They flew in audiologists, eye doctors, larynx surgeons. The best of the best with all their fancy gadgets.
The prognosis was immutable—
There was nothing physically wrong with Daniel Jackson's voice or senses. He just wouldn't talk.
This was only further proven when Jack got his voice back just fine. It still hurt the sores on his face to talk but at least he made an effort at the debriefing.
Of course, then there were dietitians and Holocaust scholars and anyone Janet could think of to help the two men keep down something that wasn't broth.
The first time Jack had eaten a baby cracker, five days after their liberation, he'd thrown it up ten minutes later.
Janet's face had drained of colour—the most terrified Sam had ever seen her. She knew then that things were very, very bad. That there was still a chance they might lose both to the starvation and bodies' stubborn rejection of solids.
That wasn't even mentioning Skype calls with psychologists and therapists to figure out how to separate the two men for longer than a bathroom break.
They were still currently in "hospital arrest" as Jack called it. Confined to a dimly lit infirmary because Daniel was touch and go for a while.
Jack could barely stand, let alone roam around, though he fought Janet on this point.
There were a scary forty eight hours where Daniel wouldn't eat either. Not even water. Just stared up at the ceiling and wouldn't respond to their voices. Catatonic. Janet ordered a crash cart on standby and Sam began to pray.
That's when it started:
Jack opened his mouth. He talked. And talked. And tttaallkkkeeddd.
Over the first two weeks, that's pretty much all he did.
It's like he had to make up for all of Daniel's lost words. He read Daniel books. Long books. He chattered about the commissary menu and missed hockey stats. He recited the paper, jokes even when Daniel didn't say "who's there?" in reply.
When they were finally given a wider leash, at the fifteen day mark, the SGC never lost track of Daniel because he never went anywhere without Jack and Jack was a one man talk radio station.
Sam grew used to hearing his—their—approach down the hall.
This role reversal was the most alarming thing of all, like they'd entered a topsy turvy Wonderland where everything was upside down. A silent Daniel Jackson was the eighth wonder of the world.
Soldiers gaped at O'Neill pushing Daniel's wheelchair through the corridors, his weak voice calmly informing Daniel about the latest Simpsons episode that he missed.
Three weeks of this and even Walter looked harried.
"Daniel?" Sam poked her head in. Other patients were still asleep but Daniel's legs hung from the side of his bed. Even his lanky limbs didn't quite touch the floor.
Sam was reminded of how much younger he was than anyone else on base, certainly the youngest on SG-1. He wore a fluffy sweater and jeans.
"You ready?"
He blinked like an owl, mouth an 'o'.
"We talked about this last night, Daniel, remember?"
Daniel's gaze wandered to the wall.
Sam kept her voice low. "Daniel. Hey. Stay with me. You've kept mashed foods down for a whole week now and you finally weigh more than Janet!"
The humour didn't reach Daniel, as usual, but it succeeded in bringing him back to the present. Sam held out a bomber jacket.
"It's a gift. Well, it was my father's. I thought it would keep you warm for a breakfast picnic. It's your twenty-fifth day home anniversary! Can't miss out on celebrating that."
Daniel didn't ask for the jacket, with his hands or voice, but he squished his fingers in the leather when Sam draped it over his lap. He never asked for anything.
Anything.
Sam wanted to resurrect Haines just for the satisfaction of killing him again.
The first days back, when Daniel was well enough to sit up, Siler had given him a pen with pad of paper and waited. Daniel looked at it. Looked at Siler. Then he'd pushed it away and zoned out.
He wouldn't shake or nod his head to simple questions.
Their concern was how much Daniel understood at all. How much he was taking in and comprehending. If psychological trauma was affecting his coherency.
Sam had to disagree with Dr. Mackenzie on that one. Daniel still jumped at sudden voices, relaxed or tensed at touch. He obeyed without hesitation, bathed and changed when ordered to.
His eyes could still follow something that fascinated him, like the therapy dog that had licked Janet's face.
He was here he just wasn't connecting, like he spoke a different…
It felt at first like a butterfly wing. Flutters on Sam's skin drew closer, a faint heartbeat pulsating in time. Sam surfaced from her worry to see Daniel's hand encircle her wrist.
It was the first contact he had initiated since the day of his rescue. Over three weeks.
Sam actually jumped. Daniel's hand disappeared.
"No! Sorry!" Sam recaptured his hand in both of hers. "Got lost in my thoughts there. We're twins that way, huh?"
Daniel cocked his head. He pulled away to slide on the jacket. Then he met her eyes, waiting, always waiting.
"It looks good, Daniel. You remind me of my father in old war photos."
Daniel glanced around for Jack as he stood.
"No, Daniel. Just you and I this morning."
Sam took his elbow and ignored a pang of guilt. This excursion was a two-fold plot between Teal'c, Janet, she, and Hammond:
To get Daniel in some sunshine, something he'd gone almost two months without, and to really separate Jack and Daniel for the first time. Jack was getting the last of the sores on his face treated by a visiting dermatologist.
Something he'd been told would take less than twenty minutes.
It's not a lie, Sam argued with herself. His procedure really will take twenty minutes. Daniel just won't be here when he gets back.
Sam intended to keep Daniel topside for at least an hour. Daniel pliantly followed Sam's guiding hand to the elevator.
"I almost forgot!" Sam poked Daniel's side. "There's something for you in the left hand pocket."
Daniel blinked at her, not moving. Hiding her disappointment, Sam reached in and handed Daniel a pair of prescription sunglasses. He turned them around in his hands.
Then he offered them to Sam.
"No, Daniel." Sam sighed. "They're for you. They go on your face."
"Colonel?"
"Yeah. Just…just give me a minute."
Janet said nothing. She lowered herself beside Jack and continued to rest her hand on his leg where he sat on the bed. His knees were drawn up to his chest, head bowed. His body quivered faintly under her fingers.
Today was a milestone: they'd shaved the thin stubble from his face, now that the worst of the sores were fading discolorations. Being malnourished ensured their hair hadn't grown long under those masks, but Jack's shoulders had squared after they finished.
He felt military, himself, again.
Until he came back to their room to find Daniel gone.
It was like narcotics withdrawal. He wouldn't stop shaking.
"I know this is hard, Colonel, but—"
"No, Doc. I get it. We have to do this. Daniel deserves it. I just wish my body would get the memo."
"Colonel." Janet's grip went white around his kneecap. "You were in a hostile environment for over a month. No safety, no telling where harm would come from next. No opportunity to even speak. Daniel was the only constant, the only kind soul. You found refuge in each other. I'd say it's textbook…"
Jack coloured a little, but he smiled. Janet felt lighter just seeing it. "We're never ordinary, huh?"
She hummed a laugh. "I didn't think you two knew the word. Your brain will remember this is a safe space, even without Daniel an arm's length away. Give it time."
Jack ducked his head.
"Hey." Janet's firm voice raised his eyes, shame filled. "Hostage survivors experience this all the time. It is, dare I say it, normal. To be expected, anyway."
He nodded but Janet could tell it hadn't fully sunk in. Her chest ached.
Each man had his own issues—Jack was like a man drowning without Daniel nearby. Daniel's mind was still lost somewhere they couldn't reach. She felt useless. Medical knowledge could only get them so far.
O'Neill rubbed his eye and Janet gripped his hand this time.
"Colonel?" she asked, sotto voce. "What really happened in that prison? After you were ambushed?"
At first she didn't think he'd answer at all. When he finally did, some three minutes later, his laugh was the last thing she expected.
A bitter sound, it pushed from his throat like broken glass. "My time in Iraq was more intense, physically speaking. They beat us almost every day."
The dead glisten in Jack's eye flared to life. "But this…to me this was worse."
Janet said nothing, not wanting to scare him off. Jack had refused to see a therapist. This was his first time directly speaking about what happened.
Her heart raced.
"They didn't really do much to me. Not after a few tests in the lab. They made me…see things. Things I wasn't sure were real. Gathering intel about memory associations. Then they left me in that cramped hole, barring an injection every morning. Ha."
His hands trembled now too. "Towards the end, I couldn't even muster strength to knock back when Daniel 'talked' to me.
"Every few days, his cell went silent for the morning. I didn't figure it out until later b-but I think…think they were…taking him to the lab. A lot more than me."
"They didn't have to hit you to do harm," said Janet. She ran a finger over the ribs visible on his collar and the electric shock scars hidden under his jaw.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "They had to replace my mask. Did I tell you that?"
Janet shook her head.
"I broke it."
She stared at him.
"I short circuited the thing my first night there from…from screaming for Daniel."
Comprehension hit Janet with the force of a Boeing. "This was worse because they didn't see you as human."
Jack nodded. "Not even as the enemy, like in Iraq, just…just…"
"Animals."
Fraiser and Jack whipped up at Sam's voice. She stood in the doorway, smelling of fresh air and cut grass.
"You were lab rats," Janet breathed.
For a minute Sam's overwhelming desire to cry was carbon dioxide in the room. Janet choked on it. Then Daniel brushed past Sam and her eyes went incredibly soft.
"Daniel picked a gift for you, sir."
Everyone suddenly breathed.
Jack's smile was almost too bright for his face. It must have hurt but he clearly didn't care. "Well get in here then, Tonto."
Daniel, in a new—old?—jacket, his shoulders hunched a little in some body language Janet didn't recognize, brought his other hand out from behind his back.
Jack's brows shot up. He pressed the blue bouquet to his nose. "Forget-me-nots! We haven't smelt flowers in a long time, have we?"
Daniel wouldn't relinquish his grip on them. He tugged them out of Jack's hands. Jack's gaze immediately sharpened and his intense concern scanned Daniel's face. He grabbed a flapping wrist.
"Daniel? What are you trying to…?"
Daniel's fingers knotted in his hair. Janet tried to pull them down.
All at once, Daniel slammed the wall. At first Janet thought he was finally displaying emotion, anger, anything.
Then they noticed a rhythm.
"Do it again, Daniel." Jack stood. "I didn't catch that."
Daniel tapped the wall five times: in a diamond shape with one far below, a tail. Jack, like he was programmed to do it, followed his friend's knocks and traced a shape.
Connect the dots. That must be how they designed new 'words.'
"Stars," Jack whispered. Louder, "You're right, Daniel. The flowers do look like stars!"
Daniel's eyes were now on the ceiling. Instinctively, Janet and Sam looked up.
Jack, however, pulled his friend into a fierce hug. Daniel didn't hug back but his nose rested in the soft fabric of Jack's hoodie. "We'll see them again, Daniel. I promise. I promise. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you that night. So sorry…"
"It's not your fault, sir," Sam quavered at him.
"The night we lost you guys and were ambushed, we were dragged on our backs. All we could see were the stars. I promised Daniel…we'd live to see Earth's stars…I promised. It's the last thing I said before the muzzles were put on. The last time I saw him…"
Everyone else in the room might have been close to tears, but Janet lit up like Christmas morning. Her breathless cry of excitement brought their eyes to her.
Sam frowned. "Janet?"
"Don't you see?"
They stared.
"He remembered!" Janet squeezed Daniel's taut shoulder. "His memories are intact. Not only that—he asked for something."
That quick scene in the hospital room sparked the SGC to life. SG teams recounted the story in hushed, excited whispers. Psychologists were re-consulted. Spirits were high.
While Daniel still didn't respond to basic questions, his face expressed a tiny bit more than it had. Sam could finally read under that big brain's hood. At least some of the time.
With a successful first run, Daniel and Jack were moved to separate rooms. They still knocked on the wall to each other.
Jack still had a telepathic read on Daniel, even when floors separated them. Once, Jack stopped a conversation with Sam mid-sentence and ran to the elevator.
When she'd followed him down, they found Daniel sitting in his closet, bleeding. The stitches had reopened. He didn't seem to notice the pain at all. Sam, shocked, had stared at O'Neill while calling for Janet.
Yet now they had a shiny new tool:
Hope.
It made Walter greet Daniel in the hallways, the other SG teams go off world with fresh enthusiasm. Because of it Teal'c resumed his Star Wars marathon with Jack.
It started Sam's argument with Hammond.
Three days after the incident, this was the last place she ever expected to be.
"I said it before and I'll say it again, Major. I can't approve something so drastic when he's still unstable."
Carter stood before General Hammond's desk, one hand on her hip. The other gestured in the air.
"Sir, with all due respect, I disagree. Colonel O'Neill is better than ever. His physical therapy is almost over. Daniel can walk about on his own. He's stronger."
Hammond sighed and leaned back in his chair. Sam jumped in.
"He asked for something, General. Daniel. Our Daniel. He asked for something! How can we refuse that?"
"Did he say he wanted this specifically?"
"That's not fair, sir. You know he's won't make a sound."
"Did he write it down?" Hammond pressed.
"Well, no."
"Then I can't stand behind your assumption."
"He sort of…drew it…on the infirmary wall."
Hammond's eyes clouded. "Daniel could simply have been remembering Jack's words. What you saw might even have been an expression of grief. Pain at the night of their capture. What if this hurts him more? Brings it all back?"
"Sir." Sam's hard voice cracked. "I don't think he ever left."
A nuclear shell of silence stifled both for a minute.
Hammond shook his head. "It doesn't feel like Doctor Jackson came home at all, does it?"
"We can't just leave him," Sam whispered. "If this could garner even a sliver of reaction from Daniel, don't we have the responsibility to try?"
Hammond's head lowered while he thought. Sam's lips firmed. She'd said her piece. But she wasn't leaving this office until she had his agreement. She'd set up a tent if she had to.
"They come right back here in the morning."
Sam let our her breath in a whooshing sound. Like an activated gate. "Yes, sir. At 0800 sharp."
"And Doctor Fraiser stays with them."
"I was planning to invite her anyway, sir."
Hammond nodded and Sam knew she'd won. She read the anxiety in his eyes because she saw it every morning in the mirror.
"You know, sir, you could come too. We'd be happy to have you."
Hammond smiled. "Maybe another time. Take some pictures for me."
"Teal'c bought a shiny new Canon yesterday."
Hammond's chuckling followed Sam out the door.