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Notes: Unbeta'd!
When I wake up, I stretch as usual...and realize something isn't quite...right. For one thing, I don't feel particularly...horizontal, as one would expect after a restful night of sleep. Rather, I feel like I'm sitting. On a moving bed--nnno...not so much moving as...rising. Falling. Rising. Falling.
Oh. My. God.
"Daniel?" I ask as calmly as possible, because when I open my eyes, that's what I get a close-up of. Daniel's profile--Daniel's sleeping profile--and we're both on his couch, me curled up on his lap, his arms around me, grip loose in his sleep. He jerks when I call his name, and I'm rewarded with two worried eyes seeking me out.
"Jack?"
"That's my name." I gesture between us, making sure I have my Not Amused face in full gear. "This, uh...this wouldn't be your idea of a..."
Daniel's eyes go even wider, if that were even possible. "No! Actually, I was hoping it was yours."
"What are you...?"
"Uh...last night, things got..." He flutters his fingers beside his head.
"Weird?" I ask, the same time he says "weird."
"Yeah," Daniel's nodding vigorously now--I'm talking bobblehead, people. "You don't...?"
"No," I say flatly, then, recalling my semi-out-of-body experiences yesterday, feel my throat tighten. Of course they wouldn't just be a coincidence. "What happened?"
"To be frank--"
"Why don't you be Daniel and give it to me straight?"
"You...kidded out on me." Daniel pulls a face at his own me-ish turn of phrase. "You were...a kid," he uselessly attempts to elaborate. I decide to go with my Patient Asshole tone.
"Yes, Daniel. Me, three-foot-Hobbit. Me, temporarily undeveloped. You..."
"'Me', gonna kick your ass if you don't grow up," Daniel growls. "When I say you were a 'kid', I mean you were doing a medicine ball impression under your window last night bawling your eyes out."
Well, that puts me in my place. So much for Daniel's legendary tact. "You're not serious."
He gives that laugh that I know he probably used when he found himself in an alternate reality, the world he was expecting turned completely upside-down. It's the laugh that kind of freaks me out, like he's gonna go postal any second. "I wish I wasn't. You scared the hell out of me."
"Fantastic. Excuse me." I slide off Daniel's lap--an action I never intend to repeat--and ignore his sputters about how we 'have to talk about this' and 'don't go in there; don't take those cookies; you haven't had breakfast yet'.
I have thinking to do.
=====
I can't even begin to describe how relieved I was when Jack woke up this morning and was...Jack. Grumpy, 'I-hate-this' Jack--so relieved I could have hugged him. But I didn't, because I actually like this plane of existence, and I don't think Oma would be willing to get in the way of the train wreck that would be Jack's temper if I dared to do such a thing. So, I just let him down, get his cookies, and brood by himself while I debated whether or not to bring Janet into this. Not that she can actually do anything.
I don't even know how the crying jag ended last night--the hours just seemed to blur together while 'Jack'--and I use quotations because there's no way in hell that could have been the Jack I know--alternated between clinging to me, panicking and begging for his parents, and punching me. Hard. I know for a fact I didn't do anything overly spectacular besides just keep up some string of nonsense that I probably wouldn't dare repeat in his presence, and he eventually just cried himself out, exhausted himself, and fell asleep.
It's times like this I wouldn't strenuously object to a beer.
=====
It's times like this I wish I could still have beer. Technically I guess I could, because it's not like this is actually my body or anything, but I know the Doc, Daniel, Carter, Teal'c, Hammond...okay, just about everyone would have something to say about it. A six-year-old beer drinker just isn't something Social Services looks kindly on--at least, that's what I expect. Instead, me and my new best friend--Mr. Bag of Fudgee-O's--stomp off into 'my'--and I use quotations because there's no way in hell I'm going to be living here like this for the rest of my life--room. To think. Not brood, not sulk, not whine...I'm thinking. Mature individuals think. I'm thinking.
The only problem is--and it's a disturbing one--my thoughts keep going off course. And I know what you're thinking; when do they ever not? This is different though--it's like, I start thinking about the freaky events that could possibly have led up to me winding up in Daniel's lap in his living room, which leads me thinking that Doc Napoleon herself will have to be brought in, which leads me to thinking that I'll have to get a needle, which makes my stomach turn over and a cold sweat break out on my forehead, which leads me to jamming more cookie into my mouth and wishing I had a hug.
Uh-huh. That kind of freaky turn of thought.
All I know for sure is that someone somewhere is gonna get it.
=====
I'm gonna get it. I know it. Jack just doesn't do quiet and calm. He should be ranting and raving, threatening everything that moves--and some things that don't. He shouldn't have gone to the spare room, quietly closed the door and not made another peep. He's plotting my demise. He has to be. I think I broke unwritten Rule Number One--'thou shall not play into the screwiness caused by the porta-potty'. But for God's sake, how could I not? Anyone who walked into that room in the dead of night and found anyone jammed up under a window, scared and not knowing where they were, would have to do something. The fact that it was a six-year-old who was for the first time acting like a six-year-old just made the choice to step in all that much easier.
As much as I want to take a page out of Jack's book and let semi-sleeping dogs lie, I know that unfortunate events such as these have a way of rearing their ugly heads if they're ignored. We're going to have to talk...and that means I'm going to have to decide whether or not we take this back to the SGC.
God, why couldn't I have been the one that just has to sit back and enjoy the ride; be the one who's downsized?
Um...
Never mind.
=====
'You're just going to talk to Daniel. You're not asking for reassurance. You're not going to ask what the hell is going on. You're not going to ask for Janet to give you an all-out physical and brain scan to make sure you're not losing your mind.' It's a long rant, sure, but it's working. Kind of. I left the bag of cookies on the bed--okay, so I brought four with me, two in each hand. So sue me.--and marched out the door. If mature individuals think, then mature individuals talk about their thinking with other mature individuals. That's what I'm doing. Daniel will thank me for taking the initiative--oh. "Daniel?"
Looking like someone just caught him browsing porn sites, Daniel freezes at the corner when he sees me coming. "Jack?"
He looks at me. I look at him. We both sigh in stereo. "We need to talk."
=====
"Ready?"
I don't know why he's just standing there. He's making me nervous, though--he's just kinda got his hand on the door, as if closing it will forever cut us off from the real world. If I weren't so scared shitless, I think I'd laugh at how completely foreboding Daniel looks...but instead, I just nod. "Yeah." The snarky Inner Voice lowers itself to a Schwartzeneggar-ish tone and booms "Let's do this thing", cocking its larger-than-life assault rifle and lowering the tinted visor on its pith helmet.
Pith helmet? Tinted visor? Wait a minute; why would a Voice have a rifle, a helmet or a visor at all? Why would it need one? It's just a voice, right? Voices don't need protecting or anything like that; they're just voices. The only thing that can do something about them are cut vocal cords, or a gag or something--and even that only muffles and distorts it; you can still make noises.
"Jack?"
Ah crap, I think I did it again. I find a quick grin for Daniel and shrug affably. "Just get in, will ya? You're letting in a draft."
"Uh...right."
The back door of the jeep closing is unnaturally loud in the mid-morning quiet, and I'm reminded just why we're getting in it, and where we're going.
It wasn't an easy choice--for either of us, I think, but especially for me and...well, I guess me. That is, the two "me"'s. Daniel asked what it's like when the kid side takes over, but the only answer I have for him is that one minute I'm there, and the next I'm somewhere else. He deduced it must be sort of like people who take absence seizures--and promptly put out the choice to go see the Doc. Absence seizures can be harmful to the person who takes them, and even though my body is actually still in motion, my mind could be taking the brunt of the damage.
I try and recreate the feeling of being 'disconnected', unfocussing my vision and blindly staring out the window, not seeing the passing houses, yards, people...I try and think about nothing, which, despite what some people might tell you, doesn't really work all that well, because if you're trying to think of nothing, you're obviously thinking of thinking about nothing, which ultimately defeatst the purpose. What pops into your head when you think of 'nothing', anyway? For me it's the night sky--which is something, I know. A lot of somethings, as a matter of fact. But either way, when I think 'nothing' right away this big vision of the night sky pops into my head. It's kind of weird.
"Jesus!"
"Wh--" I'm suddenly tossed ahead in my seat, only to be caught by the belt and flung back in the booster. I can make out Daniel's profile in the driver's seat, the eye that's visible to me wide with surprise, while in front of the jeep, some dude is scowling at us as if we tried to run him down.
Um...
"I had a green light," Daniel protests faintly, defending himself against...what?
"Nice driving, asshole!" the guy in front of the car shouts at the same time.
I have to admit, I'm rather impressed with Daniel's reaction time. He goes from shocked to pissed in 0.5 seconds flat. "It's a crosswalk, not a shield, pal!" he fires right back through the open window. "What are you, colour blind?"
My jaw drops. I feel it. "Daniel!" I marvel.
The guy in front of the car is obviously one of the masses who underestimated the Big Friendly Archaeologist, and he scuttles across the street, head down, without another word. Daniel kind of gives him this side-on "You'd better run" glare, and then we're on our way again. I feel totally six years old as I turn in my seat to catch a glimpse of the guy whose ass Daniel just totally, verbally kicked to Kingdom Come, and am not at all surprised to find other passersby grinning at him. Not with, mind you; the guy doesn't seem to be too amused himself. "That was awesome," I crow. Daniel gives me a cursory glance in the rearview mirror and flushes.
"I nearly killed him."
"Not like it was your fault. Like you said, you had a green light."
"Yeah, but I almost killed someone on Earth, my fault or not. Can you imagine what would have happened? Police on the scene, I'd get arrested, you'd get put into custody and probably get a psych evaluation because who in their right mind would believe you're a forty-some year old trapped in a six year old body? General Hammond and Janet would have to lobby to get you back into their custody while I'd be facing manslaughter charges..."
"Daniel, would ya relax? Jesus, what's with you? You're acting even more neurotic than usual."
"Well excuse me if a friend of mine might have been developing serious brain damage the last two days and I completed ignored it!"
Is that what he thinks? "Daniel, you didn't ignore it; you just didn't notice it--and neither did I," I quickly add when I get a wounded look reflected back at me in the rearview mirror. "I didn't notice," I repeat firmly, "and if I had, I would have said something to you."
Okay, tiny little white lie there, because last night I did suspect something when I found myself squeezing the stuffing out of that pillow, but I thought...right. I don't know what I thought, but I do know that it definitely wasn't that a six-year-old side of me was taking over control of my body.
Daniel kind of gets that look that tells me he's about to start berating himself and his 'parenting' skills, and I fling both hands out to stop him. "This isn't...your...fault," I enunciate clearly.
I get a little affirming nod from Daniel, but if he thinks I don't hear his muttered self-reproaches, he's sadly mistaken.
=====
"Daniel? Colonel O'Neill?" Janet greets us at the entrance to the infirmary. "Your call said it was urgent; what's wrong?"
Jack's found something incredibly interesting on his shoes and doesn't answer, so I quickly fill Janet in on what happened last night, with minimal detail on the stuff that Jack would no doubt kill me if it got out. As much as I want Janet to sigh in relief, smile and say "No problem; we can take care of that", there's nothing like the weight that crushes my chest when her eyes go wide and she looks just as terrified as the two of us.
"Okay..." Janet steps aside, ushers us both into the infirmary. "Colonel, come with me; we'll run some tests, try and...and find out what's going on."
I start to follow but Janet waves at me to wait, so I take a seat on one of the chairs next to the nearest bed, and don't miss the way Jack looks back over his shoulder as he follows Janet from the room, eyes full of something I never thought I'd associate with Jack--pure, unadulterated terror.
=====
=====
"Now what?" Arms crossed, I follow Doc Napoleon from the Iso room, trying my best to look nonchalant...and not shit my pants.
"Just an MRI, sir, and then we're finished." Janet pats the pallet. "Hop up."
As I slide into the machine, I consciously try and relax, though something stirs in my head--and guts--that makes me grip the sides of it, my knuckles turning white, stiffening up. "Just relax, sir; you've done this a hundred times."
Easy for you to say. I try to lie perfectly still, but what looks like a little pin of light near my feet is all I can see, and my chest constricts. Oh God...not now...
=====
When Jack returns, he makes a beeline for me and the bed I'm sitting next to, and I clasp my hands to keep from trying to help him clamber up on the bed. "How'd it go?"
Jack just glares at me, and I reluctantly leave him where he's sitting on the infirmary bed and follow Janet at her gesture for me to come with her, out into the corridor, out of sight and earshot of Jack. I'm not going to like this. I gently seize Janet's arm; this is dramatic enough without having to put a hundred miles of distance between ourselves and Jack before she'll tell me what's going on. "Janet what is it?" I pry, keeping my voice low. "It's not...good, is it?"
I can see the fight she's putting up for control, and she lets out a silent sigh before looking up and shaking her head slowly. "I can't explain it, Daniel," she admits quietly. Her voice is tight, betraying only a fraction of the frustration and helplessness she must be feeling right now. "His MRI reminds me of when he had the repository of the Ancients downloaded into his brain."
A cold chill runs down my spine--we all know how that very nearly turned out. If it hadn't been for the Asgard, Jack would be dead right now. "But is he..."
"I don't know." Janet hugs the chart to her chest and visibly shudders. "It's a complete cranial overload, but unlike when he had the Ancient knowledge, this is almost as though he's degrading. I think he might have had a brief spell in the MRI--" I gulp, imagining the worst, but Janet quickly placates me "--but he came out of it even as I ended the test. Right now, there's no way to tell whether he'll simply degrade until his mental state matches his physical one, or if it'll continue until there's...nothing left."
Oh God, oh God...I feel the colour drain from my face, leaving my face feeling prickly and cold, my head light and fuzzy. I rub my fingertips over my forehead and will my knees to keep me upright. Just the thought of Jack, quick wit, ready mind and all, so rapidly reduced to the mental level of a six-year-old is, I'm not ashamed to say, terrifying. This is making the whole 'downsized' thing seem too real. When it happened, it was a shock, definitely. We got a chuckle over how cherubic Jack was as a child, but it was still Jack in there, and it was only a matter of a few days or something until Sam figured out how to fix the device. Now, though...
Why didn't I take more notice earlier? At the park, when Jack had so suddenly gone quiet, holding his arms out to be carried, and of course, last night's frightening turn...I can only guess what else could have been a warning sign. "If I'd have brought him in earlier..."
"Don't do this to yourself, Daniel. My initial tests on the Colonel didn't show any of this degradation. I should have pushed to keep him in the infirmary for a few days, at least, instead of sending him home with you. It's almost as though we're getting a little too used to the alien technology thing."
"Thor and the Asgard," I bleat, barely hearing Janet's reassurances, still determinedly wracking my brain for some way we can help Jack. "Could they help? Do you think they could do something--anything--to restore him?"
Janet shrugs helplessly. "That device isn't Asgard technology, Daniel," she reminds me. "We have no idea who built it, or for what purpose it was built. I hate to say it, but at the moment it looks like Sam figuring out how to repair it is the Colonel's best chance."
Okay, I have as much faith in Sam as anybody else, but if she hasn't made any headway yet, there's not much of a chance in her figuring it out in the next few hours, is there? With that thought my heart sinks to my knees, and I lean back around the corner, seeking out Jack, who has his knees drawn up now, his arms crossed on top of them an his forehead pressed down. Is he still Jack right now, or has Younger Jack made a comeback? If Jack isn't in his adult state of mind, the child could be terrified over there--
"Daniel, what the hell are you looking at?" The disgruntled voice, so young yet so familiar, calls to me from across the infirmary even though its owner doesn't move a muscle. A rush of giddy relief washes over me and I open my mouth to respond, but Jack just turns his head on his arms and glares at me. "You're so not inconspicuous, you know," he said. "Can you make it any more obvious that you two have no idea how to fix me?"
Helplessly, I look to Janet, and she gives my arm a pat. "I'll tell him," she suggests softly. I feel like a complete shit for not wanting to be the one who gives Jack the bad news, but looking at him now, there's no way I can let him down like that. I nod jerkily, my head still swimming, and nearly miss the sympathetic flash of a smile Janet gives me. "Okay."
I let her lead the way back into the infirmary to Jack's bed, and Jack sits up straighter, just letting his knees sag apart but keeping his elbows resting on them, hands dangling between them. His eyes narrow warily as we approach--it's a look that makes me cringe, thinking that in a matter of days or hours, it could be the last time I see it.
"Give it to me straight, Doc, since I know Daniel won't do it."
Feeling absurdly cowed, I look down and find myself chewing my lip at the blunt accusation--no matter how true it is, I don't think I've felt this uncertain or awkward since the first few weeks I was back from Vis Uban. It's one of those feelings where you don't know what to do with your hands, what you're supposed to do or where you're supposed to fit in.
Uncomfortable much?
Janet senses it and flashes me a quick look before turning away. "Colonel..."
"May's well call me 'Jack', Doc, since I don't get the feeling I'll be 'Colonel' much longer."
"I think I'll stick with Colonel for now, sir."
"Suit yourself."
"Now, Colonel..." Janet sits herself slowly at the foot of Jack's bed, and I hover beside her, offering whatever support or backup I can. "You have to understand, sir, that Major--Sam--is still working on figuring out how to repair the alien device and backwards engineering it to restore you to your former...self."
"Yeah."
"But...until then--and I don't know how much you're aware of what's been happening to you, sir. You've been having blackouts?"
"Apparently. One minute I'll be doing something, and then in the next second I'll be somewhere else, doing something else. From the sounds of things, though, it's not a good thing."
"Uh--no, sir. We've run you through MRIs and CT scans, and they all say the same thing. Your...your brain is degrading, Colonel."
Apparently this isn't what Jack wanted or expected to hear, and he just gapes at us. "Whoa--wait. Degrading, as in..."
"As in, failing you, sir. Yes. From what we can tell so far, as the degradation continues, so will the frequency of your 'blackouts'. It's likely a side-effect of the device."
Jack casts a hopeful look at me, and I flinch despite myself. "But Carter's gonna fix that thing, right? And when she fixes it, it'll fix me and my brain, right?"
Janet touches him for the first time, reaching out and resting a hand briefly on one of his raised knees. "We don't know, Colonel," she says, voice infinitely gentle. "By the time she figures it out..."
"The damage may already be done," I blurt.
Staring at nothing, Jack falls back against the pillows. Something clenches in my gut. "Jack...?"
He shakes his head. "I--just...I need a few minutes. To myself." He refocuses on Janet and I. "Please. Just gimme..."
Janet rises first. "Of course. I'll...I'll draw the curtain to give you more privacy. Daniel?"
I just stand there helplessly, hovering between leaving and staying with Jack. Janet starts pulling the curtains across, and even as I watch him Jack withdraws, turning onto his stomach, propping his chin on his folded arms. I reluctantly turn and duck out, not ashamed to admit I might need a few minutes myself.
=====
'This is all so surreal, so much to take in. We all got a good laugh when we first pulled Jack from that device; my first thought was that finally I had something to torture him with. He has his jokes about me working in my sleep, he gave the Marines all the fodder they needed with that 'Space Monkey' thing years ago...and I thought I had something to get back at him with. Now I wish I hadn't told him I thought it was safe to poke at. I should have known he'd have tried to 'help'. He was bored stiff overseeing my translation. I should have sent him to get the book, I should have'
Rather than seeing it, I felt someone enter the office, and I close my journal. I don't look toward the door, or even move otherwise, until two arms cross over each other on the top of my desk and a quiet, weighted sigh reaches my ears. "Hey."
Now I move, at the softly-spoken greeting, and I turn my chair to find Jack, standing at full height and only barely reaching the top of the desk, one finger absently scratching at the metal top. "Hey." I keep my voice pitched in the same range as his, as if I'm going to frighten him off or something. "You...how are you?" I was going to ask if he was 'okay', but it's so obvious he's not I immediately rephrase.
Sure enough, Jack just shrugs, reaching one hand around his neck to scratch at one spot before pushing back strands of hair that barely flops over his forehead. "I dunno."
There are so many things I want to say at once. I want to ask him whether he's supposed to be in the infirmary, whether he wants to get out of here, whether he wants to go see if Sam's making any progress. I want to reach out, tousle his hair, grasp his shoulder or sling an arm around him--things that always came to easily to Jack when I'm the one who needs, whether I know it or not, a friend. But those are the same things that I can't bring myself to do, because I'm scared of looking too needy, or, worse, looking like an idiot if Jack decides to pull away. Besides, I don't know how he'll take something like that--will he think I'm patronizing him? Pitying him? God, I don't pity him--I'm scared shitless for him, sure--and that's something else I want to say, but out of first-hand experience I know that at times like these someone solid, someone who can support, is needed.
"How are you?" Jack asks me unexpectedly.
For a second, all I can do is blink dumbly. "Me?" I finally manage to squeak. "Me, I'm...worried." "Certain Sam will fix this" is what I intended to say, but somehow everything in my head got all mixed up and "worried" came out instead. Jack just nods, doesn't take offense or doesn't screw up his face at what must be 'emoting'.
"Me too," he admits. "I'm supposed to be in the infirmary, but I told Janet that if I...went nuts again, you'd probably be the only person I'd recognize. Maybe."
"Sam'll fix this." Well, talk about your useless things to say now. Excuse me while I go shove my foot in my mouth.
Jack doesn't react. "Maybe."
Okay, no, no, no; this isn't how this conversation is supposed to go! I'm supposed to come up with some awe-inspiring, something to bring the old Jack optimism-veiled-in-cynicism, not this dead-end travelling Jack. Why do people think I'm any good at inspiring speeches anyway? I can charm alien cultures into an alliance blindfolded, but when it comes to matters of the heart--personal stuff--I'm useless. Or maybe, I wasn't useless at this stuff before I ascended; maybe I just haven't figured out how to--
That's it!
I'm fully aware that my voice is barely more than a gasp, but I'm beyond the point of not caring. "I got it!" Jack turns his disinterested eyes on me, and this time I don't stop my hand from reaching out and patting him firmly on the shoulder. "I got it," I repeat excitedly. "Come on. Come on, we have to go see General Hammond."
=====