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There is a Pain So Utter
"The hills are alive..." Jack O'Neill began, almost singing, gesturing boldly, sarcastically while he stepped from the Stargate onto P29-050. "...with the sound of..." Jack paused, listening to the strange calls of the alien wildlife. "Carter," he asked, descending the stone steps in front of him, "what is that sound?"
"I'm not sure, Colonel," Sam said, walking down the steps to join her CO at the bottom. "Probably just some indigenous animal."
"Indigenous animal?" Jack asked, turning stiffly to face his 2IC. "Like alien lions and tigers and bears?"
"Oh, my," Daniel groaned, pressing his hand to his hip, slightly limping and favoring his right leg.
"Daniel, that groin pull still bothering you?" Jack called back to him.
Daniel closed his eyes in embarrassment. "Thank you, Jack, for sharing that piece of information with the rest of the team."
Jack leaned toward Sam and snidely said, "Daniel has a groin pull."
"Apparently," Sam answered, smiling. She and the colonel set out on a path toward their destination�a line of fairly ornate buildings, two kilometers beyond the Stargate.
"Did you try my method of healing?" Teal'c asked of Daniel, while behind him the event horizon fizzled out.
"Yeah, about that," Daniel began, grimacing while he caught up with Sam and Jack. "I get the part about stretching, but I'm not sure I'm going to be able to come up with a paste of Shri-bel-zak leaves. I mean, they don't sell them at my neighborhood health food store."
"I believe you may substitute the pulp from an ocotea bullata," Teal'c informed him, setting his sights on the direction in which Sam and Jack were headed.
Daniel continued walking while his mind generated a translation for the Latin. "Um, isn't that pulp from the stinkwood tree?"
"I believe that is correct."
"Thanks, Teal'c, but I think I'll stick with Motrin and Aspercreme," Daniel answered him.
From a distance of three paces, Daniel could plainly hear Jack humming the titular song "The Sound of Music." Sam glanced behind her and rolled her eyes. Daniel nodded, understanding all too well the pain of being a forced audience for one of Jack O�Neill�s recital.
*****
Their mission had been a success. A rousing, boring, mind-numbing success, according to Jack. They had successfully taken all the samples of soil they needed, found no new languages, and in fact had found a sign in the middle of the simple town. A very simple sign explaining in detail and leaving no room for question what had happened to the inhabitants of the planet. The message described exactly how the planet had become infested with a weed, which, although harmless, nonetheless proposed considerable duress to the population's aesthetic sensibilities. They had come to a unanimous decision to uproot, as it were, and begin again on a neighboring planet.
Jack, Sam, Teal'c and Daniel stood scratching their heads, blinking incomprehensibly.
"Huh," Jack eloquently stated.
"Yeah," agreed Sam.
"That is most...convenient," Teal'c added.
Daniel shifted his weight off his sore leg and pushed his glasses up.
"How often do you think that'll ever happen again?" Daniel asked, pondering over the sign.
"Don't know; don't care; let's move," Jack said, making an about face.
"Um," Daniel said, trying to come up with a reason to argue, but there didn't seem to be one. He merely took a digital picture of the placard, scanned the deserted village and turned around. "Okay."
"See, I like these people," Jack said, cradling his weapon. "They have a problem. They don't involve us. They take an action, leave a forwarding address, and go. No mess; no surprises. Just...poof, gone."
Daniel cleared his throat harshly. Sam looked over her shoulder at him.
"You all right?" she asked.
Daniel laid his hand on his throat and swallowed. "Yeah, just a little sore throat, I guess."
"God, Daniel, you're getting old and infirmed," Jack told him, setting a quick pace back to the Stargate. "Might just have to take you out back and shoot ya."
"I guess," Daniel answered, a little too tired to argue, falling in line with the others.
I guess I'm just worn down, he thought. I guess I'm just tired. I guess I've been pushing myself too hard lately. I guess I can't just expect to jump back from injury like I used to. I guess I did injure myself. I guess...
Aches and pains, septic, burning throat, unable to get a lungful of air, a sense of exhaustion that he couldn't shake--these were becoming the rule, as much as he tried to dismiss them.
The entire team had been grounded for more than five months, absolutely unheard of where the SGC was concerned. Between vacations, special assignments for both Jack and Sam, a stint teaching a crash archeology course at the academy, and Teal'c's time off world to be at his son's rite of adolescence, the months had flown by without a moments rest. Or a thorough medical exam, also unheard of where the SGC was concerned.
But now, with so much work on the books for him and SG1, Daniel knew he didn't exactly have time to take the needed days off in order to let whatever it was work its way out of his system. He'd just have to get more sleep whenever he could, try not to make any sudden lateral moves, and increase his intake of fluids and vitamins. He'd be fine. There wasn't time to be anything else.
*****
"Doctor Jackson?"
Daniel swallowed.
"Daniel?"
Slowly, Daniel's eyes opened. His throat was aflame.
"There you are," Janet said, standing over him.
"Guess I fell asleep," he said, sitting up gingerly, hiding a wince from Janet.
"Yeah, I guess you did," she said. She gently tugged on his ear, placed the thermometer inside, and took his temperature. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Actually, I have a sore throat."
"No temp," she said, popping the sheath off the thermometer before putting it in her pocket. She began to palpate the sides of his neck. "Any tenderness?" Daniel shook his head no. Janet pulled the scope from the wall. "Well, why don't we take a look? Say ahhh."
Daniel opened his mouth and diverted his attention to anywhere but the light pouring into his throat.
"Looks a little red, but it doesn't seem too bad. Have you been taking your Zyrtec?" she asked.
Daniel closed his eyes and grimaced. With all the distractions as of late, he had forgotten the time of the year. That wonderful time of the year that played havoc with his allergies. "Autumn."
"Yes, it is. Primetime for molds and fungi."
"Yeah, I...forgot." He adopted his best humiliated look.
"Let that be a lesson to you, Daniel," Janet said, opening the curtain divider that surrounded his bed. "When all else fails, take your prescription."
"Yes, ma'am," Daniel said, secretly relieved that it was his allergies after all, and that he wasn't dying of some rare alien bacteria like he kind of, sort of thought he was. "Can I go now?"
"Sure."
Daniel hopped off the gurney, pretended that that movement didn't just cost him a whole world of hurt, and waited for Janet to leave his bedside before grasping the side of gurney and doubling over in pain.
*****
"I tell you, sir, it was like a scene from 'Looney Tunes,'" Jack informed General Hammond. "We walk into this deserted village waiting for signs of the plague, bombs, pestilence, your basic humanity crushers, and we found...a sign."
"A sign," the general repeated.
Daniel raised a hand. "Uh, yes, sir." He flipped the lights off and the monitor on, and showed the general the picture of the placard. "This is the..." Daniel stopped and coughed. A ripping, burning pain scoured his lungs. He fought the urge to grab hold of his chest, coughed again and felt himself begin to sweat. With each hacking cough, stabs of intense pain knifed through his chest, his abdomen and radiated down his arms. He waited for the pain to subside before continuing. "�Scuse me. As I was saying, this is the sign that met us as we..." Coughing again, Daniel felt a strange warmth fill the back of his mouth. He rose from his seat, unable to stop the insistent, painful coughing.
"You all right?" Jack quietly asked, concerned, watching Daniel�s face become red. Daniel nodded, pointed out the door, coughed and spluttered that he was going to get a drink, and quickly left the room.
He could hardly breathe past the forming mass lodged in the back of his throat. The pain that each cough brought made him weak, stole oxygen from his muscles. Blackness began to edge his vision. He stumbled toward the bathroom, pushed open the door, and spit into the sink.
Blood. Bright red and clotted. Blood-streaked mucus slid down the side of the basin.
"Oh, my God," Daniel whispered. His limbs felt boneless. He grabbed a handful of paper towels and wiped his mouth. The paper towels came away from his lips tinged with blood. "Where is it coming from?" He looked in the mirror, opened his mouth and tried to peer inside. He felt his throat begin to spasm again. He coughed, harshly, painfully, barely able to get enough air between body-rattling coughs. The pain in his lungs felt like thousands of razor blades slicing and gashing at the tender flesh. He grasped the side of the sink to keep from falling. Again he spit, and again he saw the deep crimson stains against the dull white porcelain.
In a panic, Daniel fumbled for the water and rinsed the blood from the basin, kept pouring handfuls against the sides until all the evidence was gone. He hastily wiped the sweat off his forehead with a trembling hand and thrust his mouth under the faucet, filled it with luke-warm water. He gargled a few times and spit the frightening remnants from his mouth.
Daniel stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes looked sunken. His skin almost translucent. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he whispered.
"Daniel? You all right in there?" Sam called from outside the bathroom.
Daniel quickly splashed cold water on his face, trying to force some color into it.
"Daniel?"
"Yeah, Sam. I'm fine. Just...I'll be out in a minute," he called to her, wiping his face with a new handful of paper towels. He paused in his frantic drying to again stare at his ashen face. Had he been that blind? Surely his entire countenance couldn�t have changed that dramatically overnight. "Oh, my God."
"Daniel?" Sam called again. A hint of urgency entered her voice.
"Coming," he said, throwing the assorted towels into the garbage, making certain that none of the towels with blood staining them could be seen. His hands shook and his pupils were completely blown. He nervously scanned the bathroom, checking for evidence of his illness. He crushed shut his eyes and tried to calm down. He was sure Sam would be able to see his panic the minute she laid eyes on him.
Daniel threw open the door to the bathroom and gave her his best chipper look. "I think I, um..." He cleared his throat. "...Um, I think I swallowed a bug, or something."
Sam looked dubious. "Or something."
Daniel walked nervously to the briefing room with Sam in tow. He took quick, short steps, glanced back at her to see that she was following him. "I'm fine."
"Okay," she said, although her features were a mirror for her concern.
They both entered the room. Sam took her seat, and Daniel stood for a moment, quickly passing his eyes over the general, Jack and Teal'c. None looked too concerned, thankfully, so he returned to his seat as well.
"Everything okay?" Jack asked as much of Sam as of Daniel.
"Yeah. Just...allergies, I guess," Daniel said, clearing his throat, showing Jack he was fine.
Sam sent Jack a skeptical look.
The rest of the debriefing went by in a blur. A blur of deep vermilion, crimson-stained fear. A blur of coagulated, splotchy panic. By the end of the meeting, Daniel was numb with airless, strumming fear.
Even so, he never mentioned it to anyone.
*****
Days passed. The coughing stopped. The Zyrtec seemed to alleviate the scratchy throat, a certain amount of the fatigue.
"Must have been my allergies," Daniel rationalized.
But he didn't believe it.
He moved through his days waiting for the next sign that he was sick, that it was more than just allergies. He avoided the infirmary and Janet like a criminal avoids the police. He consciously attempted to be more animated, be more on top of things, be normal.
But at the end of the day he'd collapse, bone tired. Beat to hell.
It wasn't a very good act after all.
He�d arrived in the locker room well before Jack and Teal�c in order to dress before them. He�d lost some weight recently�didn�t want Jack to see it and get all over-dramatic about it.
He told them he�d be right behind, he just wanted to make sure he had everything. Jack and Teal�c left for the embarkation room, and Daniel pretended to go through his pack.
As soon as the door shut, he rushed to the toilet and began to hack and cough�at a seriously painful cost. Bloody tissue, congealed and ruddy, came up and out of his lungs. Daniel braced himself against the bathroom wall to keep from passing out. He spit the clots into the toilet, flushed, and then stood over his knees panting, trying to force oxygen into his starved muscles. The floor began to shift under him, so he moved unsteadily to the bench.
Pain like a knife gauging out whole chunks of his body gnawed on him. He was steeped in exhaustion.
Daniel sat in the locker room hunched over his knees. His head was throbbing, pounding away behind his eyes. He clutched his glasses precariously by one bow while he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"I have to go," he told himself, grasping the bench. "I�m already late."
He pushed himself off the bench, leaned against his locker until his head stopped spinning, and then forced himself to make his way to the embarkation room.
Jack tapped impatiently on the weapon hooked to his vest. He flicked open his watch. "I got 0807. You got 0807?" he asked Sam.
"Yes, sir," she said.
Jack bobbed his head in time with the clicking seconds. "Okay, now I got 0808," he stated, flipping the cover of his watch. "Where the hell is Daniel?" Jack asked, becoming increasingly impatient with the tardy archeologist. "Teal�c, didn�t he say he was right behind us?"
"He did indeed, O�Neill," Teal�c said.
Jack flipped open his watch again. He waved a hand in the air as the seconds ticked by. "And�say goodbye to 0808�and hello toooooo�.0809."
"Sir," Sam began, "would you like me to go check on�"
"Sorry I�m late," Daniel said, coming through the doors.
One look at Daniel�s gaunt features, at the thin, pale skin, and Jack came to an instant decision. He shook his head, unhooked his weapon and handed it to Sam. "Carter, hang onto this for a minute." She took it without question.
"What's going on?" Daniel asked.
"Teal'c, call Norrell," Jack said, sauntering up to Daniel. Teal'c walked down the gangplank and to the phone.
Daniel held up one hand to Jack and one to Teal�c. "Steve? Why?"
"Because we need an archeologist on this mission, and ours is going to the infirmary," Jack said, turning Daniel from the gate and leading him out the door.
Daniel shrugged off Jack's hand. "What? No! I'm fine."
"Oh, yeah. You look just great," Jack said, grabbing him by the jacket collar and tugging him toward the door.
Daniel angrily pushed away Jack�s hand. "Dammit, Jack." He glared at Jack, his eyes burning with disdain and fear.
Jack paused, stared down his friend with icy eyes, and said, "�Scuse me, Teal'c, Carter." Jack lifted the back of Daniel's jacket with one hand and grabbed his arm with the other. Daniel tried in vain to loosen himself from Jack�s strong hold.
"Colonel, is there a problem?" General Hammond asked from the control room.
"No, sir," Jack called back, physically escorting an angry and struggling Daniel out the door. "A little difference of opinion on health matters."
"Why are you doing this, Jack?" Daniel demanded, trying to free himself from the awkward hold.
"Now, Daniel, you're taking this personally. This isn't personal. No, it's much more important than that," Jack told Daniel as he dragged the younger man out the door, all the while chattering so Daniel wouldn't be able to get a word in edge-wise. "This is about my health, and it's about me not getting whatever it is you have, because I don't like to get sick. I get cranky when I'm sick. Down right pissy, even. So, we're just going to get you to the infirmary where ol� Doc Fraiser is going to poke and prod every inch of your scrawny little body until she comes up with some reason for you being sick."
"Jack, I'm..."
"Aht! Aht! Don't interrupt your elders," Jack told him, pulling Daniel through the corridors of the SGC. "Where was I? Oh, right. And even though you may think I'm being spiteful and mean-spirited about this, I'm really just acting as the responsible CO that I am, and because we can't scrub this mission, Steve Norrell is going to take your place."
"But, Jack..."
"Norrell will be fine. You've told me a hundred times that he's smart and capable and yadda yadda, whatever the hell you say about the assorted geniuses in your department, so don't worry about a thing. And I'll make sure he takes all sorts of notes, takes just oodles and oodles of pictures so you can peruse them to your heart's content once we get back, because there's no way, no how, no no no, you're not going with us until I get a note from your mother in the form of one Doc Fraiser that says Danny is well enough to play with the other kids." Jack stopped outside the infirmary doors. He regarded Daniel with a condescending attitude and a tone to match. "Now, I don't wanna have to carry you in, but I'm prepared to."
Daniel pursed his lips and stared angrily at Jack.
"Suit yourself," Jack stated, grabbing Daniel by the collar, ready to hoist him over his shoulder. Daniel backed away, freeing himself from Jack�s grip.
"I can do it," Daniel told him. He pushed open the doors and stood resentfully in the main examination room.
Janet peeked her head into the room. "Colonel? Something I can do for you?" she asked.
"Uh," Jack started, looking at Daniel momentarily, "yeah. Daniel is sick. Although I'm sure he'll try to convince you otherwise. Treat him as hostile, if you have to. Permission to slap around, Doc," he said, patting Daniel on the shoulder and turning to leave the room.
"Like I ever needed your permission," Janet reminded him, raising a dubious eyebrow.
Daniel tried to stop Jack from leaving him in the infirmary. "Jack, I'm..."
"Aht! I'm not listening, I'm not listening..." Jack droned, sticking his fingers in his ears and walking away. When he reached he door he turned one last time, straightened his hat, and smirked. "Have fun being poked and prodded."
"Thanks," Daniel said, glaring at him.
Janet stood next to Daniel, her hands on her hips, and asked, "Okay, so what haven't you been telling me?"
Daniel wrapped his arms around his chest and clammed up. He�d been able to maintain his fortress-like hold on his physical health up until this moment. If he could make it through the next few minutes, he might be home free.
Janet saw it otherwise. "Fine. Strip," she ordered him, pulling the curtain divider around the bed.
"Janet," Daniel began.
"You heard me, Daniel. Strip."
Daniel murmured to himself as he removed his jacket, his boots, his pants and shirt, all under the watchful eye of Janet. She pulled a gown from the supply cart and handed it to him.
"Let�s have all of it, please," she ordered.
Daniel's eyes fluttered under his glasses, standing in only his boxers and socks. "All of it?"
"You can keep your socks on if you're cold," she told him.
"I'll keep my socks on," he muttered, pulling the flimsy gown around his body. "Not gonna stand around here naked just so some over..."
"Doctor Jackson, may I remind you I am board certified to exact pain at my discretion," Janet reminded him.
"Right," Daniel answered, pulling the boxers off from under the gown and tossing them in a pile with the rest of his clothes.
"Fine. Hop up," she said, motioning to the gurney.
"Would it be all right with you if I didn't hop?" Daniel sarcastically asked, although hopping was out of the question anyhow.
"Daniel..."
"Hopping," he said, climbing onto the gurney. Janet went about the examination, checking his temperature, taking his BP and pulse.
"How have you been feeling?" she asked, gently pressing her fingers against the glands in his neck.
"I don't know. Tired. I think I have the flu. Maybe, okay, maybe bronchitis."
Janet stopped and stared at him. Daniel was about to explain when the phone rang. "I'll be right back."
Daniel hung onto the edge of the gurney, locked his elbows, and slumped over. He certainly did not want to be in the infirmary, but now that he found himself in Janet's care he lost the energy to keep up the act. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to give into how miserable he actually felt.
"Okay, well that was your warden," Janet said, returning to his bedside. "He wanted me to know, in the event that you weren't forthcoming, that you've been coughing a lot, and he said you have a groin pull that doesn't seem to want to go away. Daniel, is this true?"
Daniel rolled his eyes.
"How long have you had the pain in your groin?" she asked, placing the stethoscope in her ears. "Deep breath, please."
Daniel inhaled slowly and deeply while Janet moved the icy head of the instrument over his back. "I don't know. Maybe a couple months."
Janet stepped back. "A couple months? Nice, Daniel. That could be torsion. You really don't want to mess with a thing like that," she said, throwing the stethoscope around her neck.
"What...what do you do for that?" Daniel nervously asked.
"You do an exam. And with that in mind..." Janet gestured for him to lie down. Daniel recoiled, horrified at the thought. Janet peevishly stared at him. "Daniel, I'm a doctor. Believe me, I've seen it all before. I'll close my eyes if it would make you more comfortable." She slipped on a pair of latex gloves.
"I think it would be better if I closed my eyes," Daniel said, laying back on the gurney. He rested one hand on his stomach and the other under his glasses.
"Okay, lift your knee for me. Good. I'm just going to..." Janet began, lifting Daniel's scrotum. He flinched. She looked up at his face. "Daniel? Did that hurt?"
"Um..." Beads of sweat instantly appeared on his upper lip and brow.
Janet continued to examine his scrotum, palpating each testicle within the sack. Daniel grimaced and jerked in pain. Janet pulled his gown down over him and pulled off her gloves. "Okay, Daniel, I'm going to bring in the ultrasound machine. Just relax for a few moments."
"The...the what?" Daniel asked, propping himself up on his elbows, but Janet was beyond the curtains. He lay back down and stared anxiously at the ceiling. He brought a shaking hand to his head and combed through his hair. His ears felt full and pulsated with the rapid beat of his heart. He licked his dry lips, but found his mouth to be arid, uncomfortably dry.
"Oh, God," he whispered, realizing what he had known for so long--that he really was sick. He tried to take a deep breath, slow down his increasingly speeding heart rate. His left hand grabbed at the rough sheets below him, nervously fisting them, releasing them, fisting them again.
The clamor of a med cart being pushed through the infirmary met his ear. The curtained wall that surrounded him parted, and Janet pushed the cart with the computer and monitor on top through the opening. She plugged the machine in, hit a few buttons, and reached for a tube of gel.
"The first thing we need to do is get you all slicked up," she gently told him. "This is cold, so brace yourself." She reached under the gown and squirted a dollop of the slick gel on his lower abdomen. Daniel stared at the ceiling, wishing he could just disappear. Janet picked up the transducer, lifted his gown, and began to slowly roll the instrument from his abdomen over the surface of his scrotum.
"Colonel O'Neill said you've been coughing," she said, watching the monitor while she navigated the transducer.
"Yeah. I guess," Daniel quietly said.
"Are you bringing anything up with each cough?"
He closed his eyes. There was no use concealing the truth any longer. "I've been coughing up a little...blood lately. I thought it was just my throat."
Janet paused to look at Daniel. Then she continued her examination.
"Why? What does coughing have to do with...with down...there?" Daniel asked, taking a peek at the monitor, wondering what Janet was seeing. All he could make out were a few grainy, undulating shapes that might as well be his elbow.
Janet laid the wand down on the cart and handed Daniel a paper towel. "Here. You can clean yourself up while I take this back."
Daniel accepted the towel and began wiping away the gel from himself. The excruciating embarrassment of having Janet manipulate his genitalia was gone and was replaced with the terror that somehow all the disjointed aches and pains were connected, were related. That somehow his entire body was sick.
Janet returned to his side, her hands deep in her lab coat pocket. "Okay, look, I'm going to make an appointment for you with a urologist at the Academy Hospital," she began.
Daniel bolted up and swung his feet off the bed. "A...what? Why?" he fearfully asked.
"Daniel, this is out of my area of expertise, and I think we're looking at something other than a groin pull," she said. A nurse entered the area. Janet turned to her. "I'm going to need a chest series on Doctor Jackson right away. As soon as they're developed, I want them brought straight to my office."
"Yes, ma'am," the nurse said. "I'll go get a wheel chair."
"Wait...what? No!" Daniel blurted out. He hopped off the gurney, ignored the pain it brought, and grabbed Janet's arm. "What's going on?"
"Daniel," she began, seeing the frenzy in his eyes. "We need a chest X-ray, and we need it now. I know this seems scary, but really, time is of the essence."
The nurse arrived with the wheel chair. She stood quietly behind it. Daniel's eyes darted between it, the nurse and Janet. "I don't...I don't understand."
"They'll want a chest series at the Academy Hospital. I'm simply trying to expedite things for them," she said, touching his arm. He looked so afraid, she thought. He should be.
"I don't understand," Daniel again said, feeling dizzy and lightheaded and panicked and scared. He aimlessly turned from his bed to Janet to the wheelchair and back to his bed. Didn�t know which direction he should be going.
"Daniel," Janet said, guiding him to take a seat, "let Lieutenant Frank take you down to radiology to get an X-ray of your chest. Okay?"
Daniel slowly sat in the wheelchair, never taking his eyes off Janet. "Can you..."
"You want me to take you?" Janet asked, leaning forward, closer to Daniel.
He grabbed at the cuff of her lab coat, implored her with wide, frightened eyes. "Yeah."
Janet patted his hand and nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll take it from here." The nurse walked away. Janet removed the brakes from the chair and swiveled it out of the exam area. Daniel propped an elbow up on the armrest and covered his eyes with his hands while they quickly made their way down to radiology.
"This is going too fast," Daniel mumbled, pulling his hands across his eyes. "I don't understand."
Janet wheeled him into radiology and stayed in the protected room while the ordered series of his chest X-rays were taken. She watched him through the glass, beyond the harmful rays of the machine pointed at Daniel's chest. She watched while the technician manipulated the machine, reconfiguring it and adjusting it in order to get the proper angle, then dart behind the protective shield to press the button, leaving Daniel alone and cold inside the dark, foreboding room.
His heart pounded relentlessly against his ribs. Each time the machine buzzed to life, he was sure he could feel a slight sensation, and it made him vertiginous, added to his overall sense of foreboding. He tried to do exactly what the techs told him to do, but sometimes they had to repeat their directions. Daniel couldn�t concentrate, couldn�t think, couldn�t comprehend the swirling events. He grasped the table, held his breath when they told him to, and continuously talked himself out of running the hell out of the room.
When the last x-ray had been taken, Janet ordered the technician to bring it to her ASAP. She walked back into the room, found Daniel already in the wheelchair, and quickly pushed him back to the infirmary.
He was silent the entire way.
"Why don't you get dressed and meet me in my office," Janet told him, stopping at his gurney area. Daniel nodded and stood up. Didn't even look at Janet.
Janet turned toward her office, rubbed the aching muscles in her neck and gave Daniel the privacy he deserved to dress himself. Her heels clicked against the concrete floor.
She had seen it a few times in her career. She knew the symptoms. Sure, it was uncommon, not the kind of thing you see everyday, not even every year, but still...It all made sense. She was absolutely sure what she'd find on his chest x-ray. So sure she hardly needed to look at the film.
But when the technician appeared at her door with the large manila envelope, she thanked him and carefully pulled the celluloid renderings from the envelope. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the inevitable, and threw the x-ray onto the viewing screen.
"Oh, my," she said, examining the film.
"What the hell is that?" Daniel fearfully asked, just inside the door of her office. His eyes scanned the x-ray of his lungs--blotchy white spots bleached the otherwise gray representation.
"Those," Janet began, taking a deep breath and gathering her strength to tell Daniel what she knew to be the awful truth, "are metastatic cells. We call them mets."
"Meta..." Daniel whispered and cleared his throat. "Um..." He couldn't keep his eyes off the interior of his lungs with the unnaturally light blemishes scattered throughout.
"Daniel, I think you're looking at testicular cancer, and I think it's spread to your lungs."
Daniel's eyes shifted to the ground. He blinked and shook his head. "I don't...I don't...." His hand absently went to his glasses, pushed them up, wasn�t aware he was moving at all.
"Why don't you sit down," Janet said, taking his elbow and leading him to a seat. "Come on, Daniel. Let's sit down."
He sat back heavily. His face was hot and prickly, but the rest of his body felt disconnected and numb. Janet reached behind her and filled a glass of water. She handed it to Daniel who took it absently.
"I'm going to call a friend of mine, the chief of the urological department at the Academy Hospital, see if he can fit you into his schedule today," she said, rubbing his back. Daniel stared at the glass of water but made no effort to drink from it. "You're going to be okay, Daniel."
"Yeah. Yeah," he muttered, hardly able to speak, much less think about a future that seemed to be screaming away from him at an alarming rate.
*****
""Welcome home, SG1," General Hammond said from the base of the metal grate. "How did you find things?"
"Well, sir, we just went through that Stargate and came out the other end. Actually, it wasn't hard to find at all," Jack mischievously answered. Sam and Teal'c exchanged weary glances. Steve Norrell laughed.
"That was pretty funny, Colonel," he said. Jack patted him on the back and smiled.
"Finally, someone who appreciates my wicked sense of humor," Jack said, leading his team down the grate.
"Everything went well, General," Sam told Hammond.
"It was, in fact, a very successful mission," Teal'c added.
"Well, good. I'm delighted to hear that. I look forward to your briefing," the general said, leaving the embarkation room.
"Carter," Jack began, removing his sunglasses and hat. "I'm gonna go check on Daniel. Why don't you walk my buddy Steve here through the mission reports, make sure he knows exactly how to do them?"
"Certainly, sir," Sam said, leading Norrel out of the room. Jack smiled, pleased he had finally found someone in Daniel�s department that had a sense of humor. He turned to Teal'c. "That Doctor Norrell...now he's a nice guy. You know, timing is everything when it comes to joke telling, T, and Steve Norrell, now there's a man who understands the complexities of timing." Jack pushed open the doors of the embarkation room on his way to the infirmary.
"I am aware of the fact that you think so highly of Doctor Norrell," Teal'c informed him, walking alongside.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Most certainly. You have spoken of it often and at great lengths this day and much of last night," Teal'c told him, his great voice never belying the fact that he was, in fact, sick to the teeth of how much Jack thought of Norrell.
Jack grabbed Teal'c's elbow and stopped him. He looked around the hall to make sure they were alone. "It wasn't...you know, too over the top, was it? I mean, you don't think I looked..."
"If the word you are looking for is pathetic, then I believe that would be an appropriate choice," Teal'c said, nodding and taking his leave of the shocked colonel.
"Pathetic? Pathetic?? I was going for grateful. Grateful that someone, someone finally appreciates my razor sharp sense of humor," Jack called down the hall. "Pathetic..."
Jack reached the infirmary doors ready to launch into a pronouncement that Daniel had finally hired an archeologist worth his weight in sand when he suddenly became aware of the fact that Daniel wasn't anywhere to be found. Jack spun around to peer into the adjoining room.
"He's not here, Colonel," Janet said, appearing behind Jack.
"Oh?"
"I believe he went home," she said, looking at him with sad, heavy eyes. Jack held her focus, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and squinted his eyes. He knew what she was going to say. He�d known it for weeks.
"He's sick, isn't he?" he asked quietly. He didn�t even need to ask.
Janet reached out and touched his hand. "You need to go talk to Daniel."
Jack bit down hard on his emotions and nodded.
*****
Jack rasped a knuckle against Daniel's door and waited for a reply. He tried again. "Daniel?" He waited before trying the doorknob. "Daniel?" he called again, grasping the doorknob and giving it a gentle turn. The door opened slowly, letting in the only light in the room. Jack quietly entered and turned on the hall light. He closed the door behind him and began to walk into the main room of the apartment.
"Daniel? You in here?" Jack asked reaching for a table lamp he knew was somewhere next to the couch. Carefully he tried to maneuver around the other furniture by the meager light of the hall. He managed to find the lamp without overturning anything else. When he flicked the switch, Jack found Daniel sitting on his couch, shielding his eyes from the light.
"Daniel? What are ya doin'?" Jack asked, pushing his hands into his pockets.
Daniel rested his head against the back of his couch and let his hand fall into his lap. "Drinking."
Jack slid his hands into his pockets and surveyed the two bottles on Daniel's coffee table--one empty, one on its way. "Yeah, looks like it. How much have you had?"
"Not enough, apparently," Daniel said, speaking slowly, quietly. He rubbed his forehead listlessly "I can still think."
Jack picked up the bottle of Ketel One vodka--80 proof. At least Daniel had good taste in the liquor he chose on which to become thoroughly trashed. "Wanna tell me why you're drunk?"
"Oh, two reasons, really," Daniel began. His head lobbed forward. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eye. "The first reason is that they won't let me drink once I�m on chemotherapy."
Jack felt the blood in his body change course, run counter to its natural direction.
"The other reason being that if I drink a little more, then maybe my thoughts will stop racing and I'll be able to get my mind around the fact that day after tomorrow they--the urologist and the oncologist and all those wonderful words ending in 'gist'--are going to operate to remove my right testicle." Daniel lifted the cup to his mouth and took another sip.
Jack reached for the arms of the chair and lowered himself into it. "Jesus, Danny." He cradled his throbbing skull in his hands. A thousand questions peppered his mind. His thought pattern became fragmented, scattered.
"How... I mean, why..." Jack cleared his throat. He had to get it together, if not for his own sake then for Daniel�s. "When does, uh...?"
"Wednesday. I go in Wednesday. By the way, it's called an inguinal orchiectomy," he said, tracing the contours of his eyebrow with his thumb. Just about numb�
Jack grimaced at the words. "What...I mean how does...Ah, shit!"
"They make an incision in the lower abdomen and push the testicle up through the abdominal wall," Daniel matter-of-factly told him. "Really, it's a pretty easy procedure, if you think about it."
"I'd rather not," Jack told him, digging his fingernails intentionally into his scalp, an attempt to refocus from the horror of what Daniel had told him.
"Yeah, well, that makes two of us." Daniel dropped his head back against the couch and let the sleepiness of the alcohol calm his nerves. He raised a numbed hand to his neck and hooked it onto his shoulder.
Jack leaned forward and rasped his knuckles together. He glanced over at Daniel, looking not so much relaxed as drugged. Jack watched as Daniel's Adam's apple rose and fell, rose and fell.
"It's in my lungs, Jack," Daniel whispered. The alcohol was helping, he thought. A couple hours earlier he hadn�t even been able to get that much out before his throat pinched shut.
Jack slumped back in his chair and covered his eyes. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph." This couldn�t be happening. No. It wasn�t happening. No way.
"Janet, of course, knows. But she's the only one," Daniel said.
Jack took a deep breath and tried to focus for Daniel. "What do you want to do about Sam and Teal'c?"
"I'm not sure."
"They should know."
"I guess...God, Jack, how can I tell them this?" Daniel asked, sliding down on the couch and laying his head against the armrest.
"You want me to tell them?"
Daniel considered the offer. Could he tell Sam and Teal�c that he was sick? Could he tell them he had�had� Daniel pressed his fingertips against his anesthetized lips. "I haven't even said the word yet."
"You mean...THE word?"
"Yeah."
"You think it might go away if you don't say it?"
Daniel chuckled. "Kind of solipsistic of me, huh?"
Jack blinked. "Okay. Sure."
"I need to talk to Hammond..."
"I'll take care of it."
"Thanks."
"When do you have to be at the hospital?"
"O-six-hundred."
"Okay. I'll take you."
Daniel pushed his head up off the armrest. "No, Jack, you don't have to do that."
"I know. But I'm going to," Jack told him, offering a tender smile. "I'll camp out here and take you the next morning."
Daniel kept his eyes focused the best he could on Jack, but the alcohol and the enormous strain of the news made him foggy, and he easily gave in where he might otherwise fight. He closed his eyes and nodded. "Okay."
Jack reached for the bottle of Ketel One. "You mind if I join you?"
Daniel stared groggily at the two bottles of vodka. "Go ahead."
Jack filled a glass with the clear liquor, downed it, and filled the glass again. He let the alcohol seep through his body, fill him with something other than the painful scratching of fear for Daniel. He gulped down the second glass, pulled air through his teeth, past the cold evaporation of the alcohol, and lowered the glass. Jack leaned forward and rubbed the back of his neck.
Daniel hunkered down on the couch, his wrists crossed on the cushion in front of him. "Cancer," he said. Jack turned his face to him. "Testicular can...cer."
Jack reached his hand out and coupled his fingers around Daniel's.
Silently, Jack held Daniel's hand until the grasp of the grain alcohol coursing through his friend's body took control of him. Daniel�s fingers slackened under Jack�s.
And even after Daniel was asleep and long past the point of being aware, Jack stroked Daniel's hair, promising him that he'd see him through the long night and the months ahead.
*****
Five in the morning. Finally, it was five. Daniel had greeted every hour on the hour during the long, disquieting night. He wasn't worried about not sleeping. He knew he was going to be sleeping soon anyhow.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his mouth pressed against two shaking fists. He looked at his duffel near the door, ready for his departure. He stood up, pulled on a pair of loose sweat pants and a cotton pullover--the information he was given suggested he wear something comfortable. Who was he to argue? He thought about shaving but didn't see the point.
He looked around his bedroom, thought how strange things would be the next time he entered it. Well, that was wasted time, he thought, so he quickly turned and left his darkened, safe bedroom to wake Jack.
"Jack, it's O-five hundred," Daniel said, shaking Jack's shoulder.
"Thanks," Jack croaked. He threw the covers off and padded into the bathroom.
Daniel milled around the kitchen making coffee, wiping down the counters for good measure, checking the level in the coffee. He made his way back to the living room while the coffee began to drip into the pot. He tossed the pillow Jack had used from the couch onto the chair and began to fold the sheet. From the bathroom, the muffled sound of the shower could be heard.
Daniel tossed the sheet on top of the pillow and picked up the blanket.
"Oh," he said, finding it impossible to move. A nervous, skittering energy began to filter through his arms and legs. It reached his fingers and raced back through to his chest and gut. He brought the blanket to his mouth. He gritted his teeth and forced a groan into the thick material, releasing some of the awful tension that gripped his entire body.
"No," he told it, shaking his head. He wouldn't do this. No use. What's the point? He folded the blanket unceremoniously and threw it on the pile with the other linens. He picked up the pile and walked it into his bedroom, tossed it on top of his dirty clothes, turned and picked up his duffel bag.
The buzz of an electric razor whispered through the quiet of his apartment. Daniel left the duffel near the front door and strode into the kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee and left it on the end of the counter for Jack. He stopped, glanced around his kitchen, checked the level of coffee in the tin can for a second time, and couldn't remember if he had paid his rent that month.
Jack came out of the bathroom dressed in his Class B's--a light blue shirt, blue pants, and those formal laced shoes Daniel always thought looked so uncomfortable. Jack tossed his windbreaker on the back of a dining room chair. He caught Daniel's eye and pointed to the cup of coffee. Daniel nodded. Jack took a few sips of the coffee and watched Daniel sort through a pile of papers on his desk. Jack walked over next to Daniel while Daniel flipped through his checkbook.
Jack couldn't even imagine what Daniel was thinking. Couldn't even presume to understand what he must be going through. Only knew that if Daniel was half as apprehensive about the day as he was, he must be fairly whacked out. It was probably more for his own comfort than for Daniel�s, but Jack put his hand on the back of Daniel's neck and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Daniel replaced a few pencils into the pencil cup.
Jack felt a lump the size of the Stargate rising in his throat. He wanted to do one of two things: get the hell out of Daniel's apartment, or...
Jack gently kissed Daniel on the temple, closed his eyes, and patted the back of Daniel's head. Daniel would just have to give Jack this moment. Then he turned, cleared his throat, and quickly walked into the kitchen.
Daniel furrowed his brow and bit his lower lip. He heard Jack in the kitchen rinsing out his cup, sniffling a few times.
"Ready?" Daniel asked, wanting to get this show on the road. A few more minutes of this and he was going to lose it. Just...lose it. And he really didn't want to do that.
Jack rounded the corner, pulled on his jacket, and nodded. "Yeah."
Daniel turned off the lights just before shutting the door.
*****
There were so many forms to fill out, papers to sign, questions to be asked. Two plastic bracelets were affixed around his wrist, along with an IV. The staff took his temperature, his blood pressure, his blood and his urine.
A nurse in a pair of white scrubs with the insignia of captain on her nametag swooped into the room, smiling, carrying a gown with the letters USAFAH imprinted on it. "Go ahead and put this on," she told Daniel. "I'll be back to take you down to the MRI room." Daniel nodded. Jack thanked her.
Military bases and hospitals, Jack thought, the only two places in the world that buzzed with so much activity at six in the morning.
Through it all, Daniel remained quiet and pensive, his blue eyes flashing behind his glasses. Once in a while he'd catch Jack's eyes, sitting in the corner of the room, his elbows propped on his knees, watching the flurry of activity and offering Daniel anything he had to give--answers to questions about past surgeries, injuries, illnesses; helping him tie the gown; taking Daniel's glasses on his way to radiology; a feeble wink when Daniel seemed right on that edge of screaming.
Having Jack with him was very comforting to Daniel, even if he ignored Jack for the most part. He found it impossible to talk to Jack -- fear and anxiety had all but stolen his voice away. However, knowing Jack was sitting in the room, waiting for him when the nurses brought him back from the MRI's, the x-rays -- knowing Jack was there took some of the pressure off. He hoped Jack understood that.
"I have something for you," the nurse said, half way through the door. "It's a light sedative. It's in preparation for surgery." She plunged a needle into the port attached to his IV and filled the chamber with the drug. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take you to surgery." And then she was gone. Daniel watched the sedative drip into his main line. He was grateful for the coming relief.
Daniel sat cross-legged on his bed, nervously pushing his gown between his legs. Finally, he grabbed the pillow and laid it across his lap.
"I'll be right here when you wake up," Jack said softly, keeping his eyes on his shoes.
Daniel nodded.
"Hey, you know what?" Jack suddenly said.
Daniel's head shot up, startled at the outburst. "What?"
"You're going to be fine. I have complete confidence," Jack told him.
Daniel blinked and lifted his eyebrows, twisted his mouth, and blinked some more. What could he say?
Jack stood up and walked to the end of Daniel's bed. He tapped on the mattress. "This is one of those times I should probably say something like..."
"Don't. Just...don't," Daniel stopped him. All this was hard enough as it was. He didn't need Jack getting all...nice on him. Daniel thrust his jaw forward. "Don't."
"Well, I was just going to say how much I think this surgery is gonna really free up your time," Jack continued.
Daniel glanced up. "Okay, I'll bite. How is it going to do that, Jack?"
"You know, you'll only need half the time to do all that scratching with only one nut. Thirty, forty minutes a day it should free-up," Jack told him, hardly able to contain a smile.
Daniel closed his eyes and chuckled. "Jaaack."
"I'm serious."
"I think that applies more to you and Siler than me."
Jack thought about it a minute. "Yeah. Probably. Possibly. Pretty much. Especially Siler."
"That's what you wanted to tell me?" Daniel asked.
"Yeah. What? Did you think I was going to say something mushy?" Jack asked.
"Not...not as a going concern, but..."
"I can do mushy."
"Yes, I'm sure, but..."
"Ask me. Go ahead. Just ask me, and I'll..." Jack took a deep breath and expelled it, "...I'll regale you my ability to be a downright Hallmark card of mushiness."
"Really, that's okay," Daniel said, finding a smile for the first time in days.
"You're sure?"
Daniel nodded.
"Wokay..."
"Ready, Doctor Jackson?" the nurse said, entering the room along with an orderly, releasing the brakes on the bed.
"Uh...uh..." Daniel muttered, looking nervously around the bed before scooting back under the covers. "Yeah, I...uh, yeah."
"Then here we go," she said, guiding the bed from the wall.
Jack bolted to Daniel�s side and grasped his hand. "You�re gonna be fine."
Daniel clung to Jack�s hand, even as the nurse began to wheel him out of the room. Between the orderly and the nurse, Daniel was out the door in a few moments. Jack walked alongside, felt Daniel�s hand trembling slightly in his.
"There's a waiting room down the hall and to your left, sir," the nurse said. "You might be more comfortable there."
"Okay. Yeah. Thanks," Jack spluttered. He kept his eyes trained on Daniel. Daniel turned his head and caught Jack's eye. Jack nodded reassuringly to him, pointed at him for whatever reason, and gave his hand one last squeeze. He reluctantly let go of Daniel�s, and then Daniel was gone.
Jack turned his back to the door and scrubbed his face with his hands. He stared at the clock on the wall without reading it, put his hands on his hips and steadied himself. He tried to remember how to pray those prayers that had been thumped into his head thousands of time at St. Therese in Chicago. And then he remembered the medal in his pocket. He ran out to the nurses� station.
"Can I help you, Colonel?" the nurse, a second lieutenant, behind the desk asked.
"Uh, look, my friend just went into surgery, " Jack told her, reaching into his pocket for the medal. "This is...well, I know he can't wear it during surgery, but...I know it seems superstitious and all, I mean Daniel isn't even Catholic. Christ--oh, that probably wasn't...Anyhow, he doesn't even believe, not that I do, but..."
"We can tape it next to him during surgery, sir," the nurse said, holding out her hand.
Jack took a deep breath and handed her the St. Michael medal. "Thank you."
The second lieutenant walked it immediately to the operating room. Jack spun around and walked to the waiting room, watched a little bit of "Good Morning, Colorado" on the overhead TV, filled a Styrofoam cup full of coffee, and sat at a laminated wood table. Alone.
*****
Jack had been told that they'd be bringing Daniel back to this new room half an hour earlier, and not being one for patience, he nervously twiddled with every piece of instrumentation in the room. He found two tongue depressors and began drumming with them. That captured his attention long enough so that when they wheeled Daniel in, Jack was in the middle of a riff and didn't notice them. Embarrassed, he shoved the sticks in his pocket.
"How is he?" Jack asked.
"He's fine. It went very smoothly. He's just starting to come around." The nurse situated the bed, made sure his IV line was free and working, and stepped out of the room.
Jack noticed the St. Michael medal taped to Daniel's IV stand and quickly removed it. He didn't want Daniel to see it, didn't want Daniel to think he was worried enough to resort to a religious medal. Didn't really want to think he needed it either.
He watched while Daniel tried to open his heavy, drooping lids, only to close them again. Jack pulled up the chair next to his bed. Daniel weakly tried to clear his throat. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, he swallowed, and was finally able to focus on the hazy blob next to him.
"Jack?" he whispered.
"Hey. How ya feelin'?" Jack asked, cocking his head to the side so Daniel could get a clearer sight.
Daniel closed his eyes and swallowed painfully against the abraded tissue in his throat. "Fine."
"They said it went well."
"Good." Daniel didn't open his eyes, but Jack knew he wasn't asleep. A brief expression of pain blew across his face and then left him. Daniel tried to clear his throat, but trying to do it without exerting any force was futile at best.
"What did the doctor say?" Daniel asked in a small, breathy voice.
"He hasn't been in yet."
Daniel nodded. He tried to cough. Jack felt the need to cough for him.
"Daniel, you want some water?"
"Please," Daniel said. Jack took the big plastic tumbler from the bedside and guided the straw into Daniel's mouth. He sipped from it and then gently pushed the straw away. "Thanks," he said, lifting his chin slightly, swallowing the water, letting it cool his scratchy throat. He opened his eyes and found Jack standing next to him. It was obvious Jack didn�t know what to do next, what to say. Daniel, still under the groggy influence of anesthesia, decided to share a thought with Jack.
"The dream is over, you know," he said, quietly.
"How's that? What dream?" Jack asked, bending over so he could better hear Daniel.
"The dream of being a high-paid strip tease artist."
Jack lowered his face and tried hard not to laugh. Humor was just about the last thing he expected out of Daniel. "Well, it's not completely over, but you can only reasonably expect to charge half price."
Daniel weakly laughed, and became acutely aware of how the abdominal muscles aid in laughter. He groaned feeling the stinging discomfort.
"You okay?" Jack asked, concerned.
"A little sore."
"I bet. You want me to get the nurse?"
"No. I'm...I'm just going to close my eyes for a bit, okay?"
"Yeah, you go ahead," Jack told him. He tenderly grasped Daniel's hand.
"Jack?" Daniel whispered.
"Yeah, Danny."
"I'm not sure."
"It's okay." Jack gave Daniel's hand a gentle tug and, never letting go, took a seat. He watched Daniel ride the wave between grogginess and wakefulness, those confusing hours before the anesthesia finally wore off. He watched him wince, listened to him moan, and prayed to St. Michael to keep an eye on his friend.
*****
It took a few hours for the anesthetic to completely wear off, and in that time Jack caught up on the news, talked with Daniel about world events, carried on just like they did when breaking for lunch at the SGC. Same old, same old, like nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.
Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, Doctor Levine, the Chief Urologist at the Academy Hospital, walked into Daniel's room. He was a man of massive shoulders, slicked back silver hair, gold half-glasses, and the rank of colonel.
"Doctor Jackson, how are you feeling?" he asked, flipping through Daniel's chart.
"Sore."
"That'll go away in a few days," Colonel Levine said. He tilted his head to check something on the top of the chart. "I'll give you something for the pain to take home with you tomorrow." He closed the chart and for the first time noticed Jack.
"Bob Levine, Colonel," the doctor said, offering his hand to Jack.
"Jack O'Neill, Colonel," Jack said, taking it. "I'm Daniel's CO."
"Very good," the urologist said. "Well, things went smoothly. We were able to remove the right testicle without any complications."
"Other than the fact that you...had to remove my right testicle," Daniel added bitterly.
"Yes, there's that. Anyhow, we did find a tumor about the size of a quarter-- three-centimeters across--between the epididymis and the testicle."
Daniel felt like a load of bricks had suddenly been placed on his chest. He stared at the wall in front of him. "Which means..."
"Which means that it is, more than likely, cancerous. We�ll have to wait for the pathology report, but I think we can go on the assumption that it is. Fortunately, it looks like we'll be able to treat it very effectively."
Jack leaned against the end of Daniel's bed and listened to the words the doctor was saying, even though the blood that pulsed in his ears made it almost impossible to hear his words.
Daniel carefully tried to reposition himself, but found it too painful a move. "It's in my lungs."
"Yes, I know. Stage three. Well, that makes it trickier, but the good thing about testicular cancer is it's highly curable, unlike other forms of cancer. Even stage three responds well to the chemo," said the doctor, taking off his glasses and sliding them into his lab coat.
"So he's going to be fine," Jack said, stating the fact as much as asking for confirmation.
"He's going to be sick for a couple of long months, but then he should be fine," Doctor Levine said.
Daniel absently lifted his hand to his forehead and smoothed out the pinched, couldn't get past the "should be" qualifier. A pain on the right side of his chest throbbed. "My chest hurts."
"We went ahead and installed a Hickman catheter like we talked about. It�s a central line that is attached to the vena cava�the main artery going to your heart. It comes through your skin right below the collarbone. Your oncology team will use it to draw blood and give you your treatments. Cuts down on the number of times they need to poke you," Doctor Levine said.
He carefully pulled the corner of Daniel�s gown down over his shoulder to expose the tube that jutted out of his chest. Betadine solution and surgical tape made the skin around it grotesquely yellow and puckered. Jack began to swoon slightly and had to look away. Daniel kept his eyes glued on the ceiling.
"This looks good," the doctor said. He covered the catheter with the gown, crossed his arms across his chest and continued. "The next step is getting you set up with your oncologist who will chart out a chemotherapy treatment for you."
Jack could sense Daniel beginning to check out. He watched while Daniel half covered his eyes with heavy lids, let his mouth go a little slack. Daniel�s hand absently began to grab at the blankets. Jack touched Daniel�s foot, as much to try and get him to concentrate as to give Daniel a sign he understood.
Doctor Levine picked up Daniel�s chart and chucked it under his arm. "I'm going to refer you to an oncologist at the University Hospital. We out-source all our oncology patients to the University. The oncologist I�ll be referring you to is the chief of oncology over there and comes from Indiana University, who are the leaders in testicular cancer treatment. You'll be in good hands, Doctor Jackson."
"So, when does all this start?" Jack asked for Daniel who was blindly staring out the window in his room.
"Soon. We don't want this to spread any further," Doctor Levine said. "Until then, you need to get some rest, let your incisions heal. I want you to stay here for the night, and in the morning you can go home." The doctor made some notes in Daniel�s chart and then tucked it back under his arm. "You're at the beginning of a race, Doctor Jackson, and you need to get ready for it. You can't just jump right in without some preparation. Get your ducks in a row -- financially, professionally."
Daniel nodded without looking at him. He bit at the inside of his lip. Wasn't sure when the last time he took a breath.
"I'll check in on you later," Doctor Levine said, patting Daniel's bed. "Colonel," he said, addressing Jack.
"Colonel," Jack said, nodding toward Doctor Levine. The doctor left.
Jack took a few steps to Daniel's side and slowly lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. He crossed his ankles and clasped his hands together. He dropped his chin to his chest and let his thoughts race.
Jack felt a slight tugging on his shirt. Jack looked down and found Daniel's hand grabbing hold of his sleeve just above the elbow. Every now and again Daniel would slightly tug, pull on the cloth just a bit. Jack glanced at it, reached across with his other hand and covered Daniel's fist full of sleeve. Jack railed against the urge to yell, to hit something, to cry. He sat still, felt his sleeve being pulled, and listened to a series of sighs coming from Daniel, which he correctly interpreted as Daniel's attempt to stifle frightened tears.
"We'll get you through this, Daniel," Jack told him, turning to face his grief-stricken friend. Daniel pressed his head into his pillow, maintained his tight focus on the ceiling tiles, and blinked away the tears that filled his eyes.
Jack continued to hold onto Daniel's grasp on his sleeve, and reached out to pat Daniel's chest very gently. "We'll get you through this." Jack turned his eyes away, but kept his hand on Daniel and felt his body tremble. "I promise."
*****
"Thank you, sir," Jack said, before leaving General Hammond's office.
"You wanted to see me, Colonel?" Sam asked. She had been all over the base looking for Jack after having received his e-mail message to meet in his office at sixteen hundred hours.
"Yeah, Carter. Teal'c's waiting for us in my office," he told her and began walking.
"Sir," Sam said, "is this about Daniel?"
Jack turned to her quickly without stopping, questioning what information she may have already suspected. "We'll...we'll talk in my office."
Inside Jack's sparse office, Teal'c was sitting patiently. Jack told Sam to take a seat, and then he pulled up a chair so that he could sit close to them. He didn't know how he was going to begin, didn't know how to explain, but things were moving quickly where Daniel was concerned, and he needed Sam and Teal'c to come up to speed.
"Look, you know me. I'm not one for prologues and easing into conversations, so I'll just say what needs to be said." Jack nervously clapped his hands together, really wishing he didn't have to do this. "Daniel is sick. He's at the Academy Hospital. He has testicular cancer."
"Oh, my God," Sam said, averting her eyes to hide her shock. The words were like a slap in the face, stinging and unexpected.
"This morning he had surgery to remove one of his..." Jack paused, shifting slightly in his chair, more than a little uncomfortable with the subject. It was just another part of the body, but to actually say the word made his own body respond negatively. "...his...well, you know."
"How is DanielJackson feeling now?" Teal'c asked in a quiet, gentle voice.
"He's sore. Scared. So, here's why I asked you here: we need to get him through this. Carter," Jack said. Sam's face, pale and tight, shot up. "I need you to become an expert on everything there is to know about testicular cancer, and I need you to do it in the next 48 hours."
Sam gave a short nod. "Yes, sir."
"Teal'c, Daniel is going to try to run his department from home--I don't know why, but you know Daniel," Jack said, running his hand over his face, suddenly aware of how much strain the day had put on him. "I want you to be a kind of liaison between Daniel and the other members of his department. Sort of a filter for the questions and concerns that may arise."
"It shall be my honor," Teal'c said.
"Good," Jack said. He sat back wearily in his chair, rolled his shoulders in and stretched out his aching neck. "Here�s the other deal: I just had a meeting with General Hammond. I'm going to burn through some of my leave so Daniel..." Jack stopped and grimaced. Telling Teal�c and Sam what he was going to be doing was tantamount to telling them how much he really cared for Daniel�I mean, it was obvious, but he was about to give proof. Not that he wouldn�t do it for any of them, but Daniel�Daniel was�Jack sighed and scratched his head. There wasn�t a succinct way to articulate what was in his heart without completely blowing his normally unflappable fa�ade. He nervously shrugged his shoulders and went on. "He doesn't have anyone else to take care of him, so..."
"That's good. That's..." Sam tried to say, nodding, knowing how hard it must be for Jack to talk about.
"That's the way it should be," Teal'c finished. "He's is one of us. We are his family. Family members take care of their own."
Jack bobbed his head up and down, swallowed the knot forming in his throat. "Look, while I'm gone and Daniel is in treatments, SG1 is going to be temporarily disbanded. Sort of. Carter, you're going to be heading up an adjunct team. Think you can handle that?"
"Absolutely, sir," she stated.
"T, you're going to be with Carter. Her 2IC, got that, big man?"
"Certainly," Teal'c said, offering a nod of respect to Sam.
"Okay," Jack said, pushing himself up, "well, I need to get back to the hospital."
"Sir," Sam blurted out with an edge of fear she thought she had under control. "Sir, Daniel..."
"He'll be home tomorrow. Why don't you call in the afternoon, see if he's up to visitors?"
Sam felt her chin begin to quiver. She quickly covered it with her hand and nodded to Jack.
They were on a military base, and Carter was a hardened major in the United States Air Force, and Jack knew exactly what he should do about his second in command�s loss of emotional control--he wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back. He rubbed her back and hoped that by showing her some support he was going to be able to draw some strength from her, because he was close to losing his composure as well. Jack dipped his face into her neck and tried to clear away the tightness in his throat. "He's gonna be okay, Sam. We just need to help him get through this."
Sam didn't trust her voice enough for a full statement that she understood, so she opted for a soft "sir."
Jack held her by the shoulders and stepped back, cleared his throat again and nodded. He shook Teal'c's proffered hand, and told them he'd give Daniel their best.
He didn't want Daniel to have to be in the Academy Hospital alone any longer than he had to. Too much time to think; not enough distractions.
Jack grabbed his leather coat, pulled it on, offered one last tentative smile, and left the mountain.
*****
The buzzer rang and Jack sprinted to the door. He had tried everything in his power to keep the apartment quiet so Daniel could sleep. In fact, he seriously considered putting up traffic barriers on both ends of the street below Daniel's building, completely diverting the downtown traffic pattern, because, well, sometimes these things had to be done. And then he remembered that General Hammond was extending Jack considerable leniency to take off the days and weeks he was going to need in order to take care of Daniel. Maybe getting a call from the mayor of Colorado Springs cursing the name of one of his underlings wasn't what the general deserved.
But that didn't mean Jack couldn't stand on Daniel's balcony whispering death threats to every passing car blaring a radio.
So when the security buzzer crackled through the small apartment, Jack rushed to the box next to the door in order to make it stop. He pressed the speaker button angrily. "What?!"
"Colonel? It's Janet," came the voice filled with static. Jack jabbed the entrance button.
The buzzer sounded again.
"WHAT??!!" Jack growled in a hushed, murderous voice.
"I need a little more time to open the door than an eighth of a second, Colonel," Janet said.
"Then be ready, dammit, 'cause it's too damn loud," Jack warned her. "Ready?"
"Yeeees."
Jack hit it for a full two seconds, grimacing the entire time. He opened the door a crack and tiptoed back into the kitchen.
Janet pushed open the door, pulled off her raincoat and hung it on the coat tree, left her briefcase against the coffee table and placed a brown paper bag on the dining room table. "I take it Daniel is still asleep."
Jack held up his hands and shushed her. He looked nervously at the bedroom door. Janet crept into the small kitchen.
"He's been sleeping for about two hours," Jack said, holding the coffee pot up as an offer to Janet. She nodded. "I just want him to get enough sleep before everybody shows up." He handed Janet a mug of coffee. They both took their mugs to the dining room table and sat down.
"How's he feeling?" Janet asked, wrapping her cold hands around the warm clay mug.
"Uh, I think he's sore still. Doctor Levine said that'll take a while. It doesn't help that the catheter in his chest is tender as well," Jack said, dabbing his finger on the surface of the coffee to pull out a floating coffee ground. "Did I make this right? Daniel has one of those French press coffee makers. Why can't he just have a Mr. Coffee like the rest of us?"
"It's fine," Janet told him, setting aside the bitter coffee, laden with coffee grounds. "Bob Levine sent me Daniel's lab results."
"You're sharing them with Carter, right?" Jack asked.
"Yes, I am. Look, Colonel, Sam is..."
"...is lost if she doesn't have something to do," Jack interjected. "You know as well as I do that if Carter doesn't have something to think about, she goes a little...wonky. I'm just trying to keep her in her own comfort zone."
"Okay. I understand. Anyhow," Janet continued, "I noticed that Daniel has a meeting with his oncologist tomorrow."
"Right. O-nine hundred."
"Would you like me to be there?"
"I'll ask Daniel. It's his call."
"Certainly," she said, sipping her coffee. Janet watched Jack trace a lazy thumb across his forehead. She wondered how much sleep he had been able to get since hearing the news. He looked tired, frazzled. "Jack, are you okay with all of this?"
"Am I okay with the fact that my friend has cancer? No," he said. "Am I okay that the surgery he had is something us guys talk about as our worst nightmare? Nope. There are soooo many levels of things here that I'm not okay with, I can't even think straight."
"Jack, if..."
"But if you're asking if I'm okay about taking care of him, then, yeah. I am," he told her, and looked her straight in the eye. She could see how determined he was, how at ease he was about it, and how concerned he was.
She smiled gently. "Okay. But you don't have to do this on your own. Let us all help."
"Count on it."
"Oh, by the way," Janet said, opening the bag in front of her, "I stopped at the bakery and bought some nine grain bread. Good and hearty. And Cass made some soup." She placed a can of condensed soup next to the loaf of bread.
"Cass works for Campbell�s?" Jack asked, picking up the can.
"No, actually Cassie did make soup. But I thought Daniel was probably ill enough, and my daughter's concoction, although heartfelt and with all the right intentions, looked downright poisonous."
"Ah."
The hallway buzzer rang again. Janet giggled as Jack dove for the door. She took the bread and soup into the kitchen and placed them on the counter next to the dozen bagels, the box of fresh muffins, a rounded bowl of cheese chunks, cans of juice concentrate, boxes of chai tea, green tea, black tea and spearmint tea, an assortment of fruits and vegetables, three packages of falafel, peanut butter, almond butter, soy butter and honey, an unopened box of protein bars, an army of vitamin bottles, a small mountain of freeze-dried soybeans, and an entire case of Vitamin Water. Janet knew Jack had been shopping with Daniel's health in mind. She had to laugh at the thought of Jack asking the young Birkenstock-clad kid at the whole foods market for recommendations. Hoped the kid was paid on commission.
"Just put it on the counter, or...wherever," Jack said. Sam and Teal�c entered the kitchen and found the lack of space.
"Hi...Janet," Sam said, trying to find room for her bags on the crowded countertop.
"Perhaps we could leave them on the table," Teal'c recommended.
"Hold on there," Jack said, looking perturbed. He had spent all morning organizing and cleaning up. He didn�t want them just throwing things around willy-nilly. "What did you bring?"
"We stopped at the deli," Sam began, pulling plastic containers from the bags. "I kind of bought a little of everything. Didn't know what Daniel'd be in the mood for."
"I hate to tell you, Carter," Jack said, holding up a container, which held an unappetizing gray and brown combination, "but I think this one has turned."
"That would be lentils and brown rice, sir, and I assure you, that's the way it always looks," she said, smiling.
"Teal'c, whatcha got?" Jack asked, peeking into the bag. Teal'c pulled it out of Jack's grasp.
"They are free-range chicken breasts," Teal'c told him proudly. "I have been assured that they freeze and keep nicely."
"Well, you never know with those free-range chickens. They can be a wily bunch," Jack sarcastically responded, pulling plates out of the cupboard.
The security buzzer rang again.
"Now who? By my count we're all here," Janet said.
"That would be the Chinese food," Jack sheepishly said. "Carter, why don't you go wake up Daniel? I can't believe he can possibly sleep through all this anyhow."
"Oh, sir, I don't think that's a good idea," Sam said, shaking her head, her eyes widening with an inexplicable, unexpected fear. She was in his apartment and ready to discuss what she had gleaned from the Internet, but she wasn�t sure if she could actually be face to face with Daniel yet. Not...yet....
"Carter, I have to pay for the Chinese. Go on," Jack told her, pulling out his wallet.
Sam paused anxiously before turning toward Daniel's room. She reached for the knob on his door, took a deep breath, wiped her sweaty palms on her pants, and quietly entered his dark room.
"Daniel?" she called softly. She thrust her hands in her pockets and stood as close as she could to the door. "Daniel? Um, Colonel O'Neill said you might want to wake up and eat something."
Daniel opened his eyes with considerable effort, slowly reached for his glasses on the pillow next to him, and pressed them to his face. He took a moment to figure out his level of pain, both in his chest and in his groin. Not good, he thought. Maybe he'd just stay in bed. Maybe they could all just come to him.
Maybe he really needed to pee.
"Sam?"
"Yeah."
"Sam, could you help me up?" he asked, trying to swivel his legs off the bed and finding the incision in his lower abdomen screaming at him to stop.
"Oh, sure," Sam said, rushing to his side. "What do you want me to do?"
Daniel held his right arm against his stomach in order to protect the section in his chest where the catheter painfully peeked out of him. He lifted his left hand to her. "Can you just..."
Sam took his hand and carefully, slowly pulled him up off his bed and to a sitting position. Daniel squeezed tight his eyes and moaned while he turned to get his feet on the floor.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Daniel nodded and waited for the intense pain to pass before trying to get to his feet. Each little movement brought stabbing, burning pain; each large movement felt as if the incision itself were tearing apart, fiber by fiber. He passed a hand over his mouth, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his upper lip. He looked up at Sam and saw how horrified she looked.
"I�m okay, Sam. Just give me a minute," he tried to reassure her. The act of actually standing since his surgery was perplexing. He needed to protect the left side of his chest, so he couldn't use his left arm to push himself up, but he felt like he needed to keep his hand on the incision.
"This is awkward," he said, nervously glancing at Sam. "I swear I usually don't walk around with my hand pressed to my�pants."
"I know," Sam said, giving a nervous smile. "Why don't you kind of scoot yourself to the edge and sort of turn to the left," she said, modeling the directions with her body. "I'll be able to lift you from behind."
"Okay," he said and inched himself to the edge of the bed. Sam stepped to his side and put one hand under his arm and the other on his hip.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Oh, no, but I really need to go to the bathroom," he told her.
"Here we go," she said, and slowly hoisted him to his feet. He groaned with each inch. The sound of his pain sent chills down Sam�s back. She steadied him once he was standing and let him pass.
"Thank you, Sam," Daniel said, limping toward the bathroom. Sam followed close behind. Daniel looked at her over his shoulder. "I got it from here."
Sam stopped, mouth agape. "Oh. Right. I'll just...I'll..."
"I'll be out in a minute," Daniel told her, disappearing inside the bathroom.
Sam threw her hands to her hair and pulled, embarrassed that she almost followed him into the john, humiliated that she didn't know what to say to him, angry with herself that she could barely stand to be in the same room with one of her best friends. She hated seeing him in so much pain. Just hated hearing him wince and groan. But the last thing she wanted was for Daniel to know any of that, so she began to talk to him.
"So, Daniel, it�s been a panic on base since you�ve been gone," she said, standing against the wall next to the bathroom door. "I mean, not that you�ve been gone that long. A couple days, but it seems like more, not that...not that you�re missed. I mean, yeah, you�re missed, but things are running smoothly without you. Well, at least your department." She pressed her head into the wall and closed her eyes. "What the hell am I saying?" she whispered to herself. Sam shook her head and tried to get it together.
"I have about three months worth of calibrations to do on the new MALP�s and only three weeks to do it, but, you know, what�s knew, and it�s not like that�s all I have to do. Not since Lieutenant Reiland was put under my command. What a buffoon. I mean the man doesn�t know a chemical stain from a carpet stain, and don�t even get me started on his lab etiquette," Sam continued. She pulled and tugged at her fingers. "You know how it is to have a newbie in your lab. I mean, God, it�s just chaos. And the worst part is he�s in charge of collecting the samples from the other teams, but he doesn�t have the b..." Sam caught herself just in time before she made a terrible slip of the tongue. She smacked herself on the forehead and tried to go on as if nothing happened. "...nerve to ask them to get them to the lab on time, so we�ve had to have that discussion, and I�m just so tired of it, but I guess I shouldn�t complain."
The more she talked, the more furious she became with herself. She wrapped her arms around her head and pulled her hair. "So anyway, then there�s Larson who keeps making these ridiculous undergraduate level mistakes in his calculations that completely throws off my work. It�s just..."
"You've been busy," Daniel said, coming out of the bathroom, moving slowly, wincing in pain.
"Yeah, I guess so." Sam was much relieved that she didn�t have to continue on with her aimless ramblings. At the rate she was going, she was about to state her name, rank and serial number.
"Wow," Daniel quietly exclaimed as he leaned up against his dresser for a moment and caught his breath. Some pain brought aching; some pain brought nausea; some pain brought dizziness. Some pain brought all three. Daniel clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, tried to breathe through the agonizing surge. "Wow."
"Daniel, are you alright?" Sam asked, reaching out for him, but unable to bring herself to actually touch him.
Once the pain and the queasiness subsided, Daniel grasped Sam�s hand. He tried to offer her a smile.
"I�m fine," he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Sam forced herself to be still. Daniel continued to make his way into the main section of his apartment.
Once there, Teal�c and Janet warmly greeted Daniel. Jack told him to have a seat in the living room and that he'd bring Daniel some food. Daniel gladly lowered himself into the chair and watched the commotion of his friends opening containers of food, spooning rice and lentils, stir fried beef and mu shu pork onto plates. All of them hovering over the table, darting in and out of the kitchen, avoiding near disaster countless times. Jack brought a plate full of food to Daniel, placed it on the table next to him, handed Daniel a napkin, and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Daniel picked at his food while the others sat around him in the living room, talking and laughing, reaching for the assorted containers strewn across the coffee table, opening bottles of beer.
And he watched them. And he suddenly felt numb. And he suddenly felt alone. And all of a sudden he fully understood that he had cancer and that he was sick and that they, all four of them, had absolutely no idea how terrifying this was for him.
He could hardly breathe.
Janet glanced at Daniel and then back to her conversation with Sam. And then she looked back at Daniel�s ashen face and frightened eyes that seemed to dart across the table a little too fast.
"Daniel," Janet said softly. Sam stopped talking and followed the direction of Janet's attention. Jack heard the lull and found the two women focused on Daniel.
"Daniel?" Jack said, his voice deep and quiet.
Daniel's eyes focused on Jack, as if pulled from a trance. He surveyed the faces of the others in the room and knew he had to come up with some reason for his momentary lapse.
They all looked so worried. How could he tell them he was scared and he needed to be told he�d be fine and he needed them to hang onto him, hold him tight because he was sure he was falling apart? How could he possibly burden them with his fears that Oh, my God, I might die? How could he tell them?
"Daniel. Hey, you okay?" Jack asked, crouching in front of him. He placed his hands on Daniel�s knees, looked up into Daniel�s washed out eyes.
Daniel blinked and somehow found his voice. "I'm sorry. I...I think I'm a little tired."
Jack kept his eyes on Daniel. He wasn�t buying it, but whatever the real problem, the reason for the get together had better begin before Daniel really was too tired. "Then let's clear this stuff and get down to business," Jack said, taking a handful of containers into the kitchen. The other three jumped to their feet as well, and soon the living room was void of any food and drink.
When they were ready to begin, Sam sat on the edge of the couch, a folder of information spread out in front of her on the coffee table. "Okay, here's what I found," she began, adopting a clipped manner of speaking, clinical and precise. Her comfort zone. "Testicular cancer is most common between the ages of 15 and 35, but it can strike at any time. Caucasians are more likely to get it than Hispanics, and much more likely than African Americans or Asian-Pacific Islanders."
This kind of pedantic, dry information usually drove Jack to distraction, but he had asked Sam to do the research for Daniel as well as to keep her mind busy. Jack let her go on, taking notes for himself along the way.
"95% of testicular tumors originate in the germ cell, and by that I mean the special sperm-forming cells within the testis. Now these tumors fall into one of two types--seminoma or nonseminoma. Daniel, your tumor fell into the nonseminoma type, correct?"
Daniel had to spin back the last few words in his head before being able to respond. "Um, yes."
"Nonseminomas usually occur in combination with other groups of cancer, which would account for the metastases in your lungs," she went on.
Jack held up his hand to have her pause while he sounded out 'nonseminoma.'
"Most cancers are categorized in four stages. In TC, or testicular cancer, Stage I is when the cancer is confined in the testicles. Stage II is when the cancer has spread to the retroperitoneal lymph nodes. Stage III, the cancer has spread to remote sites, like the liver, the lungs and the brain."
Jack looked up from his notes. "Wait. Hold on. What's stage four?"
Sam's eyes widened for a moment. "In TC, there is no stage four."
Everyone in the room immediately understood the gravity of the statement.
"But the good news is," Janet said, jumping in to take over for Sam, who was obviously as flustered as the rest, "there have been remarkable advancements in the cure rate of TC. Just incredible. In 1970, when Brian Piccolo had it, 90% of patients with metastatic disease died of their cancer. By 1990, that number had flipped. Now, almost 90% of men with TC and metastatic disease are cured."
"That's good news," Jack agreed. "Daniel, that's...that's good. Is that for all stages?"
Janet and Sam shared a quick glance. "For stage III, it drops, but it's still...high"
Daniel lifted his chin off his chest and anxiously asked, "How high?"
Sam frowned and blinked. "It varies between 50-80%."
"Okay, so we'll concentrate on the higher number," Jack added. Daniel closed his eyes and dropped his chin back down. "We're still good. It's...that's still...it's acceptable. We can work with that, right?"
"Absolutely," Sam said. She glommed onto Jack's positive attitude and let it pull her out of the spiraling free-fall she felt she was entering.
"Daniel," Janet said, "tomorrow, when you meet with your oncologist, you're going to be bombarded with the names of a whole list of treatment protocols. I thought it might be helpful to go over some of the drugs that are typically used to treat TC."
Daniel turned his head to look out his sliding glass door and out beyond his balcony to the city just entering twilight. He balled his hand up under his chin and pressed his thumb against his lips. 50-80%...50%...a coin toss...
"The magic bullet in all this is Platinol, or cisplatin," Janet said. "It is the primary reason testicular cancer is considered a curable disease. It, along with two other drugs--bleomycin and etoposide--makes up the protocol, or cocktail as they call it, called BEP. The usual routine is three cycles of the cocktail, but, because you're in stage III, more than likely they will order four cycles."
"The drug cisplatin was found almost purely by accident, and it's a fascinating story," Sam said, enthusiastically. She leaned forward to dive into the history of the drug. "A biologist in Michigan was doing experiments with bacterial cultures and electrical fields. There was a platinum anode, and the scientist..."
"Uh, Carter?" Jack interrupted, cocking his head to the side and sending her an exasperated look. "You know me: I love a good anode anecdote, but..."
"Certainly, sir," Sam said, her face becoming flushed with embarrassment. She rifled through her notes.
Teal'c watched Daniel carefully, silently. He noted how Daniel grabbed unconsciously at the material over his tender chest, how his jaw clenched and relaxed, then clenched again. Teal�c was ready at a moment's notice to assist Daniel in any way.
"The way they calculate the dosage is based on the body surface area which is a nomogram based on height and weight. The answer comes out in square meters M2, but...I'm guessing I'm the only one who finds that interesting," Sam said, looking around he room. Three of the four heads nodded.
"Right," she said, looking flustered again.
"The affects of the chemotherapy can be very harsh," Janet said, jumping in, giving Sam time to regroup. "You'll be given anti-emetics along with the chemo to help with the nausea, but it won't eliminate it. Because the chemo goes through the entire blood system, it not only kills the cancer cells, but the other rapidly growing cells as well, such as hair."
"That includes sperm," Sam interjected. "Which brings us to the issue of sperm banking."
"Would that be FDIC insured?" Jack asked, taking time from writing down notes to add a little humor. It was met with unappreciative stares. Jack shrugged.
"Daniel," Sam went on, glaring at Jack before turning to address Daniel, "chances are you may come out of this infertile. Now, even though you're not in a position to have kids right now, down the line you may want to." Daniel watched the sun fall behind a row of buildings. "They say you should have some sperm cryogenically banked."
Jack turned to Daniel, wondering how he was taking this latest information. Daniel gave off no sign that he had even heard what Sam said.
"Daniel?" Jack said.
For the first time in his life, Daniel felt overwhelmed by the amount of information thrown at him. He couldn't stand to hear anymore. His mind was sprinting, close to panic. He just wanted to go back to bed, forget that any of this was actually happening. "I'll think about it."
"Well, think about it soon, because..."
"Sam, he'll think about it. Let it go," Jack said, giving Sam a stern look. Jack reached out and touched Daniel's arm. "Daniel?"
Daniel turned to face them. His friends--Teal'c, Sam, Janet and Jack--were all looking at him, waiting for him to respond. He felt as if he were spinning dangerously inside a tumultuous barrel, a spinning, buffeting vehicle careening off the edge of a mountain pass. Fear and paralytic apprehension seized his breath, his ability to cry out. All he could do was wait. Wait for the outcome. Wait, and lie to his friends that he wasn�t terrified.
"I'm...I'm fine," Daniel told them.
"You wanna go lay down?" Jack asked, noting how tired and wasted Daniel looked.
Daniel's eyes fluttered for a moment, and he tried to push himself up out of the chair. Teal'c was at his side in an instance. With great gentleness and patience, Teal'c helped Daniel rise. Daniel nodded in appreciation and let Teal'c walk him into the bedroom.
Sam wove her fingers together and covered her eyes. Jack rubbed the back of his neck. Janet didn't know who was in more pain--Daniel or his friends. She got up and decided to check in on him.
Teal'c had just lowered Daniel onto his bed when Janet walked in to join them. Teal�c patted him on the shoulder as Daniel murmured a soft "thank you."
Teal�c bowed to Janet when he passed. Daniel shifted, wincing, until he found a comfortable position, and curled himself onto his side. He lay still, staring at the wall with exhausted, tear-filled eyes.
Janet walked over to his bed and sat down on the edge next to him.
"How are you feeling, Daniel?" she asked, brushing his hair off his forehead.
"I'm fine," he weakly said, closing his eyes.
"How's your pain? Do you need something?" she asked, lightly clutching his hand.
Daniel pulled Janet's hand closer to him. "It's just all...a little too much right now."
"I know. That�s why you need to let us do whatever we can for you." She rubbed soft, warm circles on his back. "This is hard. The chemo is going to be difficult, but the toughest part is going to be letting us do things for you."
Daniel pulled off his glasses and carelessly tossed them on the floor. He pressed his thumb into the corner of his eye. "I don�t think I can deal with this," he admitted, the pad of his thumb coming in contact with warm tears.
Janet leaned over and hugged him. "Oh, Daniel," she said, kissing his ear, tenderly caressing his back. She heard him sniffle, and then heard a soft moaning sob.
"Ow," he whispered, feeling a throbbing at his incision point. "God, it even hurts to cry."
Janet felt her own tears springing to her eyes. She understood pain, understood the mechanics of the body as well as anyone, but she wasn�t holding a patient in her arms. She was holding her friend, someone she cared for. Someone for whom she would give the world if he just didn�t have to go through this agony.
"Why don�t I give you something for the pain?" she asked, wiping her hand under her nose. She straightened up and regarded him with her best motherly-concern look.
"I think I just want to fall asleep," he quietly said, letting go of her hand and grasping the covers. He pulled up one edge, wiped his eyes. "I�m okay."
Janet grazed his cheek with the back of her fingers. She leaned forward and kissed him. "We're all hurting, too, Daniel. Let us help you."
Daniel nodded and closed his eyes.
"Sleep well," Janet said, standing to leave the room. Daniel nodded again.
"How is he?" Jack asked after Janet closed the door to Daniel's bedroom.
"He's overwhelmed," she said plainly. "He's facing an awful disease." She sat down on the couch next to Sam and carefully cleared the streaked makeup under her eyes.
"I shouldn't have laid it all out there like that," Sam said, blaming herself.
"No. No, Daniel needs to know what's going on. He's a big boy; he can handle it. Give him time," Jack reassured her, carrying his coffee cup to the kitchen.
"I believe I will return to the SGC," Teal'c said, gathering his coat.
"I'll walk out with you, Teal'c," said Sam, standing quickly. She had to get out of his apartment. It was beginning to feel way to stifling to her. She quickly busied herself with her jacket.
"Hey, thanks, you guys. I appreciate everything you did today," Jack told them, helping Sam into her jacket.
"I'm not sure I helped that much," she said, fumbling with her zipper.
"You did, Sam," Jack told her. "Thanks for the chicken, Teal'c. I'm sure Daniel will appreciate it."
Teal'c lowered his head and said goodbye. Sam waved to Janet and met Teal'c in the hall.
"You were very informative, Major Carter," Teal'c told her while they walked to the elevator.
"You sure I wasn't too informative?" she asked, as she pushed the down button.
"Information is a source of power, is it not?"
"I've always thought so."
The elevator seemed to take an inordinately long time to reach them, and in that awkward silence, Sam realized that Teal'c' eyes seemed a little glazed. That his jaws quivered. When the doors to the elevator finally opened and once they were in the privacy of the car, Sam turned to look at her teammate and touched his arm lightly.
"Teal�c? What are you thinking?"
Teal�c eyed Sam quickly and then trained his focus on the elevator doors once again. "I am very angry, Major Carter," he growled.
"Why?"
"Perhaps this is an inappropriate conversation for us to have, but I am angry that DanielJackson's physicians were allowed to remove a part of that which makes him a man."
Sam was shocked. She stared hard at him, her jaw dropped. "You can't really believe that, Teal'c."
"I do, indeed," he said, staring at the gilded doors of the elevator.
"The doctors had no choice but to remove one of his testicles. If they hadn't, Daniel would be worse off. Much worse off."
"But is that not tantamount to castration?"
Sam felt her face become hot with anger. "Leaving a cancerous section of his body inside him would be tantamount to negligent homicide. No, I don't think it has anything to do with castration. Nor does it have anything to do with what makes him a man."
"We are not in agreement on this point," he said. The doors listlessly slid open.
"You mean to tell me that you think Daniel's masculinity will somehow be diminished now that he only has one..." Sam looked around at the busy lobby. A small elderly woman carrying a Schnauzer peered at Sam and Teal'c. Sam lowered her voice. "...now that he only has one testicle?"
Teal'c continued to walk to the front door. "He will no longer be able to sire a child. Is that not proof enough?"
"Whoa!" Sam exclaimed. She stepped in front of Teal'c and glared at him. "You're right. This is an inappropriate conversation." She turned and threw open the door. Teal'c waited a moment before following her to the car.
Jack had thrown all the dishes in the dishwasher, had emptied a beer or two, and decided to call it a day when he heard rustling in Daniel�s room. He stepped to the door, knocked gently, and then opened it.
"Daniel? You okay?" he asked, peeking his head into the room.
Daniel sat on the edge of his bed, out of breath and hunched over. "Yeah, I�m just�I�m getting sore from lying in bed."
"Why didn�t you call me? I could have helped you up," Jack said. He took a few steps into his room, leaned back on his dresser.
"No. I can do it myself. As a matter of fact, why don�t you go on home," Daniel said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I kind of like your couch," Jack told him, smiling. "Besides, you have a great selection of cable channels."
"I don�t own a TV," Daniel said.
"I know, and we need to talk about that."
Daniel glanced up at Jack who raised a churlish brow to him. Daniel shook his head chuckled. Why was it that Jack was able to make him laugh so much these days, he wondered? One minute he was giggling over some stupid thing Jack had said, the next he was trying to hold back tears. The tug of war on his emotions was exhausting.
Jack rocked forward, stepped to Daniel�s bed and sat down next to him. "How you doin� with all this?"
Daniel began to shift, reached a hand behind him, feeling for a spot to press his hand against. Jack lifted Daniel slightly in order to assist him. Daniel nodded a thank you.
A wide variety of openers swirled in Daniel�s head. They began with words such as �humiliation,� �why,� �unnatural,� �cryogenically preserved.� It was enough that he was concerned with his mortality, but to have to be concerned simultaneously with his future was stretching even his ability to reason.
What did it boil down to? What one thing could he focus on that would help to make it all clear?
"About a year into my stay on Abydos, Share told me she was pregnant," Daniel said, cupping his cheek in his hand. Jack lowered his chin and absorbed the stunning admonition. "After I got over the shock, I was totally enthralled, absolutely ecstatic. The though of being of father...me...." Daniel absently gazed around his quiet, dark room. "Three weeks later she miscarried."
"I�m sorry, Daniel," Jack said.
"Thank you," Daniel replied. "We promised each other we�d try again, but, you know, it never�it just�"
Jack nodded, knowing full well the end of the story.
"When she died," Daniel went on, "any hope I had at becoming a father again kind of died with her."
"There�s Shifu."
"Shifu�s not mine, and I don�t think I can handle going there right now," Daniel told him. Jack nodded again. "This whole thing about�" Daniel rolled his eyes and sighed, "�sperm banking is just so�so�"
"I know, but it gives you options."
"I don�t know if I want to exercise those options," Daniel said, scraping his thumbnail across his finger.
"Okay, so you�don�t go and make a deposit, as it were," Jack said, taking the lead. "You make it through chemo with an entire team of swimmers in the locker room�nothing lost."
"Swimmers."
"World class swimmers," Jack corrected him. "Or, you don�t make a deposit, you get through chemo, and you find your swim team has left the building."
"Like Elvis," Daniel added.
Jack scowled at him. "That makes absolutely no sense. What does Elvis have to do with leaving a little mojo in a cup?"
Daniel rubbed his eyes and shook his head.
"Going on," Jack said, gesturing that he was doing so. "You go and make a deposit, you make it through chemo with your entire team intact, plus you have a JV team in waiting, just in case. Again, nothing lost."
"It could be worse," Daniel muttered to himself. "We could be discussing a hockey team."
"Furthermore," Jack stated, pretending he didn�t hear Daniel�s comment, "if you do make a deposit and you make it through chemo with no Mark Spitz�s on the starting block, it doesn�t matter, �cause you got a whole bunch on ice."
"Can we just�leave the sophomoric euphemisms behind and discuss this like�guys?" Daniel asked.
"I am discussing it like a guy," Jack told him.
"Yes, of course you are."
"Look, Daniel, all I�m saying is it�s an option that I think you should take. Yeah, I understand you don�t see yourself being a father anytime soon, but don�t...don�t give up your chance for the future. You�ll regret it."
"It just seems so�procedural. I mean, say I meet the right person. What do I say? �Gee, honey, let�s make a baby. I have a bottle of champagne on ice, right next to a petri dish of my sperm.� That just says romance all over it!" Daniel bitterly said.
"It is a procedure. A pretty amazing procedure. The right woman wouldn�t think twice about it," Jack told him.
"The thing is, Jack, I can remember the exact moment Sha�re and I conceived. It was a moment of pure love and joy. I knew I�d be able to look at that baby and say, �You are here because I love your mom with my soul.� How could I look at a child conceived in a laboratory with the same awe?"
"Because it doesn�t matter how the baby gets in your arms, Daniel. What matters is that the love and respect you have for the baby�s mother has nothing to do with lab equipment, and everything to do with seeing your wife�s eyes looking up at you from that tiny face," Jack told him. "That�s what�s important. Not the way it got there. It�s what you do after the baby is born that�s important. Don�t deny yourself that option."
Daniel dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. Jack was probably right. No, Jack was right. I have to do this.
"You�d think having to lose a testicle would be humiliation enough," Daniel said. "Now I have to go..." He glanced up at Jack, "...leave an away team in a cup." He shook his head, humiliated by the thought, and the fact that he used such an insipid euphemism.
"It�s no big deal. I�ll drive you over; we won�t even talk about it. I promise I won�t make any stupid remarks," Jack assured him.
"That should be hard for you," Daniel said.
"Doesn�t matter if it is for me; matters if it�s hard for you," Jack said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"You think this is making it easy for me, Jack?" Daniel asked.
"Don�t know? Which is easier�your left hand or your right hand?"
"Jaaaack."
Jack wrapped his arm around Daniel�s shoulder. "I�ll quit. Just trying to get it out of my system."
"Kind of like what I�ll be doing in that room in the sperm bank?" Daniel said, wiping his hand across a smile.
"That�s the spirit," Jack said, patting the back of Daniel�s head before resting his arm around his shoulder. "Try to sneak out a few magazines for me, would ya?" Jack said. He gave Daniel�s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Your collection incomplete?"
"Let�s just say..."
Daniel stopped him. "Please don�t say there are a few that are damaged."
Jack paused. "Okay, we�ll leave it at incomplete."
Daniel chuckled. So did Jack.
"Do you need anything before I turn in?" Jack asked.
"No. I�m good," Daniel said.
Jack pushed himself up to leave.
"Jack?"
"Yeah."
Daniel�s lips tightened into a smile, but his eyes remained burdened with anxiety. "Thank you."
"You�re welcome, Danny. I�ll see you in the morning."
*****
It was just your standard, everyday IV pole with a bag of saline on one side and 50cc bag of drugs hanging from the other side. The only difference was that the nurse who brought in the 50cc bag wore heavy-duty gloves, and the line didn't go into his hand but into another tube that led directly into his chest. Daniel looked down at the white tube that poked out just below his collarbone, taped in place, and thought how ironic it was that this thing seemed like alien technology, here in the middle of Colorado Springs. Okay, alien torture device technology, but alien nonetheless.
First treatment. His heart raced. He sat silently in the upright turquoise-blue bedside chair, the corner of his gown flipped down to expose the top portion of his chest. He grabbed the wooden armrests with sweating hands. His foot nervously tapped a frantic rhythm.
It was awkward and uncomfortable just sitting in the corner of the room while the toxic mixture of chemicals dripped mercilessly slow through the tube and into his chest. He could feel the fluid seep into his veins, slightly burning, then cold. He couldn't take his eyes off the tube that protruded from his chest just under his collarbone. The sight of it made him a little vertiginous.
Jack watched him from across the room. It was perfectly clear to him how scared Daniel was. Hell, I�d be crawling the walls if it were me, he thought. Time for a diversion.
"Can I get you anything?" Jack asked.
Daniel looked up, licked his lips and considered Jack's offer. He attempted a smile. "I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee."
"Okay, I'll ask again. Can I get you anything that you know you can have?" Jack said, reminding Daniel what the nutritionist said--no caffeine.
"Orange juice?" Daniel asked.
"That I can do," Jack said. "I'll go down to the cafeteria and get you some. Anything else?"
"You tell me."
"I think you could use a sandwich. You need to eat while you can," Jack said. Daniel nodded.
After Jack left the room, Daniel felt himself drawn to stare at the central line again. Nervously he reached up and touched the place where the tube met his skin. He began to feel light headed again. He washed a shaky hand across his face.
"First treatment, huh," said a strange man entering Daniel's room with an IV pole in tow. "Welcome to the club. Get a pencil."
Daniel blinked. "What?"
"A pencil," he said, sitting on the end of Daniel's bed. "You�ll want to take notes." His face was gaunt and gray, but his eyes sparkled like sunlight on rippling water, and his silly smile was captivating. He adjusted the IV line snaking under his garishly printed shirt.
"Excuse me?" Daniel asked, taken aback by this person who had made himself so familiar, so quickly.
"Look, this is my third time on this cruise. I know all the ins and outs." His visitor spoke in a very animated style, with great flourishing gestures and facial expressions.
"I'm sorry," Daniel said, shaking his head. "Who are you?"
"I'm Leo, and you are..." he reached over to read the bracelet around Daniel's wrist, "Jackson, Daniel. Well, Jackson, Daniel, pleasure to meet you."
"Thank you," Daniel dubiously replied.
"So, what's your story?"
"My...um, what?"
"Your disease, your story."
"Oh. Cancer." Daniel was kind of surprised how easily it rolled off his tongue.
"Really. Huh, I would have never thunk it, you being on an oncology ward and all," Leo said, eyeing Daniel with feigned exasperation. Daniel blinked at him, perplexed.
"I mean, what type?" Leo asked, sarcastically enunciating each word.
"Testicular."
"Oh, that's a good one. I had that. Seminoma or nonseminoma?"
"Non."
"You're taking your chemo in house, so I bet you have mets."
"Yes. Lung." How does he know all this? Daniel wondered. And why is he asking all these questions? And why am I answering them?
"Still, you lucked out, you know."
Daniel squinted his eyes and regarded Leo tersely. "'Scuse me?"
"Look, if you're going on your first cancer cruise, you might as well start with an easy one. Gives you more of an opportunity to see the sights without all the hassle about low cure rates." Leo pulled the back of his baseball cap down, and for the first time Daniel noticed he was completely bald.
"I'm sorry, but...why are you here?" Daniel asked.
"I'm waiting for my lab results and thought I'd drop in on the new neighbor."
"Yes, I see that," Daniel said, finding that he was becoming annoyed with his new neighbor. "I'm a little..."
"Tired?" Leo offered.
Daniel frowned. "Sure."
"Well, take it from me," Leo said, slowly climbing off Daniel's bed. "Get all the--I'm telling you, you should be writing these things down!--get all the rest you can. In case you haven't figured it out yet, you're a cancer patient now, and your body isn't your own anymore, at least not for the next few months, so let it rest all it can."
"I'll do that," Daniel curtly told him, wanting nothing more than to fall into a deep sleep immediately so he wouldn't have to continue with this strange conversation.
"Okay, then. Well, I'll leave you with that thought, Jackson, Daniel," Leo said, pushing his IV pole around the end of the bed. He glanced over his shoulder and threw Daniel a smile and a wink. "I'll stop by and see you tomorrow."
"I'm sure you will."
Leo stopped just before leaving Daniel's room. "Oh, and another thing."
Daniel took a breath and expelled it loudly, hoping Leo would hear the frustration in his body language and leave him alone. "Yes?"
"The line in your chest isn't going anywhere, so stop staring at it," Leo said, waving at Daniel. "Ciao."
Daniel closed his eyes, jutted his lower jaw out, and cursed his luck at having to be held against his will next to Richard Simmons' evil twin.
*****
It was almost impossible convincing Jack to go home. He though he should stay, just in case Daniel needed to get up in the night. Daniel finally called a nurse in and had her tell Jack that Daniel would have all the help he needed during the night. With that, Jack finally, reluctantly conceded that he could go home.
Almost immediately after Jack left, Daniel fell asleep. He slept until the early morning, so when those quiet hours of the late night turned over on the clock, Daniel found he couldn't sleep anymore. He lay in his bed, the plastic covering on the mattress crinkling and making his back sweat. The light from the hallway illuminated a deep swath into his room. Daniel turned away from the garish light and grabbed hold of the bedside rail.
On Tuesday of the week before he was walking into the embarkation room, ready to join his team off world. Two hours later he had cancer. On Friday he had surgery. On Sunday his team tried to fill him in on what his life would become. On Monday he met his oncologist. On Tuesday he took his first chemo treatment.
Here it was sliding into Wednesday, and everything he knew of his life had been obliterated.
He was a cancer patient.
Nine days ago he was an archeologist, a linguist, an anthropologist who roamed the universe meeting alien species, divining information and knowledge about their world and those of other races. He was part of a team, an integral part, or so he thought.
But at 2:17 am on a dark, oppressively silent Wednesday, Daniel was a cancer patient. Patient 1753-4-9-8344. It said so on his red bracelet and on every bag of chemo they brought into his room. Jackson, Daniel, Testicular Cancer, Stage III, nonseminoma with metastatic disease, BEP cocktail, room 524.
With a fifty percent chance that he'd ever be Daniel Jackson, PhD again.
*****
Janet walked confidently down the corridor of the University Hospital. She had privileges in the civilian hospital that she rarely used, but nonetheless, her ID afforded her a measured amount of respect. She said hello to the nursing staff and then quietly knocked on Daniel's door.
"Daniel? You respectable?" she asked, slowly opening the door.
"You'll have to qualify that a little further," Daniel said, sitting in the turquoise chair. He gave her a quick smile and then redirected his gaze in order to continue to stare out the window.
The rain that poured down the glass cast a strange undulating pattern on his face. It made him look as though he were crying, like the rain projected onto his face the clearest representation for his inner thoughts.
Janet handed him a small wax paper bag. "Sam sent them. I believe they're cookies," Janet said.
Daniel took the bag and placed it in his lap.
"How are you feeling today?" she asked, pulling up the extra chair.
"Not bad." Daniel pulled the edge of his gown out from under him. He pushed it modestly between his legs, even though he had sweat pants on under the gown.
"It's only been three days of treatments, but how's the nausea?"
Daniel shrugged. "My new best friend Leo says it may take a while."
"Leo's right," Janet said.
Daniel propped his chin in his hand and looked out over the city beyond his hospital window. "What's the temperature out there?"
"Cold, wet. 40-ish."
"I'm sorry, Janet."
Janet cocked her head, not quite sure she heard him. "What's that?"
"I should have been more honest with you," Daniel said, watching the heavy, gray clouds envelope the tops of the higher buildings.
"How long had you been feeling poorly?" she asked.
"I don't know. Six months, I guess."
"With nonseminoma cancer, six months is a long time."
"Yes, apparently it's a couple stages," he said. On the sidewalks far below, people pressed against the wind with umbrellas.
"Well, as long as we're being honest," Janet began, pressing her hands between her knees, "I should have caught this a long time ago."
Daniel turned to her, took in her sad expression. "How?"
"I don't know. I keep looking over your chart, going over the tests we routinely perform. Somehow, whether it be vacations, the stint you did at the Academy training cadets, somehow we let this thing get away from us," she said. "I can't explain it."
Daniel resumed his study of the outside world. "It's not your fault."
"Still, I feel awful," Janet told him. Oh, Daniel. I wish I could make it all better...
"When I was a kid, my mom would read me long chapter books. We'd just get into the story, and curiosity would get the best of me. So when my mom wasn't around, I'd flip to the last page and read how the story ended," he said, a forlorn smile flitting across his lips. "That way, while my mom read all the suspenseful, scary parts, I always knew that, in the end, the main character was going to be all right."
"You're going to be all right, Daniel," Janet told him.
He turned to her, lifted his eyebrows high above his glasses and smiled a crooked grin. "You read the last chapter?"
"I don't need to. You�re going to be fine."
Daniel shook his head, unable to join her faithful enthusiasm. He dropped his chin, closed his eyes and smirked. "There's a word for that: solifidian."
Janet leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee. Daniel eyed the hand on him and then looked into Janet's dark eyes.
"There's another word for it," she said. "Platinol."
He stared at her a moment, wishing he could believe her. Daniel clucked his tongue against the top of his mouth, shrugged incredulously, and said, "Yeah, well, we'll see."
*****
He was bored out of his mind. He had never been so intellectually stagnant in his entire life.
The first day of treatment had gone by in a blur--it was all so unsettling and unfamiliar that each new experience, each new stimuli had captured his attention in a fearfully, all-consuming way. But after that first day, things became tedious. Boring. Claw your eyes out just for something to do boring. That's when he started taking walks around the hospital.
Some times he'd just hit a button on the elevator and ride until the door would swing open. He'd get off and start walking, pushing his IV cart along with him, hoping it would take him more than twenty minutes to find his way back to his room.
Along the way, he'd stop in waiting areas, pick up magazines and newspapers left behind, devour the drivel like a starving man when offered a crust of bread. But, like bread crusts, it was wholly unsatisfying.
He considered breaking into a doctor's office just to read a good, thick, juicy medical journal with words whose origins were Latin or Greek.
Tired of passing the same mass-produced oil paintings on the walls, tired of carting his IV pole around, just plain tired, Daniel decided there was nothing left to do but go back to his room. Go back to his room and wait for lunch, which meant his afternoon cocktail wasn't far behind.
"Wondered where you'd gone off to," Jack said, lowering his Sports Illustrated into his lap.
"I was on my morning stroll," Daniel said, climbing carefully into bed. He still had a fair amount of pain in his groin from the surgery, and if he had to be honest, okay, so, yeah, maybe he was getting a little more tired with each treatment.
"Your peculiar friend stopped by," Jack said, resuming his perusal.
"My peculiar friend?"
"He Eartha Kitt me," Jack said.
"Pardon me?"
"You know -- that growl Eartha Kitt is famous for? Your friend growled at me," Jack said.
"Leo."
"That his name?"
"I can't imagine anyone else growling lasciviously at you," Daniel said, untangling his IV line from the sheets on his bed.
"You'd be surprised," Jack told him.
Daniel rolled his eyes and decided a new topic was in order. "How's work?"
"Oh, you know," Jack said, tossing the magazine onto the window ledge. "Fine. Things are same old, same old."
"Did you bring my laptop?" Daniel asked.
"Well, yes and no," Jack sheepishly said.
"Meaning..."
"I brought the laptop, but none of your files."
"Jaaaack."
"Listen, you need to concentrate on just getting better," Jack told him.
"Jaaaack..."
"I mean it! Don't worry about things," he said. "Your department will keep blustering along fine without you for a few months. Confusion, obviously, will be the driving force. Glasses will be lost. Weird little esoteric jokes will pass from one geek to another. Just...let it be."
"I'm losing my mind here, Jack," Daniel confessed to him. He took of his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. "I need my computer. I feel like my...brain..." Daniel shook his head and tried to put into words the desperation he felt at his lack of connection with his life outside the hospital. "Just, please, can I have my work?"
Jack thought about not giving him the laptop. It was clear as day that Daniel was tired. But, what the hell, what could it hurt? He handed the case to Daniel.
"Modem cable, please," Daniel said, holding out his hand.
Jack reached into his pocket and placed it in Daniel's hand. "But I'm restricting you to thirty minute increments."
Daniel nodded, appeasing Jack, knowing that there was no way Jack would ever be able to enforce such nonsense.
"Sam sends her best," Jack told him, taking his seat again.
Daniel fiddled with his computer, pressed his lips together and shook his head. He was almost certain Sam hadn�t sent her best. Sam had hardly said boo to him since the night at Jack's a week earlier. "Sam is uncomfortable around me."
"Yeah, well," Jack started, picking up his magazine and flipping through it, "it had to catch up to her one of these days." He eyed Daniel over the top of the pages. "I'm just sayin'..."
"Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"You're very funny."
Jack frowned. "That didn't sound very convincing."
Daniel punched some keys. "Then I guess you're right: Same old, same old."
*****
If Daniel had any delusions that he'd be able to get out of his first treatment of chemo without the dreaded side effects, those delusions were smashed to bits the morning after his fifth treatment.
The routine of chemo had become fairly set. Just after lunch, the oncology nurse would bring in the first clear, plastic bag of the transparent fluid, string it on the pole wearing heavy latex gloves, insert a tube into the bottom of the bag and infuse that line with Daniel's central line. That bag took one hour to drain into his catheter, which would carry it directly into his blood stream. Drip by drip, Daniel would count down the minutes until finally the bag was flaccid and empty. Then came the next 50cc bag, and ninety minutes later, a third, which would silently, caustically seep into his system for another half hour.
When it was over, when all three bags had been emptied into his body, it would be time for dinner. Daniel would eat a little, talk with whoever happened to be visiting--usually Jack--and then fall asleep. He'd wake up each morning, watch a little TV, walk around the ward, and wait for it all to begin again. Routine.
He was beginning to believe all the hubbub about chemo was the wasted time, the excruciatingly boring hours spent doing nothing but watching the drugs drip, drip, drip.
But that was before waking up the morning after his fifth treatment.
Like the worst hangover and the most serious sleep deprivation he had ever had--combined.
He was consumed in a cloud of nausea. He lay slightly huddled on his side, adopting a kind of panting to his breathing, trying to stave off the increasingly strong need to throw up. His head throbbed and his stomach gurgled. The slightest noise made him retch. The air that he breathed in seemed all together too hot and had a peculiar, subtle stench he could barely stand. He wrapped one arm around his gut and one hand over his eyes--the light from the hallway felt like needles poking into his skull.
And the burdensome thought that this was just the end of the first round taunted him cruelly.
"Good morning, Daniel," Leo cheerily said, wheeling his pole into the room.
"Leo?" Daniel asked, softly.
"One and the same," he said, sitting in Daniel's chair.
Daniel didn't move. "I'm not feeling very well today."
"I know. I remember. It's always shocking when it catches up to you," Leo said, sympathetically. "Talk to your onco nurse. Maybe they can adjust your anti-emetics. You're in for a long ride. You can't afford to bonk on your first round."
"Who..." Daniel began and then swallowed to suppress the queasiness. "Who...why do you do this?"
"Why do I bring you good cheer and timely, priceless information?" Leo asked. "Because we're in the same club! The Cancer Club," he said, emphatically. "And as the captain of this very exclusive club, it's my responsibility to bring all the new members up to speed." He leaned in toward Daniel and snuck his face close to the bedrails. "I'll teach you the secret hand shake when you're feeling better," he whispered.
Daniel opened his fingers slightly and peeked at Leo's face, six inches away from his. Leo winked at him. Daniel concealed his eyes again.
"And here's your helpful hint for the day," Leo went on, sitting back and crossing his legs. "Shave your head."
Daniel let his hand fall to his nose. "My...shave my...."
"Oh, yeah!" Leo insisted, batting a hand at Daniel. "Don't wait until it starts shedding like a cheap rabbit-hair coat. Take the upper hand! Be a man," he said, and coyly leaned forward, "whether you got the equipment left or not...wink, wink."
Daniel closed his eyes. He didn't know which was worse--his nausea or his annoyance with Leo. "Pardon me?"
"Listen, honey, don't be so uptight. In another couple weeks, you're going to be so run down, you won't care what's hanging out." Leo sat back and checked the drip on his saline.
"I...I think I may care," Daniel told him.
Leo regarded Daniel with a softened, compassionate expression. "I hope you do. I really do. You stop caring, you stop living," he said, rising from the chair. He gingerly touched Daniel's knee.
"That's your second hint for the day." Leo pushed his constant wheeled companion around the bed. He wrapped the edges of the long cardigan across his body.
"Do I get a third," Daniel quietly asked.
"Do you want one?" Leo said, surprised that Daniel was reaching out to him for the first time.
"I'm not sure."
Leo smiled. "Then I'll wait and come back later." He slid his IV to the door. "And get a haircut, would ya? I sound like your mother, don't I?"
"Not really," Daniel said, but no one was there to hear.
*****
Jack leaned up against the railing in the elevator, nodding his head while Janet spoke, appeasing her, not really listening.
"Make sure he eats. Oh, and drinks. He needs plenty of fluids," she said, nervously listing things for Jack.
"I got it, Doc. Don't worry. Daniel will be fine," he said. The elevator came to a stop and the doors activated. "His oncology nurse gave me a whole list of things to do while he's home."
"It's just really important he uses the time to replenish his fluids and protein," Janet said, patting down her pockets, searching for a note she had written herself. They continued walking down the corridor with the brightly painted murals of children playing and laughing.
"And sleeps. I know, I got it," Jack assured her, glancing into a room that had a short bed, lined with railings. Jack stopped, backed up, and looked into the room again.
"Vitamins!" Janet said, finding the note and reading the message. "I saw that you had a whole...Colonel?"
Jack spun around and scanned the halls. He spread out his hands as if he were trying to feel the weight of this new air. "My special forces training tells me...we're on the wrong floor."
Janet glanced around the halls herself. "I think you're right."
"Which begs the question," Jack said, pointing a finger in the air, "why don't we find the floor we need?"
A burst of laughter met their ears, and both Janet and Jack turned to find they were standing outside a waiting area, filled with toys and books and little children. Children who were pale and bald. Children who were hooked to IV's just like Daniel's. Children who looked like it was all they could do to smile, but it was the most wonderful moment of their day to do just that.
And there were parents, whose eyes were sunken. Moms and Dads who clung to their children a little too tightly. Who sat with their legs and arms tautly crossed, watching their children play, trying to enjoy these moments of abandon and joy that were few and far between. Trying to offer a genuine smile or let loose a laugh that didn't sound forced or tense. Trying to pretend their baby wasn't sick.
"Come on, Colonel," Janet said, taking Jack by the arm and prodding him to come away from there. Jack stumbled a bit before finding his footing. They walked speechless and numb to the elevator.
When they were inside, Janet started to push the button for the fifth floor. Jack grabbed her hand.
"Wait," he said, unnerved. "I can't go up there right now. I can't let him...I need to go down to the lobby for a minute."
Janet nodded and pressed the button for the lobby.
Silent and profoundly disquieted, Jack tried to rub the sight from his eyes while they dropped to the lobby. Once there, Jack strode out of the elevator and through the great space to the doors. They automatically opened, but not quick enough. Jack leaned into one and forced it to make a hole for him.
And he kept marching, past the attendants, past the signs that gave directions to the emergency entrance, ambulatory care, parking. Past the pharmacy and past the Center for Geriatric Study.
Janet thought he was going to walk all the way back to his house and at a break neck speed, but finally he came to a stop at a bench on the corner. He plopped himself down on it and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Janet quietly sat down beside him.
"I sooooo didn't need to see that," Jack told her. He leaned far back on the bench and clasped his hands behind his neck.
"There's a story I once heard about a man opening a new store, and a Chinese monk comes to him and gives him a scroll," Janet said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "The man unrolls the scroll and asks the monk what it says. 'The grandfather dies, the father dies, the son dies.' Well, the man is completely put off. 'What kind of gift is that?' he asks. The old monk said, 'It is a blessing. The grandfather dies, the father dies, and the son dies; not the grandson and the father and then the grandfather.'"
"Okay, I'm with the shop owner. Is there a goddamn point to this?" Jack asked, petulantly.
"Part of embracing and understanding the joy of living is understanding that there is a natural order to things. That, as awful as it is to lose somebody, you can't embrace life without at least having a tolerance for the natural inevitability of loss," she said. She grabbed the edge of the bench, crossed her feet and let them swing beneath her. "I think seeing those kids up there got to you because the natural order has been...well, disrupted. Just like when Charlie died."
Jack pressed his fingers into his eyes and blew out a lung full of air. "This doesn't have anything to do with Charlie."
"Are you sure? Jack, you survived your son. All those parents in that rooms, on that floor, are watching their children go through chemo, go through bone marrow biopsies. They're all worried they're going to survive their children."
Jack swung his long torso forward and propped his elbows onto his knees.
"Some of those parents will bury their children, just like you had to," Janet gently said.
"But those kid--if they die--it won't be because of a gunshot wound from their dad's gun," he grimly stated. Jack stared at his fingers, pressed anxiously together.
"No, you're right, but don't you think some of those parents are consumed with the same kind of irrational guilt?" Janet asked, snaking her hand around his arm. "Don't you think some of them are beating themselves up wondering if they handed down the genes that did this to their child? That somehow they did something, or didn't do something they should have that caused the leukemia or the tumor to appear?"
Jack listened to her silently. There were very few people in the world he would let talk to him so frankly. He trusted Janet, and trusted her to be honest with him, even if he didn't want to hear it. He drew her small hand into his and wrapped his long fingers around it.
"What happened to Charlie was a terrible accident, but you didn't hand him the gun, just like none of those parents on that floor caused their children to be sick." Janet looked out over the busy street next to them. "It's time to forgive yourself, Jack. It's time to let it go."
Jack was numb. More than that, he was in danger of dissolving into a pile of weightless chaff which the slightest breeze would send scattering.
How do you forgive yourself when unrepentant guilt was part of your grain? If he let it go, if he actually was able to forgive himself, wouldn't he just...blow away?
Watching your child die from a GSW and watching your child die from a horrendous disease had to be two separate hells. Surely, there could be no comparison, or could there? Given the choice, would he have preferred to see Charlie die of leukemia? God, no.
And that was it. He preferred that Charlie hadn't died at all. In no possible way.
Just like the frightened parents on that floor were praying that they wouldn't have to see their child die.
Either way, it's a loss. A loss so utter, no words, no sentiment can span the chasm. Not for years. Maybe not ever.
Or maybe the chasm can be spanned, on a street corner, sitting on a bus stop bench, two blocks from the University Hospital.
*****
Two weeks to rest and try to eat, get ready for the next round. Two weeks before it started again, and he could be assured that this time he wouldn't be able to stroll the halls of the hospital looking for reading material. Not after his last treatment.
A massive warm front had settled over the city, keeping the late fall nights unseasonably warm. Daniel stepped out on his balcony and took in the view, let the tepid air wash away the antiseptic, toxic smell of the oncology ward.
He drew in a deep breath and coughed. And painfully coughed again until he felt the now familiar gunk in the back of his throat. He pulled a tissue out of his pocket and spit the clot of blood into it. He wadded up the tissue and threw it into the corner of the balcony. He'd take care of it later. Hemoptysis. Just another word he was learning in this strange new world called Cancer. Hemoptysis--coughing up blood. You give it a name and it isn't as frightening. Well, sometimes it wasn�t....
Inside his apartment he could vaguely hear the others preparing dinner, setting the table, clinking glasses together. Daniel leaned his elbows on the railing and watched the city come to incandescent life.
"Daniel," Sam said, standing just inside the sliding door.
Daniel glanced back. "Yeah."
"Time to eat," she said.
"Sam."
She was silent, still, unable to move closer to him or away from him.
Daniel turned around to face her. "Sam, what's going on...with you?"
Sam raised her eyebrows and blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean it's like you're..." Daniel stopped, tried to figure out what exactly it was that she was doing. "You're uncomfortable being around me."
"I don't...I don't think so," Sam said, trying the accusation on for size. Seemed to fit a little too well, but she was at a loss to do anything about it.
Daniel gave her a forced, quick smile. "Maybe it's just me."
"Come on in. Dinner's ready," she said, pulling the door open a little more for him.
Daniel stepped inside the door, paused to look Sam straight in the eye. He saw fear and trepidation in her eyes. He wanted to tell her not to be afraid. He wanted Sam to tell him not to be afraid. He wanted, needed Sam to be strong for him, because he couldn�t do it for himself and her. He could hardly be strong for himself.
He lowered his eyes and silently passed her.
"Good. Let's eat," Jack said, clapping his hands together.
Daniel sat in the only side arm chair, while Jack, Teal'c and Sam took high back seats. The table was set with steamed vegetables, brown rice, fruit salad, and grilled chicken breasts.
"I did those myself," Jack said, pointing his fork at the chicken. "Gotta love George Foreman."
Each dish was passed around the table, and Daniel obligingly took a little of each. Jack kept an eye on what Daniel had taken, and if Jack felt he needed more, he'd pass the plate back to Daniel without saying a word. Daniel would take the plate, spoon an ounce more onto his portion, and hand the plate to Teal�c, hoping he'd be able to get everything on one side of the table, out of Jack's reach.
"Oh, Daniel," Sam said, "Steve Norrell sent over some notes and videos of N76-825. He thought you'd want something to do while...I mean, before you...uh..."
No, that's...thanks. Tell him I appreciate it," Daniel said. And he did. Coming off the last treatment was somewhat bad, but he'd recovered sufficiently. With twelve days left until he had to go back for round two, Daniel was hoping he'd have something to do to keep his mind occupied.
"DanielJackson, is the food unsatisfactory?" Teal'c asked, noticing that Daniel was pushing things around on his plate, but never actually bringing food to his mouth.
"It's fine," Daniel said. He looked at his friends and saw the concern in their faces. "It's just that everything has a...metallic taste to it. That's all. Kind of takes the fun out of eating."
"You want a protein bar?" Jack asked.
"No, I'll...I'll eat," Daniel said, cutting a small piece of chicken and bringing it to his mouth. He chewed it self-consciously, knowing they were all watching him. "Mmmm," he said, sarcastically. "That George Foreman sure knows his chicken."
"Tell me about it," Jack said, shoveling food in his mouth.
Soon the rest lost interest with what Daniel was and wasn't eating, and they eased into a comfortable conversation. They brought Daniel up to speed on the last mission. Teal'c subtlely told Daniel how Jack had buddied up to Steve Norrell. Sam went into an intricate explanation of the planet's geothermic weather patterns, at which point Jack excused himself and disappeared into the kitchen. Daniel listened intently, soaked it all in, felt energized even.
Jack returned and set a small bowl full of vitamins in front of him. Daniel pulled one out at a time while Sam continued her story. One at a time threw it in the back of his throat and swallowed it with a mouthful of water. He was very thankful for the distraction. He hated taking the damn things.
And that's how dinner went--relaxed and at ease, almost as if everything were normal.
Until Daniel absently scratched the back of his head and his hand came back with a thicket of hair.
It didn't scare him. He knew it would happen. He just didn't know when. He certainly didn't think it would happen sitting around his dining room table, talking about the latest gossip on Siler.
So he made a decision, right there, right in the middle of a heated discussion about Siler and how attached he really was to his big wrench--Jack, of course, favoring the opinion that it was more than just a tool, "If you know what I mean."
"Yes, sir, I think I do," Sam said, looking at him askance.
"I think I should..." Daniel began, nodding, his expression serious, "...yeah, I think I'm gonna shave my head...tonight, I think."
They all stared at him.
"Yeah, I think I should," Daniel said, more confidently.
"Okay," Jack agreed, trying hard to keep his tone casual.
"I don't know...how, though," Daniel told them.
"You need clippers," Sam added.
"Do you have a set of clippers, DanielJackson?"
Daniel thought about it, puffed out his cheeks, and said, "No. Should I?"
"Why don't Teal'c and I go down to the store and pick some up?" Sam said, rising from her seat and quickly taking her plate to the kitchen.
"You wouldn't mind?" Daniel asked.
"No. No, not at all," she nervously said, never turning from the sink. She felt her eyes begin to burn with tears. The quicker she got out of his apartment, the better. She crossed to the front door and threw on her coat.
Daniel slowly rose from his seat and met them at the door. "Could you also pick up some bandanas? Any color."
Sam's mouth tightened. "Sure. See you in a bit." And she and Teal'c were gone.
Daniel closed the door behind them and tapped his fingers against the wall. He knew with an absolute certainty that it wasn't him. Sam was not comfortable at all being around Daniel, and it was becoming clearer every time he came near her. It wasn't him. What was it?
"Daniel, why don't you go lay down. I'll clean up in here," Jack called from the kitchen.
Daniel pressed his hands into his pockets and went back out onto the balcony. The sky was midnight blue, and the buildings edged the darkness with bright lights. A soft breeze whispered against his face.
"Here," Jack said, joining him on the balcony, "mint tea. It'll calm your stomach."
Daniel took the tea, leaned against the railing, and held the mug over the street below.
"I hated my hair when it was long," he said, pressing his cold hands into the mug. "It was always in my eyes, but Sha're... Sha're liked it. So I kept it long. And then when I cut it off, it felt like I was somehow...giving up on ever finding her again. Strange, isn't it."
"No," Jack said, grabbing the railing and stretching out his shoulders, "not so strange. I wore my wedding ring for about a year after the divorce papers were signed. Thought somehow if I left it on, I'd still be married. I suppose we do all sorts of things to protect ourselves from the truth."
"The funny thing is, I was just getting to like my hair," Daniel said with a smile.
"You sure you want to do this?" Jack asked him, glancing at Daniel.
"You gonna tell me you love my hair?"
"No, wasn't planning on it."
Daniel turned the mug in his hand. "Jack, I don't want...I don't want everyone around for this. Can you..."
"I'll tell them," Jack said, patting Daniel on the shoulder.
"Thanks."
"I used to cut Charlie's hair," Jack said, taking in the illuminated skyline.
"I didn't know that."
"Yut," Jack said in his midwestern twang. "Every summer I'd give him a buzz-cut. 'Course Charlie didn't have sideburns or gray hairs."
Daniel straightened up. "I don't have gray hair. I have blonde highlights."
"Oh, yeah," Jack smirked. "I'd stick with that line. Used it myself for years." Jack left Daniel alone on the balcony while he went back inside and finished cleaning up.
*****
Sam stared blindly at the display of clippers. Teal'c picked one up and read the specifications.
"I believe this to be a good value, MajorCarter," Teal'c said, feeling the weight of the package. "It comes with four attachments, trimming shears, oil, and an instructional video."
Sam stared straight ahead, never taking her eyes off the rows of stylized boxes. Her chin began to tremble and tears began to course down her cheeks, but she never stopped staring at the assortment of clippers.
Teal'c held the package in front of her. "It is my estimation that this is the ideal model for our needs." He looked into Sam's eyes and found her crying. Teal'c placed the clippers on the shelf and crossed his hands behind his back. "DanielJackson will be fine, MajorCarter. Your research shows incontrovertible evidence to that affect."
"They're only numbers, Teal'c," Sam said in a tight, raspy voice.
"But I have observed in my time with the SGC that your numbers most often prove to be correct."
Sam glanced at him quickly and brushed a tear away. "I don't know, Teal'c. There seems to be just too much riding on the numbers this time."
"I have faith in your numbers," Teal�c told her. He picked up the clippers. "And I believe we should purchase this set of clippers."
Sam looked at the box and nodded. "Wow. It has four different attachments."
"Precisely."
*****
"They're here," Jack said, pushing his lanky frame out of Daniel's low couch. He crossed to the door and let Sam and Teal'c in. Daniel turned off the TV and moved out onto the balcony, out of sight from the three. He didn't want to say goodnight, and he didn't want Sam to have to pretend she was sorry Daniel didn't want her to be there. It was better this way.
He reached up to the back of his head and combed through it again, and again his hand came back with tufts of thick, brown hair. He let it go into the breeze and watched it float for a while, caught in a swirling, lazy air current.
"We're ready," Jack told him.
Daniel walked back into his apartment and into the kitchen, where Jack had placed a chair on top of a tablecloth. Daniel walked slowly to the chair, lowered himself carefully and nodded. He took off his glasses and placed them on the counter. Jack wrapped a towel around Daniel's neck and secured it with a safety pin.
"Too tight?" Jack asked, touching the spot where the towel met his neck.
Daniel shook his head.
"Ready?" Jack asked.
"No, but do it anyway," Daniel told him.
With a crack, the clippers turned on and began to buzz. Jack hesitated before touching the blades to Daniel's hairline. "Last chance..."
"Jaaaack."
Jack had a moment of doubt that this was the right thing to do. Cutting off all of Daniel�s hair, even if Daniel asked him to do it, just seemed wrong somehow.
"Jack?" Daniel said, realizing there had been a pause on Jack�s end.
"Sorry," Jack said. He moved the clippers from Daniel's forehead to his neck, cutting a clean furrow through his hair and past the thinning spot in the back where the hair had let loose. Row after row, from the front to the back, Jack sheared off Daniel's hair. Silently. The tender scalp below looked pallid, gray against Daniel's neck and forehead. Jack concentrated on his job rather than have to think about why he was doing it. Daniel kept his eyes closed, occasionally blowing hair off his face.
When it was all gone, when the sideburns and the uncontrollable cowlick in front were gone, when every hair from his head formed a strange circle at Daniel's feet, Jack turned off the clippers and unhooked the pin. He carefully pulled the towel away, trying diligently not to let the shorn hair get onto Daniel's shirt, and then he threw a clean towel to Daniel.
"Why don't you go wash up," Jack told him. "I'll take care of this."
Daniel took the towel into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. He soaked a washcloth in the water and wrung it out. He pulled the cloth over his face, over the back of his neck, across his throat, and then opened his eyes.
"I guess it's official," he said to himself, looking into the mirror and seeing himself without any hair. He ran his hand across his scalp, which still had a shadow of hair on it. He knew soon enough that would be gone too. He thought he'd be fairly nonchalant about this part. Hoped he'd be, at least. But with the tussle of brown hair gone and the ginger sideburns gone as well, he hardly recognized his own face.
He had imagined what he'd look like without hair many times. People accused him of wearing his camouflaged bandanas off world to cover up the fact that he was secretly bald. He'd just smile and continue taking notes. He'd reach up, touch the smooth surface of the bandana and wonder what it would be like to actually be bald.
Be careful what you wish for.
"When did I get that scar?" he pondered, tracing his finger across a faint line just above his ear. He began to lose the sickening feeling of having to surrender one more thing to the cancer, and began to be fascinated by the various bumps and ridges that ran along his scalp.
Satisfied that he had come to grips with his bald head--well, for now--Daniel joined Jack in the living room.
"I guess it's not so bad," he said, running a hand across his head. He felt self-conscious letting Jack see his bare scalp, even if Jack was the one who helped him achieve the look.
"No. You'll fit right in with the other Marines," Jack told him. He threw a bag at Daniel.
"What's this?" Daniel asked.
"Bandanas. Lots of them," Jack told him, replacing the chair from the kitchen to the table. Seeing Daniel bald was disconcerting. It gnawed at Jack, made him turn away from the sight. From the truth of the sight.
Daniel sorted through the multi-colored scarves and chose a traditional red one. He folded it, pressed the front against his forehead and pulled the point down in back. He tied a knot and tucked the sides in very carefully, making a crisp pleat from the side to the back. Jack watched him execute the movements with wonder.
"I never knew how you got it to look like that," Jack said, pointing to the close-fitting scarf.
Daniel rolled his eyes and stepped out onto the balcony. The temperature had dropped considerably, but he craved the fresh air. He sat down in the one wicker chair he had outside, pulled it close to the railings, and crossed his arms on the handrail. He looked over the city, alive with lights, beyond his reach and realized how tired he was. Daniel propped his chin up on his hands.
"You know, you don't have to wear that for my benefit," Jack said, standing next to him, sipping on a beer.
"I'm not," Daniel said. He let his head fall to the side, cradled in his elbow.
"You're...not gonna...ask me to...shave my head too, are ya?" Jack asked, pensively. "I mean, I don't have to do that out of some show of solidarity, right."
Daniel closed his eyes and chuckled. "Jaaaack."
"Just makin' sure," he said. Jack stepped closer to Daniel and chucked the back of his head, gave his cheek a light tap.
"Jack? You're...what's the deal with all the touching lately?" Daniel asked, feeling Jack's hand resting on his back.
"Does it bother you?" he asked, taking another swig from his beer, absently rubbing gentle circles on Daniel�s back.
Daniel felt his body slightly rocking with each of Jack�s revolutions. It made him sleepy and calm. "Um, no. I guess not."
"I think I'm working through some things here. At least that's what Doc Fraiser tells me," Jack told him.
"So, I'm being used."
"Yup."
Daniel relaxed into the ministrations, took comfort from the warmth and compassion. "Okay. Just so we're clear."
*****
"What floor?" Jack asked the woman entering the elevator along with him. She went to the back corner and stared at the carpeting. "Floor?"
"Oh," she said with a start. "Four, please."
Jack hit four and five. Four. The Children's oncology ward. The floor that had rattled him the day he came to pick up Daniel after the first round of chemo. Jack kept his eyes riveted on the display of passing numbers. When the doors drew back at four, she didn't move. Jack checked the display, checked the placard in the hall outside the elevator. Yup. Four.
"'Scuse me," he said, quietly. "I think this is your floor."
The woman stood still, one arm drawn to her body, one hand pulling at dark, blood-shot eyes. Her jet-black hair was in a ponytail with errant strands pulled away from the rest. Her clothes looked slept in--hanging and limp. She wore a red bracelet just like the one Daniel wore, but Jack knew she wasn't a patient. Her child probably wore an identical one.
"Excuse me," Jack said, lightly touching her elbow and holding the door open. "This is your floor."
Her head shot up. She stared at Jack with frightened eyes, shook it off and tried to smile. "Oh, yeah.... yeah. Silly me. Thanks."
"No problem," he said, keeping his finger on the "Door Open" button until she made it safely into the hall. "Take care."
"Thank you," she said, stepping away from the doors and rewrapping her arms around her body.
The elevator doors whispered shut, and Jack silently rose one more level to the Adult Oncology ward. The image of the woman penetrated his soul. Her black eyes, not even seeing the few inches beyond her face, were so familiar to Jack. He understood the depths of her sorrow, but didn't know what he could possibly do to convey the empathy he had for her.
It was none of his business anyhow, he figured, so when he reached the fifth floor, and the doors separated for him, he quickly forgot about her and began to concentrate on Daniel.
It was the beginning of the second round out of four, and this time there was no grace period. Jack had helped Daniel register in the morning, sat with him through his chemo, playing chess all afternoon while the chemicals seeped into his body, and then went out to pick up some carry out for dinner.
He was just getting back from "The Bread Basket" deli, and hoped Daniel would be awake enough to eat something. When he reached his room, Daniel was asleep. Jack put down the bags, took off his coat, and slowly, meticulously removed Daniel�s glasses.
"Daniel?" Jack softly said. Daniel didn�t move. "Danny? Rock-boy? Space Monkey?"
Nothing. Just as well. Jack sat back, pulled out a sandwich and a bottle of water, and read a magazine.
Daniel stirred; Jack stiffened.
"Daniel?" he called.
"Mm-hmm," Daniel voiced.
"You hungry?"
"A little."
Jack grabbed the bag with the sandwich in it and brought it over to Daniel's bed tray. "I got you a roast beef on...Daniel?"
Daniel was fast asleep again, his chin touching his shoulder. The green bandana that he had been wearing hung off the back of his head. Jack carefully pulled it away and set it on the top of the bed.
Should he wake him, get him to eat something? Nah, if he needs to sleep, let him sleep, Jack decided. Jack sat back down in the tall-backed turquoise chair that they had begun to call "Chemo-sabe chair" and watched a little TV with the sound off. Within twenty minutes, he fell asleep, as well.
At 0-two twenty, Jack instantly woke up when he heard Daniel moaning. Jack jumped up just as Daniel began to swing his feet out of bed. Daniel reached his hand out to Jack, and Jack helped him get out of bed as quickly as possible. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Daniel grabbed his IV pole and lunged for the bathroom. He pushed the door open, grabbed the sink, and dropped his head between his shoulders. One wave of bilious nausea after another swept over him, but never enough to bring the poison out of his system. With each wave he felt the increasing need to vomit, the increasing anxiety associated with the beginning of loss of control.
"You all right?" Jack asked from outside the door. He kept his hand on Daniel�s back. Daniel didn't respond. His eyes were closed tight, he felt his body begin to tremble, tried to breathe through the nausea. When he felt like he was close to throwing up, he lifted the seat on the toilet, slowly knelt down in front of it, and rocked back and forth on his knees. He could feel the surge just in his throat, knew he was going to be sick any second. Knew Jack was asking him a question, but he couldn't think past the queasy grip on his body.
His hands sweat, and his arms shook. And then his stomach convulsed. Grabbing the side of the toilet, Daniel vomited. He crushed his eyes shut, held onto the toilet and vomited again. It burned his throat and mouth, this noxious combination of gastric acid and chemicals. He laid his damp forehead on his hand, panted, and threw up again. Daniel retched and coughed, spit the metallic bile out of his mouth, retched again, and began to moan with each quick breath.
A wet washcloth was suddenly on his forehead. He vomited again. His body ached and his head throbbed. There couldn't possibly be anything left to bring up. He was grateful for the support of Jack's hand against his forehead, the cool cloth soothing on his feverish skin. Daniel felt like he was losing energy at an alarming rate.
He began to pant, as much from fatigue as from the awful knowledge that there was more in his body that was going to come out, whether he wanted it to or not.
"Oh, God," he moaned, and again his body clenched, his back arched, forcing the miasmal fluid out. The awful retching continued long after the bile had left his mouth. He felt Jack rub his back.
"You all right?" Jack asked, moving his hand over Daniel's trembling back. He knew he�d been asking Daniel the same thing over and over, but he didn�t know what else to say. He�d never seen anyone get so sick so fast, not even wicked drunks.
Daniel felt his stomach calming; felt his jangled nerves relaxing; felt close to collapsing.
It was over. For now. Daniel reached up and, with a shaking hand, took the wet washcloth from Jack�s hand. He pulled it across his mouth and nose. Jack reached past him and flushed the toilet.
"Okay?" Jack asked again. He took the soiled washcloth from Daniel, threw it on the ground and handed him a towel. Daniel sat back against the wall and wiped his face. He pressed the coarse fabric against his tender skin, panted into its heavily bleached weave finding it difficult to take in a deep breath. He was exhausted and aching and didn't want to think about the fact that he had four more nights after this, and they'd only get worse.
"God," he said, wearily dropping the towel into his lap. He rested his head against the wall, closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his nose. "That was..." He didn't have the energy to finish. His head bobbed forward. Daniel pulled his knees up, propped his head in his palms, and ran his hands over his face.
His skin was clammy under his trembling fingers. He slid his hands over his eyes and up to his forehead, absently thought he'd find his hair a tangled damp mass, but found only a sweaty, bare skull.
There were so many changes, so many things to remember, to try to forget, but finding his hair gone was startling and disconcertingly frightening. It was the middle of the night, he had just been ferociously sick, and when his hand touched the shaven surface, he had to think back to the night that he and Jack had shaved his head. He clenched his jaws and quickly threw Jack a tired glance.
"I forgot I don't have any hair," Daniel sadly told him, embarrassed that it bothered him so much.
"Do you need to stay in here, or can you get back in bed?" Jack asked, crouching down next to Daniel.
Daniel kept his head down, running his tremulous hands over the bare skin. He waited for a moment before answering, wanted to make sure the waves of nausea were gone. He pulled a deep breath into his lungs, coughed from the spasms the air brought, then gave Jack his hand.
Jack reached behind Daniel and took hold of him under his arms.
Daniel clutched the front of Jack's shirt while Jack helped him up. Once on his feet, Daniel held onto the sink while Jack disentangled his IV line.
"Okay?" Jack asked.
Daniel took hold of his IV pole and, depleted, trudged back to bed.
"I feel so much better," Daniel sarcastically said, crawling into his bed. He dropped his head into the pillow and moaned. Jack helped cover him, made sure his line wasn't wrapped in the sheets, and stood by Daniel�s side while he fell immediately to sleep.
The stench of chemical laced bodily fluids permeated the air. It stung Jack's nose, and he couldn't help wonder how caustic it must be to Daniel's body.
"It's gonna be a long night, Danny," Jack said to the sleeping man.
He sat in the "Chemo-sabe chair" shaken, pulling his hand across his jowl. He wondered what kind of night the mom in the elevator was having.
*****
"How's sleeping beauty this morning?" Leo asked, a little too energetically for Daniel's state of mind and body. Daniel sat in his chair, submitting to his morning lab work-up and exam. Around his head was a blue bandana. Leo entered the room. "And good morning, Nora."
Daniel's oncology nurse finished taking Daniel's blood sample from the central line. She placed the syringe and the vacuum tube full of blood in the basket, and said, "Good morning, Leo."
"How's our boy today, Frau Nightingale?" Leo asked Nora. He sat at the end of Daniel's bed, his pole next to him. Leo looked over Daniel's face--pale, haggard. Nora pulled out a new syringe and filled it with clear liquid which she transferred to Daniel�s IV.
"Kinda tired this morning," she said.
"I had a bad night," Daniel said, watching the drug fill the line.
"You make sure you give him his full anti-emetics this time, Nora. I know you like to keep them away from the patients," Leo facetiously chided. "Especially the new ones." He winked at Daniel. Daniel's eyes fluttered in question.
"We only withhold your anti-emetics, Leo," Nora said, gathering up all her things. "That should take some of the edge off, Daniel."
"Thank you," he said, closing his eyes, anticipating the moment when the anti-emetics would lessen the nausea that enveloped him.
"Isn�t it just adorable how he always says �thank you� instead of just �thanks�?" Leo said, grabbing Nora�s arm.
"Adorable," Nora agreed. Daniel opened one eye and wondered what Leo meant by his comment.
"I�ll see you in a bit, Daniel," Nora said, squeezing his hand.
"Yeah," Daniel whispered, pressing his head against the back of the chair. He wanted to crawl in bed and go to sleep, but the persistent queasiness kept him from laying down flat.
"First stay at the Vomitorium last night?" Leo asked, sympathetically. Daniel slowly, carefully nodded. "Yeah. I heard," Leo said, his voice soft and sympathetic.
Daniel opened his eyes but tried not to move his head. "From whom?"
"I'm plugged into the nurses' grapevine," Leo told him, pulling up a leg and sitting on it. He cupped a hand over his mouth and adopted a mischievous expression. "By the way, on the QT, room 514 is getting an enema tonight."
"Why should I know that?" Daniel asked, closing his eyes, beginning to lose interest with the conversation.
"Because he doesn't need it. The nurses are just tired of him," Leo told him.
Daniel glanced at him skeptically. "Is that true?"
"No."
"Wait. I'm asking if the story is true, not if he needs or doesn't need an enema," Daniel explained, wishing he hadn't entered the fray at all.
"Which reality do you prefer?" Leo asked, impishly.
"Oh, God," Daniel muttered. "I'm with the Gamekeeper again."
"Excuse me?" Leo asked.
"Nothing," Daniel said, and thought he'd better change the subject. "So, Leo, what's your hint for the day?"
"Well, it's a big one. Are you ready Dan the man?"
"As I'll ever be."
"Mouthwash."
Daniel thought he misunderstood him. "Mouthwash."
"Oh, yeeeeeeeeessss," Leo dramatically said. "Rinse all that ick out of your mouth. Also good for your gums. It cuts down on the stomach ookies, too."
"Ookies. Right out of the medical textbooks, that word?"
"Well, if it ain't, it oughta be," Leo said. "Also, water. Drink it whenever you can. Helps flush out the toxins. The last thing you want is really concentrated tinkle."
Daniel could feel the anti-emetic drugs begin to ease his nausea, but with it came sleepiness. "Tinkle?"
"Are you going to question all my colorful vocabulary?"
"I was considering it."
"Just remember--water."
"Water," Daniel said, closing his eyes. "I think I can remember that."
"So, where's big, gray and worried?" Leo asked, looking around the room for signs that Jack had been there.
"Wh...Jack?" Daniel asked, opening one eye. Leo nodded. "He's down in the cafeteria getting something to eat."
"Is he your brother, friend, lover, etcetera?" Leo pointedly asked.
Daniel winced. "He's my...friend, but not the way you inferred."
"Pardon my butting in here..."
"I don't see that that has ever stopped you thus far."
"Glad to see we understand each other," Leo said, "but if he's a friend, and so are all the other people who visit you, where's your family?"
Daniel cradled his face in his hand, slowly surrendering to the overwhelming need to sleep. "I don't have one."
"No parents?"
"Died when I was a kid."
"Siblings?"
"Oldest and only."
"Ex?"
"No ex. Had a wife. She died." Daniel pushed himself out of the chair with a great deal of effort.
"Good Lord, honey! What did you do in your former life?" Leo asked, astonished at Daniel's incredible misfortunes.
"Apparently I was a mass murderer," Daniel answered him, scooting Leo off the end of his bed so he could get in.
Leo stood up and helped reposition Daniel's pole. "I guess so."
"Look, Leo, I'm a little tired, so if you don't mind," Daniel began, pulling the covers up.
"No, I don't mind in the least. Why should I when I have so little mind left?" he said, chuckling. "Toodles," Leo sang, and was out the door.
"Yeah, toodles to you, too," Daniel said to the empty room, closed his eyes and let the anti-emetics carry him away.
*****
"Oh, God," Daniel moaned. He was curled up on his side, curled up on the cold tiles around the toilet. "How much longer?"
Jack looked at his watch. "About ten minutes," he said. He dabbed the wet washcloth on Daniel's head and neck, tried to cool the fever under his skin. Jesus H. Christ, but ten minutes was a long time when it meant waiting for Daniel's next dose of anti-emetics. He had been retching for the last two hours. Retching until there was nothing left except a body that furiously wanted the chemical intruder out.
Daniel began to breathe more quickly, Jack's sign that Daniel was going to be sick. He helped Daniel lift himself to the toilet where he heaved and retched, dry and hacking. The veins in his face and neck bulged, the blood vessels around his eyes burst. He began to cough, hard, ripping coughs. Daniel grabbed at his chest, coughed again, and groaned. He spit the dark, tar-like substance into the water.
"That�s what happens when mets turn bad," Jack said, hoping a little humor might make the awful feeling go away. Of course, the very fact that Daniel was coughing up metastatic tissue that had been attacked by the chemo didn't leave room for humor. Not much.
"God," Daniel cried. He let Jack lower him back to the tiled floor. Exhaustion didn't even begin to cover it anymore. His entire body, inside and out, screamed in pain. The back of his throat was raw and scraped. The veins in his body felt as if some sadistic plumber had taken a snake to them. His lungs burned, and each time he vomited a searing pain shot through his groin.
"Just a couple more minutes, then you're home free," Jack told him, rubbing Daniel�s arm, anxiously peering out the door of the bathroom, willing Craig, the night oncology nurse, to walk through the door. "Couple more minutes, and then tomorrow you can go home."
"Half-way," Daniel whispered. His teeth chattered from the consuming pain. High pitched cries left his throat without Daniel being aware he was making them.
"That's right. Half-way," Jack said. He pulled the washcloth across Daniel's forehead, so naked now that his eyebrows were gone. Strange how you don't notice individual parts of a person's face until they're missing. Without his thick eyebrows, a great deal of the character in his face was gone.
Jack looked down at Daniel's hands, lying where they fell in a heap next to him. Faint brown streaks under his skin ran along his veins. A cold shiver ran through his body. He wanted to yell "what the hell is that?!" but didn't want to scare Daniel.
"Ready, Daniel?" Craig said, entering the bathroom. He had been in to check on his patient every couple minutes, making sure he wasn't in any more distress than what the chemo did to all patients. "I'm a little early. Don't tell anyone, okay?" he said, emptying the anti-emetic drug into Daniel's line. He capped the syringe, placed it on the sink, and bent down to check Daniel's pulse. "Tough night."
"Oh, I've had worse," Daniel tried to joke.
"You think you might want to go lay down?" Craig asked. "I'll get you a few extra basins just in case."
"Come on, Danny," Jack implored.
"Fine," Daniel said. Craig and Jack lifted him off the bathroom floor.
"I got your IV," Craig said, holding Daniel's right elbow. Jack held Daniel's left elbow and hand.
"Oh, God," Daniel muttered, hardly able to slide his feet along the floor. Hardly able to keep his head up. He painstakingly shuffled from the bathroom to his bed, greatly assisted by Craig and Jack.
"Almost there," Jack told him.
They sat him on the edge of his bed, changed his gown with amazing speed and efficiency, swung his legs up, and covered him.
"I'll come check on him in a little while, but he should be able to sleep better now," Craig said, making a notation on Daniel's chart.
"Wait," Jack said, motioning for Craig to hold up. "Daniel, I'm going to go...down to the cafeteria for a coffee. I'll be back in a few."
"'Kay," Daniel whispered, drifting, succumbing to the debilitating effects of the chemo, the hours spent retching himself to a point of exhaustion.
Jack walked out of the room with Craig. "Craig, I saw Daniel's hands. Long, brown stains under his skin. What the hell is going on with him?" he demanded, finding his own nerves frayed from the long night, which was creeping into morning.
"Let me go look," Craig said, going back into Daniel's room. Jack stood with his hands against the wall, letting his neck and the tired muscles in it stretch forward. He was thankful that this was the end of round two, but, God, how much worse could it get? For Christ's sake, the man was being worn down to a nub!
So was Jack.
He tried to take it all in stride, but every time he glanced into Daniel's room and saw his friend's body--wasting and relentlessly attached to an IV--he couldn't help thinking that there was something else the doctors and nurses weren't telling him.
"Chemo burns," Craig said, rounding the corner. "Pretty common, especially with the BEP cocktail he's on."
"Chemo burns?" Jack questioned. "What the hell is that?"
"The chemicals in his body are scorching his veins from the inside out. The brown you're seeing is a discoloration from that effect," Craig said softly. "It's fairly common."
"Look," Jack said, his anger rising, "I can smell bullshit at one-hundred clicks, and this is bullshit. He's weak, he's sick, he's losing weight, he can't eat, all he does is sleep. Now you're telling me he's being burned from inside out, and that's normal? No. I want you to tell me the truth here. Right now!"
"Jack...Colonel, chemo patients lose weight. It's just a given," Craig began.
"But I've seen other patients on this floor. They don't look as bad as Daniel."
"And, he's on a very tough combination of drugs."
"Have you looked at him?" Jack asked incredulously. "There's no way you can tell me this is normal. No way."
"It's normal, and he's getting better," Craig said, maintaining his soft voice and calm demeanor. He'd had this talk with family members many times during his years on the ward. He knew their fears, their lack of trust, especially faced with a loved one going through an absolute torture. Jack's caustic attitude was something he'd seen a hundred times, and he took it for what it was--fear, anger and fatigue. "Jack, he looks awful. Just keep in mind that that means he's getting better," Craig said.
"Okay, THAT makes sense," Jack indignantly said, raising his hands out in front of him, "I'm sensing bullshit! Not likin' it!"
Craig shook his head and said, "Come here."
Jack followed Craig over to the nurses' station where he opened Daniel's chart. "This is a graph that charts Daniel's HCG and AFP markers."
Jack shook his head. "Don't give me letters. Just tell me what you want me to see." It was late and Jack was tired, and acronyms were Carter's territory.
"Tumor markers. Numbers that we've been closely following since his initial diagnosis," Craig calmly stated. "See, here's where he started," he said, pointing to the beginning of the graph. "After the surgery, before chemo started, they continued to rise. His type of TC is very aggressive."
"Yeah, I can see that," Jack said, startled at how quickly the graph seemed to ascend.
"The numbers continued to slope up during his first round--we were a little concerned here. They should have been dropping," Craig told Jack, "but you can see here--this is after the second treatment of this round."
"They're coming down," Jack said, marveling at the concrete evidence in front of him. Daniel was actually getting better. He ran his hand through his hair.
"And here and here," Craig continued, pointing to each descending section of the chart. "By tomorrow, I figure they'll be half what they were when he started chemo."
Jack put his hands on his hips, couldn't take his eyes off the chart. He reached up and rubbed his forehead. "God, that's, uh...wow."
"So," Craig said, closing the chart, "hang tough, Jack, and remember that he is responding to the chemo, but the response is an awful thing."
Jack patted Craig on the shoulder and shook his hand. "Thanks, Craig."
"Glad I could help," Craig said.
Jack walked back into Daniel's room, stopped at his bedside and touched the St. Michael medal he had taped to the wall next to the bed.
"You're getting better, Daniel," Jack said. "Leave it to you to have to go through hell to get there."
*****
Daniel had been home for a week, but he barely remembered the first three days. He spent most of his time hunkered down on the couch, staring at the TV that Jack bought for him, complete with a satellite system so he "could watch as many hockey games as you could ever hope to watch."
He'd fall asleep watching "The Today Show," and wake up watching "The News at Noon." Time seemed to slip out of joint, one hour blending into the next, whole days indistinguishable from the last. The only constant were the bowls of food, the plates of sandwiches, and the bottles of water placed in front of him, always changing whenever he woke up.
"Daniel," Jack said, gathering his coat and keys, "I'm taking off. Teal'c will be here in a couple hours. Eat."
Daniel waved from his horizontal position on the couch.
"I mean it! When I get back here tomorrow, I want to see some of that food gone," Jack warned him, using his best "I'm in charge here, dammit" voice.
"Go, Jack. I'll eat."
"Now."
Daniel picked up a bowl of chickpeas and rice--one of Jack's chemo specials, as he called it. Very high in protein, low in taste. Daniel theatrically spooned some into his mouth and with exaggerated relish chewed it for Jack's benefit.
"Good. Now was that so hard?" Jack quizzed Daniel. Daniel smirked, and Jack left.
Daniel put down the bowl, drank some water, and fell asleep.
"DanielJackson, perhaps you would like to wake up and have some dinner," Teal'c said, standing over Daniel.
Daniel opened his eyes, saw the Jaffa standing above him, glanced out the window, and saw that the sun had set.
"I could have sworn I just fell asleep," he said, sitting up slowly. His head throbbed. He pressed his hands against his temples.
"Does your head ache?" Teal'c asked.
"Uh, yeah."
"Perhaps you are dehydrated. Here, I think it would behoove you to drink this in its entirety," Teal'c said, handing Daniel a large tumbler of water. Daniel took it without question and emptied its content.
"Thanks, Teal'c. I guess I was thirsty," he said, handing the empty cup to Teal'c.
"Colonel O'Neill left explicit instructions that you were to eat the following foods," he said, showing Daniel the list. "One bowl of steamed vegetables. Eight ounces of protein. Three bottles of water. As much ice cream as he wants." Teal'c eyed Daniel curiously.
"Ice cream? Jack knows I had a testicle removed, not my tonsils, right?" Daniel asked, pulling the black scarf down on his head.
Teal'c winced at the casual mention of Daniel's surgery. "What can I make for you?"
"Oh, God, Teal'c, it doesn't really matter. It all tastes like I'm chewing tinfoil anyhow," Daniel told him, rising carefully from the couch. Teal'c was at his side in an instant. "I'm okay. I just need to use the bathroom."
"I will remain here," Teal'c said, standing guard in the center of the room.
Daniel glanced back at him. "Yeah. Okay." He padded down the hall to the bathroom, flipped on the light and lifted the seat. He prepared himself the best he could for the inevitable scorching pain that was to imminently follow.
"Damn, I hate this," he said, reaching for the wall in front of him, steadying himself. The chemo went everywhere bodily fluids went, and as he stood in his bathroom, Daniel felt some of the toxic chemicals painfully leave him. The burning, intense sensation that the simple act of urinating produced made him light headed.
"Water," he heard Leo's voice in his head say. "Helps flush out the toxins. The last thing you want is concentrated tinkle."
"Concentrated tinkle," Daniel said to himself and began to giggle. How Leo could remain so positive, looking as bad as he did was beyond Daniel. Leo's eyes were always bright, but they were sunken, rimmed with dark, purplish smudges. His cheeks were hollowed out, and when he smiled--which was constantly--his skin pulled taut against his sharp cheekbones. To Daniel he looked like what someone with a deadly illness must look like. He looked like cancer, even if he tried to act like a wacky neighbor on a sitcom.
Daniel flushed the toilet and washed his hands. He pulled off his bandana, draped it over the towel bar, and threw some water over his face. He picked up the towel, dried himself off and looked into the mirror. A field of ashen gray skin with two small points of blue peeking out. Cheeks that pulled in; lips that disappeared; gums that were swollen and sore. Hairless, gaunt and... dying.
Daniel thought he was going to faint. He blindly reached back for the wall and slid along it to the floor. He sat there, his hands pressed onto the hard, wooden floor, his mouth trying to suck in air. Why hadn't he seen it before? He stared at nothing while the imprinted image of his unfamiliar, sickly reflection plastered itself on his mind. What's happening to me? If my face looks like that, what does the rest of....
He began to tear at his clothes, rip off his shirt, tug his sweat pants from under him, yank off his boxer shorts. He kicked all his clothing away from him and pulled himself up to his feet.
"Oh, my God," he cried. He stood naked in front of the full-length mirror on the back of his bathroom door. "I'm sick."
It was horrifying seeing how his body had changed. Two rounds of chemo had left him thin and atrophied. He had never considered himself muscle-bound by any stretch of the imagination, but now...
Once he had a broad chest, with defined pectoral muscles. Now he had pasty skin, pulled across two skeletal collarbones. Brown stains snuck through the thin, blanched skin. The catheter tube spilled out of his chest like a macabre Goa�uld invention, unnatural and profoundly disconcerting. With no hair on his arms, his legs, his...his...Daniel began to cry. He was naked, bare, stripped of all that made him who he was.
He couldn't bring himself to see how much the orchiectomy had changed him. Couldn't stand to look down at the four-inch incision between his navel and his groin, the place where the urologist had pushed his testicle through in order to remove it. But incision was red and raised, and without hair on his body, it stuck out like a slash against the fading bruise.
He wanted to know, wanted to see it, understand it. He wanted to look at his body and meet the horror face to face, but he couldn't. His body was broken, changed and damaged. A part of him had been cut out, and he didn't have the strength to see how much it made him obviously incomplete. He turned away from the mirror and pressed up against the wall. He tried hard not to let his sobs escape the small bathroom. The last thing he needed was Teal�c coming to the door and checking on him. But the graphic images of his diminished body splayed across his mind, and the tears would not stop.
"I look like cancer," he whispered. He lifted a hand to his eyes and wept. When did it happen? When did his body betray him, stop being his own? What day, what week was it that it morphed and became so unfamiliar to him, so frightening? Sobs rocked his torso, pressed his knobby spine into the wall.
"No," he said. He wouldn't let the goddamn cancer scare him that much. He wouldn't let the bastard make him cower at the sight of his own body. It could take everything else--his strength, his health, his hair-- but it wouldn't take his natural inclination to wonder, to understand. He ran his hand across his abdomen and across the now jutting pelvis, and over the scar, where it stopped. He pressed back his head and stared at the ceiling, determined he could do this thing. He held his hand against his lower abdomen and leaned forward. Daniel lowered his eyes, blinked away the tears that obscured his vision, and forced himself to look at his body, his scarred and changed body. Tears dripped off the end of his nose.
What he found was a healing scar and a groin that looked pretty strange without hair. That's it. No inordinate manifestation that screamed his scrotum only contained one testicle. Hardly a difference at all. He blinked. He sniffled, pulled a hand under his nose.
"Oh. Okay," he said, examining his scrotum. "Okay, it's not so bad." He pulled his palm over his eyes, wiped away a face full of tears. "I can deal with this. It's not so bad. It�s not so�"
He cupped his scrotum in his hand, covered his chest with his other hand, and sunk to the ground where he cried for his body, for his fatigue, for the two more rounds of chemo left, and for almost giving in to a fate worse than cancer--fear.
*****
Daniel decided the worst thing about cancer was waiting. Waiting for lab results, waiting for his anti-emetics, waiting for the bags of poisons that dripped into his body to empty. He seemed to be on tenterhooks constantly, always waiting for something, for someone.
Waiting for the third round of chemo to begin, Daniel found himself wandering the hall outside his room. It wasn't something he normally did, search out someone to talk to, but he felt nervous and antsy. He felt he needed some reassurance that these next five days would come and go, and that he'd get through it.
He tapped his knuckle against the door and heard the familiar voice tell him to enter. For all the times Leo annoyed the hell out of him, for all the times Leo barged into Daniel's room, he was still in the same boat and just about the only person Daniel felt understood his own day to day misery.
"Well, hello, beautiful," Leo said, propping himself up in bed.
"Nice kimono," Daniel told him, taking a seat in his orange vinyl chair.
"Oh, this old thing?" Leo said, displaying the long sleeves. "I was given this by a dear friend," he said, smoothing out the silk, touching the embroidered images and Kanji. "I think he got it at Sears." Leo tossed a rollicking grin to Daniel, who lowered his eyes and tried to suppress a smile. "So what's the good word, Jackson, Daniel?"
"Waiting for round three," Daniel told him.
"Yuck," Leo said, scrunching up his face. "But that means you're on the good side of halfway, right?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"You know, Daniel," Leo started, "we're the lucky ones."
"Excuse me? Lucky?" In no sense of the word could Daniel believe he was lucky.
"This junk, this..." Leo waved a hand at his IV pole, "bad accessory line, it'll all just go away. But a part of it will always stay with you."
"Like the scars," Daniel added, feeling the ubiquitous tightness return to his brow.
"No, like perspective. You go on, you get better--knock on wood--but you have a little bit more wisdom about life, a little bit better perspective about what a gift it is to be alive," Leo said, leaning toward Daniel, his soft but intense hazel eyes holding Daniel's focus. "That, my friend, is luck."
"I think I could have blissfully lived my life without this kind of luck, Leo," Daniel told him, smirking.
"Couldn't we all?" Leo agreed with him. "But, if you hadn't had the cancer, you'd never be able to understand with this much crystal clear clarity that tomorrow, your life could end. Cancer can be a gift, if you look at it a certain way. It forces you to look life in the eye and say either 'I want it,' or 'I'm outta here.' Grab it by the tail, Daniel, and wring the life out of this gift. Because in a couple weeks, it'll be over. The chemo will be done, and your life will return to normal."
"What if it comes back?" Daniel asked. It was a question that ate away at him constantly. What if, after all this hell, it still came back?
"It won't."
"But it did for you."
"No, my latest little friend has nothing to do with the TC I had ten years ago. My brain tumor just kind of appeared one day," Leo told him, settling back in his bed.
"My God, Leo," Daniel said. All this time he had never once asked why Leo was in a room two doors down from him. Never thought to ask why Leo was on the oncology ward along with him.
"Don't sweat it, gorgeous. It went away once, it'll go away again," Leo said.
"Daniel?" Nora said from the door.
Leo covered his mouth, feigning a shameful expression. "Guess we've been caught."
Daniel rose from the chair. "Ready, Nora?"
"Whenever you are," she said. "I'll meet you in your room."
Daniel stopped next to Leo's bed, a little lost, a little confused. He bit at the inside of his cheek. "Take care of yourself."
"Don't worry about me, sweetie. You just remember what we've talked about," Leo said, reaching out his hand to Daniel. Daniel took it and felt the spindly bones and the tissue-thin skin. He nodded and left to start round three.
*****
"Carter, did you get the UAV readings on our latest vacation spot?" Jack asked, sauntering into Sam's lab.
"Yes, sir. They're right over here," she said, rummaging through a pile of papers on her desk. "Every thing looks good--sustainable air quality, gravity well within acceptable ranges. It's my best guess that we could be very comfortable there." She handed her lab results to Jack.
"Sweet. You give these to Hammond?" Jack asked, looking over the data as if he had any idea what it all meant. Sam turned it around for him.
"Yes, sir. He's finding a spot on the calendar to plug it in," she said, smiling.
"Carter, when's the last time you went to visit Daniel?" Jack asked, never taking his eyes off the data.
Sam froze. She shook her head and felt her face begin to turn red. "I...I've been busy, sir." She nervously looked around her office and stammered, "SG5 and 6 brought in mineral samples from their latest missions that I've been trying to analyze before..."
"That�s crap, Sam, and you know it," Jack said. "You've been avoiding Daniel, and he knows it."
Sam turned her face from Jack, couldn't look at him while she tried to lie. "I haven't been avoiding him, sir. Daniel is my friend. I've just been...busy."
"Well, take a break and go see him, Major," Jack said. "He'd appreciate it."
"Yes, sir," Sam said.
"Is there anything else we need to discuss?" Jack asked, sensing that Sam was uncomfortable with his request.
"No, sir," she said in a quiet voice, not looking at him.
"Okay," he said, placing the data on her desk. "Teal'c's going up later today. I'm going up tomorrow. Why don't you come up for dinner?"
"Certainly, sir," she said, and hoped within the next twenty-four hours an alien incursion would take a foothold on the SGC.
"Good. We got ourselves a plan," Jack said. "Tomorrow. Eighteen hundred hours," he said, halfway out the door. "Bring pizza, and�whatever you want."
Sam sat down on her lab chair and plopped her head into her hands. "Oh, God," she whimpered. She hated seeing Daniel sick. Hated seeing him in pain. It ripped her heart out to see him look at her with such fear in his eyes. Every time she was in the same room with him, she found herself unnerved, skittering about, trying to pretend everything was normal. Trying to pretend that every time she looked at him, she didn't see that he was dying.
*****
Finally, it was snowing. December in Colorado without snow was almost as strange as sitting inside a hospital room with a line taped to your chest. Daniel watched the heavy globs of snow plaster the trees and streets below. Flakes attached to his window and slid down the glass, leaving behind wet, dissipating trails.
It was something different to watch, rather than the constant drip of his IV.
"DanielJackson," Teal'c said, jarring Daniel from his weather watch.
"Hey, Teal'c," Daniel said, repositioning himself in the "Chemo-sabe seat."
"As we discussed last week, I have brought a selection of videos that you and I could watch while you take your prescribed medication," he said.
"Sure. What did you bring?"
"Shirley MacLaine and Debra Winger in 'Terms of Endearment.'"
Daniel's eyelids fluttered. "I think that's about a daughter dying of breast cancer. Don't think I'm in the mood for that."
Teal'c raised an eyebrow and placed the video on the table. He reached into his bag and pulled out a different tape. "Michael Keaton, who played Batman, in a surely uplifting film called 'My Life.'" He showed Daniel the cover, proud of his choice.
"Uh, brain tumors," Daniel told him.
Teal'c quickly pulled out a different video. "Susan Sarandon, Julia Roberts in..." Teal'c read the back of the box and put it back in the bag. Did every Tauri movie make references to cancer? "Perhaps we could converse."
"Sure," Daniel said, his lips pursed, wondering why Teal'c hadn�t brought "Brian�s Song," just for the laughs.
Teal'c took a seat on Daniel's bed, twined his fingers and looked over the plastic bags hanging from Daniel's IV pole. "This does not look as pernicious as O'Neill described."
"No. No, it doesn't, but the dead give-away is that red tape on it that says 'Hazardous Material,'" Daniel said.
"Indeed," Teal'c responded, impressed by the warning.
"So, Teal'c..." Daniel began, apprehensive about what Teal'c wanted to discuss.
"May I ask, DanielJackson, what this experience has been like for you?" Teal'c asked.
Daniel licked his dry, cracked lips and tried to find the words. "It's been...relentless. The chemo is...I don't even know the right word for it. Exhausting, powerful, horrifying. I don't know." Daniel glanced out the window, a monochromatic vision of white blurs beyond the glass.
"The whole thing has been...surreal," he continued. "I mean six-weeks ago, I was working, going about my day just like any other day. Now I...it's like this," he said, scooting forward in his chair. He rubbed his hands together, preparing to launch into a more satisfactory explanation. "They tell you you're going to lose your hair, but you don't consider the fact that that means ALL your hair, until one day you see yourself, and you look like..." Daniel stopped and lowered his voice, "... you remember those naked white guys who kept fainting due to the altered sound waves emitted by those flowers?"
"I do," Teal'c said, acknowledging he understood the direction Daniel was taking.
Daniel smiled. "I feel like I should stumble around my apartment, with my arms out to the side. Only I can't make my voice do that high-pitched noise."
Teal'c's eyes sparkled and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
"This...experience has been full of...inane things like taking a shower and pouring shampoo into my hand, and then wondering what I was going to do with it," Daniel said, smiling to himself. "It's getting a call from my financial planner last week, asking how I wanted to take my investments in the next quarter. Oh, and just so you know, it's kind of strange trying to explain to an MBA that the reason you suddenly burst into tears had nothing to do with his choice in high-end caps."
"But you are getting better, are you not?" Teal'c asked.
"My numbers are coming down. Yes. Slowly."
"Perhaps I should not ask, but do you feel any...different?" Teal�c asked, his voice barely audible beyond the short distance between them.
"You mean aside from the affects of the chemo?"
"I am speaking in terms of your surgery," Teal'c said. "Does it not concern you that part of your...body has been removed?"
"Are you asking about the fact that my..." Daniel glanced up at the ceiling, blew out a mouthful of air, and forced himself to go on with this uncomfortable conversation, "...family jewels have one less gem?"
"No," Teal'c stated. "I am asking if it concerns you that you have lost a testicle."
Daniel closed his eyes, shook his head slightly, and said, "Oh, that."
"Yes. I do not care to hear about your inheritance."
"And really, why would you want to?" Daniel asked, slightly amused. "It's really not that bad, Teal'c. I thought it was going to be much worse."
"I would be most angry at the prospect of losing part of my genitalia."
"I didn't have much of a choice," Daniel reminded him. "Besides, I had two, and, as the joke goes, they're small."
"I do not believe making light of the loss of part of one's body is appropriate," Teal'c told him, the corners of his mouth turning down.
"Well, sometimes, Teal'c, finding the humor in it knocks it down to a manageable size," Daniel explained. "And this is one big mother." Daniel laughed grimly, and watched as the last of the first bag dripped into his port.
*****
Leo handed a towel to Daniel who sat trembling on his bathroom floor.
"Thank y...thanks," Daniel said, taking the towel and covering his face. Sweat covered the goose bumps on his skin that was twitching and cold. The nausea had come early this time, not even waiting until the middle of the night to wake him up in the grips of pain.
Leo poured some mouthwash in a little paper cup. "Here, Daniel."
Daniel lowered his towel, took the cup and washed out his mouth with the antiseptic. It stung his sore gums and tongue. Daniel spit the mouthwash into the toilet and sat back against the wall.
"How do you feel?" Leo softly asked.
"Like hell," Daniel told him.
Leo carefully examined Daniel's face--even more pale than normal, dappled with sweat. He was panting and looked like he was in considerable distress. Leo placed the back of his hand against Daniel's forehead.
"What are you doing?" Daniel asked, raising his eyes to look up at Leo's hand.
"Oh, you know me. I just can't keep my hands off the retching infirmed," Leo said, pulling himself off the floor. Over the years he had become very well versed in the complications inherent with chemotherapy, and he was fairly sure Daniel was having one of those complications. "Don't go anywhere, Big Blue."
"Hadn't planned on it," Daniel said, feeling nausea overcome him again. He scrambled to the edge of the toilet and forcefully vomited.
Leo pushed his IV out into the hall and looked around for one of the nurses. "Oh, good. Nora."
"What can I do for you, Leo?" Nora asked, eating her lunch behind the nurses' desk.
"I think Daniel's WBC is low. He's looking a little neutropenic," Leo told her, using the jargon like a pro.
Nora locked eyes with Leo, wiped off her hands, and knew not to discount his assessment. "Really? What's going on?" she asked, picking up her stethoscope, her digital thermometer and a phlebotomy kit from the desk.
Leo led her back to Daniel's room. "He's got the shakes, sweats, looks awfully peaked. The works. I'd lay odds that his temp is 102."
They entered Daniel's room and found him retching over the toilet.
Nora crouched down next to him. "Daniel, I'm going to take your temp, okay?" she said. Daniel nodded with his face still near the commode. Nora pressed the instrument into his ear, triggered it and read the display. "102.3." Nora looked at Leo. Leo shrugged his shoulder. She took Daniel's pulse. "How ya feeling, Daniel?" she asked.
"I feel awful," he admitted, laying his arm against the toilet seat and his head on his arm.
"Can I get you to sit up for me?" she said, assisting Daniel and helping him to sit against the wall. Nora inserted the vaccutube against the catheter lumen, drawing out a small amount of blood. She placed it aside and inserted a new tube to catch the fresh blood. It crept out slowly, listlessly.
"I'm going to go check your white blood cell count, Daniel, and then I'm going to call your doctor," Nora said, gathering her equipment and Daniel�s blood. "I'll be back shortly."
Daniel lifted a finger to her, a feeble attempt to wave. He glanced at Leo�s worried expression. "Leo, what's going on?"
"One of the things chemo does is affect the levels of white blood cells, red blood cells and platelets in your blood system. You have a fever, Daniel, which more than likely means your body is having a hard time fighting something off, which means your white blood cells are low," he told Daniel. Leo wet a washcloth and put it on Daniel's neck. "They'll probably give you a shot of Neupogen for the next couple days, and your white blood cell will shoot the moon. You'll have the immune system of a horse!"
Daniel nodded. "Okay," he said, taking Leo's word for scripture. He closed his eyes and tried to relax between continued bouts of vomiting and the chills that pinched his skin.
*****
"No kidding!"
"Well, sure!"
"THE Mayor Dailey."
"The very one."
"I'll be damned."
The sound of voices, distant and garbled, filtered through Daniel's groggy mind. His eyes sluggishly opened. The voices stopped. Two blue eyes listlessly closed.
"So, in Cabrini Green?"
"I had the safety off on my service revolver."
"I'll be damned."
Daniel ran his tongue over his chapped lip. He swallowed against a dry throat. "Water," he whispered.
"What were you carrying?"
"Oh, honey, a Glock of course."
"That's a nice piece."
"Very stylish, with a nice balance."
Daniel forced his eyelids to open. He cleared his throat and said again, "Water?"
"Oh, hey," Jack said, hopping up from his seat. "Leo and I were just..."
"Water. Please," Daniel stated.
Jack nervously scanned the room, trying to remember where he put Daniel's pitcher. "Uh, yeah. It was just...just..." He lifted his jacket off the windowsill. "Here it is," he said, peering into it. "I'll go...I�ll�I�ll just go fill it up."
"Fine," Daniel said, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
"Well, good afternoon, Mr. Prostrate, Bald and Handsome," Leo said, patting Daniel's hand. "Your colonel and I were just bonding over weaponry."
"No doubt comparing barrel size," Daniel said.
"Certainly. It wouldn't be fair to talk about ammunition, and I think you know what I mean," Leo coyly said.
"Yes. Unfortunately, I do," Daniel told him. He shifted against his bed, trying to bring some relief to his itchy back.
"Daniel?" Leo asked, wondering why Daniel was squirming.
"I'm...itchy," he said, pulling himself up to a sitting position. He tried to reach his hand back to the aggravated spot. He reached from above, and then tried from below, first his right hand, then his left.
"Here, let me help you," Leo told him.
"Thank you," Daniel said, grabbing the bedrails and letting his head bob down to his chest. He closed his eyes and gave into the sweet mercy of Leo's fingernails.
"Nora stopped in, said your white blood cell count is looking great," Leo reported to him.
"Since yesterday?" Daniel asked.
"I told you that Neupogen is glorious stuff," Leo said, continuing to scratch Daniel�s back.
"Ah, gees," Jack groaned, entering the room with the filled pitcher. "Just couldn't wait, could ya, Leo?"
"Can you blame me?" he emphatically said. "I'm a sucker for a man in a gown."
"I'll bet," Jack said. He placed the pitcher down on the bedside table. He was about to make a comment about Daniel enjoying his backrub a little too much when he noticed three dark-red spots on the front of Daniel's gown. Then four. Jack put his hand under Daniel's chin and lifted his face. Blood trickled from his nose.
"What?" Daniel asked before he was aware of the wetness on his face. He reached up a hand and touched his lip. It came away dappled with blood. "When did that start?"
Leo stepped into the bathroom and retrieved a washcloth.
"Here," he said, giving the cloth to Daniel.
Daniel pressed the cloth under his nose and locked eyes with Jack.
Jack scratched his head. "I think you're supposed to pinch your nostrils," he said, showing Daniel what he meant by pinching together his own nose.
"No," Leo interjected, "you're supposed to pinch the bridge of the nose."
"Really?" Jack asked.
"It has something to do with the capillaries up in the schnoz," Leo explained.
Daniel began to feel the flow of blood increasing. "Um..."
"Huh. I always thought you were supposed to put your head down so it wouldn't run into your lungs," Jack went on.
"No, silly, that's in case of..."
"Um..." Daniel muttered, showing them the drenched cloth. His pulse began to quicken. "Um..."
No longer a lazy trickle, blood gushed from his nose, quickly seeping over his chin and across the front of his gown.
"Jack..." Daniel urgently called out, trying to stop the deluge with his hand. He began to whimper and panic.
Jack sprinted to the bathroom and brought back every absorbent article he could find. He thrust a towel under Daniel's nose, pressed his other hand to the back of Daniel�s neck.
"It's okay. I got ya," Jack told him. He caressed the tight muscles in Daniel's neck.
Daniel became aware of the steady drip of blood down the back of his throat. His tongue became covered with the sanguinolent taste of copper.
"I'm gonna be sick," Daniel cried, kicking his legs off the bed and lurching toward the bathroom.
Jack grabbed his IV and hustled Daniel into the bathroom.
"I'll get Nora," Leo said rushing from the room.
Daniel fearfully moaned seeing the trail of blood from his bed to the bathroom. He began to heave, fell to his knees before Jack could catch him, and forcefully vomited.
Jack wrapped his arms around Daniel's quaking body. He was shocked by the amount of blood that filled the toilet--deep crimson with black clots of tissue. The sound of Daniel's retching crackled through the air already thick with energy.
"Jack!" Daniel cried out, grasping blindly for something, anything to hold onto. He was horrified by splattering of blood, his blood, on the floor, on the walls. Blood melded with the water in the basin and streaked down the porcelain sides. "Oh, God!"
Jack dropped to his knees, slamming into the hard tiles. He clutched Daniel's body to his chest.
"You're okay, Danny," he said, but he didn't believe it. "Nora's coming."
Daniel's body shook uncontrollably. A ripple of nausea swept through him faster than Jack could reposition him. Incarnadine fluid shot from Daniel's mouth and splashed over Jack's clothes. Daniel coughed and gasped for breath.
"Jack!" he screamed. The blood that trickled down the back of his throat made him choke and gurgle.
Jack held him closer, pressed Daniel's head to his shoulder. He began to rock him, to grab Daniel's flailing hands and hold them into his body, to rock him some more.
"Jack!" Daniel cried, scratching and clawing at Jack's hands.
"I'm right here," Jack told him. He tried to clear Daniel�s lips with his gown, tried to keep some of the blood out of his mouth, but it was a futile effort at best.
Nora whipped around the corner, saw what was happening, and flew out of the room.
Daniel pressed a shaking hand to his face, held it out in front of him and saw the amount of blood that covered it. "Oh�" he cried and began to hyperventilate.
"Calm down, Danny," Jack told him, stroking the slick sides of Daniel's face and head. Daniel's body jumped in Jack's arms. He cried and screamed, fully immersed in an all-consuming frenzy.
"You need to get out of here, Jack," Nora ordered, pulling Daniel from his arms. Two other nurses and the attending physician commandeered the situation.
Jack hastily backed away, his eyes locked on the dizzying activity.
"Jack!" Daniel screamed from the hands of the hospital staff.
"I�m right here, Daniel," Jack called back.
"Come on," Leo said to Jack. He grabbed Jack's shoulders and prodded him to leave Daniel to the staff.
Jack slapped Leo's hands away, transfixed by the fear in Daniel's cries.
"Jack," Leo said more forcefully, "let's move it." He grabbed the back of Jack's shirt and dragged him from the small bathroom.
Jack was pulled out of the room before he could gain his footing. He jumped to his feet. "Don't you fucking touch me!"
Leo fisted the front of Jack's shirt and pulled him into the hall with a strength Jack never thought possible, especially while maneuvering an IV.
"You just cool down, big boy!" Leo demanded, coming within a hair's breath of Jack's face.
Jack found himself at a loss. He trembled, unable to speak, unable to slow his breathing.
"Now you calm down and let them take care of Daniel," Leo said. He let go of Jack's shirt and stared him in the eye. "You can't help him right now. They can. Let them."
Jack's whole body shook with fear. His eyes darted from Leo's face to Daniel's room, down to his clothes soaked with blood.
"Stand here," Leo said before disappearing down the hall.
Jack numbly pressed himself against the corridor wall and listened to the flurry of orders being thrown at people inside the small bathroom, all of which were underscored by Daniel's frightened cries.
Jack had been in war. He'd been on missions both on and off world where entire battalions of soldiers were left bleeding and crying out. It was an awful reality of living in the world of the military, but it was the reality.
Hearing Daniel relentlessly cry out his name, feeling the blood that soaked his clothes turn cold--this was a hellish nightmare that tore away at Jack's stoicism, left him shaking and afraid, more afraid than he ever thought possible.
"Here," Leo said, gently placing a pair of surgical scrubs in Jack's hands. "You can change in my room." He took Jack's arm and guided him down the hall. "He'll be fine."
Jack let Leo lead him to his room. He kept glancing back to Daniel's room where orderlies and staff members quickly entered and exited.
Leo stopped with Jack outside his room, allowed Jack to take another worried look down the hall, and then prompted Jack to step into his room.
"Go ahead and change in there," Leo quietly said, waving to the bathroom.
Jack fixed his frightened eyes on Leo. He wanted Leo to tell him what in the hell was going on. Leo bit his lower lip and shook his head. Jack felt himself slump.
"Here's a plastic bag for your clothes," Leo said. Gone was the effusive nature of his character. The demonstrative, effeminate gesticulations were replaced with subdued phrases, forlorn gestures, and sympathetic touches.
Jack reached for the bag and slogged into the small bathroom. He closed the door, kicked off his shoes and began to unbuckle his belt. The stickiness of Daniel's blood on his hands made him pause. He gritted his teeth and pushed ahead. The wet material under his fingers was cold, and when he slid his pants down over his legs, streaks of blood stained his thighs.
He stuffed his pants into the bag and pulled the sodden sweatshirt over his head.
So much blood.
He'd been around blood more than most in his thirty years with the Air Force--his blood, the blood of his buddies, the blood of enemies.
But in only the second time in his life, the blood from someone he cared for left him devastated and destroyed.
Jack sat down on the closed toilet seat and pressed two shaking fists to his mouth. He tried to clear his mind, tried to get the image of Daniel�s blood out of his head, tried to erase the terrible sound of Daniel screaming out his name. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes.
Charlie�s blood had baptized him in guilt and self-hatred; Daniel�s had covered him in consternation and despair.
He�d lost years of his life after Charlie�s blood stained him. He wouldn�t allow himself to hide in fear from Daniel. After all, he had promised Daniel he�d get him through this.
Somehow, he would.
Jack pulled on the faded green scrubs, grabbed his bag of clothes and strode out of the bathroom.
"Leo," he said, finding Leo slumped in a chair.
"I�m fine," Leo told him, waving him off. "I just used up about a week�s worth of energy on you, that�s all. I�m fine."
Jack peered through half-closed eyes. "Leo, I�m�"
"Go see how Daniel is," Leo told him, resting his forehead in his hand. "You can send me a dozen later."
Jack quickly bobbed his head and rushed out of the room.
Standing outside Daniel�s door, Jack heard none of the hectic voices, the hurried sounds of feet scrambling to enter and exit the room. Nor did he hear Daniel�s voice�he wasn�t sure if that meant Daniel was resting comfortably, or slipping away. Jack steeled himself against the latter and silently, inconspicuously inched into the room.
Daniel lay motionless in his bed, curled on his side, while the hospital staff hovered around him. Gone were the soiled bed linens; the floor had been mopped; Daniel�s gown had been changed. There was no sign that a veritable bloodbath had come to the room.
None except the ashen taint of Daniel�s skin.
Nora leaned over him and whispered something in Daniel�s ear. She backed up to see his reaction. Daniel nodded, and she stroked his head. Nora walked around the end of the bed and met Jack at the door.
Nora smiled sweetly, calmly at Jack. "Why don't we go have a talk?" she said, taking him gently by the elbow. Jack followed.
She took Jack into the waiting area, empty and littered with rumpled newspapers. She sat down kitty-corner from Jack and offered him a warm smile.
"He's okay. For now. We have the bleeding under control, and we gave him a sedative," she said.
Jack was relieved. He nodded gratefully. He needed to understand what he just witnessed. Needed to know why Daniel had just about nearly drained every pint of blood in his body onto him and the floor. "How...um, can you�what the hell just happened?"
"It�s called thrombocytopenia. It�s another side-effect in the myelo suppression family," she said.
Jack leaned forward and scratched at the back of his head. "No. No. Give me words I can understand."
"In our bone marrow we produce blood cells�white blood cells, red blood cells and platelets," she told him, talking calmly and softly to him. "Myelo suppression is when the production of those cells is held back, or suppressed. Yesterday, it was his white blood cells. That�s why he had a fever. We were able to get that under control quickly. Today, it�s his platelets."
"Clotting," Jack added, pulling the heel of his hand across his tight brow.
"Right. That�s thrombocytopenia�low platelets. That�s why his nose was bleeding. We gave him something to increase his platelet count, but I need you to understand something else," she said, pausing to gain Jack�s full attention.
Jack glanced up and caught her eye.
"We�re going to have to stop his chemo for a few days," she told him.
Jack shook his head, perplexed. "Okay. So you stop his chemo. That�s not so bad, right?"
"When you stop or even delay chemotherapy, it can impact the efficacy rate of the drugs, sometimes even lower the cure rate," Nora told him, her voice hushed and caring.
"Goddamn," Jack muttered, dropping his head between his flagging shoulders.
"Jack," she said, placing her hand on his knee. "Daniel isn't doing very well over-all."
Jack's head shot up. What did she say? He stared at her. He didn't expect to hear that.
"His tumor markers are coming down, but not as quickly as we'd like," she said. "This new complication is a real set-back."
One blow after another sucked the breath out of his lungs. He clenched his jaw and tried to think clearly. "What does that mean?"
"It means that his platelets and his white blood cell counts need to increase overnight, or we're looking at scrubbing this round of chemo," she told him.
"I was under the impression that he could only have so many treatments," Jack asked.
"That's right," Nora said.
Jack dropped his head into his hands. This latest news rocked him, almost as violently as the initial news that Daniel had cancer.
"We're going to be watching him carefully tonight," she said. "It�s going to be a long night. Why don't you go home and get some rest."
Jack�s head snapped up angrily. "You think I'm going to sleep tonight?" he bitterly asked her.
She let a sad smile cross her face, a smile that held in it all the sympathy she had for Jack, who obviously cared a great deal for Daniel. She patted him on the knee. "No, I suppose not."
Jack let his anger diffuse. He was breathless and scared, and Nora didn�t deserve to bear the brunt of it. "I�m sorry, Nora."
"Don�t mention it."
Jack looked out the door and could just catch a glimpse of Daniel�s room. "I, uh, need to make some calls. My phone is in my jacket in his room."
"You want me to get it for you?" Nora asked.
"Um, that�s...it�s..."
"I�ll go get it," she said, standing to leave.
Jack head throbbed against his skull. Words jammed in his ears�thrombo, myelo, efficacy. Bottom line, it was devastating news, and Jack felt absolutely useless to do anything about it.
"Here ya go," Nora said, handing Jack his coat.
"Thanks, Nora," Jack said, taking the leather jacket in his hand.
"You�re welcome, Jack," she said, and then left so he could make his calls.
Jack took his phone out of his pocket and stared at it. He didn�t know who he should call, or what he wanted to say, or how he should say it. He knew he had made plans with Sam to have dinner in Daniel�s room, but that was out of the question now. That needed to be his first call.
He waited impatiently as the call went through. Finally, her line picked up, but it was her voicemail.
At the tone, Jack began to speak. "Yeah, uh, Carter. Sam. This is Jack. Look, about today. We�re gonna have to forget dinner. Daniel�s not�he�s having a bad day. I�ll call later. Thanks." He ended the call.
He dialed one more number, and waited for it to connect.
"This is Doctor Fraiser," she said.
Jack closed his eyes, relieved to hear her voice. "Doc? Jack O�Neill."
"Afternoon, Colonel. How�s Daniel?"
Jack peeked around the corner into Daniel�s room and found the activity almost at a standstill. "He�s not doing so well, Doc."
"What�s going on?"
"Something about platelets. He, uh..." Jack stammered trying to carry on a conversation while his mind raced with questions about Daniel.
"I�ll come right over," she said.
Jack nodded. "Doc, could you bring a change of clothes from my locker?"
"Absolutely," Janet said.
Jack flipped shut his phone and slid it back into his jacket. He grabbed his plastic bag of clothes and quietly walked into Daniel�s room. He carefully put his things on the windowsill and waited for the nurse to finish with Daniel.
When she was finished and had turned to Jack with a smile that said he could take her place at Daniel�s side, Jack quickly pulled up the "chemo-sabe chair" right next to the bed.
Daniel looked awful--depleted and pale. His blue eyes were washed out, rimmed with red, and surrounded by blood-shot veins.
Jack reached through the bedrails and drew Daniel's hands into his. "I told you we'd get through this. We will. But you gotta fight, Daniel. This is no time to give up. Do you hear me?"
Daniel closed his eyes. A tear snuck out from the tightly closed lids and slid down his nose. Weakly and with considerable effort, Daniel nodded.
"I thought I was dying," he whispered, opening his eyes to search Jack�s for some grace.
Jack brushed the back of his fingers against Daniel�s face and wiped away his tears. "I�ll admit that the thought crossed my mind, too." Jack offered Daniel a tepid smile. "But you�re alright now. And you�re gonna be fine. You just have to fight, Daniel."
"I�m trying," Daniel quietly sobbed.
"I know. I know," Jack said. He ran his thumb along the top of Daniel�s hands, cold and shaking. What more could he do for him?
Jack�s eye wandered to the wall behind Daniel�s bed where Jack had taped the St. Michael medal. It was a silly superstition, he knew, but every first day of a new round of chemo, Jack had taped it there, out of sight, in a place only Jack knew.
What could he offer Daniel?
Jack reached for the medal, pulled it from the wall and closed his fingers around its worn surface.
"Daniel," Jack softly said, clearing his throat. Giving Daniel his medal, even broaching the subject of a greater power was a risk, he knew, but he had nothing else. "What do you know about St. Michael?"
Daniel�s teary eyes darted across Jack�s face. "St. Michael? The... archangel?"
"Yeah," Jack said, clasping Daniel�s hand in his.
Daniel kept his eyes locked on Jack�s while he searched his memory for any knowledge he had of St. Michael. "He�fought Lucifer. Cast him out of Heaven."
"Right," Jack said, hoping that he could keep Daniel�s mind on something other than the fear that ran alongside the poison coursing through his blood. "What else?"
"Leader of the archangels," Daniel whispered.
Jack pressed the medal into Daniel�s hand, tenderly closed his fingers around it, and completely encased the fist with his own hands. "He�s the patron saint of...of...Daniel, tell me," he whispered.
Daniel�s eyes fluttered, awash in tears. His chin trembled. "...Of artists, mariners, pol...policemen, soldiers and..." he whispered. And then paused.
Jack nodded and felt his own eyes burning with tears. "That�s right. And what else, Daniel?"
Daniel let his eyes close against the cascading tears. "And the sick."
Jack rubbed his shaking hand over Daniel�s, sniffed away the anguish in his voice. "I know you�re not Catholic. You know I lost whatever faith I ever had a long time ago, but, I gotta tell ya, buddy, I don�t know what else to do," Jack said, twisting his mouth to stave off his own tears. "My favorite uncle gave me this medal for my confirmation," Jack told him. "I�ve carried it on and off ever since." Jack pulled his hand across his mouth, struggling to maintain his rapidly crumbling composure. "If you don�t think you can fight anymore, just...just hold onto this medal, Daniel. St. Michael will do it for you."
Daniel rounded his lips around shuddering breaths. He tried, God, he tried to believe it, but the fear was more than he could stand. "I�m scared."
"Just hold on, Daniel," Jack told him, desperately grasping Daniel�s hands and the medal of St. Michael ensconced within. "Hold on."
*****
Leo peeked around the corner into Daniel's room; found him lying on his side with his back to the door. Leo walked around the side of the bed and sat in Daniel's chair, reached over and rubbed Daniel's hand vigorously.
"You don't look too spunky today, Spunky," he said. Daniel's eyes were puffy and ringed with dark splotches that spilled halfway down his cheeks. He stared past Leo, out the window, blindly focusing on a point high in the mountains outside of town. Leo tightened his grip on Daniel's hand and stroked his forearm with his free hand. "I heard about the platelets. That's just...well, let's just put it out there: that sucks!"
Daniel swallowed and changed his point of focus, somewhere deep in the weave of his sheets. He was spent--physically, emotionally, spiritually spent. He hated the chemo, hated every goddamn minute of it, but having it taken away from him, even for a few days, was excruciating. It was his only chance. The poison that they dumped into his body, that was killing him in order to keep him alive, was his only hope of staying alive. Without it, Daniel felt like he was in a free-fall. If he could only make it through this round, make it through three more days, then he could recover, get his blood production jump-started.
But it didn't work that way. Myelo suppression -- the word they gave for his fevers, his bleeding, the one thing between Daniel and his only hope--snuck up on its victims silently and then resoundingly.
What was his body trying to tell him? He'd gone through two out of three blood cell complications within twenty-four hours. His tumor markers weren't falling as fast as they should be. Maybe he wasn't supposed to make it through this. Maybe he'd been dealt his hand, and now all he could do was play it out.
"Daniel, did I tell you what I did on the outside?" Leo asked, stroking Daniel's thin forearm, covered in bruises. "I was a cop."
Daniel's eyes slowly focused on Leo.
"Oh, yeeeessss," Leo said. "One day, when I was just a rookie, my partner and I pulled over a beautiful Lincoln Town Car. Just gorgeous! Before we could get out of the squad car, the driver of the Lincoln got out and came toward us! Little note, here: That's not such a smart thing to do," Leo told Daniel very animatedly. "Anyhow, we jumped out of the cruiser, hands on our weapons, ready for the worst, when this mook started screaming about how he had to be in court in ten minutes, and we were holding up the judicial system, and blah blah blah blah blah. Apparently, he was some bigwig lawyer in town, and he was taking down our badge numbers and names, and I don't mind telling you, I was a little frightened. I thought he was going to make a big stink and get me fired, just for doing my job. And that's when I learned a very valuable lesson. Ready?"
Daniel blinked.
"The lawyer screamed at my partner, 'I'm going to take you to court!' My partner wrote him a ticket and said--and I swear this is a true story--'Why don't you take me to some place I ain't been, like Hawaii?' The lawyer just gawked at him. Absolutely gawked, I mean�" Leo mimicked the face with heavy exaggeration. "I thought it was the greatest thing I had ever heard in my life, and I couldn't wait to use it.
"Well, do you know when I got to use it the first time?" Leo asked, pulling his hand across Daniel's fingers, stretching them out. "When they were taking me into surgery for my first brain tumor. I was teeeeeeerrified. And all I could think of was my partner and that lawyer. The nurses came to get me and said, 'Leo, we're taking you to surgery now.' Well, I looked up at the them and said--I kid you not--'Why don't you take me some place I ain't been before, like Australia?'"
"Hawaii," Daniel whispered.
"But I've been to Hawaii. Don't interrupt," Leo said, winking. "Anyhoo, the point of my story is this: the next time you're faced with something so bad you just want to scream, you think about the meanest, toughest son of a bitch you know, and you say whatever he would say in the face of rottenness."
Leo let go of Daniel's hand and pushed himself weakly out of the chair. "Now it's time for my mid-morning nap. Think about what I said, honey. Really, you should be writing these things down." Leo slowly crept out of Daniel's room.
Daniel kept his eyes focused on the place Leo had filled. Kept his eyes trained on the air. He was too weak to move. Even if he wanted to, he'd had a bone marrow biopsy earlier that morning, and the pain it brought to him was crippling.
He felt like he was breaking down. The low platelet count had left him bruised and aching; the low white blood cell count had left him depleted and open to infections. All he could do was lay in his bed with a hip that seared from pain, in a hospital he may never leave, thinking about a bald man in a kimono.
"Leo was a cop?"
*****
If she thought she could do it without having to answer any of Janet�s questions, Sam would have asked for a prescription of sedatives. She knew that was out of the question, so she forced herself to go to the hospital without the assistance of Valium.
That morning, when Colonel O�Neill showed up on base, looking exhausted and rattled, Sam found herself telling him she�d go look in on Daniel so the colonel could get some sleep. He was very grateful.
She had no idea why she would ever agree to such a thing.
Sam stood outside Daniel�s room pacing, waiting for the nurse to finish with Daniel.
"You must be Sam," Leo said, walking her way.
Sam looked around, wondered if there was anyone else he could be talking to. "Um, yeah. Hi."
"Right back at ya. I�m Leo, Daniel�s cohort in crime," Leo said, thrusting his hand out to her.
"Yeah, right. Leo. Actually, I think we�ve talked on the phone," Sam said, taking his hand. She was relieved to have someone to talk to while she waited to go in to check on Daniel.
"That�s right. I answered the phone for Daniel one day while he was sleeping," Leo recalled. He leaned in close to Sam. "He has much better magazines than I have. �Sports Illustrated.� Oh, my!"
Sam slowly nodded her head. "Right. Probably not Daniel�s."
"Oh, no doubt. The man knows nothing about sports, but that Jack�" Leo enthusiastically said, lasciviously rolling his shoulders and his eyes.
Again, Sam slowly nodded. "Right."
"Well, I won�t keep you. I know you�re here to see Daniel. Tell him I�ll be in later," Leo told her, turning around and slowly wandering back to his room, but not before stopping to chat with the nurses.
"Right," Sam said to no one.
"You can go on in," Nora said, startling Sam.
"Oh. Oh, okay," Sam muttered. She nervously wrapped her arms around her chest and took two apprehensive steps into his room.
His face was turned from her. She unwrapped her arms and thrust her hands into her back pockets, leaned further into the room to try to see his face.
"Daniel?" she quietly called.
When no response came, Sam cautiously stepped to the end of his bed.
Her shoulders slumped; she let out the breath she�d been holding in her lungs. Daniel was asleep, his face turned toward the pillow, his chin touching his shoulder.
"Daniel," she invoked in a voice meant only for her. She began to feel her chest tighten with anxious skitterings. Seeing his chalky skin, his hollowed eyes with the unnaturally bare upper sockets, broke her heart. She wished he had on a bandana because it was painful for her to see his unadorned, pallid skull. She glanced at his hands�bony and smeared with bruises.
"Oh, Daniel," she muttered again. She wanted to gather him in her arms, caress his burning skin, wipe clean the smudges of sickness and fatigue. She wanted to look into his eyes, those deep blue endless jewels and tell him everything was going to be all right. She wanted to bathe him in her tears, shower him with anguished apologies.
She wanted him to be well so she didn�t have to ache anymore.
She�d leave a note, she decided. Tell him she�d been there, waited for him to wake up, but had to get back to the base. Yes, that�s what she�d do.
She rifled through her purse, trying to focus past the tears obstructing her vision, looking for a scrap of paper and a pen. Of course it had to be the day after she had cleaned out her purse.
She glanced around his room in search of some way to leave a message. Even his laptop was gone.
She pulled her thumb across her eye, whisking away a tear and just decided to leave, get the hell out while she could still cry without waking him up.
"I�m sorry, Daniel," she whispered, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.
Daniel didn�t stir.
Sam strode out of the room, and by the time she hit the elevator, she was in a full sprint, with tears streaming down her face.
*****
Teal'c sat down at the table with his tray. Major Carter had joined SG15 off world for the day, and Colonel O'Neill had been called to the hospital. That left the Jaffa alone to eat his lunch.
He didn't mind. Acting as the liaison between DanielJackson and his department while his friend was in treatments had become tiresome. So many petty needs and concerns. He didn't know how DanielJackson dealt with those annoying colleagues on a day-to-day basis.
And then there was Major Carter. Teal'c was well aware of the fact that she was keeping herself locked into a stringent schedule, consumed with fear for their friend. It was all-together unlike her to be filled with such trepidation, and more importantly, to deny that she was.
Colonel O'Neill was rather too forthcoming about his fears. Teal'c found him to be on the phone most frequently speaking with Doctor Fraiser, with DanielJackson, with assorted doctors and nurses. He kept a chart on his PDA of DanielJackson's "numbers." It puzzled Teal�c why Colonel O'Neill would so engrossed in their friend's medical affairs.
But it was DanielJackson who brought such divergent characteristics out of each of them. As well it should be. More than a teammate, more than a brother in arms, DanielJackson was their soul, and their soul was engaged in a battle against an enemy much more foul than any Teal'c had ever known.
The time he had spent with DanielJackson made Teal'c realize the enormous strength this young man possessed. The illness that had robbed him of part of his manhood and the subsequent treatment that he was undergoing seemed most distasteful to the Jaffa. Most distasteful, indeed.
"Yeah, that's what I heard," an airman said, hidden behind a large pillar in the canteen.
Teal'c began to cut into his lasagna, vaguely paying attention to the conversation that took place just out of his sight.
"Guess we should start calling Jackson 'Mounds,'" another man said.
"Why?"
"'Cause Almond Joy's got nuts; Mounds don't," the second man said, laughing.
"Ah, man! That's cold!"
Teal'c felt his anger begin to boil. His back stiffened and jaws tightened. He hoped their conversation on the subject of his friend's surgery would come to a swift end.
"I always said the man had no balls. Guess I was right," said the second man.
"Come on, man! That ain't right."
Teal'c pushed his tray to the center of the table and rose slowly, inflating his massive size with wrath.
"I heard they gave his nut to Major Carter. She's always had him by the balls anyh..."
"I believe your topic of conversation is highly disrespectful," Teal'c said, leaning dangerously close to the braggart's ear, "and I wish it to end. Now.
"Uh..." said the quaking man, feeling the heat of Teal'c's breath on his face. "I didn't mean to..."
"I am sure you did not mean for me to hear your infantile attempts at braggadocio, however I did," Teal�c said. "Dr. Jackson is my teammate and my friend. The ordeal he is going through would easily kill a lesser man. His medical condition is neither grounds for humor nor pity, nor is it any of your concern. Am I making myself clear?"
"Uh...."
Teal'c picked up the man's fork, looked the sweating airman in the eye, and thrust the prongs of the fork into the seat of the man's chair, between his legs. The utensil vibrated for a moment; the young airman just about passed out.
"Did you find any humor in that?" Teal'c asked, eyeing him murderously.
"N-n-no, s-s-sir."
"Pity," Teal'c said, towering above him, "I did."
Teal'c left the two, gathered his tray, and decided he would eat in his own quarters. "Perhaps DanielJackson was correct--humor does carry a certain amount of appeal." He turned one last time to the young airman, pale and sweating. Teal'c lowered his head in salute and left the canteen.
*****
"Four, right?" Jack asked the woman entering the elevator with him. She blinked, tried to remember how she knew him, and nodded.
"Yes, thank you," she said. She pulled her hand over her hair, a hand that was concealed by the sloppy cuff on her sleeve.
"We've shared the elevator a few times," Jack mentioned.
"Oh, right," she said, hiding an embarrassed smile. "Um, do you have someone on the fourth floor?"
Jack rocked back and forth on his heels. "No. I have a friend on the fifth."
"How is..."
"He."
"...he doing?"
"Uh, well, you know, chemo isn't a weekend at the lake," Jack said, smiling warmly at her.
"No, it certainly isn't," she said, laying her cuffed hand on her cheek.
The elevator doors opened to the bright, colorful halls of the children's ward.
"Fourth floor," Jack said.
"So it is," she said. She flashed him a tight smile against a mournful face.
"Take care," Jack told her.
"Thanks," she said, and, keeping her head down, she pushed herself down the hall.
The elevator closed again. Jack tried to rid himself of the overwhelming burden and despair she had carried into the small enclosure. It hung in the air, oppressive and frightening.
The fifth floor opened in front of him, and Jack left the remnants of her sadness within the confines of the lift.
"Hey," Jack said, casually entering Daniel's room. "Brought you some frozen waffles." Jack put the box of waffles on Daniel's bedside table.
"You brought me...frozen waffles?" Daniel asked, pushing his lower jaw out, not able to understand the significance, but with Jack, some things were just like that.
"Yeah," he said, tapping the box. "I knew you liked waffles. I noticed the nurses have a toaster in their break room. Frozen waffles." He threw his coat on the "Chemo-sabe chair."
"Okay. Thank you. I guess."
"You're welcome, Daniel," Jack said. "Oh, by the way, nice pink bandana. Doc buy that one for you?"
Daniel touched the scarf wrapped around his head. "It's peach. It's not...pink. And yes, Janet did buy it for me."
"Thought so. Women love to see men in pastels," Jack said, rolling his eyes. "Couldn't you find a nice, strong blue one? Maybe red? Something a little more masculine?"
"It's just a color, Jack."
"Yeah, but, it's a...I think it's the same color as my ex-wife's bridesmaid dresses," Jack told him, dramatically shuddering.
"You do have issues, don't you?"
"Hey, I'm not the one with a pink hanky on my head," Jack countered, dropping heavily into the side chair.
Daniel pressed the heel of his hand into his eye. "Jack, what are you doing here? I thought I told you that you didn't need to come up," he said, wanting to escape the insipid color analysis for the day.
"Yeah, well, you sounded a little...lonely. You know me: I go out of my way to bring happiness to the lonely," Jack told him, propping his feet up on the bottom rail of Daniel's bed.
"Who's on base you're trying to avoid?"
"Uh, that would be Kinsey, and if they should ask, you're in severe pain. High fever. Hang nails. Your grandmother died. That sort of thing," Jack said, shaking his head.
"My grandmother died thirty years ago."
"It was a tremendous loss."
"Be that as it may, I, thankfully, have none of those other...maladies. And, in fact, since last we talked, my labs came back, and my white blood cell and platelet counts are up," he said, giving Jack a tight smile. "I'm just waiting for Nora to come in to start my chemo again."
"That's great, Daniel," Jack said, genuinely smiling, leaning forward and tapping Daniel on the knee. Hours earlier on the phone, Jack had heard the frustration in Daniel's voice at the thought that it might be another day before his treatments could start again, if then. Jack knew he'd be better off at the hospital shoring up Daniel's lagging spirits, rather than on base trying to stay out of Senator Kinsey's path. "Good news."
"Ironic, isn't it?" Daniel said, examining the chemo burns on the top of his hand. "Who would ever think that I'd be so glad to take my chemo?"
Jack didn't know what to say. Be glad for his friend that he'd be throwing up in a few hours, or take pity on him that he'd be throwing up in a few hours? It was a cruel choice, but the result was the same�Daniel�s cancer would be under attack again.
"By the way," Daniel began. He lifted his hand and showed Jack the medal he held pressed against his palm. Daniel quickly met Jack�s eye and just as quickly looked away. "Thank you."
Jack shrugged, embarrassed.
Daniel closed his fingers around the medal and tried to compose his thoughts. "I'm sorry about the other day, Jack."
"Sorry about what?"
"I was pretty freaked out," Daniel said. "I've never seen that much blood before, at least not coming from my own body."
"Yeah, that was..." Jack began, and then he brushed his fingers against his forehead. He didn't want to tell Daniel he had been beyond afraid that day. Didn't want to tell him that, looking down at his own shirt, wet with blood, that it brought back terrible memories of standing in a different hospital, a different shirt covered in different blood.
So he didn't. He smiled faintly at Daniel and adopted a lighter mood. "But you got through it, and you're back on track."
"Right. Back on track," Daniel agreed, not quite able to meet Jack�s gaze.
"Daniel," Jack softly said, aimlessly wiping one hand against the other, unsure how he wanted to precede with his next question. "Look, we never talk about how this is...affecting you. I've never really asked; you've never really told me."
"Jack..."
"No. No. Just let me say this," Jack said, lifting a hand to stop Daniel. "I can't even begin to understand how...intense this has been for you."
"Oh, I think you can," Daniel said, trying to keep the conversation away from melodrama, but knowing that having Jack with him in those moments when he felt his most vulnerable, made all the difference in the world. "You let me puke on you, not to mention letting me hemorrhage all over your shirt the other night."
"I'm a big fan of bodily fluids. And really, who isn't?" Jack added, and then scowled. "Daniel, what I'm trying to say is, even though I can see what a bitch this has been for you, I don't know what you're thinking. And that's okay. Really. But if you ever need to talk, well, I want you to know that..."
"I know, Jack," Daniel said, settling his blue eyes on Jack's. "But, really, I'm fine."
"I'm sure, but you know, if it ever gets to that point when..." Jack fumbled for the right words, tossed his hands in odd combinations of movement, hoped through his rudimentary and nonsensical sign language he could properly communicate his thoughts. It never worked. He didn�t know why he thought this time it would.
"Are you trying to say you're here for me?" Daniel asked with an expression of pained embarrassment on his face.
"Well, not in those words exactly. Give me some credit for not being that trite, but," Jack went on, "yeah, I am. I'm here. For you. Unless I'm home, and then I'm not here, but I could be. Here. For you."
"That was...heartfelt and rhythmic. Um, thank you," Daniel said, trying to hide a smile, glancing at Jack uncomfortably, yet fairly amused. And grateful.
"Was it a little too much?" Jack asked.
"Oh, no. It was..."
"Because I've been practicing it. As you know, I'm known for my powers of elocution," Jack boasted. "Speaking of which, why don't you throw me one of those frozen waffles?"
Daniel closed his eyes and mulled Jack's transition over in his head. He could find no possible similarity between Jack's supposed powers of speaking and frozen waffles, but somehow it made perfect sense to Jack, and that was good enough for Daniel. But for good measure, Daniel dropped his jaw, opened his eyes up good and wide, and shook his head.
"Come on, Daniel, leggo my Mrs. Butterworth," Jack demanded. Daniel pulled open the box and tossed one of the limp, thawed waffles to Jack. Jack caught the flying waffle and picked up a magazine from the windowsill. He bit into the soggy, golden disc and chewed happily. "This isn't bad. You should try it."
Daniel stared at him in disgust. "Even if I weren't nauseated from the chemo, I'd still find that repulsive."
"Okay, but you're missing a real culinary treat," Jack said, flipping pages and munching on the waffle.
Daniel hunkered down in his bed, rubbed his eyes, and prayed that Jack wouldn't bring him frozen pizzas anytime in the future.
*****
Jack nervously paced the halls outside the briefing room. He and the other officers of the SGC involved in the mandatory meeting with the officials from the Department of Defense were on a short break, and the word was the meeting was far from over. Teal'c was off world with SG-11, Janet was in the meeting along with Jack, so that left only Sam. Jack slogged off to her lab.
"Carter?" he called out amidst the clamor of a welding torch. "Yo, Carter!"
Sam twisted off the propane and flipped up her visor. "Yes, sir."
"Uh, look. I have a favor to ask. Wish I didn't have to, but..." Jack nervously turned around in her lab, checked his watch, patted down his dress blue coat. "Okay, so here�s the thing: I'm stuck in this meeting with the�the DOD," Jack stammered, looking scattered and distracted.
"Sure, Colonel. What do you need?" she asked, laying her welding helmet down on the table and combing through her hair.
"Daniel needs to be picked up. I'm supposed to be there at 1400, but it doesn't look like I�m getting out of this meeting before, oh, sometime in the next month," Jack told her.
Sam blinked and floundered.
"All you have to do is pick him up, take him to his apartment, and stay with him until I can get out of this...goddamn meeting. Can you do that?" Jack asked.
"Um, well," Sam said, looking around her lab, cluttered with projects, and more importantly, looking around her office so she didn't have to look at her CO. "I was kind of in the middle of a spectrum analysis, and then there's this..."
"Dammit, Carter, he's your friend, and he needs a ride home. Now I can't do it. I'm asking you to put aside whatever the hell is going on in your head and go pick him up at the hospital. That�s all. You get him to his apartment, he'll probably go right to sleep, and you can spend a few hours doing... nothing," Jack said, exasperated by his second-in-command's obvious avoidance tactics. "What the hell is the problem?"
"No problem, sir," she said, stone faced.
"Fine. Then can I rely on you to do this?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fine. 1400 hours, University Hospital. Room 524," Jack said. "You have my cell number if you need me."
"Yes, sir," Sam said, disallowing her true feelings to show through, slapping on a mask of cool detachment.
"Thank you, Major," Jack told her. Jack turned to leave, but spun back around and snapped his fingers. "One more thing."
"Yes, sir."
"Does Daniel's friend Leo ever...well, growl at you?" Jack asked, confounded.
"Growl, sir?"
"Yeah, you know, like Eartha Kitt," Jack said and then gave her an example of the throaty sound.
"Uh, no, sir."
"Okay. Just checking," Jack said, leaving the office and returning to the meeting.
"Yes, sir."
Sam�s hands were tight little fists inside her coat pockets. She took quick, unsure steps down the corridor, wishing her pager would go off, wishing there was somewhere else she had to be.
But there wasn�t. She had to be in the hospital, on the fifth floor, on her way to Daniel�s room.
Nurses walked by her at a dizzying speed. Doctors flipped open charts, perused their contents, looked up and smiled at her. Patients held onto IV poles and the handrails affixed to the wall, their eyes followed her while she passed. She tried not to notice the hollowed out expressions, the sick, feeble faces, but it was almost impossible not to see it.
She lowered her eyes and decided to follow the tiles to his room, now and again glancing at the numbers next to the door.
The antiseptic smell of the place wafted into her nose and dislodged memories of going to see her father at the Academy Hospital. Memories she�d sooner forget. Physical memories of feeling lost and jittery, wanting to cry and scream, and not having the air in her lungs to do it.
"Hey!" a voice called out.
Sam stopped, looked up, looked back, didn�t see anyone who might have called out to her.
"Sam. Back here," said the disembodied voice again.
Sam slowly retraced her steps and peeked inside the room.
"Come on in," Leo said, waving for her to enter.
"Hi, Leo," Sam nervously said. She took a few unsure steps into the room. "I was�I was just on my way to pick up Daniel." She looked around his room, noticed the assorted cards and balloons. She couldn�t remember if Daniel had any cards and balloons. She should have sent something a long time ago. Just another thing she had screwed up.
"I see you have on my favorite coat," he animatedly told her. "Eddie Bauer?"
"Ann Taylor," Sam said, distracted by the thought that Daniel was waiting, and she didn�t want to share pleasantries particularly, especially with a person she had only met once before. "Um, it was�nice seeing you again, Leo, but�"
"I know. Your friend is waiting," Leo said, smiling. "Sam?"
"Yes," she said, trying to sound more patient than she actually was.
"Take care of Daniel. He�s had an awful couple days," Leo told her.
"I know," she said, nodding.
"Oh? Jack told you?" Leo asked, eyeing her dubiously.
Sam understood the hidden meaning. She bristled.
"Daniel�s waiting," she said, averting her eyes and briskly walking out of his room.
Daniel sat slumped over his knees in the "chemo-sabe chair," trying to wrap the red bandana around his head. Holding his arms up for the ten seconds it took to hold the scarf in place was exhausting. He let his arms drop into his lap, closed his eyes to conserve energy, and tried to catch his breath.
His oncology team had allowed him to take his last three treatments of chemo with guarded permission. His blood cell counts hadn't come up in the good range, but were on the edge of acceptable. Everyone involved knew that without the last three treatments, Daniel's chances of entering remission were greatly decreased.
So it was decided he could go ahead. However, the effects on his body were staggering. His weight was down thirty pounds from normal; his body was laced with purple bruises and brown chemo burns. He was limp with exhaustion, weak from the vomiting, trembling with pain. Trying to tie his bandana around the back of his head made his arms burn with fatigue.
He tried again, lifting the ends to the base of his neck. His fingers fumbled, clumsily attempting to cross the ends.
"Daniel?"
He let his hand fall and shook his head. He felt his heart sink. This he didn't need. This, having Sam see him so debilitated, was not what he wanted. She couldn't handle it, and he didn't want to deal with it. "Why are you here, Sam?"
"Um, Colonel O'Neill's stuck in a meeting. He asked me to pick you up," she said, standing in the doorway of his room, a safe distance from him. She felt tears prick at her eyes. It was like seeing her father in the hospital, just before he had agreed to become a Tok�ra. Jacob had looked so weak, so fragile, so unlike his usual robust, in-control self. There was nothing Sam could do but pretend not to be shocked by his appearance, his helplessness. Pretend seeing her father so close to death didn�t throw her into the storm of memories of her mother�s death.
But the topic of allowing the Tok'ra to help Daniel wasn't even a consideration. No, he was going to have to get through his battle with cancer the good old-fashioned human way--with blood and pain, sweat and agony. And once again, there was nothing she could do about it but watch it happen.
God, she hated the loss of control with a deep, searing passion. Looking at her friend in an ugly turquoise chair, his hair gone, his body abused, cancer still having the upper hand, was far past Sam's ability to cope.
Daniel once again lifted the scarf, but made it only to his forehead. "I can't do this," he said in a weak, barely audible voice. He hated asking her, but there was no one else around. "Sam, could you..."
It was a call to action, something she could finally do, other than cower, and she didn't give it a second thought. Sam quickly covered the few steps it took to stand in front of him. She knelt down and took the bandana out of his cold hands. She didn't look at him, only concentrated on the job at hand. She reached behind him and began to tie the ends.
That's when she felt Daniel's forehead rest against her shoulder. She unconsciously tensed.
Daniel pinched his tearing eyes shut, crushed by her reaction to him. If he hadn't needed to, he surely wouldn't have laid his head down, but it was either that, or fall out of the chair. His fingers touched the opening of her jacket. He pressed his hand out farther and grabbed hold of the jacket, trying to steady himself, trying to keep her from pulling away.
"Sam, it's not contagious. You can't catch cancer," he sadly told her, yanking slightly on her jacket. Tears fell from his eyes and splashed against the floor.
Sam finished tying the scarf, while her chin quaked and tears escaped her eyes. "I know." She slowly backed away, steadying him. She tucked the sides of the bandana in, just like Daniel liked it. "There."
Daniel never looked up. He held her jacket in his hands, not wanting to let go, wanting some answers. Wanting to know why she had abandoned their friendship just when he needed it the most. He took in a painful breath. "Why are you so afraid of me?"
Sam shuddered, working hard to hold back tears. She gently loosened his hands from her jacket and stepped to his bed. She quickly pulled her sleeve across her eye and turned her back on him. "I�m not," she said in a hoarse, croaking voice, convincing no one. "I'll get a wheelchair."
Daniel's head dropped even further. He pressed his hands against his covered skull and wept, surrendering to tears of hurt and confusion, and his all-consuming exhaustion.
*****
There is a certain amount of insouciance and safety in being exhausted. For Daniel, it meant he could close his eyes, escape his anger and resentment, drift quickly away from the confusion and bitterness.
That is until the car stopped, and Sam met him at his side of the car.
She opened the car door, reached in to give him a hand, and muttered something unintelligible. Daniel wanted nothing more than to shrug off her proffered hand, but he simply didn't have the strength. He took it and wearily stood up.
"Dr. Jackson!" came a voice. An older woman wearing a purple silk jogging outfit suddenly appeared at his side. "I thought you'd be coming home three days ago."
"Mrs. Milnes," Daniel said, letting her take his arm. "It's good to see you. I ran into some...unexpected, um, challenges. They kept me a few days longer."
"But you're home now."
"Yes, I am." Home. Which meant, to Daniel, Mrs. Milnes and the other women of the building would be going into high gear in order to supply him with more soup, more coffee cakes, more assorted casseroles he couldn't stomach, but appreciated nonetheless. Jack and Teal'c were eating better than they had in years.
She clasped Daniel's hand in hers and turned to Sam. "Why don't you park the car, honey? I'll take care to see Dr. Jackson in the building."
Sam shut the car door. "Oh, okay. That is if it's all right with..."
"Yes, it is," Daniel said, brusquely, unwilling to look at Sam.
"Fine," Mrs. Milnes said, "then we'll just get you inside the building where it isn't so cold." She patted his hand. Together they walked the few steps into the foyer of the apartment building. Mrs. Milnes chattering the entire way, made longer by Daniel's slow pace. She liked Daniel; had often tried to set him up with her single daughter. And like most of the older women in the building, she felt a certain amount of motherly concern for the quiet, handsome young man.
"Well, here we are," Mrs. Milnes said, stopping in the foyer. "I'll just wait with you while your friend parks. Here, why don't we sit down?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Milnes," Daniel said, grateful for the overstuffed chairs in the lobby he always believed were there for decoration. He wondered how often the older citizens of the building and people like him--weak and tired�actually really used them.
"How much more of this do you have?" she asked.
"Uh, I have another round of chemo, and then I'm done," he said, closing his eyes, pressing his head against the floral pattern of the rounded chair.
"I know when my late husband went through his chemo, he'd come home just a mess," she said, unzipping her pockets, looking for a tissue. "I'd practically have to spoon feed him soup." She produced a tissue, shook it out, sending a squadron of flickering particles through the air.
It was a strange phenomenon, this wanting to share the gruesome aspects of chemotherapy with Daniel. Wherever he went, people seemed to intuitively understand that he was in going through cancer treatments, and for strange reasons would pour out their hearts and souls to him, relate stories of how their dads, moms, spouses, best-friend's mother-in-law had faired in chemo. As if his bald head and gaunt face were a badge of membership into this community called cancer, and the members were a growing circle who wanted to connect in order to heal.
Sam entered the foyer with Daniel's bag.
"Thanks, I got it from here," she said, smiling at Mrs. Milnes.
"Well, Daniel," Mrs. Milnes said, patting his hand for the umpteenth time, "you remember what we've talked about."
"I will," Daniel assured her, having no idea what they talked about. He pushed himself out of the chair with great effort. Mrs. Milnes made sure he was steady on his feet before handing him off to Sam.
"Thank you, Mrs. Milnes," Sam said, holding onto Daniel's elbow.
"We'll see you again soon, Dr. Jackson," she said, scurrying down the hall.
Sam pressed the button of the elevator and felt the uncomfortable burn of silence. She tried to smile. "That Mrs. Milnes is sweet on you."
"She's a very nice woman. That�s all," Daniel said, pulling his arm away from her, grabbing the wall in front of him, losing energy quickly.
"I know. I guess I was just trying to be..."
"Well, don't," Daniel said, glaring at her. He quickly looked away.
She knew she deserved his anger, still, it felt like a knife being thrust into her heart. Sam nodded and continued watching the elevator numbers descending. She bit at her lip.
Finally, the elevator doors slid open, and Sam assisted Daniel into the close confines. He moved away from her, held onto the rail with trembling hands. He closed his eyes tight to conserve energy, to concentrate on the energy he had left. This awful discomfort between him and Sam was taxing on him. On Sam as well.
When the elevator started up, the slight jolt was enough to make Daniel's weak legs buckle. Sam instinctively caught him.
"I'm fine," he said curtly, pulling away from her hands.
Sam let go of him, nodded and stepped away. Just throw your arms around him, she said to herself. Hold him, tell him you're sorry, beg him to forgive you.
Another bauble of the compartment as it stopped at Daniel's floor, and Sam reached for him. Daniel frowned and shook his head. She held the doors open for him while he laboriously crept out. Ashamed of herself, Sam kept her eyes lowered when he passed. She followed behind him, carrying his duffel, until they reached his door.
It had gone on long enough. She forced herself to go beyond her ability to deal with Daniel�s illness. Sam reached out to caress his back, to give him a silent sign that she was with him.
Daniel unlocked his door and stepped through, out of reach from her touch. He was panting, almost wheezing. His face glistened with sweat. He let his keys drop from the half-wall to the floor, sloughed off his jacket, and held onto the assorted chairs and tables on his way to his bedroom.
Sam swiped a hand under her nose, pulled in a short gasp of air, picked up Daniel's keys and coat, and helplessly watched him pull himself out of her sight. She slung his coat over a chair and traced his steps to his door. Just as she reached it, the door closed.
Daniel leaned his head against the closed door, anguished that he had been the one to put the latest kibosh on their friendship. Blindly, he found his way to his bed and dissolved into its comfort.
Sam slid down the wall next to Daniel's door, crying, angry with herself that she didn't have the courage to be a better friend. She had steadfastly stayed by him when Sha're died; had fought single-mindedly when Machello had taken over his body. But this, God, this...She struck the wall behind her with fists clenched in self-hatred.
Daniel heard her crying. If he had the energy, he may have tried to understand it. But he didn't have the energy, or the care. He turned his face into his pillow and gave into the insouciance and safety of exhaustion.
*****
Chemo was feeling his veins being scoured out with acid, burning and clawing through the continuous path of his circulatory system. Chemo was the tube that snaked out of his chest, taped to the tender skin, a constant reminder that there was more to come.
It was a liquid parasite in his body, consuming the cancer and anything else it felt it should take. It was a thief of his power, both physical and emotional, a petty, brazen highjacker of his ability to get through a day with some semblance of familiarity. Chemo was losing hours and days to sleep, losing track of conversations, and waking to the sound of confusing voices.
The voices of friends.
The voice of his best friend.
"Daniel, why don't you get up and try to eat," Jack said, nudging Daniel.
Daniel slowly opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and tried to get his bearings. It had been three full days that he'd been home, and he still felt as depleted as he did when he left the hospital.
"Come on, Danny. I'll help you sit up," Jack said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Daniel. He leaned over, gathered Daniel up in his arms and lifted him to a sitting position. Daniel let his head fall wearily onto Jack's shoulder. "Danny? You okay?"
Daniel took a few short breaths and bobbed his head. "I'm sorry. I�m just...I'm just tired."
Jack rubbed Daniel�s back and felt the ribs poke through the lazy weave of his shirt. "Give yourself a break, Daniel," Jack said, his voice hushed and soothing. "You went through hell on that last round. We just need to get you back on your feet."
Daniel sardonically chuckled. "Get me on my feet...just to knock me...on my ass." He settled in against Jack, unable to muster the strength to pull away. Even so, it was oddly comforting to be held by his friend. Oddly comfortable to be able to let Jack hold him, allow him to be so frail.
"Let's just get you through this. Then you'll only have to look forward to me knocking you on your ass," Jack said, stroking Daniel's thin, limp back. It tore him up to feel Daniel's debilitated body. Rationally, he knew it was just temporary, just until Daniel was through with the chemo, but in that place in his heart where he gave into gnawing, fearful thoughts, he had many concerns. Countless "what if" concerns.
Jack lost track of his thoughts and how long he had been holding Daniel. He began to pull away, embarrassed.
"Wait. Not yet," Daniel said, closing his eyes, finding he was inexplicably close to tears. "Not...yet."
"Okay," Jack whispered, feeling Daniel tremble with each breath. He turned his face into Daniel's neck, choked off his own tears.
Neither knew why the other was crying. Didn't matter. There was so much that warranted tears--fatigue, fear, concern, the unknown, another round of poison. There didn't seem to be a need for words, only for respectful, discrete silence.
And a few minutes of hushed tears.
For Daniel, this was chemo.
*****
"Daniel," Janet said, touching his face. She had come to the apartment on the insistence of Jack who was worried that Daniel wasn't bouncing back as quickly as he should. Hell, Jack would have been happy if Daniel were crawling back. Screw the bounce part. "Daniel. Dr. Jackson."
His eyes fluttered open. Janet smiled at him.
"Janet?" he whispered.
"Hi, there. I need you to wake up for me, okay?" she said. "I want to take some blood, and I didn't want you to wake up in the middle of the procedure wondering why my hands were on your chest."
"Okay," he said, closing his eyes again.
"No, now, Daniel, you need to stay awake. It's time you got up, ate something, showered, tried to regain your bearings," Janet said, attaching the vacuum tube to the lumen. She drew out a small amount of blood, disconnected the tube, and attached a new one. Daniel knew the drill. "I want to check your blood counts. You seem a little..."
"Anemic? Neutropenic? Thrombocytopenic?" he ventured, sardonically, rattling off the conditions while half-awake.
"Right. Any of those," she said, chuckling. "You're becoming a pro at the med-speak."
"It's a language I will gladly not retain," he said, lying still while Janet finished drawing his blood.
"That ought to do it," she said. Janet put the vial of blood in her bag along with the other equipment. "Now, can you come to the other room, or do you want to eat in here?"
Daniel pried his eyes open, blinked the sleep out of them, and reached for the blue bandana lying on the pillow next to him. "I think I can make it out to the dining room."
"Well, good. I think that would greatly please Colonel O'Neill," Janet said, offering him a hand at sitting up.
Daniel sat on the edge of his bed, slightly vertiginous, but feeling a little better all the same. Janet took the bandana out of his hand and tied it around his head for him.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Janet," Daniel said.
"Yes, Daniel."
"Tell Sam... tell her I'm sorry," he said. He nodded, satisfied that that was the appropriate message to send.
Janet turned his face to her, kissed him lightly on his cheek, and said, "I don't think there's a need."
Daniel lowered his eyes and pushed himself off the bed. Janet laid a hand against his back and helped steady him while he walked.
"Hey," Jack called out when Daniel walked into the dining room, "the dwarves were beginning to worry. Sleepy said he understood; Grumpy was a little pissed; Dopey, well, I'm making lunch, and Doc woke you up." Jack smiled at his own humor.
"Cute, Jack," Daniel said, taking a seat at the table. He cradled his head in his hands.
"Well, gents, I need to get this to the lab," Janet said, putting on her coat.
Since Daniel had become sick, Janet had become a calming presence, a kind voice in the often-cacophonous nightmare of his daily existence. She calmly answered his questions, was always straight with him. And Janet was his connection to Sam. The only one he had.
"But...you just got here," Daniel said, wishing she could stay.
"Actually, I've been here for a couple hours," Janet told him.
"You have?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," Jack answered, sliding a plate of sliced vegetables and fruit in front of him. "We used the time to draw satanic messages all over your face. Don't...don't go in the bathroom anytime soon." Jack grimaced and shook his head.
"Don't listen to him, Daniel," Janet said, leaning over to hug him.
"Oh, I don't. Last time he tried to spell Satan, he used an 'i,'" Daniel said.
"Synthetic silk-like material can be a very spooky thing," Jack said pointedly.
"I'm leaving while I still have brain cells," Janet said. "Goodbye, all."
"Thanks, Doc," Jack called. He placed a bottle of water in front of Daniel.
"Bye, Janet," Daniel said, taking hold of the water.
"So, Daniel, what sounds good?" Jack asked, looking around the kitchen.
"It really doesn't matter," he said, sipping the water.
Jack pulled some containers of food out of the refrigerator. "Tell you what, I'll show you what the hospitality crew has brought over in the last few days, and you tell me what you'd like." Jack opened up Tupperware containers of lasagna, jell-o with carrots, and mashed potatoes; glass casseroles of three-bean salad, baked chicken, and hoppin' john. Jack unwrapped plates of cookies, breads and cakes.
He held up a particularly festive plate with a rounded, floured loaf of bread on it. Jack blushed. "Irish soda bread. From Mrs. Sullivan. She kissed me," Jack said, flustered. He put the plump loaf aside.
"So much to choose from," Daniel said, looking over the spread. "None of which sounds good in the least." He covered his eyes, becoming woozy.
"Then how about some pasta?" Jack said, clearing the table. Daniel nodded. Jack pulled out a pan, filled it with water, and put it on to boil. He checked on Daniel.
"You okay?" Jack asked, continuing to take the gifts of food off the table.
"A little nauseated," Daniel said, keeping his eyes closed.
Jack put the containers of perishable food back in the fridge. He stood over the water on the stove. Looked at Daniel. Looked at the water. He tossed around an image in his head, an image he thought he had lost years earlier.
"It was chicken and green peppers for Sara," he said, salting the water.
"What?"
"When she was pregnant. Chicken and green peppers. Made her sick," Jack said, pouring whole-wheat rotini in the boiling water.
"Are you suggesting I'm pregnant?" Daniel asked, fingering a slice of apple.
"No. You getting green around the gills just reminded me of when Sara was first pregnant," Jack said, stirring the pasta. "Don't know why I brought it up. Sorry."
"No, that's...that's okay. I shouldn't have been so sarcastic," Daniel said. What a bad habit it had become to automatically answer Jack churlishly. It closed doors, put up walls, sounded as if he didn't care. He did. "Did Sara get sick a lot?"
"You know, I don't remember. I wasn't around for most of the pregnancy. I just remember she couldn't stand the sight or smell of chicken and green peppers," Jack told him.
"Jack, you've been, uh, talking more about Sara and Charlie with me," Daniel said.
"Yeah, I guess I have. I'll stop if..."
"No. No. I don't mind. I...I guess I was just wondering...why now?" Daniel asked.
Jack shifted his weight to one foot and peered into the pan. "I wish I could tell you. You being sick. The hospital. I don't know."
"Working through some things?" Daniel said, remembering what Jack had told him weeks earlier.
"I guess," Jack said, absently brushing at his cheek.
"What's Sam trying to work through?" Daniel asked, quietly.
"You got me hangin'," Jack said, draining the pasta. "You want I should shoot her?"
"I don't think it's that extreme," Daniel said, finding himself amused at the thought.
Jack poured the spiral noodles into a bowl and placed it in front of Daniel. "Anything else?"
"No, this should do it for now," Daniel said. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Daniel," Jack said, wiping his hands on a towel.
Daniel forked some of the pasta. Jack sat down next to him, noshing on a piece of coffee cake.
"Helluva couple months, huh?" Daniel said, bringing a second forkful of pasta to his mouth.
"Oh, yeah," Jack agreed, happy to finally see Daniel eating. "Oh, yeah."
*****
Daniel didn't usually like to call people past nine o'clock at night, but he knew Leo would probably be awake. He was always awake. At the very least, he was always awake whenever Daniel was awake, which wasn't particularly often.
Daniel held the phone in his hand, paused in the middle of dialing the number.
No, Leo was always awake.
"Room 536, please," Daniel said, nervously tapping his finger against the can of protein drink Jack had set out for him. Awful stuff. He heard the phone jangle on the other end, five, six times. He was about to hang up when the line clicked on. Daniel heard a rustling, a long, extended journey from the phone cradle to Leo.
"Hello," came to weak voice.
"Leo?"
There was a pause.
"Leo, did I wake you?" Daniel asked.
"Daniel?"
"Um, yes. I'm...I'm sorry. I'll talk to you tomorrow," he apologetically said.
"No, don't do that. I'm just a little shocked. I've never actually talked to you on the phone. Didn't recognize your voice," Leo said.
"You sound tired."
"Oh, you know. Had a mani and a pedi today. All that pampering just tuckers me out."
Daniel shook his head and smiled. More than likely, the manicure and pedicure was code for radiation treatments. They never really talked about Leo's treatments, but Daniel was keyed into the language of avoidance now, and he understood Leo's reticence to discuss his own treatments.
"So, Jackson, Daniel, what can I do you for?" Leo asked.
Daniel scowled. It seemed too silly calling Leo with his question. He decided to shelve it.
"Oh, I don't know. Just wondered how you were doing," he said, turning the can round and round.
"We've established that I'm fine but tired. What we haven't established is why, while you're on the outside, enjoying Real Life, you would be calling me, on the inside, enjoying Surreal Life," Leo said.
Daniel pulled the red bandana off his head and tossed it on the table. "This is awkward. I...I'm not the type to...I mean, I feel like I shouldn't even...I guess what I'm..."
"Daniel, good God, just spit it out," Leo urged.
"My friend Sam. She's uncomfortable around me. Extremely. I just...can you help me understand this?" Daniel asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Hold on while I put on my psych hat. There. Okay, so, Sam, you say?" Leo asked.
Daniel smiled. "Yes."
"Real military type, huh?"
"Yes."
"Do-er. Isn't happy unless a math problem has at least fifty variables."
"Right."
"Oh, please, Daniel! Give me a tougher one," Leo said.
Daniel's lips formed and reformed words, never quite settling on one.
"She's a numbers person. She needs lots of variables to work with in order to solve the problem at hand. She thrives on the challenge of solving problems," Leo told him.
"Yeah," Daniel agreed, shrugging and nodding.
"She can't solve your problem. There are only two variables--either you get well, or...you don't. That's not a challenge, that's a panic," Leo gently said. "My advice to you, my dear, is give her something to do."
"How?"
"I don't know. Make her feel like she has a purpose other than waiting for the outcome, because those numbers people, oy, they don't like to wait for someone else to figure it out."
Daniel thought about it. Realized Leo was, as usual, right. Wondered why he seemed to understand it all so well. Thought he should tell him how much he appreciated his friendship and his insights and his support.
"Thank you, Leo," Daniel managed, his thoughts still riddled with doubt and question. There would be other days to tell Leo the rest.
"For you, Daniel, no sweat," Leo said. "Daniel?"
"Yeah, Leo."
"This next round coming up--it's going to be tough. Don't fight it. Disengage and let the chemo do its work," he said.
"Okay," Daniel said.
"I mean it, Daniel."
"I know."
"You can do it, but only if you don't try to do it alone. You can't. Your job this time is just to let the chemo take you to the edge, and let all your friends hold you back from going over. Got it?" There was a certain quality to Leo�s voice that Daniel had never heard. It triggered pinpoints of anxious niggling.
"Yes, Leo. I do," Daniel said, unsure of why Leo was being so adamant about it.
"You're going to be fine," Leo told him, soothing his worries once again.
"How are you, Leo?" Daniel asked.
"I'm gonna be great. I'm laying out my party clothes now," he said broadly, and yet, even through the ebullient words came the undertone of profound weariness.
"Well, then you have a lot of work to do," Daniel said, running his fingers along his skull. "Good night, Leo."
"Nighty-night, doll."
Daniel ended the call and placed the phone next to his can of protein drink.
"God, what I wouldn't give for a beer," he said, bringing the thick, slimy liquid to his lips. "And I don't even like beer."
*****
"Hi, Nora," Daniel said, taking his books and laptop out of his duffel.
"Last round. In the home stretch," Nora said, smiling, her hands in her lab coat pocket. "Let's make this one a little easier, okay?"
"I'll see what I can do," Daniel said, keeping a tight grin to himself. "I can only imagine what Leo has in store for me this time."
Nora went silent. The lack of banter seemed odd to Daniel, so he looked up and saw the pensive expression on her face.
"What?" he asked.
"I wish I didn't have to tell you this, Daniel," she said, stepping to his side and grasping his arm. "Leo...died, day before yesterday. Very peacefully, in his sleep."
Daniel stared at her, through her, crestfallen and unable to breathe.
Nora caressed Daniel's arm, wishing she could soften the blow just a little, but she knew what this kind of news would have on Daniel. Knew how hard patients on the ward took it when their fellow cancer patients succumbed to the disease. But she knew this death was going to particularly hard on Daniel. Leo, it seemed, was his touchstone.
"Daniel, Leo was on salvage therapy--his second go at radiation, and two rounds of chemo. His body just gave out."
Daniel pulled his hand across his mouth, obliterated by the news. His knees suddenly felt weak. He reached blindly behind him for his chair. Nora helped guide him in.
"Why don't I get you some water," she said, stepping into the bathroom.
Daniel hung onto the armrest, shocked and feeling faint. He covered his eyes, certain he was blacking out. The air in him left his body in quick bursts. If Leo could die...if Leo could die...
Nora handed the cup to Daniel. He didn't take it. She placed it on his bedside table. "Daniel, it's important to remember that he was very ill, and that his illness was extreme. He knew he was dying, but the thing that made Leo so...amazing was that he never gave into it. He never let it stop him, not for one minute," Nora quietly told him, stroking his hand.
Daniel was awash in sorrow, could see the steadfast eyes of dejection laying soundly on him. He never realized how much he relied on Leo, relied on his constant annoyances, his strange tips, his strength in the face of hopelessness. Daniel didn't know if he could get through this last round without him. He didn't know how to do it. Didn't know how to begin. How to...how to stay alive. He didn't know.
If Leo could die...
He pressed his hand to his skull, felt the ridges beneath the bandana. Ridges on a skull bare from chemotherapy. Chemotherapy that was killing his disease. A disease that killed his friend. His friend.
"You have to remember that Leo's death is not a harbinger of bad luck for you or anyone else on this floor. You're going to get better, Daniel, and you're going to live a long, long life," Nora said, her voice sounding farther and farther away in Daniel�s mind.
If Leo could die...
"I'll leave you alone. Why don't I come back in an hour or so?" she said, lightly kneading his neck.
If Leo could die...
Nora gave him one last look before she left. Her heart broke for him, absolutely cried for him. But cancer waits for no one, and she had other patients who needed their meds.
Daniel stared out the window in his room. His entire body felt battered and aching from the news.
Before he left his apartment to report to the hospital, it had taken every ounce of strength he had just to convince himself that he could start this next round. Every single, pitiful ounce. He had repeated to himself that all he had to do was get it over with, make it through one last week. Leo would be there to help him. Leo would make sure he made it. Leo understood.
If Leo could die...
His head swayed listlessly, his eyes filled with tears, his chest and lungs began to tighten.
If Leo could die...
"So could I," he whispered.
*****
He was so quiet. Jack didn't know why. Daniel didn't want to play chess, he didn't want to play bridge, he didn't want to make fun of Jack. He just sat in the "chemo-sabe chair," staring out the window or up at the constant drip of his IV.
The silence was making Jack's skin crawl. He excused himself and went down to the waiting room for a cup of coffee. He couldn't drink the coffee in Daniel's room. The smell made Daniel gag. The irony, Jack thought. So he drank the bitter, acidic coffee while watching the ticker on MSNBC zoom across the bottom of the screen.
He had thought Daniel was finally reconciled to it all. He had thought Daniel was going into this round with resigned tenacity. But something had changed. He didn't know what.
Jack threw the Styrofoam cup in the garbage and slowly made his way back to Daniel's room. Along the way he rubbed out the tired and aching muscles in his neck, warmly acknowledged the passing nurses, and found himself staring at the doors of the elevator. Without any effort or conscious notion of his plans, the elevator doors opened, beckoning him to enter.
Why, he wasn't quite sure, but he went down one floor. The children's oncology ward was set up almost identical to the adult's, and Jack knew exactly where he wanted to be.
When he reached the waiting room, he saw her there, hunched over a Styrofoam cup filled with tepid, bitter coffee. He recognized her immediately.
"Is this the fourth floor?" he asked, smiling slightly, tenderly.
She looked up, startled.
"I didn't mean to scare you," Jack said. "I was upstairs, walking the halls. Not really sure why I came down."
"How's your friend?" she asked. Her ebony eyes were red-rimmed, puffy and worn-out.
"He's...to tell you the truth, I'm not sure," Jack said, sitting kitty corner from her. "It's his last round of chemo. He's a little nervous I think. I don't know."
"It's nerve-racking," she said, lowering her eyes.
"Your, uh, child?"
"Son."
"How is he?"
She traced a weary line with her hand from her temple to her jaw, let her chin rest in her palm. "He's..." She shook her head, twisted her lips, and sniffled. "I don't know how he keeps doing it."
"How old is he?" Jack asked.
"He's 14. He's been sick with Leukemia since he was five," she said, pulling a ragged tissue from her pocket and pinching her nose with it. "It seems like just when we think he's in the clear, there it is again."
"How do you keep doing it?" Jack asked.
She looked at him, incredulously, as if he had asked her why she keeps doing it, not how. "He's my son. What else can I do?"
"Nothing," he said, knowing full well the answer to such a question.
"He's sick of being here. Sick of me being here with him," she said, crumpling the tissue in her hand.
"He's a teenager," Jack reminded her.
"Right," she said, snickering. "At least some things never change."
"Good kid?"
"He really is," she said, her face becoming etched with lines of worry and love. "He wants to be an engineer."
"Ah. Numbers man," Jack said, smiling.
"Loves math," she said. "Do you have children?"
"No," Jack said. He leaned over his knees, pressed his hands together. "I had a son. He died a number of years ago."
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you."
"Cancer?"
"No. An accident."
"Being a parent is terrifying, isn't it?" she said, looking at him with tender eyes, a shared communion of parental sorrow.
"It was," he said. "It was." Jack stood up, wiped his hands on the seat of his pants and compassionately smiled at her. "I just wanted to...I'm not sure. I guess I wanted to see how you were doing."
"Judy," she said, lifting her hand to Jack.
"Jack," he said, taking it. "Look, I'm upstairs...in the same room, only one floor up, a lot of the time. If you ever want to share a cup of really bad coffee..."
"Thanks, Jack," she said, nodding appreciatively.
"I'll be seeing you around."
"Probably," Judy said. "Give my best to your friend."
"And to your son," Jack said.
Jack left the room and completed the circuit by returning to the fifth floor.
Once back on the adult oncology ward, Jack slowly traipsed down the hall and past the nurses' stand.
"Oh, Jack," Nora called, standing from behind the desk. "I've been meaning to talk to you."
"Yeah, Nora. What is it?" Jack asked, leaning against the raised desk.
"I don't know if Daniel told you, but Leo died last week," she said.
Jack stared at her, then let his head bob between his resting arms.
"Daniel didn't say anything, did he?" she asked, placing her hand next to his.
"No. No, he didn't, but that explains some things," he said. He clasped his hand over hers. "Thanks, Nora."
"I thought you'd want to know," she said.
Jack gave her an appreciative smile and walked the remaining few yards to Daniel's room in a sort of haze. Daniel's mood, his closed attitude made sense all of a sudden. Before turning into his room, Jack rubbed his unshaven face with his hands, tried to work through some of the fatigue.
When he entered Daniel�s room, he found him in the same place�despondent in the "chemo-sabe chair," looking out the window. Jack quietly stepped into the room, pulled his chair closer to Daniel�s and sat down.
"Hey," he said, lightly rubbing Daniel�s knee, "I heard about Leo. You wanna talk about it?"
Daniel kept his focus on the headlights of passing cars, five stories below. "No."
"I know he meant a lot to you. He was a good guy. Maybe we should..."
Daniel pushed himself out of his chair. Jack looked up, noticed the bag--the third bag--was almost empty. The onset of the debilitating nausea was increasingly sooner with each treatment, and Jack knew that Daniel would surely be feeling it by now.
"Let me give you a hand," Jack said, taking Daniel by the elbow.
Daniel angrily pulled his elbow away. "I can use the fucking john by myself."
Jack was stunned. "Nobody said you couldn't, Daniel. I was just trying to..."
"God, please don't say you were just trying to help," Daniel said, stopping to burn Jack with a blistering glare. "I can't stand it. I don't need your help. I don't NEED anybody's help." He took a stumbling step toward the bathroom, reaching for the wall in front of him.
"Daniel, calm down," Jack said in a firm, calm voice.
"I can do this...on my...own," Daniel forced out, the effort of crossing the six feet severely draining him. He stepped inside the small bathroom and leaned heavily on the sink.
"Damn right you can," Jack said. "All I was trying to do was make it a little easier for you."
Daniel stared at his ashen reflection in the mirror. "Fine," he angrily said, turning caustically to Jack, "you want to help? You take the chemo! You...lay there and... let them pull blood out of...your chest." He swallowed hard. Crushed shut his eyes, forcing the bile down. "You let them...pump you full of...chemicals so toxic...the nurses have to...to practically wear...haz-mat suits." His strength was dissipating, fleeing his body before the imminent attack on it from the chemo. He leaned over the basin, his bruised forearms braced unsteadily against the slick porcelain. "You be the one...who...has to wait out the...next year. Wait it out...just to hear...it's back."
"Daniel..."
"You want to help, Jack?"
"Yes, Daniel. I do."
Daniel turned his face to look at Jack, his features etched in pain and discomfort. "You can't."
Jack watched the door to the bathroom slowly close. He turned his face away, didn�t actually want to see the door shut.
It's just the chemo talking, he told himself. Chemo and losing Leo. Go ahead, Danny, shut me out, hurt me like you're hurting. We both know in a couple minutes, no matter how tough you try to be--and God knows you're a tough son of a bitch--the chemo's tougher, and I'll be in there with you.
Go ahead, Danny. Fight it. Fight hard. Make this bastard respect you. Show it you're not afraid of it. Put in a good word for me, pal.
Go ahead, Danny, say things that will make me want to leave, just like I left when Sara was hurting. She had the luxury of physically removing me from our home. You don't. So, looks like I'm stayin'. I'm stayin', Daniel. I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight. Because I need you to know--maybe I need to know--that I can see this thing through, that this human mortality stuff doesn't rock my foundation. That, yeah, maybe you've taught me a thing or two about...relying on people, letting people rely on me.
So, go ahead, Daniel. Take whatever time you need to be angry and pissy, but when it's too much, know I'm here. Right outside your door. Count on it.
And then he listened to his friend begin a week of constant, unrelenting sickness and unimaginable pain.
*****
Jack filled the flimsy Styrofoam cup with lukewarm coffee and took it to the seats in the corner of the waiting room. He set the cup on the cluttered side table, and rubbed his eyes.
It had been a long night. A night filled with anger and denial and finally bitter acceptance.
The night had started with Daniel trying to slink out of bed to get into the bathroom to be sick.
As soon as Daniel put his feet on the cold floor, his knees buckled. Jack caught him just as he was crumbling to the ground.
"I have to get to the bathroom," Daniel groaned. His body rocked of its own accord before he vomited on the floor next to his bed. Jack tried to shove a trashcan under his mouth, but didn�t quite make it in time.
Daniel coughed and spit, bowed his head and cursed angrily.
"Come on, Danny," Jack said, lifting him from the floor.
Daniel shook his head, kept his eyes on the bathroom door. "No. I have to..."
Jack got the trashcan under him in time. He held onto Daniel�s shaking torso while Daniel grasped the rim of the can. Jack averted his eyes. He was pretty sure Daniel would agree, but the whole retching up an internal organ thing was getting old.
"Okay?" Jack asked when he felt Daniel�s body relax.
Daniel sagged. "Just help me get to the bathroom before I have to be sick again."
"No, I think you�re done," Jack told him, wrapping his arms under and around Daniel�s attenuated body.
"I need to get in there soon, Jack, so just help me," Daniel ordered, putting all the force he could muster behind his weak voice.
"That�s why they made basins," Jack said, propping Daniel up onto his bed.
Daniel glared at Jack, his eyes cold and bloodshot. "Don�t make me do this, Jack."
"Daniel," Jack started, exasperated and more than a little tired himself, "you�re too weak to keep trudging to the john every time you need to puke."
Daniel�s feet dangled listlessly off the side of the bed. His hands barely held onto the edge. "I don�t want...I don�t..." A rolling wave crashed over him. Jack snatched the emesis basin from the bedside table and cupped it under Daniel�s chin while he steadied Daniel�s body. Daniel vomited into the pale green, kidney-shaped basin, and it was quickly decided the little plastic containers were useless. Jack picked up the trashcan again.
When the vomiting stopped, Jack put down the can and cleaned off Daniel�s face.
"What were you saying?" he asked. Jack stood in front of him, wrapping a blanket around Daniel�s trembling shoulders.
"This. I don�t want this," Daniel cried. He pulled a fisted hand across his eyes.
"What, Daniel?" Jack asked, rubbing his friend�s arms. "What don�t you want?"
"I don�t want�to be so sick I can�t get out of bed," he whispered between sobs. "I don�t want you to...hold a fucking trashcan up so I can barf."
Jack pulled Daniel into his chest and gently caressed his back through the polyester blanket. The man was sick and retching, and all he wanted to do was preserve some of his dignity. Jack understood. He�d been in a similar place so many years ago�people wanting to carry him out of an Iraqi prison, shield him from further humiliation, and all Jack wanted to do was walk out on his own, show those sons a bitches that they hadn�t beat him.
Jack understood.
"Hey," he whispered, gingerly lifting Daniel�s head off his chest. He held Daniel�s stricken face between his hands and stooped over to meet his weary eyes, "this isn�t about you. It�s about me. My knees just can�t take that floor in there."
Daniel blinked. His eyes darted across Jack�s. Jack was giving him a way out, and he knew it. "You are getting older."
"I really am," Jack agreed, a sad smile lighting up his face. "So do me a favor: stay in bed."
Daniel�s chin trembled as he nodded. "Okay."
"Thanks, Daniel," Jack said, wrapping his long arms around Daniel�s shuddering back.
And then he thrust the trashcan under Daniel�s face again.
All night long it went�Daniel puked, and Jack rinsed. Daniel retched, and Jack stripped the top sheet off his bed, exchanged it for one from the pile the nurses had brought in.
By 0500, they were both bone tired and fell asleep.
By 0800, Jack couldn�t stand the "chemo-sabe chair" anymore and decided he needed a cup of really bad coffee. Why not complete the misery cycle.
Sitting in the waiting room, feeling his nerves clash against his fatigue, Jack wasn�t aware of the fact that he wasn�t alone.
"You�re right," she said.
Jack�s face shot up at the words.
"This room looks just like the one downstairs," Judy said, smiling hesitantly.
"Morning," Jack said, and then cleared the frog out of his throat.
"Long night?" she asked sitting near him.
Jack scrubbed his unshaven face with his hands. "Oh, yeah."
"Sorry to hear that," Judy said.
"How�s your son?"
"Sleeping. His nights aren�t too bad. The days�some are rougher than others," she said, pressing her hands between her knees.
"Lots of sickness and nausea?" Jack asked, sympathetic to the thought.
"No, more like, �Mom, just leave me alone� sort of thing. It breaks my heart that he wants to be a normal kid and he can�t," Judy told him.
Jack agreed. "My friend � Daniel, by the way � just wants to be left alone. Keeps telling me he doesn�t need me, but then�"
"But then he calls your name, right?" she finished. Jack nodded. "Yeah, same thing with my son. I mean, I know he�s just angry and afraid, but sometimes after about the tenth time hearing he wants me to leave, sometimes I just want to�leave. I just want to turn to him and say, �You know what, honey? This isn�t any fun for me either.� But I know, deep down, he doesn�t want me to leave. Maybe take a break, yes, but leave?"
"That�s�that�s it," Jack said, nodding in appreciation. "When my son was little, he didn�t have that whole issue with maintaining his pride. When he felt sick, he wanted Mom. And when Mom wasn�t around, he wanted me. Simple. Daniel�s�" Jack shook his head, pulled on his ear nervously, "Daniel�s not a kid, and he�s having a tough time with this, with needing help. It�s been pretty hard for him."
"And for you," Judy reminded Jack.
Jack glanced at her, clucked his tongue against cheek and sighed. "I... yeah, well..."
"How�how did your son die?" Judy asked, tentatively.
Jack crossed his ankles and wove his arms around his midsection. He thought carefully about his words. "He, uh, got a hold of my sidearm, and he accidentally shot himself."
Judy pressed her hand to her heart. "Oh, God. I was always afraid my son would do something stupid like that," she said, and then, like a slap across the face, realized what she had said. "Not...not that you�re son was stupid."
"That�s okay."
"I certainly didn�t mean to imply that..."
"No, really, I..."
"Because I would never..."
"Judy," Jack said, touching her hand, "it�s okay. It was stupid. He did�he did a stupid thing. It was a stupid...stupid accident that I�d like to think could have been avoided, but..."
"But stupid accidents happen," Judy said, her eyes welling up with tears. "And everyday you thank God that they lived through another stupid accident, because one day...one day they may not."
Jack wasn�t sure if it was his lack of sleep, his lack of food, his lack of stoicism, but he was shaken. Could it be that simple? Could Charlie�s death really have come down to fate? On another day, could it have worked out that Charlie might have picked up Jack�s gun and put it back down with no discharge of a bullet ripping through his small body? Could it possibly be that simple?
"It�s hard watching my son be sick," Judy went on in a quiet, remorseful voice, "because it feels like all my good luck is catching up to me. To him."
Jack locked his eyes on the laces of his shoes, ground his teeth together and cleared his throat.
"I�m sorry," Judy said, wiping her nose with the palm of her hand. "I didn�t mean to come up here to..."
"It�s okay," Jack quietly said.
"You have enough on your mind," she said. "I shouldn�t have asked about your son. I�m sorry. It�s none of my business."
"I should go check on my friend," Jack said, rising from his seat.
Judy nervously disentangled the gold chains around her neck, freeing the IHM medal from the clasp, and then dropping it down the front of her shirt. "Yeah, I should go check on my son."
Jack proffered his hand to her. Judy took it and slowly stood up. She took a few steps away from him, turned, and said, "Take care of yourself, Jack."
Jack slid his hands into his pockets, tried to smile but could only get as far as a raised brow and a flutter of eyelashes before a frown appeared.
Judy left him, just as his legs lost staying power. He dropped into the chair, rubbed his aching neck and tried to remember how lucky he had had it once upon a time, a lifetime ago.
He had been lucky. He had had the perfect life. But his luck, like Judy said, had caught up to him.
Luck was math gone wrong. It was that one in a million, one in a billion chance that an event would happen. It was that moment in time when all things converged and the outcome produced shocking results. Like a dead child. Like a few renegade cells in his friend�s body. It wasn�t good luck or bad luck, it was�
Life.
Charlie hadn�t died because Jack was too lucky, and Daniel didn�t have cancer because he was unlucky. It just happened.
It just happened.
But that didn�t help to ameliorate the suffering of the helpless bystander�a father, a best friend. Accepting that things happen for no reason didn�t help to ease Jack�s pain.
If anything it brought up different, unfathomable questions. Okay, life happens, but why Charlie? Why Daniel?
Because there�s no reason. And if there�s no reason, there�s no answer.
There�s only waiting for the pain to end�the pain of a childless parent; the pain of a helpless friend. The pain of knowing it had nothing to do with him, and because of that he couldn�t do anything but let it happen. Jack couldn�t do anything but watch Daniel suffer. Wait for it to end. Hope that that day would come when Daniel would be well again.
And then be thankful once it did.
*****
For two endless days and nights, Jack stayed by Daniel�s side, comforting and supporting him. Jack held his head while he was sick, and held his hand when Daniel thought he was drifting away.
Two days, forty-eight hours, whose natural segmentation of time had become disjointed, disrupted. The only constant were the hours the three bags were brought in and the hours the three bags left the room, empty and collapsed. Two cells of time predicated only by the constant flow of toxins.
Jack slept when he could, which was whenever Daniel could. Either way, neither saw much sleep. Nora had brought an extra blanket in for Jack and treated him with as much care and dignity as she did with Daniel. Jack accepted it gratefully, and as soon as Daniel fell asleep, so did Jack.
That's how Sam found them -- Daniel, huddled in his bed, and Jack, hunkered down in the 'chemo-sabe chair," his long body overflowing the frame of the seat.
"Colonel," Sam said, lightly nudging the bump below the blanket.
Jack blinked his eyes open. "Carter?"
"Why don't I take this shift?" she said, nervously.
He was glad to see her, but at that point in the week, Jack wasn�t sure if it were the best time. "I don't know, Carter. He's had a tough couple of days. He only has two more to go. I think I should stay," Jack said, pulling himself into an upright position. He rolled his neck and tried to work out some of the kinks.
"You need some rest, sir. I'll take this shift," Sam said.
Jack locked eyes with her. He began to tell her no, tell her that he could handle it, but then he saw determination in her expression that had been inexplicably missing the past months. He nodded. "Tell you what � I could use a cup of coffee, or...seven. I�ll go down to the cafeteria. You stay with him. I shouldn�t be gone long."
"That�s fine, sir," Sam said, dropping her coat and purse on the windowsill.
Jack watched her lightly touch Daniel�s cheek, watched her come face to face with her own fears.
"Call me if you need me," Jack said, relieved that he could trust Sam to take his place.
"We�ll be fine," she said, laying a hand on Daniel�s chest, feeling the slight up and down movement of his breathing.
He saw the compassion in her expression, saw the deep love she had for Daniel, and saw, for the first time, how much pain she was in.
Jack wondered if everyone else could so clearly see how much pain he was in.
"I�ll be back in a while," he said, touching Daniel�s hand, whispering to him in the language of dreams to remember St. Michael. Asked St. Michael to remember Daniel.
Sam pulled the chair closer to Daniel�s bed, leaned forward and gazed on his face that had changed so dramatically over the past months. No eyebrows, no eyelashes, no unshaven stubble, just smooth, blanched skin. It sent palpable pangs of sadness through her. She sat, her twined fingers pressed in supplication against her lips.
It was her own private, silent act of contrition and reconciliation.
When she had woken up that morning, she had no idea she�d be in his hospital room by the end of the day. It had taken an instance of forgetfulness followed by a friend�s gentle kick in the ass to nudge Sam out of her cocoon of self-pity.
She had been sitting in her lab going over some calculations when she decided she needed a cup of coffee. She picked up her cup, left the room and automatically, without thinking, turned toward Daniel�s office. He was always up for more coffee.
Unless he was in the hospital undergoing chemotherapy treatments.
Without stopping, Sam turned around and marched to the infirmary before the tears forming in her eyes could spill over and splash down her cheeks.
She pushed through the double doors, made eye contact with Janet and kept walking.
Janet followed Sam, concerned by the turmoil visible on her face.
"Sam," Janet said, closing her office door behind her and her friend. "What�s going on?"
Sam kept her back to Janet, pressed her fists into her hips and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"Sam, what�s wrong?" Janet asked, lightly touching Sam�s shoulder.
She turned around, her face lined with tears. "I miss Daniel."
Janet took Sam�s hand and pulled her to the chairs in her office. They both sat down. Janet held onto Sam�s hand, gently drew circles on the top. Listened to her cry, handed her tissues to blow her nose. Simply let Sam grieve.
"Why don�t you go see him, Sam?" Janet asked.
Sam shook her head. "I don�t think he wants me to. I was stupid and an ass, and if I were him, I wouldn�t want me there either." She wiped her eyes with the rough tissue.
"Sam, he�s your friend. Not only does he want you there, he also needs you," Janet told her. She pushed Sam�s bangs out of her eyes. "What are you afraid of?"
Sam looked up and stared at the ceiling, hoping the gravitational pull might force some of the tears back into their duct, to no avail. So much for the laws of physics. "I�m afraid�I�m afraid I won�t be able to deal with him being so sick. I�m afraid that if I go in there, I�ll just fall apart. I�m afraid Daniel will take one look at me and see what a loser I am and tell me to just leave."
"Sam, everyday you battle forces far worse than cancer. Daniel�s getting better. You owe it to him and to yourself to go be with him," Janet said.
"I don�t think I can," Sam cried.
Janet decided it was time that Sam stopped with the foolish self-pity and stepped up to the plate, whether she wanted to or not. Janet stood up, thrust her hands in her lab coat and said, "You are one of his best friends. Hiding in my office, crying like a little girl is not helping him or you. It�s time to suck it up, Major, and deal with your fears. If not for yourself, then for Daniel."
Sam was shocked. She stared at Janet, speechless. Janet raised an eyebrow, challenged Sam to dig down deep, find her strength, and then left Sam in the office to pull herself together.
Which Sam did.
Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way to the hospital.
She had so much to atone for�namely her absence. She had been paralyzed with fear, paralyzed with the unbearable thought that Daniel, her best friend, might leave her. Might leave her like everyone else had. Leave her like her mother had, like Jolinar had, like Martouf and Narim had.
They all had left her, quickly, surgically. Their deaths came so fast, Sam had no other choice but to deal with it immediately. Or just try to forget
Daniel was going to leave her, she knew, but he was going to do it slowly, painfully, and all she could do was endure the longevity of the agony. Watch and wait for the inevitable. And the waiting was killing her.
So she made the decision to be the one to leave. Leave in a hurry and clumsily, like she had done since Daniel got sick. Leave him before he left her. And if she didn't leave, she did unpardonable, hurtful things, like pull away from her best friend when he was so sick and hurting he couldn't help but cry from her rejection.
For that, she couldn�t forgive herself. It was for that reason she decided she had to come to the hospital. Her fears, unsubstantial and worthless, had for the first time in her life controlled her. It infuriated her.
So she sat with him, made silent promises to him that she�d stay, that she�d somehow prove to him how much she cared. She sat with him and hoped that he could find it in his heart to forgive her.
"Jack?" Daniel whispered, his eyes still closed.
Sam stood up, took his hand in hers and said, "No, Daniel. It�s me."
His eyes strained to open. "Sam?"
"Yeah, sweetie, it�s me."
Daniel turned his head into his pillow and tried to swallow. "Where�s Jack?"
"He went downstairs for a cup of coffee," she said, caressing his hand and arm.
"I...I need Jack," he muttered, beginning to shake. He felt an imminent attack of nausea rumbling in his gut. He didn't want Sam to see him at his worst. "I...need..."
Sam could plainly see that he was going to be sick, but she didn�t know what to do. She frantically searched the bedside for a basin, a tub, anything. "Daniel, what...how..."
The force of his retching made him bolt up in bed. Instinctively, he grabbed the bedrails while wave after wave of illness covered his sheets in sickening fluid.
"God, Daniel," Sam gasped, throwing her arms across his back and holding him by the shoulders.
Daniel gagged and started to collapse, nearly tumbling over face-first. Sam caught him and pulled his wasted body to her. His head fell limply against her chest.
"Sam, go away. I don�t...want you here," he angrily said, panting, his body being jolted by the nausea. If only his anger and resentment toward her were enough to quash the heaving, but it wasn't. His entire body tightened and released, spraying his bedding with fluid. "Oh, God," he cried, angered, frustrated and dismayed at seeing another sheet soiled by his illness. "Goddammit."
"It�s okay, sweetie," she said, rubbing his back. She felt herself beginning to retch at the sight of the toxic splatters, so she quickly averted her eyes. "I�ll call the nurse." Sam reached behind her to press the call button, but before she could, Sam felt Daniel�s frame gear up for another bout of vomiting. She threw her arm across his chest, let his weak upper body rest against her arm, supporting his diminished weight against the violent waves of nausea assailing him.
"Get Jack...please," Daniel sobbed as the painful retching pummeled his body. The fluid on his sheets started to turn cold, made him feel chilled.
"He�ll be back soon," she fretfully told him. "You�ll be okay."
"I don�t want you here!" Daniel moaned. He closed his eyes against the pain in his body and against the misery of having to accept help from Sam. "Get out of here!"
His angry words sliced through her, and she knew she deserved every one. She also knew he was powerless to do anything about it, so she took advantage of the situation.
"I�m not leaving, Daniel. I�m here. I�m here, and I want to help you," she cried, stroking his burning skin.
"Go home. I don�t..." he began before his body capitulated to more retching. The muscles in his ribcage screamed from overuse, and his back ached unbearably. "Oh, God, Sam..."
"I got ya," she said, rubbing his back, feeling the protruding nubs of his spine through the flimsy gown.
Finally, the nausea began to abate, and Daniel�s body slackened in her arms. She could feel him trembling from fatigue and tears.
"Let me call the nurse," Sam said, repositioning him in her arms. His hand clamped over her arm, halting her.
"Sam," he whispered from a throat scraped raw. His head dangled over her arm, too weak to lift it.
"Yes, Daniel." She could feel the hand clenched to her arm begin to shake and lose its grip rapidly. Sam lifted his head and leaned him into her, cradled him in her embrace, stroked the tender, gaunt skin on his face. She sorrowfully listened to him cry, felt his tears soak through her shirt.
"Why are you here?" Daniel asked through grievous tears.
She tucked her face onto his head, let her tears fall unchecked onto his skin. "I�m here because I should have been here from the beginning."
"Where were you?" he demanded in a voice depleted of energy.
"I was afraid."
Daniel coughed and spluttered, panted for breath. "You were afraid."
"Yes, Daniel. I was afraid," she admitted. "I was afraid you were leaving me. And it hurt."
"Do you know how much pain I�ve been in?" Daniel angrily asked. He closed his eyes and allowed his tears to drench the front of her.
"I know. I�m sorry," she cried.
"You don�t know, �cause you weren�t here!" he wailed. A small, high-pitched cry trickled out of his throat. Sam laid her cheek on Daniel's head and cupped the ridge at the back of his skull.
"I�m so sorry, Daniel," she wept, holding him, beseeching him with her arms to forgive her.
Daniel pulled a trembling breath into his lungs and said, "I needed you."
"I know." Sam�s chest shook with powerful sobs, with tears that purged her soul of cowardly fear. "I�m so sorry, Daniel. I�m so sorry. I�m sorry."
"I needed you, Sam, and you weren�t here," he cried against her shoulder.
"I�m sorry."
"I needed you."
"I know."
"It's killing me, Sam."
She crushed her eyes shut against the stinging words, hid her despair behind her closed eyes. She wanted to escape the torment, flee from the misery, but she had done that for months. It was time to step up, comfort him, and give him what little strength she had.
"The chemo?" she asked. She felt his head slightly nod. "It's killing the cancer, Daniel," she whispered. "Your numbers are coming down. It's doing its job."
Daniel tried to suck in air into his starved lungs. "But I think it might kill me before it kills the cancer."
She stroked his face, wiped away some of his tears and a few of her own. "That�s not going to happen. I won't let it."
"Sam, I don't...think I can...do this anymore," he cried. Daniel turned meagerly into her chest and opened himself to release his worst fears into her arms, into her embrace.
"Only two more treatments to go, Daniel," she said, caressing his skin with her cheek, letting her tears run onto the bare skull. "And if I could do it for you, I would. God knows I would."
He had tried to get through this alone. He had wanted to. He couldn't. He remembered Leo telling him to let the chemo take him to the edge and let his friends keep him from going over that edge.
Resting in Sam�s strong arms, Daniel could feel the seductive allure of giving in, of surrendering to the darkness, allowing himself to fall over that edge, if only to end his pain. But the warmth of her body next to his eased some of the pain that wracked his bones, and he knew it was only her embrace that kept him from yielding to the seduction of that dark release.
"I missed you," he whispered softly, his voice dissolving in tears.
"I missed you, too," Sam managed to say, even though her words were gripped with sorrow.
Daniel wept and grasped her hand with the final vestiges of strength he had. "I'm scared, Sam."
"Me, too. But you're almost done, Daniel. This will all be over soon, and you�ll be done. And I'm not leaving you." She held him close, cried with him, comforted him with her hands, with her body, with her love. "I'm not leaving you."
*****
The iridescent moonlight, chopped by the horizontal blinds, painted stripes across Daniel�s face. He lay panting, engulfed in pain. Sam held his hand, lightly stroking the lank fingers.
She had kept her promise and didn't leave him, not even when Jack came back to the room, or when the nurses came in to change the bedding and his gown. She had held Daniel through hours of retching and through hours more of throbbing pain. She worked with Jack to cool Daniel�s feverish skin, to make him comfortable between doses of anti-emetics that only dulled the most stabbing pains and nausea.
They worked in unison to tether Daniel to their hearts and keep him away from that seductive edge, holding him back with their ministrations.
Finally, Daniel was too weak to fight the chemo anymore. He surrendered his body to it, but held onto his resolve to win the war. They nestled him in his bed, and gently tucked the sheets and blankets over him. Jack collapsed into the "chemo-sabe chair" and fell asleep immediately. Sam sat next to Daniel, caressing his hands and wrists. Daniel kept his eyes trained on her, eyes that were half-blind from exhaustion.
"Why don't you try to get some sleep, Daniel?" she asked.
He tried to speak, but could only form the words with his cracked lips.
"What?" Sam asked, leaning over him, pressing her ear close to his mouth. "Say it again, sweetie."
Daniel whispered soundless puffs of words into her ear. She drew back from him, placed her hand gently on his cheek, wiped away a tear, and nodded that she understood. She gently, carefully climbed into his bed, snuggling up behind him. Sam slid her arm under his waist and pressed her body against his back.
"Go to sleep, Daniel," she whispered. "I'll hold you, and I'll make sure your heart won't stop. If I have to, I'll keep it beating myself. I'm here, Daniel. You can rest now."
With the feel of her breath against his neck, his emaciated body held lovingly and safe in her arms, Daniel closed his eyes and was finally able to sleep without fear.
He would not die tonight. Sam wouldn't let it happen. He would not die tonight. He would not die.
And perhaps, he might just live.
*****
Jack walked through the lobby of the hospital and received a fair number of second glances. At six feet two, he was an imposing figure in his class A uniform--especially when he carried a box labeled "Top Secret Stuff" in front of him.
When he reached the elevator, a doctor in a long scrub gown pressed the button for him, read the markings on the box, eyed Jack curiously and decided to mind his own business.
Until the entered the elevator.
"If you don't mind me asking," the surgeon began, "what's in the box?"
"Top Secret Stuff," Jack stated, staring stoically at the elevator panel. "Four, please."
"Top secret, huh?" he said, pushing two buttons on the console.
"That's right, sir."
"In a Xerox box?"
"Your tax money at work."
The surgeon smirked and looked away.
"I mean, is it really Top Secret?" he asked.
"The very top, sir." Jack told him, deadly serious behind his sunglasses.
The doors swung open, allowing Jack to mysteriously disappear down the hall with his box of Top Secret Stuff.
Jack stopped at the nurses� station and explained his visit. The nurses gratefully accepted his generosity, and offered to showed him to the play area.
"I know the way," he told them, and carried his box to the brightly painted room.
He found the room as he expected--filled with children and their anxious parents. Jack walked into the room, set his box on a table and said...nothing.
He took off his glasses, secured them in his breast pocket, pulled his cap lower on his head, and waited.
Slowly the eyes began to turn, began to wonder. Whispers of "Who's he?" floated through the room.
Finally, a little girl with a Power Puff Girl shirt and an IV walked up to him. "What's in your box?"
"Ma'am, that would be Top Secret Stuff," Jack told her without moving an inch.
Two young boys joined the girl, circling the table, discussing what could be in the mystery box. "Can we see what's in there?"
"I'm not sure you have the proper clearance," Jack said to them.
"What's clearance?" one of the boys asked.
"It means," Jack said, crouching down to their level, "that you have to be able to keep a secret. A Top Secret secret."
The children, now a group of five, all nodded their heads with absolute assurance that they could be trusted.
"Okay," Jack said, beginning to take the top off the box. He paused, shut the box again and waggled his finger at them. The parents watched in amusement. "You know, I haven't seen the Top Secret Salute yet from any of you. How can I trust you to be able to see what's in my box of Top Secret Stuff if none of you has saluted yet?"
The children, all six of them, glanced at each other, wondering which knew the salute.
"Looks like you guys forgot it, huh?" he said. "Okay, here it is...again. Make two circles, like this," he began, touching his thumbs and forefingers together. "Now connect those two circles to make goggles." All the children performed the actions with wonder. "Now--and this is the tricky part--flip them upside down, elbows high in the air," he said, turning his hands over so that his palms rested against his cheeks, "and you got yourself a Junior Airman Top Secret Salute."
Six of the children successfully completed the move. Jack helped the last two turn their hands the right direction.
"Okay, Junior Airmen, let's salute," Jack said, standing up straight and saluting the children. The eight Junior Airmen saluted back. The parents chuckled, covered their smiling mouths with their hands, pointed out their child in the pack to each other.
"You now have proper clearance to see what's in the Top Secret Stuff box," Jack said, taking the cover off. "I have Top Secret models of an SR-71 Blackbird," Jack said, taking out one of the sleek, glossy toy jets. "Who thinks they can handle this bird?" Four hands shot up. Jack handed each child one of the toys. "I also have...oh, now these are really Top Secret. I'm talking, Top Top Secret." The children leaned forward, trying to peek inside the box. "No, I'm not sure you guys have the proper clearance for this..."
"Yes, we do!" they shouted.
"Wokay," Jack said, pulling out an angular, black jet. "The F-117 Stealth. Isn't she a beaut? I'm gonna need a couple extra salutes for an F-117."
Three children attempted the salute and performed it correctly. One ended up turning upside down to look through his fingers. Jack gave that Junior Airman the first jet.
When every child in the room had a jet, Jack pulled the other Top Secret Stuff out of the box--Air Force stickers, Air Force water bottles, even Air Force shoestrings. He laid them all on the table and began to leave the room.
"Wait," one father said, heading him off at the door. "Thank you."
Jack smiled warmly at him, shook his hand, silently conveyed that he understood some of his pain, and nodded.
He had one more stop. He held a set of rolled up posters under his arm. He asked the nurses where a certain boy, fourteen, mom's name is Judy might be. One of the nurses led him to his room.
"Spencer?" the nurse said, entering the room. Jack followed behind, removed his cap and thrust it under his arm.
"Yeah?" the teenaged boy sitting in the bed answered, eyeing the tall, gray-haired, official looking man suspiciously. His mother did, as well, until she realized it was her coffee drinking friend Jack.
"Spencer, this is Colonel Jack O'Neill with the United States Air Force. He has something for you," the nurse said, stepping aside to let Jack through.
"Spencer, I heard you want to be an engineer, so I thought you might like these," Jack said, unfurling the posters, four in all, of the finest jets flown by the finest officers in the armed forces.
"Oh, man!" Spencer exclaimed. He spread each one out in front of him on the foot of his bed. "This is so cool!"
Judy stood up, nonplussed, shaking her head and smiling. "I don't know what to say?"
Jack offered her his card. "If there is anything else I can ever do for you and your son, anything, you give me a call."
Judy took the card, focused on the name and nodded. "I will, Jack. Colonel."
"You can call me Jack."
"Thanks, Jack," Judy said, her eyes misting with grateful tears.
"Happy to do it," he said.
Judy reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Jack hugged her back.
"I need to get upstairs," he said, positioning his cap back on his head. "See you around, Spencer."
"Thanks!" the young man said, hardly taking his eyes off the exciting photographs.
"Anytime," Jack said, smiled and left.
It wasn't much, what he'd done. He brought some little toy jets, some stickers and water bottles to some kids, and a couple posters to a teenager. It was Air Force recruiting stuff he'd picked up at the Academy before coming to the hospital. No big deal, but what he got in return seemed much more precious than the cheap plastic toys he was able to bring to those kids. He didn't think it was fair that he surely got more out of it than they did.
In any event, it was one of the nicest moments he had had in the hospital since Daniel's stay, and it somehow helped to heal a little residual pain as well.
*****
One last treatment. One final night. How Daniel managed to get through it, Jack couldn't understand. Hour after hour of cruel nausea toppled Daniel. Sam and Jack took turns holding his limp body, continuously under attack from the final course of drugs. They took turns vacillating between hope and misery, between despair and tenacity. They saw him through the fluorescent night and into the dusty morning sun.
Finally, it was over. A truce had been reached. Daniel was asleep before he could be gingerly covered with blankets again.
And then it was their turn to sleep. Sam curled up in the "chemo-sabe chair" and promptly fell asleep. Jack pulled up the extra chair, leaned over the foot of the bed and found his slumber.
Two hours later, when Janet and Teal'c entered the room, they were still asleep, looking very much battle-weary. They decided to pull in some chairs and quietly wait it out.
Late in the afternoon, after they had all taken turns stealing off to the cafeteria in pairs, they returned to sit a vigil in Daniel's room.
Nora had come in to check on Daniel�s IV, check on his vitals, tell them it was very common for a patient to sleep this much after a final treatment. She assured them he was fine, just worn out.
So they waited, watched a little TV, and kept their eyes on Daniel, looking so small and weak in his bed.
Jack sat next to him, catching up on his news. He was turning the pages of the newspaper when he realized Daniel's eyes were on him.
"Daniel?" he said.
"Read to me," Daniel whispered. His limp hands grazed the edge of the bed. The bones and lines in his face too sharp against the silhouette of the white pillow.
"Read to you?" Jack said.
"I need words."
"Okay," Jack said. He scanned the paper and found an article that he found particularly interesting.
Sam leaned forward, intently watching the quiet exchange while a lump formed in her throat.
"Okay, here," Jack said, creasing the paper. "Um, okay...'The Red Wings have the best record in the NHL, have the most goals, and no team has a better road record. But Coach Scotty Bowman...'" he read.
Daniel closed his eyes, let the words bathe him in a world beyond his hospital bed. He pushed his hand toward the edge of the bed, incrementally, with great effort.
"�...still isn't pleased. Bowman said Saturday he could bench certain...'" Jack continued. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the almost imperceptible movement of Daniel's hand. "'...forwards in the coming weeks after what he deemed unsatisfactory performances in the past weeks.'"
Without stopping his recitation, Jack reached out his hand and softly grasped Daniel's. Nestled in his soft, warm palm, pressed to Jack�s palm was a small medal�a shared connection between two soldiers who had the strength and courage to ask for back-up. Jack cleared away the knot in his throat and continued. "� "Some guys have to play better," said Bowman, who didn't name any of the culprits, but did say they were some of the Wings' big names.'"
Jack glanced over at Daniel, and for the first time in months saw a sense of calm wash over him. A sense that everything was going to work out. Jack gave his friend�s hand a gentle embrace. Told St. Michael he�d done well. Jack pulled his lips to one side and sniffed, tried not to let on that the poignancy of the moment had his heart in his throat. He just continued to read, all the while stroking Daniel's hand with his thumb. "'Friday's 1-1 tie against Phoenix was an example...'"
Sam wrapped her hands around each other, used her thumbs to wipe away the tears that had gathered while watching the quiet moment of deep understanding between these two men. Janet reached over and rubbed her back.
"You okay?" she whispered, seeing Sam's tears.
Sam turned her head toward her friend, smiled and nodded. "Oh, yeah. I'm good."
Teal'c sat back, entirely satisfied that all was well, that his friend's worst hour had passed.
Daniel faded in and out, all the while knowing his friends were there to hold him back from the edge.
*****
He opened the freezer and stared at all the containers of labeled food, food that was probably freezer-burned by now. Tuna casserole, lentils and beans, lasagna, beef stroganoff, cabbage rolls�and those were the ones he could see. There were rows of frozen orange juice, three pints of ice cream, and half a cheesecake. And off to the side, covered by a frozen pizza, was a box of waffles.
Daniel smiled.
He pulled the box of waffles out of the freezer and pulled one out. He held the frozen waffle in his hand, glanced at his toaster, and threw caution to the wind. He sank his teeth into the thick, slightly greasy waffle, broke off a hunk and chewed. And chewed.
"Oh, God, this is repulsive," he said, spitting the disgusting mash into the garbage. He reached for his glass of milk and gargled with it before swallowing.
He was just putting the carton of milk back in the refrigerator when the phone rang. Daniel brushed off his hands, grabbed his phone and flipped it open.
"This is Dr. Jackson," he said, tossing the frozen waffles back into the freezer.
"Hi, Daniel. This is Nora," came the voice over his phone. "I have your lab results."
Daniel stumbled through the kitchen and fell into a dining room chair.
The trembling started in his stomach, worked its way down through his hips and up through his shoulders, until it settled in his feet and hands.
"Daniel?"
"Yeah, Nora. I�m here. Go ahead," he said. He tried tightening the muscles in his legs to stop the shaking, but that only produced hips that ached. He picked up a pen and a pad of paper and prepared himself to take notes.
While Nora rattled off numbers of tumor markers and hormone levels, Daniel scratched each one on the pad of paper in a scrawl that he hoped he�d be able to read later. The more Nora talked, the less he heard. The more numbers she ticked off, the less he understood. The tension running through his back seized the long cords running down his spine. He closed his eyes, rounded out his back and tried to remember to give an appropriate answer to each of her questions.
"Daniel? Can I answer anything for you?" Nora asked, calmly, knowing the impact a call like this had on a patient.
Daniel dropped his pen and covered his mouth with a tremendously shaking hand. He could almost feel himself crumbling bone by bone.
"Daniel?" Nora said.
"No. No, I don�t have�I don�t any questions," he spit out, hardly able to hold the phone to his ear.
"Then you�ll call to make an appointment? Next week, right?" Nora firmly yet softly implored.
Daniel nodded, tried not to let on that he was already crying. "I will."
"Okay. You have my number if you need anything," she said.
Daniel bit the inside of his cheek, really tried not to come completely unglued, but he was shaking so hard, God, he was shaking so hard he could hardly stay in his seat.
"I�ll let you go, Daniel," Nora told him.
Daniel quickly, frantically hung up the phone.
He pushed away from the table, pressed his back into the chair and thought if he could only�think. Just let me think. Think. What do I do now?
He grabbed his phone and dialed.
"This is O�Neill."
Daniel couldn�t find his voice. Maybe it was lost in the trembling, maybe it was lost at having to tell Jack what Nora had told him. He didn�t know, but he couldn�t speak. He could only sit and shake.
"Hello?"
Daniel had thought about getting news like that. Thought about how he�d react. I mean, sure, there was a chance, but he found himself totally, absolutely unprepared for the reality of hearing it.
"Okay. Fine. I�m hanging--"
"Jack," Daniel managed to croak out.
It was Jack�s turn to be silent. Daniel ground his fingertips into his skull and watched as his own tears fell onto his pant legs, leaving wet splotches of ever-widening circles.
"Daniel, what�s goin� on?" Jack asked.
"Nora called," Daniel said. He couldn�t say it, could he? Did he have the strength to actually say the word? His teeth chattered and he wiped his nose along his sleeve.
"Okay. What did she say?" Jack asked, lowering his voice to a softness meant to put Daniel at ease.
But Daniel was long past ease. He was gaining on outright breakdown.
"Daniel, tell me what she said."
Daniel held his forehead in his hand, let heavy tears tumble down his cheeks.
"Daniel, dammit, tell me."
"I�m..." Daniel pulled the phone away and covered the mouthpiece so Jack wouldn�t hear him crying. He sobbed, unable to force out the words. He could hear Jack yelling his name, sounding so far away. He wiped his nose again over the back of his hand and returned the phone to his ear.
"...me the fuck what Nora..."
"I�m in remission," Daniel finally said, and the sound of the word coming out of his mouth made it more real, made it more powerful, made him surrender to the overwhelming emotions that swept through him.
"I�m on my way," was the last thing Daniel heard Jack say before he let the phone slide out of his hands and onto the table with a crash.
He was deluged with conflicting emotions, steamrolled by the shock of the word. He hadn�t thought hearing he was in remission would bury him, but relief, he quickly realized, was just as powerful and unnerving as hearing he had cancer--it consumed him, drained him of the final toxins in his blood, of the skittering thoughts crackling through his mind. That one word, held up in his mind, sent him crumbling, toppling through sobs laden with burden. That one word that he never dared to allow himself to think about. That one word that was now his. That one word.
Remission. Remission. Remission.
He was in remission, and all he could do was cry and weep until there was nothing left, until it hurt too much cry anymore, until he had to lay his throbbing head on the table and fall asleep.
Sleep until he heard his door open and then close.
Daniel lifted his head, pounding from congestion, off the table and squinted at the figure across the room.
And then he realized that the word had the same affect on Jack.
Daniel pushed himself up from the table, stepped away from his chair and stopped. He held his arms across his chest, cocked his head to one side and locked eyes with Jack.
Jack nervously looked away and absently scrubbed the back of his head.
Daniel stepped closer, lowered his face and sniffed absently.
Jack felt his hands become tremulous, so he thrust them into his pockets.
Daniel stopped a few feet in front of Jack, caught a glimpse of Jack�s moist eyes, and smiled gently, which sent the first tear down Jack�s cheek. Embarrassed, Jack quickly wiped it away with his coat collar. Daniel saw how hard Jack was trying to hold it all in, saw how Jack was really, desperately trying to maintain his well-honed sense of impassivity, but he also saw the tears that wouldn�t stop running down Jack�s face.
Daniel deliberately, tenderly stepped closer to Jack. He held out his arms and embraced Jack.
Jack stood stunned for a moment, unable to move, his hands in his pockets.
"It�s okay, Jack," Daniel whispered in Jack�s ear. His own tears were back, but they were unhurried, quieter, gentler. "I understand."
Jack dropped his head onto Daniel�s shoulder and wept.
"I understand," Daniel whispered, smoothing the soft, gray hair while he listened to Jack�s muffled sobs. "I understand."
*****
The late afternoon sun was rolling back behind the peaks of mountaintops, throwing mile-long shadows across the city cradled in the valley below. Somewhere down there was a hospital. Somewhere, far below the ragged escarpment in the mountains to the west of town were people healing and hurting, wondering when they would find relief from their pain, wondering when it might all end, wondering how it was they ended up in a hospital room.
Somewhere down there was a lifetime ago.
Daniel warmed his hands inside his coat pocket, hunched his shoulders around his ears, and peered down on the city. The cold wind blew through his short-cropped hair. Every time he ran his hands over the new hair he smiled, amazed at how soft it felt. The new hair signaled a new beginning, and he wished he could really believe it also signaled an end.
But with every cold that congested his lungs, with every slight pain in his chest or in his groin, Daniel was gripped with fear. He'd wake up in a cold sweat, sure, absolutely positive the cancer was back. He felt like he was lingering in a middle ground--not quite healthy, and not quite sick. It was still the same--more waiting.
He was awfully damn tired of waiting.
"Daniel, it's cold," Jack called to him.
"I'm okay," Daniel answered back over his shoulder.
"You may be fine, but I'm not. Come on, would ya? I'm freezin' my ass off here, and you and I both know I don't have much of an ass to begin with," Jack told him, rubbing his gloved hands over his arms.
"Just another minute," Daniel said. He spent every moment he could outside since leaving the hospital. He had made a promise to himself that once the chemo was over, he wouldn't wonder what the weather was like, he'd go outside and experience it himself, be drenched by it, consumed in it, bask in it.
"Okay, but, here's the thing--Sam and Teal'c are waiting. I wasn't supposed to say anything, so do me a favor and act surprised, but...well, they've got a...thing waiting for you."
"A thing," Daniel repeated, watching the shadows consume the valley below.
"Yeah, a thing. A few of your closest friends thing."
"MY closest friends?" Daniel asked dubiously.
"Yes. You know -- a TGIO party."
"Thank God it's..."
"Over," Jack said, walking up the few feet to stand next to him. "It's over, Daniel."
Daniel smirked and glanced at Jack. "Well, in five years it will be over."
"It's over. Count on it."
Daniel watched as the shadow crept up the opposite side of the valley, rising to the crests of the facing mountains. The sky above began to explode with color. Clouds changed from pink to orange, jet streams became gilded against lavender skies.
"I never understood why people leave as soon as the sun sets," Daniel said, tilting his head back to take in the entire vista. "The best show is always after that."
"Some of the best parts of life happen when you think it's all over," Jack told him, draping his arm across Daniel's shoulders.
Daniel scowled, looked at Jack sidelong. "Gees, Jack, you ever think maybe you'd like to write for The Lifetime Channel?" he sarcastically asked.
Jack chucked him on the arm.
Daniel snickered, let his head fall forward to hide his loopy smile, and then decided he needed to tell Jack something he�d been meaning to. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For getting me through it," Daniel said, patting Jack on the chest.
"You're welcome," Jack said. "Thanks for letting me."
"You're welcome," Daniel said, smiling a little more broadly. "Thank you for letting me puke all over you."
"You're welcome," Jack said, turning his friend toward the awaiting truck. "Thanks for letting me buy you a TV."
"You're welcome," Daniel said, laughing. "Thanks, uh, for making me take so many wonderful vitamins."
"You're welcome," Jack said, hitting the fob on his key chain. "Thanks for letting me read hockey stories to you."
"You're welcome," Daniel said, taking one last look of the valley over his shoulder. "Thanks for...you read hockey stories to me?"
"You're welcome," Jack said, prodding Daniel to continue on to the truck.
Daniel wiped a hand over his face, tried to quash a smile. He glanced at the hand that encircled his shoulder. "So, Jack this whole hugging, touching thing," he said, slowing down.
"Yeah, how about that," Jack said, turning Daniel into him and cloaking him in a warm embrace. "Turns out it's just my nature. Deal with it."
Daniel hooked his chin on Jack's shoulder, closed his eyes and enjoyed the security of his friend's gesture of love and respect.
"Okay," he said, and smiled.
~ The end. ~
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