Chapter 14

Thirteen hours later (but who was counting?), Daniel was in the passenger seat of Jack's truck, staring vacantly out the window. Jacob and Selmak had done their thing with the healing device—Jack tried not to think of the mangled, swollen fingers; the huge, blossoming bruises on Daniel's torso, arms and legs; the broken rib; the poorly healing cuts; the brutal strangle marks that were even more spectacular than when they'd first seen them—and then Janet had hooked her patient up to an IV, shot him full of something and let him sleep for ten hours. Daniel had barely said a word before, except to confirm to Jack and Teal'c, who wouldn't let it go, that Lioss and Gahry were dead, and he'd said barely a word since.

Jack, Teal'c and Carter had gathered around his bed while he slept, pretty much refusing to leave until Janet had ordered them to get some rest, and even then it took a look from Hammond to move them; Carter, always smarter than the rest of them, had commandeered the bed next to Daniel's, saying, no doubt truthfully, that she hadn't fully recovered from her own ordeal. Then she'd turned toward their sleeping teammate and done exactly what she'd been doing for the hours since her father had finished the process of piecing Daniel back together: stare at him silently with an unreadable expression on her face. Jack wished he knew exactly what was going on in that brilliant but way-too-complicated mind of hers. Earlier, while they were still waiting for the Tok'ra to let them know if the freaky aliens were going to help them, he'd started to apologize for the things he'd said to her in the infirmary. But Carter, looking at him straight in the eye for the first time since she'd been released, had all but cut him off: "You don't have to apologize, Colonel. You were right." Then she'd walked away.

Another time he would have called her on it, walking away like that from her CO, but of course he didn't. The thing was, he knew he was right, but not in the way she thought. He was right because he would have done anything, said anything to save her life. Yet Carter. . . . Hell if he knew exactly what she was thinking, but he suspected she had taken his words to heart, that she thought less of herself for choosing death over pointless agony, that she believed that he thought less of her for it. But how could he? The way she'd screamed. . . .

Jesus! A blare of a horn and Daniel's confused-sounding, "Jack?" brought him back to the present, and he jerked the steering wheel to bring the truck back into their lane.

"Sorry," he said after a moment, his heart still going a thousand miles a minute.

"You O.K.?" Daniel asked, and the question was so absurd given the circumstances that Jack almost laughed. Yeah, sure, you betchya, he thought. I'm great. You? But he only said, "Yeah, fine." Daniel didn't say anything else, and when Jack ventured a look out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his friend was again staring out the side window.

Jack sighed. He'd figure out what to do about Carter later. She, at least, was home now with Jacob. Daniel, on the other hand, was headed to his place to "be alone," which so did not sound like a good idea to Jack. Yet that's what Daniel had insisted on back in the infirmary after he'd woken up and fended off the dozens of people who seemed to be wandering in to either apologize to him or check on him or both: He wanted nothing more than to be in his own home, alone, with no one hovering. Hammond had understood his chief civilian's need to take even this small amount of control over his life and had agreed to put off the debrief till morning. Janet had been a harder sell, but even she, after a while, had relented. After all, his blood tests had come back negative for the poison, and Jacob had made sure all his physical ailments were healed; she really had no right to keep him against his will.

So, with a promise that Daniel would accept Jack's offer of a ride home, and another promise from Jack that he'd bring him back to the infirmary first thing in the morning, Janet had let Daniel go. But Jack had seen the worry in her eyes, and he shared it. Crap, it had barely been half a day since the guy'd been caught in a nightmare of torture and enduring pain that was . . . beyond endurance, and yet, thanks to the miracle of Goa'uld technology, here he was, walking, talking and ready to go home. Jack couldn't say it out loud—how could he?—but a part of him wished Jacob hadn't been there, that Daniel's injuries could have kept him safely drugged up in the infirmary for a few more days or a week.

Ah, who was he kidding? He knew probably better than anyone that a week wouldn't make dent in what Daniel had to deal with.

Jack sensed movement coming from the passenger seat and glanced that way again. Daniel was staring at his left hand, the one that had been so badly smashed, and slowly squeezing it open and shut.

"It still giving you trouble?" Jack asked, just to have something to say.

Daniel didn't look up. "What?"

"Your hand."

"What?" Daniel asked again, then noticed what he was doing and stopped. "No. No, it's fine."

"Good," Jack said.

Daniel nodded and turned to stare out the window and silence settled over the car once more. Jack grimaced. He knew it was normal—he could practically see the checklist of PTSD symptoms in his head—but a quiet Daniel was just . . . wrong.

"Jack?" Daniel said a moment later, and Jack wondered if his teammate had read his thoughts. He turned toward him hopefully before looking back at the road. "Yeah?"

"Did you know that the Solkin left a recording on their world thanking the SGC for relocating them?"

"Uhhh. . . ." Jack was nonplussed. What did the Solkin have to do with anything? That had been SG-3's mission; Daniel had never even been to the planet. "Uhh. . . ." he repeated stupidly, "no, no I don't think I knew that."

"It wasn't in SG-3's report?"

Jack thought back. He often pretended he didn't read reports, but the truth is, he took his responsibility as second in command of the SGC seriously, and he sooner or later read them all.

"No. I don't remember seeing that in the report. Why?"

Daniel just nodded, more to himself than at Jack, and turned back to the window.

Okay.

Ten minutes out from Daniel's place, Jack decided that whether Daniel wanted to talk or not, there were a couple of things he wanted to get off his chest before he dropped him off. He knew himself well enough to realize that if he didn't say some of these things now, they might not get said.

"Daniel?"

Daniel didn't turn from the window. "What?"

"I wanted to thank you."

That was enough to make Daniel look in his direction. "Thank me?" he asked, clearly having no idea what Jack was talking about.

"For saving my life." Seeing that Daniel was still clueless, he continued, "If you hadn't sent the IDC when Lioss had me tossed through the Gate. . . ."

To his surprise, Daniel let out a short, mirthless laugh, and turned away again. He then mumbled something so quietly, Jack couldn't hear it. "What?" he asked.

Daniel still wouldn't look at him but said more loudly this time, "I thought I killed you."

"Come again?" Jack said.

"I thought I sent the wrong code. When you didn't. . . ." Daniel stopped midsentence.

"When we didn't come back for you," Jack said, completing Daniel's thought, and his stomach churned with the same regret, guilt and frustration he'd felt ever since the whole disaster began.

"I understand now why you couldn't, Jack."

Jack nodded. He'd told Daniel. Sam had told Daniel. Teal'c had told Daniel. No doubt Kovachek had told Daniel. . . .

"Anyway," he said, "you sent the right code, and you saved my life, so thank you."

Daniel looked directly at Jack and said, "You're welcome," then his eyes faltered and he turned back to the window.

Jack sighed again. Maybe it was the wrong time, maybe it was the right time, but he felt compelled somehow to continue.

"And I wanted to apologize," he said.

Daniel shook his head, but didn't turn around. "It's all right. I told you, I know you did everything you could."

Which was nothing, Jack thought for the hundredth time. Daniel was caught in an off-world hell, and he'd contributed exactly nothing to getting him home. If it weren't for Carter's stubbornness and the lucky presence of Helmut-head, Daniel might still be on Polistia. Hell, truth be told, it was Daniel's own notes that led to his rescue, so really, Daniel had saved himself. But that wasn't the point he needed to make.

"No," he said. "I don't mean that, although I'm sorrier than you can know that we couldn't get you home sooner. I mean. . . ." Crap, this was even harder than he thought it would be.

Daniel finally turned toward him, waiting to hear whatever it was Jack had to say.

Just spit it out, O'Neill, he told himself. He stared forward at the tail lights of the car in front of them, unable to look Daniel in the face as he said it. "You were right from the beginning about the Polistians. If I had listened to you, if I had backed you up the way I should have, none of this would ever have happened."

He waited for Daniel to say something, anything. He wasn't sure what he was hoping for. Forgiveness? Denial?

Daniel didn't say a word.

Jack made himself look, but Daniel was still turned away, so he couldn't read his face.

"Daniel?"

"Stop the truck," Daniel grated out, his voice sounding all wrong.

"What?"

"Just please. . . ."

Jack slowed the truck and pulled over to the side of the road. He barely had time to put on the emergency brake before Daniel was out of the truck, on his knees, losing what little solid food he had in him. Jack glanced back for oncoming traffic, then flung open his own door and was around at the shoulder at Daniel's side, his hand on his back.

"Sorry," Daniel gasped. "Sorry. I don't know what. . . ." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and straightened up, and Jack grabbed his arm to help him to his feet.

"It's all right. At least you didn't barf in my truck."

Daniel let out a real, albeit a short, laugh then. "There is that," he said.

Jack waited for Daniel to get back in, then walked back around to the driver's side. Batting oh-for-two in apologies, he thought, remembering Carter's reaction earlier. He started the truck and decided to try one more time.

"Daniel, about what I said before. . . ."

Daniel closed his eyes. "Jack, you can't. . . . It's never going to. . . ." he started to say, then closed his mouth and slumped in his seat. "Could we please not do this now?" he pleaded, and Jack winced. Not forgiven then, he thought but said only, "Sure, not a problem."

They drove the last few minutes in silence.

Jack pulled up in front of Daniel's building and turned off the motor. "I'll come up," he said, and when his teammate didn't answer, he said, "Daniel?"

"Hmm?" Daniel murmured distractedly.

"We're here."

"Where?"

Jack raised his eyebrows, and Daniel glanced around and said, "Oh. Oh, right. Well, I'll just go on up then. Uh, thanks for the ride." He fumbled with his seat belt, releasing the clasp, and reached for the door.

"I'll come with you," Jack repeated.

"What? No, no, that's all right. I'm fine. I'll just. . . ." He stopped talking, his hand still on the door and sighed.

Jack waited a beat for Daniel to finish, then looked at his friend's dejected expression and nodded. "My place?" he asked.

Daniel dropped his hand from the door. "I'm sorry, I know I said. . . ."

"Not a problem, Daniel," he replied, turning the key in the ignition and pulling away from the curb. Daniel closed his eyes and leaned back into the seat, and they drove the rest of the way in silence.