Wednesday, May 5
Reality A001

Daniel bent close to the document, or rather the copy of the document. Some of the symbols were very hard to make out. He shook his head as he checked closer with a magnifier. He was going to have to get them to bring him the original in order to make this out. He squinted. It didn't help.

Glancing up at the clock, he sighed. Two more hours of his eight. He shook his head and gathered the papers together to put into the file. Putting it on his pending stack, he picked up another file. That was another difference his move to this suite seemed to have made. He now had many files rather than just one at a time. He opened it and looked at the words on the page. It appeared to be some sort of inventory report, in Goa'uld. Weapons, mostly, with a few shield devices thrown in for good measure. Nothing he objected to translating.

A clanking sound alerted him to someone entering the room. He'd taken three of the spoons in the drawer, tied string around them, and draped them over the doorknob to create a makeshift door chime. He turned to see Hammond with Berman behind him. Alarmed by the unexpected visit, Daniel slid off the stool and stood up.

"Very clever," Hammond said, pulling the door towards him and peering around at the noisemaker. "Very clever indeed. I'm sorry, Dr. Jackson, but this isn't going to be a pleasant visit."

It was on the tip of Daniel's tongue to ask if Hammond thought any of his visits had been pleasant, but then Jack came into view. He was in shirt sleeves and he looked murderously angry. There were soldiers on either side of him, and his arms seemed to be . . .

Daniel took a step backward. Jack's arms were handcuffed behind his back. Not a good sign. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Colonel O'Neill disobeyed a direct order," Hammond said.

Daniel grimaced. "So, now you come break something on me. That's so logical."

Hammond tilted his head. "Are you saying that I should break one of O'Neill's limbs?" he asked.

"No!" Daniel said instantly.

"Yes, damnit!" Jack growled. "Break me, you son of a bitch."

Hammond turned. "O'Neill, I really would remain silent if I were you, unless you want to earn Dr. Jackson further punishment." Jack clamped his jaws shut, eyes flashing to Daniel's face. Hammond smiled. "You really should blame O'Neill for this, Dr. Jackson, not me. He knew the penalties involved."

"I can only assume that he had a very good reason for disobeying that order," Daniel said, his voice very taut. His stomach was roiling, but he was damned if he was going to show Hammond how utterly terrified he was. "Are we going to get on with this? Or is my punishment getting to listen to you make pontifical speeches?"

Daniel had thought he'd gotten used to the sight of Major Coburn now, after he'd come every day for four days to watch him exercise and snigger at him. The sight of him now, coming into the room, disabused him of that notion. His eyes were very different, flat somehow, and Daniel wondered suddenly what drugs he was on. He walked in and stopped beside Hammond. Jack's eyes grew wide and worried, and he struggled against the men holding him.

"Don't damage his head or his hands," Hammond said. This seemed to be some sort of cue that set Coburn loose. A manic glee entered his eyes. Alarmed by the sudden change in his demeanor, Daniel took another step back and then Coburn was on him.

A hand came down firmly on his left shoulder as a fist crashed into the right side of his ribcage, and then Coburn slammed him back against the bookshelves behind him. Daniel contemplated horizontal bruises across his back and tried to keep breathing at a regular rate. Fighting back wasn't a viable option. It would only serve to enrage Coburn and Hammond both, though at this precise moment, Daniel was more focused on Coburn.

Another heavy blow landed on his right side. The left was protected by the cast, but Coburn's fingers dug deeply into his shoulder muscles, pressing skin harshly against his collarbone. He caught sight of Jack struggling against his guards across the room. He was yelling something, Daniel couldn't tell what. He wished he could tell him to stop, that it would be over soon, but there was neither attention nor breath for that.

A combat boot came down on his stockinged foot softly, then gradually, Coburn began to exert more pressure. He'd never been issued shoes, presumably to hinder escape and give him one less potential weapon against his captors. The form of this attack was completely unexpected, though, and Daniel cried out involuntarily, leaning forward automatically, trying to reach down to protect his foot. Despite his determination not to fight back, he instinctively tried to push his attacker away with his good hand.

Coburn batted his hand away like an irritating fly and drove his fist into Daniel's stomach, causing the breath to whoosh out of him. Gasping, eyes watering, he nevertheless managed to twist enough to deflect most of the power of the knee that came up towards his groin onto the inside of his thigh. The pain was still enough to make him double over. He dropped to the ground on his side, his back to the wall, bringing his knees up to protect his more vulnerable parts.

"Stop it!" Jack yelled. "Goddamnit, stop it! He's down! Stop!"

Coburn delivered two kicks to Daniel's legs before Hammond said, "Enough." The presence in front of him drew away, but Daniel didn't move. "You're dismissed, Coburn." Footsteps headed toward the door and Daniel's noisemaker jangled as it opened and closed again.

Daniel looked up hesitantly as footsteps came towards him. Hammond squatted down next to him and gazed measuringly into his face. "You'll be fine," he said. He reached out one hand and put a key down on the floor. "This is the key to Colonel O'Neill's handcuffs. I'll let you decide how long he stays in them." Chuckling, Hammond stood up and left the room, the two goons going with him.

The door shut, the spoons clanking together. Silence fell for a moment, then Daniel pushed himself painfully up to a sitting position. "Jack, get over here."

Jack walked over slowly. "Are you okay?"

Daniel evaluated himself. Coburn was good at his work. His ribs were definitely bruised, and he was going to limp for awhile, he thought, but nothing was broken. "I'll live," he said. "You calm?" He looked up into Jack's eyes and saw tears standing in them. "God, Jack, turn around. Let me get those off you."

Jack turned and Daniel picked up the key and fumbled the cuffs off him, noticing the red welts beneath them where Jack had pulled at them in his anger. He was about to say something about them, but just then the cuffs came free. As soon as they were loosed, Jack threw them across the room, making Daniel jump in shock and let out a muffled cry of alarm at the double sound they made as they slammed into the white board, leaving a matched pair of dents. Jack turned back, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, Danny, I didn't mean to . . ."

Daniel shook his head and started to push himself up. "It's okay, Jack. You're hurt. We need to get your –"

"I'm fine, Danny," Jack said, helping him to his feet. "Let's get you into your living room. Is there ice in that fridge of yours?"

"An automatic ice maker, and Jack, you're not fine, you're bleeding."

"Daniel! You're the one who –" Jack burst out, but he broke off, gulping and squeezing Daniel's shoulders as he helped him to the couch. "I'm so sorry, Daniel, but I – you wouldn't –"

Danny resisted Jack's urging to sit down. "Jack, you're bleeding, you need to clean those wrists. All I've got are bruises. They'll keep."

"Danny –" Jack's determination wasn't fading precisely, but he seemed confused by Daniel's refusal to cooperate. Clearly his 'Danny' had never taken charge.

Daniel took Jack by the arm. "Come with me Jack," he said. Surprisingly compliant, he followed Daniel into the bathroom. Daniel pushed him down onto the toilet and got the first aid kit out of the drawer. He pulled Jack's right wrist over to the sink and started getting it cleaned up.

"I should be taking care of you," Jack protested, but he didn't pull away, even when he hissed at the pain of the hydrogen peroxide.

Ignoring the increasing objections from various portions of his anatomy, Daniel shook his head. "If nothing else, Jack I don't want you to bleed on me."

Jack subsided then and was silent for long moments while Daniel bandaged the one wrist, then got him to turn so he could reach the other. As he tied off the second bandage, Jack cleared his throat. Daniel let his arm go, then washed his own hands. His words, when he finally did speak, were a surprise. "Your Jack doesn't hit you, does he?"

Daniel blinked and turned off the water. Taking up a hand towel, he considered how to answer the question. Jack – this Jack – was so unpredictable. Finally, he said, "Once. He hit me once – on one occasion, I mean." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Did you ever go to P3X-797? The Land of Light?"

Jack nodded. "With the Neanderthal thing, yes."

"That was when my Jack hit me. He got kind of . . . alpha male at me over Sam."

"How odd," Jack said, shaking his head. "So . . . so there is something wrong with me."

Daniel sat down on the edge of the tub. "I think you already know the answer to that," he said tentatively. He didn't think it wise to lie, but neither did he want to commit himself to the truth. It wasn't a neutral answer, but it was the closest Daniel could come to one.

Jack's eyes squeezed closed and he remained silent again for a long moment. Daniel was just contemplating leaving him alone with this thoughts when he spoke. "Tell me, does he yell at you?"

Daniel snorted. "All the time. He also gives very autocratic orders that make little sense, refuses to listen and takes strong exception to my opinions."

"But he doesn't hit you."

Daniel shrugged. "I think he might want to occasionally."

Jack grimaced. "But he doesn't. What does he do when you scare the living daylights out of him?"

Daniel reached up and rubbed his shoulder where the shrug had awakened pain. "Mostly he yells a lot, and give me long lectures about how I should have grown out of the impulse to touch everything I see."

Jack grinned weakly. "I always figured it was good that he got past the stage of putting it all in his mouth." He looked more closely at Daniel. "Okay, now it's time for you to get some ice."

Daniel let Jack lead him back into the living room. His foot was aching something awful, and his back was a mass of pain. Jack pulled Daniel's shirt off against his protests and looked at his back. "Goddamnit to hell!" he snarled.

Daniel stiffened. "Could you . . . keep your tone less . . ."

"Sorry," Jack said. "Here, lie down on your stomach. I'll get some –" He paused. "The green light's flashing on the elevator thing."

"That just means dinner's been delivered, or . . ." Daniel leaned up and peered over at the kitchen. "It's a little early for dinner."

Jack walked over and opened it. "Ice packs and a heating pad. And a note. Like I don't know this by heart."

"What's the note say?" Daniel asked.

"'Ice for the first twenty-four hours, for no more than twenty minutes an hour. Then heat.'"

"Dr. Warner?" Daniel asked.

"The one and only," Jack said. "Lie back down. Let me get this on you."

Daniel lay down and let Jack pack him in ice. "I don't think I need this much ice, Jack," he said after a couple of minutes. "Mostly just on my foot and maybe on my ribs." With some difficulty, he persuaded Jack to ease up a little.

By the time the dumbwaiter bell went off for dinner, he was reclining on the sofa with a pillow behind him, an ice pack held against his ribs and one resting atop his foot, which Jack had insisted on elevating. Jack went over to the dumbwaiter and opened it. "There's enough food for three in here," he commented.

"We probably expect Samantha shortly," Daniel said. "She usually comes to dinner around six and it's ten till six now." He started to shift. "Here, help me up, and we can get the food on the table."

"We'll be eating around the coffee table," Jack said, hurrying over and pushing Daniel back down.

Daniel shook his head. "I can sit at the table, Jack."

"Maybe you can, but you won't. So there."

Raising his eyebrows, Daniel settled back. "If you insist."

The office door jangled, and Samantha walked in. "Daniel?" she called, sounding worried. "Jack?"

"We're in here," Jack yelled back. "Come help me convince Daniel to stay lying down."

Daniel smacked his hand to his forehead, then ran his fingers through his hair. Now Samantha would be expecting the worst. Predictably, she rushed in, looking desperately worried. She saw him on the sofa and came over. "What happened?"

"Coburn had a little fun," Daniel said lightly. "I'm fine. Jack's just mother-henning me, which I suppose is only fair since I did the same to him."

She blinked. "You . . . him . . . why?"

Jack suddenly tucked his arms behind his back and said, "No reason. He's just naturally that way, I guess."

"He . . ." Daniel found he didn't have the words to explain what had happened. It was an odd, disconcerting moment. He shook his head and said, "Look at his wrists."

She looked suspiciously at Jack, who kept his hands behind his back. "I will, but later." She turned back to Daniel. "Looks like he avoided your face at least."

Daniel shuddered at the memory of that cold order. Don't damage his head or his hands. "Yeah," he said, looking away. Jack looked pretty uncomfortable, too, and Daniel remembered the bruises on the face of the Daniel he'd left behind.

She reached down and squeezed his left shoulder. He winced, and she pulled away in surprise. He grimaced. "What did I do?" she asked.

"There are bruises there," he said. "You didn't know."

She smiled at him and seeming to sense their unease with this topic changed the subject. "So what's for dinner?"

"Lasagna, it looks like," Jack said. "Hey did you know there were TV trays in here?"

"No," Daniel replied, surprised because he'd thought he'd explored the whole space pretty thoroughly. "Where?" he asked, sitting up and twisting in order to see. He let out a hiss as this made the bruises on his ribcage scream.

"Lie back," Jack said. "I'll show you later."

Daniel subsided and looked at Samantha who was lowering herself to the floor at the end of the coffee table. "I won't need a tray," she called.

They settled down to eat and watch a show about guns in the wild west. A history of pioneer women followed, and Jack watched it without any sign of boredom. Daniel watched it with curiosity. In this world that gave women short shrift, this was an unusually thoughtful documentary.

"I never knew that," Jack said. "I thought pioneer women were all about weddings and begging for pretty fabrics and getting kidnapped by Indians."

"Sir?" Samantha exclaimed. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Mostly," he said. "But really, a lot of that is stuff I didn't know."

"And did you notice how many of the talking heads were women?" Daniel asked. "Looks like female scholarship is rising here, a bit late, but better than never."

"Hardly surprising," Jack said.

"What's hardly surprising?" Samantha asked suspiciously.

Jack shrugged. "With someone like you around, no one can say that women aren't capable of brilliance," he said.

"No, but they can say I'm an exception to the rule," Samantha said, sounding bitter. "Sam Carter, the son her father always wanted. After all, his real son was such a disappointment."

Daniel suddenly had a clearer understanding of why she might have rejected that nickname.

"That's bullshit!" Jack said angrily, making Daniel jump. "Being smart doesn't make you masculine. God, on that basis, I'd have be a girl compared to you two."

"Sir, I really wish you'd stop saying things like that," Samantha exclaimed, standing up and gathering up their dishes. "It's annoying."

Jack stood up, too, and tried to take them from her. "Sit down. I'll –"

"You don't even know where they go," she said, resisting.

"Children!" Daniel growled. "Samantha, why don't you let him have them and show him where they go?"

"I think I can guess," Jack said sarcastically. "They go in the dumbwaiter, right?"

"Yeah," Daniel said.

Jack made a face at Samantha and she stuck her tongue out at him as she sat back down. Daniel shook his head, then blinked uneasily. He was getting too comfortable here. He'd been so totally alone over the last week or so that any company that didn't think beating him silly was the height of fun was becoming extremely appealing.

Samantha seemed to notice his mood and said, very softly, "Do you want us to go?"

"No," he said instantly, shook his head miserably. "And yes."

She smiled sympathetically, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "That's not giving me a lot to go on," she said. "I don't think I want to leave you alone in this mood." He shrugged, biting his lip.

Jack walked over and thumped down in the chair. "So, what now?" he asked.

The phone in the office rang and Daniel felt his lips twist in a wry grimace. "I don't think you're going to have a choice about leaving me alone, Samantha," he said.

Jack raised an eyebrow at the comment, but didn't ask. Instead he got up and went into the office.

Samantha's eyes had a closed, unhappy look to them. "I really wish . . ." She shook her head and he nodded to show her he understood what she couldn't say.

Jack came back in, his expression sour and angry. "I've been ordered to go home. Samantha, I'm to pass on the same order to you. We need to get off base and rest, according to the general."

"Well, then, good night," Daniel said, putting the ice on his ribcage aside and getting to his feet. Jack rushed over to stop him, but by the time he was close enough, Daniel was on his feet and giving him the look of death. "I'll see you to the door of the living room, at least. They can't stop me from doing that."

His words and his tone of voice silenced whatever protest Jack had been about to make. Jack said good night and Samantha gave him a gentle hug. Then they left. The spoons rattled when the door shut behind them.

He stood there for a long moment, considering things. He was Jack's whipping boy. Hammond probably couldn't afford to have his senior officer unable to perform his functions. The archeologist that he controlled utterly, however, could be damaged at will. And if he chose not to work, punishing him was simple . . . just deny him contact with other human beings. Hammond had him over a barrel, and he knew it. If rescue didn't come soon, Daniel was going to . . .

What? Go crazy? There were plenty of people who thought he had nowhere to go in that direction. Go berserk? What good would that do? He shook his head. His Jack was right. He thought too much. He went back to the sofa and picked up the ice packs. He tucked them into the refrigerator and went into the bathroom. Despite the orders from Dr. Warner, he was going to apply heat to his aching body now. He ran a deep bath and lowered himself gently down, picking up the novel he'd started.

He wondered how much work he'd be expected to do tomorrow.

Jack and Samantha, by common consent, went to his truck, leaving her car where it was. He drove her home, silently. He'd been silent since they'd left Daniel's suite. Not angry, not simmering, just silent and introspective. When they arrived, she turned to him, not opening the truck door. "You okay?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'm about as messed up as I could be," he said. "Did you know that his Jack only hit him once?" She blinked, almost as startled by the information as by the fact that her colonel knew it. "When he got hit by that virus from P3X-797. You know, the thing where I half killed Kowalski because he was leering at you."

She nodded slowly. She didn't remember the event, precisely, since she'd been in the infirmary under heavy sedation at that point, but she remembered the virus. "His Jack hit him then?"

"For the same reason I beat up on Kowalski." He shook his head again. "I never would have thought of Daniel as a threat of that kind, even with that damned Neanderthal thing going on." He snorted. "I'm not sure whether that's good or not, really, but . . . I . . ." His eyes were desolate holes of misery. "I really fucked up big time," he said bleakly. "I killed Danny, then went and got other Daniels, hurt them, and left them in realities where they didn't belong. Then I went and got this Daniel and put him in Hammond's power. Now they're all screwed, and it's my fault."

"Come inside, Jack," she said worriedly. He sounded too devastated, too depressed to be left alone.

"Samantha, I –" he started, but she took his arm.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she said.

"I screw up everything I touch," he replied, pulling away. "My son, my wife, Danny . . . I don't want to screw you up, too."

"You're not going to," she said. "I won't let you, remember?" He looked up and his eyes met hers, and she could tell that he was remembering the moment in her lab when he'd started to try to take control the way he always had with Danny and with Sarah from the sound of things. "I won't let you," she said again. "Now come inside. I really don't want to be alone." He didn't move. "I need you."

It was the plea for him to help her that did it, she thought as she got him into the house. She piloted him through getting ready for bed, went out for a brief moment to grab his little bag of clothing from the back of the truck cab and came back to find him sitting in his boxers, staring at nothing. There were horrible, livid bruises on his arms that looked like he'd struggled against restraint. She realized that she still didn't really know what had happened with Coburn and Hammond. Dropping the bag on the floor, she sat down next to him and pulled him into her arms. "I know, Jack. I know."

He collapsed against her and began to weep. When he'd cried himself out, she put him to bed and lay down next to him, cuddling him close. He didn't sleep for a long time, and neither did she, but she held him tightly, trying to let him know that he mattered to her as a person and not just as a fellow officer.

Suicide had seemed to be an option to him in the past, and she didn't want him straying down that path again.

Never again.