"I didn't know. I didn't know. How could I know?" Corey asked, pacing in tight circles in the SGC parking lot. "He looked so awful, Sam. I didn't...why didn't you tell me he was so bad?" She held her hands on top of her head, an attempt to contain the burgeoning panic that threatened to erupt and envelope her in a poisonous cloud of despair.

"I don't think any of us knew," Sam said, standing back, allowing Corey her space. Sam slid her hands into her pockets. What she had seen in there, Daniel's wild, frightened expression and words, tore at her heart. In the last few weeks checking in on Daniel, talking him through his nightmares, she thought he was getting better. She was totally unprepared for the condition she and Corey had found him in when they entered the VIP room.

When the plans were made to bring Corey onto base, Sam assumed it might be awkward at first. She knew Daniel was afraid of seeing Corey--Sam didn't understand why. But she thought once they saw each other, once Daniel could hold Corey, that it would signal an end for him, that it would signal a new beginning for them both. She envisioned Jack and herself backing out of the room, leaving the two alone to reconnect, grieve, comfort each other. She knew they both needed it so badly.

But, instead, she was standing in the cold drizzle outside the mouth of the mountain, watching Daniel's wife pace frantically, barely able to keep it together.

"God, Sam, he seems so..." Corey started, taking a tissue from her pocket and blowing her nose.

"I know," Sam said.

"What am I going to do?" Corey asked, finally coming to a standstill. She locked eyes with Sam, begging her to give her the answers to all her questions and fears.

Sam stepped in front of her, took Corey's hands into her own, and said, "Corey, the first thing you need to do is remember that you are not in this alone. You don't have to do this by yourself. Whatever it takes to get Daniel back, we'll do it. Together. Okay? Can you remember that?"

Corey nodded, pensively.

"Corey, what Daniel went through...the condition we found him in was..." Sam stopped, not sure what she wanted to say to Corey, not sure what she could say to Corey. Fairly certain nothing at this point would help. "It may take longer than we expected."

"How long? A week? A month? A year? How long until I get my husband back?" Corey asked, turning from Sam to look into the mouth of the cavernous rock. "Will I ever get him back?"

"Corey, after Sha're died, Daniel disappeared from us. I mean, don't get me wrong, he was always in the same room with us, but he was never...with us. For a long time he was just hanging on, doing what he had to do just to get by. And then you came into his life," Sam gently reminded her. Sam rubbed her hands together, chilled by the damp air. "Corey, you gave him back his smile. You opened him up and filled him with love." She circled around Corey in order to face her. "Corey, you're going to have do that again."

"I'm not sure I have the strength," Corey whispered, tears blending with the icy mist on her face.

"You don't have a choice," Sam told her, hoping Corey could see past the chaos which had become her life and see into the future which held its own set of chaotic realities. "If you want your husband back, you're going to have to find a way to get inside him again."

"Do you really think he wants me to do that? I mean, come on, Sam! You saw him. You heard him. He didn't want me here. What makes you think he wants me..at all?" she cried.

Sam pulled Corey into a her arms, as much to comfort and give strength to Corey as to share in Corey's anguish. "He wants you, Corey. More importantly, he needs you. He's just lost right now, that's all. He'll come around. Give it some time."

"This isn't what I expected my marriage would be," Corey mewled, looking into the gray oppressive sky.

"I know. But that's what you agreed to, right? Better or worse? Well, this is the worse part," Sam reminded her.

"I hope this is the worst it ever gets," Corey said, stepping back, wiping her face. "But...somehow, I don't think it is."

Sam silently agreed with her.

*****

The VIP room was unnaturally quiet. Soft light from the bedside lamp timidly held back the darkness.

Daniel opened his eyes, blinked a few times, ran his tongue over his chapped lips. He didn't move. Just tried to gather his thought, figure out how long he'd been in this room.

His arms were wrapped around his chest, one hand under each arm, pressed into his side to quell the tremors. His sinuses ached. Daniel remembered that feeling--he used to wake up with it for weeks after Sha're died. Once again, he had fallen asleep crying.

He didn't remember falling asleep. He closed his eyes and tried to account for the moments before he lost himself to the quiet.

Daniel opened his eyes with a start, held his breath, and stared at nothing while the realization of what had happened hit him. He threw back the side of the comforter that had been hastily folded over on top of him and sat up.

"Oh, God. Corey." Daniel pressed his hand to his mouth.

Should he call her? Should he call Jack? He pulled and twisted his fingers, wished they would just stop shaking for one damn minute. What did she hear? What did she see? Did she hear him crying? Why didn't she come back?

He slowly stood up, waited for his equilibrium to even out, and walked to the door. On the table, an object glinted, caught his eye.

His wedding ring.

Daniel stared at the ring and the reflection of it on the satin sheen of the hardwood surface.

"I brought you something," her voice sounded in his memory. "You left it at home before you..."

"Oh, Corey," Daniel whispered, sinking into the side chair.

Just a ring, he thought. Just a piece of jewelry. Just a symbol. A token made of gold.

Daniel reached for it, but couldn't quite grab it.

"Alchemy," Daniel said aloud. "Two base metals into gold."

He stared at the ring, could almost feel a force emanating from it.

"The problem with alchemy isn't the transformation of the two base metals," he said, "it's that those metals have to each have a soul. It won't work if one of them has lost his soul."

A soft knock on the door drew his attention away from the ring.

"Dr. Jackson?" General Hammond softly called.

Daniel quickly grabbed the ring and pocketed it.

"Yeah. General," Daniel said.

General Hammond stepped inside the room. "I just thought I'd stop by to see how you're doing."

Daniel creased his brow. "Um, I'm fine. Thank you, sir."

"May I?" General Hammond asked, grabbing the back of one of the chairs.

Daniel nodded. Intuitively he knew this was going to be one of those conversations he tried to avoid. Rarely, almost never, did he and General Hammond just sit down together.

Daniel felt his hands begin to shake again. He shoved them under his legs.

"How are your hands?" General Hammond asked, taking notice of Daniel's attempt to hide them.

"Um, well," Daniel began. With the added anxiety of having his CO ask about his hands, the trembling increased, along with the beginning of a nervous shake in his legs. Daniel clenched his jaws. "Is there something I can do for you, sir?"

General Hammond sat quietly in his chair, propped his elbow on the armrest and swiped a finger across his lips. "In 1965, I was 21 years old and I married my high school sweetheart. She was quick with a joke and lively as a twister. Never once did she ever complain about livin' on a military base. And then in 1967, I was shipped out to Viet Nam. I told her to take care, promised her I'd come home safe and sound, told her to keep the faith. And she did."

Daniel listened silently to the general's story, never looking up from his bouncing knees.

"The things I saw in Viet Nam--the things I did in the name of duty and self-preservation--I prayed to God I'd be able to forgive myself and forget. But you don't forget those things, do you?" he gently asked Daniel.

Daniel swallowed, shifted his face further from General Hammond's view, and whispered, "No."

General Hammond exhaled and clucked the side of his cheek. "I came home unable to look my wife-- my sweet, precious wife-- in the eye. Ashamed of myself for the things I had done.

"I moped around, shut myself off from her for a good long time. Didn't know any better. At that time you didn't involve your wife in your business affairs.

"I could tell she was gettin' frustrated with me, but I didn't know how to make it right.

"One day I came home and she was gone. She had taken my daughter, all her clothes, and left me with a cupboard full of coffee cups."

"Sir, I..."

"I sat in my kitchen like a fool for five hours straight. Didn't know what to do. And then it hit me," General Hammond said, meshing his fingers together and placing them in his lap. "Smack-dab across the back of the head, she hit me with a broom."

Daniel looked up at the general, not sure he had heard correctly. "Sir?"

"She was standing behind me, swingin' like Mickey Mantle," General Hammond laughed, remembering the moment. "She said, 'I've had enough of your feelin' sorry for yourself, George. Now get up off your duff and help me move the rest of these boxes to our new apartment.'"

"She didn't leave you?" Daniel asked, incredulously.

"Nope. But I was too deep into my own misery to remember that she had said we were moving," the general told him. His chest heaved with laughter. "She whooped me but good. God bless her."

Daniel managed a small smile.

"Without my wife, I never would have been able to have the life that I've had. She believed in me even when I thought it was time to throw in the towel. That's what wives do, I guess. Shore you up when you don't feel like you have anything left."

Daniel rubbed his tired and aching eyes.

"A few years back when I lost my wife to cancer, I felt like I was left with nothing but a cupboard full of coffee cups again. Thought if she hadn't come back all those years ago to hit me with that broom then I wouldn't have had to see her suffer. Wouldn't have had to see my best friend wasting away.

"But, that's the trade off in marriage, isn't it?" General Hammond asked as he stood up, straightened his back. "All the joys, all the wonderful moments--the birth of your first child; watching your wife change from a giggling young girl with chestnut hair to a beautiful, intelligent woman with streaks of silver--that's what you remember. The bad things--the petty arguments; seeing the mastectomy scars--well, they're just part of the bargain. And, unfortunately, you cain't have one without the other. But those bad times sure do make you appreciate the good times all the more." General Hammond patted Daniel on the shoulder.

"In any event, I just wanted to check in, see how you were doin'," the general said. "I'll leave you be."

Daniel picked nervously at the side of his thumb.

General Hammond closed the door on his way out.

*****

"I was about to put out an all-points bulletin on you," Janet said as Daniel slowly made his way back to the infirmary.

"I fell asleep in the VIP room," Daniel told her, lowering himself gingerly into the side chair.

"Actually, I knew that," she said, smiling. "Colonel O'Neill told me where you were." Janet leaned against the bed, crossed her feet at the ankles, and clutched his chart to her chest. "How are you feeling now?"

Daniel absently rubbed his face, began to say something, and scowled.

"Daniel? You wanna talk about it?" she asked, having received a sketchy report from Sam on how the meeting between Corey and Daniel went.

Daniel held his hands in front of himself and watched them tremble. He clenched his jaws. "When will this stop?"

Janet put the chart down and pulled up a chair, sitting directly in front of Daniel. "Let me take a look," she said, offering her open palms. She waited for Daniel to give her his hands rather than just grab them.

Daniel hesitated before placing his hands in hers.

Janet massaged the joints, drew her fingers across the bones and tendons, turned each hand slowly over in her own. She carefully unwrapped each wrist, exposing the scabbed remains of the barbaric injuries. There was nothing that would cause the palsy in his hands. All the tests indicated that bone, tissue and nerve damage was remarkably slight.

Did she want to tell Daniel it was all in his head? Did she want to tell him it was just nerves? Did she want to lie to him and spare him the truth? In this instance, would honesty be the absolute best policy, or would the judicious veiling of the truth be more productive, more conducive to the healing process?

"My best guess is you've still got a little nerve damage that should correct itself in time," she told him. And she was comfortable with that explanation. There was nerve damage--no where near his hands, but one could say his nerves were shot, in a colloquial manner, and that would certainly account for his tremors.

She pressed the two hands together and enfolded them in her two smaller hands. "Daniel, Sam told me seeing Corey didn't go very well ."

Daniel pulled his hands away from her and tucked them under his arms. "No. No, it didn't."

"Is there anything I can do?" Janet asked. "I mean, as your physician, can I answer her questions?"

"Like 'Corey, let me tell you what kind of head-case your husband has turned out to be'?" Daniel asked, sarcastically.

"No. Like try to explain to her what you're going through," she offered.

"What am I going through?"

"A very difficult time."

Daniel lowered his head and laced his hands over the back of his neck. His knees began to pop up and down like pistons. "I think I scared her." A sardonic chuckle left his mouth. "Truth be told, I scared myself."

"Daniel, obviously you were exhausted. You've been sleeping in the VIP room for over 13 hours. Sleep deprivation can do a number on your emotions and ability to be rational. You know that," Janet reminded him. "You're tired, confused, hurting in about ten different ways. I don't doubt that you were saying some fairly scary things."

"I...it's just that I didn't even know where they came from," Daniel said.

Don't...don't discount the traumatic experience you've been through, Daniel."

"I don't discount it, Janet," Daniel said, lowering his hands and throwing his head back. He closed his eyes and took in a long breath through his nose. "In fact, I can't seem to forget it."

"Don't try," Janet said.

"If I want to go home, I'm going to have to be able...be able to keep..." Daniel stopped and shook his head. "I can't go home like this, Janet. Corey shouldn't have to deal with this."

"Deal with what?"

Daniel rolled his eyes and pursed his lips together. "A husband who is falling apart."

Janet stared at him. "Do you think you're falling apart?"

"Don't you?" he asked, quietly, locking eyes with her. When Janet couldn't answer him, Daniel looked away and rested his forehead in one shaking hand.

*****

"Oh, God!" Daniel cried, clutching his chest, feeling his heart thumping frantically. "Okay. Okay. It was just a dream. Go back to sleep," he told himself. He tried swallowing to force his heart to slow down. He shifted to his side and balled his hands up under his chin. He closed his eyes.

He still could see the reptilian tongues lashing across her neck. Corey's neck.

Daniel clumsily pulled the phone into bed with him and began to dial before he changed his mind.

His chest tightened as the phone rang.

"Hello?" came the sleepy voice.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Felt the muscles in his neck tighten and quake.

"Hello?"

"Corey?" Daniel said meekly.

There was a crushing silence on the other end of the phone. Daniel bit his lower lip.

"Daniel?"

"Yeah. It's me," he said as adrenalin pushed his heart to a racing speed.

"Oh, my god..."

"I shouldn't have called so late. I'll let you..."

"No! Don't do that. It's just so...so wonderful to hear your voice."

"I just needed...you said to call if..."

"Daniel? What's wrong?" she asked.

"I should let you go."

"No, please. Stay on the line," Corey said.

Daniel sucked in his lower lip. "I don't know what to say, Corey."

"You don't have to say anything, DJ," she told him. "Let me just hear you breathe."

He let the phone rest against his ear and tried to breathe. The image of her standing over Jack's shoulder in the VIP room burned in his mind. He had to say something, find a way to explain it to her. Maybe explain it to himself.

"I'm sorry, Corey," Daniel whispered.

"Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for everything. For the other day. For the last weeks. I'm sorry," Daniel said.

"No. That's not necessary. I shouldn't have surprised you like that," said Corey.

"It was just that..."

"You were tired. I know.'

Daniel nodded. Tired. Yes, and panicked and afraid. I still am...

"I miss you, Daniel."

His stomach tightened, and a warm prickling sensation flared in his nose. "I miss you, too, Corey. I do."

He heard the muffled sound of crying on the other end of the phone. The breathy sighs pelted him with sadness and regret. He turned into the pillow and muffled the sound of his heart crumbling.

"I'm sorry, Corey. I shouldn't have called," Daniel said, feeling slick tears forming in the corners of his eyes, puddling on his nose.

"No, I'm so glad you did. Don't...don't mind me," Corey told him, sniffling. "These aren't tears of sadness. These are tears of relief."

Daniel nervously bit at his thumbnail .

"DJ? You know what would be great? Get one of those metal bedpans and put it next to your legs. Pretend like it's my ice-cold feet," she tried to joke.

Daniel smiled. A tear edged over the bridge of his nose.

"Go to sleep, Daniel. Prop up the phone next to you and go to sleep. I'll stay on the other line," she said in a raspy voice. "And if I were there, I'd rub your back, draw my fingers through your hair against your temples, kiss your cheek and your eyes, until you were too tired to open them."

Daniel closed his eyes, curled his lips around his stuttered breathing, and nodded.

"Sleep, my love," she whispered.

"Corey, I..." I love you; I need you; I am so afraid of hurting you.

"Shhhh."

Daniel covered the speaker with his trembling hand and wept. He listened to her humming a lilting melody, a soft melancholy tune in three-quarter time. He had heard her play it on the piano a hundred times. Listening to her quiet voice hum the bittersweet song, Daniel's memory supplied the easy stride of the accompaniment. A shared union.

Until he remembered the name of the music and the last time he heard it--locked away in his sacred hiding place on-board Osiris' ship. He had sung it to himself, used it as a pacifier, suckled on the simple notes to fend off his terror, comfort himself.

Daniel pressed the phone into the mattress and covered his mouth with his hand. He pulled his knees up to his chest and felt uncontrollable anxiety consume him.

So much that he could never tell her. So much that she would never know. So many things that ripped him apart and away from her. So many things. So many things...

*****

Jack had been from one end of the base to the other. Daniel wasn't in the infirmary, wasn't in the VIP room, wasn't in his office. He even checked the mess hall on the outside chance that hunger pains had finally caught up with Daniel.

Nothing.

For the last few weeks, Daniel had been quiet, pensive. Even more than usual. Jack was trying to give him some time, some needed space. Jack knew he tended to hover over his team, especially Daniel.

And when Jack couldn't find Daniel anywhere on base, he went back to his own office and decided Daniel didn't want to be found. Jack took out some paper work that he had been neglecting, found his favorite pen, straightened out the pile of papers, tapped them with his pen, and decided he really should find Daniel.

Trying to walk casually through the base, Jack looked in every office, knocked on every door. He found his nine iron in Teal'c's quarters. His hackey sack in the briefing room.

Finally, he pulled open the doors of the gate room. He gave the area a cursory glance and decided to leave. An inkling sprang up in the back of his head and made him turn around and go back. He yanked on the heavy double doors and slowly walked in, scuffling his boots on the concrete floor.

Nothing.

Jack stood in the middle of the embarkation room, scratching his head. He started to leave the room, lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck, and noticed Daniel standing in the window of the debriefing room, looking down on Jack.

Jack stopped and held Daniel's focus. Slowly, he climbed the stairs to the room, two stories above the Stargate.

Daniel never took his eyes off the gate as Jack sidled alongside him and stared out the same window.

"Hey," Jack said.

"Hey."

"Watcha doin'?"

Daniel pulled in the corners of his eyes. "Not much."

"I've been looking for..."

"Ah, I'm...God, Jack, I'm so tired of it all. I don't want to go back to the infirmary for anymore check ups. I don't want to be cooped up in the VIP room either. I...I guess I just don't know what to do with myself."

Jack dropped his head and looked at his shoes, knowing the next words out of his mouth might not be the most comfortable, but they had to be said, nonetheless. "I know a place you could go, Daniel."

Daniel glanced at Jack and then back at the embarkation room. "Jack, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"When you were in..." Daniel paused, apprehensive about saying the word. "When you got back from...after you were held prisoner in..."

"...Iraq? It's okay to say it, Daniel," Jack told him.

Daniel nodded. "Right. Well, after..."

"...Iraq..."

"...were you afraid to...to go home?"

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.

Daniel instantly wished he could have taken back his question. "You know what? We don't have to talk about it. Forget I asked."

"No. No," Jack said, pressing his hands into his pockets. Jack bounced up and down on his toes trying to find the best way to start his answer. "Here's the thing: Home is scary. Home is scary because you left in one condition, and you're going back...changed. But, Daniel, home is where you rebuild."

"I can rebuild here," Daniel quietly added.

"No, Daniel, you can't. A military base is not a home," Jack said.

"It's been as much a home to me as I've ever known," Daniel ironically said.

"But a base is where you hide from life. I know. I've spent most my adult life hiding on one base or another," Jack told him. "Daniel, this place is a dreary little tree house where you squirrel away and hold onto your nuts..."

Daniel eyed him curiously.

"Well, you know what I mean," Jack said, embarrassed by his malapropism. "What I'm trying to say..."

"Yes?"

"It's time to come down from the tree and go home."

Daniel thought it over. He softly chuckled. "While I'm holding onto my nuts?"

"Hey, what you do with your nuts is your business," Jack added, softly elbowing Daniel.

Daniel momentarily swayed from the hit, steadied himself and frowned. "I do miss her," he sadly admitted. "I called her the other night, you know."

"That's great, Daniel," Jack told him, surprised by the news. "That first call is the hardest."

Daniel folded his arms around his chest, pressed his hands into his side. "How can I tell her what I did?"

"You'll find away," Jack said. He turned to sit against the window sill in the briefing room, played with some change in his pockets. "I know you're afraid, Daniel, but it's time to go home."

"I pushed her away so far, I don't know how to get her back," Daniel half spoke, half whispered. He dropped his chin to his chest and shut his eyes.

"Don't worry. She'll find you." Jack pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Daniel.

Daniel looked at the small phone in the palm of Jack's hand. His stomach began to churn. "I don't know..."

"I'll dial," Jack said, manipulating the numbers. "All you have to do is 'send.'" He handed it to Daniel.

Daniel hesitated, pulled his hand from under his arm, and warily took the phone from Jack.

"You can do it, Daniel."

In his shaking hand, the phone rocked. Daniel's other hand trembled in unison, making it difficult for him to press the correct button.

Jack steadied Daniel's hand, allowing Daniel to press the green button.

Daniel lifted the phone to his ear. He pressed his free hand under his arm and closed his eyes.

"Hello?"

Daniel bent slightly at the waist and forced himself to speak. "Corey?"

"Daniel? Hi!" she said, brightly, genuine. "How are you today?"

"I...I want to come home," he managed.

"When? Now? I'll...I'll come get you."

"No. Not now. A few days maybe. Soon."

"Okay. Okay. Whenever you're ready. Come home."

Daniel nodded. The trembling had found its way into his abdomen and back. He swayed gently trying to stave off further progression. "Corey?"

"Yes, Daniel?"

"I..."

Daniel's legs began to shake.

"What, DJ?"

"I..."

"Daniel, we have plenty of time to talk when you get home. It's okay."

Daniel nodded. He could feel what little control he had draining from him. "I have to go."

"Okay."

"I'll call again."

"Soon, Daniel. Call again soon."

"I..." Daniel reached for Jack who quickly supported his arm.

"I love you," she said.

"Okay. I have to go..." Daniel nodded and gave Jack the phone.

Jack ended the call, tossed the phone in his pocket, and watched Daniel carefully.

Daniel stood uncontrollably trembling. He blinked and shivered, pulled at his fingers. Sweat poured from his body.

"I can't...seem t-to st-stop sh-shaking," he whispered, trying to show Jack that he found a certain strange humor in it.

"Okay. Come here," Jack said as he stepped behind Daniel, wrapped his arms around him, grabbed Daniel's shaking hands, and helped him gain control over his body.

"You did good, Daniel. You did good," Jack told him, looking out at the great metal ring.

Daniel dropped his head back onto Jack's shoulder and forced himself to breathe deeply. In and out. In and out. Calm himself.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," came the shaky reply.

Jack held on tighter.

"You know, we gotta stop doing this. Sam's starting to get jealous," Jack mentioned.

Daniel blew air out of his mouth, closed his eyes, and told himself that he could do this on his own. That he didn't need to go to the infirmary. That soon enough he'd have to get through this without Jack.

That soon enough he'd have to go home and try like hell not to let Corey see him this way.

*****

The trees had been whipped by the autumn wind, stripping them of their foliage. Naked and exposed, their outreaching branches waited expectantly for the onset of imminent winter.

Daniel felt an empathy for them and, understanding their suffering, took in the scene silently, sadly from the passenger seat of the car.

Corey drove through the city streets while her heart raced. She had picked Daniel up at the SGC twenty minutes earlier, and they had driven this far in silence. She had so many questions for him, so many things she wanted to say to him. So many ways she wanted to express her love, her concern, and her relief that he was with her again.

So much time had been lost. So many hours of tears and trembling anxiety. Hours of unanswered, silent questions tumbling into days. Days of numb stumbling, blinded to the machinery of life around her.

And here he was, sitting next to her, staring out the window, in silence.

Six weeks. Six weeks ago Daniel had left their home with a promise that he would be back in a week. Six weeks ago her husband was 20 pounds heavier and his face didn't seem so gaunt or pulled quite so tightly over his features. Six weeks ago he held her in his arms and caressed her with strong, solid hands, with fingers that exerted delicious pressure and traced gentle circles.

But that was in the past, forty-three days ago. And in those awful forty-three days their lives had flipped, leaving her watching a man whose lips seemed poised to say words that wouldn't come, whose hands shook out of a horror Corey could only imagine.

Daniel noticed Corey looking at his trembling hands in his lap. Self-consciously, he crossed his arms in front of himself.

"It's...uh...it's nerve damage. Janet said it should go away," Daniel explained, quickly glancing at her. He turned back to the window and let the monochromatic scenery slide by him while his stomach lurched.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"No."

People dressed in Gortex and boots, protecting their bodies from the damp weather, moved through the sidewalks, attending to business, attending to their lives, as if nothing had ever happened. As if life simply went on, oblivious to the suffering of others.

"Daniel, Janet said you're still having dizzy spells," Corey said, careful not to press.

"Um, not so much anymore," Daniel answered, never turning to her, consumed with the feeling that life went on without him. And here he was, unable to take the smallest step forward.

Corey stared out in front, driving on auto-pilot. The day she had prayed for, dreamt about was here--she was bringing her husband home--and she had the disheartening feeling that maybe it was too soon. Maybe she couldn't give him what he needed. Maybe she should turn around, tell him to call her when he was feeling more himself.

Corey shook her head, chastising herself for her lack of faith.

Jack had taken her aside before they left the SGC--"Give it time, Corey. He'll come around. Don't push too hard, but don't let him drift. Don't touch him unless you tell him you're going to touch him first. But...but don't not touch him either. You know what I mean. He needs to reconnect, not just with you but with his life." All the statements, the quick, critical instructions followed by qualifiers tumbled through her mind. Where to start?

She took a deep breath and asked in prayer that she would find the words, strike the right balance. And then she forged ahead, hoping she might reach him, if only for a moment.

"I made a pot of soup. You're favorite--lemon chicken noodle. Thought it might be nice on such a gray day," Corey told him, brightly but not too cloying. Going for 'everything is normal,' with a touch of 'not quite yet.' Hoping he heard a certain...ah, hell.

Daniel's eyes never left the passing scenery.

"Daniel?"

Daniel turned to her. "I'm sorry?"

"I made soup for you."

"Oh. Yeah, that sounds..." Daniel blinked, lost track of the topic, and cast his eyes on the passing world.

Corey took a deep breath and grasped the steering wheel a little tighter. "Daniel, where are you?"

Daniel laid his head against his window. The cool glass helped to soothe the tension in his brow. Gesturing slightly out the window, he said, "I missed the color change."

Corey was nonplussed. She had been preparing herself for some report on his injuries, some soul-shattering account of his captivity. The color change?

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you did," she responded, absently.

"How was it?"

Corey glanced at him quickly, astounded that after six-weeks, his first question to her was about the autumn leaves.

"How was it?" she asked aloud. Do you actually think I could see past my own anguish to notice the fall colors? Do you think anything mattered to me beyond your health and my airless panic these last few weeks? "To tell you the truth, Daniel, I don't remember."

"I would have liked to have seen them," Daniel quietly added, reaching under his glasses to rub his eyes. In doing so, his sleeve was pulled lower on his arm, allowing a glimpse of the scars and residual scabbing on his wrists.

At first she was surprised to realize that he was wearing slightly different frames. Then she was horrified to see the injuries. The brief sight of it caught Corey's breath. Quickly she averted her eyes, wide with fear, to the road ahead. My God! What does the rest of his body look like?

She cleared her throat. Rubbed her lips together to smooth out her lipstick. Whatever she could do to put a cap on her building fear. "I...you have new frames."

"My other pair..." he began. Where were his other glasses? On an arid desert planet, half buried in sand? On board a Goa'uld ship, cowering in some dark corner? Either way, how could he explain to Corey where his glasses were? So he didn't.

"You made soup?" he asked, remembering to breathe--a skill he was growing more proficient at everyday.

It was Corey's turn to stare out the side window while she waited for the light to change. "Yeah," she began, tried inconspicuously to wipe her nose, dab at her eyes, "lemon chicken noodle."

"That's my favorite," Daniel told her. He leaned back against the headrest and hoped she could hear how hard he was trying to act normal.

"I know," Corey said. She turned to him and offered a smile in case he was looking. He wasn't. "I know."

The light turned green. The car moved forward.

Corey felt like her heart had stopped.

*****

"I'm cold," Sam said, pulling the sides of her jacket around her body. The decking under her legs made her shiver.

"So go inside," Jack told her, wrist deep in rain-gutter muck.

"No, I'll stay out here and keep you company," she said, smiling up at him.

"Gee, whatever would I do without your complaining to motivate me?" he sarcastically told her.

Sam smiled and glanced around the backyard. Gray October skies hid behind waving fir trees. The damp air made her cold from her inner core out. She tucked her ears inside her collar and closed her eyes.

In their neighbor's yard, a toddler spun in dizzy circles until, giggling, she tumbled to the ground. Sam looked up at the carefree, happy sound and watched as the toddler tried to regain her footing only to fall with a dull thud onto her bottom. Sam smiled. The child pushed herself up and began again to spin. Round and round, arms pulled away from her body, challenging gravity and its insistence that standing things must maintain a vertical balance. Sam rested her chin in her hand and laughed as the little girl in the pink and purple jacket plopped down face first into the grass, only to lift a smiling face.

"What are you laughing about?" Jack asked, throwing decayed leaves down to the ground.

"Tessa next door. She's making herself dizzy. She keeps falling down, and then she gets back up just to fall down again," Sam reported with a laugh. Jack stopped his gutter duty to watch.

Tessa laboriuosly pushed herself back to her feet, slapped her chubby little hands together, and began again. Feet turning out, crossing over the other, her little body tipping, listing, and then...

"Momma!" Tessa cried.

Tessa's mom jogged out to the yard, picked Tessa up and examined her face.

"Sue," Sam called through cupped hands, "is she all right?"

Tessa's mom turned with her daughter in her arms and nodded. "Oh, yeah. It was just a matter of time. No one can fall that many times without deciding it just isn't fun anymore. Not even Tess." Sue kissed Tessa's hair and carried her into their home.

Sam stared at the empty backyard where once a child played. A heavy sadness descended on her. No one can fall that many times without deciding it just isn't fun anymore...Sam could hardly breathe.

Jack climbed down from the ladder, pulled off his work gloves, and draped them over a rung. He rubbed his hands together and blew into their center.

"I'm gonna get some coffee. You want some?" he asked Sam.

"Jack."

"Ya?"

She felt numb. The one fear she tried hardest to push away forced its way into her mind. Sam had no other choice but to own up to it. "Do you think this might be the time Daniel doesn't get back up?"

Jack stopped rubbing his hands. He stared at Sam, rattled. Slowly the shock of her words wore off and air returned to his lungs.

"I'm getting coffee. You want some or not?" he said, stepping past her and the topic.

Sam followed behind him and sat down at the kitchen table. Jack glanced over at her, decided her silence was an affirmative, and poured two mugs of coffee.

"Jack, how many times can he keep bouncing back?" she sadly asked, flattening her palms against the table.

"Look, Daniel's going to be fine," Jack said, handing her the mug. "It's the natural order of things--Daniel gets in trouble; we find Daniel; Daniel goes a little lunar; Daniel returns to the SGC; Daniel annoys the hell out of me--natural order, and I for one don't like to mess with nature." Jack sat at the end of the table and pulled off his hat. He brushed any dried leaves from his hair.

"I can't help thinking this is the time that does it, though," Sam said, letting the steam bathe her chilled skin in warmth.

"Does what?"

"I don't know. Puts him over the edge, I guess," she said wearily, wrapping her cold hands around the scalding mug.

"Daniel's tough, Sam. He'll get through this," Jack told her without meeting her eye.

"I just think we should prepare ourselves for the fact that...that maybe this time he doesn't get through it."

Jack looked at her incredulously. He shook his head, mouth agape.

"I mean, consider all the run-ins he's had in the last five years," Sam said, suddenly sitting up straight, staring at him with wide, blue eyes. "He's lost his wife, his step-son, his colleague, his professor. He's been zatted, crushed, maimed, shot, tortured..."

"Don't forget Hathor..."

"Exactly!" Sam cried. "And now this. I...I just don't see how he can keep doing it."

"Look. Sam. Love of my life. Sunshine in my dark little world," Jack began, gesturing as he spoke--with great sarcasm, "I realize it is your natural inclination to see the half-filled cup and wonder why they just didn't make it a smaller cup, but in this case, I think you should leave it alone."

"How can you be sure?" she asked, really hoping he could give her some reassurance.

"I'm sure because..." he shrugged his shoulders, "that's the way it's gonna be."

"Oh, so just by saying it makes it true?" Sam asked, her voice marked by dubious resentment.

"Yeah, it does," Jack flatly told her.

"But you can't just decide Daniel's going to be fine," she told him.

"Well, what would you have me do, then?" Jack asked her, sitting back in the chair, addressing her with a pair of cold eyes.

"I'm not asking you to do anything, Jack. That's kind of my point," Sam told him, shaking her head.

"Then why are we talking about this?" he asked, pushing his cup away from him.

Sam glanced blindly around the room. "All I said was I was concerned about Daniel. I was just expressing my fears to you, Jack."

"And I told you," Jack began, his jaw set squarely, "Daniel will be fine."

"Why are you getting angry with me?" Sam asked.

"Let's just drop it, okay. I have the gutters to do," said Jack, rising and slapping his hat on his head.

"Wait a minute. No. You just can't leave in the middle of a conversation," Sam told him, pushing her chair out of the way to meet him at the door.

"Not the middle. The end." Jack reached for the knob.

Sam grabbed his hand. "What the hell? This is so unfair. Look, Jack, I expect this kind of tyrannical bullshit on the base, but I don't expect--no--I won't accept it in our home."

Jack stared out the window. He clenched his jaws, felt the muscles in the back of his neck stiffen.

"And what's more, you know that," she reminded him. She let go of his hand but never took her eyes off him. "Now, you just had an entire conversation in your own head, and you expect me to just agree with you?"

Jack's eyes darted angrily from corner to corner of their yard, never cataloguing any particular image, never registering any thoughts. His mind was consumed with emotions he had long ago interred. They had been deeply buried, meticulously entombed--until Daniel's terror reached inside Jack's mind and exhumed them.

Jack had hoped to go a lifetime without having to be reminded of the scars of Iraq. Facts and figures were easy--four months in, three fractures, two months in the infirmary. No problem.

But the struggle, the day to day fighting to find himself in his own home--sleepless nights filled with crazed images, and exhausted days filled with lights that were always too bright, noises that crackled in his skull. The endless, terrifying hours of dissociation, of needing Sarah.

Of hating Sarah. Hating her because she was stupid enough to love him. Repulsed by the thought of her clean hands having to touch his sullied and disfigured flesh. Waiting for her to leave in the morning with the baby so Jack could clutch the couch pillow to his face and scream until his throat was raw. Scream until there was no voice left. Scream until the pills or the alcohol or both took away the pain and the fear and let him collapse on the floor.

But it never lasted. Fear returned. It always returned. It hunkered down and took up residence--brashly, audaciously. Slapped Jack around with each reflection of his face; with every toy that toppled innocently from Charlie's high chair and crashed to the hard ground; with Charlie's late night screams.

Screams.

There were always screams. His own, Charlie's, the screams of the others who didn't make it home. Screams that changed the pressure in his ears, made him dizzy and sick. Screams that would never let him forget. Never let him live again, goddamn it! Six months of living in a goddamn, stinkin' hell. Six fucking months of terror and need and loss and fear and anger...

He didn't know why at that point of his miserable life he decided to visit his sister. They weren't particularly close. She was 12 years his junior. What could she possibly say or do to change anything? But he was drawn there. He didn't even know exactly how he'd been able traverse the Chicago streets to get to the convent. Almost instantly he felt the change. How--he didn't know--but she quieted the howling. Siobhan had held Jack in her arms and simply told the awful noises to cease. Pushed Jack behind her and told his trepidations to take her on, but leave my brother alone.

It was just the foothold he needed. He'd find a space, a wide open deserted space, and he'd get rid of the entire corpus of fear.

Dig. Dig. Dig. Bury it. Cover it up. Put a big, honkin' rock over it and never let it out, even if it's Christ on high.

And then he was good. And it was gone. And the screaming stopped. And he could breathe.

For years.

Until Daniel accidentally pushed the boulder, and the seal was broken. Emotions, pale and angry, scratched at the opening of Jack's psyche. With each new reminder of Daniel's demonic battles, these frenzied emotions came screaming back.

Jack stood breathless and shaking at his back door.

Sam stepped a bit closer.

"Jack, what's going on?" Sam asked, slowly taking hold of his arm. Underneath the fleece jacket, she could feel his arm trembling. She took in his far away, hollow gaze. "Jack?"

Jack whipped his face around to see her. He was ashen and blinking nervously.

"Jack?" Sam said, touching his face.

Her hand brought him out of the sinkhole and into their kitchen. Their kitchen that had never known the extent of his sepulchered nightmares. Jack wasn't about to allow them entrance.

He reached up and pulled her hand away.

"Daniel will be fine," he told her, turning the knob and leaving Sam behind in a frozen wake.

*****

It had been a day of feigned happiness and forced ease-- a mix of inconsequentials and secret glances. They were too polite and harbored too many words. A strange dance of reaching and retreating, of self-denial and wanting to give.

Corey watched him carefully, usually from the other side of the adjacent room. She watched him stare into nothing, scratch at his thumb cuticle while his other hand tucked itself in a tight little ball under his chin.

So many things she didn't understand. Things she didn't know. Like, how was she supposed to know eating soup would be all but impossible for a man whose hands trembled? How was she supposed to know that offering to help him eat would drive him from the table? How was she supposed to know who he was angry at? How was she supposed to find out?

She looked down at the dinner plate in her hand and decided that after a couple dozen revolutions of the towel, it was probably dry.

She just wanted to sit with him, hold his hand, gaze on his anguished face. Hug him close to her, let his breath mingle with the heat from her skin. She wanted to kiss him, feel the slick warmth of his mouth. She wanted him to be well and in her arms. She wanted him to be well so she could be in his arms. Arms she missed and ached for. Arms she conjured up in late night frustration. Arms that pulled her to his body.

Ah, his body. Taut and warm. Against her. Encircling her. Within her. His body and hers, rising and falling, rolling, tangling sheets. His mouth reaching down to taste hers, to tug at her body, to whisper words of love and passion. His body, whose hollowed hips and jutting bones beneath supple skin pressed into her pelvis and filled her completely. Made her belly ripple with desire, her breasts rise to touch his smooth, broad chest. Strong legs that wrapped around her hips as they sat facing each other in the middle of the bed. Hands so strong that they could raise and lower her, clutch her body closer to his, closer to breathless wonders. The eyes that watched her and always asked permission, that widened when his breath came in short gasps, and blinked when his heart stopped racing. His body, so perfectly formed to be with hers. His body. So far away. So missed.

Corey felt her fingers gripping the plate too tightly. She turned back to the kitchen and placed it in the cupboard with the rest.

When she returned to the dining room and looked for Daniel, he was gone. She padded across the room, glanced around the corner to see if he had moved seats, but didn't see or hear him at all.

"Daniel?" she called up the steps.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm...I think I'm gonna take a shower," Daniel called down to her from the bathroom. Hoped she'd buy the tone of his voice and leave him alone. He sat on the floor against the vanity, trembling, his arms wrapped around his legs. He felt trapped in his own home. He could hardly breathe. He thought if he could escape to the bathroom under a torrent of water, maybe he could calm down.

But he had forgotten how many mirrors there were. A tri-fold mirror over the vanity; a full length mirror behind the door. He could even see his obscured reflection in the thousands of shiny tiles. Wherever he looked, he could see himself.

The good thing about the SGC, you never needed to see yourself. You could go from one floor to another and not once catch a glimpse of your reflection. Concrete is merciful that way. You could go about your business, tend to your work and unless you sought out a mirror, you never had to see what had become of your features. Never had to see how thin and pale you'd become. You never had to suck in air the first time you caught sight of the scars that covered your back and ribs. You could almost pretend you were whole.

"Daniel?" Corey said from just outside the door.

Daniel lunged for the door and locked it. "Um, Corey, I'll...just give me a couple minutes. Okay?" His heart hammered inside his chest.

"Okay. Yeah. I'm gonna...I'm going to bed, DJ," Corey told him.

Daniel could hear the pain in her voice, and it made him almost sick with guilt. "Okay. I'll be right in," he said, forcing himself to sound nonchalant. He turned on the shower with fumbling hands, kicked off his shoes, and stepped on the ends of his socks to pull them off. Daniel forced himself to look straight into the mirror. Look into his own eyes.

"Where did I go?" he quietly asked. The face that he saw looked nothing like the one he remembered. Something was missing. Something had been taken away. He removed his glasses and looked again. Blurred, fuzzy around the edges. He could see blue, and that brought him some relief. But the lines were still too angular, too sharp. And still, there was something...gone.

Daniel closed his eyes and removed his shirt, pulling it gently over his head, careful not to scrape the rough hem against his still sensitive scars. Scars that he didn't want to see. He let the shirt fall from his hands. He yanked on the top button of his jeans and kept pulling until each button popped out of its hole. He pressed the jeans and his boxers off his hips, past his thighs and down to his knees.

He began to swoon. Daniel grabbed hold of the vanity and took deep breaths until the nausea and the dizziness went away. He stepped out of the bunched-up pants around his ankles and carefully stepped into the far side of the shower.

The first lungful of steam choked him. The powerful spray felt like needles against his thin skin, and it made him grateful for the low water pressure at the SGC. He eased into the spray, protecting his wrists, not even thinking of allowing his back to be touched by the water. Just another thing that felt foreign to him. Just another thing to remind him that he had changed.

He quickly found that he didn't have the energy to fight against the stream of water, so he sat down, let the water fall to him. Where his hips met the cold porcelain, there was pain. He just didn't have enough--meat on him. Everything was too sharp, protruded too far through his skin. He shifted his weight off the unprotected bones and leaned against the shower wall, resting his hands in the puddle of water trapped between his legs and his stomach.

"Where did I go?"

*****

Jack had been out in the back for most of the night. Every twenty minutes or so, Sam would find a reason to saunter into the kitchen to surreptitiously check on his position. She knew he was hurting. She knew he was cycling through some awful, dark thoughts, but he had blocked her, and she had just enough pride to not do what she thought she should do--go out and offer an ear. Nope. He had slapped her down but good. Put up one hell of a wall and told her she was under no circumstances welcome to climb it.

Fine.

So she watched him, standing still, unmoving and unmoved in her steely pride. Let her glare bore into the back of his head. Conjured up an energy field of such negativity and spitefulness that she knew he could sense it.

Fine. You don't want to talk about Daniel? Fine.

She had her pride. Jack wasn't the only one who knew the power of silence. He'd know from silence. Just as soon as he got out of that damn chair and came inside. She'd smother him with silence. He'd feel the frigidity of her spirit the second he entered the house. Then he'd know.

Fine. Your loss, Jack.

Sam pulled open the refrigerator and glanced around at the shelves, not really wanting anything. The white light filled the end of the darkened kitchen. She crossed her arms in front of her and stared at the assorted jars, the miscellaneous containers of questionable left-overs. They all seemed like a blob of colors to her.

"You're letting out all the cold air," he said to her quietly.

Sam's head snapped up, surprised. She hadn't even heard him come in.

"Fine," she snarled, slamming the door, hearing condiments clink against each other.

Jack sat down at the table and spun his empty beer bottle on its side.

Sam stared at the back of his head--again. Her anger grew--again.

"I'm going to bed," she announced, striding out of the kitchen.

"Sam," Jack said, catching her hand as she marched by. She didn't bother turning around. Jack re-gripped her hand and rubbed his eyes. "Sam, I'm sorry."

Sam steadfastly held her ground. It was going to take more than that to get her to buckle under.

"This thing with Daniel...it's dredged up a lot of...stuff," Jack softly admitted.

Yup, that'll do it.

"You could have told me that, Jack," Sam said, maintaining just a bit of anger for purposes of pride, stubborn as that seemed.

"Yeah, I could have," Jack said. "But I didn't."

Okay, this wasn't helping. Anger burned anew.

"Fine. I'm going to bed," Sam told him.

"Sam, the truth is I don't know if Daniel's going to be all right," he said. He took a deep breath, spun the bottle again, and exhaled, "and it scares the hell out of me," Jack conceded before Sam could leave the room.

Her shoulders slumped. She shook her head and ground her fingers into her tight brow.

"God, Jack, why couldn't you have said that four hours ago?" she asked, pulling out a chair and sitting kitty-corner from him.

Jack kept his eyes lowered. "For the same reason I can't say the things you need to hear now."

"Which is what?"

"What it is about this that bugs me. What happened after I came home from Iraq. You see, if I say them, they come back," Jack forlornly said. "I don't say them, I don't have to think about them. They go away. Sometimes."

Sam slowly reached forward and took one of his hands in hers. "What can you tell me?"

"Sam," he started, sitting up straight in his chair. "I don't talk about Iraq because it happened in the past. And what's in the past should stay in the past. It has nothing to do with today."

"But it's part of you. How can you deny it?"

"Years of practice," he said, not in the least bit sarcastically.

"So, Daniel's...imprisonment brought some of it back for you," she said, half asking, half stating a fact.

"No. No. What he's going through now. This part of it for him, that's what's got me on edge," Jack said. He ran through a series of thoughts in his head, deciding what he could say, what he needed to suppress. "I'm sorry, Sam. But talking about it just...it makes it worse."

Sam held his eyes and saw the soft desperation therein. He looked tired and beaten. His cheeks were flushed. She stood up beside him and tenuously drew his head to her body. She stroked his face, rubbed his shoulder, listened to him breathe.

Jack closed his eyes and felt the warmth of her skin beneath the cotton of her top. He drifted away from the maddening cries and toward the steady beat of her heart.

"Let's go to bed," she whispered, kissing him tenderly on the crown. His silver hair tickled her lips.

"Yeah," he said, rising slowly. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, gave his bottle one last spin, and left the kitchen with Sam.

He knew she would protect him through the night, drive away the demons that chased after him. She would be there if he woke to his own screams, and she would be there when the first golden rays of sunshine timidly peeked through their curtains.

She would be there. He counted on it more than he could ever tell her.

*****

Daniel was relieved to find his pajama bottoms and t-shirt hanging over the back of the small wicker chair in the bathroom. He slipped on the cotton pants, pulled the t-shirt over his head and shoulders, and stood still. Just stood. Tried to marshal the strength he would need to surmount the next hurdle.

He took a deep breath, turned off the lights, and padded his way down the hall and into their bedroom. He steadied himself against the door jamb as his eyes acclimated to the darkness. There, under the covers, he could just make out her form. Barely rising above the fluff of the bedding itself, Corey lay on her stomach, as she always did.

Daniel gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to wake Corey if she were sleeping. God, he hoped she was sleeping. When no sound came from her side, he swiveled his feet up and under the covers, lay on his side, and carefully pulled the sheets and blankets to his chin. The familiar smell and feel of his pillow comforted him and washed over him with the first sense of home he had had since returning. He pressed his nose into the pillow and breathed in the soothing odor. This is me. Finally, I have found a part of me.

"Daniel?"

Daniel's chest tightened. Something told him to ignore her, maybe she'd think he was asleep. And then he realized how silly that was. He swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

"Can you turn around so I can talk with you?"

"I...um, I can't. My ribs still...that's the side my ribs were..." he stammered. He didn't want to start cataloguing all his aches and pains. He just wanted to drift, find some relief from his long, painful day.

"Oh. Okay. I understand," Corey said. She reached her hand toward him and pulled it back just as soon. "Daniel? Are you glad to be home?"

Daniel closed his eyes and sighed. He didn't have the energy to come up with some made-up answer. "It's a little...uncomfortable."

"I know. It is. It's going to take some time," she told him.

"Corey?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

How to begin. How to ask the painful questions. How to step outside his own circle of despair and invite in Corey's. "Corey, was it hard for you?"

"Was what hard for me?"

Daniel pressed his trembling fingers to his forehead. He needed to know, wanted to know how she was, how she had dealt with his absence. "Was it hard having me gone?"

There was an interminable silence from her side of the bed that ripped a hole in Daniel's heart.

"It was horrifying. I didn't know if I were still married or if I were a widow. I didn't know if you were back in the States or stuck on the other side of the world. I didn't know. I just didn't know," Corey said.

"I'm sorry."

"You have to stop saying that, DJ. There's nothing to apologize for," Corey said.

"Okay," he agreed, but he didn't believe it by any stretch of the imagination.

"Anyhow, you said you'd be back in a week. Well, a week went by. And then two. And then I was looking at three weeks without a word. I tried calling the base," Corey told him in a shaking voice. "But no one could seem to give me any answers."

"Why didn't you call Jack and Sam?" Daniel asked.

"They never picked up."

"What about...what about Janet?"

"She kept telling me she didn't know anything," Corey said with a touch of resentment. Daniel knew it was a lie. Corey did, too. "I understand, Daniel. I've talked to Janet since then. She explained it to me."

"It's just a matter of..."

"I know, Daniel. Security and all. I know. Well, I know, but I don't understand."

He shook his head and said, "Corey. I'm sorry."

"Shit, Daniel, you have to stop saying that. If we're going to get past this we have to talk about it without feeling that anyone here is at fault. Okay?"

"Okay," Daniel whispered. He felt a tear spring from his eye and puddle against his nose. Daniel pulled the edge of the pillow case up and wiped it away.

"Daniel, I'm fine, honey. Don't worry about me. I am over-joyed that you're okay and that you're home so I can smother you with love," she laughed through her own tears.

Daniel cringed. Smothered. Touched. Held by Corey. He held his breath, panicking. Too much to tell her. Tell her it's too soon to be touched. Too soon to feel her next to him, her body cupped tightly in his own. Too soon to put aside the fear that his body would somehow betray him and hurt her. Too soon. Too soon.

"Okay," he whispered, shaking.

"Daniel?"

Daniel sniffled, caught his breath and answered, "Yeah?"

"Jack...Jack told me what happened," she quietly informed him.

The room suddenly began to swirl and tilt. His skin felt hot and pinched "I, uh, I can't really talk about that," he said, pulling at the top of his hair.

"That's okay. I only mention it because..." Corey was at a loss. Why did she mention it? Did she want to hear the horrific details on what it's like to snuff out a human life with your own hands? Did she want to hear Daniel tell her 'Oh, that's just a big misunderstanding. Jack was confused'? What did she want to hear? What did she really want to know?

"Jack is a good friend, Daniel, and cares about you a great deal," Corey said.

"I know," Daniel agreed. Jack. Jack was always telling Daniel he talked too much. God, wouldn't Jack think this is a joke? My own wife, and I can't conjure up one damn word. Jack.

"I know it isn't going to be easy, Daniel. I know there'll be some adjustment. Some tough times. But we'll be okay. We'll just, you know, go slow," Corey told him, delivering her words in the gentlest voice she could produce.

"Okay." Daniel felt the warmth of her body permeate the void between them. He wanted nothing more than to back into that warmth, let her heat consume him. But he couldn't.

"Daniel? Can I kiss you goodnight?" she asked quietly.

Pain gripped Daniel, physical pain--a crushing, jagged pain that swept up from his belly through his chest and into his skull. He pressed his quaking hands between his knees and turned his face into his pillow.

"Daniel? I need to kiss you goodnight," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Corey. I can't. Not yet," he whispered back. "I'm sorry."

Her silent sobs rocked the bed. His fearful tremors shook it more.

*****

She watched him from her sentry position across the yard, across the room, across the bed. She watched him stare into nothing, walk stolidly through the house, open drawers and cupboards with no real purpose. In the three weeks since she picked Daniel up, she watched him drifting farther and farther away. And he never looked up.

The early November air was heavy and cold. Snow seemed to be minutes away. Daniel sat in the uncovered Adirondack chair at the far end of the yard, his hands in his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. He shivered against the frigid air. He shivered against his all-consuming memories.

Corey crossed the yard still carpeted with dry, brittle leaves. Over her arm she held an old wool blanket --pilled and full of holes.

"Hey, DJ. Thought you might be cold," she said, offering him the blanket.

Daniel glanced up at her, surprised to find her next to him. Corey's heart skipped a beat. Each time she caught his eye she was taken aback by the hollowness, the blunt pain that he kept hidden from her.

"Are you cold?" she asked again.

Daniel shrugged and gave a noncommittal nod. Corey unfurled the blanket and handed it to him. Daniel pulled it over himself and balled it up under his chin.

Corey yanked the mildewed tarp off the adjacent chair and sat down next to him. She tried to see what he was staring at and found, as she suspected, nothing. What was in his mind? What horrors were there that kept him locked away? Each day that passed, each hour that he spent rocking in his chair, staring out of blind eyes, was another distance added to the already overwhelming chasm.

Corey prayed constantly that she'd find the strength to have patience, but that patience and that prayer was growing thin. She needed some reassurance that this was getting better, because in her heart she knew it was only getting worse.

"Oh. Jack called. They want to stop by later," she said, trying to start up a conversation with him.

Daniel blinked.

She felt her ire rising. Prayed for a few more minutes of patience. "I can tell them it's not a good night."

"No. That's..." Daniel began. He shifted in the chair, turned slightly away from her.

Corey became aware of the red rushing to her face. She was tired of this. She knew he had been through unimaginable terrors, but she had lost in this whole thing, too, and she needed something from him--anything from him to keep her from walking away, running out of the house. Let him fend for himself.

"Look, Daniel," she started, and then stopped. What do you say? Tell him that he should suck it up and be a man? Tell him that she was tired of his moping around? Well, that's what she wanted to say, but knew that was just about as absurd as saying she wanted him to hand over his kidney. Futile, she thought. No point. She rose from the chair and began to drape it with the old tarp.

"I can't find me," came the quiet, small words.

Corey almost searched the yard for the origin of the voice, because it didn't sound like Daniel. This voice was thin and despairing, born of despondency and fear.

"What's that?" she asked, looking down at him.

He didn't move, not an inch. He stared, slowly blinking. "Parts of me are missing, and I can't remember where I left them or how to get them back."

Corey felt the top of her head perforate and float away. She closed her eyes against the vertiginous emotions swirling through her veins. She sat down on the edge of the chair and steeled herself to be receptive to him. "What parts, DJ?"

Daniel shook his head slightly as his mouth tried to find the words. "I don't...I don't...I don't know."

Corey leaned forward within an inch of his knees. "Then I'll take what you can give me and love it in full." She searched his face for some sign that he heard her. The corners of his eyes twitched and a deep line formed between his brow. "And then one day you'll find more of yourself, and I'll love that too."

Daniel tilted his head to one side and closed his eyes on the forming tears. "What if I never find all of me?"

His sadness and trepidation reached inside her and put a strangle hold on her heart. She extended and laid her open palm on the arm of his chair. "There are enough parts of you for me to love the rest of my life, Daniel. Anything more is cake."

She watched him from her chair. Watched as he slightly shook his head back and forth, as his chest hitched under the blanket from sobs he tried so hard to contain. Watched as he battled with himself to believe her, as well as to protect himself from hope.

She had had one moment of connection, and he was gone. As her hand laid ready to accept his, she let her face fall, let her own tears water the changing earth.

And then she felt cold, trembling fingertips brush against her own. She held her breath, didn't move. Incrementally his hand filled hers, shaking and unsure. To her great and joyful surprise she found him wearing his wedding ring. The sight of it brought a smile to her face.

"Okay. Okay," she whispered, stroking the chapped fingers with her thumb, touching the frigid gold band, wondering how much strength it took Daniel to actually start wearing it again. Corey willed the warmth from her hand to be absorbed into his skin, fill him with her understanding and love. Somehow try to impress him with the thought that whatever it was, she would listen and understand.

So she watched him. And he never looked at her.

But for the first time since he left the house to go on a simple mission, she felt his flesh against hers, his wedding ring clicking against her ring, and that alone filled her with hope.

*****

Corey pulled off her training shoes and placed them on the drier. Next came the tights and socks, damp from sweat. Peeling them down her twitching legs, she chided herself for having taken off the last month from running. Six miles, and she was slogging through the last two. Even her arms felt the fatigue of taking a month off. They trembled from the exertion of pulling her turtleneck over her head. Her skin was at once chilled from the perspiration and tingling from the heat her body had produced. "Shit," she muttered.

She pulled on some old sweat pants with the holes near the bottom where she had worn them out from not pulling them entirely over her heels. She yanked her running bra over her head, threw it in the pile with the other sweat-soaked clothes, and dove into a fleece sweatshirt. She was about to drag herself into the kitchen to make a pot of tea when she found that Daniel had been waiting just outside the door.

"Oh, hi," she said, gliding past him, careful not to brush up against him. "I'm gonna make some tea. Want some?"

Daniel followed behind her. "How was the run?"

Corey looked back and rolled her eyes. "Ack! Awful! I could barely get through eight miles."

Daniel produced a faint smile that quickly faded. But Corey saw it and cherished it. One more sign that he was coming back.

They reached the kitchen, and Corey filled the teapot with water. Daniel sat at the table.

While she was out, Daniel had flipped through the calendar, read through the dates and puzzled over all the events he had missed. They seemed so removed from him, as if it weren't the calendar he and Corey used to write down their busy schedules. Important dates like birthdays and anniversaries, recitals and races--all of which he had missed. How could he have forgotten about them? They'd only been married over a year, but every family get-together, every holiday, every nieces' soccer game--Daniel and Corey had attended them together, holding each other's hands, silently promising the other that some day they'd attend their own child's events.

"I should have been here," he had said to himself, looking over the new pictures scattered across the refrigerator, an invitation a to wedding that had taken place sometime after his rescue. "I should have been here. I can never get that time back."

A picture of Corey's niece, Molly, and her favorite aunt at a University of Colorado football game, had caught Daniel's eye. He pushed the magnet off the photo and turned it over. "Molly and Aunt Corey at the big game. Next year, we all go--Uncle Daniel, too." Next to it was a hurried smiley face. He turned it over and looked at the picture of his wife. The smile was tense and forced, and she held her niece too tentatively for the usually demonstrative woman.

"God, Corey," he had whispered. "I should have been here."

The whistling of the teapot brought Daniel back to the present. He watched her pour the steaming water over two cups. It was so hard for him to step outside the claustrophobic presence of his memories. He swallowed hard and trudged into conversation.

"How did...I was looking at the calendar while you were out," he began. "How did your race go?"

Corey pause, put the tea kettle back on the stove. "I...I didn't run it."

Daniel was stunned. They had been discussing the race for months, and he was going to meet her at mile markers along the way. "That was your qualifier for the Boston Marathon."

"So, I'll run it again next year," she said, turning the mugs around to grab the handles.

"Why didn't you run it?"

Corey brought the two mugs to the table and sat across from him. She looked at him, ran through some ways to tell him the answer without stating the obvious--I can't run and sob at the same time. Makes for a very bad time. "You were...in the hospital, DJ. It just didn't seem that important anymore."

Daniel lowered his eyes to his cup and watched his undulating reflection in it. "I'm sorry, Corey."

Corey dropped her chin and shook her head, frustrated by his constant apologies. "Sorry for what?"

"You shouldn't have stopped living your life just because I wasn't here," he told her.

A rage bubbled up inside her. She fidgeted in her seat before trying to explain to him the complete and utter nonsense in his words. "You just don't get it, Daniel."

"Get what?"

"You are my life."

"Corey, I'm..."

"You are the constant in my world that makes everything else have meaning. Without you, I'm back in Chicago, working and running...and withering. Withering."

Daniel grimaced. "You'd have been fine."

"Yes--fine," she agreed, and took the chance that he might let her hold his hand. "But never happy. Never...alive."

Daniel pulled his hand from hers and began a dance of duplicity of which he was an impresario. "What does alive mean? I mean, really, what does..."

"No! I won't play this word game with you. It's how you escape--tear apart the syntax, find the root, so you don't have to feel the meaning," she said, pushing sweaty bangs from her face. She glared at him, angry at the world for what it had done to her husband. "You know exactly what it means, Daniel. Don't hide behind your degree."

Daniel tore off his glasses and closed his eyes. He leaned his head back and tried to shut her out.

"Daniel, look at me," she said. Daniel opened his eyes and regarded her with a cold, lifeless stare. It astounded her that these were the same eyes that she had found herself again and again drowning in, losing herself in the almost palpable warmth of their brilliance. Now they were dull, void of any spectacular wonder. "The first night we met, you told me about Sha're..." Daniel stood up, shaking his head. "You said she taught you how to forgive and let go," she said as he began to walk away from her. She jumped up and followed close behind him.

Daniel couldn't stand to hear Sha're's name or her memory used in this way. He was protective of her, even in death--maybe more so. For Corey to use Sha're's name to manipulate him felt like a betrayal. He felt hot splotches coming to the surface of his face and neck.

"You said she taught you how to believe you could go on," Corey said, close on his heels. Daniel pressed his hands to his ears. "Dammit, Daniel! Why can't you remember what Sha're said now?"

"Don't bring her into this," he warned, spinning around and pointing his finger angrily at her. "You have no right!"

Corey held her ground and stared him down. "Maybe not. But Sha're is dead, and I'm here." A tear escaped her eyes. She quickly wiped it away, scratching the tender skin below her eye.

Seeing Corey begin to cry and try so hard not to took the sharp edge off Daniel's anger. He let his eyelids droop and mask his eyes. He dug his hands deeply into his pockets. He shook his head as if just by willing the conversation to end he could do so.

"I'm here, Daniel," she told him. "I'm here, and I'm your wife. Come home to me."

Daniel's eyes met hers. The frigidity was gone, but there was a hollow despair that replaced it. "I don't know how," he whispered.

Corey covered her face with her hands, let out a frustrated, anguished groan. "Oh, Daniel," she wept. Corey held out her hands for him. "All you have to do is take my hands, and I'll show you the way."

Daniel looked down at the open palms. Corey reached farther to him, beseaching him to take them.

He tilted his head slightly and studied the hands. Did he have the strength for the journey? Did he have the strength to close the gap? His eyes flitted back to her face. He shook his head and walked away.

Corey fell to her knees and wept, crushed by his leaving. Again.

*****

Daniel paced frantic circles in the kitchen with his hands pressed tightly under his arms. His shirt stuck to his skin, soaked with sweat. His bare feet slapped against the linoleum floor. He felt as if he had an electric charge inside of him, building and sparking with no outlet in sight.

It had been waterfalls this time in his nightmare. A rushing, foaming river that swept him down its gorge toward a steep, thunderous waterfall. He reached for overhanging branches only to have them snap in his hand. His lungs filled with water as the current tossed him over and under the surface. Just as he crested the edge of the falls and caught a glimpse at the crashing water below, Daniel awoke--panting and drenched in sweat.

He tried to lay back down, tried to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but it was useless. His heart and pulse pounded. He glanced at the sleeping body next to him, thankful that this nightmare hadn't disturbed Corey.

Daniel carefully slid out of bed and tip-toed out of their room. He kept walking until he found himself alone in the kitchen. In the silent, dark kitchen where he paced and cursed, conjuring up words that seemed awkward and foreign on his tongue. Where the only words he could think to say were guttural and base, the words of a language used to express the vulgarity his life had become.

The gray light of the moon filtered through the kitchen windows and illuminated the cupboard door beneath the sink. It hung open. Daniel kicked it shut and walked to the other side of the room. With a delicate pop, the door swung open again. Daniel glared at it, stomped over and kicked it shut again. Again the door opened. Daniel grabbed hold of the counter and whaled on the door, over and over, slamming it against the wooden frame until he felt pain shooting through his foot.

"What the hell's going on?" Corey demanded, rushing into the kitchen. Her auburn hair hung wildly about her face and shoulders.

Daniel angrily pointed at the door. "Why does it do that?" he demanded.

"It does it to make you crazy," Corey told him, stooping down to pull a rubber band from the errant cupboard's knob onto its neighboring door. "I've been meaning to fix that."

Daniel stared at her with fire in his eyes. He absently pulled up the waistband of his pajamas. "You...you think I'm crazy?"

Corey stood up, aghast. "No. No, I most certainly do not. I chose...unfortunate words, and I'm sorry," she told him. "I was just making light of the fact that this inanimate object wasn't purposefully trying to vex you." Daniel moved with a jerk to the counter and grabbed the edge. "I didn't mean anything by it. It was inappropriate, and I'm sorry."

She could see the muscles in his jaw quivering, his arms beneath his sleeves quake. Corey smoothed her hair away from her face and twisted it into a knot. She glanced at her watch--six twenty-one.

"Tell you what. I need to go meet Sam for a run in a while. Why don't I make you something to eat before..."

Daniel slammed his hand against the counter. "Dammit, Corey! I don't need anything!"

Corey spun around and pressed her hands tightly to her face. She was growing more and more impatient with his outbursts. More and more afraid of them as well. Rationally she knew they had nothing to do with her. But with each scream, with each sudden, angry noise, her nerves frayed. She couldn't keep living like this, she thought. Something had to give.

"Look. Daniel," she said, slowly turning to him. He had his head resting against his hands on the counter. "I'm trying here, but you've got to meet me half-way. Hell, meet me an eighth of the way. Anything, just...help me out."

Daniel shook his head from atop his hands. "How am I supposed to do that? Hmmm?"

"I don't know!" she cried.

Daniel's head snapped up. He scowled at her. "Tell me how, Corey. I really want to know."

Corey's voice was hesitant as she cowered under his furious glare. "Just talk to me, Daniel."

The anger in his eyes frightened her. She didn't know what he was going to do, but she knew he was about to pounce, scream, something harsh which would make her flinch. She anticipated it with tense muscles.

Daniel threw his hands above his head, crossed them at the wrists and reached for a ceiling on a Goa'uld ship that no longer existed. "Is this what you want to know?" he petulantly asked, his splayed fingers shaking and grasping.

"What, Daniel?" she asked, frightened and concerned.

"This is how they hung me up. They wrapped chains around my wrist and strung me up from a hook. And they left me hanging there for hours, until I could hardly breathe. Sometimes I could feel the cartilage in my ribs snap. Is that what you want to know?" he demanded.

Corey began to shake. Tears coursed unchecked down her face. "No."

He ripped his arms down and forced them out front for her to see the scars on his wrists. He pushed the sleeves back so she could plainly see the discolored gouges. "You know what those are? That's where the chain tore open my skin. Looks painful, doesn't it?"

Corey pressed her hands to her mouth to force back a yelp.

"Or maybe you want to know how they whipped me, over and over and over and...and..." Daniel began to pant. He saw the horror in her eyes, but the doors to his anguish were open, and he couldn't stop now. "And the pain was so...so..." Daniel ground his palms against his throbbing temples, searching his mind for the word that might come close to the pain he felt, "...excruciating that your husband actually wet himself. He did! He wet himself and cried and screamed and vomited, and nothing...NOTHING helped, because they just kept whipping him!"

He tried to look away from her, but couldn't. He was forced to be a witness to her pain, because it was caused by him. Just as he always knew it would be. "But more than likely, you want to hear what it's like to kill someone with...with your own hands."

Corey lowered her hands to her throat. "No, Daniel," she whispered. "I don't."

"Because it's horrible," he began, tears growing in his eyes. He could barely stand in one place from the convulsive anger and fear careening through his body. "They flail and fight. And it's really hard to hold on, but then, all of a sudden, they stop. Because you just crushed their windpipe. And you can almost hear their heart slowing down, and you can almost hear their brain shutting down, and you can almost feel their soul...feel their soul leave their body," Daniel said, blinded by hot tears. His voice barely maintained a recognizable tone, distorted by his body's acrimonious trembling. "And you say, 'Are you dead?' And there's no answer, because you just took away their life with..." Daniel looked down at his clenched fists, "these hands." Slamming his fists on top of the piano, Daniel cried out in pain. A continuous barrage of self-punishment, of self-retribution for having used his own hands as a means to kill.

Corey jumped with each violent assault. The piano's body resonated from the blows, amplified the intensity of them. "Daniel, stop it!"

When his forearms burned with pain and his hands throbbed from the abuse, Daniel wrapped his arms around his chest and dug into his shoulders with his fingernails. Tears dripped from his nose and chin. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"I..." she began, staggered by the horror of his tone, "..I just wanted to know what you were thinking about."

Daniel tried to suppress a sob, but the harder he tried the greater it grew. He let it out in a long, anguished wail. He pulled and stretched the material of his shirt, bent over and cried some more. "Oh, God, Corey," he wept, "that is what I think about."

"Oh, my God," she whispered, undone by his admission. Corey stood slack-jawed and terrified before her husband, a man who seemed like a stranger to her, standing in the middle of their living room speaking of death and murder. "Daniel..."

It was clear to her now--the nightmares, the trouble sleeping, the inability to eat. For the first time in weeks she understood why his hands shook so badly, why he was so immobilized by his fear. It was clear. And it was horrifying.

"How can I help you?" Corey asked, stepping toward him, needing to offer him the comfort of her arms.

Daniel moved back, tripping in his desperation to get away from her. Holding out his freshly bruised hands to keep her away. "Don't. Don't! Just...leave me alone."

What could she do? Run to him and throw her arms around him? No. Fall on the floor and curl herself into a fetal position? No. Pound her fists against him, rail against the pain that channeled through him and into her? No. She could only cry and shake, keep her green eyes locked on his washed-out blue eyes, cast down from her in shame. Pull her pajama top up to wipe her nose.

"Please, Daniel," she choked.

"Just leave me alone! Go!" he begged her, frantically side-stepping behind the chair.

So she did.

*****

"Jack? Jack," Sam said quietly, nudging Jack's shoulder. When no response came from her husband, she gave him a quick slap on the backside. "Jack!"

The colonel woke up with a start, lifted his head off his pillow, and tried to open his eyes. "What? I'm awake," he rasped. He grabbed the pillow under him and looked at it suspiciously. "This isn't mine," he said as he tossed the pillow aside.

"You're right. It's mine," she said, throwing his pillow from the floor to his head. Sam sat on the foot of the bed lacing up her running shoes. "Corey is taking me out running this morning. Remember?"

Jack dumped his face back down on the bed. "You're insane," he said.

"And the proof of that would be that I married you," Sam said. "I'll be back in a few hours. You going to just lay here all day?"

"Maybe. After all, I'm a growing boy," Jack said, pulling the covers over his shoulders.

"You're almost fifty years old. At this point, you're a shrinking boy," Sam corrected him.

"So bring some milk home with you," he said, calling after her. Sam left the room to find her Dri-weave running top. "Oh, and some of those bagels I like."

Sam came back, pulling the shirt over her head. "I'll see what I can do," she said, reaching down to kiss him. "Unload the dishwasher while I'm gone."

Jack opened one eye and looked at her. "Is that an order?"

Sam turned to him, crouched down to his level, and smiled. "No. That's a threat," she told him with a quick peck on the cheek.

Jack reached a hand out from under the covers and hooked a finger into the collar of her shirt. "It's cold out there, Carter. Wouldn't you rather come back to bed where it's nice and warm?" he asked, teasing her with his sleepy, puppy dog eyes.

Sam stood up. "Wouldn't you rather get out of bed and start your day?" she asked, leaving the room.

"I tried that yesterday and ended up here. Thought today I'd skip the middle part and go right to the end," Jack told her.

"That's your plan?" she called from the bathroom, where she was finishing brushing her teeth.

"Hey, you know me! I always say-- go with your strengths," he said, pulling the blanket up over his ears.

"Speaking of going..." Sam said, rolling her eyes, and padding down the hall. Jack made a face, mocking her. From the top of the stairs, Sam called back, "I'll see you later. I love you. Do the dishes."

"Do da dishes!" Jack mimicked.

"I heard that," Sam yelled up the steps.

"Do'h."

Sam smiled as she reached for her keys and coat. She really would have preferred to stay in bed with the big galoot, but she promised Corey she'd meet her at the park for a run.

Sam unlocked the door and opened it. She almost tripped over the person sitting on the top step.

"Corey, I thought we were..." Sam began, until Corey turned around. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes dark and puffy. Sam looked at Corey's clothes and saw that she was wearing pajamas. "Come on. Let's go inside" she said, helping Corey to stand.

"I just don't know what to do anymore, Sam," Corey sniffled, entering the house.

Sam threw her keys on the table and quickly pulled her coat off. "Corey, you must be freezing. Why don't you sit on the couch and I'll make some coffee," she said, wrapping a throw around Corey's shoulders. Corey sat down and hunched over her knees, weeping.

"He's in so much pain, and I don't know how I can help him," she cried.

Sam threw some coffee into the filter, rammed the filter into the machine, and flicked the on switch. "Corey, listen--I'm gonna get Jack, okay?" Sam said entering the room. She rubbed Corey's back while she waited for a response. Corey nodded.

Sam took the steps two at a time and shook Jack's shoulder. "Jack, get up."

Jack lifted his head off the pillow, alerted by the tone in her voice. "What is it?"

"Corey's downstairs. Get dressed and come on down," she said, turning from him.

Sam ran to the steps and then stopped. She calmed herself. The situation called for quiet and collected minds, not hurried and abrupt movements. Sam purposefully made her way down the stairs and into the living room. She crouched down in front of Corey and pulled her long hair away from her face.

"Corey, what happened?" she asked.

Corey lifted her face and shook her head. She never took her hand from her mouth as she locked eyes with Sam. Corey wasn't even sure why she ended up at their house. After Daniel told her to leave him alone, she just left. She blindly and numbly got into her car and left. She didn't even bother putting shoes on, and her socks were soaked.

Jack made his way down the steps and into the living room. "Hey, Corey."

Corey glanced up at him and began to cry harder. Jack sat down on the couch next to her and held her hand.

"I'll go get the coffee," Sam said.

Jack rubbed the top of her hand, cold and shaking. "What's goin' on?"

Corey wiped the blanket across her face and sucked in a shuddering breath. Her head arched back as the air filled her aching lungs. Jack pushed her hair over her shoulder.

"It's rough, I know," he told her, gently massaging the rigid tendons of her hand, the knuckles turned white from her tight hold on his hand.

"I don't want to go home, Jack," she cried, humiliated that she was taking and needing Jack's comfort. "It's like walking on fucking..." she stopped and threw an apologetic look at Jack for her harsh language. Jack shrugged it off. "...on eggshells. I'm tired; I'm afraid; and I don't think I'm cut out for this." She pulled the blanket across her nose, noticed the mucus and regrettfully told Jack, "I'm sorry. I'll wash it."

"Don't worry about it," Jack told her. He couldn't help but noticed the dark rings under her eyes, the washed out pallor of her skin, the way her lips blended in with her face--not the Corey he knew from two months ago, but someone else. This was a face he knew, but how?

Sam set three mugs of coffee on the table next to the couch. She pulled up an ottoman and sat, concerned, in front of Corey. Sam's eyes were drawn to Jack's, anguished and cloaked. His face was set in that hard expression she knew so well, the one that signified his contempt for a situation beyond his control. So much heartache in this room, she thought, and all because of the love we have for Daniel. Daniel.

"Corey, where's Daniel now?" Sam asked, holding Corey's knee.

"He's home. Sam, I'm...I'm afraid for him, but I couldn't stay there anymore," she said, her breaths coming in hiccups. "He was just so...I've never seen anyone like that. He was screaming at me and crying. I thought he was going to fall over he was shaking so badly. And then he started hitting the piano with his fists," she told them as her shoulders popped with gasping breaths. "I was so afraid."

"I would have been, too," Jack admitted. He'd seen Daniel through a lot of horrendous times--addiction, withdrawal, intense mourning--but each experience held its own set of fresh terror. Jack closed his eyes and rubbed his hand across his cheek. "Uh, Sam, why don't you..."

"Call Janet," Sam said. Jack nodded, and Sam left the room.

"Corey, Janet will go over to the house, see how he's doing. After we talk for a while, I'll go meet her there, okay?" Jack asked, creating soothing circular patterns on her back. Corey nodded.

"He...he's so angry, but he won't talk with me. He has nightmares. Crazy nightmares about snakes and things," she said, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "He doesn't eat, and he doesn't sleep. He won't let me..." Corey's face tightened, and a renewed wave of tears cascaded down her cheeks. Sam returned to the living room and gave Jack a nod that Janet had received the message. Corey pressed the back of her hand into her eye, trying in vain to soak up the tears that wouldn't stop. "He won't let me...touch him. He's been home for a month, and I haven't even been able to..." she pressed her fingers against her lips, ashamed of herself for being so indiscreet, but so completely overwhelmed by how far her marriage had spun out of control. "I mean, I don't even need...I mean, it would be great--wonderful to make love to my husband, but...I haven't even been able to kiss him."

And then Jack knew the face. It was Sara's. The hair was different, the features unlike his first wife's, but the overwrought countenance, the despairing and depleted eyes--yes, Jack knew this face. Knew it too well. Knew that its ragged edges had come about over weeks and months of watching her husband disappear without a single idea how to bring him back.

He was sure Sara had probably had this same conversation with one of their friends. Maybe Charlie Kawalsky. Jack remembered that stage of recovery where you had finally regained your physical strength just in time for the emotional battles. And the only thing to do with all that renewed energy, which was bound by anger and resentment, was to lash out at the people left standing--your wife, a best friend, if you still had one.

"Corey," Jack started, before he talked himself out of it. "I know what this is. I think I might be able to...What Daniel's going through--what you're going through, I think I understand." Jack pulled a shaking hand through his silver hair. "During the Gulf War, I was a POW." He wanted to help her out, and the only way he could do it was by letting her in. Of course, by letting her in, allowing her to hear what it was like for Daniel and for Jack, he was also going to let Sam in--and he never intended on that ever happening. He took a deep breath, blinked his eyes a few times and began to unwrap his soul for them. "I spent four months in an Iraqi prison."

Corey quieted herself and began to listen.

Sam sat silently, thunderstruck that after all these years, Jack was finally going to allow her to hear his story. Her pulse quickened, but she could not breathe. She averted her eyes, gave him a modicum of discretion.

Jack leaned forward on his knees, restlessly clapped his hands together and continued. "Um, when you're in a prison situation like Daniel was in--like I was in, every part of you is focused on survival. Anything that can hurt you is pushed out. I was married and had a baby boy at the time--you probably knew that. I couldn't allow myself to think about my wife or my son because to think about them was to miss them, and I couldn't stand that kind of pain."

Jack paused to remind himself it was just a story, just a calm retelling of the past. No matter what psychological trick he tried, that visceral ache returned, a constant and strumming reminder of his body's emotional history. "They slap you--nothing. They burn your skin--so what. They crack you over the legs with a baseball bat until your femur splinters--okay, yeah, that hurt, but...but it was only physical." Jack pulled at his fingers, painfully pressed against the bones in his hands. "But you see your wife's face, your...baby's face--that goes to your heart. And that's a pain that doesn't lessen." He grit his teeth together and knit his brow. No one else but Daniel would make him want to exhume this tale. For Daniel he would reach into hell and bring back a soul.

"So, you push them away and you don't let them in. You force yourself to forget. But the problem with that is, once you're home, it's not such an easy thing to throw that switch the other way."

Jack reached for Corey's hand again. Corey gratefully offered it to him, and he covered her strong hand with his own, enveloping her hand with his two. "Corey, he wants to be with you; he's afraid to scare you. He's afraid you won't love him if you see how frightened he is of everything. He wants more than anything for you to touch him, but he's terrified to let you."

"Why?" Corey asked, shaking her head. "I don't understand that, Jack."

"Because he's afraid the anger he has toward the...people who did this to him will come out, and you'll be there, in the line of fire. He's petrified that somehow he's going to hurt you."

Corey continued to shake her head, confused and dizzy. She wiped her nose along the top of her hand. "He would never hurt me."

"Yeah, you know that; I know that. Daniel doesn't know that," Jack said, connecting with her sea green eyes.

Corey felt the weighty exhaustion pushing on her. "How do I make him believe it?"

Jack's face tightened. "I wish I knew."

Corey's chin trembled, she blinked more tears down her chafed cheeks. She bobbed her head up and down and sniffled. "I'm so tired."

Jack got up from the couch and helped her lay down. "Rest, Corey. I'll go see how our boy's doin'."

Corey lay on her side and closed her eyes. Far from relaxed but close to sleep, she said, "Thanks, Jack."

Jack bent down and kissed her cheek. "Get some sleep."

"Okay," she whispered through lessening gasps.

Sam walked with Jack to the front door. She helped him put on his coat and handed him his keys. Jack tossed them nervously in his hands.

"Bonnie would be proud of you, Jack," Sam told him, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I don't know. Yeah. Maybe," he shrugged. Jack twisted his lips from one side of his mouth to the other. He could feel the eruption just below the surface--the sleepless nights, the violent nightmares, the irritable days. All in the course of containing the madness again, which he would do. Again. But until he did, he had to warn Sam of what lay ahead. "Sam, it's gonna get bad for me for a while."

Sam nodded and didn't need to know any more. She tenderly encircled him with her arms and kissed him on his cheek.

"Okay. We'll deal with it," she whispered into his ear.

Jack held her tightly, buried his face in the soft curve of her neck, and sighed.

Then he left their home to go find where Daniel was in his own madness.

*****

Jack turned the knob on the front door. When he found it unlocked, Jack slowly opened the door and stepped inside. "Daniel?" He closed the door behind him and quietly began scanning the room. "Hey, Danny? You around?" Jack walked through the living room, past the piano, and into dining room.

There was Daniel, pacing in short, clipped formations with his hands clenched behind his head. He never broke stride, not even when Jack leaned into Daniel's field of muddled vision, as if he fully expected Jack would show up.

"Hi," Jack said, keeping his voice calm and quiet. "You okay?"

Daniel glanced up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He let out a strangled little chuckle. "I think I really--what is it you say?--screwed the pooch this time, Jack," Daniel mumbled. Sweat stains blotted his long-sleeved t-shirt. The neck and cuffs were pulled out of shape and damp.

"Oh, yeah? How?" Jack asked him, maintaining his distance from his friend who was obviously way over his head and long past reason.

"Oh, come on! If you're here at quarter to eight on a Saturday morning, it's because my wife is at your house," Daniel said, twitching and spinning his body and limbs as he spoke. "I mean, I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid." Daniel shook out his hands in front of him, made fists, shook them out again. Made a fist and slammed it into his palm over and over.

"Nobody said you were crazy," Jack said.

"Nobody had to," Daniel shot back. He stopped abruptly. He pressed his hands to his hips, lowered his face and tried to speak. No words made any sense to him, so he clamped his mouth shut. He shifted his weight and rubbed his eyes.

Jack felt a sudden sense of dread watching and waiting for Daniel to speak. But Daniel only muttered to himself, and then he stopped, silently withdrawing. Jack offered his hand to Daniel, hoping he'd take it and come back to the fold.

Daniel glanced at the hand but didn't acknowledge its presence. The entire morning played out in his mind--each scream, the horrible look on Corey's face when she finally left him huddled in the living room. Words and actions like battering rams against his skull rushed to get out. The frantic thoughts in his head were so loud, so terrifyingly loud, he was sure Jack could hear them. Daniel only need supply directions to where it had taken place, and so he pointed--first the kitchen, then the living room.

Jack shook his head, unable to understand the crazed game of charades. "What, Daniel?" Jack asked, prodding him to speak.

Daniel stared at Jack with huge eyes, reached quickly for him, and then, before he could grab hold of Jack's hand, crumpled to his knees. "Oh, God!" he cried, his head drooping down, bobbing, tears rushing down his face.

Jack gripped Daniel's perspiring hand and grasped his elbow. With his fingers pressed against the veins running through Daniel's arm, Jack could feel the rapidity, the racing of his pulse. Jack's heart skipped a beat. "I got ya." He steadied Daniel's head against his legs and brushed back his sweat-soaked hair. "You're okay," he told him, as his friend wept uncontrollably.

"No! No!" Daniel snapped, instantly on his feet, wiping his eyes as quickly as he could. He went back to his frantic, scattered pacing. Daniel stretched his quaking arms to his side and rolled his head. "I'm okay," he stated, breathlessly, trying to convince himself more than Jack. He wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his shirt. Turning unexpectedly, Daniel crashed into Jack. "Sorry," he casually said, as if they were merely walking down the halls of the SGC and not stumbling around his dining room.

Jack was struck by the manic, chaotic nature of Daniel's behavior. He tried to keep pace with him, but found the erratic pattern of Daniel's pacing impossible to follow.

"Daniel, let's sit down for a minute and talk," Jack offered.

Daniel waggled a finger at Jack and swallowed hard to eleviate his parched throat. "Noooo, I've...uh, I've talked enough for one day," he told Jack, smiling strangely. The front of his shirt fluttered with the rhythm of his speeding heart. "I won't be..."

"Hello?" came Janet's voice from the front door.

Daniel came to a dead stop. He glared at Jack. "You called her?"

"Yes, Daniel," Jack told him. "We're in here, Doc."

"You CALLED her?" Daniel screamed, pounding his fists against his thighs.

"Daniel, you need to calm down," Jack said, and even as he said it he knew he was asking Daniel to do the impossible.

Janet dropped her bag on the table and calmly took off her coat. "Morning, gentlemen..."

"No! No! This is..this is intolerable!" Daniel yelled in a scratched, raspy voice. He marched around the room, rubbing his face and ears. "Both of you, get out of my house!"

"Can't do that, Danny," Jack said, stepping near him.

"Daniel, we're here to help you," Janet told him.

"Help me? Help me? Why do you think I need help?" Daniel demanded. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat. He shook and trembled and had absolutely no ability to control it anymore. He clasped his hands together and slung them behind his neck. "God! I don't need help! I need...I need..."

"What, Daniel? What do you need?" Jack asked, and as he did, the memory of Daniel coming unglued in the VIP room flooded his mind. God, here we are again.

Janet had seen all she needed to. She turned her back to Daniel and readied a hypodermic with sedative.

Daniel craned his neck to see what she was doing. He squinted, saw what she held, and began to frantically back away from her and from Jack.

"No!" he cried, pointing an unsteady finger at the needle Janet had concealed behind her back. "No! I don't want that!" He defensively pulled his hands up and stood recoiling from what was about to happen.

Jack slowly stepped in front of him, never breaking his lock on Daniel's frightened eyes. "It's okay, Daniel. Let Doc take care of you."

Daniel lashed out with his hands, knocking Jack's hands away. A fury, uncontainable and growing, crashed through his raw voice. "NOOOOOO!!" he growled, never taking his eyes off that awful needle.

Jack took advantage of Daniel's preoccupation and fear. He quickly put Daniel in a bear hug, pinning his shaking arms to his side. Using every ounce of energy he had, Jack crushed Daniel against the wall.

"NOOOOO!!" Daniel wailed. He balled up his hands and fought against Jack. "Stop doing this to me!" Daniel tried kicking Jack away.

Jack ground his hip into Daniel, protecting not only Daniel from hurting himself, but Jack's groin. "Jesus, Daniel!" he groaned.

Daniel began to openly weep, surrendering to the fear. "Please, Jack! Let me go please let me go Jack please let me don't please stop let me go please..."

"You're gonna be okay, Daniel," Jack told him, pressing his head against Daniel's, immobilizing him as much as he possibly could. He didn't want to have to take Daniel to the floor, but he was prepared to do whatever he needed to in order to help him. He could feel Daniel's pulse racing, throbbing in his veins. "Dammit, Doc! Do this!" Jack ordered, shielding his face from being cracked by Daniel's butting head.

"I don't want that! Oh, fuck!" Daniel cried, pleading with anyone who would listen, jerking his head back, trying to free himself from Jack's crushing arms and body.

Janet yanked down the waistband of Daniel's pajama bottoms, swiped an alcohol swab over the fleshy area, and pushed the sedative into his hip muscle.

"Done," Janet said, pulling his waistband back in place.

Daniel threw his head back, tensed every muscle in his tremulous frame and gave angry, primal voice to his pain. He howled and wailed. Rolling, staccato sobs rocked his body.

"It's over, Daniel. It's over," Jack said, trying to soothe him.

"God, why did you do that?!" Daniel cried. He repeatedly knocked his head against the wall. "Why?" Husky sobs broke from his throat.

"Because you couldn't do it for yourself, Daniel," Janet told him, finding her own voice a little less than steady.

Daniel bellowed and kicked, twisted and gasped, until his body began to lose the fight. "Why did you have to do that?" he asked in a voice crackling from fear and desperation.

Jack loosened the strangle hold he had on Daniel's arms and took his weight off of Daniel's chest. He continued to hold him though, but he began also to rub Daniel's back.

"God, I didn't want any drugs," Daniel tearfully said, feeling the dullness of the medication seeping throughout his body. "I wanted to get through this...without...them." He choked and coughed on short gasps of air. His knees began to feel spongey and loose. Jack helped ease him to the ground. Daniel sat subdued against the wall, his knees pulled up awkwardly to his chest. He tried to focus on Jack's face. "It feels like...I'm going backwards, Jack," he whimpered.

"It's not a set-back, Daniel. It's not," Jack told him, capturing his friend's face in his hands. "You hit the next level. You needed a hand to get through it. That's all."

Daniel dropped his head onto Jack's shoulder and began to cry. The struggle within him to keep a lid on his exploding emotions was all but lost. His arms, weak from fighting and flailing, hung limp at his sides. He rolled his head back and forth against Jack's coat, weeping.

"I'm so tired," he sobbed.

"I know," Jack assured him. He massaged the rigid muscles in Daniel's neck. "I know."

"Daniel, you really need to find a spot to lie down and rest," Janet told him, caressing his back.

"Come on," Jack quietly said, taking Daniel by the hand, lifting him and supporting him with an arm around his waist. Jack knew the drugs would work quickly on Daniel, and that he'd be flat on his ass soon. The kid was too tired and thin to not be immediately affected.

Daniel closed his eyes and let Jack lead him to the couch. Merciful incoherence was beginning to take control of his body. The feel of the rough wool upholstery beneath his cheek barely registered in his mind. With his last tenous hold on consciousness, Daniel reached out and grabbed Jack's sleeve.

"Corey," he whispered, his still fingers dangling from Jack's wrist.

Jack covered him with a blanket. "She's fine. She's sleeping. Sam's with her. Don't worry."

The drugs had taken all the worry away, and Daniel fell away, as well.

*****

The early evening light was pulling the colors from the room, leaving only gradations of gray. Corey dropped her keys on the half-wall and began to walk from room to room looking for Daniel, hoping to find him as well as could be expected. She thoroughly believed the chances were good that she would find him huddled in a corner sucking his thumb. Such idiotic, over-the-top images were her only recourse against the reality of her life--that she might find him huddled in a corner crying. And what would she do then?

She had slept at the O'Neill's house for six straight hours. When she woke up, Jack told her that he and Janet had been with Daniel all morning and that Janet had given him a light sedative to help him calm down and rest. Corey was grateful, and Jack was masterful in his ability to rationalize why she should just stay with them until the end of the Northwestern-Ohio State game was over.

"Come on, Dr. Barnett! You're practically an alum of Northwestern. It would be sacrilegious not to watch the game." Corey tried to explain that she hadn't even been in the same state for her undergrad, but Jack just raised an eyebrow and adopted his best dense look. "You lived near Evanston?" Corey flashed a smile and let him win the argument.

There didn't seem to be a point to going home anyhow. Jack had assured her that Daniel would sleep most of the day. "Janet has this sedative thing down to a science!" he told her, cock sure. Sam stared at him sidelong, not sure if he had meant exactly what he said. Even through all the years they had been together--as CO and 2IC, as lovers, as partners--she was never quite sure when he was joking. Jack turned to Sam and winked. Sam wriggled a little in her chair, embarrassed that Jack had caught her guessing.

So, Corey stayed, until her concern for Daniel outweighed her interest in more of Jack's famous chili.

Jack walked her to the car and gave her a gentle kiss before she drove away. As she turned out of the driveway and straightened out the car, she looked back at Jack. He held up two fists--a show of strength. She waved a thank you back and began the drive home.

"Daniel?" she called out in a voice no where near able to be heard in adjacent rooms. She trudged up the steps, pulling herself along the banister. "Daniel? Are you up here?" she asked.

"I'm here," he said. Corey had to concentrate to establish a direction.

"Daniel?" she said, walking toward their bedroom.

She pushed the door all the way open and found him laying on the bed, his feet still on the ground. The corner of the quilt had been hastily pulled up from the foot of the bed and covered a triangular swath across his mid-section.

"Daniel? You okay?" she asked, standing a few feet away.

"Oh, I'm fine," he answered her. Daniel stared blankly at the ceiling. "Janet and Jack stopped by this morning. Janet gave me something. Left me with a prescription. So, yeah. I'm fine."

"I heard," Corey admitted. "I was with Sam."

"I know," he said, pushing himself up to a semi-sitting position. "And, for what it's worth, thank you. Calling Janet was...as much as I hate to admit it, the right decision. I couldn't...I was..."

"Good. I mean, I'm glad. I mean..." Corey broke off, flustered that conversation had reappeared to her home when hours before it was reverberating with anger and accusations.

"Corey, I'm sorry. I never intended to scare you. I never intended for you to ever have to hear some of that...stuff." Daniel said. He sat up and shoved his hands under his legs. His eyes blinked slowly.

"Can I sit down?" Corey asked.

Daniel glanced at her and then gave in. He was still a little numb, still a little subdued from the drugs. But his thoughts were clear.

Corey pushed back the corner of the quilt and sat down next to him on the bed. She wove her fingers together and placed them between her legs.

"So," she said, her face flushed with nerves.

"So," he said back, lethargically rubbing his eyes. He wanted to explain to her, wanted to put her at ease, but he wasn't sure how to begin. "She was an old friend of mine."

Corey turned to him but remained silent. Her heart began to speed up.

Daniel pressed his finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes. "I knew her a long time ago. A couple years ago she fell in with the same...people who took and...eventually killed Sha're."

"Oh, Daniel. I didn't know," Corey sympathetically said.

Daniel glanced up, but didn't make eye contact. "Yeah."

"Daniel, did you have a choice?" she asked.

Daniel held his hands close to his chest while he scraped at the abraded corner of his thumb. The sedative had slowed down the tremors in his hands, but the more he talked about Sarah, the greater they became. He averted his eyes as he thought about her question. "Did I have a choice?"

"Yes. Was there anything else you could have done?" she gently asked.

Daniel closed his eyes. "I don't know."

"Daniel, you have a pure and gentle heart. A good heart. I know you wouldn't have done anything that you didn't need to do," she said, and she believed it.

Daniel's lungs filled with a quick gasp of air. He shook his head and felt his vision become obscured by tears.

"Let me hold your hand, Daniel," Corey asked him, taking his hand carefully but intently. "What you did--what you had to do, will never happen again. You don't have it in you." She ran her fingers along the tendons and traced the veins, caressed the gold band. "I trust these hands, Daniel. I love these hands."

"I'm afraid that I'll hurt you," he said in a shaky whisper, as if he said it any louder, the world might hear and make it somehow come true. The residual numbness from the sedative kept him from pulling his hand from hers, kept him from panicking. He was tired of fighting it, of being lost, of pulling away.

Corey kept his hand in hers as she stood and knelt if front of him. "Daniel, you won't hurt me. I trust you. Trust me." She kissed the palm of his hand.

"I didn't want you there," he told her.

"Where?" she asked, laying his hand against her face. The fear of her touch still clawed at him, but the feel of her breath on his hand kept that terror at bay.

Daniel touched her cheek, drew his thumb tentatively across her lips. Tears snuck down his nose. "With me. There. I begged you to leave."

"And did I?" Her warm hand pushed beneath his sleeve and gently massaged his arm.

"No. Not until I forced you out."

"I won't leave again."

Daniel continued to stroke her face with a feather touch. Home, he thought. All the warmth and love of home that he no longer felt he deserved were right at his fingertips. Here was his wife, trusting him, touching him, and he could only feel the loss more acutely.

"Daniel, show me where she hurt you," Corey told him quietly.

"No," he said, shaking fearfully. "I can't."

"Trust me."

"I can't."

Corey touched his face and looked deeply into his watery eyes. "Trust me, Daniel. Let go and trust me."

Daniel lowered his hand from her cheek and let it sit in his lap for a moment. He turned his eyes away from her and slowly gathered up the left edge of his shirt, exposing the welt of skin over his ribs. A bristling sense of shame swept over him as he exposed his scar to Corey. He closed his eyes and prayed it would be over soon.

Corey reached out and gently placed her hand over the scar. Daniel flinched.

"Does that hurt?" she asked, letting her hand hover just above the plastic looking skin. Daniel mouthed the word no, and Corey covered the area with her palm. "Let me make you well, Daniel."

The gentle pressure of her hand warming his skin brought new tears to Daniel's eyes. He was stuck between wanting to back away from the touch and press into it, let it grab hold of him. He trembled and wept, unable to meet Corey's eyes.

Corey grasped his hand away from his shirt and intertwined her fingers with his. She felt him squeeze her hand with a measure of trepidity. She sat back down to the left of him, his hand still in hers, and asked, "Where else?"

Daniel shook his head. The muscles in his torso quivered, his shoulders jumped.

Corey never allowed the contact to break as she switched hands, leaving one to hold his, the other to draw up the back of his shirt. When she pushed the material up from his waist, the uneven, fractured welts that criss-crossed his back began to appear. She bit her upper lip to quell the anger and horror that wanted to rise up from her heart and cry out.

Daniel's entire body was tremulous. His back twisted and arched away from her sight. He held her hand hard, wanting to trust her, give himself to that trust. But it was so difficult, so painful to have her see his scars, to see his body, to let her touch his body.

Corey pulled the collar over his head and slid the shirt down his arms, leaving him bare to her. The cool air on his back made his trembling that much worse. He pressed his free hand against his chest and over his scars, a feeble attempt to shield himself from the cold and from her.

Her hand momentarily left his as she eased the shirt from him. After a brief pause, her hand was back in his, assuring him that she wouldn't let go, not if her life depended on it.

"Daniel, open your eyes," she said. He couldn't. He didn't want to see the terror in her face as she looked at his thin, disfigured body. Daniel's voice betrayed him by letting out a series of pitiful sobs. "Look at me, DJ."

Daniel opened his eyes but kept his face turned from her. He looked everywhere but at Corey. His ribs ached from the tension and shaking in his body. He became aware of a warmth on his face--her hand on his cheek, guiding his attention to her. Daniel acquiesced and turned to face his wife.

What he found was his beautiful Corey, kneeling in front of him, stripped to the waist, just as he was. He felt fragile and weak, needful and longing. He choked on the tightness in his throat.

"Daniel, this is my body. I trust you with it," she said, lifting his hand and pressing it to her chest. He tried to see over the blurred escarpment of tears, and as he tilted his chin down, the tears tumbled from his eyes. His fingertips pressed into the skin, found it to yield close to her breasts, firmer near the sternum. His lungs spasmed, yanked in gulps of air.

"Daniel, can you feel my heart beating?" she asked, covering his hand with hers. He nodded. "It's slow and steady. It isn't racing. I'm not afraid of you. I trust you."

Daniel closed his eyes and began to weep. Each tear that fell was met by Corey's lips. And as she cradled his face in her hands and kissed away his tears, Daniel reached for his wife's small waist and held onto her for dear life.

"I trust you, Daniel. You won't hurt me," she whispered to him, brushing her lips against his quivering mouth. "Let me make you whole again."

Her love for him reached inside Daniel, wrenching free the days and weeks of anguish. With her body giving him permission to let go of the pain, Daniel began to feel layers of sorrow and fear sloughing off. With each pass of her hand over his body, more of his fractured soul became healed.

He had been surrounded by an impenetrable darkness and had no recourse but to be still in it, become a victim of its power and magnitude. He had begun to believe the rest of his life would be one of cacophonous isolation.

And then came a light and a voice calling to him, assuring him that he could find his way out if he only followed the direction from which it came.

"Come home to me," she whispered. "Come home to me."

In the roaring silence of his grief, the words were a beam of life. Gone was Sarah Gardner's entrancing, seductive song of death; gone were Sha're's visionary warnings; gone was his own self-blame and admonition to withdraw, shield himself from further pain.

He heard only Corey's voice--"Come home to me, Daniel."

He held fast to her promise of trust, to her promise that he could be strong again. He clutched onto the hope that she would help him gather his disparate and missing parts--graft his soul, soothe his flesh.

"Come home to me," came the sweet, enticing voice, like a balm spread lovingly over his body.

While they lay facing each other, their hands intertwined, Corey led Daniel to that place he had feared and longed for. Daniel locked eyes with her and held her gaze, let it be his beacon.

Corey steadied his shaking hands and kissed him when he began to give into the doubt that screamed for his return to the darkness.

She gave time to let moments of sadness, fear and regret wash over him. She held him close, waited for it to pass, and asked him to see for himself that he was safe. Shaking and weary, he'd open his eyes, catch his breath, and nod to her. Silently he'd ask her, "please, take me further. Take me home."

Faithfully, she would.

"Come home to me," she breathed into his mouth.

She set a rhythm for their joined bodies, one of patience and understanding, of deep, abiding love and forgiveness. Slowly, he matched her rhythm--gentle and tender.

In the pink haze of the new morning's sun, they became one, moving and trusting, affirming their love for one another.

When the sun crested the mountains and peeked through the suppliant trees into their bedroom, Corey felt his body open to her, watched Daniel's blue eyes become wide, heard his breathing become shallow.

"Yes, yes, my love," she whispered, urgently and true.

"Corey..."

And then he came home to her.

*****