When Daniel wasn't in physical therapy, he kept busy working on the copious amounts of translations and artifacts brought back by other teams. There was a never-ending stream of work waiting for him on his desk. But when he could, he spent all of his spare energy and time on the scrolls brought back from PY2-443. The Lieutenant had been right about one thing, the text was some form of ancient Hebrew, pre-flood. It wasn't a language Daniel was strong in, but he knew enough to recognize the beginnings of a story he knew.

--SG-1--

Entering Daniel's office, Sam found him bent over his desk. He was oblivious to the world and didn't even hear her enter. She could just see a peek of the scroll spread out in front of him. Around it his desk was piled high with books that he consulted from time to time, scribbling like mad on a pad at his elbow.

Pausing, she tried to assess his condition. It had been months since his injury and he was recovering well according to Janet. She had assured them that the archaeologist would be able to return to active duty soon. It couldn't be soon enough for Sam, she missed her friend. She missed his fire and enthusiasm. She missed him.

Daniel, sensing her presence there, peered up at her with a distracted smile, "Oh, hey, Sam."

"Hi, Daniel." She fixed him with her best stern stare, "Are you ready for your physical therapy?"

"Really, Sam, you don't have to walk me to each and every session, I am capable of getting there on my own."

She didn't take offense at his words, she just asked, "Then why are you 10 minutes late?"

He glanced at his watch with a muttered, "Damn, late again."

"Come on," she said with ruthless cheerfulness, "before Janet sends the marines to carry you down." Unlocking the brakes on the chair, she maneuvered him out the door of his office and into the hall.

"Sam," he asked thoughtfully, "what do we know about Lt. Michaels?"

His question took her by surprise, he'd never mentioned his replacement before. Temporary replacement, she reminded herself firmly. "He seems to be okay," she said grudgingly. How to tell him that the man was all spit and polish and military efficiency, everything Daniel was not? "He's doing okay, why?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, I just get this feeling… Like I've known him somewhere… I can't quite put my finger on it." He waived a hand as if to dismiss the subject. "I'm sure I'll figure it out."

"What were you working on?" She asked, hoping to change the subject away from Lt. Michaels. Her tactic was only partly successful.

"It's those scrolls you guys brought back from PY2-443."

Their first mission with Michaels. Damn. "Find anything interesting on them?"

"You might say that. Sam," he leaned his head on his hand thoughtfully, "do you believe in God?"

Another question that took her by surprise. Even after all the time they'd spent tracking down and destroying false gods, they'd never really discussed the subject. "I don't know, Daniel. My mom used to take me to church when I was a kid, but once she died, I kind of turned my back on it. I was pretty bitter. Now, after everything we've seen… I don't know. You?"

He shook his head, "I don't know, sometimes… I feel something when we go through the gate, like a touch or something. But then I think about Sha're and all the terrible things we've seen and I wonder, if there really is a good, benevolent god, how could he, or she, or it, allow such atrocities to happen?"

Sam pushed him in silence, trying to figure out what to say. She was saved when he continued, "but then I think about all the really amazing things we've seen. The goodness in the people we've encountered." He sighed. "I don't know."

"Does this have something to do with those scrolls?" she asked.

He nodded, "Partly, I guess. There was a mention in one of them of 'the Children of Enoch'."

"Children of Enoch?" The name rang no bells for her. "I don't think I've ever heard of them."

"According to the scrolls they were the descendants of Cain."

That story she remembered from Sunday School. "You mean like in Cain who slew his brother Abel?"

"That's the one. According to the Bible, God forgave Cain for the murder of his brother. But Cain was still afraid people would try to seek vengeance against him, so God put a mark on his forehead so that everyone who saw it would know he was protected."

"A mark on the forehead, like a Jaffa tattoo?" The idea startled her.

He nodded, excited that she had made the same connections he had, "It doesn't really say, but that's what came to my mind. Anyway the text goes on to say that he settled in Nod and built a city. It tells that his son was named Enoch. Now, in the scrolls that you brought back from PY2-443, it talks about the people who arrived there as the 'Children of Enoch.' Is it a coincidence?"

She whistled, "That would be one big coincidence."

"That's what I thought! I mean, just imagine if we really have found actual descendants of the mythical Adam and Eve. Think of the things we can learn. We have to go back there and find out…"

Sam smiled indulgently, "I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself, Daniel. We've got to get you well before you can go off in search of Adam and Eve." She turned the chair into the room reserved for Daniel's physical therapy.

"Jack promised me that we could go visit the temple," he informed her stubbornly.

"Well then we have to get you out of this chair, don't we?" She responded reasonably. "Because there's no way I'm pushing you to that temple in a wheelchair."

Unhappily he gave in. For the next hour they worked with Daniel's therapist and all thoughts of the temple on PY2-443 were gone.

Daniel sat anxiously on the bed trying to be calm as Janet ran her tests prior to declaring him fit for duty. He waited patiently as she poked and prodded. He opened his mouth at all the right times, he endured the penlight stoically. He knew the drill by heart now.

This was the third time they'd done this particular dance. Each time the doctor had found something not to her liking. Each time she had postponed his return to active duty. He was afraid that if it took much longer for him to heal it would just be easier to leave things the way they were.

SG-1 was functioning fine with its newest member. Except for the fiasco with the temple, Michaels seemed to know his stuff. And it was easier for the other teams having an on-call archaeologist any time they needed one to consult on some artifact they'd found or translate some unreadable text. Daniel was afraid the General would decide that the arrangement was altogether too convenient. Then no one would ever have to worry about him again.

But Daniel needed to be out there with SG-1. He needed to be part of the team making the discoveries. He needed to be back out there again, looking for Sha're. Night after night, his dreams were filled with nightmare images of the things happening to her while he was sitting at the base. safe.

He swung his feet restlessly. How long was this going to take anyway? He knew better than to ask the question out loud. Janet had firmly told him that it would take as long as it takes the first and only time he had asked.

He wished he could at least put his shirt back on. He felt self-conscious sitting there for the nurses to stare at while Janet was off 'consulting' with Dr. Warner. Finally he heard the sound of her heels clicking and he straightened hopefully.

"Well, Dr. Jackson, I think everything looks good."

He was prepared with his arguments to change her mind, "Really, Janet, I feel…" He blinked at her, not sure he had heard her correctly, "What?"

"I said that everything looks fine, Dr. Jackson. I am declaring you fit for duty. Get out of my infirmary and I don't want to see your butt in here again for a long, long time."

He sat in open-mouthed surprise not sure what to say.

"Now," she continued briskly, "if you'll get dressed, I believe the General wants to see you in the briefing room right away."

"I… ah, okay."

She turned and began to leave him alone to dress.

He licked his lips, "Uhm, Janet," she turned back, a delicate brow lifted questioningly. "I just wanted to say…" he stammered, "I mean I know I'm not the best patient… I just… Thank you."

What else did you say to someone who saved your life every day of the week?

You're welcome." She smiled warmly at him then turned once again. "I'd hurry if I were you," she threw over her shoulder. "The General said it was important."

To be continued...