled the bottle into the garbage can. Hooking her fingers onto the tops of entire sections of books, Sam began to tear them from the shelf. First six, then eight, then the rest of the shelf, then the shelf below, all tumbling to the floor, burying her feet, careening off his lab table.
A flashlight. She had come upon a flashlight behind a stack of books. She wiped the tears from her face, blinked, and stared at it a while longer. That was strange... Why would there be a… She picked up the flashlight from the shelf, and when she did, she felt the slosh of something liquid inside. "Oh, Daniel," she breathed out, closing her eyes for a moment. She steadied herself against the bookshelf and let the enormity of the situation careen over her.
"Major Carter."
It was Teal'c, his mellow voice full of concern and his ever-present reason and calm was exactly what Sam needed right now. She slowly turned around and showed Teal'c her stricken, tear-stained face. She jerked her chin in the direction of the garbage can. Teal'c looked at what was inside, and his face became clouded with both confusion and worry. Sam didn't have time to wonder how much Teal'c understood of this new reality.
"Will you help me find the rest of them?" she nearly whispered. Teal'c looked around at the mess she'd made of Daniel's office, then gave her a slight nod, sadness in his eyes, and Sam realized that he knew enough.
---SG1---
Over two hours since he'd first stormed over to Daniel's place, Jack found himself retracing the same route. The entire drive back to Daniel's place, Jack deemed himself an idiot. All he'd done was make things worse, and he just hoped that he'd get there in time to set things right again. Over and over, he cursed himself for blowing his top like that with Daniel, but dammit, the guy always had to push it right to the limit, didn't he?
Christ, Daniel had even taken a swing at him. A year ago, hell, a week ago, Jack wouldn't have thought Daniel capable of that. Sure, he'd learned to be good in a fight, when need be, but striking out at one of his friends? Not in a million years.
But it had happened. And Jack had been so close to hitting him right back. If Daniel hadn't looked at him like that, with that resigned mingling of fear and strange acceptance, waiting for it, Jack suspected that he would have hit him. God knows, he'd been damned pissed off enough to do it.
And maybe, just maybe, Jack amended, he had been pushing some of Daniel's buttons, too. He knew Daniel had been acting like a loose cannon for days, hell, for weeks now, and Jack, instead of trying to resolve the situation like he was supposed to do as team leader, and well, as the older, more mature one; he had to admit that he'd only made things worse. He'd gone over there looking for a fight.
Dammit.
Jack flashed back to those bottles. Up until the point when he saw all those damn bottles, he might have been able to rationalize away Daniel's behavior. But not after taking in the glass skylines of bottles on every counter and lining the floor. This time, it seemed as though Daniel was trying to do himself in. One bottle at a time.
Lost in thought, Jack nearly missed his turnoff. He swung wildly around the corner, waving off the angry blast of horn behind him. Parking on the street in front of the building, Jack climbed out of his truck, jogged up the front door of Daniel's building, nervously jangling his keys in his hand.
What would he say?
Up the elevator and down the hall. How would he explain his own behavior? He had gone to Daniel out of concern, right? After all, that's how it started, right? Things had just gotten a little out of hand, right? He honestly hadn't meant to lose his temper.
Shit, how was he going to explain?
Stepping in front of Daniel's door, Jack paused, scrubbed his hand across his face and took one more moment to plan his next move and nothing came to mind. Not a single, encouraging, apologetic word.
Dammit, just wing it, O'Neill, he told himself, frustrated.
"Daniel?" he called out, opening the door with his spare key. The place was completely silent. No drone of the television or radio or stereo. No sounds at all, and it left Jack feeling cold and anxious.
Stepping from the hallway toward the kitchen, Jack called a little louder, "Daniel, you here?" The underlying smell of the apartment surrounded him—of something that had gone bad in the refrigerator. Like sour milk or moldering food. He froze when he saw the mess on the kitchen floor. Broken glass, scraps of garbage—rotten food, tissues, coffee grounds—strewn across the hardwood. Jack was stunned, transfixed with something close to horror. Jesus. Had he really done all that? Bitter acid roiled in his stomach, and he was again ashamed of himself, sickened by his actions.
He stepped farther into the kitchen and noticed the bloody streaks tracking the hall, followed by a clearly imprinted bloody half-footprint leading to Daniel's bathroom.
"Daniel!" Ice filled Jack's veins as he spun toward the bathroom. In that moment, Jack conjured all kinds of horrific images of Daniel lying bloody and shattered on the floor, bleeding from all kinds of self-inflicted wounds.
He heard a muffled thump coming from inside, and called out once again, "Daniel, you in there?" Not waiting for an answer, he threw open the door, all the while saying a quick prayer of thanks that the door wasn't locked.
Daniel darted his head up, startled by Jack's sudden appearance, as though he hadn't heard Jack come in. He sat huddled on the floor, his legs tucked up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees and pressing his back against the wall in the space between the shower and the toilet. Wearing nothing but a faded pair of sweatpants, Daniel's lips had a bluish cast, and he was visibly shaking. His wet hair was plastered to his skull and a washcloth was clumsily tied around his right hand. He stretched out his legs to try to stand up, and that was when Jack saw the open, still oozing cuts on the soles of his feet.
Jesus. Dammit, Jack chanted in his head, just staring at his friend for a moment before his training kicked in. His knees protesting, he crouched down in front of Daniel, touching his bare shoulder, and was shocked by how cold he was. "Daniel, are you okay?"
Daniel nodded even though his teeth were rattling together with cold and probably shock.
"Yeah, right you are," Jack muttered, 'stupid question, huh?" He yanked a towel from the rod and wrapped it over Daniel's shoulders. "Stay here. Don't move," Jack ordered, getting painfully back to his feet and rushing from the bathroom. Stumbling over assorted garbage, Jack went into Daniel's bedroom, found an old, tattered robe hanging from the back of the door. He snatched it up and quickly made his way back to the bathroom. Daniel had managed to haul himself up from the floor and was sitting on the closed toilet seat, hunched over his legs, still shivering. Jack pulled the towel away and helped Daniel pull on the robe. It was too big and Jack tucked the collar snug around his friend's neck. As he leaned closer to the toilet, he caught a whiff of old vomit and had to bite back another curse.
"What the hell, Daniel?" Jack growled, vigorously rubbing his hands up and down Daniel's arms through the thick robe, trying to generate some heat, some response.
"T-took a c-cold sh-shower," Daniel managed through his rattling teeth. "Th-thought it might m-make me f-feel better…"
"Guess that wasn't such a good idea, now was it?" Jack said a little more gently, relieved that Daniel was at least coherent. And then he remembered the bloody footprint. He reached down for one of Daniel's cold feet, and peered at the underside. He crouched down to an uncomfortable level to get a better view, and in doing so rattled off an impressive string of curses.
"I'm fine," Daniel whispered, pulling his foot from Jack's grasp. "I'm okay. J-just gimme a minute…" he muttered, wrapping his arms tight around his chest. "W-what are you doing here anyway? Didn't you j-just leave?"
"Yeah, I did," Jack said, looking at his friend again. "And… yeah, I'm back," he added somewhat inanely. He dug around in the cupboard under the sink, tossing out cleaning supplies, soap and paper towel, until he found the first aid kit. Perching on the edge of the tub, Jack picked up Daniel's foot again and rested it on his knee. A weak attempt was made to gain back his foot, but Jack shot Daniel a warning look and held tight to his ankle. Daniel scowled at him, but held still.
Not allowing himself to think too much, Jack pressed peroxide-soaked gauze pads to the worst of the cuts. Daniel hardly registered the resulting sting, so Jack bandaged the cuts as quickly and as efficiently as he could. Then he took hold of Daniel's wrist, gently tugging until Daniel gave in and held out the injured one. Jack took great care unwrapping the stained washcloth, and as soon as it was off, he saw the deep, ragged cut and winced in sympathy.
Jack folded a towel and placed it under Daniel's hand. He poured more of the peroxide over it, dabbed some sterile gauze on the cut and then fashioned three of the closest approximations to a butterfly bandage he could devise, and applied them to the cut. He wrapped gauze around the hand and finally sat heavily on the tub rim. He took a long look at his friend, still hunched over a little, still shaking. Jack reached out a hand and lightly rubbed Daniel's back, trying to offer him some warmth, some atonement for earlier.
"It's gonna be okay," he said, but he wasn't sure if the reassurance was for his benefit, or for Daniel's.
Daniel whispered something, but it was so faint, Jack barely registered it.
"What's that?" he asked, leaning closer.
"I'm sorry, Jack."
"Yeah, me, too," Jack said glancing down a moment and clearing his throat. "What d'ya say we move this someplace a little more comfortable, huh?"
Daniel nodded and Jack took hold of him by the wrist and around his back. Daniel pulled away as soon as he was on his feet, but Jack hovered close as Daniel limped to the living room.
Jack carefully steered him away from the sight of the kitchen, and settled his friend on the couch. He picked up the blanket crammed in the one corner of the cushions and draped it over his friend, tucking it under Daniel's cold, bandaged feet.
"Stay put, all right?" he ordered again, but Daniel said nothing and sank down into the cushions, dropping his head back, and closing his eyes. Jack took that as an affirmative.
A quick assessment of the kitchen, and Jack set into effect his plan of attack. He turned on the water kettle, and while he waited for it to boil, he quickly swept up the broken glass. He only found one empty garbage bag, which was quicklly filled, and so he swept the rest of mess into the far back corner of the kitchen where it would be the least in the way. Carter would have to deal with it when she got here.
When the kettle whistled, he brewed a strong cup of tea and set it on the counter. While it cooled, he cleaned up the smears of blood from the floor.
Before carrying the steaming cup out to Daniel, Jack ladled in two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. He figured that Daniel was in some kind of shock, or withdrawal, or something to do with triglycerinigens or whatever the hell Janet had called it, and he knew the caffeine and sugar would help.
Jack perched on the coffee table in front of Daniel, holding the cup in his hands. "How you feeling?" he asked when Daniel darted a glance at him.
Daniel chuffed out a soft, sardonic laugh. "Not so good," he said quietly, his eyes bright with the onset of tears.
The admission caused another wave of guilt to pour over Jack.
Swiping a hand over his eyes, Daniel looked away from Jack stare at the rows and rows of multicolored spines of books on a tall shelf opposite the couch.
"Drink this," Jack told him, leaning forward to press the mug in Daniel's hands.
Daniel carefully accepted the mug, but made no moves to drink from it. He kept his gaze fixed on the shelf. He seemed to looking at something in particular, and Jack followed his gaze and noticed the old photos; one of Daniel as a kid, grinning and sitting on top of a camel, one with his parents, his mother sitting off to the side, nearly outside the frame of the shot. Jack supposed that maybe Daniel was thinking of happier times, better places than this, and Jack sure as hell couldn't blame him.
"Daniel. Drink. It'll help," Jack repeated, uncertain what to do, uncertain that Daniel was even aware of what he was holding.
Finally, Daniel nodded, and leaned over the steam, his hands shaking so badly the tea nearly splashed over the sides of the mug. Keeping his eyes averted from Jack's, he took a careful sip. "I didn't think I'd see you again," he said in a quiet, subdued voice. "Not until my suspension was up. That is, if I'm even still on the team."
"Never mind about that now," Jack said, leaning forward, trying to meet Daniel's gaze, but he still wouldn't look at him. "Daniel, I'm gonna ask you something and I want you to be straight with me, all right? No matter what your answer is, I promise that I'm not get mad or yell at you, I just… I want you to know that you can trust me, okay?" Daniel's gaze flicked in Jack's direction for a moment, but he didn't reply. "This has been going on for a lot longer than you've been letting on, hasn't it?"
Daniel tensed, and Jack thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he nodded.
"How long, Daniel?" Jack's voice was soft, but firm and unwavering. "How long have you been drinking?"
Daniel looked down, then took another sip of his tea before answering. "'For a long time," he answered in that same resigned voice. "Nearly my whole life, since I was twelve, I guess. But after Sha're… it's just... it's been harder to… to get it under control."
Jack was momentarily taken aback, stunned. "Jesus, Daniel." He thought back to all those times Daniel had turned up late for his briefings, for all those times he, Carter and Teal'c had spent waiting for him to turn up in the gateroom. Daniel had always passed off those lapses with the excuse of losing track of time, with having too many things to prepare, his typical, 'sorry, had my head in a book and forgot that it was Tuesday,' but how many times had those absent-minded excuses been flat-out lies?
Jack couldn't wrap his head around it. He simply couldn't figure out how Daniel had managed to hide it so well. Even after he'd had to rescue Daniel that one night downtown, Jack had never suspected anything of this magnitude. Not a thing. The enormity of what he had been trying to pull off, and had largely succeeded at up until these past few months, was mind-boggling. Jack tore a hand through his hair. He was suddenly developing one hell of a headache. But all that could wait - the details, everything else. Right now, he had take charge of this situation.
Taking a deep breath, he said, "Okay, well... we need to do something about this." Daniel finally met his gaze, his expression guarded, cautious, and Jack felt another pang of remorse for his own out of control behavior. He moved from the table to sit beside Daniel on the couch as a show of camaraderie, that he was on Daniel's side. "Listen, in a little while, Carter and Fraiser are coming over."
"What?" Daniel frowned, his eyelids blinking heavily. "Why?" He sat up a little straighter to give Jack more room and placed the nearly full mug on the coffeetable.
"Well, call it an intervention, of sorts," Jack said, turning so that he was sitting facing Daniel. "The lying, the covering up… it stops right here, and we're gonna help you get past this."
Daniel stared at Jack. "I… I can quit on my own."
"No, you can't, bud," Jack corrected. "Not anymore."
"Yes, I can," Daniel shot back a little desperately. "I've always been able to quit—"
Jack held up a hand, halting him. "Daniel. It's over. We're on to you, and you have two choices right now. One – you let us help you, and no one else has to know about this. Or two - Fraiser throws your ass in a rehab clinic, and I think we both know what'll happen to your career if it comes to that." He stopped and waited for his words to sink in.
Daniel shook his head, fury and barely suppressed terror warring for dominance on his features.
Jack met his gaze full-on. "What's it gonna be, Daniel?"
Daniel dropped his gaze. He tried to take a deep breath that nearly turned into a sob. He pressed his bandaged hand to his mouth, trying to halt the tears that wanted to come.
"Hey, it's gonna be all right." Jack leaned forward and grasped hold of Daniel's forearm. "We can get you through this. If you let us." Jack ducked his head a little to try to meet his friend's gaze, but Daniel refused to look at him.
"Daniel?"
Darting a glance at him, Daniel swiped his hand over his eyes and took another deep breath. Finally, he nodded. "Okay," he nearly whispered after a moment.
"Okay," Jack echoed, giving his friend's arm another quick, reassuring squeeze before letting go, and through the weary resignation, he could detect a glimmer of cautious hope in his friend's blue eyes. Jack knew that Daniel's simple affirmation meant that one battle had been fought and won.
The next, most difficult one, however hadn't even begun.
---SG1---
When Sam finally drove up to Daniel's apartment building, loaded down with cleaning supplies and heavy-duty garbage bags, she was surprised to see Jack just getting out of his truck. She had thought he was going to be at Daniel's long before she got there. Sam found a parking spot next to Jack's truck. In the rearview mirror, she took one last glance at her eyes, knowing they'd be all blotchy, no matter how much concealer she tried to apply. She sighed, rearranged her hair a little, got out of her car and went around to the trunk. "Colonel."
"Fancy seeing you here, Major," Jack said, reaching for a bag in the bed of his truck. He noticed how many bags Sam was attempting to juggle, so he locked up his truck and offered an arm for Sam to fill with bags.
"Carter?" Jack said, immediately noticing the puffiness around her eyes. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay." Sam placed a bag in Jack's arm, tried to smile, and said, "Janet here?"
"Yeah," he said, using his knee to find a better grip on the bags. "She's with Daniel. Sent me on an errand."
"How's… how is he doing?" Sam asked, slamming her trunk shut.
"For the most part, he's okay," Jack said, turning to make his way back to the apartment. "Doc's checking him over now though."
The two used Daniel's key to enter the building and his apartment. Before entering, Jack turned toward Sam. He felt he needed to warn her. He thought he had warned Doc Fraiser, but he knew by her reaction when she had first entered the apartment that he might have, sort of underplayed the actual state of the place. "Whatever you're imagining, double it. No, multiply it by a factor of…"
"I got it, sir," she said, peeking over his shoulder.
Even so, it wasn't enough. Sam thought that she was prepared for the sight based on what she had seen in Daniel's office, but this was so much worse. This once immaculate apartment looked as though it had been trashed and burglered. Artwork and artifacts were askew on the walls, tipped over on shelves. And everywhere she looked, bottles and glasses, everything was on the floor – clothes, books, papers.
She wouldn't cry. Not anymore.
"Hi, Sam," came Janet's quiet voice. The two women hugged. Over Janet's shoulder, Sam watched Jack clear a place for all the cleaning products, for his own bag. She saw him furtively glancing at the two women, and Sam had a moment to wonder if the colonel was hurting as much as she.
"How's Daniel?" Sam asked as she pulled back.
Janet cleared her throat, forced a smile, and said, "He's a mess, but I've got it under control. I gave him a Valium. His blood pressure was a little on the high side." She nodded in the direction of Daniel's bedroom. "You can go in, if you want."
"I… I wouldn't know what to say," Sam said, finding herself suddenly, ridiculously afraid to face her friend.
Janet touched Sam's elbow. "You don't have to say anything. Just the fact that you're here is good enough."
Passing the colonel, Sam paused to look into the bags. "Did I get everything we need?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I think it'll do." Jack pulled a bottle of Lysol from one bag and set it on the counter. When he noticed Sam heading toward Daniel's bedroom, Jack said, "Remember the warning I gave you about this place?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm just sayin'… I've seem crack houses in better shape."
"I'll be all right," she said. She knew what he was trying to do - trying to distract her, and she was grateful to him for that.
When she opened the door to Daniel's room, she called out his name. Looking around the nearly dark room, she tried to take stock. It was almost as bad as the rest of the apartment, but not quite. Perhaps the decided lack of light helped mask most of it, or maybe he hadn't been spending that much time in here.
There was no sound from the still form buried under a mound of blankets. Sam padded across the room. She had to see him, she decided, invitation or not. "Daniel?" she called again, crouching down beside the bed.
Daniel turned over onto his side facing her, his eyes still closed. She was stunned by the pallor of his skin. His swollen eyes, rimmed with dark circles and the three day's worth of beard made him look far older than his years. A wave of remorse swept over her. She wondered if she had just said something sooner, if she had confronted him sooner, if hadn't tried so hard to cover up for him, then maybe it wouldn't have come to this. Maybe...
"Hey, Sam."
She blinked, pulled from her recriminations and tried to smile at him. "Hey," she echoed and rubbed his arm. "How are you doing?"
"I've been better," he said with a faint smirk, a glimmer of the old Daniel. After a moment, he sat up, leaning his back against the headboard. "Janet gave me something…" he said as he swiped a hand over his face, and blinked a few times. "it's making me a little… spacey."
"It's okay," she said softly. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. I'll just let you get some sleep. Sam started to get to her feet again.
"I… I'm sorry, Sam," Daniel nearly whispered, looking up at her, his voice wavering, his chin trembling. She stopped, then perched on the bed beside him, taking hold of his hand. "I didn't mean for this…"
"I just don't understand all this, Daniel," Sam admitted, and despite her best intentions not to cry anymore, tears filled her eyes, her throat tightened. "How could this happen? How could you let it go this far?"
"I don't know," Daniel said, and his breath hitched. "I just... I couldn't stop. I couldn't..." He looked down at their joined hands and tears spilled down his face.
Sam leaned forward, cupped the back of his head and gently touched her brow to his temple. His skin was hot, clammy, and in this close, she could feel his entire body trembling.
"I'm sorry," he quietly said again. Sam pulled him into her arms, and after a moment, he returned her embrace, tucking his chin against her shoulder.
Sam held tightly to her friend, as though she'd never let him go, and she supposed she needed some forgiveness, too.
---SG1---
Janet ladled the soup into the bowl, placed a sleeve of crackers next to it, and took a deep breath to steel her resolve. She'd need it. In the last day, even the most trivial request or minor question directed toward Daniel was met with either snappish derision or petulant silence. It was part of the process, she knew. Well, the scientist in her knew. The friend couldn't help but feel more than a little pissed off.
Jack, flipping through a newspaper while sprawled out on the couch, offered, "You want me to go get him?"
"No," Janet said, although, truth be told, she would have preferred it. "No, I'll get him. I'm sure it's my turn."
"Suit yourself," Jack shrugged.
Janet padded off to Daniel's bedroom door, all the while realizing how very tired she was. After she had arrived and assessed Daniel's condition, she'd decided to dose him with Librium, sedate him properly so that he could rest.
Then, Jack, Sam and she had spent the better part of two days cleaning his apartment, carrying garbage bag after garbage bag down to the dumpster, and searching through his belongings in order to find hidden contraband.
Now and again, they'd check on him, one at a time, trying not to wake him, or aggravate him. A few times, Jack was called into service to help Daniel into the bathroom. Through it all, Daniel was largely silent.
But now, the Librium had worn off, and Daniel had refused any further medication. He was over the most serious withdrawal symptoms, but this next level—headaches, sweating, anxiety--was almost as difficult to ride out.
"Daniel," she said, tapping on his door. "Daniel? I have some soup for you." When there was no reply, Janet slid open the door and peeked inside.
He was sitting hunched on the end of the bed, holding his head tightly, as though he was afraid it would explode, and Janet knew that his headaches were getting unbearable.
"Daniel? You okay?" she asked, taking measured steps toward him. She had a bag full of all sorts of pills that would help. All he needed to do was ask.
"Daniel, how can I help?"
"Just… leave," he ground out through clenched teeth.
"I mean how can help you manage your—"
"By leaving."
"Okay," she said, brushing the loose hair from her forehead, fatigue weighing down her shoulders. "Let's take another route. Daniel, I made you some soup. Would you like to come out and eat, or would you like me to bring it in here?"
"I don't want any."
"You need to eat."
"You don't know what I need."
"Okay, then why don't you tell me what you need?"
Daniel considered the request, and raised his head, his eyes bloodshot. "Look, I've done this before. I know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Taper off."
"Daniel—"
"What I need—what I want is a shot of gin," he interrupted. "Two…two shots. Just to take the edge off. That's all."
"You want me to bring you a drink."
"Yes," he said, nodding, his fingers twining together. "See, I think…I know I would be much more successful, more comfortable if I could just—"
"Daniel, I'm not going to allow you to drink and you know that."
Daniel stared at her, his wide eyes suddenly flashing with anger. He visibly forced it back, chewed on his lip a moment, then stood and began pacing. "You… you don't understand how this works."
"Daniel," Janet began, closing her eyes, finding she, too, had quite a headache, "this is part of the addiction and the withdrawal symptoms that I explained to you."
Daniel kept pacing and threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Well, you asked me how you could help! And I told you!"
"Daniel, I was asking about your obvious pain levels," Janet said as patiently as she could. "You don't need to suffer like this."
"And I told you that I wouldn't be in any pain if you… you people would just let me…let me go through this on my own!"
"Is there a problem?" Jack asked, entering the room.
Janet sighed, turning to face Jack. "Daniel would like me to get him a drink."
"Yeah, right," Jack snorted, "like that's gonna happen."
Daniel stopped pacing to lean up against the wall, his arms woven tightly around his head.
"Look, Daniel," Jack said, "Doc made you some lunch. Now here are your options; you eat, or you don't. You'll notice that nowhere in that list did I include a drink."
"Leave me alone," Daniel nearly pleaded.
"What's your decision?" Jack asked.
"I said leave me alone!" came the muffled, angry reply.
"I guess that's a 'no' to the lunch," Jack said to Janet.
"I guess it is,' Janet agreed, and she and Jack shut the door on their way out, leaving Daniel alone in the room.
Daniel began pacing again. They didn't understand. Or, he thought, maybe they did understand, but maybe they just wanted to see him suffer. Oh, and he was suffering. Every vein in his body felt like frayed electrical wires; his skin crawled, pulling taut over the hard ache of bones. And his head—a constant pounding, right behind his eyes. He leaned his forehead against the wall and pressed his palms against his skull. It didn't help. His jaws ached from grinding his teeth together, only adding to the pressure in his head.
A prisoner in his own home, he snorted. Jack and Janet—they were the two guards outside his door, who stood between this madness and his sanity.
"Just one fucking drink!" he bellowed. He was fairly sure he wouldn't get a response.
But this pain, this razor-blade slicing of pain was too much. He dug his nails into his scalp, and finally called out for Janet.
In the kitchen, Janet exchanged a glance with the colonel, and waited for Daniel to call out her name again.
"Janet!"
"I believe I'm being beckoned," she said, rubbing a hand over her forehead.
"Want me to go talk to him?"
"No, I can handle him."
"While you're in there, ask him if he has anything better to read," Jack requested, depositing himself back on the couch. "Some Tom Clancy, Stephen King, I'm not fussy."
"I'll see what I can do." Once again, Janet returned to Daniel's bedroom, not bothering to knock on the door. She found him leaning up against the wall, breathing hard, his features pinched with pain.
"Yes, Daniel."
Admitting that he was in pain was admitting he was in withdrawal. Admitting he needed something to ease the pain was admitting that he couldn't handle it, even though he knew he deserved this punishment. He'd let this go way too long, and this misery was all his own damn fault, but still, he'd had enough. His bruised and battered pride had capitulated long ago, but even still, it was hard to say the words, to give in.
"You gave me something in Egypt," he said, refusing to look Janet in the eye.
"Beta blockers."
Please don't make me say anymore, he thought, biting his lip.
"I'll be right back," Janet said gently, sympathetically, and he wanted to weep with gratitude, but he didn't. He held it together until she got back. He choked down the medication and waited for it to take hold. Even when it did, he still wanted a drink so badly he could almost taste it.
--- tbc ---