DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended. The story is for entertainment purposes only.

SPOILERS: Season 7

SYNOPSIS: What makes Daniel so special?

*************************

Chapter 1

"Welcome back, SG-5."

Daniel stumbled as he hit the ramp, his legs wobbling and his vision blurred at the edges. He sucked in a deep breath, blinking, and the General's smiling face came gradually into focus. Donovan's hand clamped onto his shoulder, steadying him.

"You all right, Dr. J.?"

Daniel smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine, Sean. Just lost my bearings for a minute."

The lieutenant released his shoulder with a slap. "I hear ya. Sometimes the rush hits you harder than others."

Daniel continued down the ramp to where Colonel Bruster was speaking to Hammond. "...went off without a hitch. Thanks to Dr. Jackson we were able to communicate with what passes for their town council. They were only too happy to allow us mining rights in exchange for food and technology."

"Excellent, I'm glad to hear it. If those deposits of naquada are half as extensive as they appeared in our preliminary readings, your patience with the natives will prove invaluable."

"Their initial reaction to us stemmed more from fear than hostility," Daniel said. "Once they understood what we wanted--"

"Like I said, thanks to the doc, here, we had them eating out of our hands in no time." Bruster accompanied the praise with a vigorous whack to the same shoulder Donovan had squeezed earlier.

"Just doing my job." Daniel tried not to wince when his muscles ached in protest.

Hammond smiled. "One you do very well, son. Congratulations on a successful mission, SG-5. Dr. Fraiser is waiting for you in the infirmary--we'll debrief in an hour."

With an inward sigh, Daniel made his way to the infirmary and waited while the doctor checked out the rest of SG-5. At last she motioned him forward and patted the gurney.

"Hop up, Daniel. I'll make this as fast as possible--I'm sure you'd like to shower before the debriefing."

Daniel held out his arm for the blood pressure cuff, familiar with the routine. "Thanks, Janet."

He was just buttoning up his shirt when Jack poked his head through the doorway. "Well if it isn't the SGC's star linguist. I was hoping I might catch you here, away from the adoring masses."

Daniel slid off the gurney, frowning a little at the unsteadiness in his legs. "Adoring--? What are you talking about, Jack?"

"Nothing, nothing." Jack sauntered into the cubicle, hands shoved in his pockets. "I hear you're the man of the hour, that's all. Pulled off the treaty with the Simpsons--"

"Samposians."

"Whatever. The point is you charmed them into granting us access to one hell of a lot of naquada. Carter's practically salivating at the prospect." The teasing tone left Jack's voice. "You did good, Daniel."

Daniel ducked his head to hide the heat rising in his cheeks. Over the years he'd become adept at shrugging off criticism, but praise still left him uncomfortable. "It was a team effort."

"Not to hear Bruster tell it. I reminded him this was a one-shot deal. You're a member of SG-1, not archeologist-for-hire."

Daniel folded his arms. "Was there anything else you wanted? I've got a debriefing in...fifteen minutes." He found Jack's possessiveness, worse since his descension, both endearing and annoying.

"Just checking that we're still on for tonight."

Daniel suppressed a groan. Off-world for three days, he'd lost track of the passage of time. Today must be Friday, which meant tonight was Friday night. In other words, time for his weekly dose of beer, pizza, and hockey at Jack's place.

Not that he didn't enjoy the Friday night tradition--heck, he usually looked forward to it. It was one of the first memories of Jack he'd regained, and therefore all the more precious. Resuming them had been one more step towards picking up the threads of his old life.

But three days of long, intense meetings under blistering hot conditions, struggling to communicate, had taken their toll. What he really longed for right at the moment was a shower, a hot meal, and a soft bed. In that order.

"I don't know, Jack. It's been a long three days and I'm kind of--"

"All the more reason to get away from this place, kick back and relax. Avalanche versus the Oilers, Daniel. Gonna be a nail biter."

Daniel had a sneaking suspicion Jack was aware that no one could say no to that roguish grin. Sighing, he nodded.

"All right, you've convinced me. I should be able to get out of here right after the meeting."

"That's more like it. Give me a call when you leave the mountain. I'll make sure the beer is cold and the pizza's hot." He was headed down the hallway, whistling tunelessly, before Daniel could reply.

With a rueful shake of his head, Daniel headed for the locker room. If he hurried, he should just make it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Watch it, watch it...OH!" Jack banged his bottle down on the table, tempted to throw it at the television.

On screen the Oilers were engaged in exuberant hugging, stick waving, and ass slapping. Scowling, he punched the power button on the remote, cutting short the nauseating display of triumph.

"Three to two. We'd've had them if only...." He trailed off, realizing he was speaking to himself.

Daniel was curled on the couch, dead to the world, Jack's afghan pulled to his chin. Even by the subdued light of the single lamp, Jack could see his friend's face looked flushed. A glance at Daniel's paper plate, abandoned on the coffee table, revealed he'd only nibbled on a single slice of pizza. Jack hefted his friend's beer bottle--nearly full.

Not good. Normally Daniel could put away half a pizza and had no trouble keeping up with Jack when it came to beer. He recalled with some guilt Daniel's reluctance to come over. At the time, he'd chalked it up to Daniel's penchant for overworking. Maybe his friend had been feeling under the weather.

Jack stood and moved over to the couch. After a moment's hesitation, he pressed his hand to Daniel's forehead. Daniel startled, arms and legs flailing as he struggled upright.

"I...wha...?" He frowned, licked his lips, and squinted. "Jack?"

Jack gestured to the darkened television. "Game's done, Dannyboy. And so are you. You're sick."

"What? No, I'm not. Just a little tired, that's all." Daniel pushed aside the afghan and tried to smooth his rumpled shirt. Despite his brave words, a shiver wracked his body and he wrapped his arms tightly around his middle.

"You're running a fever."

"I'll be fine. I just need a good night's rest." Daniel cast a brief, longing look at the afghan before stubbornly meeting Jack's skeptical gaze. "Give me a minute to finish waking up and I'll get out of your hair so we can both get some sleep."

Jack shrugged. "If you say so." He picked up their plates and bottles and strolled toward the kitchen. "You know, there's a nasty flu bug going around the mountain. People are dropping like flies." Jack tossed the comment over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Daniel climbing unsteadily to his feet before he stepped into the kitchen.

He wrapped the extra pizza in foil before sticking it into the fridge, rinsed the bottles and dropped them into the recycle bin. A quick swipe of the counter with a wet rag and he headed back to the living room.

The empty living room.

The unmistakable sound of retching drew Jack to the bathroom. Daniel was on the floor in front of the toilet, his legs splayed and his forehead pressed against the porcelain rim, shivering.

"Guess you were right."

"Can I get that in writing?" Jack flicked on the fan and dampened a washcloth, placing it into Daniel's hand.

"Sorry." Daniel leaned back against the wall and wiped his face.

"For what?"

"Bringing this," Daniel gestured to himself, "into your house."

"For cryin' out loud, Daniel, you're sick. It's not like you planned it." He gave his friend a hand up and stepped aside so Daniel could rinse his mouth at the sink.

"I don't want to make you sick." Daniel wiped his face again and leaned against the counter. "Maybe if I get out of here right now--"

"You can't be serious. There's no way I'm letting you drive in this condition."

"You could take me home. I can pick up my car later, when I'm better."

Jack shook his head. "Forget it, Daniel. It's freezing out there and you look like death warmed over. You can crash here. If you're feeling better in the morning, I'll be glad to run you home."

"Jack, I--"

"Look at it this way. You've already infected me. If I'm gonna get it, I'm gonna get it. No sense adding pneumonia on top of the flu."

Daniel shivered again, and his shoulders slumped. "Okay."

Jack reached under the sink and pulled out a toothbrush and toothpaste. "Here. At least you can get that nasty taste out of your mouth."

Daniel blinked. "Whose toothbrush is that?"

"The guy down the street." Jack rolled his eyes. "It's yours, Daniel."

"Mine?"

"From last time."

Another slow blink. "Last time?"

"Yeah, you know. Before you..." Jack spiraled his finger upward. "We were celebrating your birthday. You were too drunk to drive home."

Daniel's chin came up and he managed a pissy glare despite looking green around the gills. "I was NOT drunk."

Jack smiled gently. "You were giggling, Daniel."

"I was...huh?" Daniel gaped at him, lips parted in shock.

Jack nodded. "Giggling."

Daniel snapped his mouth shut with a faint moan.

Jack suppressed a grin. Score one for the home team. He so rarely managed to render his friend speechless. "I'll get you some sweats."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jack woke up combat ready, scrabbling for a P90 that didn't exist. Reality quickly reasserted itself, tangled jungle foliage fading into the safety of four familiar walls, and he relaxed with a gusty sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair and searched out the glowing LED of his alarm clock. 3:36 AM. No wonder it was so dark. It was the middle of the night and time for all good little colonels to be asleep. So why was he awake?

Shoving aside the covers, he stood and shuffled to the bedroom door. Might as well check on Daniel. The poor guy had been sick as a dog for hours, reduced to dry heaves when his stomach simply had nothing more to lose. He'd finally dropped into an exhausted sleep around midnight and had been quiet ever since.

Navigating more by memory than sight, he nearly tripped over the body crumpled at the top of the stairs. Jack pinwheeled his arms, hanging onto his balance by a thread.

"Daniel?" He fumbled along the wall, searching for the light switch. "What in the heck are you--"

Jack's fingers connected with the switch and the hallway flooded with light. Daniel, he now saw, was seated on the floor with his legs drawn up to his chest, his forehead resting on his knees. Under the harsh illumination his skin looked translucent, milky pallor darkening to bruised crescents beneath his eyes. He looked up at Jack, wincing against the brightness.

"Sorry, Jack. Didn't want to wake you."

Jack crouched down and touched his friend's shoulder, sucking in a sharp breath. "Shit, you're burning up. Let's get you back into bed."

Easier said than done. Daniel was a tangle of uncoordinated arms and legs, alarmingly weak. Jack finally just grabbed his friend under the armpits and hauled him upright, half-walking, half-carrying him back into the guestroom.

"What were you doing out there anyway?" He tucked Daniel under the covers, then fetched the thermometer from the bathroom.

"My throat hurts, and I'm thirsty." Daniel's answer came out a raspy croak. "I was going downstairs for a drink of water, but I got a little dizzy, and--ow!" He glared at Jack. "You're supposed to be taking my temperature, Jack, not drilling for oil."

Jack ignored the jibe and checked the readout, grimacing. "103. That's pretty high. Maybe we should call Fraiser."

"You're the one that said the stomach flu was making the rounds at work. You know how those bugs run their course--twenty-four hours and I'll be back to normal."

Jack hesitated. Though Daniel's words made perfect sense, the rapid deterioration of his condition and appearance set his "Spidey sense" tingling.

"Water and Tylenol." Daniel pulled the blanket tighter, shivering. "That's all I need. Really, Jack."

Jack huffed and shook his head. "I swear, it's like you never left."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I dunno. I just thought maybe spending some time on a higher plane of existence might have left you a little less stubborn."

Daniel snorted, coughing when it irritated his throat. "Maybe that's because *you're* the hardheaded one. Did you ever consider that?"

"Me?" Jack paused in the doorway, smirking. "Never crossed my mind."

Shivering a bit, he bumped up the thermostat when he passed it on the way to the kitchen. Armed with water and Tylenol, he returned to the bedroom and found Daniel asleep, only the tip of his nose protruding from the blankets.

"Daniel."

Daniel responded by burrowing deeper into the covers. Jack set the glass on the nightstand and gave Daniel's shoulder a brisk shake.

"Room service, Daniel. C'mon, wakey, wakey."

It took more poking and prodding, but Daniel eventually scooted up and propped himself against the headboard. Jack gave him the water and Tylenol, troubled when he had to steady Daniel's hand. His friend swallowed the pills, then tried returning the barely touched glass.

Jack shook his head. "Uh-uh. All of it, Daniel. Fraiser will have my butt if you wind up dehydrated."

For once Daniel did as he was told, though he sent Jack reproachful glares over the rim. When he'd drained the last drop he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shoved the glass at Jack. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Now sleep."

"I was *trying* to sleep. *You* woke me up."

"And I'm regretting it, Daniel. Believe me."

"Good." Daniel slid back under the blankets, his heavy eyelids already closing. "Then my job here is done."

"Guess you can't be too bad off. You're still a smart ass."

"Night, Jack."

Jack's lips curved in spite of himself. "Yeah, yeah."

He retreated to the doorway where he hovered, held captive by an uneasiness he couldn't name. Daniel's breathing slowed, deepened, and the fingers clutching the blankets to his chin gradually uncurled. A jaw-cracking yawn ambushed Jack and he backed quietly into the hallway and shut the door.

He turned off the lights and shuffled into his bedroom. Exhaustion swept over him as soon as his body hit the mattress and he sank quickly into dreamless sleep.

*************************

The phone was ringing.

Jack groaned, rolling onto his stomach and squinting at his alarm clock. Seven o'clock. A.M. On a Saturday morning. Whoever was on the other end of the line had better be reporting an eminent Goa'uld attack or they were toast. He flung out his arm, scrabbling for the receiver.

"What?"

"Colonel? It's Janet Fraiser."

Jack sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "Doc? Don't take this the wrong way, but do realize what time it is?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but this is urgent. I need to locate Dr. Jackson, but so far I haven't had much luck. Would you happen to know where he is?"

"About five feet down the hallway and a sharp left."

"Colonel?"

"He's in my guestroom, sleeping. An activity I myself was engaged in until your phone call."

She completely ignored the sarcasm. "I have to talk to him, sir. Right away."

"Hang on." Jack got out of bed and padded to the door. He stuck his head into the hallway. Daniel's door was closed, the house silent. Jack returned to the phone. "Doc, how urgent is urgent? He had kind of a rough night last night and he's still--"

"Colonel, is Daniel ill?"

Jack frowned. Fraiser's already intense voice had taken on a sharp edge. "Yeah. Looks like he picked up the flu bug that's going around the mountain."

"Give me his symptoms."

Okay, now he really was getting bad vibes. "Nothing exotic. He was running a pretty good fever and puking his guts up."

"What was his temperature?"

"103. Doc, what--"

"Does he have a rash?"

"*What*?"

"Did you notice any red, blotchy patches on his arms or his torso?"

"Well...no. But, I mean, he was wearing a long-sleeved tee shirt." Jack swallowed and his suddenly dry throat made an audible click. "Doc, what's with the third degree?"

"Colonel, I don't care if he's sleeping. You need to go in there and check for the rash I just described."

"Doc--"

"Sir, I will tell you everything. As soon as you check on Daniel."

Jack, his heart now beating double time, was already halfway to the guestroom. Cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he nudged open the door and moved quietly to the window, cracking open the blinds. Pale sunlight filtered through the slats, illuminating Daniel's sprawled form. He was lying on his back, one arm flung over his head and legs tangled up in the covers, which he'd kicked into a messy pile at the foot of the mattress. Sweat dampened the hair framing his face and beaded his upper lip.

"Daniel?"

Daniel frowned but didn't open his eyes. He shifted his legs restlessly and turned his face away from the light.

Jack crossed to the bed, ignoring the string of questions coming from Fraiser. He brushed his fingertips over Daniel's hot forehead. "Daniel, wake up."

Daniel jerked away from the contact, running his tongue over dry lips. "Sha're...'s hot...some water."

Shit. Jack could decipher enough of the slurred words to know Daniel was delirious. He grasped the hem of Daniel's shirt and tugged upward, then closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Colonel? Are you there? Talk to me."

Fraiser's authoritative bark brought him back. "Yeah. He's, ah, pretty out of it, Doc. The fever has spiked and I can't get him to wake up. And that rash you were talking about? It's all over his chest and stomach." Jack held Daniel's wrist and pushed up his sleeve. "Arms, too. What in the hell is going on?"

"I wish I knew, sir. Sean Donovan is in my infirmary right now with the same symptoms."

Jack searched his memory. "Donovan? Lieutenant on SG-5?"

"That's the one. He came to me late last night with a fever and muscle aches. Next thing I knew he was unconscious and covered with that damn rash. I'd hoped whatever it is would turn out to be an isolated case."

The implication hit him like a sucker punch. "You think they picked something up off-world?"

"Colonel, at this point I can only speculate. Bruster and Atkins are both fine--if you don't count pissing and moaning about being quarantined. I need to get Daniel in here ASAP. I've already dispatched a med team; they should be there shortly."

"He's no lightweight, Doc, but I could--"

"I need you to sit tight, sir. Can you tell me if you or Daniel had contact with anyone else after you left base?"

Wait a minute. Had she said quarantine?

"You think this is *contagious*?"

"I think we have to proceed as if it is until we can determine otherwise."

"Shit."

"Sir?"

"No. No, I drove straight here, no stops along the way. As far as I know, Daniel did the same."

"Good. That's very good."

Daniel muttered something unintelligible, arms and legs thrashing. Jack rubbed his friend's shoulder and Daniel settled, though his breathing remained shallow and rapid.

"Doc, is there anything I can do?"

"Try to cool him down. Donovan had a febrile seizure before we got his temperature under control."

Jack jerked back his hand. "Seizure?"

"Cool compresses, Colonel. The med team should be there within ten minutes." Her voice softened. "And try not to worry."

"My friend is sick from an unidentified, possibly alien bug and I may already be infected as well. What's to worry?"

"I'll meet you topside, sir."

"Looking forward to it, Doc." Jack disconnected.

Daniel tossed his head, eyelids fluttering open. "Jack?"

Jack laid the back of his hand against Daniel's forehead, wincing at the heat. "It's okay, Daniel. Fraiser's going to fix you up and you'll be back out there hopping planets before you know it."

He hoped he was right.

Continued in chapter 2