Chapter 2

The sharp tapping of heels on tile and Janet rushed in, breathless. She nudged Jack out of the way, pressing her fingers to Daniel's wrist. "Cindy said it was urgent. What's wrong?"

Daniel jerked his hand from her grasp. Wrapping his arms around his body, he looked at her with huge eyes. "I can't tie my shoes, Janet. Why don't I remember how to tie my shoes?"

"Calm down, Daniel." Taking his chin in her hand, she pulled a penlight from her pocket. Daniel winced as she flicked the light into first one eye, then the other. "Track my finger."

He complied, his head thumping in time with his racing heart.

Janet took his hands in hers. "Squeeze."

He tightened his fingers, looking over at Jack. His friend stopped pacing and offered what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. Daniel swallowed hard and turned back to Janet.

'What's going on?"

"Bear with me, please. I want you to answer a few questions, all right?"

He nodded.

"What's your name?"

"Oh, for cryin'--"

"Colonel." Janet gave Jack a look that would have sent a lesser man running for cover. Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets and pressed his lips tightly together.

Their familiar bickering eased the knot in Daniel's chest. "Daniel Jackson."

"Where are we?"

"The SGC--Colorado Springs."

Janet smiled. "Good. What day is it?"

Daniel opened his mouth to answer, respiration speeding up when he couldn't find the word. It flitted through his brain, just out of reach. Today was the day after Tuesday, but he couldn't say *that*. Ohgodohgod. Was this brain damage? He was a linguist--words were his job. Hell, words were his *life*. How could he--

"Daniel, stop!" Janet's sharp rebuke jerked him back from the edge. She patted his knee. "You were starting to hyperventilate."

"Sorry."

She huffed, smiling. "You don't have to apologize. I know how scary this must be. Will you try something for me?"

He nodded.

"Can you tell me in Spanish what day this is?"

"Miercoles." He blurted the word without thinking, surprising himself. "Janet, please. What's wrong with me?"

"Daniel, I have to be honest with you--I just don't know. I need to run some tests, consult with a neurologist."

Jack stepped closer. "Give him a break, Doc. You must be thinking something."

Janet hesitated, then sighed. "Daniel's motor functions appear unimpaired, and I detected no weakness in his grip. It's possible that his symptoms are the result of stress and fatigue."

"But you don't think so," Daniel said quietly.

"No. I don't."

He closed his eyes, fear bubbling up and spilling out as anger. "You said I was fine, that everything looked good."

"You were exposed to a piece of alien technology--not once but twice. I'm operating in an arena for which I have no frame of reference. I'm doing the best I can."

Daniel's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry." He pressed the palm of one hand over his eye, wincing.

"Headache?"

He nodded, reaching for the prescription bottle. "Can I have some water? I think I'm ready to take one of your...your..." Small, round, white. He grasped for the word and, coming up empty, latched onto a substitute. "...one of these."

Janet looked at him through narrowed eyes but got him the water. When he tried to take the cup, however, she held on. "Daniel, level with me. It just happened again, didn't it?"

He suppressed the urge to lie. "Yes."

"Describe it for me."

"I could see the word in my head, it was right on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't... Pill!" He waved the bottle. "I was trying to say I'm ready for a pill."

Pathetic, the wave of triumph that washed over him. Daniel swallowed the tablet with a few gulps of water, ignoring the way Janet and Jack traded glances.

"Okay, Daniel. I want you to lie back and rest for a few minutes while I make some phone calls. Then we're going to run a PET scan."

"A what?"

"PET scan. Positron Emission Tomography. It will show if any areas of the brain are working at abnormal levels, even ones too small to be picked up by the MRI."

He scooted back on the bed, chest tight and eyes burning. Damn shoelaces. He should be on his way home by now, soaking up sunshine, breathing fresh air, and listening to Jack bitch that he ought to be fishing.

Jack cleared his throat and tipped his head toward the door. "I...ah...guess I'll go get some work done, since you're stuck here. I'll check back in a while, see how you're doing."

"Sure. I'll be right here playing pincushion to Janet and her...her..." Young, pretty, white slacks and crepe-soled shoes. He knew the word; couldn't speak it. Daniel flushed, his throat closing up until he could hardly speak. "Damn it."

He breathed through his mouth, feeling lost and hopelessly bereft. Suddenly he was that ten-year-old kid again, adrift in a world that didn't make sense.

The grating scrape of something dragged across the tile penetrated his misery. Cracking open his eyes, he saw Jack place a chair beside the bed and sit. He leaned back, folding his arms.

"Ah...Jack?"

"That's me."

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting."

Daniel pursed his lips. "I can see you're sitting. What I mean is why are you still here? I thought you had things to do."

"That? Yeah, well, you know my philosophy of paperwork."

"Avoid it at all cost?"

Jack made a shooting motion with his thumb and forefinger. "Got it in one. So, it just occurred to me that I'd be crazy to pass up an opportunity like this. You're the perfect alibi, Dannyboy. Hammond will never fault me for putting a teammate before a few reports."

Daniel looked away, blinking. "Glad I can be of service."

"Me too. Now how about I try and scare up a deck of cards? We can play Gin."

"I told you before, Jack. I'm terrible at Gin."

"And I told you, Daniel. I'm fine with that. Are we on?"

Daniel smiled. "Yeahsureyoubetcha."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack sauntered into the briefing room and claimed his customary seat. Carter and Teal'c broke off their conversation, scrutinizing his face for any scrap of information. Jack gritted his teeth--he was hardly a font of knowledge. Though she'd bombarded Daniel with tests all morning and afternoon, Fraiser had remained annoyingly tight-lipped about the results, insisting Jack wait for her report just like everyone else. When he had jabbed a finger at the stripes decorating his shoulder, she'd sweetly asked if he thought he was entitled to receive information before the General. Wisely, if sullenly, he'd retreated.

And yes, damn it, he did feel he deserved special consideration. Daniel was his best friend, after all--he'd named Jack his next of kin. He'd promised Daniel they'd get through whatever this was together, but he needed intel to make that happen.

"O'Neill. What is Daniel Jackson's condition?"

Jack sighed. "Sleeping. Doc wore him out with all her poking and prodding. By the time she'd finished, he could barely keep his eyes open."

"Sir, has Janet given you any indication--"

"Negative, Carter. Fraiser isn't exactly in a sharing mood. She's keeping Danny's chart locked up tighter than a virgin's--" He caught himself. "She's not talking."

The sound of a throat clearing snapped all three to attention. General Hammond entered the room, followed closely by Fraiser. He sent Jack a quelling look as he moved to the head of the table. When they were all seated, Hammond focused his attention on the doctor.

"Doctor Fraiser, I'm going to turn the floor over to you. I know we're all anxiously awaiting your assessment of Dr. Jackson's condition."

Fraiser pressed her folded hands to her lips before speaking. "First, I want to stress that there is an unavoidable element of supposition to my conclusions. As I told Daniel earlier, we are dealing with the aftereffects of an alien device. We can't predict the long-term impact on human physiology."

"Understood."

"I've put Daniel through a complete neurological evaluation and a PET scan. I'm sorry to say that both indicate widespread injury to the cerebral cortex."

Jack's stomach did a slow roll. He licked his lips, careful to keep his voice calm and even. "Doc. English, please."

"Simply put, the cerebral cortex is the outer layer of gray matter largely responsible for higher brain function: speech, reasoning, and memory. Now, the good news is that while the damage Daniel sustained may be generalized, it's also mild."

Sam leaned forward. "Meaning?"

"Meaning the PET scan indicates multiple pockets of superficial damage scattered across the frontal and parietal lobes. Each individual area is so small as to be virtually indistinguishable unless viewed with the proper diagnostic equipment."

Jack scowled. "Doc. I hear you talking, but you're still not *telling* me anything."

"I believe O'Neill is asking how your findings will impact Daniel Jackson's ability to effectively function, both at home and as a member of SG-1."

Jack held out both arms. "Thank you, Teal'c."

"I'm getting to that, gentlemen, if you'll just bear with me. Because the damage is widespread, Daniel is experiencing a variety of symptoms. He's lost certain motor skills--tying his shoes, for example. He's mildly aphasic, which means he occasionally has trouble articulating a word, or performing a string of commands."

"But you said all these symptoms are mild, right, Janet?" Sam interjected. "Nothing too serious?"

"Relatively speaking? No, Sam, none of the symptoms are severe."

"Depends on your perspective. They're severe enough to scare the crap out of Daniel," Jack pointed out.

Fraiser inclined her head.

Hammond frowned. "Is there a treatment for this condition? What is Dr. Jackson's prognosis?"

"No treatment, sir. The cells in these injured areas have died--we can't undo that. But much of the human brain remains untapped--we use a relatively small percentage of the whole. There are documented cases of the brain literally 'rewiring' itself, circumventing dead tissue to restore function. I have every hope that, with time and therapy, Daniel will regain normal function."

The knot in Jack's chest loosened. "Any theories *how* this happened? Aside from wonky alien technology, that is?"

Fraiser shrugged. "I'm not sure, sir. Perhaps something in our brain chemistry, or the simple fact that not one but twelve souls had to be extracted? As I indicated earlier, it would be pure speculation to--"

"What if it wasn't the device?"

All eyes turned to Carter, who flushed. "Excuse me, Janet."

"Explain, Major," General Hammond said.

"Sir, when Janet mentioned the twelve souls, it reminded me that not all of those individuals left Daniel willingly."

"Martice," Jack growled.

Sam nodded. "What if Martice didn't give up without a fight? For that matter, he wasn't the only one reluctant to comply with the extraction. What if they resisted, and that resistance caused the damage you described?"

Jack curled his fingers into fists. "Son of a bitch."

Teal'c's eyes were cold. "Indeed."

"It's at least as plausible as any theory I've come up with," Fraiser admitted. "Perhaps more."

"Truth is, we will never know for certain. Attempting to assign blame is useless at this point. Our priority now should be Dr. Jackson's recovery."

"I agree, General. This will be a difficult time for Daniel, and he's going to need our support. I've obtained the name of a therapist who should be able to help him with the aphasia and language processing. But it's inevitable that he'll continue to discover other missing skills like the shoelaces. He'll need to relearn basic tasks he's performed for years without a second thought. The emotional toll will be high."

No shit, Sherlock. Daniel valued his independence. This was going to hit him hard. "When can he leave the infirmary?" Jack asked.

"I have no reason to keep him. Other than fatigue and a persistent headache, he's physically fine. But," she held up a hand before Jack could jump in, "for his own safety, I don't think he should be alone right now. He's got too many blind spots."

"Does he have to remain on base?"

"You volunteering to take him home?"

Jack shrugged. "That a problem?"

She considered for a moment. "Actually, it may be the best thing for him. Easing back into a normal routine may help jog the missing pieces back into place."

Jack turned to Hammond. "Permission to take some time off, sir?"

Hammond smiled. "Granted, provided you keep me informed of Dr. Jackson's progress."

"Done, sir."

"Doctor, thank you for bringing us all up to speed. You're dismissed, people." As they stood and began filing out of the room, Hammond called, "And Jack?"

"Sir?"

"Take care of our boy."

Jack snapped a salute. "Yes, sir."

Continued in Chapter 3