A week or so later, Daniel's ankle had healed enough to allow him to walk from his desk to his coffee machine and back, which was good enough for Dr. Frasier.

Daniel sat at his desk and surveyed the large mound of things to translate and other such information from the SG teams that he needed to thumb through.

"Joy," he thought sarcastically. "I may as well get started." He reached for the topmost folder, flipped it open, and winced as a sheet of paper sliced across his thumb. "Paper cut," Daniel said unnecessarily. "Evil creation spawned from the pits of-"

He dug around the disaster that was his office, and decided that either his Band-Aid stash had been stolen by the Band-Aid Gremlins or he had used them all up. Either way, he was resigned to going back to the infirmary much sooner than he would have liked.

"Back so soon?" Janet Frasier asked, eyebrows raised, when Daniel appeared through the door.

"Paper cut," Daniel explained apologetically.

"I see. Should I prepare an IV?"

Daniel pulled off a wan smile. "No, I just need a Band-Aid. Got any?"

It being the infirmary, of COURSE there were Band-Aids, and so it was with a convenient flesh-colored bandage wrapped around his thumb that Daniel Jackson returned to his office and reopened the report.

It was from SG-1. He fought down a pang and looked through what they needed translated. The language was rather confusing; a mixture of Goa'uld, Ancient Babylonian, and- Spanish? Oh, how Daniel would have LOVED to be at that planet! They had never encountered Spanish before; he could only IMAGINE what artifacts might have been there, what sort of-

Daniel shook himself and proceeded to translate. It was fascinating. It talked about a sacred artifact called "The Doorway." Daniel would have done anything to be there!

Feeling himself begin to get lost in memories, he moved quickly to shut the folder, earning himself another paper cut. On a random whim, he squeezed a drop of blood onto the sheet he'd been translating, and, knowing it would turn up at a briefing at one time or another, wrote "with love, from Daniel" underneath. Jack would get a kick out of it, and it would hopefully cause General Hammond some guilt.

Finger in mouth, Daniel considered all his miserable luck as he wandered back to the infirmary.

"Again?" Janet said in disbelief. In addition to the one for his current cut, Janet sent five extras back with him.

By the end of the hour he was wearing them all. By the end of the day there was little actual flesh visible. By then end of the week it was difficult for Daniel to move his hands at all, so layered with bandages they were.

There were Band-Aids on his arms and face also, marking where he had run out of coffee and fallen asleep on his work.

"Really," Janet joked, "You may have been safer off world!"

Daniel thought about that. Maybe, if he could prove that the office was just as dangerous as it was off world. . . And then, without actually knowing or realizing it, Daniel just gave up trying to prevent office injuries.

The next day he stapled his thumb, tripped over his wastebasket and cracked his head on the desk, earning him a broken toe, a slight concussion, and a very sore thumb. Somehow later that week he knocked over his filing cabinet onto himself and broke his only good leg. A week and several paper cuts (of course) later, his bookshelf became unbalanced and toppled over. In that accident, he was knocked from his wheelchair and pinned beneath the heavy shelf for several hours until he was found. He escaped that with a fresh wave of paper cuts and a few cracked ribs.

A few days after that he preformed the classic "stapling-of-the-thumb" again. When he was accidentally bumped from behind the same day, he went hurtling down a flight of stairs. The day he got out of the infirmary after that catastrophic event, he broke his own nose while wrestling to open a door, reeled back in pain, and quite effectively flipped his wheelchair. He repeated that entire process two days later and re-broke the arm that had been healing.

Janet finally put her foot down and had Daniel locked in the infirmary, and tethered him to HIS bed when he wouldn't stop trying to get up, insisting he was fine. His bed promptly collapsed.

"Maybe those Jaffa were right," she told Daniel as she and her assistants tried to find a way to get him out of the mangled metal. "Maybe you ARE cursed." They finally decided there was no way to do it without inducing pain, and simply heaved him out.

"I never thought you were one to believe in curses, Doctor," Daniel gasped.

"I sat on that very bed earlier," She told him, "and it didn't so much as shudder once."