Chapter 8

Initially tentative about joining Feretti in something he felt he didn't really have any right to be involved in, Jackson soon became absorbed in the material he was reading. The reports were detailing the exploration of a planet someone had decided to call "Shambhala" and covered extensive archaeological research that had been done at the site. At first, he found himself just reading through the hypotheses, research and conclusions to pass the time, but soon he found himself dissatisfied by his inability to understand key words or phrases or scientific methods.

This isn't going to work, he realised eventually, putting the folder down and rising. While reading that book on Mesoamerican history he had begun to suspect something about himself. Perusing these files had confirmed it. He hated not knowing something. If he encountered something he didn't know or understand, he had to investigate it, he had to explore it, and he absolutely required himself to attain as complete knowledge of it as he could before moving on. There was no way he was going to be able to make it through these papers without understanding the subject matter and that meant going back to basics.

"What's not going to work?" Feretti looked up curiously but Jackson had already moved away from the table. The Major put his folder down and watched, for a moment wondering if Jackson was leaving. He quickly realised that wasn't the case. Jackson looked thoroughly absorbed in his own thoughts, as if a man on a mission. He was clearly hunting the shelves for something specific and Feretti decided to stay put until he could see what had troubled the archaeologist.

A few minutes later, Jackson returned carrying three books. He placed them down on the table, picked up one and immediately turned to the index. Feretti stared at the titles in confusion. All three books were basic introductions to scientific areas. There was one about the methods of archaeological architecture, another on palaeontology and the one that Jackson was currently flicking through with such a determined look on his face, was something to do with geophysics. Feretti blinked at that revelation. There's physics in archaeology? he wondered in disbelief.

After that, Feretti noticed a pattern developing. For the most part, Jackson buried himself completely in reading. Usually the folders, often pausing to flick through the books. Occasionally, however, he would rise and wander off down the shelves looking for specific and more advanced books, checking something, before returning and picking up where he had left off. It meant it was taking Jackson a lot longer to read through the information than Feretti, who was mainly just scanning it for an overview of what potential dangers SG-1 might inadvertently get themselves into.

It was a lot more intensive than Feretti had initially envisaged for Jackson but the archaeologist looked more relaxed and at ease with himself than at any time since he had returned through the gate. The Major bit back a sigh and wondered for the thousandth time if he had done the right thing, and decided to leave Jackson alone.

Jackson was trying to find a book on the shelves again when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Hm?"

"I'm calling it a night" Feretti told him. "You probably should too"

"I was just going to..." Jackson began, gesturing vaguely to the shelf.

Feretti tried not to smile. "I need to pack this stuff back away. It doesn't belong to us, the Tok'ra loaned it and they get real loud when we don't look after their toys"

Jackson considered that for a moment. "I can work on it tomorrow then?"

Work on it? "Uh.. sure, why not" Feretti studied him. "Knock yourself out"

Jackson smiled wistfully as he watched Feretti box everything up. "I heard a bump on the head can cure memory loss"

Feretti shot him a quick look but there was no despair in the blue eyes that gazed back at him. Infact, Feretti wasn't sure what the emotion he could see was all about. Jackson's smile was faint and peculiar, his expression almost thoughtful.

"Hey, Jackson. You go beating yourself up and you can go find the Doc by yourself. There's no way in hell I'm gonna tell her you're trying to self-medicate"

Jackson blinked, then laughed. It was the first, genuinely good-humoured laugh the Major had heard from him since his return and it gave him an irrational surge of hope. "Yeah, that wouldn't go down too well, would it?" he chuckled.

"You said it" Feretti packed the box away and led the way out of the lab, switching the light off as he went. "You want to do lunch in the commissary?" he asked casually.

Jackson looked startled. "Uh.. you don't have to do that"

"We all gotta eat" Feretti looked amused.

"I suppose..." Jackson studied Feretti, looking for some sign of pity, or the martyred expression of someone who was only being polite but found neither. The offer seemed genuine. "Sure. Thirteen hundred?"

"Works for me. See you then, Daniel"

"Yeah" Jackson looked thoughtful again as Feretti disappeared into the elevator.

He didn't know sitting around reading could be so exhausting, but by the time he reached the stark, grey room he had been assigned, he was just about ready to collapse. He didn't remember crawling into bed, or turning off the light.

"Okay, careful with that cover stone.." a black-haired man stretches upwards, gesturing emphatically with his hands as a huge stone slab is lowered onto the columns around him.

"Yes, Doctor Jackson" the patient, steady voice remains a calm contrast to the nervous energy of the man standing in the display who is so determined to have it exactly perfect for future visitors.

"Pull it this way! This way!" Dr. Jackson moves backwards, walking the crane into place with his gestures, eyes fixed firmly on the underside of the cover stone. The stone seems to slip slightly, and swings madly for a moment. He jumps indignantly forward. "Careful with that cover plate!" he cries.

"Jake, it's swinging a bit" the woman standing next to him shuffles her clipboard and looks up nervously as the chains holding the heavy weight creak overhead.

Enraptured, he looks on, standing on the walkway, his emotions a curious mixture of excitement and resentment. His parents get all the fun. He wants to be in there, amongst the dirt and the dust, touching that huge stone slab, running his fingers along the grooves in the column, daydreaming about what great kings and emperors once walked past the stone, listening to the whispers in time as great ladies lean against the surface talking to their friends. He didn't ask to be so little. Why can't they wait until he's big like them?!

"Bring this in on the left a little more?" his father is still energetically ordering around men who know their jobs but equally know how well he can get swept up in the moment. "Move it towards the back" he orders. Jake turns to comply and the cover stone almost crashes into a pillar. "Careful!"

"Watch it on your left, okay?" Mom, always more careful, steadier than Dad. He looks at her, eyes wide but she doesn't see him. She's also staring at the cover stone, and trying to help Dad get the cover stone into the perfect position. She's talking to Jake with that tone of voice. That tone she uses when she doesn't want him to run down the sidewalk in the middle of rush hour in case he runs into the road. He knows how dangerous roads are. When will Mom realise that? It's embarrassing the way she makes him hold her hand when they cross the road. He bets she's making Jake feel silly and small too with that tone of voice.

"Jake, can we bring this in?" Dad sounds impatient now. "Careful!" Jake shifts the stone again, and it swings with the machine's movements. "Bring it down... let's look at the front..."

"It's.. it's swinging..." his eyes snap back to Mom again. He's losing enjoyment watching them do this. He's getting bored, and Mom is worried. He can see that. Even from here. Mom's usually so calm. He doesn't like it when she's worried. It frightens him. He moves a step forward. He wants to reassure her that everything's okay, but he's not allowed to come any closer. He's too little to be taken seriously.

"It's okay. It's fine. We're fine." He relaxes and smiles again as Dad reassures Mom it's going to be okay. "Careful!"

"A bit more level, Jake" Mom agrees with Dad this time. She sounds calmer again, and he knows Dad is right. The stone is almost in place, everything's going to be okay. A few more moments and he'll be allowed to join them and touch the stone pillars like he's wanted to ever since seeing them.

Dad is starting to speak again, giving Jake more instructions. He can't hear what Dad is saying because there's a loud crunch above him. The chains rattle and suddenly fall away. There's a loud thump and a horrible groaning sound. He's standing alone in a cloud of dust, and the sound of his mother's scream is a sound that will haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life...

"Mom! Dad!" his cry reverberated around the room, and he came to, curled against his pillow, gripping it so tightly pain was lancing up his wrists. For several moments, he couldn't breathe. What was that? What the hell was that? He looked around the room, barely able to see through his tears. There was a dark shape on the opposite side of the room, something he couldn't focus on. Angrily he rubbed the back of his hands across his eyes. Oh God... he scrambled off the bed, almost flying across the room to the trunk. The trunk he had not been able to face opening ever since Doctor Fraiser had brought it out of storage. The trunk that would reveal to him who he was.

He hadn't wanted to know then but now, now with his cry hanging in the air, his cheeks chilled by tears, feeling a pain so acute he thought he was going to die, he didn't stop to wonder why he was so afraid to face his past.

The heavy lid creaked as he flung it open, and began digging through the neatly stacked things. Where are they?! he scrambled through the items without paying any attention to them until he came to a flat wooden box. Hauling the lid off it, he found what he was looking for. Photographs.

Dragging the box out of the trunk, he set it on the bed and began pulling them out, hunting through them. Photos of SG-1, of people in brown desert robes, of him sat on an alien beast... mastedge... his brain supplied, but he didn't pay attention. It wasn't important now. His hand froze as it touched a face, a dusky face, glowing with health, regally facing the camera, a little confused but beautiful in that confusion, framed by a mane of dark hair, her features dominated by large, dark eyes he wanted to fall into and never surface from....

Sha're...he paused and touched the picture again and his pain intensified. No time to explore that now. He carefully placed the picture to one side instead of adding it to the discarded pile, and resumed his search.

Suddenly, his hands trembled. Oh God, oh God, oh God...it was them. Tall, dark haired, face made stern by thick frames that hid his eyes. A shaggy, rugged look to him that was softened by the smaller, equally dishevelled blue-eyed woman stood next to him. Her hair was long and blonde, the same colour as his own and he felt tears well up again. "Oh God..." he whispered, sagging against the evidence that proved his nightmare was true.

Something slid, a sharp corner digging him in the knee as if fell off the bed. For a moment, he stared at Sha're's picture as it lay on the floor beside him, then slowly, he reached out to pick it up, feeling the pain intensify until it was a flame that threatened to consume him. "You too" he whispered softly. The two pictures trembled under the weight of the teardrops that slipped off his nose and he quickly rubbed them across his chest, to dry them.

Stumbling to his feet, he crawled back into his bed, hugging the pictures close to him. Was this the monster in his mind? The one that made him too terrified to try and unlock the memories that were denied him? He settled against the pillow and looked at them. He had watched his parents die in front of his eyes, unable to save them. He had watched his wife die in front of his eyes, unable to save her. This was old pain, pain he had learned to live with, but in the new rush of old memories, it was pain he found himself reliving again. As intensely as the day he first experienced them, and he was helpless against the torrent consuming him.

Please God, let this be the monster... he closed his eyes and curled up around his pain. He couldn't bear it if there was anything worse to come.