Chapter 2

Voices murmured in the stairwell below the floor. Normally, he might not have noticed, but the room was so silent, every little sound was exacerbated. The faint metallic grinding of a computer hard-drive hovered on the edge of consciousness; the whisper of booted feet on solid flooring through metal doors in the distance; and the powerful hissing of a soldering iron as engineers effected repairs in the huge room that was visible through the glass behind him.

He sat with his back to the Stargate, hands folded loosely on the table in front of him, head bowed, seeing only his fingers as they nervously twined and untwined around each other.

How he had let SG-1 talk him into bringing him to this place, he didn't know. He couldn't frame it words exactly, it had been more of a feeling, a sense that he should trust these people, that they would have done anything to prevent him being hurt more than he had already been. But since he had followed them here and they had left again through the Stargate for destinations unknown to him, he was no longer certain he had made the right decision.

Left to his own devices, except when the facility's doctor required his presence, he had been assigned a room that was as stark, grey and bare as the rest of this underground complex he was confined to. At first, he had walked the corridors he was allowed access to often and aimlessly, trying to learn their layout, trying to find some sense of belonging, a whisper of familiarity that would reassure him that SG-1 had been telling him the truth when they said this was his home, this was where he belonged.

He had soon given up that activity, however, and now only left his room when he had to.

It was certainly true that everyone here knew his face. That much he had learned quickly. Every time he walked the corridors, strangers would turn to stare at him. Conversations would stop abruptly whenever he walked into a room, then start up again as soon as they thought he was out of earshot. Every time the topic of conversation was him. He was dead. He was an impostor. He was a Trojan Horse sent to betray the SGC. He was a miracle, risen from the dead to walk once more among the living, like a fallen angel.

Biblical or popular culture? He wondered morosely, turning his hands over to stare at his palms. Then his shoulders stiffened as he wondered where exactly that thought had come from. Popular culture was something he had heard the people around him refer to when talking about TV but he wasn't so certain what the Bible was nor was he sure of the difference between the two.

His teeth ground slightly in frustration, feeling the pressure in his temples building. There were times when he thought his head was going to explode. He could feel it lurking in the back of his mind, like a chained and faceless monster. Its hot breath tickled the back of his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch, its claws scraped lines of searing agony through his skull as he fought to break down the walls that stopped him from the seeing the truth. The worst part of not knowing the truth had to be this monster in his mind - the scent of it in the dark recesses of his thoughts, its chilling howl that tormented his dreams when he tried to sleep, and its constant mutterings, like the whispers of damned souls. He was frightened of it and yet he courted it. He was reviled by it and yet he egged it on. He didn't want to face it and yet he was desperate to know what it was. Was it friend or foe? Was it the key to who he was or a red herring sent to keep him forever in the dark?

He sank his head into his arms, resting his forehead on the table lightly. Doctor Fraiser had told him he had to want to remember for it to happen and as he sat there in the room alone, he faced the honest and monstrous truth. He didn't know if he wanted to remember. What if he was something awful? What if there were secrets he had tried to forget? They told him he had touched Heaven. Why then was he here? Had he done something awful that condemned him to an eternity of sin? Was his loss of memory the price he had paid for returning to a life he had left behind? Had he agreed to forever forget and never remember? Was he breaking such a vow by even trying? What if it was an accident, something never meant to be? What if it didn't matter how badly he wanted it and the memory loss was permanent? What would he do? What would they make him do?

He slammed his chair away from the table and rose. Angry and restless, he stalked over to the window and glared down at the Stargate. Huge, intimidating, in a big room it dominated the space yet it was no more than a ring. It was more air than solid. Empty in the middle, yet casting a shadow that darkened the entire room.

It was the only thing in the entire complex to which he felt a connection. Somehow it reflected him and he reflected it. He didn't know why and the frustration within him flared up again. He raised his hand to the glass and pressed his fingers against it, his attention diverting from the Stargate to his reflection. Short blond hair, tousled by worried fingers, framed a strong face that currently showed signs of great strain confronted him. Blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses that he had been told belonged to him and which certainly did bring the world into focus. A world where his face was the face of a stranger and the barely seen image of him in the glass seem to reflect the ghost he believed he had become.

Gently he traced the outline of his face on the pane of glass in front of him. It seemed set in the centre of the hole in the middle of the Stargate, as though it was a circular frame for a picture. He stared at the gate for a moment then returned to contemplating his reflection.

Longer blond hair fell in an unruly mass to his ears, a continuous fringe shading his forehead and his eyes peered back owlishly through round frames, eyes that reflected his sudden surprise at the change.

A flash of something in the reflection, another man. Tall, in dress uniform. Dark hair plastered down, a fierce moustache that bristles whenever his lips move. Lack of respect is in his voice as he speaks: "So you think you've solved in fourteen days what they couldn't solve in two years?"

He freezes, startled and looks around. They hadn't told him this. What else are they hiding from him? "Two years?" and in front of him, a gentle old lady smiles encouragingly, offering him silent support in the face of obvious hostility.

He swallowed thickly and stared at the Stargate, taking in the ring, the symbols he could see even from here, the metal ramp, the huge red power couplings.

"What is that?"

"It's your Stargate"

He hadn't asked what it was or how it worked. He had been too wrapped up in his own mind and fears but somehow, he knew, they didn't need to explain its function to him. Somehow, he knew he had explained it to them.

"Daniel?"

Turning sharply, he found himself face to face with a small woman who barely reached his shoulders. Dark hair tied back professionally exposed a pale, beautiful face dominated by a pair of rich dark eyes that were focused completely on him. Her uniform was hidden behind a white lab coat and she cradled a clipboard in her arms. Behind her stood the much larger commander of the base. In the absence of the four that had brought him back to Earth, he had spent more time with these two than with anyone else and they at least had tried to make him feel... human.

Am I human?

She took a step closer, frowning now as he stared at her without responding but it wasn't she who spoke. "Doctor Jackson?" the authoritative male voice caused him to refocus and he looked at the pair of them. They both looked worried. For him, he realised and wasn't sure if he should be comforted or concerned. He turned back to face the Stargate, realising he felt comforted but not wanting them to see it in his eyes.

"Are you alright, Doctor Jackson?" Hammond asked, a little more gently.

He raised a hand to the glass again, tracing the outline of the Stargate. "No-one told me what a Stargate was" he mused softly.

Hammond and Fraiser exchanged a look. "Daniel..." the doctor began but stopped as he spoke again.

"The outer track is composed of star constellations" his voice sounded distant, almost drugged. "They have a unique order, a map. The gate uses seven symbols... six to define a destination in three-dimensional space and the seventh as a point of origin to chart a course" he blinked and his voice grew steadily stronger, more confident. "I searched through all known writing materials trying to translate the cover stone. Everything I could think of. Nothing matched. Then I realised they were constellations and found the seventh symbol..." he trailed off, then turned to face them.

For a moment, they both wore almost identical expressions of surprise. He swallowed, suddenly worried. Had he made a mistake? Been presumptuous? Maybe he had just dreamed something that wasn't true. "I... I'm sorry" he mumbled, backing off. "I..."

Hammond raised one hand, stalling him. "No, son, you're right"

He blinked in surprise. "I am?" His response was second-nature, so instinctive that for a moment, the blank confusion and aimless behaviour that had characterised his return was gone, and his blue eyes shone brightly with familiar excitement, an old surprised pleasure on his face.

His smile was infectious and they smiled with him. "Can you remember anything else, son?" the General asked quickly. Fraiser frowned but it was too late, the question had already been asked.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced back at the Stargate, frowning. The excitement faded slowly to be replaced by a look of frustration and for a moment, Fraiser caught tears in his eyes as his hands balled into fists.

"Daniel" she stepped forwards and touched his arm. "It's alright. You don't need to rush this. You've remembered something. It's a start. A good start. You've got something to work with now. The rest will come if you're patient" she smiled bravely at him, hoping he would pick up her confidence and not her concerns.

He stared down at her for a moment, unresponsive. Then he closed his eyes and took another deep breath, slowly uncurling his fists. After a moment he opened his eyes and looked back at her. "Will I? Remember that is. Do you know?"

Fraiser tried to meet his gaze then glanced at Hammond. Turning back, she returned his gaze steadily, trying to will all her confidence into her face for him to see. "Recovering from amnesia can be an uncertain road but your tests show you are healthy. We're here to help you, you won't be alone but it might take time. Just remember today, and that you showed you can do it."

He stared at her blankly as if not understanding. Silently ordering her racing pulse to slow, she tried again. "You're a strong man, Daniel, you've always been determined and stubborn. Use that for yourself instead of for others. I'm not giving up on you, so don't you give up on yourself. Doctor's orders!"

"Napoleonic power-monger"

He took a step backwards, eyes narrowed sharply. Her hand fell away from his arm and a faint frown crossed her brow. Worry appeared in her eyes again. Worry and something else... hurt?

"Look, I'm sick of laying around. Help me up." The man's irritated voice rings out again around the infirmary as he struggles to push himself up.

He had hurt her feelings when he moved away from her. Why? He stared at her, dimly aware of Hammond shifting restlessly, almost nervously, watching instead as her frown deepened, as resignation flickered in her eyes.

The tall, imposing figure next to the bed makes no move to help him and instead attempts to reason with his sick friend. "Dr Fraiser believes you are not strong enough to undertake such a mission."

He swallowed thickly at the expression. Did she really believe he could recover or had she just said what he wanted to hear?

"Yeah, whatever" the patient ignores his friend's wise council and climbs off the bed immediately collapsing into a heap on the floor.

And did he care what she thought? Did he care enough to want to remember?

Barely twitching a muscle, his friend tilts his head and one eyebrow rises. "Doctor Fraiser is usually correct in such matters." Effortlessly, he reaches down with a single hand and unceremoniously dumps the patient on the bed face down, who quietly acknowledges defeat.

Absently, he reached out to touch her still raised hand. "I trust you" he murmured quietly, not even aware he had spoken aloud until he heard his voice. Not certain why he said it but knowing, somehow, it was important, he felt a weight lift from his mind that he hadn't even known was there.

Her smile lit up her face and she glanced at Hammond who relaxed visibly. The General smiled at them both. "You're in good hands, Doctor Jackson" he informed him, and walked back into his office.

"Hold that thought, Daniel" she told him quietly. "If you need anything, my office door is always open"

He nodded his thanks and turned back to watch the Stargate. It still felt like the only true connection to this place he currently had but this time as he watched it, he felt as though it was a connection he could finally understand.