Part 4
Two weeks later, we've got the routine pretty much down. Daniel and I shower together in what has become a stiff, awkward choreography of maintaining contact with minimal intimacy. I've tried just holding his hand from the outside of the shower, but that's not enough contact for him. He gets panicky if I'm not touching him enough, but if it's too much, while we're naked, he starts to hyperventilate and go overboard with scrubbing his skin. It's a fine line, and we're still working out the exact boundaries there. They seem to change every day.
The doc still has him on a strict diet, mostly high-protein stuff, and he's steadily gaining weight. The nurses keep slipping him homemade cookies, which I suspect are low sugar to keep from upsetting his stomach, but he eats them like they're his treasured chocolate-walnut cookies from that tiny bakery downtown. The room has been brightened considerably with flowers and balloons from most of the SGC. We had to start turning them away when we ran out of space, and once that message got out, people stuck to cards. You can barely see the concrete walls now, they're so covered in cards. A handmade one from Hammond's granddaughters has pride of place, pinned over the headboard where Daniel can see it easily.
He's still far too thin, of course--you don't rebuild from near starvation in two weeks--but he's on the right track. Physically, he's clearly going to recover just fine. It's not his body that we're worried about.
He still cries at the drop of a hat, and he still gets embarrassed about it, but I think that's not as much of a problem for him anymore. He's used to his emotions being so close to the surface, and under such thin control. When he burst into tears because Carter brought him a book he'd been wanting, he seemed resigned to it. He said, "Oh, here we go again. Pass the tissues, would you?"
It was the first screaming fit of anger that caught him off guard. I wasn't there myself, having finally been convinced by the others and their constant nagging to take a break. The way Carter tells it, Fraiser told him he couldn't have coffee when he asked for about the thousandth time, and he just flipped out.
When I walked in, he was screaming at the top of his lungs in some language I didn't recognize, kicking furiously at the couch we had brought in, alternately shoving at Carter and Teal'c, and then begging them to stay. In the end, it was only Teal'c who could hold him, and he still fought wildly, hating the dependence, hating all of it. He called Teal'c every nasty name I've ever heard and then some, told him to let go right this second, but when Teal'c went to obey, Daniel panicked and clung and apologized over and over. In the end, he was totally exhausted, crying again, and he curled against me in the bed and hid his face in a way he hadn't done for days.
That was the first time. When we talked about it later, he was so ashamed that he couldn't meet my eyes. He tells Teal'c that he's sorry about every five minutes. Teal'c keeps trying to say it's not necessary, but Daniel's not hearing that.
"It's natural for you to be angry, Daniel," I told him.
"Right," he said. "I'm sure it's natural for me to scream and throw things and generally have a temper tantrum like a spoiled two-year-old, too, is that right?"
"Yeah, actually, it is."
He glared at me, and then smoothed his face with a conscious effort. "You're just saying that."
I lifted his chin, forced him to look at me. "No, I'm not. Where do you think I go when I'm not here? I'm in the gym, beating the hell out of the punching bags. I hate what's been done to you, Daniel, and I'm not even the one who's locked in this room, dependent on my friends."
"Yeah," he said. "Well, I am. And I don't see any punching bags in here. You want to take me to the gym? Let everyone watch you put your arms around me, so I can be held and hit something at the same time? Give everyone a good show?"
"You're getting mad again now, aren't you?"
"What was your first clue?" he snapped, and then he closed his eyes and ground his teeth together, clinging to that thin edge of control.
"Here," I said, and guided him over to the couch. "Hit that."
He looked at me like I was crazy and folded his arms, shaking his head. Didn't want to lose it again. "This is stupid," he said.
"So play along. Humor me. It's for your own good, Daniel."
I could feel him stiffen in my arms. "Do you have any idea how many times a day I hear that?" he growled. "It's all Janet says to me. 'No coffee, Daniel, it's for your own good. You need to drink this protein shake, which, by the way, tastes like reconstituted roadkill, because it's for your own good.' And then, of course, there's Sam, who wants me to *talk* about it. 'You need to share how you feel, Daniel. It's for your own good.' You know, for someone who's doing so much for my own good, I sure don't feel that great!"
"I bet you don't," I said. "I bet you're sick of needing everyone like this. I bet you're ready to punch the next person who thinks they know what's best for you."
"Guess who that is?" he asked, looking at me narrowly.
I smiled and turned him toward the couch again. It was time to deliver the final blow. "I know how you feel," I said.
His hands bunched into fists at his sides. "You don't have the first *clue* how I feel!" And that was all she wrote. He tore into that couch, shouting things I wouldn't have expected a man with an ivy-league education to have in his vocabulary. But then, Daniel always was good at communicating. He was making sure I heard how pissed off he was loud and clear.
I stayed behind him and steadied him, my arms loosely around his waist, letting my chest brush his back whenever he leaned into me. He carried on at a furious pitch for several minutes, the couch creaking and cracking ominously, and then ran out of steam, slumping down and letting me catch him. We ended up in a tangled pile of arms and legs on the much-abused couch, Daniel gasping for breath and shaking.
"You did that on purpose," he said when he finally caught his breath.
"Did what?"
I got an actual smile for that. "Made me lose my temper. You were pushing all the right buttons, and you know it."
"Was I?"
He thumped me gently on the chest and actually laughed, a weak, breathless little sound. "Don't play dumb with me, Jack."
"Who's playing?" I asked, and he laughed again.
We sat together quietly for a long time, Daniel loose and sprawling in my arms, until he lifted his head and regarded me with sleepy, calm eyes. "Thanks," he said.
"Anytime."
So we did that a few more times. It's gotten so that Daniel can predict it, to a certain degree. He'll be carrying on like he normally does, reading or tapping away on his laptop with someone sitting close beside him, and something will set him off. We never know what it's going to be, and I don't think he knows, either. Sometimes it seems like there's no reason at all. He'll just go all tense and lower his head, and tell us he needs to hit something. Then we steer him toward the couch or the pillows, stand behind him, and hold on for the ride.
He ends up trembling with exhaustion and usually crying afterward, but I think every time he does it, he breathes a little easier.
He hasn't had many visitors. The general wanted to come see him, but Daniel pleaded with us to stop him. He's so ashamed of his dependence, and Hammond's opinion means a lot to him. He doesn't want someone who he respects like a father to see him this way. Hammond was very understanding about the whole thing, as he usually is, and told us we had all the time we needed to get Daniel back on his feet. 'To make our boy well again,' was the phrase he used, and Daniel started crying again when we repeated it to him.
All of SG-5 has been by more than once, visiting in a group. They've kind of adopted Daniel, and since they already saw him at his worst, he doesn't feel so bad about them seeing him now. Guthman in particular seems fond of him, and swept him up in a hug the moment he walked into the room. Daniel accepted it the way he accepts all touches now--gratefully and with more than a hint of don't-let-go desperation.
Once the initial hugs and questions about his well-being were out of the way, an awkward silence fell. They'd all seen what he went through, and nobody wanted to talk about it. They came by at feeding time once, and I think watching him eat did something to all of them. Corin, the kid who'd been in shock in the infirmary, looked like he was going to cry. Guthman saw it and covered for him with a comment about how much better Daniel looks now.
The whole team seems relieved to see how improved he is, and Guthman never gave the slightest indication that he knew about us, or that he had any problem with it. I had my arms around Daniel for a while during their visit, and none of them even blinked, which I have to admit was a relief. Daniel paid special attention to Corin, making sure the kid knew how much his support was appreciated, and I was proud of that. That Daniel could still look outside himself and be aware of those around him. They say that the ability to show compassion is one of the biggest signs of a stable mind.
Other than that, and the occasional visit from one of Fraiser's nurses when she's off duty, it's only been SG-1. We stayed nonstop in the beginning, but the doc was right about that burning us out quick. Daniel is extremely high maintenance. We love him, of course, but everyone needs a little space and some time to themselves occasionally. I can only imagine how much it's driving Daniel nuts to never have any privacy. I think, in his position, I'd be screaming and hitting things, too.
Daniel requested a few things from his office when he got bored, and a few things turned into a lot of things. He's getting some of his backlog of translation work done, when Fraiser isn't hounding him to get more rest, and I'm getting a lot of paperwork taken care of. Carter is actually writing that book on wormhole physics that she's been thinking about for so long, and Teal'c... well, he watches a lot of TV. We got a TV and a DVD player in here, and he's been working his way through a collection of old TV shows in boxed sets. He likes Green Acres. It's a little scary, actually.
So it's not peaceful, and it's not great, but it's something we can live with. Daniel is slowly healing in more ways than one, and we all feel like we're doing something to contribute to that. There's no question that he has a long way to go, though, and that's where today's visitor comes in. Daniel is starting therapy today.
He's not happy about it.
I meet the shrink they got especially for Daniel out in the hall before we go in together. The deal is that I stay in the room during the session, so I can hold Daniel, but everyone else clears out so he can have some degree of privacy.
"Hi," he says, sticking a hand out. "You must be Colonel O'Neill. I'm Dr. Nelson, but please call me Dave."
I take his hand gingerly--he's built like a bird. Thirty going on fourteen, looks like. Skinny, with a quick smile and blue eyes like Daniel, but not as sexy. Like anything could be. "Hi, Dave," I say. "I'm Colonel O'Neill, but please, call me Colonel."
His smile sharpens a bit at the edges. "I see," he says. "Shall we?"
So we go in, and Dave zeroes in on Daniel quickly. It'd be hard not to pick him out, though, because even with the weight gain he's still noticeably thin, and both Carter and Teal'c are hugging him as they get ready to leave.
"Hello," he says brightly. "You must be Daniel."
Daniel declines to take the offered hand. He has a decent excuse, seeing as his arms are still around Carter and Teal'c, but it still sends a clear message. "Hello," he says. "You must be Dr. Nelson."
The shrink drops the hand, but doesn't seem put out. "Please, call me Dave," he says.
Daniel nods. "I'd tell you to call me Daniel, but apparently you've decided you don't need my permission."
Carter grins and tries to hide it. I don't bother. Daniel always did have teeth when he wanted to.
I take Daniel from the others, giving him a quick and comprehensive hug. "Nice shot," I whisper in his ear, and I feel his cheek crease against mine as he smiles. We sink onto the couch together, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. I sling an arm around him and he slouches so that he can rest his head on my shoulder. Carter and Teal'c file out without a word to the shrink, who is left standing and staring at us, frowning slightly.
"I take it you're not very enthusiastic about the idea of therapy," he says.
"I don't have the best history with psychiatrists," Daniel replies.
I nod and smile broadly. "Yeah, didn't you read his file? Last time a shrink got a hold of him, he ended up locked in a padded room. Mistaken diagnosis. Doesn't exactly generate a lot of faith for psychiatry in general."
"I did read about that," Dave says. "In fact, I've spent the last several days doing nothing but reading about you, Daniel. I would have recommended therapy for you even before this most recent capture and torture. You've been through a lot."
Daniel blinks innocently up at him. "Really? I hadn't noticed."
Dave sighs and drops into one of the chairs. "Do you know why I was chosen to speak with you?" he asks.
"I'd assumed it was because you had the necessary security clearance, and because they knew there was no way in hell that I'd talk to Mackenzie."
"That's part of it," Dave says. "But I specialize in men who have been raped."
Daniel hunches his shoulders and glares, and I squeeze him a little closer. He refuses to lean on me, though, sitting stiffly by my side.
When he doesn't get an answer, Dave plows right ahead. "It's an area that I have a certain understanding of, because it happened to me, too."
That gets Daniel's attention. "What?" He looks up sharply, and Dave meets his stare without blinking.
"It was about five years ago," he says. "Of course, I was in a gay bar, so I figured it was my fault that the guy thought 'no' meant 'yes, please.' I was probably asking for it by being there."
Daniel is shaking his head. "No," he says. "That's not..."
"I know," Dave tells him. "I know it wasn't my fault. But it took a lot of time, and a lot of counseling for me to get to this point. To be able to talk about it, and then to be able to move on. You never forget, but you can learn to live with it."
"I know it wasn't my fault," Daniel says mechanically.
"And you know that you don't need to be touching someone in order to be safe, but I haven't seen you without contact for a second since we met. Knowing something rationally and truly believing it are often two different things."
Daniel scowls, but he doesn't have an answer for that one. Dave just smiles blandly, and Daniel's face relaxes after a moment, the scowl softening to a thoughtful frown. I can almost see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, Daniel attacking this problem with all the power of his formidable mind.
"Okay," Dave says. He rubs his hands together and grins, flashing teeth with a gap in the front. It makes him look like a monkey. For some reason I dislike him a little less.
"Okay?"
"Yes, okay. It's time to start. Let me tell you my basic plan for what you can get out of therapy, and then you can tell me if it needs to be changed, all right?"
"All right," Daniel replies warily. "But I can tell you right now that you'll probably have to change a lot."
"Then I'll change a lot. I'm here for you, Daniel, not for me. All I ask is that you try to let me help you."
Daniel glances at me, and I shrug. It sounds like a pretty good plan to me.
"Okay," he says. "I'll try."
"Good." Dave pulls a notepad out of his pocket and glances at it quickly. "So. Here's my understanding of what happened. You were basically trained and brainwashed into believing that you were only safe from torture if you were touching a member of your current team. At the time, it was SG-5, but you replaced them with SG-1 in your mind at some point, and now if nobody is touching you, you become panicked and flashback to your time in the hands of your captors."
"That's a bit of a simplification," Daniel says. He looks like he can't decide if he should be embarrassed or offended to have six weeks of hell reduced into a few sentences.
"I know," Dave says, "but it covers the essentials. Now, I believe we should work on one thing at a time, so you can focus all your energy on it. The way I see it, you have two main obstacles to overcome. The dependence on being touched, and the trauma and aftereffects of being raped. These are both major complexes and will both have a serious effect on your ability to live the life you want. The question is--which do you want to address first?"
"The touching thing," Daniel replies promptly. "I'm dealing with the... the other thing on my own."
Dave nods. "I see."
"I am."
"I'm sure you are."
"Don't patronize me."
Dave smiles. "Then don't lie to yourself. How can you claim to be dealing with the rape if you can't even say the word? If you can't even hear me say it without becoming uncomfortable?"
Daniel is tense beside me, his muscles twitching and thrumming. "Jack," he says. "I... I need..."
"Now?" I ask. I know he's getting mad, but I also know he'd be embarrassed about throwing a fit and punching the couch cushions in front of a practical stranger.
"No. Not now. Don't let me."
"Okay." I turn his face to mine and put my hands on his cheeks, steadying him. "Look at me, Daniel. Breathe. In, out, in, out... slowly... think very hard about all the coffee I'm going to smuggle in for you when Fraiser isn't looking." His lips curl up a little, but it's more of a snarl than a smile. His fists are clenching and relaxing, over and over, grinding into his legs.
"Daniel?" Dave asks.
"Shut up," we tell him together. That makes Daniel smile a little more, and he forces his hands to smooth out, pressing his palms against my chest. I've found that it often calms him to feel my heart beating, and my chest rising as I breathe.
"Okay," he says. "Okay, okay... I'm getting it. I'm all right."
"Outstanding," I tell him. I ruffle the little bit of hair that has grown back, and he rolls his eyes.
"What was that?" Dave asks quietly.
"Nothing." Daniel has his arms crossed over his front again, and he presses against my side, thrusting his chin out defiantly.
"Daniel. I thought you were going to let me try to help."
"Try all you want," he says.
Dave just looks at him, the picture of patience. His look says that he can wait all day, if necessary. Daniel sighs and sags on the couch, rubbing at his face.
"Okay," he finally mutters. "I get mad sometimes. The dumbest things can set me off, and then I just... I lose it. I end up hitting something for a while."
"And you didn't want to do that in front of me."
"Exactly."
Dave presses the tips of his fingers together, tapping them against his lips. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that anger is a natural reaction."
"So I've heard," Daniel says.
"Expressing it physically, through exercise or, as you said, hitting something, is actually a very good idea. Bottling it up doesn't make it go away."
"He doesn't bottle it up," I say. "He usually kicks the crap out of the couch, actually. All of us--his friends--we know he needs to let this stuff out. We want to help him too, you know."
"I didn't mean to imply otherwise," Dave says mildly. "And from what I've seen so far, you've done a remarkable job." He nods at Daniel. "You've shown a great deal of resilience and strength, Daniel. There are a lot of people who would be reduced to a lifetime of medication and psychiatric supervision after an experience like that."
"Been there, done that," Daniel says dryly. "I'm not anxious to revisit the padded room and the orderlies with the big needles."
"I would imagine not." Dave consults his notes for a moment, and then gives Daniel an assessing look. "So. You said that you want to work on your dependence on touching first. I think that's a good idea, because once you're more independent, it should help give you the self-confidence to believe that the rape was not your fault."
"I know it wasn't," Daniel insists.
"But do you *believe* that it wasn't?"
He hesitates for a long moment, casting me a sideways look from beneath his lashes. "I don't know," he mumbles. "Maybe not."
Dave nods, his eyes steady and cool, and the difference between pity and sympathy is so sharp that Daniel brightens visibly. He's sick to death of being pitied, but someone who can actually understand appears to be a whole different ball game.
"That's for later, though," Dave says. "One thing at a time. Today, we'll start by having you stand alone for a short time."
Daniel freezes, and his hands clamp down on my leg, beside his. "You mean... without anyone touching me?"
"Yes. Just for a little while."
"No," Daniel says quickly. "No, I can't do that. I'm not ready for that."
"When do you think you'll be ready?"
Daniel just shakes his head. He's swallowing convulsively, and he blinks at Dave a few times before pressing his face against my shoulder and closing his eyes tight.
Dave stands up, his hands on his hips. "You have to start somewhere, Daniel. I'm only asking for ten seconds."
Daniel shudders, but he slowly lifts his head. "Ten seconds? That's all?"
"That's all," Dave confirms. "Don't think about this in terms of ultimate goals. The idea of spending a whole day without being touched probably seems impossible right now. Take little steps--ten seconds. Count it out in your head, right now. See how short it is."
"Okay," he says in a very small voice. I see his lips moving as he counts, zipping through the numbers as fast as he can. I want to ask Dave if this is such a good idea, but Daniel doesn't need my uncertainties right now. He has enough of his own.
"Okay," Dave says. "Are you ready?"
"No."
He smiles. "Can you try anyway?"
Daniel takes a deep breath. "How do we do this?"
"First, you need a replacement object." Dave looks around the room, and then crosses over to the bed and grabs a pillow. "Here," he says, thrusting it at Daniel. "Hold this against your chest. It will give you something to hang on to. Think of it as a middle step. Needing people to hold you, then needing something to hold, then not needing anything."
Daniel takes the pillow and squeezes it, burying his face in it for a long moment. It happens to be my pillow, and I figure holding something that carries my scent will only help.
"Now stand up," Dave instructs. "Colonel O'Neill, you come with him. I want you to stand behind him with your arms around his waist. Daniel, don't touch the Colonel. Hold onto the pillow, and lock your hands in place. Grab your own wrists. When he moves away, you're going to want to reach for him, and you need to fight that."
"Ten seconds, right?" Daniel asks tremulously as we stand.
"Ten seconds. Here we go. Daniel, hold on tight, and get ready to count. You're going to count them out loud. It'll help you focus. Colonel, when I tell you, let go and quickly move away. Make a clean break, but stay where he can see you."
I open my mouth, and then shut it again. I don't like this. Everything in me is saying that this is only going to get Daniel upset. We've spent so much time over the last few weeks trying to keep him calm and happy that deliberately rattling him just goes against the grain.
"Colonel?"
"Yeah," I grate. "Yeah, let's get this over with."
"Hurry," Daniel whispers. "The waiting is killing me."
Dave nods sharply. "Colonel. Now."
I was holding Daniel tight, my arms fitting beneath his and wrapped around his too-thin waist, but now I spread them wide and back away, crossing to stand beside Dave. Daniel takes two lurching steps after me, wide-eyed and frightened, shaking his head.
"Daniel! Count!"
Daniel jerks to a stop when he hears Dave's order, and starts to obey automatically. "One," he says. "Two, three... f-f-four... Jack oh God Jack I can't, please please..."
"Five," Dave says. "Halfway there. Hold your pillow. Six, seven..."
Daniel closes his eyes and moans, rubbing his face frantically over the pillowcase. "Eight," he gasps out. "Nine. Ten. Jack, Jack, hurry please please please..."
"Go," Dave says, but I'm already there. The pillow squishes between us as Daniel jumps at me, and then I'm rocking him, my hands on his back and in his hair and my voice in his ear, mumbling nonsense. He's crying again, sobbing breathlessly against my chest.
"Don't let go," he says. "Stay, stay, stay, don't let go anymore... Jack, please, promise, please..."
"You'll be okay," I tell him. It's not what he asked to hear, but I won't make a promise that I can't keep. We can't go on like this forever.
"Daniel?" Dave asks gently. "Do you feel like you can talk any more today?"
"Go away," he says. "Just go away."
Dave nods and gathers his notes. "I know you don't like me right now, Daniel, but this was an important first step. I'll be back tomorrow."
"No," Daniel says. He hasn't lifted his face from my shoulder since his ten seconds ended. "No more. Can't do this."
"You can." Dave doesn't wait for an agreement that isn't coming. He just nods at me and leaves, affording me a glimpse of Carter and Teal'c hovering anxiously in the hallway. I wave them in, and they join me around Daniel. We do this group thing a lot when he's really upset, like after one of his screaming nightmares. It seems to reassure him better than anything else.
"Jack, Sam, Teal'c," he says. "Don't let go. God, that was awful. I can't do this, I can't... not again..."
"It's okay, Daniel," I tell him numbly. I don't even want to think about what's going to happen tomorrow, when the shrink comes back. It has to be uphill from here. Things can only get better, right?
~~~
Two weeks later, we've got the routine pretty much down. Daniel and I shower together in what has become a stiff, awkward choreography of maintaining contact with minimal intimacy. I've tried just holding his hand from the outside of the shower, but that's not enough contact for him. He gets panicky if I'm not touching him enough, but if it's too much, while we're naked, he starts to hyperventilate and go overboard with scrubbing his skin. It's a fine line, and we're still working out the exact boundaries there. They seem to change every day.
The doc still has him on a strict diet, mostly high-protein stuff, and he's steadily gaining weight. The nurses keep slipping him homemade cookies, which I suspect are low sugar to keep from upsetting his stomach, but he eats them like they're his treasured chocolate-walnut cookies from that tiny bakery downtown. The room has been brightened considerably with flowers and balloons from most of the SGC. We had to start turning them away when we ran out of space, and once that message got out, people stuck to cards. You can barely see the concrete walls now, they're so covered in cards. A handmade one from Hammond's granddaughters has pride of place, pinned over the headboard where Daniel can see it easily.
He's still far too thin, of course--you don't rebuild from near starvation in two weeks--but he's on the right track. Physically, he's clearly going to recover just fine. It's not his body that we're worried about.
He still cries at the drop of a hat, and he still gets embarrassed about it, but I think that's not as much of a problem for him anymore. He's used to his emotions being so close to the surface, and under such thin control. When he burst into tears because Carter brought him a book he'd been wanting, he seemed resigned to it. He said, "Oh, here we go again. Pass the tissues, would you?"
It was the first screaming fit of anger that caught him off guard. I wasn't there myself, having finally been convinced by the others and their constant nagging to take a break. The way Carter tells it, Fraiser told him he couldn't have coffee when he asked for about the thousandth time, and he just flipped out.
When I walked in, he was screaming at the top of his lungs in some language I didn't recognize, kicking furiously at the couch we had brought in, alternately shoving at Carter and Teal'c, and then begging them to stay. In the end, it was only Teal'c who could hold him, and he still fought wildly, hating the dependence, hating all of it. He called Teal'c every nasty name I've ever heard and then some, told him to let go right this second, but when Teal'c went to obey, Daniel panicked and clung and apologized over and over. In the end, he was totally exhausted, crying again, and he curled against me in the bed and hid his face in a way he hadn't done for days.
That was the first time. When we talked about it later, he was so ashamed that he couldn't meet my eyes. He tells Teal'c that he's sorry about every five minutes. Teal'c keeps trying to say it's not necessary, but Daniel's not hearing that.
"It's natural for you to be angry, Daniel," I told him.
"Right," he said. "I'm sure it's natural for me to scream and throw things and generally have a temper tantrum like a spoiled two-year-old, too, is that right?"
"Yeah, actually, it is."
He glared at me, and then smoothed his face with a conscious effort. "You're just saying that."
I lifted his chin, forced him to look at me. "No, I'm not. Where do you think I go when I'm not here? I'm in the gym, beating the hell out of the punching bags. I hate what's been done to you, Daniel, and I'm not even the one who's locked in this room, dependent on my friends."
"Yeah," he said. "Well, I am. And I don't see any punching bags in here. You want to take me to the gym? Let everyone watch you put your arms around me, so I can be held and hit something at the same time? Give everyone a good show?"
"You're getting mad again now, aren't you?"
"What was your first clue?" he snapped, and then he closed his eyes and ground his teeth together, clinging to that thin edge of control.
"Here," I said, and guided him over to the couch. "Hit that."
He looked at me like I was crazy and folded his arms, shaking his head. Didn't want to lose it again. "This is stupid," he said.
"So play along. Humor me. It's for your own good, Daniel."
I could feel him stiffen in my arms. "Do you have any idea how many times a day I hear that?" he growled. "It's all Janet says to me. 'No coffee, Daniel, it's for your own good. You need to drink this protein shake, which, by the way, tastes like reconstituted roadkill, because it's for your own good.' And then, of course, there's Sam, who wants me to *talk* about it. 'You need to share how you feel, Daniel. It's for your own good.' You know, for someone who's doing so much for my own good, I sure don't feel that great!"
"I bet you don't," I said. "I bet you're sick of needing everyone like this. I bet you're ready to punch the next person who thinks they know what's best for you."
"Guess who that is?" he asked, looking at me narrowly.
I smiled and turned him toward the couch again. It was time to deliver the final blow. "I know how you feel," I said.
His hands bunched into fists at his sides. "You don't have the first *clue* how I feel!" And that was all she wrote. He tore into that couch, shouting things I wouldn't have expected a man with an ivy-league education to have in his vocabulary. But then, Daniel always was good at communicating. He was making sure I heard how pissed off he was loud and clear.
I stayed behind him and steadied him, my arms loosely around his waist, letting my chest brush his back whenever he leaned into me. He carried on at a furious pitch for several minutes, the couch creaking and cracking ominously, and then ran out of steam, slumping down and letting me catch him. We ended up in a tangled pile of arms and legs on the much-abused couch, Daniel gasping for breath and shaking.
"You did that on purpose," he said when he finally caught his breath.
"Did what?"
I got an actual smile for that. "Made me lose my temper. You were pushing all the right buttons, and you know it."
"Was I?"
He thumped me gently on the chest and actually laughed, a weak, breathless little sound. "Don't play dumb with me, Jack."
"Who's playing?" I asked, and he laughed again.
We sat together quietly for a long time, Daniel loose and sprawling in my arms, until he lifted his head and regarded me with sleepy, calm eyes. "Thanks," he said.
"Anytime."
So we did that a few more times. It's gotten so that Daniel can predict it, to a certain degree. He'll be carrying on like he normally does, reading or tapping away on his laptop with someone sitting close beside him, and something will set him off. We never know what it's going to be, and I don't think he knows, either. Sometimes it seems like there's no reason at all. He'll just go all tense and lower his head, and tell us he needs to hit something. Then we steer him toward the couch or the pillows, stand behind him, and hold on for the ride.
He ends up trembling with exhaustion and usually crying afterward, but I think every time he does it, he breathes a little easier.
He hasn't had many visitors. The general wanted to come see him, but Daniel pleaded with us to stop him. He's so ashamed of his dependence, and Hammond's opinion means a lot to him. He doesn't want someone who he respects like a father to see him this way. Hammond was very understanding about the whole thing, as he usually is, and told us we had all the time we needed to get Daniel back on his feet. 'To make our boy well again,' was the phrase he used, and Daniel started crying again when we repeated it to him.
All of SG-5 has been by more than once, visiting in a group. They've kind of adopted Daniel, and since they already saw him at his worst, he doesn't feel so bad about them seeing him now. Guthman in particular seems fond of him, and swept him up in a hug the moment he walked into the room. Daniel accepted it the way he accepts all touches now--gratefully and with more than a hint of don't-let-go desperation.
Once the initial hugs and questions about his well-being were out of the way, an awkward silence fell. They'd all seen what he went through, and nobody wanted to talk about it. They came by at feeding time once, and I think watching him eat did something to all of them. Corin, the kid who'd been in shock in the infirmary, looked like he was going to cry. Guthman saw it and covered for him with a comment about how much better Daniel looks now.
The whole team seems relieved to see how improved he is, and Guthman never gave the slightest indication that he knew about us, or that he had any problem with it. I had my arms around Daniel for a while during their visit, and none of them even blinked, which I have to admit was a relief. Daniel paid special attention to Corin, making sure the kid knew how much his support was appreciated, and I was proud of that. That Daniel could still look outside himself and be aware of those around him. They say that the ability to show compassion is one of the biggest signs of a stable mind.
Other than that, and the occasional visit from one of Fraiser's nurses when she's off duty, it's only been SG-1. We stayed nonstop in the beginning, but the doc was right about that burning us out quick. Daniel is extremely high maintenance. We love him, of course, but everyone needs a little space and some time to themselves occasionally. I can only imagine how much it's driving Daniel nuts to never have any privacy. I think, in his position, I'd be screaming and hitting things, too.
Daniel requested a few things from his office when he got bored, and a few things turned into a lot of things. He's getting some of his backlog of translation work done, when Fraiser isn't hounding him to get more rest, and I'm getting a lot of paperwork taken care of. Carter is actually writing that book on wormhole physics that she's been thinking about for so long, and Teal'c... well, he watches a lot of TV. We got a TV and a DVD player in here, and he's been working his way through a collection of old TV shows in boxed sets. He likes Green Acres. It's a little scary, actually.
So it's not peaceful, and it's not great, but it's something we can live with. Daniel is slowly healing in more ways than one, and we all feel like we're doing something to contribute to that. There's no question that he has a long way to go, though, and that's where today's visitor comes in. Daniel is starting therapy today.
He's not happy about it.
I meet the shrink they got especially for Daniel out in the hall before we go in together. The deal is that I stay in the room during the session, so I can hold Daniel, but everyone else clears out so he can have some degree of privacy.
"Hi," he says, sticking a hand out. "You must be Colonel O'Neill. I'm Dr. Nelson, but please call me Dave."
I take his hand gingerly--he's built like a bird. Thirty going on fourteen, looks like. Skinny, with a quick smile and blue eyes like Daniel, but not as sexy. Like anything could be. "Hi, Dave," I say. "I'm Colonel O'Neill, but please, call me Colonel."
His smile sharpens a bit at the edges. "I see," he says. "Shall we?"
So we go in, and Dave zeroes in on Daniel quickly. It'd be hard not to pick him out, though, because even with the weight gain he's still noticeably thin, and both Carter and Teal'c are hugging him as they get ready to leave.
"Hello," he says brightly. "You must be Daniel."
Daniel declines to take the offered hand. He has a decent excuse, seeing as his arms are still around Carter and Teal'c, but it still sends a clear message. "Hello," he says. "You must be Dr. Nelson."
The shrink drops the hand, but doesn't seem put out. "Please, call me Dave," he says.
Daniel nods. "I'd tell you to call me Daniel, but apparently you've decided you don't need my permission."
Carter grins and tries to hide it. I don't bother. Daniel always did have teeth when he wanted to.
I take Daniel from the others, giving him a quick and comprehensive hug. "Nice shot," I whisper in his ear, and I feel his cheek crease against mine as he smiles. We sink onto the couch together, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. I sling an arm around him and he slouches so that he can rest his head on my shoulder. Carter and Teal'c file out without a word to the shrink, who is left standing and staring at us, frowning slightly.
"I take it you're not very enthusiastic about the idea of therapy," he says.
"I don't have the best history with psychiatrists," Daniel replies.
I nod and smile broadly. "Yeah, didn't you read his file? Last time a shrink got a hold of him, he ended up locked in a padded room. Mistaken diagnosis. Doesn't exactly generate a lot of faith for psychiatry in general."
"I did read about that," Dave says. "In fact, I've spent the last several days doing nothing but reading about you, Daniel. I would have recommended therapy for you even before this most recent capture and torture. You've been through a lot."
Daniel blinks innocently up at him. "Really? I hadn't noticed."
Dave sighs and drops into one of the chairs. "Do you know why I was chosen to speak with you?" he asks.
"I'd assumed it was because you had the necessary security clearance, and because they knew there was no way in hell that I'd talk to Mackenzie."
"That's part of it," Dave says. "But I specialize in men who have been raped."
Daniel hunches his shoulders and glares, and I squeeze him a little closer. He refuses to lean on me, though, sitting stiffly by my side.
When he doesn't get an answer, Dave plows right ahead. "It's an area that I have a certain understanding of, because it happened to me, too."
That gets Daniel's attention. "What?" He looks up sharply, and Dave meets his stare without blinking.
"It was about five years ago," he says. "Of course, I was in a gay bar, so I figured it was my fault that the guy thought 'no' meant 'yes, please.' I was probably asking for it by being there."
Daniel is shaking his head. "No," he says. "That's not..."
"I know," Dave tells him. "I know it wasn't my fault. But it took a lot of time, and a lot of counseling for me to get to this point. To be able to talk about it, and then to be able to move on. You never forget, but you can learn to live with it."
"I know it wasn't my fault," Daniel says mechanically.
"And you know that you don't need to be touching someone in order to be safe, but I haven't seen you without contact for a second since we met. Knowing something rationally and truly believing it are often two different things."
Daniel scowls, but he doesn't have an answer for that one. Dave just smiles blandly, and Daniel's face relaxes after a moment, the scowl softening to a thoughtful frown. I can almost see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, Daniel attacking this problem with all the power of his formidable mind.
"Okay," Dave says. He rubs his hands together and grins, flashing teeth with a gap in the front. It makes him look like a monkey. For some reason I dislike him a little less.
"Okay?"
"Yes, okay. It's time to start. Let me tell you my basic plan for what you can get out of therapy, and then you can tell me if it needs to be changed, all right?"
"All right," Daniel replies warily. "But I can tell you right now that you'll probably have to change a lot."
"Then I'll change a lot. I'm here for you, Daniel, not for me. All I ask is that you try to let me help you."
Daniel glances at me, and I shrug. It sounds like a pretty good plan to me.
"Okay," he says. "I'll try."
"Good." Dave pulls a notepad out of his pocket and glances at it quickly. "So. Here's my understanding of what happened. You were basically trained and brainwashed into believing that you were only safe from torture if you were touching a member of your current team. At the time, it was SG-5, but you replaced them with SG-1 in your mind at some point, and now if nobody is touching you, you become panicked and flashback to your time in the hands of your captors."
"That's a bit of a simplification," Daniel says. He looks like he can't decide if he should be embarrassed or offended to have six weeks of hell reduced into a few sentences.
"I know," Dave says, "but it covers the essentials. Now, I believe we should work on one thing at a time, so you can focus all your energy on it. The way I see it, you have two main obstacles to overcome. The dependence on being touched, and the trauma and aftereffects of being raped. These are both major complexes and will both have a serious effect on your ability to live the life you want. The question is--which do you want to address first?"
"The touching thing," Daniel replies promptly. "I'm dealing with the... the other thing on my own."
Dave nods. "I see."
"I am."
"I'm sure you are."
"Don't patronize me."
Dave smiles. "Then don't lie to yourself. How can you claim to be dealing with the rape if you can't even say the word? If you can't even hear me say it without becoming uncomfortable?"
Daniel is tense beside me, his muscles twitching and thrumming. "Jack," he says. "I... I need..."
"Now?" I ask. I know he's getting mad, but I also know he'd be embarrassed about throwing a fit and punching the couch cushions in front of a practical stranger.
"No. Not now. Don't let me."
"Okay." I turn his face to mine and put my hands on his cheeks, steadying him. "Look at me, Daniel. Breathe. In, out, in, out... slowly... think very hard about all the coffee I'm going to smuggle in for you when Fraiser isn't looking." His lips curl up a little, but it's more of a snarl than a smile. His fists are clenching and relaxing, over and over, grinding into his legs.
"Daniel?" Dave asks.
"Shut up," we tell him together. That makes Daniel smile a little more, and he forces his hands to smooth out, pressing his palms against my chest. I've found that it often calms him to feel my heart beating, and my chest rising as I breathe.
"Okay," he says. "Okay, okay... I'm getting it. I'm all right."
"Outstanding," I tell him. I ruffle the little bit of hair that has grown back, and he rolls his eyes.
"What was that?" Dave asks quietly.
"Nothing." Daniel has his arms crossed over his front again, and he presses against my side, thrusting his chin out defiantly.
"Daniel. I thought you were going to let me try to help."
"Try all you want," he says.
Dave just looks at him, the picture of patience. His look says that he can wait all day, if necessary. Daniel sighs and sags on the couch, rubbing at his face.
"Okay," he finally mutters. "I get mad sometimes. The dumbest things can set me off, and then I just... I lose it. I end up hitting something for a while."
"And you didn't want to do that in front of me."
"Exactly."
Dave presses the tips of his fingers together, tapping them against his lips. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that anger is a natural reaction."
"So I've heard," Daniel says.
"Expressing it physically, through exercise or, as you said, hitting something, is actually a very good idea. Bottling it up doesn't make it go away."
"He doesn't bottle it up," I say. "He usually kicks the crap out of the couch, actually. All of us--his friends--we know he needs to let this stuff out. We want to help him too, you know."
"I didn't mean to imply otherwise," Dave says mildly. "And from what I've seen so far, you've done a remarkable job." He nods at Daniel. "You've shown a great deal of resilience and strength, Daniel. There are a lot of people who would be reduced to a lifetime of medication and psychiatric supervision after an experience like that."
"Been there, done that," Daniel says dryly. "I'm not anxious to revisit the padded room and the orderlies with the big needles."
"I would imagine not." Dave consults his notes for a moment, and then gives Daniel an assessing look. "So. You said that you want to work on your dependence on touching first. I think that's a good idea, because once you're more independent, it should help give you the self-confidence to believe that the rape was not your fault."
"I know it wasn't," Daniel insists.
"But do you *believe* that it wasn't?"
He hesitates for a long moment, casting me a sideways look from beneath his lashes. "I don't know," he mumbles. "Maybe not."
Dave nods, his eyes steady and cool, and the difference between pity and sympathy is so sharp that Daniel brightens visibly. He's sick to death of being pitied, but someone who can actually understand appears to be a whole different ball game.
"That's for later, though," Dave says. "One thing at a time. Today, we'll start by having you stand alone for a short time."
Daniel freezes, and his hands clamp down on my leg, beside his. "You mean... without anyone touching me?"
"Yes. Just for a little while."
"No," Daniel says quickly. "No, I can't do that. I'm not ready for that."
"When do you think you'll be ready?"
Daniel just shakes his head. He's swallowing convulsively, and he blinks at Dave a few times before pressing his face against my shoulder and closing his eyes tight.
Dave stands up, his hands on his hips. "You have to start somewhere, Daniel. I'm only asking for ten seconds."
Daniel shudders, but he slowly lifts his head. "Ten seconds? That's all?"
"That's all," Dave confirms. "Don't think about this in terms of ultimate goals. The idea of spending a whole day without being touched probably seems impossible right now. Take little steps--ten seconds. Count it out in your head, right now. See how short it is."
"Okay," he says in a very small voice. I see his lips moving as he counts, zipping through the numbers as fast as he can. I want to ask Dave if this is such a good idea, but Daniel doesn't need my uncertainties right now. He has enough of his own.
"Okay," Dave says. "Are you ready?"
"No."
He smiles. "Can you try anyway?"
Daniel takes a deep breath. "How do we do this?"
"First, you need a replacement object." Dave looks around the room, and then crosses over to the bed and grabs a pillow. "Here," he says, thrusting it at Daniel. "Hold this against your chest. It will give you something to hang on to. Think of it as a middle step. Needing people to hold you, then needing something to hold, then not needing anything."
Daniel takes the pillow and squeezes it, burying his face in it for a long moment. It happens to be my pillow, and I figure holding something that carries my scent will only help.
"Now stand up," Dave instructs. "Colonel O'Neill, you come with him. I want you to stand behind him with your arms around his waist. Daniel, don't touch the Colonel. Hold onto the pillow, and lock your hands in place. Grab your own wrists. When he moves away, you're going to want to reach for him, and you need to fight that."
"Ten seconds, right?" Daniel asks tremulously as we stand.
"Ten seconds. Here we go. Daniel, hold on tight, and get ready to count. You're going to count them out loud. It'll help you focus. Colonel, when I tell you, let go and quickly move away. Make a clean break, but stay where he can see you."
I open my mouth, and then shut it again. I don't like this. Everything in me is saying that this is only going to get Daniel upset. We've spent so much time over the last few weeks trying to keep him calm and happy that deliberately rattling him just goes against the grain.
"Colonel?"
"Yeah," I grate. "Yeah, let's get this over with."
"Hurry," Daniel whispers. "The waiting is killing me."
Dave nods sharply. "Colonel. Now."
I was holding Daniel tight, my arms fitting beneath his and wrapped around his too-thin waist, but now I spread them wide and back away, crossing to stand beside Dave. Daniel takes two lurching steps after me, wide-eyed and frightened, shaking his head.
"Daniel! Count!"
Daniel jerks to a stop when he hears Dave's order, and starts to obey automatically. "One," he says. "Two, three... f-f-four... Jack oh God Jack I can't, please please..."
"Five," Dave says. "Halfway there. Hold your pillow. Six, seven..."
Daniel closes his eyes and moans, rubbing his face frantically over the pillowcase. "Eight," he gasps out. "Nine. Ten. Jack, Jack, hurry please please please..."
"Go," Dave says, but I'm already there. The pillow squishes between us as Daniel jumps at me, and then I'm rocking him, my hands on his back and in his hair and my voice in his ear, mumbling nonsense. He's crying again, sobbing breathlessly against my chest.
"Don't let go," he says. "Stay, stay, stay, don't let go anymore... Jack, please, promise, please..."
"You'll be okay," I tell him. It's not what he asked to hear, but I won't make a promise that I can't keep. We can't go on like this forever.
"Daniel?" Dave asks gently. "Do you feel like you can talk any more today?"
"Go away," he says. "Just go away."
Dave nods and gathers his notes. "I know you don't like me right now, Daniel, but this was an important first step. I'll be back tomorrow."
"No," Daniel says. He hasn't lifted his face from my shoulder since his ten seconds ended. "No more. Can't do this."
"You can." Dave doesn't wait for an agreement that isn't coming. He just nods at me and leaves, affording me a glimpse of Carter and Teal'c hovering anxiously in the hallway. I wave them in, and they join me around Daniel. We do this group thing a lot when he's really upset, like after one of his screaming nightmares. It seems to reassure him better than anything else.
"Jack, Sam, Teal'c," he says. "Don't let go. God, that was awful. I can't do this, I can't... not again..."
"It's okay, Daniel," I tell him numbly. I don't even want to think about what's going to happen tomorrow, when the shrink comes back. It has to be uphill from here. Things can only get better, right?
~~~