This chapter took a little longer than usual, and I'm sorry about that guys! I got a little stumped, and then I was busy working on another story...sorry! OK, I promise I won't do that again if you people will leave reviews, ok? That always helps me go faster. :) So anyway, here's a new chapter for your enjoyment, and for those of you reading my other SG-1 story, "2018", there will be a new chapter for that up shortly as well, within the next day or so. Thanks!

Chapter 30

It was happening again. The nightmare. The one he'd been hoping he would never face ever since Sha're had been taken as a host. He'd never thought he would die at his own wife's hand, under the Goa'uld's control. But it had happened. He'd died. And it was going to happen again and he couldn't stop it.

Danny struggled against the jaffa, but they were too strong. There was no one to help him, and the dagger was in Sha're's hand again. Amaunet was moving closer, that smile he hated on her face.

No. NO! He couldn't go through this again. Not again. Not like this, especially when he knew what was coming. It had been bad enough the first time.

Amaunet drew back her hand to strike, and Danny panicked.

"No! Sha're, don't! Help me, please! Sha're!"

But Sha're said nothing, the Goa'uld said nothing, only smirked at him and thrust forward with the knife. And suddenly it was all slow-motion.

NO! No, this had to be a dream. It had to be! Help! Wake up, wake up!

And just as the dagger pierced his flesh, sending pain searing through his torso, Danny woke, screaming. He opened his eyes at the sound of his scream, and he found himself in his bed, doubled over in pain under the covers. He groaned when he realized that part of the dream hadn't been his imagination.

Grimacing, he pushed his blankets off; he was sweating, and when he reached up to his face he found tears there. A nightmare. It had only been a nightmare. He'd been having way too many of those lately.

Danny moaned and wrapped trembling arms around his middle. His stomach still hurt, though, and suddenly he realized that at the moment it was much worse than the soreness that Doctor Fraiser had said would be there for several days, and worse than the phantom pains he's been experiencing from being stabbed. After a another moment or two of laying there, breathing deeply and hoping it would go away, he finally recognized the pain for what it was--hunger. He needed food. He hadn't eaten in over three days.

That's right; eating something ASAP was one of the final things Janet had reminded him to do before letting him leave sickbay with Jack. When he'd woken up in the infirmary there had been an IV in that had been re-hydrating him, but that had been all, and that had been taken out shortly he'd woken up, after his older self had left to check on the off-world-activation alert for the colonel--the off-world-activation that had brought the other SG-1 team from an alternate future, the team that included a future version of Sha're…

Jackson slowly sat up and hung his legs over the edge of the bed. For a moment he put his face in his hands and moaned again as the memories of the previous day came back to him. Finally he scrubbed his hands over his unshaven face and stood, wincing in pain and wishing that hunger was the only thing hurting him. But it wasn't, and he knew getting something into his stomach wouldn't take away all of it. As he'd expected, the Tylenol hadn't helped at all. Well, at least some of his current discomfort could be solved easily.

Or…not so easily, he thought again, as he stumbled into his kitchen, switched on the light and squinted around the room against the sudden light. There was almost nothing in here; he'd been planning on going grocery shopping as soon as the got back from P5R-316, but then P5R-316 had become the Amaunet incident and he'd been gone much longer than expected and on the way home earlier that night he'd forgotten to stop at the store near his apartment building. Perfect.

Sighing, Danny made his way over to the cabinets to see what was still there. When he didn't find much he grabbed the only box of Easy Mac left, emptied three packets of noodles instead of one into a bowl, and stuck it in the microwave. Then he turned and, seeing the almost empty bag loaf of bread sitting on the counter that probably needed to be finished soon before it molded, brought it with him to the table and sat down to wait for his macaroni to finish cooking, munching on a slice of white bread.

By the time the microwave dinged, only two of the five pieces of bread that had been left remained in the bag. Jackson pushed the bag aside and made his way back to the counter. He pulled the bowl out, found a clean spoon, and emptied the three corresponding packets of cheese into the bowl. Sitting down at the table again, he stirred in the cheese until the cheese sauce was well enough mixed and then dug in.

When Danny finished the huge bowl of macaroni and cheese, however, he still wasn't full. Searching the cabinets again, he broke out a pot and the Spaghetti O's. Thankfully, even though he wasn't full he'd eaten enough that the pain in his stomach was a little better, and even if he couldn't do it in complete comfort at least he was able to stay standing relatively easily while he stayed in front of the stove, stirring his next course--which he quickly realized would be his last, because it was all that was left. He would have to eat breakfast in the commissary on base, and he definitely had to go to the store tomorrow.

The Spaghetti O's were finally ready, and he poured them into the same bowl he's been using a few minutes before, after he rinsed it. Then he sat and ate, realizing that it had been a while since he'd actually eaten this stuff, and that it had probably sitting in the back of the cabinet for a while. He grimaced, but calmed again when he noticed that it didn't taste strange. He should have thought about that before opening the can, looked to see if it was out of date, but now the can was in the trash and he'd already started eating them anyway. Well, they seemed fine. He'd gotten lucky that his slow mind at this time of night hadn't gotten him in trouble.

When he finished eating, Danny dumped the pot and bowl into the sink and ran water into them, deciding to wash them in the morning. He was too tired at the moment; his eyes were already starting to close again.

Sighing, the exhausted and sore archaeologist dropped onto the couch, pulled a pillow under his head and closed his eyes, hoping that the nightmares wouldn't return. Once was bad enough. If they continued, he didn't know how he could face anyone in the morning, much less Sha're.

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Daniel gasped as he awoke, sweat-drenched. He sat up, swallowing hard and wiping the moisture from his face. He took an unsteady breath. Nightmares. Perfect. That was all he needed. His week was going bad enough already, and if the good night of sleep he was supposed to be getting was going to be disturbed by bad dreams, he wouldn't be awake enough in the morning to be any help with their problem--the problem of getting home.

He sighed. What had those night mares been about again…? Oh. As if he could forget--more dreams along the lines of the ones he'd been having before they'd left the SGC of the future. Only worse, with new elements from what had happened to him there this time. And…something else.

Daniel moaned, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands when he realized what it was. The knife, what had happened to his younger self. He'd seen it, felt the pain, and remembered the horror--all as if it had happened to him yesterday and at the same time as if it were an old memory that had haunted him for years. Part of him felt as if it had. He knew that it was different from what had happened the first time, and he still remembered it that way, but the new memories of the altered past were becoming more and more real to him.

He wondered if eventually he would forget that it had ever been different. On that note, when he got home what would his friends remember? If his hunch was correct, they would probably only remember this past. Not that it would change much. His future would still be the same whenever and however he returned, but he was already becoming aware of one or two subtle differences. One of the more clear ones was vague recollection of Mitchell saying something else before Daniel had separated from the team--something about being careful around the time device if he found it, because they wouldn't want anybody getting lost like 'the other guy from back then', and Sam agreeing, and him knowing what they meant, remembering a future self that had been stuck in their time years before. He supposed that really had turned out to be him.

Try as he might, however he had no different memories from after where he was now. The new memories past memories only made themselves known after the events had happened where he was now. It was all too confusing, frightening…and it wasn't helping his sleep any.

Daniel sighed and flopped back onto his pillows again, but winced when it made him aware of an ache in his stomach. It wasn't bad, and in fact barely noticeable and the kind of thing one would usually only notice if they were thinking about it, but it was there nonetheless.

Jackson frowned and pushed his hand under his t-shirt, running it over the skin there and then pressing down to check more closely for injuries, but he found none. He hadn't expected to, because what he was feeling wasn't there. At least not anymore. It was only the phantom pains of old wounds come back to haunt him, and maybe even a bit of real ache. After all, even with six year old healed stab wounds that was possible…and Daniel shuddered when he realized how real all of this was. In six years, the younger self that he had been talking to only hours before would be him, and he had been that younger self at one point. He wasn't changing things anymore, couldn't think that he was in an alternate past anymore. Now it was his past.

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Jack O'Neill looked up at Danny's balcony as he pulled into the parking lot at the archaeologist's apartment building. All the light still seemed to be off and he detected no movement. Huh. The younger man had been late before, but he'd never still been sleeping two after he was supposed to show up for work.

Well, after what he'd gone through the past three days or so, not to mention the previous day specifically, the colonel couldn't really blame him. Now though, it was time to wake p, and he had volunteered for wake-up call duty. He'd tried it by phone at first, but when Danny hadn't answered jack had opted to go out to his apartment instead. And he couldn't deny that he was a bit worried about his friend.

The down side to coming here, though, was that the building was older and didn't have an elevator, which didn't do O'Neill's knees any good as he trudged up to the top floor. Once outside Danny's apartment he knocked a few times just in case, but when there was no answer as expected, he tried the door.

The knob turned easily, and Jack let himself quietly into the apartment. He started to head back toward the bedroom to wake his friend, but soon spotted the archaeologist passed out on the couch in a rumpled t-shirt and pajama pants and changed direction. As he got closer he realized that Jackson was shifting in his sleep, moaning something, and he frowned. Closing the distance between them a bit more quickly, O'Neill put a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder and started to shake him.

"Come on, Danny. Time to wake up, buddy."

Jackson stiffened, and his moaning became pleading, panicked words. But O'Neill couldn't understand them--it sounded like Abydonian. The colonel shook more urgently.

"It's just a dream, Danny. Wake up for me, will ya?"

Danny pulled away, shaking his head as his voice rose. The only two words Jack could make out were 'Sha're', and what, if he remembered correctly, was the Abydonian word for 'no'. But it sure was one heck of a forceful no. O'Neill's blood ran cold when he realized what his friend was having nightmares about. Aww crap. The poor guy just got out of there; why does this have to happen, make him relive it again…?

Now thoroughly worried, Jack took his friend's arms and pulled him upright and propped him against the back of the couch so he could free one hand to slap at Danny's face.

"Wake up, Danny! It's a dream Daniel! Come on!"

But Jackson's demeanor only became more frightened, and he shook his head violently and tried to pull away again, sink back into the couch as the words came out more quickly.

"Danny!"

Danny shouted again, the words coming out in a tearless sob. Then he screamed, and if Jack hadn't been standing right in front him and known that he was alright he would have thought that he was really in agony. Oh crap, O'Neill thought, catching Jackson's free arm when it swung toward him.

"DANIEL!"

Finally Danny's eyes snapped open, full of tears and fear as he gasped.

"Danny…?" Jack asked carefully, slowly sitting down beside him.

"J-Jack?" Danny's eyes drifted toward Jack, his chest still heaving and his wrists still caught in O'Neill's grip. When he saw that they were in a position to strike at someone he lowered them, and Jack let go.

"Yeah, Danny. I'm right here. You all right?"

Jackson collapsed back against the couch and closed his eyes, gulping back the tears in his throat as his arms went around his hurting middle. "Not really," he said quietly.

"Nightmares?"

Danny nodded, "Yeah."

"Bad?"

"Oh yeah," he sighed.

"I'm sorry…" Jack said slowly, not sure what else to do. "So…do you usually speak Abydonian in your sleep?"

Jackson's eyes opened and looked at O'Neill again. "What? Oh…I don't know. I wouldn't; there usually aren't other people around when I sleep…Which begs the question, 'Why are you here?'"

O'Neill motioned toward the digital clock sitting on the coffee table in front of them and shrugged. "You're two hours late, and you weren't answering the phone. Guess you were kinda dead to the world. "

Danny looked at the time and winced. "Sorry."

"Ah, it's okay. Considering how yesterday went for you, nobody back on base is too upset--just get over there soon."

He nodded. "Right. Thanks for waking me up. You can go on back if you want," he said, leaning forward as a precursor to standing. "I'll come as soon as I can get rea-oww!"

O'Neill's hand shot out to catch Jackson's shoulder when he cried out and fell back to the couch after starting to stand. "Danny?" he asked in concern.

Danny blinked a few times, both in surprise and to keep back the lingering tears brought by the nightmares. "Uh, sorry…I'm okay. I'm just still a lot sorer than I thought I'd be; tried to get up too fast or something…" But the pain remained, and part of him wondered if it was his mind playing tricks on him again. He knew that some of it was real; Janet had warned him that it would be there for several days, but as vivid as the dream he'd just had had been, it wouldn't have surprised him if the pain that was piercing his abdomen was mostly still in his head. He sighed heavily and rested his head in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees.

Jack gave a sympathetic wince and rubbed his friend's back for a moment, before speaking again.

"Hey, how about this? I'll wait here until you get ready to go, and I'll give you a ride out to the mountain today. We can stop by the infirmary first thing when we get back and see what Fraiser can do for you."

Danny lifted his head again and nodded weakly. "Okay…thanks Jack."

"You're welcome," O'Neill said, patting Jackson's leg before standing. He held out a hand to his friend. "Want some help?"

Silently Danny reached up and took the offered hand, and Jack supported him as he stood, pain flickering across his face.

"You got it?" O'Neill asked once he was on his feet.

Danny let go of Jack's hand. "Yeah, I got it. Just had to get up. I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

"Jaaack…" the archaeologist gave him an exasperated look, and the colonel raised his hands and stepped back.

"Sorry, just checking--you know how I am," he shrugged.

"Overbearing, overprotective, obnoxious, sarcastic…" Danny muttered, moving off and shuffling towards his bedroom and his clothes.

"What?"

Danny waved a hand above his head back at Jack. "Never mind. I'll be right back."

Jack sighed as the door closed behind his friend, and then headed into the kitchen to see if he could find something to have ready for Danny to eat by the time he came back out. After a minute or so of looking around, however, he found nothing--not even a Pop-tart.

"Hey Danny, where's all your food!" he called loudly.

"I ate the rest of it last night. I'll get something to eat in the commissary," came the reply from the other side of the wall.

Jack rolled his eyes and went back out into the living room to plop down on a chair until Danny came out of his room. It was another few minutes before he did come out, fully dressed and ready to go. He still looked exhausted and a little pale though. O'Neill stood up again.

"How much sleep did you get last night?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Jackson shrugged. "I don't know. I slept most of the night, I guess. But I kept having nightmares…" He gulped and looked away.

"Sha're?" O'Neill asked quietly.

He nodded. "Jack, I don't know if I can…" He trailed off and winced, but Jack knew what he meant. He clapped him on the shoulder.

"It's okay Danny-boy. I'll be right there for you, okay?"

Danny looked at him again. "Thanks," he said softly.

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Jack's hands tightened on the steering wheel when he heard a heavy sigh from the other side of the cab of the truck. He was still worried about his friend, who right now sat slumped against the passenger door, his head resting on the window as he stared out through it. One of his arms was still wrapped around his middle, but he didn't seem to be hurting as much as he had been just after waking up anymore. That much was good. What wasn't good was how quiet Danny had been since leaving his apartment. Daniel Jackson was never this quiet.

O'Neill glanced over at him again, saying the first thing that came to mind. "So you are planning on going grocery shopping sometime soon, right?"

Danny looked back at him. "Huh? Oh, yeah-" Suddenly he stopped and sat up. "Jack, look out!"

The colonel returned his attention to the road just in time to see the car that was pulling out in front of them, serve away from it and stamp on the brakes.

The next thing Danny knew the truck had jerked to a stop on the shoulder, and the back of Jack's right arm had slammed into his nose.

"Yow!" Jackson cried in pain, jerking back into the seat as his hands came up to cover the offended part of his face. "Jack! What was that!"

O'Neill flinched. "Are you okay? Sorry…I was a parent, remember?"

Danny grimaced, still gently rubbing his nose. "Yeah, but I highly doubt Charlie was as tall as I am--or that you were in the habit of nearly knocking his head off every time you had to stop quickly."

Jack shrugged. "It's been a few years. So my aim's off."

"Oh for cryin' out loud…" Danny said, his eyes rolling.

But despite himself, he started to laugh, and soon Jack joined in. It didn't help the ache in his stomach any, but for a minute or so, as both of them laughed, Danny didn't care. After the way his week had gone so far, it helped just to laugh for a moment. And it helped him feel like maybe, just maybe, he would be all right.