Part 2

Daniel doesn't look surprised. When I walk in the front door, he and Danny are spread out on the floor, sheets of paper all around them, covered in markings that I vaguely recognize. It looks like Daniel has been teaching the kid more hieroglyphics and cuneiform and that kind of thing. The boy, absorbed in the strange, sideways bird thing that he is currently drawing, doesn't look up, but Daniel gives me a long, resigned stare.

"Honey, I'm home," I call out, and Daniel's stare turns into a glare.

"Jack!" the kid shouts, jumping up and running at me, his head connecting with my stomach just below my ribs. I let out surprised "oof" of air and stagger backwards a couple steps, my arms going around him automatically.

"Hey," I wheeze. "Didja miss me?"

Danny grins brightly up at me, flashing those oddly perfect teeth. "Sure!"

I crouch down so I can look him in the eye, and I catch hold of his hand. The bandage is small, like the doc promised, the thickest part covering the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, with gauze wrapped around his palm to keep it in place. "How's the hand?" I ask. "I hear you saw a little action while I was gone."

The grin disappears like it was never there, and he jerks his hand away, scowling at me. "You told!" he accuses Daniel, whirling to glare at him, arms tightly folded.

Daniel, who is still sitting in the middle of the floor, shakes his head. "No, Danny," he sighs. "I haven't even talked to Jack since he got home. How could I tell him?"

The kid scuffs his foot along the floor, not quite stomping it, but close. "I don't know," he mutters. "Maybe you called him on his little phone. Why did you tell?"

Daniel gets to his feet, dragging himself off the floor with a lethargy that says a lot about how tired he's feeling. "I didn't..."

"Doctor Fraiser told me," I interrupt. "She was worried about you, kiddo."

Danny turns the glare back at me. "I'm fine."

Where have I heard that before?

"Did you eat yet?" Daniel asks, neatly changing the subject.

I shake my head, and he offers to order a pizza, so we make that happen, and Daniel keeps up a steady stream of light conversation through dinner and afterwards. I let him do it, because we shouldn't fight in front of the kid, and I can't shake that heavy feeling in my gut that tells me a fight is coming. It's like the way the air pressure drops before a storm.

We're lolling around on the couch after dinner, something on TV that I'm not really paying attention to, with the kid comfortably ensconced between us. His bony little elbow gets acquainted with my ribs, and his head grows heavy on my shoulder. Daniel's arm, slung over the back of the couch, allows him to rub his fingers over the back of my neck. It's almost nice enough to make me forget the big ugly discussion we've got coming.

"Hey, buddy," I say, nudging the kid. "Why don't you go get ready for bed?"

He sits up straight and hops off the couch, turning to look at both of us. His eyes narrow suspiciously, and he shakes his head. "No," he says. "You're going to talk about me."

Daniel and I exchange an uncomfortable look. I know how Daniel feels about lying to the kid, but we can't exactly tell him what we're going to discuss, and we certainly can't do it in front of him.

"We have to," Daniel finally says. "We have to help each other decide what would be best for you."

Danny sets his jaw and lowers his head like a bull getting ready to charge. "No," he repeats emphatically. "If you're talking about me, why don't I get to be here?"

Daniel looks at me for help, and I shrug and go with that parental classic, "Because we said so."

This doesn't go over well.

"That's not fair!" Danny wails, his fists clenched at his sides and his breathing speeding up. He's getting ready to throw a real fit. We've seen enough of them to recognize the signs.

"It's a grown up kind of talk," Daniel tries, patting the air soothingly.

"I'm not a baby," the kid retorts.

"We know that," I say quickly. "But this is something that's just between Daniel and I. Don't you have things that only you know about? Things that you two talk about without me?"

Danny tilts his head to one side and gives me a long, appraising look. "Secrets? You and Kayel have to talk about secret stuff?"

I'm too busy wincing at his continued use of "Kayel" to notice Daniel frantically shaking his head at me. "Yes," I agree. "Secret, grown up stuff."

The kid turns wide eyes on Daniel. "You're going to tell! You're going to tell about Doctor Herbig and the cameras! You promised!" Then he turns on his heel and races from the room, stomping up the stairs and slamming the door to his bedroom.

Daniel and I stare at each other in the sudden silence. "That went well," we mutter together, and then share a pained smile.

"I should go after him." Daniel starts to rise from the couch, but I catch him, yanking him back down to sit close beside me.

"Wait until he has a chance to cool down a little," I tell him. "And besides, you owe me a proper hello." Which is another thing we need to talk about. Daniel won't let me do anything in front of the kid.

"What makes you think you're forgiven for that 'Hi honey, I'm home' remark?"

"Daniellll..."

"Don't whine," he says shortly. "I heard enough whining while you were gone."

I sigh and flop back against the couch, pulling Daniel with me so he ends up as a heavy, solid weight on my chest. Now that I'm really looking at him, I can see the shadows under his eyes, the lines of tension around his mouth, and I can feel the tense set of his shoulders. I rub at them idly, digging my fingers into corded muscles, and he groans low in his throat and leans into my hands.

"I take it the kid was less than a perfect angel?"

He snorts and nods sleepily, his hair brushing against my chin. "You already know the worst of it. I assume Janet told you about the dog."

"Yeah, she did. Do you have any idea why he would do that?"

"I don't know."

I tilt my head to the side, trying to catch his eye, but he won't let me. "You don't know?" I ask. "I figured you'd know everything there is to know about that kid. Did you ever do something like what he did?"

"How much do you remember about being seven, Jack?" Daniel counters, tensing a little more against my fingertips.

He's got me there. "Well... it was longer ago for me than it was for you."

"That doesn't matter." He sighs and I can see him deliberately relaxing, forcing his clenched hands to smooth out. "Even if I could remember every single thing I did thirty years ago, that doesn't mean I would know why I did them. I remember being... difficult, bad enough that most families sent me back within a few months, but I don't know a lot of specifics. If I knew why I did that stuff, maybe I could have stopped."

"You did stop eventually," I point out.

"I grew up. Going to college, trying to make it in academia--it's a tough field. Very competitive, with plenty of people who will steal your work and take credit for your efforts if you don't watch your back and make the right friends. I had no choice but to leave the childish crap behind, or I never would have made it."

"Ah." I try to imagine Daniel in college, and come up with an image of a too-young kid with too-big glasses and a persistent mouth, always asking questions that made his professors uncomfortable. I guess he had to learn to take care of himself the hard way. "So you're saying that the kid will keep doing this stuff for another ten years, and you don't know why."

"Maybe not. Maybe if he's with us, he'll grow out of this stage faster. Maybe with stability and security and enough attention and affection..." Daniel shrugs and waves a hand.

"Let's hope so."

Daniel nods and angles his body to place the back of his neck under my hands, and I knead it obligingly. He allows himself to enjoy this for a few minutes, and then he takes a deep breath and pulls away.

"I should go talk to Danny," he says, clearly not looking forward to it.

"No, you shouldn't." He blinks at me, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken question, and I add, "Let him sulk. If we go chasing after him every time he gets mad and storms off, we're letting him control us. It's a power game, Daniel. If he makes us come to him, trying to placate him, then he's got all the power. We have to do the adult thing and wait him out."

Daniel huffs disagreeably, but sinks back into the couch. "I don't like that," he says. "It seems manipulative."

"Sometimes you have to be manipulative to be a good parent. Children don't always listen to reason."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't try. If he won't listen, then we can deal with it from there, but how do we know if we don't try?"

"It's the trying itself that gives him the upper hand," I insist. "Wait him out." And then, before Daniel can argue further, I tug him close and start rubbing his shoulders again. "So, tell me about the dog."

"You already know."

"I know what Fraiser told me. You were there. You saw it firsthand."

He shrugs, his shoulders growing tight again under my hands. "It happened like I told her. Danny was playing in the front yard and I went in the house for a minute. When I came back out, he was gone. I hunted around for about fifteen minutes, calling for him, and just when I started to get really worried, I heard him laughing from across the street. I saw him throw the dog... it was like a sling, the way you whirl it until you get enough speed to let the rock go. We're lucky that dog wasn't seriously hurt."

I nod and kiss Daniel's temple, because it's there. "I guess we owe Marty an apology."

"I already did," Daniel says. "When I asked him if the dog had his rabies shots. But that was after I caught up with Danny. When I saw him throw the dog, I went running in that direction, but I had to go around the house to get in through the gate, and by the time I got back to the yard, he was trying to get the rope back around the dog's legs. He got bitten before I could get to him, and then..." Daniel shivers slightly, his eyes faraway.

"And then what?"

"Then I think if I hadn't been there, he would have really hurt that dog. Either that, or the dog would have really hurt him. He was so furious with it for biting him, and he started trying to kick it and shake it and he was... shrieking is really the only word for it. I pulled him back and he fought me, tried to bite me and claw at me for a few minutes until he finally calmed down. Then he cried for a while. He was quiet for the rest of the evening, even when Janet cleaned the bite. He just stayed close to me and didn't talk."

"Christ," I mutter, resting my chin on Daniel's shoulder. "What a mess."

"Yeah."

Daniel is quiet for a long moment, and then he twists, lifting his head to kiss me comprehensively. I blink, surprised, but I kiss him back, enjoying the lazy, familiar sense of rising heat and pressure.

"Mmm," he murmurs when he finally pulls back. "Missed you."

I suspect that I may have an embarrassingly soft smile on my face. "I know."

Daniel grins and says nothing, settling back against me and staring into space, his hands busying themselves with absently plucking at my jeans.

I clear my throat and shake off the sleepy lethargy that tries to fall over me. "So what do you think brought that on?"

"I don't know. He seemed happy enough playing in the yard. It wasn't like he hurt the dog out of malice--he actually seemed to think it was fun. A game."

"Was that something you did when you were a kid?"

Daniel stiffens and his hands draw away from my leg. "I told you already, I don't remember."

Uh-huh. Time to redirect. "Fraiser wants Danny to see a therapist."

"I know," Daniel snaps. "And I also know she recruited you to try and talk me into it."

"You don't think it's a good idea?"

"We've been over this."

"We've been over the fact that you don't want him in therapy, but you've never explained why."

Daniel shoves my hands off his shoulders and stands abruptly, starting to pace. "There are things you don't know about."

"So tell me."

He whirls, fixing me with a cold glare. "So tell you? Like it's so simple? This is something I've never told anyone, Jack. Something I haven't even thought about in thirty years. You act like it'll be easy."

"No," I argue, "I act like it will be necessary. You can't deny that the kid has problems. Why don't you want to help him?"

Okay, I admit, that was a low blow, but it scores a direct hit. Daniel freezes, a stricken look crossing his face and his arms wrapping around his stomach. "I do want to help him," he murmurs. "I'm trying to help him the best way I know how."

"Maybe there's a better way."

Daniel stares at me and sighs heavily, nodding. "There probably is. Hell, I don't know what I'm doing here, Jack. I'm making it up as we go along. Besides, I'm hardly the best candidate to deal with Danny's problems, when I haven't even dealt with my own. I don't know what I was thinking, adopting a child..."

"Whoa, hey." I hold a hand up, shaking my head. "Back up. You were damn sure you did the right thing last week. What's with the sudden doubts?"

Daniel drops into a chair across from me and puts his face in his hands for a moment. "I don't know," he mumbles. "I didn't realize... leaving SG-1 and trying to balance work and Danny and he needs so much that I'm not sure I can give him... god, what if I'm screwing everything up? What if I'm making him worse?"

"That's enough," I say sharply. "First of all, I know you are the best person to take care of that child. Just the fact that you're overwhelmed by the responsibility and scope of it tells me that you care enough about him to take this seriously. You think you're the first one to worry like this? This is what parenting is, Daniel. You're always afraid that you're making some huge mistake, and twenty years down the road your kid will be telling his shrink about what a terrible parent you were. You're either smothering them or neglecting them or holding on too long or making them grow up too fast. Everyone makes it up as they go along, and nobody really knows what they're doing. All you can do is try your best, love them, and hope."

Daniel lifts his eyes, watching me steadily. "Is this what it was like for you?"

"Every minute."

"I think..." He shakes his head, gives me a look of impossible compassion. "I think I'm only now understanding what it did to you when you lost Charlie."

I lean back, crossing my arms and lifting my chin, staring him down. "You're getting off the subject."

He laughs briefly. "You don't want to talk about Charlie, and I don't want to talk about the whole psychiatrist thing. It's okay for you to drag my story out of me, but I can't do the same to you?"

I grit my teeth and force a smile, striving for a patient, calm voice. "It's different. My talking about Charlie serves no purpose. You telling me about your past makes us more equal in terms of Danny, and gives us a chance to help him."

"I see," Daniel says thinly. "Nice rationalization."

"Now you're trying to pick a fight so you won't have to talk."

He scowls, but doesn't deny it. "Fine," he snaps. "Fine. You really want to know? You're just so damn curious you can't stand another second not knowing? Then I'll tell you, but you won't like what you hear."

"I'm not planning on liking it."

He smiles humorlessly. "Good plan."

When he falls silent again, I goad him with raised eyebrows and an impatiently tapping foot. He glares, and then closes his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath.

OOO