Chapter 2-Please see warnings in chapter 1. This is a very dark story.
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"Wake up, Doctor Jackson," the nurse called, performing the hourly procedure. She rasped her knuckles against his breastbone. "Open your eyes, sir."
General Hammond watched the scene from outside the infirmary doors. Over the past few days he had seen it before—Doctor Jackson propped up at an angle, one of the nursing staff or doctors on call producing pain on his body, trying to get a reaction from the comatose man. They'd call out his name, manipulate his arms and legs, peer into his eyes, all for him to return to exactly the same position as before.
"How is he?" Sam asked, stepping beside the general.
"Still sedated," General Hammond told her.
"He'll wake up soon, sir," she promised, and didn't know why she was trying to reassure her CO. Embarrassed, Sam glanced at the general and smiled while her face flushed.
"What can you tell me about that disk you were given?" he asked, keeping a watchful eye on the slack-jawed archeologist.
"Not much, I'm afraid," Sam said. "Sir, SG1 is meeting up with the Tok'ra in a few days. I'd like permission to give the disk to my dad, see if he can come up with anything. The Tok'ra may have the proper technology to unlock it."
"Certainly," General Hammond said. He watched the nurse pull the naso-gastric tube from Daniel's nose, with quick precision. The general winced.
"I know," Sam said, having seen the general's reaction. "Doctor Fraiser tells me it doesn't hurt, though. Especially since he's sedated."
"Helluva thing," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"I go in there to talk with him, try to keep him company, and I don't have the faintest idea what to say," General Hammond admitted.
"I'm not sure it's important what you say, sir," Sam told him. "I think it's just hearing your voice that's good for him. Just hearing familiar voices, that's all." She looked in while the nurse snaked a new gastric tube through Daniel's nose and down into his stomach. Even though she understood the mechanics of the procedure, she could almost feel the tube glancing across the back of her throat, and it brought on an empathetic gag reflex. Sam averted her eyes.
General Hammond chuckled, his chest bucking. "The irony of it. My wife used to say the same thing to me when the girls were babies. I didn't know what to say to them because they were just babies, and I don't know what to say to Doctor Jackson now."
"If it's any consolation, I don't either," she said.
The general folded his hands together behind him, clucked his tongue against his cheek, and said, "I suppose I should be getting back to my office."
"Yes, sir," Sam said. She pushed open the door to the infirmary and kept her distance while the nurse finished her duties. After a few moments, the nurse gathered the used gastric tube and the rest of the bio-hazard material and threw them out. She checked the flow rate of the new gastric tube and left the area. Sam quietly took her place at Daniel's side.
"Hey, Daniel," she said, pulling up the high stool next to his bed. She took a seat and picked up his hand. "Um, I know I come in here every couple hours and tell you the same thing, but, well, I'm not sure what to say. I guess I should take my own advice and just start talking." Sam reached forward and freed his hair from under the tube taped to his cheek. "It seems so strange to see you with long hair again." She brushed it back, smoothed it down. "There's so much to tell you. You missed a lot. A lot has changed." Including you, she thought. Everything about him had changed—the length of his hair, the pink, raised welts on his skin. Sam felt she could easily sink into irretrievable depths of sorrow for him, but she knew it wouldn't help. Not for her, or for him. So she sat with him, pulled her hands across his rough fingers, watched his chest rise and fall under the thin gown.
And then she began again. She took from the bedside table a bottle of hand crème, squirted a dollop into her hand and rubbed it between her palms, warming it. "Your name is Daniel Jackson," she said, holding his right hand and smoothing the crème over his long fingers. "You work here at the SGC. You've been gone a long time, but you're home now. You're home."
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Jack waited until the relative silence of night in the mountain settled in. He waited until Carter had gone home, until Teal'c had gone to his quarters, and until the nursing staff had finished their rounds.
And then Jack stepped into the room, his hands hidden in his pockets almost as well as his growing frustration. He stopped at the foot of the bed, tapped the tray table.
"So, Daniel," he said almost inaudibly, looking up, really hoping with his simple opener Daniel would wake up this time, answer him. It was a long shot that once again didn't have a chance in hell of paying off.
For five days he had waited for the quiet of night to steal into Daniel's room, never staying for more than a few minutes. For five days he had watched the tubes being changed, cleared—some added, some taken away. Five days of watching the nursing staff roll Daniel to one side, strip his sheets, and fold new bedding under him.
Five days of watching nothing but a body.
"So, Daniel," he began again, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. Jack spun the chair around, straddled the back, and tapped his fingers against the metal headrest. "So, Daniel…"
What did he think he was going to find to say today that he hadn't been able to say for the last week? Jack wanted to ask questions, not chitchat with a carcass of a man. He wanted to know just what the hell happened to Daniel. What happened, when, where? Why had this been done to him? And then again, maybe he didn't want to know.
"So, Daniel…" Jack tried again, swiping a finger under his nose, working hard on his nonchalance. What the hell went on over there? Daniel had been able to walk to the Stargate, hadn't he?
"So…" he began again. Jack felt his hands itching to reach out, touch the jagged, scarred skin on Daniel's wrist, laid out plain as day for everyone to see. Jack wanted to reach out, if only to turn Daniel's wrist over, lay his arm across his abdomen, hide the frightening gashes. He'd seen those kinds of wounds before—self-inflicted, all of them. The residual sign of desperation in the most extreme. Jack rubbed his stinging eyes. What the hell had Daniel been through to make him want to do that to his own body? How did he do it? With what? Who found him? How did they stop him? Why did they stop him? Would he try it again?
"Jesus, Daniel," Jack whispered, propping one arm on the top of his chair. He ground the heel of his hand into his eye. Without stopping to ask another unanswerable question, Jack thrust his hand through the bed rail and covered the offending scars that screamed of insufferable pain and dejection. Jack pressed his hand to Daniel's wrist, covering it. How long did you wait for me, Daniel? How long before you realized I wasn't coming?
"Ah, Danny," he said, pushing his hand against the rigid lines in his brow. "Why couldn't you just have done what you were told? Huh? Would it have killed you to just follow orders one damn time?" Jack caressed the thin flesh of Daniel's upturned forearm. "I told you not to disappear, not to just walk off. But you did, didn't you? When are you gonna learn, dammit? Well, this time it cost you. You trusted the wrong people, and it's taken me eight goddamn months to find you. Eight months, five different star-systems, and thousands of hours to figure out what the hell happened to you. Was it worth it? Hmm? Did you find what you were looking for? Was your curiosity satisfied?" Jack lowered his head onto the back of the chair and reached back to massage the burning muscles in his neck. The chain from his dog tags became tangled in his fingers, scratching the nape of his neck.
"I can only protect you when you follow orders, Daniel. I don't make them casually or without regard for the objectives of the mission. I make them in order that the mission goes smoothly, safely. That's my job. But I swear to God, I think sometimes you defy my orders just because you're bored. Nine times out of ten, you can get away with it. But that tenth time, Daniel, that tenth time…It's a pretty dangerous way to get your kicks, my friend. Pretty fuckin' stupid choice you made, and this time it looks like you bit off more than you could chew." Jack withdrew his hand, wiped both on his thighs and stood up. He replaced the chair against the wall and turned to walk away.
At the end of the bed, Jack grasped the tray table. "Well, I did my part, Daniel. I made an order; you defied it. I searched all over hell and back for you; you disappeared. I made a promise—no one gets left behind."
Jack took two tentative steps toward the door, grabbed hold of the doorjamb and said, "I kept my promise and brought you back, or whatever the hell is left of you. You have to do the rest. My job is done."
Jack strode out of the infirmary, finally knowing what he had come to say.
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"Sir, we have received word from the Tok'ra that they'd like to set up a meeting with us to discuss recent developments," Sam said during their meeting. Teal'c sat to her left; General Hammond to her right, at the head of the long table; Jack sat fidgeting in front of her; and Andy Packard, Daniel's substitute in his absence, sat to Jack's right.
"By all means," General Hammond agreed. He opened up his master folder. "Is there a particular time they were thinking of setting up this meeting?"
"Selmak mentioned that day after tomorrow would be an opportune time," Sam said.
"Very well," the general said, writing himself the note. "You have a go."
"Sir, I'd like Packard here to accompany us on the trip," Jack said, patting Andy Packard on the back. "He needs to be brought up to speed on all things…obnoxious."
"That is, until Daniel comes back," Sam interjected, waiting for the colonel to respond.
"Doctor Packard is currently attached to the liaison faction of SG7. Isn't that correct, Doctor Packard?" the general asked.
"Yes, sir," Packard said.
"Then I'm inclined to hold off for this mission," Hammond said. "We don't want you to be spread too thin."
"Yes, sir," Packard said again.
Jack leaned toward the general. "Sir, if Packard is going to join SG1—"
"-that is until Daniel returns," Sam said, enunciating each word.
Jack ignored her and continued on. "-he'll need to be up to date on all our…friends."
"All in due time, Colonel," the general said. "I have some work to do, so if there isn't anything more…"
"No, sir. Thank you, sir," Jack said, standing along with Sam and Teal'c while the general walked out of the room.
When they were all seated again, Jack turned to Packard. "Packard, now that things have…well, now that we're back to being a field unit, we have a lot of work on the books. You think you're up to it?"
"I'm certain of it, Colonel," Packard said, smiling with over-enthusiastic confidence.
"Colonel," Sam began, her cheeks burning with acrimony.
"We're a military team, and my way is law," Jack told Packard. "You gonna have a problem with that?"
"No."
"Fine," Jack said, picking up his folder, "then we'll get along just fine."
"Sir," Sam called to the colonel.
"Not now, Carter," Jack shot back over his shoulder on his way out of the briefing room.
"So, Major…" Andy Packard began with a smile.
Sam slapped her folder shut and crossed the room. "Not now, Packard."
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It felt hands on its arms. Felt fingers near its face. The creature dared not open its eyes. If it remained asleep, the hands would go away.
But the hands stayed, and they touched the beast, softly at first and then, as they always did, they began to hurt the creature.
"Daniel," Janet called, rubbing her knuckles once more against his sternum. "Daniel, it's time to open your eyes."
The beast sucked in a breath, tried to block out the pain. Before it was able to, a light shone in its eye—bright and slicing.
"Come on now, Daniel. Time to show me those beautiful eyes of yours," Janet called to him. She turned to the nurse at her side. "Call Colonel O'Neill and General Hammond. Tell them Doctor Jackson is waking up."
"Yes, ma'am," the nurse said, walking away at a clipped pace.
"Daniel, open your eyes," Janet said, eliciting pain in his chest again.
The sound in its head reverberated, banged against its skull. A sound? The beast pried open its eyes to try to understand the stimuli.
"Good," Janet said, checking Daniel's pulse. "Well, it certainly is good to see you again."
Sounds scratching at ears that hadn't heard in months, punctuated the beast's mind. Noises that it could almost understand floated into its brain. Noises
"Hi, stranger," Janet said, smiling, touching his face.
Two blue eyes glanced around the room, at times drooping shut, at times blinking in latent remembrances.
The beast knew this place somehow. Knew the brightness of the expanse that covered its legs. Knew that sound. Knew that…voice.
"Daniel, I want you to squeeze my finger for me," she said, wiggling her two fingers in Daniel's limp hand. She watched and waited. "Daniel, come on now. Show me how strong you are. Squeeze my hand."
There was a sensation in its hand, a jostling that needed touching. The beast embraced the warmth with his weak fingers, but it was so tired…
"No, now don't close your eyes," she said, shaking his hand. "Open up, Doctor Jackson. You've been asleep for far too long. Open your eyes, Daniel. That's an order."
The creature was too tired to disobey. Somehow it knew the price, knew what it would suffer, even if this order was the first he actually understood, could actually hear. Then was it real?
"Hi there," Janet said. "Can you tell me your name?"
The beast managed to focus in on the round face. He knew the face. Knew it from where, he couldn't tell. But the face was staring back at him, and it was pleasant, and it was…a name. A name, a word you call someone. A name.
"Can you tell me your name, Daniel?" she asked again, watching his eyes track her, hold her focus. He kept his eyes trained on her face, not quite her eyes, as if she were the only surviving member of a fatal accident, and the sight of her was too much to behold.
"Do you remember your name?" Janet asked, coming in close to hear him speak.
The beast stared at the mouth from which these vaguely familiar sounds poured. These were words, small, imperfect gifts that he had bartered away so many months ago. Traded away in exchange for safety.
"Daniel," Janet said, increasing the level of oxygen he was receiving. "Daniel, do your know where you are?"
Daniel…One gift found. A word, a name that was for him.
Calling on every grain of strength he had, Daniel nodded.
"Good. Good, Daniel!" Janet said, smiling. She rubbed his shoulder and smiled some more. "Good."
Safe for the first time in an eternity, Daniel searched for the next word to show he possessed his soul once again. Daniel. I…
The nurse returned to his bedside and said, "General Hammond is in DC, and I gave the colonel the message, ma'am,"
"What did the colonel say?" Janet asked.
"He asked if I had anything else to report," she said.
Janet spun to face the second lieutenant. "He said what?" She stared at the nurse, aghast at the colonel's stoicism. For whatever reason she couldn't even begin to imagine, Jack O'Neill had been petulant and short in the last few days, and this was just one more sign that it was nowhere near ending.
"Thank you, Lieutenant Smith," Janet said, returning to her patient. She picked up his hand in hers, stroked it gently and smiled. She wondered if Daniel was even aware of Jack's behavior of late.
D... Daniel. I... D... Dan...
Janet pulled a tissue from the bedside table and blotted the silent tears falling from his unwavering eyes.
"I know. It's all a lot to take in," she said, rubbing his chest with care and comfort. "You're gonna be fine, Daniel. We're going to take good care of you."
I…Daniel. Daniel Jackson.
Daniel's hand in hers was weak, listless, but the feel of his pulse next to her fingers was strong. She nodded her head and smiled again at him. "We sure have missed you."
Daniel kept his eyes bound to her presence. He focused for a brief moment on her sheltering eyes, saw her hand nearing his face, and tried not to flinch when he felt her wipe the cooling wetness from his cheeks.
Daniel. I... me.
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Sam had almost completely forgotten the feeling of exuberance, the thrill of exultation, but while she rushed through the halls to the infirmary, her body twitched with joy. Daniel was awake.
She took the corner wide right before the elevators. She didn't need to smack into anybody and break her nose in her joy. Reaching the elevators unscathed, Sam punched in the floor for the infirmary and waited impatiently, bouncing on her toes.
"Carter," Jack said, passing behind her.
"Oh, Colonel," Sam said. "Are you going to the infirmary?"
"No," he said, pressing level 16.
Sam looked at the lit up button. "Daniel's awake."
"So I heard," Jack said, lacing his hands behind his back and keeping his eyes peeled on the numbers flipping across the digital display.
"Um, I'm on my way to see him. Would you like to join me, sir?" she asked, just as the doors slid open. She and Jack stepped in.
"No, Carter. I wouldn't. We have a lot of work to do before we go have tea with the Tok'ra. I, for one, thought I'd do my job."
Sam bit down hard, grinding her teeth together, her eyes flashing with acrimony. "Yes, sir."
The doors opened to level 16, and Jack stepped out. "Carter."
"Sir," she said, and watched him disappear while the doors closed again. "What's his problem?" she asked, knowing the protective anonymity of the elevator surrounded her. She began to bounce again, eagerly awaiting the moment when she'd see her friend, be able to talk with him, hear from him that he was all right, and that this would all pass, just like everything else had. More than anything, she couldn't wait to see his smile, slight as it usually was, and hear him offer a hello in his gentle voice.
When the doors slung open, Sam could hardly contain herself. She took long strides through the hall, once nearly coming to blows with a passing airman.
Sam slipped inside the room and mouthed a hello to Janet. Janet motioned for Sam to join her at Daniel's side.
"He's very weak, but if you call his name he should respond," Janet told her, passing Daniel's hand to her.
"Thanks, Janet," Sam said, smiling. Janet stepped back and allowed Sam more room. "Hey, Daniel," she said. She grasped his hand and stroked his forearm, luxuriating in the presence of his responsive touch. "Can you wake up for me? Daniel?"
Daniel heard the familiar sound being called and realized it was a name. His name was being called somewhere out there, beyond his sluggish ability to reason. Just another dream he had long ago stopped believing in, he decided.
"Daniel, wake up, sweetie," Sam said again.
The dream was back. The dream of hearing his name called, of seeing his friends walk through the rough metal door had returned. He had refused to dream that dream months earlier, and the return of it pained him. He knew the only way to end it was to open his eyes, see that he was still in his holding area, alone and afraid.
His eyelids felt glued shut, but with a great effort he was able to open them. Blurred lines and fuzzy images, blots of colors oscillated in front of him. He blinked and then caught a clear glimpse of green. His eyes moved up to find the familiar sight of a belt—webbed with a brass buckle. Something lit in his consciousness, and he pressed on, trying to remember how he knew this sight. A black shirt, two dog tags hanging from a silver chain hung between…between breasts under the knit shirt. His gaze traveled higher to meet with large blue eyes so similar to his own, short blonde hair. She was smiling at him. Daniel knew her face, knew her. Someone he hadn't expected to ever see again.
It was cruel and unmerciful, this dream. It showed him images of those he missed and longed for. It showed him what was home. And then it always disappeared.
"Hi, Daniel," Sam said, leaning toward him. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and was thrilled to offer him her first smile in months.
The feel of her hand in his gave him the final evidence that the dream was, in fact, not a shadow of his memory at all. He was home. This person, this woman was part of his home. He was home.
Daniel relaxed into the soft hand. He brushed his fingers, weak and ineffectual, against her smooth skin, just to know she was there, just to know he wasn't dreaming. She, too, had a name, and it would come to him, but for now, her hand in his was more than ecstasy.
"How are you, Daniel?" she asked, caressing his arm with gentle strokes, making sure to stay away from the IV in his wrist.
The sounds formed words, and the words had a meaning, and those meanings formed a thought, but the thought drifted away.
"Daniel? I asked how you are," Sam said.
Daniel heard her words but took a moment in order to completely digest their meaning. You, Daniel? Finally, when the words and their meaning connected, he nodded. Yes, he wanted to say, I Daniel.
"It's good to have you home," Sam told him, smiling. She leaned over and kissed his temple, lingered for a moment just to cherish his presence.
Home, he thought. He excavated the word from its hiding spot and brushed it off. Home. Yes. Home. Daniel closed his eyes and nodded again. You home…
Sam watched his eyes flutter for a moment and then close. She was grateful for the little time he had been able to stay awake. Grateful just to have him so close. She pulled up a chair, never letting go of his hand, and stayed with him until she knew it was time to return to her lab.
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"Don't eat that," Jack said, pointing with his silverware at the tray of nondescript meat. "Don't eat that, either."
Jack, Teal'c and their fill-in, Andy Packard, shuffled down the mess hall line. "Okay, that is soooo not spaghetti sauce," Jack insisted. "How can that possibly be spaghetti sauce? It's…purple."
The airman behind the steaming table stood, draped in apathy. He was used to the daily tirade about the quality of the food, especially from Colonel O'Neill. "Sir, what can I get you?"
Jack drew back his chin and looked over the assortment. "What did you eat?"
"The food service crew ate a lunch of lemon-shrimp salad on a bed of bib lettuce with fresh croissant and a nice chardonnay, sir," the airman said, keeping his eyes averted.
"Is he serious?" Jack asked Teal'c.
Teal'c pointed to the sweet and sour pork. "I do not believe he is."
Jack scowled at the airman and tapped the glass partition, motioning for the sarcastic airman to dish him up some of the same.
"Forgive me for saying so," Andy Packard added, following Jack in line, "but I don't think the food is all that bad."
"For cripe's sake, Packard, where have you been stationed the last couple years? The Gulag?" Jack queried.
"I've been in England," Packard said, pointing to the meat loaf.
"'Nuff said," Jack told him. He picked up his tray and walked it over to the enormous coffee urns. Jack filled up one cup for himself and offered to fill one for Packard.
"So, Andy, how would you feel about joining SG1 on a more full-time basis?" Jack asked, carrying his tray to an open table.
"I believe SG1 is fully staffed, O'Neill," Teal'c said, shocked by Jack's offer.
The three men sat down at the table and began to take assorted plates, cups and silverware off their trays. "We need someone to take over Daniel's place…"
"On a temporary basis, I'm assuming," Teal'c said.
"Well," Jack began, bobbing his head back and forth, "maybe not so temporary."
"That would be great!" Andy Packard said, laying his hands down flat next to his dinner. Jack nodded and speared some of his sweet and sour pork.
"I must renew my objection over the idea that DanielJackson is being replaced," Teal'c said, lowering his voice to an impressively thunderous growl.
"From what I've seen, you're doing a great job out in the field. Do you think you could shoulder the added responsibility of being the linguist and social scientist of SG1?" Jack asked, ignoring Teal'c's growing anger.
"I know I can!" Packard asserted.
"DanielJackson is SG1's linguist and archeologist, O'Neill," Teal'c stated, raising his voice with his ire.
"He was, Teal'c. Was," Jack reminded him. Jack refused to make eye contact with Teal'c. He picked up his fork. Stabbed his food. Sipped his coffee.
"And he will be again," Teal'c said.
"So what do you think, Packard? Maybe we should go have a chat with General Hammond?" Jack asked.
"Sure!"
"DanielJackson will be returning to SG1, O'Neill. He has not been away that long that we should think of replacing him."
"Eight months, Teal'c!" Jack barked, slamming his fork to the table. He glared at the Jaffa, annoyed with his protective attitude. "He was gone eight months, and I hate to break it to you, but he doesn't look like he's coming back anytime soon." Jack's eyes burned with anger and resentment. "It's time to move on, Teal'c."
Andy Packard tried to sink into the background. Joining the SGC's flagship team would be an enormous honor, but joining them in the middle of such blatant strife made the offer less and less appealing.
Teal'c ground his teeth together and held Jack's contemptuous stare. "Perhaps it is." Teal'c placed his food on his tray and excused himself from the table. Jack returned to his meal.
"Anyhow, Packard," Jack continued, his voice returning to a dull, unenthusiastic drone, "you'd have more responsibility."
"Yes, sir," Andy said, focusing on his own meal.
"How many languages do you speak?"
"Um," Andy began, his head swirling from the tension between the two men, "five, three of which are dead or archaic."
"Five?" Jack reiterated. "Hmmm. That…that'll do."
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"You want some more of this?" Sam asked Daniel, holding up a small bowl of Jell-O.
Daniel stared at the red blobs, blinking.
"Daniel? Do you want any more Jell-O?" Sam quietly asked, touching his hand.
Daniel looked up from the bowl and glanced at Sam, but in a quick moment, his eyes turned from her. His forehead creased in a sign of his apprehension. He heard foreign sounds coming from her, but they had come and gone so quickly he was unable to grab hold of them. He shook his head back and forth and tried to play back the sounds.
"No? You don't want anymore?" she asked.
No…Want…Want? Want? Daniel tilted his head to the side and strained to understand. Want? Want? It was gibberish, meaningless noise. Again he shook his head.
Sam put the bowl back down on the tray and looked him over—gaunt, quiet, frighteningly introverted. She placed her hand on top of his and rubbed it with slow, soft touches. "Daniel, you have to eat, otherwise Janet's going to have to put the tube back in."
Daniel pulled his hand out from underneath Sam's hand and held it next to his stomach. His finger scratched into the cotton material, scratched short lines, tight circles.
"Daniel?" Sam said, bending her head to the side to catch his attention. "Daniel, I need to go in a few minutes. We're going off-world at 1100, and I'd really like to know you're doing all right before we leave." Sam picked up half a piece of lightly burnt toast and handed it to him. "Please. For me."
Daniel slowly lifted his eyes and held Sam's focus for a quick moment. He looked at the toast and understood that it was being offered to him, so he took it. He turned it a few times in his fingers, brought it to his mouth and paused before biting into it, as if the very thought was repulsive. He broke off the corner of the triangular piece and nodded.
"Good," Sam said, picking up a napkin and offering it to Daniel. "You have crumbs on your gown."
Daniel looked at the object in her hand but couldn't remember what it was. He couldn't remember. And then he was looking at her, his lips trembling, trying to come up with the right word, his eyes becoming red with tears.
"What, Daniel?" she asked.
His eyes fluttered; short bursts of air, unarticulated and syncopated, left his parted lips; he pulled and pinched at the skin around his neck.
"It's okay," she said, wiping off his gown. "I'll take care of it." Sam glanced from the front of his gown, speckled with tiny crumbs, to his anxious expression. She tried to offer him a reassuring smile, but found she could hardly contain her apprehension. She took great care to brush the remains of the toast away without furthering his discomfort. "There. No sweat." She picked up his water glass and held it out for him. "Are you thirsty?"
Daniel knew there was a sound for it. Knew somewhere in his mind there was a word, a symbol for what he was trying to tell her, but it wouldn't come. It didn't belong to him anymore, and it wouldn't move forward. The sound remained hidden, lost to him.
"Daniel, do you want some water?" she asked, coming closer, trying to hear his words.
One word, he knew. His finger scratched into his neck and he nodded. He nodded that he knew the word, but the straw came toward him nonetheless. In compliance, a state he had become too familiar with, he took the straw in his mouth.
"That's great, Daniel. Drink," Sam said, happy that she was able to break through the silence and communicate at least on a very limited subject. She held the cup for him while he sipped from it, his lips shaking the smallest amount.
When he was finished, he turned his head and signified that he didn't want it anymore.
Sam put the cup back down on the tray and paused before taking his hand in hers. She waited for him to take it away, but he didn't. He stared at their hands, and she stared at him. There were so many questions she wished she had answers for. So many things she wished she could ask him—why are you still so afraid? Do you know you're safe? When will you be…you again? But she couldn't, not now. Not when answering the question of whether he was thirsty evoked such emotions.
She gripped his hand tighter in hers and cleared her throat. "I wish you could come with us, Daniel. It's just not the same out there without you."
Daniel sucked in his lower lip, shrugged his shoulders and blinked his eyes.
"I'll come see you as soon as we get back, okay?"
Daniel turned his hand over in hers and tightened his grip.
Sam felt his hand shaking against her hand. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."
Leave. Go. Leave me. But the words seemed wrong to him. Something-he wasn't sure-was missing. He closed his eyes and tried, really tried to think.
"Daniel, are you okay?" Sam asked.
Daniel rubbed his eyes, pressed his hand tight against his cheek. Do. Do. No. Don't. Yes. Don't Leave. Don't go. Don't leave me. Hear. Hear... me. Daniel let his hand slip to his neck and he focused in on Sam's eyes with great intensity. Hear me. He nodded, knowing that he had finally found the words. He nodded that, yes, he connected the words to form a thought. Hear me don't leave. Sam. Don't leave.
"You're sure you're okay?" she asked, watching him bob his head up and down. "A few days, that's all. We'll be back soon. I'm going to see Dad."
Daniel crushed Sam's hand in his grip, forcing his thoughts from his mind to her hand. P... please. Please, don't go.
Sam felt him give her hand a tug, and she smiled. "I'll tell him you said hello." She stood up and brushed off her hands. She handed Daniel another piece of toast and said, "Eat."
Daniel stared at the darkened, crumbling bread and complied with the orders—he took the toast and brought it to his mouth.
"I'll see you in a few days," Sam said, rubbing his shoulder. She waved to him as she stepped through the door. Once outside, she headed toward Janet's office.
Sam knew it was going to take time for Daniel to return to his normal, everyday self, but his eyes…his fear…his silence. A mosaic of a lost soul, shattered and haphazardly put back together.
Outside Janet's office, Sam knocked once before popping her head in.
"Hi, Sam," Janet said, looking up from a stack of files.
"Hey, Janet. You got a minute?" Sam asked, grimacing.
"Sure. Is this about Daniel?" she asked, closing the top folder, capping her pen.
"Does it seem strange how…quiet he is?" Sam asked, taking a seat in front of Janet.
"He's only been out of the coma for a few days," Janet began, and then she held up a hand to intercept Sam's next words. "Even so, I'm concerned about his level of communication. I've scheduled a cat scan and an MRI for this afternoon. I'm also having a neurosurgeon and a speech and language pathologist come in on a consult."
"So, it's not just my imagination," Sam said, nodding.
"No, it's not. He's having a very difficult time communicating, and I think we need to get to the bottom of it," Janet said.
Sam rubbed the back of her neck, hoping the extent of Daniel's difficulty was just a temporary glitch. There were so many other worries to consider—his massive injuries, the scars that graphed across his wrists—so many other things, that if he couldn't communicate…If Daniel couldn't communicate…
"Oh, God, Janet. If Daniel can't speak…" Sam began.
"Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it, Sam. Really, it has only been a few days," Janet tried to assure her. "We'll figure it out. Don't worry."
SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1
"I gotta tell you, the Tok'ra should really think about getting in touch with the people on 'Trading Spaces,'" Jack said, looking over the latest in crystal technology.
"Jack. Sam. Teal'c," Jacob Carter called, walking toward them with his hands outstretched. "I trust you found us easily enough."
"We're here, aren't we?" Jack answered.
"Sam, how are you?" Jacob asked, hugging his daughter and ignoring Jack.
"Oh, fine, I guess," she said, enjoying the warmth of her father's embrace.
"How's Daniel?" Jacob asked, releasing Sam.
"He's home," Jack added, and with his parsimonious words, Jack hoped to relay his ongoing distaste for the Tok'ra.
"I know. I heard."
"Of course you did," Jack cracked. "Isn't it funny how the Tok'ra are on the leading edge of all the best gossip, but when it comes to actually knowing anything at the time, they don't have a clue?"
"Are we gonna do this again, Jack?"
"You know me, Jake. I like to do these things until they're done right, and it's never been done right. Hell, where the Tok'ra are concerned, I'd just settle for being done."
Jacob stared at Jack with dispassionate eyes and then turned to Teal'c, leading him and the rest of the team down the cavernous halls. "Teal'c, what can you tell me about a Jaffa named Cu'bec?"
"He was a rising and influential warrior under Apophis. When I left my post as First Prime, Cu'bec was earning a reputation for being a brazen yet powerful opponent."
Jacob lowered his eyes for a moment, and his symbiote Selmak took over. "Our sources tell us Cu'bec has left the Jaffa and would like to aid in the Tok'ra's cause."
"Let me guess: You don't trust him," Jack said.
"That is correct, Colonel O'Neill, at least not yet."
"Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you keep him at arm's length, toss him a few table scraps just to keep him coming back for more, and then demand that he be subservient to you. You ever thought of trying that?"
"Colonel O'Neill…" Selmak began.
"Oh, wait. That's how you treat your 'friends'," Jack said, using his hands to signify contemptuous quotation marks.
"Look, Jack, if this is about Daniel…"
"Hell, no, it's not about Daniel! Daniel's fine. Daniel's home. Daniel couldn't be better!" Jack bellowed.
Jacob turned to Sam. "Is there anything we can do?"
"Wait a minute," Jack said, raising a hand in the air. "I've heard that offer before. When was it?" Jack snapped his fingers and pointed at Jacob. "Oh, right. Eight months ago, the last time we were here."
"We did all that we felt we could at the time."
"Which was what, exactly?"
"Jack, this is neither the time nor place…"
"No, I'd like a goddamn answer, Jake!" Jack demanded. "You called us here to pump Teal'c for information. Fine! He'll talk when you do."
"What can I tell you, Jack?"
"You can tell me how long it took the Tok'ra to decide not to help us find Daniel."
Selmak said, "There was no decision made regarding that."
"Then was it an overall consensus just to let it die on the table?" Sam asked, entering the fray.
"We discussed in depth the situation, and it was decided that inquiries would be made at the appropriate time," Selmak told them.
Teal'c asked, "How often did those times occur?"
Jacob turned away from the question, pinned his lips together and shook his head. "Look, Jack…"
"No, Jacob! I think you oughta answer the man's question. How many inquiries were made?"
"Sam…"
"Answer the question, Dad."
Jacob tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Unfortunately, the appropriate time never came up."
"Sam. Teal'c. Let's go home," Jack ordered, glaring at Jacob.
"You can't do this, Jack. We have things to discuss," Jacob called after him.
"Funny, something doesn't feel…" Jack began, snapping his fingers.
"Perhaps the word you are looking for is 'appropriate,' O'Neill," Teal'c said.
"Yes, that's it. Thank you, Teal'c." He and Teal'c strode away.
"I'm sorry about Daniel," Jacob called after them, "but the Goa'uld are about to cut off one of our main arteries, and…"
Without losing as much as a beat, Jack turned on a dime and charged Jacob. "Let me tell you about arteries," he said.
"Sir," Sam tried to interject.
Jack shrugged off her advances and continued to bear down on Jacob. "Arteries are things that can be sliced open by a person when they've lost hope that their friends will ever come looking for them. Arteries can be severed wide open when a person realizes that their friends probably haven't found the appropriate time to inquire about them."
"Sam?" Jacob said, looking to his daughter, asking without words if what Jack was saying was true.
Sam looked at Jack, not sure if she should display SG1's dirty laundry out in the open. They had never discussed Daniel's scars, had never talked about what might have happened, had never as much as acknowledged that each of them knew. But with Jack's blustery breach of Daniel's private sufferings, Sam felt it was only right to fill her dad on the part of the pain they were all living with.
"We think Daniel tried to commit suicide, Dad," she informed him and found, as she said it, how the words, like acrid bile, left her wanting to retch. "He slit his wrists. It looks like he tried to kill himself while waiting for us to find him."
"Jack, how could I know?"
"You couldn't have, Jake, because that wouldn't be prudent." Jack slapped his hat on the back of his head. "Well, I blame the Tok'ra for that, and I blame myself for taking your word eight months ago that you wanted to help." Jack spun around and began to walk away. Teal'c followed.
"Is Daniel all right, Sam?" Jacob asked.
"No, Dad. He isn't," Sam told him. She pulled the disk from her vest pocket. "This was given to us when we found Daniel. I told General Hammond that I'd see if the Tok'ra could help figure out what it is. I'd really like to go back to the SGC and tell my CO that his old friend and former Air Force buddy did the right thing by us."
Jacob took the disk from her. "I'll see what I can do, Sam," he quietly said.
"Don't see about it, Dad," she said. "Make it happen."
"Okay." Jacob nodded and closed his hand around the disk. "I'll personally make sure it gets done."
"Don't let me down, Dad," Sam warned him.
"I won't."
Sam jogged ahead to catch up with Jack and Teal'c, and Jacob pocketed the disk.
SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1SG1
Janet held Daniel's arm while he lowered himself into the chair. His eyes, dark with uncertainty, darted from Janet's eyes to the surrounding area, never landing on any one thing for more than a brief moment.
"There," Janet said when he finally found a comfortable position. She rolled the bedside tray next to him and lowered it to the height of the chair. "While Sergeant Miller is making your bed, why don't you finish your lunch? We have a busy day." Janet glanced at his eyes, and then followed the line of his focus to the bed being made.
"Daniel?"
He stared with trepidation and intent at the white sheets, flapping and unfurling, floating down, covering the ruined and broken body. The sheet tucked in around the body, and the circle of light flashed, alive with sharp torture. Slicing and burning, thousands of white-hot needles penetrating its skin, and the beast mutely cried out until the fire consumed its body and the sheet.
"Daniel!" Janet yelled, taking his stricken face in her hands, feeling his body trembling with uncontrollable violence. "Daniel!"
Sergeant Miller abandoned the linens in a pile on top of the mattress and stepped to Janet's side in case she was needed.
Daniel's arm shot across the tray, shoving the contents onto the floor in a clamorous mess. His hand grabbed the smooth surface, and his finger scratched a continuous pattern into the tray—up and down and up and circle, circle, circle. Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle.
"Daniel, do you know where you are?" Janet asked, taking his pulse.
Daniel's eyes never left the sheets, a heap atop the bed. A heap—finished and used, ready to be bundled up, stuffed into the old man's bag. Which was the beast's job. Which it was supposed to do.
"Daniel, what are you doing?" Janet asked, taking Daniel's hand in hers while he strained to push himself out of the chair. "Daniel, you need to sit down."
The sheet, crumpled and used, waited for the beast, so the awkward creature reached for the sheet, snagged it in its fingers, rolled the cloth in its hand, and subserviently handed it to the man. Then it sunk to its knees, compliant once again, and tried to lower its head to the floor.
Janet passed the sheet to the sergeant and knelt next to Daniel. "Daniel? Daniel, where are you? Can you tell me that?"
Its face, hidden against the side of the mattress, its fingers scratching up and down and up and circle, circle, circle, the beast forced itself to be still.
Janet placed a hand on Daniel's back. "Daniel, tell me where you are."
The sounds, words entered its mind, and the beast was gone again. Daniel turned his frightened eyes to the voice.
"Daniel? Are you with me?" Janet asked, peering into his bloodshot eyes, half covered by the soft strands of his willful, messy hair.
Daniel stared at her, straining to communicate his horror to her. His nails gouged the mattress, creating a ripping, tearing noise. His nails gouged and scraped, scratched and dug into the mattress.
"Daniel, do you know where you are?" she asked, motioning for the sergeant to come nearer. When her face appeared over Janet's shoulder, she asked the sergeant to bring her a milligram of Ativan.
Daniel's fingertip slid over the rough material, stuttering against its texture.
"Daniel, tell me where you are."
Daniel's hands tapped the mattress, and he turned his face into the rough side.
Janet shook her head and looked from his hand to his face. "I…I don't understand, Daniel."
Again his finger slid across side of the mattress, curving one way, then the other, stopping to begin at the top—a half circle and back in, stopping again to draw another jutting, skipping half circle. Daniel tapped the spot with resolved insistence.
Janet pulled in closer to him, turned his face to her, brushed his long hair out of his eyes. "Daniel, I don't understand. Can you just tell me?"
Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle…
"Daniel, tell me what you're saying."
Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle…
"Daniel, I don't…I don't…Oh, my God," she uttered, seeing the pattern more clearly. She watched his finger scratch out the pattern one more time and realized they were letters. Her nerves began to twitch. "Daniel, can you speak?"
He buried his eyes in the crook of his elbow, and yet his hand remained against the mattress.
Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle…NOOO.
She tipped his head up to look into his watery eyes. "Daniel, why can't you speak?"
Speak. Speak. Can't speak. He knew what she was asking. The trembling in his body shook the tears from his eyes. He slid his hand from the mattress, over his face and pressed them onto his neck.
Janet slowly pulled his hand away and examined his neck. She found a few small scars, but nothing that would indicate a trauma so severe that it would make him mute. "Did you have an injury to your throat?"
His breath came out in sobs, ragged and coarse. His jaw quivered and his tears kept coming.
The sergeant brought Janet the needle full of sedative.
"Help me get him in bed," Janet said, wrapping her arms around Daniel's thin torso. Together she and the nurse pulled him up and placed him in bed.
Daniel curled onto his side, scratching more letters into his pillow, too fast for Janet to read.
"Get the otoscope, please," she said to the nurse and then emptied the Ativan into his IV. "Just relax, Daniel. Everything's gonna be fine."
The sergeant returned with the sterilized otoscope and a pair of gloves for Janet. Janet snapped on the gloves, pulled the scope from the hermetically sealed package and said, "Daniel, I'm going to take a look down your throat, okay? I need you to roll onto your back.
Daniel turned his shoulders back onto the bed, his eyes closed, his nostrils flaring with silent cries.
The nurse tipped his head back and coerced his jaw to open.
Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle…
Janet leaned over and tried to put him at ease with a smile. "I'm just going to place this in your mouth. You'll feel it at the back of your throat, but try to stay still."
Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle…tap… Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle…tap…tap tap…tap tap tap tap tap…
And then his hand grabbed for the object. He gagged and tried to spit it out, pull his head away, bat at it, anything, just to get it out!
"Okay, okay," Janet said, pulling the scope out of his mouth. She handed it to the nurse and asked for another dose of sedative. "Shhh," Janet said, brushing back his hair from his forehead. "Shhh. It's okay. I'll wait."
Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle…tap, tap.
Daniel stared at the ceiling and his chest bucked. He covered his eyes with one hand and clamped shut his mouth trying to stifle his sobs.
Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle…tap, tap, tap.
"It's all right, Daniel," Janet said, smoothing down his hair, tucking it behind his ears. "Just let the medicine relax you." Janet motioned for the nurse to administer the dose into his IV.
Up and down and…and up and down and…
His arms began to feel limp, heavy, and his hips loosened. Daniel could feel his breathing evening out, become less urgent, less frantic. The thoughts of objects forced into his mouth became far away, not so frightening. He closed his eyes and saw only colors, imprints of lights burned into his retina.
Down…
Janet put on a fresh set of gloves and began again. The nurse tilted Daniel's head back and opened his mouth. Janet pressed the scope into his mouth against the back of his throat and peered deep into his trachea. What she saw shocked and appalled her.
"Jesus God," she said, pulling the scope out. "Call General Hammond immediately."