Alea Iacta Est

Part IV:

Reintegration

Let one equal the whole; allow three to equal the value of one.

Should two only be present, formulate a means by which the remainder may be reintegrated into the whole.

"Ah, Jack? You sure you know where you're going?"

Abruptly Jack stopped, his legs straddling a young windfall. "Danny, I lead you on missions to unknown planets and you don't trust me to lead you on a little hike through northern Minnesota?"

"It's not that I don't trust you," Daniel began, "it's just that you seem more preoccupied with Sam than you do with the trail."

The exasperation that had bled into Jack's features at the man's question drained as he realized not only the validity of Daniel's observation, but the obvious transparency of his own internal debate. That being the case, denial would be futile. "It's that apparent, huh?"

"Well," Daniel drawled, "...yeah."

Jack sighed and lowered himself to the ground, patting the forest floor beside him as an invitation to his companion.

"Wow," Daniel muttered as he plopped down beside him. "Jack O'Neill willingly talking. Never thought I'd live to see the day..."

"Yeah, well, keep that up and you'll have to live a few more."

"Sorry."

Jack plucked a small plant from the earth beside him and began to systematically strip it of its leaves all the while racking his brain for an appropriate lead-in for this particular conversation. After he had thoroughly decimated the foliage, he opted for honesty.

"I'm worried about her." He was silent for awhile before adding, "And I hate leaving her, but I just...I dunno." He sighed and threw the remaining scrap of stem deep into the undergrowth.

"You needed a break."

"Yeah," Jack agreed quietly, feeling slightly shamed at the admission. "Is that wrong?"

Daniel shook his head. "I don't think so. You can't take care of her all of the time."

"Yeah, but she refuses to take care of herself," he muttered. "Someone's gotta do it."

Daniel sighed inwardly, silently relieved at his friend's statement. Jack was not as blinded by his affection for Sam as he had thought. Aloud he asked, "What do you mean, refuses to take care of herself?'"

"You've seen how much she eats," he said, absently playing with a cluster of dead pine needles. "She doesn't shower unless I'm there, which, ya know, I don't mind, but..." he shook his head. "...but it's not right. Not that anything about this situation is right," he added quickly, cringing at his verbal clumsiness. "I expected more of a...reaction, I guess, after yesterday. She remembered what happened, and that's great, well, not great, but--"

"I gotcha."

Jack nodded. "Right. But today I guess I just expected more...something. More of last night. More tears, more memories, more..." He trailed off and ended the sentence on a sigh. "But it's like yesterday never happened. Like even though she remembers and she knows and she knows she has to know, she still wants to forget."

Daniel looked at him. "Can you blame her?"

"Hell, no!" Jack exclaimed. "Shit, Danny, I want to forget it happened...but that's one more thing that wouldn't be right." He paused, his gaze fixed on the distant tree line. "She says she'll tell me if things get too bad, but..."

"You don't know if you believe her."

"I don't know if I can," he muttered. "Every time I hold her I'm scared I'm gonna break her in half." Sighing, he began snapping pine needles and piling them by his feet. "And if I bring it up, she either dismisses it or turns into psycho-uber-bitch..."

"Wow," Daniel uttered, his eyes widening. "I didn't know Sam had it in her to be a psycho-uber-bitch."

Jack shot him a half-hearted smile. "You'd be surprised." He remained silent for awhile and absently organized his sizable pile of pine needle halves. "Last night I dreamt she shot herself," he murmured, his voice distant. "And even though she promised me...I can't help but think..." He trailed off, lost in the machinations of his own mind. She was so fragile, so tiny, and so blissfully unaware. In that short span of silent moments, he recounted every embrace, every gentle kiss and could feel her body slowly slipping away from in between his fingers like beach sand. Quietly, he continued, "She doesn't need a gun, or anything else for that matter, if she's set on leaving; but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let her get away with that." A deep sigh wrenched itself out of his throat and his hands fell limply from his wrists. "I just don't know what I can do about it."

--------------------------------

"Mind if I join you?"

Sam looked up from the pages of the old mystery novel she had rescued from Jack's overstuffed bookshelf. Janet was standing a few feet away, her arms laden with medical journals. "No," she answered. "Not at all." Raising her eyebrow at her friend's material, she added, "Catching up on some light reading?"

Janet grinned. "Hey, I actually enjoy this stuff."

Sam smiled wryly at the doctor and went back to her book. Unconsciously she shifted in her seat and protectively pulled her knees to her chest, her open book settling between her upraised thighs.

Janet noted the change in her demeanor immediately and sighed as she perched on the edge of the couch. "Sam, I'm sorry about yesterday."

Her eyes never straying from their course along the lines of text, she answered, "There's nothing to be sorry about. You were doing your job."

"No." The vehemence in Janet's voice shocked Sam into looking up from the yellowed pages. "If I had really been doing my job," the doctor continued, her tone softer, increased in understanding. "I would have realized that you weren't ready for the exam."

"Janet, it's all--"

"No, Sam, it's not all right." Janet's eyes wavered slightly as she sighed. "You weren't ready and I knew it, but I went ahead anyway."

Sam slammed the book down beside her. "Dammit, Janet, I told you to do the stupid thing. You were acting in accordance with your patient's wishes, now stop beating yourself up about it."

"It's not that simple, Sam, and you know it."

Sam sighed tiredly and rested her head against the back of the couch. "Well, then, apparently I've forgotten, so you're going to have to remind me."

"You've...suffered a severe trauma. For all practical purposes, you shouldn't even be alive right now." Janet sighed as Sam's jaw tightened and the woman's eyes glazed over as she stared blankly ahead. "Your...reasoning is impacted, your judgment is impaired--Sam, I should have held off--"

Sam cut her off with a frustrated cry and sat up, her eyes flashing venomously. "My reasoning and judgment are fine, Janet. And contrary to popular belief, I am fine."

"Then why've you lost almost forty pounds in five weeks?"

"I haven't--"

"Yes, Sam," Janet said gently. "You have. Thirteen while you were on the planet and twenty-five since then. And the fact that you're not aware of it proves to me that you are undoubtedly not fine.'"

How dare she... Sam felt her remaining muscles clench painfully in an effort to stave off a wave of infuriated tremors. Unable to speak for her anger, she merely glared at her friend and quickly rose from the couch, intent on locking herself in her bedroom, safely away from the galling concern and probing questions that she had come to so despise. But as she crossed the threshold of the hallway, she felt her limbs grow cold and numb as her head swirled with the rapidly fading image of the darkened hall. She was falling and suffocating and suddenly terrified. Her anger gone, she heard herself weakly utter Janet's name before the world pitched her to her knees and all grew dark and silent.

Janet sighed heavily as she watched Sam angrily leap off of the couch and stomp down the hall. She was at the peak of her stubbornness and, frankly, Janet was getting sick of it. Right now every medical fiber of the doctor's training was exhorting her to hook the woman up to an I.V. for the remainder of their stay, sedating her if necessary. Her medical journals forgotten, she began contemplating that line of action and was on the brink of resolving to tell Jack about it when the sounds of Sam gasping her name followed by a body falling limply to the floor jolted her out of her ruminations.

"Sam!" Janet was off the couch and across the room in seconds, her fingers instinctively latching on to the pulse that beat faintly against the woman's throat. Her skilled hands quickly searched Sam's head and neck for injury and, finding none, silently breathed a sigh of relief before calling loudly for Jacob.

Several moments later the door behind her opened and the man's rumpled form emerged, his eyes still bleary from sleep, but clearing immediately when he saw his daughter's fallen body. "Sam..." Stooping down beside the doctor, his eyes wide, he asked, "What happened?"

"She passed out. She probably got up too quickly for her brain to adjust."

"She fainted?" He regarded the doctor skeptically. "She's never fainted. Not once."

"Yeah, well," the doctor muttered, drawing a deep breath. "I doubt she's ever been this severely undernourished either." Jacob silently conceded Janet's observation as she rose. "Stay with her," she ordered. "If she wakes up, tell her to stay put."

"Where are you going?"

Janet's mouth thinned as she called over her shoulder. "To do something I should've done when we first got here--set up an I.V."

As he heard Janet descend the porch steps and the gravel crunch beneath her feet as she hurried out to the car, Jacob turned back to gaze solemnly down at his daughter. Tenderly clearing the mussed strands from her face, he whispered, "...hang in there, honey...just keep...hanging in there."

Janet returned several minutes later, I.V. and a small case in hand and brushed quickly past him, disappearing into Jack and Sam's bedroom while calling curtly over her shoulder, "Bring her in here."

Jacob frowned. "Shouldn't we wait until she wakes up to move her?"

Janet's head appeared from around the corner, her eyebrow arched and a scowl set deeply across her face. Her eyes leaping with indignation, she said, "Let me be the doctor, all right?" Jacob swallowed harshly, quite nervous in the face of Janet's imminent wrath, and nodded before scooping his daughter into his arms. Wincing as her ribs dug into his chest, he realized just how emaciated she had become and strode into the bedroom, suddenly eager to get her hooked up to the machine. Janet had turned down the blankets on one side of the mattress and helped him cover her as he gently eased Sam's unconscious body in between the sheets. Quickly backing out of the doctor's way, he watched silently as she activated a vital monitor and deftly encased Sam's finger in the receiver before sanitizing the back of his daughter's hand and inserting and securing the I.V.

"There," she sighed, obviously satisfied as she watched the fluid ease itself into Sam's body. "Let's just hope she stays out for awhile."

"Excuse me?" Jacob asked, his eyebrow arching as his incredulousness gained greater ground. "Wouldn't it be better if she snapped out of this sooner rather than later?"

Janet nodded. "Theoretically. But she's not going to be too happy when she realizes she's hooked up. She seems to think she's fine, which isn't unusual for her. Her stubbornness has been proving its true colors of late."

Jacob mulled over the doctor's observations and accepted her case. "Tell ya what," he said eventually. "You leave her to me. Go do whatever it is you were doing before all this happened--I'll tell ya if anything beeps or blips or whatnot--and I'll take care of the explanation when she wakes up. She'll agree more easily hearing it from her old man."

Janet nodded and smiled gratefully at him. "Thanks, sir. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," he said. "And stop all this sir' business. We're supposedly on vacation. Call me Jacob. Hell, you can even call me Dad.' Lord knows everyone else does."

Her smile broadening, Janet laughed softly. "All right." As she cast one last look over her shoulder at Sam's gaunt form, she added, "I'll be in the living room if you need me. And let me know when she's awake and...and calm."

Jacob nodded. "Will do." He heard Janet trail softly out of the room before turning back towards his daughter. He hated seeing her hooked up to these damned machines, but he also reluctantly admitted their necessity in keeping her stable. Her little fainting spell had just proven that rather efficiently. No, he thought, she's not fine. No matter what he or anyone else would like to believe, his brave, beautiful Samantha was worlds away from fine.'

-----------------------------------------------------

Jack and Daniel cleared the tree line and headed briskly towards the cabin, both exhausted from their jaunt, but eagerly anticipating that first draft of air conditioning followed by the crisp refreshment of an ice cold beer. Jack's spirits had increased substantially over the course of their conversation and discovering that Daniel was as clueless as he was had only served to heighten his mood. Oddly enough, it was a comfort knowing that he was not alone in his ignorance.

As they trod tiredly into the cabin, Jack's eyes fell blissfully shut and he splayed his arms out to the sides. Reveling in the blessed coolness of the room, he muttered, "God bless Freon..." before stooping to remove his boots.

"The weary travelers return."

Jack looked up from his bootlaces and nodded curtly to Janet. "The perimeter has been secured, ma'am."

Janet smiled tiredly. "Hope you kept the fatalities to a minimum, gentlemen."

"Well," Daniel answered as he set his boots on the rack. "Jack did dismember a part of the local flora."

"Hey, the little stinker had it coming. Did you see the way he was looking at me?" Jack padded towards the kitchen and immediately noticed Sam's absence. "Sam sleeping?" he called over the door of the refrigerator as he pulled out two bottles of beer. He made a mental note to change his socks A.S.A.P. as he walked back to the living room. The hike had had a decidedly negative effect on his feet.

"Well," Janet said slowly. "You might say that."

Handing one of the bottles over the back of the couch to Daniel who had taken the opportunity to slump against its cushions, Jack frowned, his concern immediately piqued when he registered Janet's hesitant tone. "What do you mean? Where is she?"

"She's in the bedroom. Jacob's with her." Sighing, she added, "She passed out about a half hour ago."

The perimeter of Jack's eyes nearly doubled as he sputtered, "W-what!"

"She's all right, Jack. She woke up very briefly about ten minutes ago and she's sleeping now."

But Jack had not heard her. He had dropped his beer on the seat of a living room chair and was hastily making his way back to their bedroom. "Oh god..." he muttered at the sight of her again hooked up to medical monitors. "Sammie..."

"Not quite the welcome you were expecting, huh?" Jacob was sitting in a chair by his daughter's bedside, his elbows perched on his knees as he glanced from Jack to Sam.

"No," Jack muttered as he slumped onto the edge of the bed. "What happened?"

Jacob sighed. "Janet thinks that she just got up too fast for her brain to keep tabs on itself."

"Yeah, she's been doing that lately. Getting lightheaded and dizzy. Normally it's just in the mornings, though."

Jacob looked at him sharply. "You knew about this? Did you tell Janet?"

Jack shook his head. "She didn't want me to."

"Jack," the older man said, his voice dangerously low, but Jack abruptly clipped the impending diatribe with an impatient wave of his hand.

Rising from the bed, he jammed his hands into his pockets and proceeded to pace slowly around the room. "I know, I know. I should've told the doc. No preaching, all right?" He paused momentarily, both in speech and movement before quietly adding, "but she's been through so much that she didn't want to happen, I wanted to..." He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. But he had no need to. Jacob's face immediately washed of its severity and softened as the man his daughter loved gazed down at her still form wistfully, his eyes troubled and haunted with the ghosts of everything he could not do--could not have done--to help her. "I would never knowingly hurt her, Jacob."

"I know," he answered, believing the man's sentiment for the first time. "I know you wouldn't. And I know watching her...fade is killing you as much as it's killing me. Maybe even more."

Jack shook his head. "Not more," he said. "Just differently. I know how this father-kid thing works."

Jacob looked down at his hands and absently picked at the skin around his nails. His son. How could he have forgotten? Jack had lost his son. Years ago, yes, but from the death of his wife, Jacob knew that the pain never left. It eased in its severity, it became easier to live with, but it never fully dissipated. His eyes closed painfully as he remembered the words of the officer on the scene and how he had used his position both as her husband and as a military officer to gain access to the wreck; he remembered the unnatural pallor of his wife's skin as she lay silently dying while the EMT's had worked so desperately to resuscitate her; and he remembered the spiraling unreality that had gripped him as they pronounced her dead and loaded her lifeless body into the back of the waiting ambulance. That image fixed in his mind, he whispered, "And I know what it's like watching the woman you love die."

Their eyes met then for a very brief moment, but in that moment all of the residual tension between them ebbed and faded into insignificance. Placated by their mutual understanding, Jack eased himself onto the bed and sat next to Sam, his back leaning heavily against the headboard. Placing his hand lightly on her head, he stroked the cold skin of her brow with his thumb, hoping silently that a modicum of her disquiet would be eased by the contact. He smiled as she shifted into his caress and turned her head towards him, her eyes still closed and her breathing still regular.

"She loves you, you know," Jacob told him.

Jack nodded, a small, wry smile tickling his lips. "I know," he replied. "It's the why' part I don't get."

Jacob chuckled ruefully. "Ain't that always the case?"

Their conversation faded in and out through the entirety of Sam's sleep, but the silences no longer seemed ominous and the scattered bits of speech no longer appeared forced. When Sam awoke an hour later, they were in the depths of a whispered discussion, the like of which her exhausted mind could not decipher. She did not open her eyes, but moaned softly as she regained consciousness. God, did her head hurt...

"Hey," Jack said, his voice soft and near and very reassuring. "There you are."

Deciding that full-fledged speech would reverberate too loudly in her skull, she uttered a low, affirmative groan that garnered a concerned response from her father.

"Your headache back, honey?" Conserving her movement as much as possible, she nodded and then heard her father say, "I'll go get Janet."

She heard her father retreat out of the door as Jack shifted somewhat on the bed, his warmth suddenly beside her, holding her while his arms could not. As his hand alighted feather-soft on her head, she heard him mutter, "Heard you blacked out for awhile there." She did not respond, but instead reached weakly towards him, needing to feel part of his body against her skin. His hand filled hers, their fingers interlacing in the way he knew she found most comfortable; only then did she relax completely and did not even stiffen as she heard Jacob and Janet reenter the room.

"Hey there, Sam," Janet said as she walked up to the bedside, the soft tapping of her knuckle against the barrel of a syringe causing Sam to frown in protest. "It's not a sedative, I swear," the doctor assured her. "It's something to take care of your headache."

"Last time you said that," Sam mumbled, wincing as her words tumbled loudly through her brain, "I passed out."

"That's called exhaustion, honey," Janet replied smoothly. "Something you have quite a bit of, I'm assuming." When Sam did not respond, the doctor sighed inwardly. "I know I'm not your favorite person, Sam, but indulge me, all right? I just want to make you more comfortable."

Silently questioning Jack, she administered the drug at his nod, disposed of the materials, and then plucked a pen light from off of the bedside table. "Sam, I need you to open your eyes so I can check for any changes." As soon as the words left her mouth, the doctor cringed, causing a small chortle to escape Jacob's throat that he quickly covered with a low, strangled cough. When Janet turned to cast him a withering glance, he winked at her reassuringly, silently urging her to continue her clinical evaluation.

Sam, on the other hand, groaned and turned her face towards Jack, physically disallowing the doctor's required examination. "Sam," Jack said, the reproach palpable in his tone. "Let Janet do her job. She's only trying to help you." Sam said nothing, but he noted that the tension gradually seeped out of her muscles and her eyes opened to slits as a signal of her reluctant submission.

Smiling gratefully at the colonel as he gently eased her patient's head to an approachable angle, Janet murmured, "It's gonna get a bit bright for a second, all right? Look over my shoulder at your dad." Janet gently lifted Sam's upper eyelid a fraction of an inch more in order to thoroughly examine the woman's iris and briefly flicked the light on. Sam stiffened, a pained moan escaping her lips as the ache in her head momentarily flared. "Just once more," Janet soothed as she turned her attention to Sam's other eye. And then the brilliant infiltration was over and Sam, still wincing from the onslaught, was rubbing her eyes wearily before being overtaken by an enormous yawn.

"Go back to sleep," Jack whispered, his fingers absently combing through her tousled hair. "You've only been out for an hour and a half."

But Sam shook her head and opened her eyes again to look up at him. "I don't want to sleep anymore," she mumbled, repressing another yawn. Before Jacob could open his mouth to object to Sam's protest, Jack silenced him with a pointed look as he moved to lay next to her.

"All right," Jack agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she shifted carefully into his arms. "You don't have to sleep, but we're going to stay here for awhile, k? Just until Janet's pumped you full of...whatever it is she's pumping you full of." Sam nodded weakly, her eyes drifting shut as Jack continued to comb his fingers lazily through her hair. "You wanna hear about the joke I pulled on Daniel today?" A tired smile flitted across her lips as she nodded again and shifted closer to his warmth.

Jacob smiled as Jack began his story and his daughter drifted further and further into unconsciousness as she lay securely wrapped in his arms. Tossing a grin to Janet, he cocked his head towards the door and exited, the doctor in tow, leaving Jack to soothe Sam back into the peaceful tides of sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Daniel looked up from his book as Jacob and Janet entered the living room. "How is she?"

"Oh," Jacob said as he lowered himself onto the couch. "She'll be out again in a minute or two."

"I'm assuming Jack's with her."

Jacob nodded, smiling affectionately. "Yep, and he picked up quick on her one real weakness."

"What's that?" Daniel

"Well," Jacob began, "Sam hated going to bed when she was a kid so Anne and I got into the habit of telling her that she could stay awake as long as she was in bed reading. Ten or so minutes later, one of us would go up and snuggle with her while we read her a book and ran our fingers through her hair. She'd be out before we even got to the middle of the story."

"Ah," Daniel said. "What story is he telling her?"

"He's telling her about some joke he played on you today," Janet intoned, smiling at the blush that began to creep up Daniel's neck. "Care to share?"

"Um...no," he told her. "I think that's one that can stay between Jack, Sam, and myself." Quickly changing the topic lest he be subjected to the rigors of peer pressure, he asked, "How is she mentally? Any idea?"

"Well, she had a really good impression of a two-year-old going for awhile," Janet sighed. "Other than that, not really. She hasn't said much to me, though. After yesterday, I don't blame her. I'd avoid me, too, if I were her."

Daniel frowned. "That wasn't your fault, Janet. You were only doing your job."

"Yeah, that's what Sam said. But that was before I put her on the I.V. She's mad as hell at me now."

"She didn't know she was being hooked up?" As he watched Janet shake her head, his lips formed a perfect o' of understanding. "I see..." Silence fell upon them for awhile before he asked, "So I take it that you're both as concerned for her as Jack and I."

Jacob grunted. "Yeah. Is that what you talked about out there?"

"Pretty much," he sighed. "Jack told me in a round-about-Jack sort of way that he thinks she wants to leave,' to use his exact terminology, but that she isn't aware of that particular desire, at least, not on a conscious level." Turning to them both in turn, he said, "I thought he might not be far off. What about you?"

Janet nodded slowly. "Working solely off of observation of her behavior, I would say that's as good an explanation as any. She doesn't even seem to be aware that her weight loss is even happening let alone as severe as it's become. She refuses to listen when I bring it up."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, Jack said the same thing." Raising a sympathetic eyebrow at Jacob, who appeared to have disengaged himself from the conversation, he continued, "It doesn't seem like Sam to go about it in this manner, though."

"No, it doesn't," Jacob sighed, obviously not as disengaged as he seemed. "But it's not the first time she's done this." He could feel the incredulity index of the room jump several notches as he continued, "She did the same thing when her mom died. Didn't eat for days. I figured she was too devastated to keep anything down. After about a week or so she started eating again. I never mentioned it to her." Tiredly rubbing his hands across his face, he added, "It never got this severe, though. But as hellish as Anne's death was, I'm guessing this is several hundred times worse."

After a moment, he rose from the couch and walked over to the picture window on the opposite side of the room. Staring out into the brilliance of the landscape washed by the mid-afternoon sun, he muttered, "I'll be damned if I'm going to let those bastards kill my little girl. I don't care if we have to sedate her and feed her intravenously to keep her alive."

"Uh, problem," Daniel intoned. "We'd need her permission before we even attempted anything like that."

"No," Janet said quickly, her brow creased in a string of rapid thought. "Jack could okay it if came down to that. He has provisional medical clearance. We wouldn't even have to declare her mentally unfit."

Daniel frowned. "Provisional medical clearance?"

"Provisional medical supervision, actually. It's normally only invoked in special cases, usually involving prisoners of war or victims of war crimes," Janet explained. "I know the General had to pull a few strings in order for them to approve her release into his custody. It allows for the patient to be taken into the personal care of a loved one or family member on the condition that the supervisor then incurs all responsibility of the patient including the administration or abstention of all medical procedures. Now, I know that Jack didn't intend to order treatment for Sam beyond what she wanted or was required to have done, but I don't think he'd have a problem with approving a means to save her life."

"No," Daniel answered, his frown deepening as he drew out the word. After a moment he said, "Before we resort to that...let me try something."

Jacob turned towards him, his curiosity piqued. "What are you thinking?"

Daniel rose from the couch and headed towards the entry. Pulling his sandals on, he muttered, "I'm not...sure yet." He grasped the handle of the door and added, "I'm going to go walk. I'll be back...later."

Jacob watched as the door closed softly behind Daniel and then quipped, "And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the enigma also known as Doctor Daniel Jackson." Smiling ruefully as Janet chuckled, he added, "I'm gonna grab a beer. Want one?"

Janet raised her eyebrow. "I thought the Tok'Ra couldn't drink."

"Oh, no," Jacob called from within the depths of the refrigerator. "The Tok'Ra choose not to drink in order to keep the strain on the symbiote to a minimum. Selmak's already assured me that she doesn't mind--in fact, she's the one who suggested it."

"Oh," Janet said, her surprise apparent. Recovering quickly, she said, "Yeah, then by all means. Grab me one, too." As Jacob pressed the blessedly cold bottle into her palm, she muttered, "Something stronger than 5.2 would be preferable, but I'll take what I can get."

Jacob grinned and twisted off the bottle cap. "Cheers."

Let one equal the whole; allow three to equal the value of one.

Should two only be present, formulate a means by which

the remainder

may be reintegrated into the whole.

Jack woke up because he smelled pizza. Sam woke up because the arm beneath her head moved.

"Sorry," Jack muttered as Sam moaned softly in protest as his body decided to stretch without his brain's permission.

"S'ok," she mumbled and then groaned as the sharp tug of the I.V. line prevented her from rolling into his embrace. "I know Janet's only trying to help, but can't she help in a way that's a bit less irritating?"

Jack chuckled and planted a kiss on her temple. "Want me to go find her and ask her if you can get off that thing?"

"Ordering her to pull the damn tube out of my hand would be preferable."

He smiled. "I'll be right back."

Sam nodded and obligingly relinquished his arm, settling back against the pillows with a low, disgruntled groan. His nose wrinkling slightly as he realized his socks had yet to be changed and the sweat had since hardened into the fabric, Jack ripped them off of his feet, threw them in the general direction of the hamper, and plucked a fresh pair from his drawer. He was in the process of unrolling them when he bumped into Daniel in the hallway.

"I was gonna mention that to you earlier," Daniel said, pointing to the garments in his hand.

"Oh, no mentioning necessary. I was well aware." Jack leaned against the door jam to Daniel's room and pulled the socks onto his feet. "Just didn't get the chance."

Daniel nodded. "Right. How is she?"

Jack lowered his voice to prevent his words from carrying down the hall and into the range of Sam's hearing. "Cranky, irritable, and adorable as hell. Where's Janet?"

Daniel grinned at Jack's description of Sam and nodded towards the kitchen. "Janet's in the kitchen showing off her culinary skills to Jacob."

"So that's who's behind that delightful aroma..." he said, inhaling deeply and began wandering down the hallway towards the source of the intoxicating blend of Italian spices. Rounding the corner, he said, "That settles it. You both are staying for the rest of our leave. Jake, you have breakfast duty; Janet, you got dinner; and we have leftovers for lunch. How's that sound?"

Janet grinned as she spread sauce over a lightly browned homemade pizza crust. "Thanks for the offer, but somehow I think I'd wear out my welcome. Sam already cringes whenever I get close to her."

"Speaking of Sam," Jacob piped up from the corner, chopping green peppers with practiced ease. "How is she?"

"Well, she's awake."

"And wanting off of the I.V. I'd imagine," Janet said. She deposited the spoon back into the saucepan and, after washing her hands thoroughly in the sink, asked, "Is she still a tad on the grouchy side?

Jack's eyebrows rose infinitesimally. "She's awake."

Groaning softly, Janet led the way back to her patient. As she entered the room and saw Sam sitting cross-legged on the bed, her chin planted firmly on the fist of her free hand, she said, "Looks like you're feeling better."

"I was never feeling bad."

Janet sighed. "Right." As she switched off the various machines, she added, "Well, regardless of you feeling bad' or not, your color's improved. You're not so sallow."

"Great," Sam muttered, obviously unimpressed. "Can you get this thing out of me now?"

Silently, Janet removed the I.V. line and swabbed the area before covering it with cotton and tape. "Now, take it easy," she exhorted gently. "And eat something. We're in the middle of making pizza. It should be ready in about half an hour or so." Jack offered her a grateful smile as she exited the room, one she returned half-heartedly before disappearing around the corner.

"You don't have to be so hard on her, Sam. She's only trying to help you."

Sam sighed, frustratingly running her fingers through her hair. "She didn't even ask me, Jack. She just hooked me up to the damn thing. I thought you brought me here to get away from all that stuff."

Jack rounded the end of the bed and sat down beside her, his hand coming to rest gently on her knee. "I brought you here to get better," he said. "And, yeah, Janet's a doctor, but she's also your friend. She only did it because she thought it was the best thing for you." He paused before adding, "And from what I hear, you weren't exactly in a position to give your consent when she started it." She looked away from him, a mixture of general anger and shame swirling about her eyes. After a moment, he tipped her head up and tucked a strand of wayward hair behind her ear. "We got a half hour," he murmured, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek. "You wanna take a shower before dinner?"

Sam offered him a small, wry smile. "Do I smell that bad?"

Jack narrowed his eyes playfully and helped her out of bed. "I wouldn't say that," he answered, his hand alighting on the small of her back. "'Reek' is more like it--ow!" He cried out in mock pain as Sam's elbow dug soundly into his ribs. "Hey, no bashing the old guy."

"Eh," she muttered as they entered the bathroom, "he's tough. He can handle it."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

She still refused to wash her body or even look at herself in the mirror. While Jack did not mind being entrusted to cleanse her body for her, he did find her reluctance a bit disconcerting, but did not mention it lest he upset the fragile balance she had struggled to attain. Tipping her head back into the arch of the hot water, he gingerly rinsed the shampoo from her hair before working the conditioner through the wet strands. A hesitant throb settled itself between his lungs as he poured her body wash into the netting of the bath sponge. Last time they had done this--almost exactly twenty-four hours ago--it had ended in a rather...emotional manner. Cradling her jaw in the palm of his free hand, he ran his finger along the droplets of water peppering her cheek.

"How ya doing?" he asked her softly, his eyes holding the real import of the question. Are you going to be all right if I continue? Will you remember that I'm the one touching you?

She looked up at him, her eyes reassuring his own as she placed her hands on his chest and raised herself to her toes to gently kiss him. Yes, she answered, I'll remember. Relieved of his consternation, he began the delicate task of washing her frail body, biting back his pained and bitter disquiet as the sponge traversed the ridges of her bones and the canvas of her yellowing skin. When he had completed her upper body, he began to move the sponge under the shower's cascade to rinse away the suds, but was stopped by her fingers wrapping around his wrist.

When he looked at her questioningly, she murmured, "It's all right." You can continue.

"You're sure?" Remember that it's me.

"Yes." I will.

Her hands alighted on his shoulders as he lowered himself to one knee in front of her and brought the sponge to her hip, gradually working the lather into her skin in soothing circles. The sponge passed over the narrow expanse of her thigh, over the curve of her knee, and down the length of her calf--her breath did not waver and her hands remained steady on his shoulders. Smiling inwardly at her show of faith, he whisked the lather around her remaining skin, giving the tangle of golden curls at the apex of her legs a wide berth, and stood, unable to help the slight glint of pride that sparkled in his eyes. "I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She smiled. I know you do. "I love you back."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

They entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later to find Janet pulling a pizza out of the oven while Jacob and Daniel discussed politics over beer. "Ah," Jack sighed, a slight smile on his face. "Pizza and beer--two of my favorite food groups." Sam tossed him a sidelong grin as she crossed the kitchen to retrieve a glass from the cupboard.

"How you feeling, honey?" Jacob asked, pausing in his long-winded diatribe against the current policies of the Tok'Ra regarding their Taur'i allies.

"Fine."

Whether her reply was deliberately curt or simply cut off by her immediate large gulp of water, Jacob was not certain, but either way, he did not let it effect him. "Glad to hear it," he told her as she pulled out a chair next to Daniel and slowly lowered herself into it.

Noting Sam's look of discomfort, Daniel frowned. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I think I was just lying in bed too long."

Janet did not miss Sam's blatantly scathing remark, and sighed as she handed Jack the pizza cutter. Biting back the umpteen medical reasons for Sam's soreness that flew into her brain and converged into one snide comeback, she pulled a stack of plates from the cupboard and set them on the table.

"Ta-da!" Jack said approaching the table with the pizza-laden cutting board in hand. Grabbing the chair next to Sam, he accepted a plate from Jacob loaded with two pieces of the gooey, cheesy, everything-but-anchovies goodness and set it in front of her.

"Thanks," she said, a smile on her lips that failed to reach her eyes.

"Welcome," Jack said, and then added in a lower, much more sympathetic tone, "I'll eat what you don't."

The smile seeped into her eyes then as she lifted one of the slices to her mouth and took a tentative bite.

Let one equal the whole; allow three to equal the value of one.

Should two only be present, formulate a means by which the remainder may be

reintegrated

into

the whole.

The day was ending better than Sam had anticipated. After everyone had had their fill at dinner, Janet and Jacob started a fire in the pit in front of the cabin while the rest of them cleaned up. When the kitchen was in some semblance of order, Jack pulled out his guitar, located another one for Jacob, and, marshmallows in hand, the three had tromped out to join Janet and Jacob by the roaring fire.

She was sitting at Jack's feet, leaning against the log behind her, her head resting lazily on his knee. As Jack and Jacob began yet another hearty chorus of "American Pie," Sam smiled inwardly at the easy rapport they had established since her father's arrival. Jack had told her that the two of them had gotten the opportunity to talk during her mid-afternoon "nap" and had "hashed the stuff that needed to get hashed." Judging by their good-natured digs at each other and the laughter that permeated their company, it had gone well and for that she was thankful.

"Wanna maffmawo?" Daniel had scooted over beside her, his mouth full of puffed sugar, and was holding a perfectly toasted marshmallow out towards her, the proffered confection dangling precariously from a whittled stick.

She laughed at his mangled speech, and shook her head. "That's all right. I wouldn't want to deprive you."

Working the marshmallow around his mouth to dissolve it, he said wryly, "Yeah, because my daily allowance of sugar hasn't been met today. Between the two of us, Janet and I have devoured half of the bag." He moved the stick closer to her. "Go on," he urged. "Take it."

Growling slightly at his adamancy, she slipped the browned marshmallow from the stick and popped it into her mouth. "Yoo hah-ee?"

Daniel grinned. "Absolutely." As he leaned against the log behind her, his shoulder lightly contacting hers, he said, "I'm sorry we haven't gotten much chance to talk these past few days."

"That's all right," she assured him and placed her hand affectionately over his. "I understand."

"Yeah, well, about your understanding..." he began, his eyes drifting towards the fire and his voice dropping several decibels before he continued. "Jack and I did a lot of talking today and he told me some of the...things you went through...in order to save our lives." He cleared his throat which had suddenly become tight and turned back to look at her. "I wanted to say thank you...even though it doesn't seem like nearly enough to repay you for what you...suffered for us."

"You don't have to repay me, Daniel," she answered softly. "I did what anyone would have done."

"No," he said immediately. "You didn't. I can't think of anyone else who would go to such lengths to keep their loved ones alive. If we were part of any other culture, you would have been sainted by now."

She flinched at his religious reference and shifted her gaze to the fire. "Yeah, well..." she muttered, wrapping her arms around her knees and pulling them close. "I think I've had enough of being revered to last me a couple lifetimes." Before he could open his mouth to ask forgiveness for his slip, she added, "And don't apologize. There's no need."

He nodded, his brow creased and his blue eyes concerned, but surrendered to the silence that engulfed them and pretended to listen as the rest of their company sang an old Beetles song. Eventually he muttered, "You don't always have to be strong, you know."

"Strong?" she answered her eyes widening as incredulity swept through her. "Daniel, I've cried more in the past week than I have my entire life. I haven't been strong; I've been a mess."

"Have you been broken?"

Sam stared at him, unable to comprehend either his question or his motive for asking it. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm not getting at anything, I just--" He broke off the thought with a frustrated sigh as his head dropped to hang idly from his neck. Finally, he took Sam's hand firmly in his and said, "Come with me."

Obediently, curiously, Sam rose unsteadily to her feet and followed Daniel as he headed for the cabin. As the pace he set began to strain her ability, she gasped, "Can you slow down? The cabin's not going anywhere." He did, but his jaw tightened visibly as he complied with her request, a response that incited a small a degree of hesitation within her gut. "What's all this about?"

Daniel opened the front door and gently pulled her inside. "I'm about to show you."

"Can't you just tell me?" Daniel's atypical behavior was quickly turning her hesitation to fear. She could only think of a few other instances when his eyes held determination of this severity and they were all related to life-or-death scenarios.

"Apparently not," he muttered as he tugged her into the bathroom and flipped the light on.

She sighed and took a step towards him, her eyes quietly pleading. "Look, Daniel, I'm sorry that I didn't understand your question, but there's no reason to--"

"Look in the mirror."

She stopped breathing. Several moments elapsed as her eyes grew to saucers and she felt a dead chill gradually permeate the air and soak into the waning piths of her muscles. As her breath returned with a shuddering gasp, she was able to secure the presence of mind needed to choke out, "W-what?"

"Look in the mirror."

His eyes had changed. Sympathy had come to mingle with determination and somewhere in the amalgam love had surfaced and shined reassuringly back at her. But she did not want his reassurances, and she did not want his sympathy. She wanted his emotional distance, his apathy, his ignorance--anything but his love. But there it was, staring back at her, alive and strong, and screaming at her that he was not apathetic, distant, or ignorant. In fact, he knew and in light of his knowing, he could not be apathetic or remain distant. He knew. Yes...his eyes told her gently...he knew.

And in the face of his knowledge--his horrible, fearsome knowledge--she was terrified.

"Daniel," she whispered, her voice trembling, "Please don't..."

He took a step towards her, gently grasped her upper arms and pulled her towards him. "Come on, Sam," he urged, his voice low and soothing. "We'll do it together, all right?"

"No," she breathed, her head shaking back and forth with pained deliberation. Her round, clear irises replete with dread, she silently pleaded with him to release her, but simultaneously knew the futility of the desperate request. "Please, Daniel," she whispered, her voice quaking in time with the trembling of her body, "I can't. Not now."

His fingers remained persistently clenched around her arms as she tried to back away towards the door, and his voice dropped substantially, wafting heavily, entirely over the brunt of her unwillingness. "If not now, Sam...when?"

Even as she battled desperately against its implications, she felt the draft of revelation overtake her and gradually drain the force from her body. She could not speak, not in the face of this profundity; her head shifted slowly from side to side and she watched the floor beneath her feet sway with the depth of her loathing. In the annals of her analytical, calculating brain the ratio of now to when unequivocally equaled never.

"Why are you so afraid?

...because I remember. But the words could not leap the chasm separating her mind and her tongue; she would not let them. To do so would invite the emotional bedlam that she had fiercely struggled to avoid these past few days. She knew what he was after, had recognized his intent the moment he had first exhorted her to look in the goddamned mirror--he wanted her to witness the physical manifestation of what they had done to her mind. To reconcile the dichotomy that still remained.

She did not possess the strength to do as he asked, nor did she possess the will.

"Why are you doing this?" The question was weakly stated, her speech slurred by the sudden enormity of her exhaustion, but even so, her tone was desperate, pleading with him to retract his request and forget everything he knew about her remaining division.

But he could not do that. The reason was simple.

"Because I love you, Sam. I care about you." He paused and bent towards her, his forehead coming mere centimeters from her own. "And I refuse to sit by and watch you slowly kill yourself."

Her eyes were closing then and she was shaking her head, violently denying his accusation. "I'm not," she was whispering. "That's not what--"

"Isn't it?"

"No." Another whisper, fragile and fading and entirely unconvincing.

"Come here." And he was taking her by the shoulders and directing her to face the mirror, his body very close, very firm against her back. "Open your eyes." Her body was turning towards his, her shoulders caving and nestling against his chest; her head heavy and hanging loosely from her neck; her fingers desperately clenching around the fabric of his corduroy shirt. "It's all right, Sam," he was whispering. "Open your eyes."

And she was complying, but was refusing to look in the glass; she was refusing to see what her mind was aching to tell her. And then Daniel's eyes were in front of her--very soft, very loving--and he was begging her silently to do this monstrous thing for him, to save her own life as she had saved his. And then his eyes were shifting to look at their reflection and she was begging him not to leave her alone; she was afraid she was telling him, so very afraid of the image in the mirror.

"Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

No. I can't...

But her chin was in his hand and he was turning her head and she was losing the control she had painstakingly erected and then she was finding that she could

not

look

away

from

the image in the mirror

It was broken, contorted, skewed, like the glass had once shattered and been pieced together by a child. There was an eye; and there, a limb; a hand, just there; a mouth, twisted into an awful purple loop; and now there was another eye, this one severed down the middle of the iris, appearing inhuman; and then there was the body...fragmented and misshapen and lost within drapes of fabric--hiding, it seemed, from the purveyors of this madness that separated eye from face and arm from hand, that could not unscramble the juxtaposition of these basic parts into a complex whole. This image was without form, void of any realness, an artist's poor rendering of a soul just prior to the brink of death.

And then she was realizing--

and he was saying tell me what you see.

And she was saying I see

...myself.

Let one equal the whole; allow three to equal the value of one.

Should two only be present, formulate a means by which the remainder may be reintegrated into the whole.