The Fission of Silence

When it was over, the beast took the wet cloth and cleaned Levan with care and precision, dried him carefully, and folded his clothing back in place. Then the beast rose from its knees, poured a glass of water, and offered it to Levan, who ignored the drink. The beast kept the glass outstretched, compliant with the standing orders. Levan rested his head against the back of his chair, smiling, sated.

The beast held the glass, slick with condensation, in front of its body without moving, without looking at Levan, without wondering when the glass would be taken. It was always taken. It always would be.

Sitting in his oversized leather chair, Levan rotated his ankle, the joint cracking and popping. He glanced at his fingernails, noticed a speck of dirt under one and cleaned it out. He took the glass and drank from it. Without giving thought to the readiness of the beast, he passed the cup back and let go of it. Levan swiveled around in his chair to face his desk and began to sort through a stack of papers, until he became aware that the creature was still near. Levan glared hard at the beast, blistering it with eyes that spewed hatred and disgust. He pointed to the ground, and it quickly knelt, lowered its forehead and hands to the floor, the empty glass still in its hand.

"No! You�you idiot!" Levan bellowed. He kicked the glass from the beast�s hand, sending it crashing against the wall. The beast�s petrified expression darted from the glass shards to Levan�s shoes and back to the glass. It knew it had to make a decision, the right decision. The simple creature knew it should be able to figure it out�remain crouched until Levan told it what to do, or clean the broken glass. Its mind tumbled with the decision. Finally, the creature chose to clean up its mess, crawling as fast as it could to pick up the strewn pieces of jagged glass. Its hands shook as the beast made frenetic movements to pick up each piece. Numb with trepidation, the creature didn�t feel the glass slicing into its fingers, but became aware of the injuries when it saw the droplets of red staining the floor. Desperately, it pulled the sleeve of its garment over its hand and tried to wipe away the smears before Levan caught sight of them.

The beast heard the crack against its jaw before it felt the actual pain. Then, in a split second, the creature felt its head smack against the floor. Splinters of glass dug into its cheekbone. Trembling and afraid, the terrified creature remained huddled on the floor.

"Terrak!" Levan yelled, kicking the beast�s legs away from his path toward the door. "Terrak! Get in here!"

"Yes, Levan," Terrak said, racing into the room.

Levan strode back to his desk, stopping next to the recoiled creature. "Do you see this?"

"Yes, Levan," Terrak replied, regarding the twitching body on the ground.

Levan looked upon the creature, silent and cowering, with disgust. Levan pulled a thick hand across his mouth and slapped Terrak viciously across the face. And then again. Terrak recovered, showing no display of pain or emotion whatsoever.

"This is useless," Levan informed him. He kicked the beast away, a piece of rubbish, something repulsive left thoughtlessly in his way. "And you, as its keeper, are responsible for it."

"Yes, Levan," Terrak replied.

"It is useless and stupid." Levan stepped to his desk, fumbled through a list of files on his desktop monitor, and brought up one in particular. Seething with anger, shaking his head and muttering expletives, Levan read through the document, occasionally glancing in contempt at the beast. "How long have we had it?"

"Seven months, Levan."

Levan fingered each line of the document, searching for the loophole he needed. "I�m a patient man, Terrak. But this is�this is intolerable." He sharply punched the monitor, sending a tactile message for the monitor to turn the page. He scanned the document, becoming more and more agitated. His eyes fell to the figure curled up submissively next to his desk, the broken glass still cluttering the floor of his office. Levan�s face became red with acrimony. Terrak became aware of his owner�s anger and fell to his knees, screaming into the creature�s ear.

"Clean up your mess, you ridiculous fool!" Terrak barked. The beast scampered to its knees, bent over the broken pieces, and once again attempted to clear the glass as quickly as its trembling hands would allow. Thin rivulets of blood raced down the creature�s bruised cheek. Pinpoints of red splattered the ground, sailing from its frenzied hands.

"Terrak! Do you not see the mess it�s making?" Levan cried, taking the document and pointing it at the mixture of blood and broken glass.

"Yes, Levan. I am sorry, Levan," Terrak said.

The beast, anxious and frightened, glanced up at Levan, unsure of what should be done.

Levan�s eyes widened with horror. "Did you�Terrak, did you see that?" he asked, staring at his servant in incredulity.

"I am sorry, Levan," Terrak replied, yanking the beast from its crouched position. Terrak spun the beast around to face him, fisted its rough, cut-away collar, and slapped the creature, once, twice, three times, brutally and in rapid succession. "You shall never look at Levan again!"

The beast�s ears rang from the beating. Its vision grayed. The creature reached out a hand to steady itself. It scratched a pattern on the floor�up and down and up and circle, circle, circle. Blood dripped from the creature�s fingers to the floor, and Levan became further incensed.

"Remove it, Terrak! Now!" he screamed, stepping away from the sullied area.

Terrak grabbed the beast by the wrist, jerked the stunned creature off its knees and dragged it out of the room, where he beat the beast until its fear and confusion were gone.

*****

The guard unlocked the heavy door, and the old man, stooped and unkempt, shuffled into the room.

The creature lay panting in a tangle of bloodied limbs. One eye swollen shut, the other swimming in a sea of blood, the beast waited for the healer, silently and trembling.

The old man dropped his satchel next to the beast and lowered his gnarled body to the ground. His arthritic joints creaked and moaned when he knelt next to the ravaged body.

"You are a hindrance to yourself," he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a craggy hand. The old man reached into his bag and produced a bowl into which he poured a mixture of coarse powder and sticky fluid. He combined the ingredients with two bent fingers, stirring it into a thick paste, earthen and musty.

"If you are lucky, you will be sold," he said, watching the consistency drip from his fingers into the bowl. "If not, Levan will kill you."

The man�s rheumatic fingers dipped into the salve and scooped out a portion, which he smoothed onto the beast�s battered face. The creature flinched. The man pressed his hand to the beast�s shoulder, steadying it. "Be still. You know this will sting only for a moment. Of all Levan�s creatures, you should know that. I spend half my time healing you. When will you learn? Probably never." He continued to smear the putrid concoction across the beast�s raised cheek, over a split lip, an open gash across its ear. Another dollop was smoothed across the eyes, until the beast�s entire face was covered, its injuries hidden under the oozing paste.

"Of course, if he were planning to kill you, he wouldn�t bother with having you healed, now would he?" The man pushed aside the bowl and wiped his fingers on the beast�s soiled garment. He pulled a knife from his sack, pressed it next to the tender, pulsating skin on the beast�s neck, and sliced into the rough material of its robe. He drew the knife down, through the burled and scratchy cloth, slicing the bloodied material away. The old man tore at the seams, exposing the beast�s shaking body to the dank air. "Oh, what a mess," he mumbled seeing the distention of the abdomen, the bruising over the legs, hips and ribs. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

The old man straightened the beast�s body, laying the creature�s bloodstained hands next to itself. "No, I suspect you will be sold, and soon," he said, taking a metallic sheet from his sack. He unfurled the sheet over the beast�s body, covering the creature from its neck to its filthy feet. The old man leaned precariously across the beast, tucking the sheet around and under the body, making sure it came in contact with every critical point�the broken ribs, the fractured elbow, the abdomen swollen with trapped blood.

"Levan and the consortium had such high hopes for you. The last creature died during the purging. But not you. You were stronger than Levan expected. Stronger and more stubborn. You have always been stubborn, beast. That is why I must spend my time repairing the damage." The old man pressed his hands to the ground and slowly raised his curled form. He tottered to the wall of the dank room and stopped next to a console. He keyed in a pattern, and from the back wall, a circular pattern of light moved forward, ascending upon the creature to surround it. The light began at the base of the beast�s feet, engulfing them in garish light. "Unfortunately, Levan has found you to be untrainable and stupid. Stupid."

The particles of light slid across the beast�s ankles and legs, sending currents of electric pain through the creature�s body. The old man watched with apathy while the beast silently twitched, flinched and convulsed. Under the blanket, the beast�s fisted hands rattled against the ground, its body arching under the encompassing torrent of pain.

The old man found himself bored with the sight and turned his attention to the wall where a centipede slithered quietly across. He watched it, fascinated by the skittering symmetry, the coordinated articulation of movement. While the buzz and whir of the energy field slowly encircled and scraped across the beast�s body, the man gently placed his hand on the wall and waited for the insect to crawl into his palm. The antennae of the insect grazed against the old man�s hand before propelling itself up and over the callused skin. The man�s mouth opened to a decayed smile while the legs of the centipede tickled his skin. Without taking his eyes off the roving insect, the man reached for the console with his free hand and increased the strength of the light beam. The beast�s heels dug into the floor, its body seizing under the onslaught.

The arthropod writhed across his hand, dipping between each finger, a wave of legs moving across the soiled hand. He lined up his two hands, and the insect moved from one set of gnarled fingers to another, silent and undulating.

"What a marvelous creature," the old man reported, stroking the segmented body with great affection and care. He turned his palsied hand over, allowing the centipede more surfaces on which to scamper. He heard the soft grunts escaping the beast, glanced up to see the light had made its way to the beast�s neck, and reached over to the console, turning off the healing particle stream. The circular machine receded into the back wall.

He stooped down, falling the last few inches onto aged knees, and lowered his hand to the ground. "There you go, my little friend," he cooed, allowing the insect to peel off his hand and onto the stone floor. It slithered away, into the darkened shadows between abutted stone.

The old man tore the metallic sheet from the beast�s newly restored body, wrapped the sheet over his hands, and shoved it into his sack. "You do this to yourself," he spat, taking a piece of the beast�s discarded garment from the floor. He used it to wipe the salve from the creature�s face, scraping away the gritty paste to reveal freshly gained scars. The old man slapped the beast�s shoulder. "Get up," he ordered, pointing to where it should go.

The beast rolled to its side, rolled to a weakened elbow, pressed itself up from the floor and sat up, kneeling on the back of its legs. The creature�s head slumped forward, a combination of exhaustion, pain and humiliation pouring through it.

"Drink this. Go on," the old man said, pressing a cup into the beast�s chest. The beast took it and raised it to its lips. The steaming, rancid liquid spilled across its lips and into its mouth, but the creature knew better than to gag. A savage beating had taught it never to gag again. The beast swallowed the liquid and placed the bowl next to its body. The creature replaced its hands in its lap, awaiting the next step.

"For a stupid creature, you are very strong. Your injuries were severe, but somehow you survived. You always do," the man said, pulling himself up by leaning his entire weight onto the beast�s shoulders. The old man shuffled to the wall and grabbed a long hose, turned the spigot, and pelted the beast with water.

The icy temperature of the water seized the beast�s lungs, but it remained motionless, allowing the water to peel away the remnants of the salve, rinse away the by-product of the particle spray. The formidable stream of water needled the beast's still throbbing skin, but it didn�t move. There were some things it was able to learn. Some things it could remember.

The old man turned off the water and let the hose smack against the wall. He grabbed a parcel out of a cubby in the wall and tossed it at the beast. "Here is your new garment. Put it on. Levan will expect to see you soon," he said.

The beast pulled the sack-like robe from off the floor and searched for the bottom opening, turning the garment in its hands, becoming more and more frightened when it couldn�t produce the hem. The old man bristled, rolled his eyes, and ripped the cloth from the beast�s hands. The beast flinched and turned its head, readying itself for the imminent onslaught of discipline. Instead, it felt the coarse material skimming over its skin.

"The intelligence of pulp," the old man muttered, yanking the beast�s arms through the sleeves, ripping the garment over its torso. "If you were lucky, Levan would kill you, put you out of your own misery. End your wretched life." He pushed the beast away, repulsed by the creature�s inability to do the simplest things. "But you will be sold. Yes, I�m sure of it. Like an ox, you are stupid but strong. Levan and the others will be able to command a good price for you."

The beast pulled the robe past its hips and over its legs. The creature, panting with fear, smoothed the harsh sheath against its thighs, and then became still, compliant once again.

"Pick up my tools and hand them to me," the old man ordered, waving at his things, nudging the beast with his booted foot. The beast gathered the healing tools, stuffed them into the man�s sack, and offered them to the old man.

"You should be grateful, creature," he said, limping toward the door. "Levan has been very patient with you. Your next owner surely will not be as tolerant." The old man knocked on the door, regarded the beast with disdain, and waited for the guards. "You will likely be killed then. Pray that you are." The door swung open, and the old man tottered out.

The beast slumped to the ground, binding its arms around its waist, pressing its forehead into the filthy, wet floor. Its warm breath ricocheted off the ground and settled against its face, brought the pathetic creature a modicum of comfort that it knew it didn�t deserve. The beast brought its hands to its mouth and breathed into their union.

One hundred hair-like feet crawled over the beast�s ankles and calves. One hundred minute legs slithered under the beast�s gown and over its knee, changing their straight course to dip over the taut slope of a rounded thigh. The beast opened its mouth to scream but that ability had been taken from it months ago. The creature wanted to scrabble away, but was paralyzed with fear. It pressed its shaking hands to its mouth and screwed tight its eyes.

One hundred legs whispered across the beast�s hips, stopped at the tight intersection of abdomen and thigh, and diverted its course across the beast�s stomach, brushing against the constricting muscles.

Adept at only two things, the beast called on one and disappeared. It moved away from dinning silence, from touch, from fear. It pressed into the darkness, folded the edges of awareness in on itself, and ceased to be.

Until the beast was gone.

*****

"As I was saying," Levan continued, holding the door open for his guest, "we had very high hopes for the creature when it came to us." Levan motioned for the man to take a seat in front of his desk.

Denjo Blont sat down in the chair. He was broad and stout, a look of uncompromising scrutiny in his face. He had come a great distance to purchase the creature for his clients, and the formalities associated with such a purchase bored him. Blont wasn�t interested in details, only numbers.

"You�ll find all the pertinent information within," Levan said, handing Blont a small chip.

Blont took the chip, inserted it into the monitor on his side of the desk, and when the data appeared before him, began to skim over the information indifferently. "You paid 52,000 Mead for it?"

"Yes."

"You ask 62,000, and yet you�ve only been in receipt of the creature for less than�" Blont flipped back to the original bill of sale, "�less than the seven months."

"The consortium feels this is a fair price. After all, the creature has been purged and trained, at our considerable time and effort," Levan informed him.

Blont paged through the information, glancing at the data, the pertinent notes. One particular notation struck him. He shook his head skeptically. "No, this can�t be right," he said, turning the monitor to Levan.

Levan craned his neck to see what Blont was questioning. "Yes, that is correct."

"Fifty corrections?"

"The most we�ve ever had to administer."

"Over what period of time?" Blont asked, the pages of data cursing over the monitor. He began to feel the deal turning sour.

"Ten days," Levan said.

Blont�s eyes fixed on Levan. "Ten days?"

"It received 25 corrections within the first two days," Levan said. "The third day, it received eight. By the end of that day, our trainers felt confident that purging had begun and that the creature could stand more. So, you can see, 62,000 Mead is a fair price."

"But it is purged, correct?"

"Yes, completely," Levan assured him, nodding his head with confidence. "The creature is strong, to be sure. It is strong and healthy, and able to be physically pushed beyond any creature of its kind. However, it does not meet our needs sufficiently, and the consortium is willing to sell it. We ask only to recoup the price of ten days worth of purging."

"Is it trainable?" the man asked, taking the chip from the monitor and tossing it on the desk.

"Imminently," Levan said. "The training it received for its particular job was well learned. It has been my personal beast, and I have been well satisfied with its performance. Unfortunately, it never was able to understand the more basic rules of our society. This is not the fault of our training or staff. It is merely a matter of the creature being unsuitable for our needs. Pardon me, won�t you?" Levan rose from his seat and stepped toward his office door. Terrak rounded the corner of the door and listened for Levan�s instructions. Terrak nodded and hurried off. Levan walked back to his desk and sat back in his large overstuffed chair. "Please excuse the interruption."

"Certainly," Blont said.

"If I may be so bold, it is my understanding that your interest in the creature is purely for research," Levan said, rocking back in the chair.

"Correct," Blont said. "That is why we jumped at the chance to purchase it as soon as we heard the consortium was putting it up for sale."

"Tell me, what type of research will you be performing on the creature?" Levan asked.

"It is only a creature. What do you care?" Blont asked in return.

"I take an interest in all the creatures that pass through here. They are things, it is true, but even so, they deserve a bit of dignity," Levan said.

"Once I give you the 62,000 Mead, the question of its dignity will no longer be your concern," Blont said.

Levan stared back, mildly disgusted with the buyer�s disdainful attitude. He nodded in acquiescence and said, "Very well."

Blont reached inside his tunic to pull out a satchel. He poured into his hand coins of different size and composition. He tossed them gently, unearthing a few coins in order to see the amount. He pawed through the currency and handed six coins to Levan. "62,000 Mead."

"I think you will be very satisfied," Levan said, accepting the payment over the expanse of the desk, and in exchange, offered Blont the information chip. "You may keep this. It now belongs to you along with the creature."

The door to Levan�s office opened, and Terrak stepped through with the beast shuffling close behind. It kept its head down, both eyes cast to the ground.

"Ah, here is your creature now," Levan said, rising from his seat, extending an invitation to Blont to peruse his purchase.

Terrak stopped in the center of the room and brought the beast to a halt. Blont rose from his seat and stepped slowly around the creature, looking for the distinguishing marks his client had described. Blont paused in front of the creature, chucked it under its chin and waited for it to lift its face.

The creature automatically did as it was told, but kept its eyes averted, knowing the price to be paid for looking a master in the eye.

"Look at me," Blont said, tapping the creature against the forehead.

The beast raised its eyes, stared off at nothing of consequence.

"Yes," Blont hissed, finding the strange color of the beast�s eyes riveting, just as his client had described. "Yes, this is the one."

The creature�s eyes, empty and lifeless, contained a color Blont had never seen in a creature. It was the color of the Burankin moon during the harvest, the color of deepest jewels.

Blont wrapped a rope around the beast�s waist and tied a slipknot in it. He wrapped the other end of the rope around his own thick, sullied hand, all the while peering salaciously into the creature�s striking features. "You will come with me," Blont told the beast. It lowered its eyes and followed Blont from the room.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you," Levan called out, but Blont and his new possession had left the office.

*****

There was a breeze that left no discernable sensation; a scent that sparked no recognition; a light that awakened no response. The beast scuffed along behind Blont through the dusty streets of Xiotank, unaware of its surroundings, unaware it was alive.

Their walk had been carried on in silence. The beast kept a few paces behind Blont; Blont now and again checked to make sure the pitiful creature was indeed following him, giving the rope a swift yank. Blont scanned the area, constantly in search of the perfect opportunity.

Along a decrepit section of buildings, Blont grabbed the creature by the nape of the neck and pushed it into a darkened vestibule.

The beast�s face came into hard contact with the masonry, its nose smacking against the rough façade. The beast lifted a hand to steady itself against the wall.

"You have cost me more than I was prepared to pay," Blont said, pressing a burly hand into the center of the beast�s back, crushing the creature into the wall. "I shall take my lost wages out on you."

The beast opened its eyes and saw its own hand against the wall. One thumb and four fingers, slender and trembling, unlike the short, stocky fingers pressed into its back. The creature felt its body being forcefully butted up against the coarse masonry. The beast counted the knuckles on each finger, watched the strange cords below the skin dance while it grasped hold of the wall, scratched at the rough surface. Watched a halting pattern emerge�up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�

The beast�s primitive cassock was pulled up over its hips, allowing its now exposed legs and hips to grind against the rasp of the coarse masonry. The creature�s face scraped against the surface again and again and again. Uneven nails at the end of the fingers dug into the wall without making a sound�up and down and up and circle, circle, circle-- and the beast watched as the cords under the thin skin became more prominent against the rough, hidden vestibule wall.

"Yes," Blont harshly whispered into the beast�s ear, his hot, quickening breath smearing against the creature�s skin. "Yes, I shall take my lost wages from you."

The beast heard a muffled grunt, an urgent groan but forgot it as soon as it passed though the air. The beast watched the fingers become rigid, tremble, splayed across the textured surface.

"Make it worth my lost wages," Blont crackled, reaching with a wanton hand around the creature, clawing at a hipbone to better find his recompense. "Yes. Make it worth my time."

The beast saw its own hand sliding out of sight, fading into insignificance. Sliding away from tactile awareness and into nothingness.

After Blont had reaped enough payment from the creature, he picked up a discarded rag off the ground and tossed it at the beast. "Here. Clean yourself. You shall meet your new master soon. I don�t want them to find you any filthier than you already are."

The beast stooped to the ground to retrieve the rag and wiped it beneath its bleeding nose, over its scoured and torn body. It stood out of habit only, let the rough fabric of its meager clothing skim over its hips and legs

"Come along. My clients are waiting for their precious bounty," Blont stated, yanking the beast by the rope from the vestibule.

The beast stumbled, fell with an awkward thud against the ground, and slowly righted itself.

"Come!" Blont barked.

The beast fell in step with Blont, its head lowered, its shoulders stooped, unaware of the blistering heat, unaware of its lingering fear.

*****

The beast had no way of knowing how long they had walked, only knew apathy. Only knew fatigue.

But then it was brought to a halt. A stabbing in its ears shuddered through the beast. A stimulus, shrill and biting, clawed at its ears. The creature shut its eyes to close out the painful discordance. Touches and movement surrounded it, made it dizzy with fear.

Faces and the piercing throb that punched against its mind crowded around the beast, confusing the creature, filling its head with too much.

The faces pulled the creature, placed hands on it, entered its head in excruciating sibilance. The beast pressed its chin to its chest and tried to disappear.

A horrendous cacophony exploded in the beast�s mind, pulling its sparse attention up to take in the sight. The creature was being directed to step into the swirl of the large ring. Flesh deep memories of the pain circles brought bore into the creature. Made the creature�s last thought scream in abject terror. Another circle, another purging, another healing...

The ring dropped from its sight, the sky appeared in its stead. A circle of faces jumbled above the beast, blurred and graying, hovering close to its face. The beast�s skin no longer responded to touch, no longer processed sensation.

The beast closed its eyes and capitulated to the endless cycle of death.

*****

Janet Fraiser and members of her staff raced through the halls of the corridor based on one single command�"Medical team to the embarkation room!"

An almost daily ritual, usually ending in a sprained ankle, an allergic reaction to histamines no one could possible have thought to look for.

While she ran next to the clamoring gurney, Janet silently checked off all the teams. SG3 and SG5 were on base. SG8 was off world but had checked in not minutes earlier stating their boredom. SG6 and SG11 were off world, but thoroughly enjoying themselves along the shores of an interstellar paradise.

That left SG1.

There is no way, she told herself. SG1 had been looking for Daniel for months now, always returning disheartened and without answers. There is no way that this time they found him. Just no way.

"Let�s pick up the pace, people," Janet ordered, sailing through the final hall to the embarkation room doors. The second they crashed through the double hung doors, she saw the impossible.

"Get him on the gurney!" she yelled, reaching out for Teal�c to meet them at the end of the ramp.

Teal�c quickly but with great care laid Daniel�s limp, battered body onto the white sheets. The lifeless limbs fell in grotesque configurations, defying their natural resting positions.

"He passed out right before we came through the gate," Sam said, her eyes darting between the professionalism of Janet and her staff and Daniel�s pallid countenance.

"Let�s move it!" Janet bellowed, ripping the side rails up and taking hold of the bed. At a break-neck speed, she and her staff ushered out the gurney.

Sam stood unable to pull in the smallest of breaths. She began to feel herself getting sick, her stomach revolting at the sight of her once robust friend.

"Oh, God," she groaned, dashing from the ramp. She made it as far as the double doors before she ducked behind a generator box and threw up.

"Major Carter," Teal�c said, placing a hand on her back. "Are you not well?"

"She�s fine. Briefing in ten minutes," Jack retorted, passing them on his way to the locker room. "Make that five." He threw the doors shut behind him and strode down the hall, leaving in his wake the stench of fury and indignation.

Teal�c ground his teeth together and dismissed O�Neill�s behavior out of hand. He turned back to Sam and stooped to speak with her. "Shall I help you to the lavatory?"

Sam pulled a trembling hand across her mouth and cleared her throat. She spit the remaining bile from her mouth into the splashed puddle on the ground. "No. I�m fine. Thank you, Teal�c. I�m fine."

"It was indeed unsettling to see DanielJackson in such a condition," Teal�c said, guarding over her, keeping the other passing personnel away.

"That�s not Daniel," she said, hunched over her knees. "There�s no way that�that can possibly be Daniel."

"I am quite certain it is," Teal�c assured her. "It is clearly evident that he has suffered great hardship, but I am confident that we have, indeed, brought DanielJackson home."

"We brought something home, Teal�c. I don�t know if it�s Daniel," Sam said, feeling her way against the wall to the door. She stumbled out of the embarkation room and down the hall to the bathroom where she vomited again.

*****

"Let�s get that IV going now, people," Janet ordered.

So began the flurry of activity. Sets of hands attached leads to Daniel�s chest, others cut and ripped away his sack-cloth garment. While one worked methodically to start a femoral IV, and another to start a subclavian, a third nurse placed an oxygen cannula under Daniel�s nose, draping the tube over his ears.

"I need Ringer�s lactate running," Janet said. She placed her stethoscope over scars and bruises on his chest, listening for the shallow, lethargic sound of his breathing. "I need blood gases."

"Done," said a nurse, producing a vial of dark red fluid. She raced out of the room to the lab.

"Daniel?" Janet said, continuing to listen for any irregularities in his heartbeat. When Daniel did not respond, she called out his name again. "Daniel? Can you hear me?"

"Temp is 104.2," a nurse called out.

A pulse ox was attached to the tip of his scraped forefinger, and a Foley catheter was snaked up to his bladder.

Janet stepped to the head of the gurney--nurses and technicians perfunctorily moved out of her way.

She pulled the penlight from her lab coat pocket and opened his right eye. "Daniel? I need you to wake up now." Janet repressed the twitter in her gut when she pulled the lids open to reveal those eyes that she thought she might never see again. Those eyes that were constricting with the light, slowly but surely. "I�ve got a Glasgow of�call it 12."

"Doctor, O2 is at 98%," a nurse reported over the bare and scabbed body.

"Any signs of active bleeding?" Janet asked, flicking the light across his left eye.

"No, ma�am," they answered back, one after another.

Janet replaced the penlight in her pocket and reached behind Daniel�s head to his neck. She tipped her face down, concentrating on the work of her fingers as they palpated the cervical vertebrae through the long, dirty hair. "How�s his belly?"

The resident pressing against Daniel�s impoverished abdomen answered, "Belly�s soft with scant bowel sounds."

A technician wheeled in a gangly machine and waited for the orders he knew would be coming.

"Daniel," Janet said, raising her voice a notch above the cacophony surrounding him. She placed two fingers in his hand and wiggled them. "Daniel, squeeze my fingers, okay? Come on, Daniel. Squeeze my fingers." Daniel�s hand remained motionless under her touch.

"Pulse is 100; blood pressure is 80 over palp," came the reading.

"Fluids open wide," Janet said.

One after another, the nursing staff worked their hands over his limbs, checking for recent fractures.

Janet stepped next to the orderly holding the portable x-ray machine. "I want a single view chest film and a flat plate abdominal," she said, peeling off her gloves.

"Yes, ma�am," the orderly replied, wheeling the machine within the circle of procedures.

A passing nurse slipped a sheet of paper into Janet�s hand. The data showed more of the same�metabolic acidosis: a body in shock. "Push the sodium bicarb."

"Doctor?"

Janet looked up at the sound of the gently rumbling voice. "General Hammond?" she said, walking up to him. She was surprised to see the general in the infirmary so soon after SG1 had arrived. He didn�t usually want to be anywhere near the infirmary when there was a crisis. It wasn�t his place, he often said.

The general remained next to the entrance of the trauma room. "How is he?"

"Well, sir," Janet said, taking a moment to glance over the once strong and healthy body. Her eyes caught sight of the upraised scars along Daniel's brow, the yellowed bruises staining his ribs, "he�s been ripped up and put back together somehow. I won�t know the extent of his injuries until I get a look at his x-rays, but for right now, we�re working on getting him stabilized."

"Is he conscious?" General Hammond asked, shaking his head in disbelief over the obviously abused body.

"No, sir, he isn�t. He�s in a deep state of unconsciousness. We�re going to be taking him to radiology as soon as he�s stabilized," Janet told him.

"Doctor Fraiser?" said a nurse somewhere in the scrum around Daniel.

"Sir," Janet said, turning from him, grabbing a new pair of gloves.

"Go," General Hammond said, understanding all too well that she was needed to take care of Doctor Jackson.

"What do we have?" Janet asked, quickly snapping her gloves on.

General Hammond stepped outside the infirmary, pulled one hand across his mouth, shook his head and cursed.

*****

Jack hunkered down in the black armchair, his hands folded solidly on the table in front of him. He stared with steely indifference at the wall over the empty chair on the other side of the table.

Sam and Teal�c stepped into the room and quietly took their seats. Jack�s sightline never diverted, and Sam thought it best not to try to gain his attention. Teal�c took a fleeting glance at O�Neill and just as quickly looked away.

"Let�s begin," General Hammond said, entering the room. He lowered his girth into the chair at the front of the table and opened a file.

"Well, General, it seems our contact came through for us...finally�" Jack said, turning his head to speak directly to the general.

"We arrived on R43-972 yesterday to set up the exchange," Sam said. "As I�m sure you remember from the mission report we filed previous to proceeding with the mission, we took with us a quantity of uranium 235. We set up camp in a safe house near the gate on 972 and waited for the exchange."

"Denjo Blont, a mercenary we met on one of our previous search attempts, did indeed have the information and wherewithal in order to find and extract DanielJackson from his�imprisonment," Teal�c said.

General Hammond�s nodded, the memories of all Daniel�s injuries corroborating the information perfectly well.

"We�re not certain about that, General," Jack said, glaring at Teal�c for his slip of the tongue. "All we know is Blont was able to come up with Daniel, we gave him the uranium, and then we came home."

"From the looks of his condition, he wasn�t out there casually roaming around the universe, sir," Sam added, tipping her head in disbelief over the colonel�s cavalier attitude.

Jack chose to ignore her. "At 21:50, Blont and Daniel arrived at the gate. This Blont character gave us a disc of some sort," Jack said, tossing the chip onto the table. "He didn�t exactly speak English, so I don�t have a clue what it is, but he seemed fairly emphatic that we should take it."

The general picked up the disc, turned it over in his hand. "Major, do you have any idea what this is?"

"Well, sir, I haven�t been able to look at it, but my best guess would be that it�s some sort of ID. Something that needed to stay with Daniel. Blont kept pressing it against Daniel and pointing to his head," Sam said. "I�ll take it to my lab, see what I can come up with."

"See to it," General Hammond said, handing the disc to Sam. "So, this�Blont person�"

"Person might be a stretch, sir," Jack interjected. "He looked to be three chromosomes short of being an actual person."

"Fine," General Hammond said, taking note of the distinction. "When this�mercenary brought Doctor Jackson to the gate, how long was it before you were able to dial home?"

"When they first walked up�" Sam began.

"Who are they, Major?" the general asked.

"Blont and Daniel, sir."

"Are you telling me Doctor Jackson walked to the Stargate?" General Hammond asked. After having seen the condition Daniel was in not moments ago, the general found the idea of him being able to walk absolutely unbelievable.

"Yes, sir," Sam answered. "Moments after the exchange, in fact while we were walking toward the event horizon, Daniel stopped and then�"

"It was as if he could no longer go on, General," Teal�c interceded. "He collapsed in my arms."

General Hammond ran a hand over his pate, his face turning crimson with disgust. "You�ll forgive me, people, but I was just down in the infirmary, and I�m having the damnedest time comprehending how Doctor Jackson was able to walk at all."

Sam was hardly able to contain the apprehension in her voice when she asked, "Is he�?" .

"He�s holding his own," the general offered. He studied the faces of his flagship team. "I realize this has been a particularly trying time for you all. I applaud your perseverance and determination. I also realize that until we can talk to Doctor Jackson, try to come to some conclusions about what happened, there�s going to be a great deal of unanswerable questions. Give it time, people. You�ve waited this long. Another couple days won�t hurt."

"Yes, sir," Jack said for the team.

"I�m sure you�re all ready to hit the showers, get a hot meal. I won�t keep you any longer. Dismissed," the general said, rising from his seat.

"Thank you, sir," Jack said, rising also. When the general had left the room, Jack sat back down.

"Sir," Sam quietly said.

"What is it, Carter?"

"About Daniel," she said.

"Carter, you know everything I know. What could I possibly tell you?" Jack asked, pressing his fists into the table.

Sam stared at him, ground her teeth together in anger and prudence, and then shook her head. "I�m sorry, sir. I realize we�re all in the same boat."

"Yeah, well," Jack said, closing his folder with a slap, "we wouldn�t be in the goddamn boat if orders were followed in the first place."

"Sir," Sam said, knowing that the sound of disbelief and hurt in her voice bordered on insubordination.

"Leave it alone, Carter," Jack warned, glaring at her. "Now, I have a report to write up. So do you. It�s time we got back to what we do, and what we do is work for the United States Air Force. This little foray into scavenger hunting has gone on long enough. We�re done. We found Daniel. It�s over. Now it�s time to get back to work."

"Yes, sir," Sam said.

"I want to see the copy of your report on my desk in two hours," he said, striding out of the briefing room.

"Yes, sir," Sam quietly said in the wake of the colonel.

"DanielJackson is back with us, Major Carter," Teal�c said, sensing Sam�s growing confusion. "It is indeed a time to rejoice, is it not?"

Sam bit down on her thumbnail and glanced at Teal�c. "Yes. It is. Thank you, Teal�c."

"May I assist you in the writing of your report?"

Sam stood up, supporting her weight on the table. "I think I can do it. Thanks anyhow."

"You are most welcome," Teal�c said, rising in respect.

"Teal�c," Sam said, half way to the door.

"Yes, Major."

"Did you see what I saw?" she asked.

"If you are referring to the hollowness in DanielJackson�s countenance, then yes, I did."

Sam and Teal�c locked eyes, understanding each other�s concern and pain.

Understanding that they had found Daniel, but wondering how much he had lost.

*****

Sam peeked inside the room and was met only by the soft chirping of machines, the omnipresent smell of alcohol and latex, and the sight of a long-lost friend.

She padded into the room and edged in close to the side of Daniel�s bed. At least he�s clean now, she thought, remembering the smudges of dirt on his hands and feet, the way his hair had clung to his skin in greasy strands. Sam wondered if his long bangs, curving over his eye, were bothering him. She reached out with a steady hand and pushed the soft hair to the side, and when she did, strange, glinting strands of silver sparkled, hidden among the ubiquitous brown. Had he been gone that long? Was it age or his ordeal that had brought his hair to gray? Sam felt the sting of tears close to the surface. Her fingertips lingered next to his temple, brushing aside his hair, discreetly touching him, just to feel his warmth, know he was alive.

"Hey, Sam," Janet quietly said, stepping up to the opposite side of the bed. She kept her hands deep within her lab coat pockets and just looked at him, not so much as his physician, but with the concerned eyes of a friend.

"His hair is so long," Sam said. It was all too much to take in�cracked and bloodied lips, disconcerting scars on his face and neck. She tried to find a safe spot on which to concentrate, but found only more vestiges of the unthinkable. She shook her head at the obscenity of it all. "Why would anybody do this to him?"

"I have no idea," Janet quietly said. "Sam, his injuries�" She had to stop, clear her throat, try to begin again without losing her composure. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing. Daniel�s injuries�"

"Janet?" Sam said, becoming apprehensive at the thought that perhaps Daniel was even worse than he looked.

"I�m sorry," Janet said. She shook her head. "I need to file my report with General Hammond before I can discuss this with you. You understand, don�t you?"

"Of course," Sam told her. She fixed her eyes on Janet�s, trying to find some unspoken message in her expression. Janet blinked against the tears filling her eyes, tilted her head, and then turned away, escaping to the sanctuary of her office.

"Excuse me, Major," a second lieutenant said.

"Oh, sure," Sam said, stepping aside so the nurse could take Daniel�s blood pressure. She picked up his limp arm, placed his forearm between her body and arm, and wrapped the black cuff around his bicep.

Sam slid to the end of the bed and mindlessly watched the nurse pump up the collar. Sam�s eye followed the lifeless arm past the black inflating cuff and through the nurse�s hold to the dangling hand. The fingers bounced with each move the nurse made. Sam watched the long fingers attached to the freshly scraped palm sway and rock. Her eyes moved away from the open, outreached palm to the wrist.

"Oh, my God," she uttered.

A macabre grid of uneven scars clawed into Daniel�s wrist. Sam stumbled to the side of the bed and grasped his hand, touched the scars with her trembling fingers.

"Major?" the nurse said, looking over her shoulder.

"I�m�" Sam tried to speak, but the sudden realization of what Janet was trying to tell her bore down on Sam like a tidal wave. "I�m sorry. I just�"

"It�s okay, Major. I�m finished here," the lieutenant said, allowing Sam to take her place. The nurse walked to the opposite side, checked to make sure Daniel was receiving enough oxygen, and that his IV was dripping at the appropriate frequency. Then she smiled at Sam and left the room.

Sam waited for the nurse to leave before taking a closer, anxious look at the scars. She ran her fingers along the lengths, shaking her head in disbelief. A terrible, crushing thought crossed her mind, and she laid his arm down, reached across Daniel's body for his other hand and lifted it.

"Oh, no," she whispered. Raised and stretched skin crisscrossing his wrist sent shockwaves of terror through her.

"Oh, Daniel," she cried, holding his hand, caressing the ghastly tissue with her own tremulous fingers. "What did they do to you?" Sam closed her eyes, didn�t want to see the signs of his hopelessness anymore. She replaced his hand at his side and ground her fists into her eyes. "Oh, Daniel." She wept for the months lost, for the unconscionable acts he must have endured. She cried and sobbed for the despair he surely felt, and for the desperate attempt to escape it.

"Oh, Daniel," she wept, leaning into him, kissing his rough cheek just above the oxygen tube. She brushed back his long hair, tried to quiet the sobs racking her body, and showered his pillows with tears.

Tears and supplication, in equal parts, for the horrors she knew had brought Daniel to such an act.

*****

Janet walked through the quiet halls of the mountain, her back and legs stiff from use. She�d been on call for fifty hours straight, and she felt grubby and achy and tired.

One more stop, one more duty, and she could crash in her quarters for a good, solid twelve hours. She pulled on the tight muscles in her neck, twisted her head around to quell the burning pain. Twelve hours of quiet, perhaps a few hours of sleep and, more than likely, of worrying about Daniel.

Janet slapped the file against her thigh while she walked. It was so late; she knew she�d just be dropping the file on General Hammond�s desk for his approval in the morning when he returned.

And that was probably a good thing. Information like the stuff in the file would keep anyone awake for hours wondering, ruminating, and gasping at the sheer brutality of it.

If she weren�t so damned tired, Janet thought she�d be up doing much the same. There is grace in exhaustion, she decided.

Rounding the corner to the General�s office, Janet opened the file and made sure it was in order�all the pertinent information, the copies of blood and fluid analysis, even a few Polaroid shots just to bring it into perfect obscene focus. Standard in such cases. Standard for this kind of trauma. Standard procedure that seemed ridiculously inappropriate for such a completely unsettling and grotesque case.

The door to the general�s office was open, so Janet stepped inside and laid the file on his desk. Then she turned around to get started on that twelve hours of peace and quiet she was forcing herself to take.

"Doctor Fraiser?" General Hammond said, stepping out of his personal lavatory.

"Oh, General. I thought you�d gone home," Janet said, taking a few steps inside the room.

"I was thinking I�d just stay on base tonight," he said. He looked at his desk. "Is that Doctor Jackson�s file?"

"Yes, sir. It is."

General Hammond walked to the front of his desk, sat down, and tapped the folder apprehensively. "Doctor Fraiser, I was just going to have a drink. Before I open this folder up, would you like to imbibe with me?"

"Oh, sir, you don�t know how much," Janet said, taking a seat in front of the general.

General Hammond opened up one of the drawers in his credenza and produced a bottle of whiskey and two cups. "To tell you how much I drink here in my office, I received this bottle as a gift from Jack O�Neill two years ago." The general placed the two glasses on the desk, unscrewed the top off the whiskey and began to pour. "I�ve looked in on Doctor Jackson from time to time, and something tells me I�m going to want a drink before I hear your report." He handed one of the cups to Janet, raised his and offered, "To the Air Force."

"To the Force," Janet said, clinking her glass to his.

General Hammond rocked back in his chair, downed a swig of the smoky liquid, and let it sit on his palate. He stared wearily into the glass and watched the film of alcohol slide down the side of the cup. "Now that I�ve had a little of this, why don�t you tell me what I�m going to find once I open that file."

Janet emptied her glass and slid it onto the desk. General Hammond was shocked by how quickly she had drunk it, and peered into her eyes. "That bad?"

"I�m afraid so, sir," she said. She folded her hands in her lap atop the still crisp front of her dark blue skirt. "Frankly, sir, I�m not sure why he�s alive. Whoever had him must have had some sort of accelerated healing device, because there�s no way he suffered all of those injuries at once. He couldn�t have lived through that much. Plus, the fact that the scars and fracture sights are all of differing levels of healing suggests he�s received the assorted injuries over an extended period of time."

"What kind of injuries are we talking about?" General Hammond reticently asked.

"There�s calcification of fractures to his skull, both collarbones, his right humerus, his left wrist in three different places, assorted fingers and ribs."

"Dear God," the general uttered in horrified astonishment.

"Yes, sir, and as you make your way down the rest of his extremities, you find much the same. He has pneumonia, which we�re aggressively treating. There�s the tissue damage, from a lesion on his aorta to thickened scar tissue around his kidneys and abdominal cavity." Janet propped her elbow on the armrest of the chair and ground her palm into her aching eyes. "I�ve never seen such massive damage, and all healed. All of it. Except�"

General Hammond waited for her to go on, but when she seemed unable to, he poured her another shot of whiskey, and pushed the cup closer to her.

"Thank you, sir," Janet said, her voice choked with emotion. She picked up the glass in one shaking hand, downed the amber liquid, hardly allowing it to pass over her tongue. Janet held the cup in her lap, focusing her thoughts on the cylindrical rim. Focusing her emotion to push aside the inappropriate anger and personal issues. The alcohol seeped through her bloodstream, flooding her muscles with numbing reprieve from pain. She nodded her head, signifying she was ready to go on. "Sir, there�s evidence of rape."

"Excuse me?" General Hammond verily spat out.

"Doctor Jackson�s�body shows evidence of�of rape. Tearing, bruising, swelling. It seems that it happened very recently," she told him.

"Son of a bitch," the general muttered, turning away from Janet and training his eye somewhere deep into the glass partition between his office and the briefing room, looking for the spot on the map where people, aliens, monsters could live that were so barbaric. "Does Jack O�Neill know?"

"No, sir, and I don�t believe he needs to know," she said.

"Certainly," the ranking officer agreed. He ran his fingers against his crimson brow, unnerved and inflamed. "How is Daniel now?"

"He�s in a coma."

"Is there anything I can do?" the general asked, his blue eyes glistening with sympathy.

"You can go in and talk with him," Janet quietly suggested, shrugging her shoulders. "The sound of familiar voices is always welcome."

"Then that�s what I�ll do," he said. General Hammond grasped the bottle of whiskey, turned it a few times where it stood, and then tipped it to pour another drink. "I suppose this bottle has seen the last of my credenza drawer," he said. He filled his cup again and dropped the empty bottle into his garbage can.

"Sir, I think I�ll go to my quarters unless there�s anything else I can do for you," Janet said, standing and smoothing her skirt down.

"No, you go right ahead," General Hammond said, nodding. "And thank you, Doctor. I appreciate the information. I know this can�t be easy for you."

"No, sir, it isn�t," Janet agreed. She made it as far as the door before she thought she�d tell him the rest. Tell him the truth about all Daniel�s scars. "Sir�"

"What is it, Doctor?" General Hammond asked.

Janet took a deep breath and decided enough was enough for one night. "Thank you for the drink."

"Goodnight, Doctor," he said, and when he longer heard her heels clicking in measured steps through the hall, General Hammond tossed back the rest of his drink, set the glass on the desk next to him and ran his finger along the lip.

He was an old soldier, and being such, he had seen every variety of pain a human could endure, but there was something about the humiliation of rape that infuriated him. Something about the complete lack of respect and regard for another person�s dignity that lacerated his core.

Something about Doctor Jackson being treated in such a way.

*****

"Wake up, Doctor Jackson," the nurse called, performing the hourly procedure. She rasped her knuckles against his breastbone. "Open your eyes, sir."

General Hammond watched the scene from outside the infirmary doors. Over the past few days he had seen it before�Doctor Jackson propped up at an angle, one of the nursing staff or doctors on call producing pain on his body, trying to get a reaction from the comatose man. They�d call out his name, manipulate his arms and legs, peer into his eyes, all for him to return to exactly the same position as before.

"How is he?" Sam asked, stepping beside the general.

"Still in a coma," General Hammond told her.

"He�ll wake up soon, sir," she promised, and didn�t know why she was trying to reassure her CO. Embarrassed, Sam glanced at the general and smiled while her face flushed.

"What can you tell me about that disk you were given?" he asked, keeping a watchful eye on the slack-jawed archeologist.

"Not much, I�m afraid," Sam said. "Sir, SG1 is meeting up with the Tok�ra in a few days. I�d like permission to give the disk to my dad, see if he can come up with anything. The Tok�ra may have the proper technology to unlock it."

"Certainly," General Hammond said. He watched the nurse pull the naso-gastric tube from Daniel�s nose, with quick precision. The general winced.

"I know," Sam said, having seen the general�s reaction. "Doctor Fraiser tells me it doesn�t hurt, though. Especially since he�s in a coma."

"Helluva thing," he said.

"Yes, sir."

"I go in there to talk with him, try to keep him company, and I don�t have the faintest idea what to say," General Hammond admitted.

"I�m not sure it�s important what you say, sir," Sam told him. "I think it�s just hearing your voice that�s good for him. Just hearing familiar voices, that�s all." She looked in while the nurse snaked a new gastric tube through Daniel�s nose and down into his stomach. Even though she understood the mechanics of the procedure, she could almost feel the tube glancing across the back of her throat, and it brought on an empathetic gag reflex. Sam averted her eyes.

General Hammond chuckled, his chest bucking. "The irony of it. My wife used to say the same thing to me when the girls were babies. I didn�t know what to say to them because they were just babies, and I don�t know what to say to Doctor Jackson now."

"If it�s any consolation, I don�t either," she said.

The general folded his hands together behind him, clucked his tongue against his cheek, and said, "I suppose I should be getting back to my office."

"Yes, sir," Sam said. She pushed open the door to the infirmary and kept her distance while the nurse finished her duties. After a few moments, the nurse gathered the used gastric tube and the rest of the bio-hazard material and threw them out. She checked the flow rate of the new gastric tube and left the area. Sam quietly took her place at Daniel�s side.

"Hey, Daniel," she said, pulling up the high stool next to his bed. She took a seat and picked up his hand. "Um, I know I come in here every couple hours and tell you the same thing, but, well, I�m not sure what to say. I guess I should take my own advice and just start talking." Sam reached forward and freed his hair from under the tube taped to his cheek. "It seems so strange to see you with long hair again." She brushed it back, smoothed it down. "There�s so much to tell you. You missed a lot. A lot has changed." Including you, she thought. Everything about him had changed�the length of his hair, the pink, raised welts on his skin. Sam felt she could easily sink into irretrievable depths of sorrow for him, but she knew it wouldn�t help. Not for her, or for him. So she sat with him, pulled her hands across his rough fingers, watched his chest rise and fall under the thin gown.

And then she began again. She took from the bedside table a bottle of hand crème, squirted a dollop into her hand and rubbed it between her palms, warming it. "Your name is Daniel Jackson," she said, holding his right hand and smoothing the crème over his long fingers. "You work here at the SGC. You�ve been gone a long time, but you�re home now. You�re home."

*****

Jack waited until the relative silence of night in the mountain settled in. He waited until Carter had gone home, until Teal�c had gone to his quarters, and until the nursing staff had finished their rounds.

And then Jack stepped into the room, his hands hidden in his pockets almost as well as his growing frustration. He stopped at the foot of the bed, tapped the tray table.

"So, Daniel," he said almost inaudibly, looking up, really hoping with his simple opener Daniel would wake up this time, answer him. It was a long shot that once again didn�t have a chance in hell of paying off.

For five days he had waited for the quiet of night to steal into Daniel�s room, never staying for more than a few minutes. For five days he had watched the tubes being changed, cleared�some added, some taken away. Five days of watching the nursing staff roll Daniel to one side, strip his sheets, and fold new bedding under him.

Five days of watching nothing but a body.

"So, Daniel," he began again, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. Jack spun the chair around, straddled the back, and tapped his fingers against the metal headrest. "So, Daniel�"

What did he think he was going to find to say today that he hadn�t been able to say for the last week? Jack wanted to ask questions, not chitchat with a carcass of a man. He wanted to know just what the hell happened to Daniel. What happened, when, where? Why had this been done to him? And then again, maybe he didn�t want to know.

"So, Daniel�" Jack tried again, swiping a finger under his nose, working hard on his nonchalance. What the hell went on over there? Daniel had been able to walk to the Stargate, hadn�t he?

"So�" he began again. Jack felt his hands itching to reach out, touch the jagged, scarred skin on Daniel�s wrist, laid out plain as day for everyone to see. Jack wanted to reach out, if only to turn Daniel�s wrist over, lay his arm across his abdomen, hide the frightening gashes. He�d seen those kinds of wounds before�self-inflicted, all of them. The residual sign of desperation in the most extreme. Jack rubbed his stinging eyes. What the hell had Daniel been through to make him want to do that to his own body? How did he do it? With what? Who found him? How did they stop him? Why did they stop him? Would he try it again?

"Jesus, Daniel," Jack whispered, propping one arm on the top of his chair. He ground the heel of his hand into his eye. Without stopping to ask another unanswerable question, Jack thrust his hand through the bed rail and covered the offending scars that screamed of insufferable pain and dejection. Jack pressed his hand to Daniel�s wrist, covering it. How long did you wait for me, Daniel? How long before you realized I wasn�t coming?

"Ah, Danny," he said, pushing his hand against the rigid lines in his brow. "Why couldn�t you just have done what you were told? Huh? Would it have killed you to just follow orders one damn time?" Jack caressed the thin flesh of Daniel�s upturned forearm. "I told you not to disappear, not to just walk off. But you did, didn�t you? When are you gonna learn, dammit? Well, this time it cost you. You trusted the wrong people, and it�s taken me eight goddamn months to find you. Eight months, five different star-systems, and thousands of hours to figure out what the hell happened to you. Was it worth it? Hmm? Did you find what you were looking for? Was your curiosity satisfied?" Jack lowered his head onto the back of the chair and reached back to massage the burning muscles in his neck. The chain from his dog tags became tangled in his fingers, scratching the nape of his neck.

"I can only protect you when you follow orders, Daniel. I don�t make them casually or without regard for the objectives of the mission. I make them in order that the mission goes smoothly, safely. That�s my job. But I swear to God, I think sometimes you defy my orders just because you�re bored. Nine times out of ten, you can get away with it. But that tenth time, Daniel, that tenth time�It�s a pretty dangerous way to get your kicks, my friend. Pretty fuckin� stupid choice you made, and this time it looks like you bit off more than you could chew." Jack withdrew his hand, wiped both on his thighs and stood up. He replaced the chair against the wall and turned to walk away.

At the end of the bed, Jack grasped the tray table. "Well, I did my part, Daniel. I made an order; you defied it. I searched all over hell and back for you; you disappeared. I made a promise�no one gets left behind."

Jack took two tentative steps toward the door, grabbed hold of the doorjamb and said, "I kept my promise and brought you back, or whatever the hell is left of you. You have to do the rest. My job is done."

Jack strode out of the infirmary, finally knowing what he had come to say.

*****

"Sir, we have received word from the Tok�ra that they�d like to set up a meeting with us to discuss recent developments," Sam said during their meeting. Teal�c sat to her left; General Hammond to her right, at the head of the long table; Jack sat fidgeting in front of her; and Andy Packard, Daniel�s substitute in his absence, sat to Jack�s right.

"By all means," General Hammond agreed. He opened up his master folder. "Is there a particular time they were thinking of setting up this meeting?"

"Selmak mentioned that day after tomorrow would be an opportune time," Sam said.

"Very well," the general said, writing himself the note. "You have a go."

"Sir, I�d like Packard here to accompany us on the trip," Jack said, patting Andy Packard on the back. "He needs to be brought up to speed on all things�obnoxious."

"That is, until Daniel comes back," Sam interjected, waiting for the colonel to respond.

"Doctor Packard is currently attached to the liaison faction of SG7. Isn�t that correct, Doctor Packard?" the general asked.

"Yes, sir," Packard said.

"Then I�m inclined to hold off for this mission," Hammond said. "We don�t want you to be spread too thin."

"Yes, sir," Packard said again.

Jack leaned toward the general. "Sir, if Packard is going to join SG1�"

"--that is until Daniel returns," Sam said, enunciating each word.

Jack ignored her and continued on. "--he�ll need to be up to date on all our�friends."

"All in due time, Colonel," the general said. "I have some work to do, so if there isn�t anything more�"

"No, sir. Thank you, sir," Jack said, standing along with Sam and Teal�c while the general walked out of the room.

When they were all seated again, Jack turned to Packard. "Packard, now that things have�well, now that we�re back to being a field unit, we have a lot of work on the books. You think you�re up to it?"

"I�m certain of it, Colonel," Packard said, smiling with over-enthusiastic confidence.

"Colonel," Sam began, her cheeks burning with acrimony.

"We�re a military team, and my way is law," Jack told Packard. "You gonna have a problem with that?"

"No."

"Fine," Jack said, picking up his folder, "then we�ll get along just fine."

"Sir," Sam called to the colonel.

"Not now, Carter," Jack shot back over his shoulder on his way out of the briefing room.

"So, Major�" Andy Packard began with a smile.

Sam slapped her folder shut and crossed the room. "Not now, Packard."

*****

It felt hands on its arms. Felt fingers near its face. The creature dared not open its eyes. If it remained asleep, the hands would go away.

But the hands stayed, and they touched the beast, softly at first and then, as they always did, they began to hurt the creature.

"Daniel," Janet called, rubbing her knuckles once more against his sternum. "Daniel, it�s time to open your eyes."

The beast sucked in a breath, tried to block out the pain. Before it was able to, a light shone in its eye�bright and slicing.

"Come on now, Daniel. Time to show me those beautiful eyes of yours," Janet called to him. She turned to the nurse at her side. "Call Colonel O�Neill and General Hammond. Tell them Doctor Jackson is waking up."

"Yes, ma�am," the nurse said, walking away at a clipped pace.

"Daniel, open your eyes," Janet said, eliciting pain in his chest again.

The sound in its head reverberated, banged against its skull. A sound? The beast pried open its eyes to try to understand the stimuli.

"Good," Janet said, checking Daniel�s pulse. "Well, it certainly is good to see you again."

Sounds scratching at ears that hadn�t heard in months, punctuated the beast�s mind. Noises that it could almost understand floated into its brain. Noises

"Hi, stranger," Janet said, smiling, touching his face.

Two blue eyes glanced around the room, at times drooping shut, at times blinking in latent remembrances.

The beast knew this place somehow. Knew the brightness of the expanse that covered its legs. Knew that sound. Knew that�voice.

"Daniel, I want you to squeeze my finger for me," she said, wiggling her two fingers in Daniel�s limp hand. She watched and waited. "Daniel, come on now. Show me how strong you are. Squeeze my hand."

There was a sensation in its hand, a jostling that needed touching. The beast embraced the warmth with his weak fingers, but it was so tired�

"No, now don�t close your eyes," she said, shaking his hand. "Open up, Doctor Jackson. You�ve been asleep for far too long. Open your eyes, Daniel. That�s an order."

The creature was too tired to disobey. Somehow it knew the price, knew what it would suffer, even if this order was the first he actually understood, could actually hear. Then was it real?

"Hi there," Janet said. "Can you tell me your name?"

The beast managed to focus in on the round face. He knew the face. Knew it from where, he couldn�t tell. But the face was staring back at him, and it was pleasant, and it was�a name. A name, a word you call someone. A name.

"Can you tell me your name, Daniel?" she asked again, watching his eyes track her, hold her focus. He kept his eyes trained on her face, not quite her eyes, as if she were the only surviving member of a fatal accident, and the sight of her was too much to behold.

"Do you remember your name?" Janet asked, coming in close to hear him speak.

The beast stared at the mouth from which these vaguely familiar sounds poured. These were words, small, imperfect gifts that he had bartered away so many months ago. Traded away in exchange for safety.

"Daniel," Janet said, increasing the level of oxygen he was receiving. "Daniel, do your know where you are?"

Daniel�One gift found. A word, a name that was for him.

Calling on every grain of strength he had, Daniel nodded.

"Good. Good, Daniel!" Janet said, smiling. She rubbed his shoulder and smiled some more. "Good."

Safe for the first time in an eternity, Daniel searched for the next word to show he possessed his soul once again. Daniel. I�

The nurse returned to his bedside and said, "General Hammond is in DC, and I gave the colonel the message, ma�am,"

"What did the colonel say?" Janet asked.

"He asked if I had anything else to report," she said.

Janet spun to face the second lieutenant. "He said what?" She stared at the nurse, aghast at the colonel�s stoicism. For whatever reason she couldn�t even begin to imagine, Jack O�Neill had been petulant and short in the last few days, and this was just one more sign that it was nowhere near ending.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Smith," Janet said, returning to her patient. She picked up his hand in hers, stroked it gently and smiled. She wondered if Daniel was even aware of Jack�s behavior of late.

Janet pulled a tissue from the bedside table and blotted the silent tears falling from his unwavering eyes.

"I know. It�s all a lot to take in," she said, rubbing his chest with care and comfort. "You�re gonna be fine, Daniel. We�re going to take good care of you."

Daniel�s hand in hers was weak, listless, but the feel of his pulse next to her fingers was strong. She nodded her head and smiled again at him. "We sure have missed you."

Daniel kept his eyes bound to her presence. He focused for a brief moment on her sheltering eyes, saw her hand nearing his face, and tried not to flinch when he felt her wipe the cooling wetness from his cheeks.

*****

Sam had almost completely forgotten the feeling of exuberance, the thrill of exultation, but while she rushed through the halls to the infirmary, her body twitched with joy. Daniel was awake.

She took the corner wide right before the elevators. She didn�t need to smack into anybody and break her nose in her joy. Reaching the elevators unscathed, Sam punched in the floor for the infirmary and waited impatiently, bouncing on her toes.

"Carter," Jack said, passing behind her.

"Oh, Colonel," Sam said. "Are you going to the infirmary?"

"No," he said, pressing level 16.

Sam looked at the lit up button. "Daniel�s awake."

"So I heard," Jack said, lacing his hands behind his back and keeping his eyes peeled on the numbers flipping across the digital display.

"Um, I�m on my way to see him. Would you like to join me, sir?" she asked, just as the doors slid open. She and Jack stepped in.

"No, Carter. I wouldn�t. We have a lot of work to do before we go have tea with the Tok�ra. I, for one, thought I�d do my job."

Sam bit down hard, grinding her teeth together, her eyes flashing with acrimony. "Yes, sir."

The doors opened to level 16, and Jack stepped out. "Carter."

"Sir," she said, and watched him disappear while the doors closed again. "What�s his problem?" she asked, knowing the protective anonymity of the elevator surrounded her. She began to bounce again, eagerly awaiting the moment when she�d see her friend, be able to talk with him, hear from him that he was all right, and that this would all pass, just like everything else had. More than anything, she couldn�t wait to see his smile, slight as it usually was, and hear him offer a hello in his gentle voice.

When the doors slung open, Sam could hardly contain herself. She took long strides through the hall, once nearly coming to blows with a passing airman.

Sam slipped inside the room and mouthed a hello to Janet. Janet motioned for Sam to join her at Daniel�s side.

"He�s very weak, but if you call his name he should respond," Janet told her, passing Daniel�s hand to her.

"Thanks, Janet," Sam said, smiling. Janet stepped back and allowed Sam more room. "Hey, Daniel," she said. She grasped his hand and stroked his forearm, luxuriating in the presence of his responsive touch. "Can you wake up for me? Daniel?"

Daniel heard the familiar sound being called and realized it was a name. His name was being called somewhere out there, beyond his sluggish ability to reason. Just another dream he had long ago stopped believing in, he decided.

"Daniel, wake up, sweetie," Sam said again.

The dream was back. The dream of hearing his name called, of seeing his friends walk through the rough metal door had returned. He had refused to dream that dream months earlier, and the return of it pained him. He knew the only way to end it was to open his eyes, see that he was still in his holding area, alone and afraid.

His eyelids felt glued shut, but with a great effort he was able to open them. Blurred lines and fuzzy images, blots of colors oscillated in front of him. He blinked and then caught a clear glimpse of green. His eyes moved up to find the familiar sight of a belt�webbed with a brass buckle. Something lit in his consciousness, and he pressed on, trying to remember how he knew this sight. A black shirt, two dog tags hanging from a silver chain hung between�between breasts under the knit shirt. His gaze traveled higher to meet with large blue eyes so similar to his own, short blonde hair. She was smiling at him. Daniel knew her face, knew her. Someone he hadn't expected to ever see again.

It was cruel and unmerciful, this dream. It showed him images of those he missed and longed for. It showed him what was home. And then it always disappeared.

"Hi, Daniel," Sam said, leaning toward him. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and was thrilled to offer him her first smile in months.

The feel of her hand in his gave him the final evidence that the dream was, in fact, not a shadow of his memory at all. He was home. This person, this woman was part of his home. He was home.

Daniel relaxed into the soft hand. He brushed his fingers, weak and ineffectual, against her smooth skin, just to know she was there, just to know he wasn�t dreaming. She, too, had a name, and it would come to him, but for now, her hand in his was more than ecstasy.

"How are you, Daniel?" she asked, caressing his arm with gentle strokes, making sure to stay away from the IV in his wrist.

The sounds formed words, and the words had a meaning, and those meanings formed a thought, but the thought drifted away.

"Daniel? I asked how you are," Sam said.

Daniel heard her words but took a moment in order to completely digest their meaning. You, Daniel? Finally, when the words and their meaning connected, he nodded. Yes, he wanted to say, I Daniel.

"It�s good to have you home," Sam told him, smiling. She leaned over and kissed his temple, lingered for a moment just to cherish his presence.

Home, he thought. He excavated the word from its hiding spot and brushed it off. Home. Yes. Home. Daniel closed his eyes and nodded again. You home�

Sam watched his eyes flutter for a moment and then close. She was grateful for the little time he had been able to stay awake. Grateful just to have him so close. She pulled up a chair, never letting go of his hand, and stayed with him until she knew it was time to return to her lab.

*****

"Don�t eat that," Jack said, pointing with his silverware at the tray of nondescript meat. "Don�t eat that, either."

Jack, Teal�c and their fill-in, Andy Packard, shuffled down the mess hall line. "Okay, that is soooo not spaghetti sauce," Jack insisted. "How can that possibly be spaghetti sauce? It�s�purple."

The airman behind the steaming table stood, draped in apathy. He was used to the daily tirade about the quality of the food, especially from Colonel O�Neill. "Sir, what can I get you?"

Jack drew back his chin and looked over the assortment. "What did you eat?"

"The food service crew ate a lunch of lemon-shrimp salad on a bed of bib lettuce with fresh croissant and a nice chardonnay, sir," the airman said, keeping his eyes averted.

"Is he serious?" Jack asked Teal�c.

Teal�c pointed to the sweet and sour pork. "I do not believe he is."

Jack scowled at the airman and tapped the glass partition, motioning for the sarcastic airman to dish him up some of the same.

"Forgive me for saying so," Andy Packard added, following Jack in line, "but I don�t think the food is all that bad."

"For cripe�s sake, Packard, where have you been stationed the last couple years? The Gulag?" Jack queried.

"I�ve been in England," Packard said, pointing to the meat loaf.

"�Nuff said," Jack told him. He picked up his tray and walked it over to the enormous coffee urns. Jack filled up one cup for himself and offered to fill one for Packard.

"So, Andy, how would you feel about joining SG1 on a more full-time basis?" Jack asked, carrying his tray to an open table.

"I believe SG1 is fully staffed, O�Neill," Teal�c said, shocked by Jack�s offer.

The three men sat down at the table and began to take assorted plates, cups and silverware off their trays. "We need someone to take over Daniel�s place�"

"On a temporary basis, I�m assuming," Teal�c said.

"Well," Jack began, bobbing his head back and forth, "maybe not so temporary."

"That would be great!" Andy Packard said, laying his hands down flat next to his dinner. Jack nodded and speared some of his sweet and sour pork.

"I must renew my objection over the idea that DanielJackson is being replaced," Teal�c said, lowering his voice to an impressively thunderous growl.

"From what I�ve seen, you�re doing a great job out in the field. Do you think you could shoulder the added responsibility of being the linguist and social scientist of SG1?" Jack asked, ignoring Teal�c�s growing anger.

"I know I can!" Packard asserted.

"DanielJackson is SG1�s linguist and archeologist, O�Neill," Teal�c stated, raising his voice with his ire.

"He was, Teal�c. Was," Jack reminded him. Jack refused to make eye contact with Teal�c. He picked up his fork. Stabbed his food. Sipped his coffee.

"And he will be again," Teal�c said.

"So what do you think, Packard? Maybe we should go have a chat with General Hammond?" Jack asked.

"Sure!"

"DanielJackson will be returning to SG1, O�Neill. He has not been away that long that we should think of replacing him."

"Eight months, Teal�c!" Jack barked, slamming his fork to the table. He glared at the Jaffa, annoyed with his protective attitude. "He was gone eight months, and I hate to break it to you, but he doesn�t look like he�s coming back anytime soon." Jack�s eyes burned with anger and resentment. "It�s time to move on, Teal�c."

Andy Packard tried to sink into the background. Joining the SGC�s flagship team would be an enormous honor, but joining them in the middle of such blatant strife made the offer less and less appealing.

Teal�c ground his teeth together and held Jack�s contemptuous stare. "Perhaps it is." Teal�c placed his food on his tray and excused himself from the table. Jack returned to his meal.

"Anyhow, Packard," Jack continued, his voice returning to a dull, unenthusiastic drone, "you�d have more responsibility."

"Yes, sir," Andy said, focusing on his own meal.

"How many languages do you speak?"

"Um," Andy began, his head swirling from the tension between the two men, "five, three of which are dead or archaic."

"Five?" Jack reiterated. "Hmmm. That�that�ll do."

*****

"You want some more of this?" Sam asked Daniel, holding up a small bowl of Jell-O.

Daniel stared at the red blobs, blinking.

"Daniel? Do you want anymore Jell-O?" Sam quietly asked, touching his hand.

Daniel looked up from the bowl and glanced at Sam, but in a quick moment, his eyes turned from her. His forehead creased in a sign of his apprehension. He heard foreign sounds coming from her, but they had come and gone so quickly he was unable to grab hold of them. He shook his head back and forth and tried to play back the sounds.

"No? You don�t want anymore?" she asked.

No�Want�Want? Want? Daniel tilted his head to the side and strained to understand. Want? Want? It was gibberish, meaningless noise. Again he shook his head.

Sam put the bowl back down on the tray and looked him over�gaunt, quiet, frighteningly introverted. She placed her hand on top of his and rubbed it with slow, soft touches. "Daniel, you have to eat, otherwise Janet�s going to have to put the tube back in."

Daniel pulled his hand out from underneath Sam�s hand and held it next to his stomach. His finger scratched into the cotton material, scratched short lines, tight circles.

"Daniel?" Sam said, bending her head to the side to catch his attention. "Daniel, I need to go in a few minutes. We�re going off-world at 1100, and I�d really like to know you�re doing all right before we leave." Sam picked up half a piece of lightly burnt toast and handed it to him. "Please. For me."

Daniel slowly lifted his eyes and held Sam�s focus for a quick moment. He looked at the toast and understood that it was being offered to him, so he took it. He turned it a few times in his fingers, brought it to his mouth and paused before biting into it, as if the very thought was repulsive. He broke off the corner of the triangular piece and nodded.

"Good," Sam said, picking up a napkin and offering it to Daniel. "You have crumbs on your gown."

Daniel looked at the object in her hand but couldn�t remember what it was. He couldn�t remember. And then he was looking at her, his lips trembling, trying to come up with the right word, his eyes becoming red with tears.

"What, Daniel?" she asked.

His eyes fluttered; short bursts of air, unarticulated and syncopated, left his parted lips; he pulled and pinched at the skin around his neck.

"It�s okay," she said, wiping off his gown. "I�ll take care of it." Sam glanced from the front of his gown, speckled with tiny crumbs, to his anxious expression. She tried to offer him a reassuring smile, but found she could hardly contain her apprehension. She took great care to brush the remains of the toast away without furthering his discomfort. "There. No sweat." She picked up his water glass and held it out for him. "Are you thirsty?"

Daniel knew there was a sound for it. Knew somewhere in his mind there was a word, a symbol for what he was trying to tell her, but it wouldn�t come. It didn�t belong to him anymore, and it wouldn�t move forward. The sound remained hidden, lost to him.

"Daniel, do you want some water?" she asked, coming closer, trying to hear his words.

One word, he knew. His finger scratched into his neck and he nodded. He nodded that he knew the word, but the straw came toward him nonetheless. In compliance, a state he had become too familiar with, he took the straw in his mouth.

"That�s great, Daniel. Drink," Sam said, happy that she was able to break through the silence and communicate at least on a very limited subject. She held the cup for him while he sipped from it, his lips shaking the smallest amount.

When he was finished, he turned his head and signified that he didn�t want it anymore.

Sam put the cup back down on the tray and paused before taking his hand in hers. She waited for him to take it away, but he didn�t. He stared at their hands, and she stared at him. There were so many questions she wished she had answers for. So many things she wished she could ask him�why are you still so afraid? Do you know you�re safe? When will you be�you again? But she couldn�t, not now. Not when answering the question of whether he was thirsty evoked such emotions.

She gripped his hand tighter in hers and cleared her throat. "I wish you could come with us, Daniel. It�s just not the same out there without you."

Daniel sucked in his lower lip, shrugged his shoulders and blinked his eyes.

"I�ll come see you as soon as we get back, okay?"

Daniel turned his hand over in hers and tightened his grip.

Sam felt his hand shaking against her hand. "Don�t worry. I�ll be fine."

Leave. Go. Leave me. But the words seemed wrong to him. Something--he wasn�t sure--was missing. He closed his eyes and tried, really tried to think.

"Daniel, are you okay?" Sam asked.

Daniel rubbed his eyes, pressed his hand tight against his cheek. Do. Do. No. Don�t. Yes. Don�t Leave. Don�t go. Don�t leave me. Hear. Hear... me. Daniel let his hand slip to his neck and he focused in on Sam�s eyes with great intensity. Hear me. He nodded, knowing that he had finally found the words. He nodded that, yes, he connected the words to form a thought. Hear me don�t leave. Sam. Don�t leave.

"You�re sure you�re okay?" she asked, watching him bob his head up and down. "A few days, that�s all. We�ll be back soon. I�m going to see Dad."

Daniel crushed Sam�s hand in his grip, forcing his thoughts from his mind to her hand. P... please. Please, don�t go.

Sam felt him give her hand a tug, and she smiled. "I�ll tell him you said hello." She stood up and brushed off her hands. She handed Daniel another piece of toast and said, "Eat."

Daniel stared at the darkened, crumbling bread and complied with the orders�he took the toast and brought it to his mouth.

"I�ll see you in a few days," Sam said, rubbing his shoulder. She waved to him as she stepped through the door. Once outside, she headed toward Janet�s office.

Sam knew it was going to take time for Daniel to return to his normal, everyday self, but his eyes�his fear�his silence. A mosaic of a lost soul, shattered and haphazardly put back together.

Outside Janet�s office, Sam knocked once before popping her head in.

"Hi, Sam," Janet said, looking up from a stack of files.

"Hey, Janet. You got a minute?" Sam asked, grimacing.

"Sure. Is this about Daniel?" she asked, closing the top folder, capping her pen.

"Does it seem strange how�quiet he is?" Sam asked, taking a seat in front of Janet.

"He�s only been out of the coma for a few days," Janet began, and then she held up a hand to intercept Sam�s next words. "Even so, I�m concerned about his level of communication. I�ve scheduled a cat scan and an MRI for this afternoon. I�m also having a neurosurgeon and a speech and language pathologist come in on a consult."

"So, it�s not just my imagination," Sam said, nodding.

"No, it�s not. He�s having a very difficult time communicating, and I think we need to get to the bottom of it," Janet said.

Sam rubbed the back of her neck, hoping the extent of Daniel�s difficulty was just a temporary glitch. There were so many other worries to consider�his massive injuries, the scars that graphed across his wrists�so many other things, that if he couldn�t communicate�If Daniel couldn�t communicate�

"Oh, God, Janet. If Daniel can�t speak�" Sam began.

"Why don�t we cross that bridge when we come to it, Sam. Really, it has only been a few days," Janet tried to assure her. "We�ll figure it out. Don�t worry."

*****

"I gotta tell you, the Tok�ra should really think about getting in touch with the people on �Trading Spaces,�" Jack said, looking over the latest in crystal technology.

"Jack. Sam. Teal�c," Jacob Carter called, walking toward them with his hands outstretched. "I trust you found us easily enough."

"We�re here, aren�t we?" Jack answered.

"Sam, how are you?" Jacob asked, hugging his daughter and ignoring Jack.

"Oh, fine, I guess," she said, enjoying the warmth of her father�s embrace.

"How�s Daniel?" Jacob asked, releasing Sam.

"He�s home," Jack added, and with his parsimonious words, Jack hoped to relay his ongoing distaste for the Tok�ra.

"I know. I heard."

"Of course you did," Jack cracked. "Isn�t it funny how the Tok�ra are on the leading edge of all the best gossip, but when it comes to actually knowing anything at the time, they don�t have a clue?"

"Are we gonna do this again, Jack?"

"You know me, Jake. I like to do these things until they�re done right, and it�s never been done right. Hell, where the Tok�ra are concerned, I�d just settle for being done."

Jacob stared at Jack with dispassionate eyes and then turned to Teal�c, leading him and the rest of the team down the cavernous halls. "Teal�c, what can you tell me about a Jaffa named Cu�bec?"

"He was a rising and influential warrior under Apophis. When I left my post as First Prime, Cu�bec was earning a reputation for being a brazen yet powerful opponent."

Jacob lowered his eyes for a moment, and his symbiote Selmak took over. "Our sources tell us Cu�bec has left the Jaffa and would like to aid in the Tok�ra�s cause."

"Let me guess: You don�t trust him," Jack said.

"That is correct, Colonel O�Neill, at least not yet."

"Hey, here�s an idea. Why don�t you keep him at arm�s length, toss him a few table scraps just to keep him coming back for more, and then demand that he be subservient to you. You ever thought of trying that?"

"Colonel O�Neill�" Selmak began.

"Oh, wait. That�s how you treat your �friends�," Jack said, using his hands to signify contemptuous quotation marks.

"Look, Jack, if this is about Daniel�"

"Hell, no, it�s not about Daniel! Daniel�s fine. Daniel�s home. Daniel couldn�t be better!" Jack bellowed.

Jacob turned to Sam. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Wait a minute," Jack said, raising a hand in the air. "I�ve heard that offer before. When was it?" Jack snapped his fingers and pointed at Jacob. "Oh, right. Eight months ago, the last time we were here."

"We did all that we felt we could at the time."

"Which was what, exactly?"

"Jack, this is neither the time nor place�"

"No, I�d like a goddamn answer, Jake!" Jack demanded. "You called us here to pump Teal�c for information. Fine! He�ll talk when you do."

"What can I tell you, Jack?"

"You can tell me how long it took the Tok�ra to decide not to help us find Daniel."

Selmak said, "There was no decision made regarding that."

"Then was it an overall consensus just to let it die on the table?" Sam asked, entering the fray.

"We discussed in depth the situation, and it was decided that inquiries would be made at the appropriate time," Selmak told them.

Teal�c asked, "How often did those times occur?"

Jacob turned away from the question, pinned his lips together and shook his head. "Look, Jack�"

"No, Jacob! I think you oughta answer the man�s question. How many inquiries were made?"

"Sam�"

"Answer the question, Dad."

Jacob tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Unfortunately, the appropriate time never came up."

"Sam. Teal�c. Let�s go home," Jack ordered, glaring at Jacob.

"You can�t do this, Jack. We have things to discuss," Jacob called after him.

"Funny, something doesn�t feel�" Jack began, snapping his fingers.

"Perhaps the word you are looking for is �appropriate,� O�Neill," Teal�c said.

"Yes, that�s it. Thank you, Teal�c." He and Teal�c strode away.

"I�m sorry about Daniel," Jacob called after them, "but the Goa�uld are about to cut off one of our main arteries, and�"

Without losing as much as a beat, Jack turned on a dime and charged Jacob. "Let me tell you about arteries," he said.

"Sir," Sam tried to interject.

Jack shrugged off her advances and continued to bear down on Jacob. "Arteries are things that can be sliced open by a person when they�ve lost hope that their friends will ever come looking for them. Arteries can be severed wide open when a person realizes that their friends probably haven�t found the appropriate time to inquire about them."

"Sam?" Jacob said, looking to his daughter, asking without words if what Jack was saying was true.

Sam looked at Jack, not sure if she should display SG1�s dirty laundry out in the open. They had never discussed Daniel�s scars, had never talked about what might have happened, had never as much as acknowledged that each of them knew. But with Jack�s blustery breach of Daniel�s private sufferings, Sam felt it was only right to fill her dad on the part of the pain they were all living with.

"We think Daniel tried to commit suicide, Dad," she informed him and found, as she said it, how the words, like acrid bile, left her wanting to retch. "He slit his wrists. It looks like he tried to kill himself while waiting for us to find him."

"Jack, how could I know?"

"You couldn�t have, Jake, because that wouldn�t be prudent." Jack slapped his hat on the back of his head. "Well, I blame the Tok�ra for that, and I blame myself for taking your word eight months ago that you wanted to help." Jack spun around and began to walk away. Teal�c followed.

"Is Daniel all right, Sam?" Jacob asked.

"No, Dad. He isn�t," Sam told him. She pulled the disk from her vest pocket. "This was given to us when we found Daniel. I told General Hammond that I�d see if the Tok�ra could help figure out what it is. I�d really like to go back to the SGC and tell my CO that his old friend and former Air Force buddy did the right thing by us."

Jacob took the disk from her. "I�ll see what I can do, Sam," he quietly said.

"Don�t see about it, Dad," she said. "Make it happen."

"Okay." Jacob nodded and closed his hand around the disk. "I�ll personally make sure it gets done."

"Don�t let me down, Dad," Sam warned him.

"I won�t."

Sam jogged ahead to catch up with Jack and Teal�c, and Jacob pocketed the disk.

*****

Janet held Daniel�s arm while he lowered himself into the chair. His eyes, dark with uncertainty, darted from Janet�s eyes to the surrounding area, never landing on any one thing for more than a brief moment.

"There," Janet said when he finally found a comfortable position. She rolled the bedside tray next to him and lowered it to the height of the chair. "While Sergeant Miller is making your bed, why don�t you finish your lunch? We have a busy day." Janet glanced at his eyes, and then followed the line of his focus to the bed being made.

"Daniel?"

He stared with trepidation and intent at the white sheets, flapping and unfurling, floating down, covering the ruined and broken body. The sheet tucked in around the body, and the circle of light flashed, alive with sharp torture. Slicing and burning, thousands of white-hot needles penetrating its skin, and the beast mutely cried out until the fire consumed its body and the sheet.

"Daniel!" Janet yelled, taking his stricken face in her hands, feeling his body trembling with uncontrollable violence. "Daniel!"

Sergeant Miller abandoned the linens in a pile on top of the mattress and stepped to Janet�s side in case she was needed.

Daniel�s arm shot across the tray, shoving the contents onto the floor in a clamorous mess. His hand grabbed the smooth surface, and his finger scratched a continuous pattern into the tray�up and down and up and circle, circle, circle. Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle.

"Daniel, do you know where you are?" Janet asked, taking his pulse.

Daniel�s eyes never left the sheets, a heap atop the bed. A heap�finished and used, ready to be bundled up, stuffed into the old man�s bag. Which was the beast�s job. Which it was supposed to do.

"Daniel, what are you doing?" Janet asked, taking Daniel�s hand in hers while he strained to push himself out of the chair. "Daniel, you need to sit down."

The sheet, crumpled and used, waited for the beast, so the awkward creature reached for the sheet, snagged it in its fingers, rolled the cloth in its hand, and subserviently handed it to the man. Then it sunk to its knees, compliant once again, and tried to lower its head to the floor.

Janet passed the sheet to the sergeant and knelt next to Daniel. "Daniel? Daniel, where are you? Can you tell me that?"

Its face, hidden against the side of the mattress, its fingers scratching up and down and up and circle, circle, circle, the beast forced itself to be still.

Janet placed a hand on Daniel�s back. "Daniel, tell me where you are."

The sounds, words entered its mind, and the beast was gone again. Daniel turned his frightened eyes to the voice.

"Daniel? Are you with me?" Janet asked, peering into his bloodshot eyes, half covered by the soft strands of his willful, messy hair.

Daniel stared at her, straining to communicate his horror to her. His nails gouged the mattress, creating a ripping, tearing noise. His nails gouged and scraped, scratched and dug into the mattress.

"Daniel, do you know where you are?" she asked, motioning for the sergeant to come nearer. When her face appeared over Janet�s shoulder, she asked the sergeant to bring her a milligram of Ativan.

Daniel�s fingertip slid over the rough material, stuttering against its texture.

"Daniel, tell me where you are."

Daniel�s hands tapped the mattress, and he turned his face into the rough side.

Janet shook her head and looked from his hand to his face. "I�I don�t understand, Daniel."

Again his finger slid across side of the mattress, curving one way, then the other, stopping to begin at the top�a half circle and back in, stopping again to draw another jutting, skipping half circle. Daniel tapped the spot with resolved insistence.

Janet pulled in closer to him, turned his face to her, brushed his long hair out of his eyes. "Daniel, I don�t understand. Can you just tell me?"

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�

"Daniel, tell me what you�re saying."

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�

"Daniel, I don�t�I don�t�Oh, my God," she uttered, seeing the pattern more clearly. She watched his finger scratch out the pattern one more time and realized they were letters. Her nerves began to twitch. "Daniel, can you speak?"

He buried his eyes in the crook of his elbow, and yet his hand remained against the mattress.

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�NOOO.

She tipped his head up to look into his watery eyes. "Daniel, why can�t you speak?"

Speak. Speak. Can�t speak. He knew what she was asking. The trembling in his body shook the tears from his eyes. He slid his hand from the mattress, over his face and pressed them onto his neck.

Janet slowly pulled his hand away and examined his neck. She found a few small scars, but nothing that would indicate a trauma so severe that it would make him mute. "Did you have an injury to your throat?"

His breath came out in sobs, ragged and coarse. His jaw quivered and his tears kept coming.

The sergeant brought Janet the needle full of sedative.

"Help me get him in bed," Janet said, wrapping her arms around Daniel's thin torso. Together she and the nurse pulled him up and placed him in bed.

Daniel curled onto his side, scratching more letters into his pillow, too fast for Janet to read.

"Get the otoscope, please," she said to the nurse and then emptied the Ativan into his IV. "Just relax, Daniel. Everything�s gonna be fine."

The sergeant returned with the sterilized otoscope and a pair of gloves for Janet. Janet snapped on the gloves, pulled the scope from the hermetically sealed package and said, "Daniel, I�m going to take a look down your throat, okay? I need you to roll onto your back.

Daniel turned his shoulders back onto the bed, his eyes closed, his nostrils flaring with silent cries.

The nurse tipped his head back and coerced his jaw to open.

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�

Janet leaned over and tried to put him at ease with a smile. "I�m just going to place this in your mouth. You�ll feel it at the back of your throat, but try to stay still."

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�tap� Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�tap�tap tap�tap tap tap tap tap�

And then his hand grabbed for the object. He gagged and tried to spit it out, pull his head away, bat at it, anything, just to get it out!

"Okay, okay," Janet said, pulling the scope out of his mouth. She handed it to the nurse and asked for another dose of sedative. "Shhh," Janet said, brushing back his hair from his forehead. "Shhh. It�s okay. I�ll wait."

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�tap, tap.

Daniel stared at the ceiling and his chest bucked. He covered his eyes with one hand and clamped shut his mouth trying to stifle his sobs.

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�tap, tap, tap.

"It�s all right, Daniel," Janet said, smoothing down his hair, tucking it behind his ears. "Just let the medicine relax you." Janet motioned for the nurse to administer the dose into his IV.

Up and down and�and up and down and�

His arms began to feel limp, heavy, and his hips loosened. Daniel could feel his breathing evening out, become less urgent, less frantic. The thoughts of objects forced into his mouth became far away, not so frightening. He closed his eyes and saw only colors, imprints of lights burned into his retina.

Down�

Janet put on a fresh set of gloves and began again. The nurse tilted Daniel�s head back and opened his mouth. Janet pressed the scope into his mouth against the back of his throat and peered deep into his trachea. What she saw shocked and appalled her.

"Jesus God," she said, pulling the scope out. "Call General Hammond immediately."

*****

The event horizon blew into the embarkation room, and moments later SG1walked through, an unceremonious entrance after an unceremonious mission.

"You�re home early," General Hammond stated, meeting them at the base of the ramp.

"The Tok�ra weren�t ready for us," Jack summarized. Sam quickly glanced in his direction. "But they have that disk thingy, so hopefully we�ll be hearing from them, though I�m not holding my breath."

"Very good," the general said. "Report to the briefing room at 2000 hours. We�ll make it short, and then call it an evening." He turned and made his way up the steps to his office.

"Sir, I think I�ll stop in and see Daniel," Sam said, removing her hat.

"Do it after the briefing, Major," Jack said.

"But, sir�"

"After the briefing, Major. That�s an order," he said, standing a hair�s breath from her. "You have a responsibility to your duties first and your friends second. Do I make myself clear?"

Sam adopted Jack�s steely eyes and glared back at him. "Sir. Yes, sir."

"Good."

Jack marched out of the embarkation room.

Sam stared, aghast and angry. She raked a hand through her hair and begrudgingly decided she should follow orders. Even so, her mind whirled with thoughts of how the colonel could be so cold, so uncaring, especially in regards to Daniel. After all, they were friends. Weren�t they?

*****

"So, that�s it?" Hammond asked, rocking in his chair at the head of the table.

"Yes, sir," Jack said, flattening his hands against the table.

"Very well then," the general said. Sam, Jack and Teal�c began to shift in their seats, making moves to end the meeting, but General Hammond held up a hand. "Before we adjourn, I have news about Doctor Jackson."

Sam and Teal�c turned with nervous expectation to listen. Jack pulled a dour hand across his jaw.

"Two hours ago, Doctor Jackson went into surgery at the Academy Hospital to remove a membrane from his trachea."

"A what?" Sam asked.

"It isn�t clear why it was placed there, but Doctor Fraiser is fairly sure whoever was holding Doctor Jackson inserted a�liner of sorts inside his windpipe, thereby taking away his ability to speak."

Sam, shocked and numb, dropped her head into her hands and tugged on the side of her hair. She couldn�t comprehend this latest attack. Hadn�t he been through enough? Hadn�t they all?

"In light of the fact that this was alien technology, General, should not that type of procedure have been performed here on base?" Teal�c asked.

"We simply don�t have that kind of equipment here, Teal�c. Apparently, this is a delicate operation for which the infirmary is not equipped. I can assure you that Doctor Fraiser is going to be at his side the entire time, and after recovery he�ll be brought back to the SGC."

"Maybe he�d be better off at the Academy Hospital, sir," Jack said, twiddling his pen between his fingers. Hoping that some of his nervous, angry energy would dissipate during the finger play.

General Hammond shook his head. "The security issues are too sensitive."

"Colonel," Sam asked, gritting her teeth against the long succession of cold, indifferent or hurtful comments made by the colonel, "if I may, why would it be better for him to stay at the AFAH?".

"Look, all I�m saying is that he�s not talking obviously, so�well, he�s not talking. What�s the risk of keeping him there?" Jack asked, looking only at General Hammond.

"And why, may I ask, do you think it would be better for him to stay?" the general asked, becoming increasingly suspicious of the colonel�s intent.

"I�m only concerned for his quality of care, sir," Jack said, offering the general a cold eye. "After all, Daniel is�still a member of SG1."

Teal�c focused in on Jack�s curt expression and held him in bitter contempt. "Yes, he is, O�Neill."

"Then you�ll be pleased to know that your teammate will be returning to the SGC as soon as he�s fit to transport," the general said, staring at Jack, making it quite clear he was speaking directly to him. "Now if there isn�t anything else you�d like to add, this meeting is adjourned. Dismissed."

Jack exploded out of his seat and shoved his chair under the table. "Yes, sir," he replied, half way out the door.

The three who were left seated stared at each other while a blanket of tension covered the room.

"Major, is there something I should know?" the general asked of Sam.

"I wish I knew, sir, but I have no idea what�s going on," Sam told him.

"Colonel O�Neill believes it is time to replace DanielJackson," Teal�c said. "He offered Andy Packard the position."

"Colonel O�Neill has no authority to make such an offer," the general stated, rising from his seat. Blooms of uncontrollable red anger sprang up under his skin. General Hammond thumped the table with his fist and grabbed his folder. "No authority whatsoever."

Sam and Teal�c remained standing while the senior officer charged out of the room. When he was gone, Sam slumped back down into her chair and thanked the powers that be that she wasn�t Colonel O�Neill for the next ten minutes.

*****

It was mid-afternoon by the time Teal�c and Sam made it to the Academy Hospital. They checked in at the desk, showed proper ID, and were escorted to the ICU where they found Janet reading a chart at the nurses� station.

Sam touched her elbow. "Hey, Janet." Sam turned to the escort. "Thank you, Private."

The young man turned with learned precision and walked away.

"How is DanielJackson feeling?" Teal�c asked.

"All things considered, he�s doing well," Janet said, motioning for them to follow her to his room. Janet slipped her hands into her lab coat and led them down the hall. "I don�t know how much you were told, but yesterday I examined his trachea and found an obstruction�a filament of sorts. I had him transported here to the Academy Hospital where an ENT and a neurosurgeon operated to remove the film."

"Were you able to do it?" Sam asked.

"Thankfully, yes. It was adhered above and below his vocal folds, but there is considerable swelling and tissue damage at the site," Janet told them. She stopped the two outside Daniel�s door. "We had to insert a tracheotomy in order for him to breathe, so don�t be alarmed when you see it."

"So, he can talk now?" Sam asked.

"Well, presently there�s too much swelling for him to talk. In a few days we�re hoping the swelling will subside and then we�ll begin to work on vocal production."

"But he will be able to talk," Sam reiterated.

Janet deliberated her answer.

"Janet? Janet, he will be able to talk, right?" Sam asked. She felt her heart beating a wild cadence inside her chest.

"Physically, there shouldn�t be any problem," Janet said.

"Physically?"

"During the surgery, we performed a palpitation of the arytenoidal cartilage, a CXR, a cervical spine series, a thyroid scan, a CT and MRI�Hell, we even did a laryngeal electromyography. Every test indicates the vocal folds are able to function," Janet said.

"But�"

"But for some reason he�s not able to mouth words. He�s not able to understand simple commands," Janet told her.

"Are you now concerned with an injury to the brain?" Teal�c asked.

"Well, that�s just it," Janet said. "According to our scans, there has been no injury to the cerebral cortex."

"You said yourself that these�people healed him of his injuries," Sam said. "Is it possible he did have some sort of closed head injury, and they healed it?"

"Not without there being residual dead or scar tissue, no," Janet explained.

"So, this is�"

"I�m not sure what it is," Janet said. She continued to walk toward Daniel�s room. "When you speak with him, try to remember to slow it down a bit, keep your sentences shorter than you otherwise would."

"It really is that bad?" Sam asked.

"Yes, Sam, I�m afraid it is," Janet said. She opened the door for Sam and Teal�c to pass through.

The quiet room seemed highly decorated compared to the spartan surroundings of the infirmary. The clean white walls and the light blue privacy curtain that draped around the bed glowed in the afternoon sun pouring through the window.

When Sam and Teal�c entered the room, they found Daniel staring out the window, his eyes brilliant blue with tiny dots for pupils. They could hear the slight rasping of air, but with his mouth closed, they knew it had to be coming from the stubby white button protruding from the base of his neck.

"Daniel?" Sam said, ashamed to find herself affected by the sight. She cleared her throat and stepped to the side of his bed. Teal�c joined her.

Daniel was unaware of their presence. He was drawn to the warmth of the sun upon his face. Drawn to the quiescent comfort of its heat. So many days and nights he had spent cold and shivering, and the ambient sunlight helped to further remind him that he was home. That he was safe.

But things follow you home from peregrinations into the horrific. Images and memories and muscular twinges were a constant reminder you that you were once not home. That you were once not safe.

The solace of the radiant light transmuted into the consuming fire of The Ring, and the beast began to scratch against the sheet�

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�

"Daniel?" Janet said, taking his hand, stilling it, letting him know she indeed had heard him speaking. "What is it?"

Daniel turned away from the light and to the two small hands holding his.

"Are you with me?" Janet asked him while she caressed his fingers.

"Janet, what�s going on?" Sam asked, her fear increasing while she took in the lost and anxious look on Daniel�s face.

"He spells," Janet told her, patting Daniel�s hand. "With his fingers, he spells words. Right?"

Daniel focused on her gentle mouth and let the words fall into place. Spells. Fingers. Daniel blinked and nodded.

"I think it�s the only way he could communicate for a long time," Janet said, wanting nothing more than to brush her fingers against the side of his face, comfort him with a light touch, a hardy embrace. She knew it was neither appropriate nor would Daniel readily accept it. Maybe another time. Maybe never again.

"Daniel?" Sam said, stepping beside Janet. She looked back to see if Teal�c still stood by her side. "Daniel, Teal�c and I just wanted to see how you�re feeling."

These were his friends, he knew. These were the faces he conjured up in those confusing and painful moments when he needed something in which to take shelter. Daniel glanced from the blue eyes to the dark skin, and for the first time in many months, found the ability to smile�a slight, tenuous show of his relief.

"Hi," she said. Sam leaned over and kissed him above his eye. She pulled away, and his eyes followed her, holding her focus with tenacity.

"It is good to see that your convalescence has been progressing satisfactorily," Teal�c told him.

Daniel squinted, concentrating on Teal�c�s mouth, and found the effort to understand draining.

Sam smiled, knowing that Teal�c�s syntax could be challenging even at the best of times. "Daniel, Colonel O�Neill sends his best," she lied.

Colonel. Daniel turned the word over and over in his mind until it shone bright. Daniel pulled a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. The sound, the sound. He could see the colonel�s face, he knew it was the one he was thinking of, but the sound, how to convey the sound�

Daniel held his hand up in front of his face and pointed his finger. He watched his finger trail through the air and hook to the right. It didn�t seem correct. Daniel grimaced and waved his hand.

"Daniel? What?" Sam asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Again he lifted one finger in the air, drew a long, choppy line and then paused at the bottom. Right or left? He pressed his lips together and concentrated. His pointed finger wavered in front of him waiting for the designated direction. Left.

"Was that a�" Sam started, looking to Janet and Teal�c. "Was that an�L?"

Daniel dropped his hands to the bed and pressed his head back into the pillow. A thin sheen of sweat beaded his upper lip.

"It�s okay," Sam told him. "Take your time."

Daniel lifted a hand to his head and pulled his hair out of his eyes. He could visualize his friend, could see the darting black eyes, the scarred brow, the glinting hair. Frantic, Daniel rummaged through his memory for the way he used to gain the colonel�s attention. What was the sound? A bubble of a thought floated in his mind, coming tantalizingly nearer, always to be carried away on an unseen current of air. Closer. Come closer�

"Janet, do you think if we gave him a pen and some paper?" Sam asked, turning to the doctor.

Janet grabbed Daniel�s chart and the pen from her breast pocket and placed them on top of the bedside tray. She rolled the tray over to Daniel�s bed and offered him the pen. "Here, Daniel. Try it with this."

Daniel grasped the pen and held it over the paper on the chart. He held the pen in his hand, crushing the end with his frustration.

The sound! There�s a sound for him!

Daniel stabbed the paper with the pen and began to etch out�

�up and down and up and circle, circle, circle�

Sam craned her neck to read the scribbling. "No?"

Daniel pulled in his lip and bit it hard. His head shook and the sound of air entering his trachea became more laborious. He hammered the pen against the chart and tried again.

Up and down and up and�

Exasperated and afraid, his brow knotted with tension, Daniel stared at the paper and knew that wasn�t right. That�s not right. It�s not right. Why can�t I get it right?

"Daniel, stop," Sam said, holding his hand and the pen still, keeping it from nailing all the way through the chart.

Daniel threw down the pen and pressed both hands to his eyes. His chest rocked with mute tears while he sucked in harsh air through the small tube in his throat.

"It�s okay, Daniel," Sam said, covering his hands with hers. She felt her own frustration and fear surfacing. "It�s okay."

Daniel pushed her hands away and began slapping his head. Slapping and hitting his skull with his fists. Chastising itself for not being able to do the simplest things. Disciplining the beast for being so stupid.

Teal�c grabbed Daniel�s flailing arms and pulled them away from his face. "Be still, DanielJackson."

"No! Teal�c!" Janet yelled, wrestling his hands away from Daniel. Teal�c looked at her puzzled, but relinquished his hold on Daniel. "That�ll only scare him more."

The frightened creature pulled its arms to its face and turned onto its side. Shaking hands covered the side of its face, anchored its fingers in twists of hair. The tremulous beast waited and waited and waited some more for a beating that would not come. Finally, gathering up a grain of courage, the beast looked into the faces of those who would hurt him and saw neither the glaring eyes nor the readied fists, but familiar faces. Friends. Daniel dropped his hands to his pillow and closed his eyes, ashamed that he once again had shifted away from reality.

"Daniel?" Sam said, trying to use a soothing tone to calm him. She bent forward to be closer to him. He opened his eyes, but dared not look at her. Not yet. "Daniel, sweetie, I�m here. Teal�c is here. Janet�s here. No one is going to hurt you." She reached for his hand and when he neither pulled away nor indicated that he didn�t want her to touch him, she slid her fingers across his and with a gossamer�s touch, held his hand.

Daniel let the feel of her hand meld with his before pulling it to his chest. He pressed her fingers to him and wept silent tears.

And pled with the silence to give him back his gifts, give him back his life.

*****

"That�s fine, Doctor Jackson," Shirley Neville, the speech pathologist, said. Her doughy hands gathered up the picture cards from the desk and returned them to the deck. She placed four more cards onto the table in front of Daniel. "Now, please find the smallest block," she said, folding her hands before her. She looked over her purple-framed reading glasses at the man sitting across from her, dressed in a light blue hospital gown and a dark blue robe.

Daniel studied the cards and repeated the words to himself�find block�but the pictures on the table looked the same, and even so he wasn�t sure what they were. He rubbed his eyes and stared hard at the pictures. Daniel pulled the thick pile of the robe closer around his neck. Cold. It was always too cold in the room. No matter how close he held his arms to his body, he never seemed to warm up. Daniel twisted his fingers around each other and pressed them against the meager warmth of his cheek while he studied the meaningless pictures.

"Which one is the smallest?" she said, taking one card away.

Smallest. What�what does that mean? he thought. Smallest�

Shirley removed a second card and kept her voice even and calm. "Which box is smaller? Is this box big?" she asked, pointing to the card with the primary colored box. "Or is this box small?"

Daniel untangled the chilled snarl of fingers, lowered his cheek wearily into one hand and picked up the card. He stared at the box, studied the bright colors of the sides, blinked a few times, and let the card fall from his hand. Crushed by the complete inability to understand even the smallest damn thing, Daniel raked his hands through his hair, covering his ears with both palms.

"I know this is frustrating," she said. "It probably feels like a black hole that�s swallowing up your ability to communicate. I�m sure you�re very angry."

Daniel closed his eyes and tried to block out the intrusive noise of the speech pathologist, but two of her sounds penetrated his brain and threw up clear, concise images in his mind�angry, frustrating. Yes, I am angry. I am frustrated.

"We�ll work together. We�ll put this behind you," she said gathering up her tools and cards. She placed them in her tote bag and stood beside him. "I�ll see you tomorrow, Doctor."

Her hand touched his shoulder in a brief show of support, and that one innocuous contact started the rigor again in earnest. Daniel forced each of his trembling hands inside the opposite sleeve and screwed his eyes shut so tight he could hear the blood rush through his ears.

And then he could hear the sound of hoarse, raspy air flowing in and out of his tracheotomy. He concentrated on the rhythm, focused away his anger and his fear on the undulating rale, until nothing existed but the sound. Until he was alone again, cold and shivering, with only his body�s overwrought cadence to fill his mind.

Shirley stepped outside the room, and the young guard stood at attention. The halls of the Academy Hospital were well known to her, so she passed by him and offered the guard a pleasant smile but did not wait to be given one in return.

The heels of her shoes clicked against the linoleum floor, and her legs created a gentle swishing accompaniment. She made quick work of the short distance between Daniel�s room and the doctors� conference room where his neurologist, his ENT, his CMO and CO were waiting for her assessment. She wished she would be able to tell them it was a simple deviation, but it simply wasn�t that easy.

Shirley stepped into the room and was greeted by Janet Fraiser, who introduced her to the roomful of people. Shirley took her seat next to Janet and once again folded her soft, round hands together.

"I believe it is Broca�s aphasia," she said, her voice level and to the point.

"I agree," said Doctor Schubert, the neurologist.

"Broca�s aphasia?" General Hammond said.

"Yes, sir," Shirley said. "Broca�s aphasia is characterized by patients who have a great deal of difficulty expressing themselves. What�s more, the patient is keenly aware that he is unable to do so, and this only adds to the problem."

"Obviously, you were unable to assess his verbal skills," Doctor Columba, the ENT, asked.

"That is correct. I tried to get him to mimic vowel placement, but he steadfastly refused," Shirley told them. "Now, the good news is his writing skills are substantially better than most Broca�s patients."

"He can write?" Doctor Schubert said, taking notes.

"With some limitations, yes."

"Doctors, I am under the impression that aphasia occurs after a trauma to the brain. Is this correct?" General Hammond asked.

"Generally, yes. When there is a TIA�a transient ischemic attack where there is a sudden and temporary blockage of blood to the brain�especially in the left cerebral hemisphere, aphasia does occur," Doctor Schubert said.

"But I have also heard you say that there was no injury�or TIA of any sort to Doctor Jackson," the general said, becoming disheartened by the duplicitous nature of the prognosis.

"That�s true, General," Janet said.

"Then which is it, Doctors?" the general asked, eyeing each one.

"It most definitely is Broca�s aphasia," Shirley told him.

"And it does not seem to originate from any neurological trauma," Doctor Schubert said.

"From the standpoint of physically being unable to talk, that point is a non-issue," Doctor Columba said.

"Which means?"

"Which means, more than likely, the aphasia stems from a severe traumatic event," Janet concluded for her colleagues. "Certainly having one�s ability to speak taken away in such a manner constitutes a traumatic event, especially for Doctor Jackson."

"I�d have to agree," Shirley said.

"So you�re saying this is a matter for mental health, not medical science," the general said.

"I�m saying we should consult with mental health, yes, most definitely," Janet said. "I�d like to make the call when he�s more physically able to speak."

"Certainly," General Hammond said.

"In the meantime, I�ll continue working with Doctor Jackson," Shirley said. "Whether it�s emotional or physical, he�ll need someone to work with him. It�s been a long time since he�s talked."

General Hammond gathered up his notes and rose from the table. "I appreciate your time, doctors. Thank you for your efforts concerning Doctor Jackson."

"Yes, sir," three of them said, rising for their superior officer. Doctor Shirley Neville nodded her acceptance.

"My schedule today is tight. Doctor Fraiser, please give my best to Doctor Jackson. Tell him I�ll check in on him when my schedule is more accommodating," the general said.

"Yes, sir. I will."

"If there�s nothing more�" General Hammond said, opening wide his hands to accept any other comments. When he received none, he said, "Very well. Meeting adjourned."

*****

Janet Fraiser had certain qualms about giving Jack O�Neill the results of his cholesterol test. It really had nothing to do with the numbers, per se (although the gloating about what a perfect specimen of a man he is was fairly humorous). It was the actual thought of carrying on a normal conversation with him that bothered her. His attitude had been subdued and gloomy when Daniel was missing, but it had absolutely deteriorated since Daniel�s return.

Still, Janet was not only Jack�s doctor, but also she was the SGC�s CMO and as such, it was her responsibility to apprise the team leader of the health and welfare of his teammates.

The problem was, Jack carried this terribly disconcerting aura with him that the health and welfare of Daniel Jackson meant about as much to him as the health and welfare of Maybourne.

She decided to make a quick "touch and go" in his office, give him the results, and then try to hold her tongue.

Janet knocked on his door and waited for the answer.

"Yeah? What is it?" came Jack�s voice from behind the closed door.

"Colonel, it�s Doctor Fraiser."

"Come on in, Doc."

Janet pushed open the door took a few steps into his office. "Colonel, I have your cholesterol test results. Your good cholesterol level is�"

"Look, the numbers mean squat to me," he said, letting the pen topple from his fingers onto his desk. "Just tell me�am I good or bad?"

Janet bristled. "You�re fine."

"Good," he said, picking up the pen and continuing on with his work. Janet stood watching him, chagrined by his brevity. Jack sensed her indignant presence and glanced up. "Yes?"

"Nothing, sir. I was just wondering if there were any other questions I could answer for you," she said.

"About my health? No," Jack said.

"Fine. Thank you for your time, sir," she said, hoping to get the hell out of his office.

"How is he?"

The uttered words stunned her. She almost didn�t want to acknowledge them. Let him wonder, she thought. Let him ask himself over and over how his best friend was, wallowing in a sea of vexation. But she was an officer, and as such had to act like one. "Doctor Jackson is undergoing speech therapy and other neurological tests, sir, to find the cause for his aphasia."

"Aphasia?" Jack asked, laying down his pencil.

"Yes, sir. Doctor Jackson is, for whatever reason, unable to speak."

Jack stared at her with callous disregard. "I thought you took out that thingy-majig."

"We did, sir," Janet offered, in as cold and clinical a tone as she could muster. "We believe his aphasia is a result of his severe emotional trauma."

Jack let her words skitter past his mind. He didn�t want to hear it. He didn�t want to be bothered with it. He picked up his pen and continued to write. "I�m sure you�re doing everything you can."

Janet felt her cheeks flush with bitter anger. "Yes, sir. WE are."

Jack bore down on his files and papers, attacking them with a vehemence he�d never shown to paperwork before. Finally, after a moment of thunderous silence, he sat up and glared at Janet. "Is there anything else, Doctor?"

"No, sir. Not in the least." Janet marched out the door and decided an hour of punching the heavyweight bag was in order.

*****

"Hi, Doctor Neville," Sam said, entering Daniel�s room.

The portly woman continued sliding cards and sheets of paper into her tote while she looked up and said, "Hello there, Major Carter. How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you," Sam said. She stepped over to Daniel�s side and rubbed his back. "Hey, Daniel."

Daniel glanced over his shoulder and gave her a fragile smile.

"We�ll see you tomorrow, Doctor Jackson," Shirley Neville said, tipping her head genially to Daniel. "Good work today." Shirley touched Sam on the hand and pointed to the door.

Sam hesitated a moment and then leaned over and told Daniel she�d be right back. Daniel nodded and pulled one side of his robe tighter around his body.

Meeting out in the long, antiseptic corridor of the Academy Hospital, Shirley clasped her hands in front of her and regarded Sam with a kindness most unusual for a military setting. "Sam�may I call you Sam?"

"Yes, ma�am. Please do."

"Sam, today Daniel and I worked on phonation. He can, with some difficulty, produce sounds. It�s very uncomfortable for him, but he needs to practice." Shirley flicked her stubby eyelashes behind her half glasses. "It�s not hard to see that you two are very close."

"Yes, ma�am."

"You�re his best hope for regaining his voice," Shirley told her. "Talk to him. Try to get him to talk to you."

"Of course, sure," Sam said. "but�"

"All he has to do is take a deep breath and cover his tracheotomy opening so the air passes his vocal cords," Shirley said, answering Sam�s unspoken, hesitant question. "Don�t�don�t be surprised if it�s only a whisper. There�s quite a bit of dysphagia there."

"Dysphagia?"

"The muscles that help us to swallow, chew and speak�they�re very weak in Doctor Jackson."

"Oh, right. I�m sure they are."

"So, see if you can get him to talk a little, all right?"

"I�ll do my best," Sam told her.

"Your friend�it�s fairly obvious he�s a shattered soul."

"Yes, ma�am," Sam agreed.

"You�ll get him to talk, hmmm?"

"I�ll try my best."

"Fine. Well, you have a nice day, Sam."

"Thank you, ma�am." Sam watched Shirley saunter down the hall before returning to Daniel�s room.

"It sounds like you�re really doing well, Daniel," Sam said, pulling Shirley�s chair next to Daniel�s. She took his hand in hers and smiled cheerfully to him.

Daniel watched her warm hand, swallowed up in his larger hand.

"That�s some mean bed head you got going there," she joked, looking at the knotted tuft of hair at the back of his head. She reached forward, pulled her hand back, and then decided to keep going. She pushed an errant lock of hair from his eyes, noticed the tease of gray within, and found herself pulling her hand away once again, as if the gray were repulsive. As if it symbolized every bit of color that had been stripped from his spirit. She smiled, hoping he couldn�t feel how nervous she was, and said, "Yup, you�ve got quite a tangle back there."

Daniel pawed at his hair, suddenly self-conscious.

"Oh, Daniel. No. I didn�t mean�It looks fine," Sam said, and realized that he had been able to successfully process her words. Her mouth curled into a heartfelt smile. "Hey, you understood. That�s great, Daniel."

Daniel�s face shot up and he regarded her with a mix of surprise and scant happiness. His eyes fluttered and a smile, slender and fleeting, crossed his lips.

"Wow," Sam said, beaming. "Wow. I�ve missed that smile, Daniel."

But the clarity of her words was lost again, sucked up into the nebula in his mind. He lowered his eyes and pulled his hand away from Sam�s.

Please don�t do that, she thought. Don�t leave me again so quickly. Stay for a while. I miss you so much. She choked back the knot forming in her throat. "So," she began, clearing her throat, "Doctor Neville told me you tried talking today. How was that?"

Daniel pressed both hands onto the table in front of him. He saw each of his ten fingers, splayed out on the smooth surface. Ten digits-- two thumbs and eight fingers. He noticed each knuckle, the way the slightest movement caused the tendons below the dull skin to jump.

"Daniel?"

The hands grasped at nothing, holding the beast to a wall that it was pinned against by a brutality that pierced the beast. It watched the hand slide across the wall while its body screamed, roaring with dissociative pain. Thunderous puffs of air protesting the act with sacrificial vehemence. Thunderous and impotent. Thunderous.

"Daniel?" Sam said again, touching his face.

His eyes, filled with the beast�s memories, lifted from his hands and settled on her face. He knit his brow, pinched his eyes down to mere squints and wanted her to hear him. Hear the terrible pain in his body. He focused all his energy on her, as if to say, "Keep thinking, Sam. It will be apparent to you if you just keep thinking."

Sam searched his eyes, darting from one to the other, while flashes of speculative fear shimmied down her spine. She fumbled trying to pick up the pencil from the table and placed it in his hand. "Tell me, Daniel. Tell me."

Daniel tilted his face down and saw the pencil between his fingers, obscured by his distorted vision. He turned over his hand and pressed the shaking pencil to the paper. With great effort and halting motions, he found one word�

LOUD

Sam read the word and peered into his tear-filled eyes. "What�s loud, Daniel?"

He turned his face to her, silently pled with her to just keep searching, keep asking. I�m here, Sam. Keep looking for me. I�m here. Please find me�

Sam squeezed every muscle in her torso trying to hold back her tears. When she finally spoke, her voice warbled. "What�s loud, Daniel? Am�am I too loud? Me?" she asked, pointing to herself.

Daniel choked out a sob, grateful that she understood him. Yes, you. Find me.

"Should I speak quieter?" she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. Her lips trembled with restrained emotion.

Speak�speak? Qui..qui-er�Daniel closed his eyes and slumped in his chair. No. I don�t understand�He pressed his palms to the side of his head, wishing the beast would leave. Wishing the abominable images and crashing memories would become quiet. Quiet. Daniel grasped the pencil and with great hesitancy drew out a word.

QIET

"Right," she said, finding a slight reprieve in his one-word interpretation. "Right. I said quiet." Sam pulled in closer to him, stroked his back. She swiped her hand under her nose and asked, "I should be quiet?"

Daniel concentrated on her lips, on the words they were forming. I be quiet. No, Sam. Scream for me. He shook his head back and forth.

"I�m sorry, Daniel," she said, her heart filling with remorse. "I wish I could understand you. I�m so sorry. But�" Sam stopped, sniffed away her tears and took his thin face in her hands. She pushed his long, scraggily bangs away from his eyes, wishing away the odd gray hairs. "�but we�ll figure it out. You and me. We�ll figure it out, okay?"

Daniel touched his lips with two tremulous fingers and reached across to touch Sam�s. Scream for me, Sam. Scream.

*****

He hadn�t worn street clothes in, God, it seemed like forever. They hung on him, barely holding up on his waist, slumping over his shoulders like a cape. The more layers he wore, the more the superfluous material clumped and bunched up. He had to constantly pull down his t-shirt so that the collar wouldn�t get in the way of his trach.

The only things that felt right were his shoes. Something about binding them, tightening them around his icy feet made him feel secure, made him feel like he had some control.

"A few minutes," Janet had said. "I�ll come get you in a few minutes, and then we�ll get back to the SGC."

She had said that, but could she be sure? People say all sorts of things they can�t possibly promise�

Daniel sat in the chair next to the window picking at the dead skin on his thumb. He picked at it, held his thumb next to his lips and thought. While he thought, he rocked. While he rocked, he remembered.

He rocked and remembered his voice.

"You can�t DO this!"

He held his forehead in his hand and rocked and remembered the pain.

He clenched his hands over his ears and began to sweat and could feel the hands. The Others� hands�

"Don�t! Don�t! No!"

He tucked his chin in tight and drilled into his skull with his nails and could taste the rancid brine.

"NO!!"

He rocked and rocked, and they wouldn�t go away and he could feel his fingers scrape a painful motif into his scalp�

From that moment on it was silence and folding and moving inward and away and hiding and forgetting and forgetting and forgetting. From that moment, when his world imploded and he was powerless to use his greatest gift to halt the destruction, it was endless, relentless hours and days and weeks and months of scrambling to escape into the silence.

He rocked, and the hands stopped holding him down, and the pain dissipated, and the acrid recollection left his palate. Only the silence remained, and it consumed him.

Open your mouth, the surd taunted him. Open and speak. I have them all here, waiting for you to seize them back, but you won�t, will you? You won�t. You are afraid. You are weak. You would rather abandon your treasures to the infinite vacuum than open your mouth. The others have given you some, but I have the rest. Go on. Open your mouth. Why are you afraid? Part your lips, and I�ll let them trickle back, a polluted stream through mired sludge, until you have them all, millions and millions of inutile baubles.

Daniel rocked and grasped hold of the chair arms. He rocked and tried to work up the courage to meet the challenge. He rocked and gnashed his teeth together but forced his lips to part. And then his tongue pressed against the bony ridge behind his teeth, and his lips made a ring, and he snatched back his first word�

"No."

*****

He had received the memo from Fraiser; Teal�c had informed him twenty minutes after reading the memo; Carter had poked her head into his office and made a comment to the effect�Daniel was back at the SGC. Daniel was in the infirmary where he would continue to recover, and wouldn�t it be nice if you could just stop in and say hi, Colonel?

Just stop in and say hi.

Jack paused just before entering. Paused outside the door and quashed his desire to just let things be as they were. He didn�t know what to say or how to act even, and going with his instincts (which seemed to work for him, but somehow always managed to piss people off) wouldn�t help anyone at that point.

He looked inside the room and saw him there.

There he was. There was Daniel Jackson, wearing the ubiquitous white scrubs, the ever-present Air Force blue robe, the ridiculously ineffective disposable slippers, and all because Daniel disregarded Jack�s direct order all those damn months ago.

Filled with an unquenchable anger, Jack watched Daniel stare at a pencil, held up close to his eyes, examining it as if it were the one artifact that they had been searching for all those years.

What a stupid waste of time, Jack thought, punching open the door. "Hey, Daniel."

Daniel�s stunned expression shot up and just as quickly he looked back down.

"Carter thinks I�ve been avoiding you. I�m not. I�ve been busy," Jack phlegmatically said, pulling up the back of his pants. He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pulled air through his pursed lips. Jack played with a canker on the inside of his cheek with his tongue and blinked. "So, I hear that�"

"Sorry," Daniel mouthed, his eyes shifting from Jack�s face to Jack�s chest and back down to the floor.

"How�s that? I, uh, I didn�t quite�" Jack said, stepping nearer.

Daniel reached for the pad of paper next to him and scribbled a note. He turned it to Jack�sorry.

Jack straightened up from the crooked position he had taken to read the note. "Sorry for what?"

Daniel pulled the pad back, notated a quick line and handed it to Jack�Not for orders.

Jack crumpled his brow. "What?"

Daniel looked at the note and ripped off the top sheet off. He tried again, writing almost in a panic, as if Jack might leave in the middle of the sentence� not follow orders.

Jack read the note with a carefully crafted apathy and tossed the pad back on the tray. Apologies and excuses�hollow, empty words that meant nothing and changed things even less. Jack walked to the second, unoccupied bed in the room and sat on it. He hooked his heels on the lower rail, wove his fingers together and refused to acknowledge the plea for forgiveness.

"You remember Aris Boch?" he asked. "Big guy; cool toys."

Daniel sagged back in his chair, dejected and drained. He lowered his chin, rubbed his eyes and nodded. A frigid draft snaked across the back of his neck and down the collar of his robe. Daniel tightened the neckline and drew up his quaking shoulders.

"Seems he knew a guy who had a friend who once dealt with a guy who thought he heard of someone who might have known something about you. Eight short months later, here you are," Jack stated, never once changing the stoic, somber expression on his face. "That�s my side of the story; what�s yours?"

Daniel grabbed the pencil off the tray and held it for a brief moment in his shivering hand before beginning to write. When at last he had scribbled out the details to the best of his recollection and ability, he tossed the pad onto the bed between his chair and Jack, and rubbed his hands together against the cold.

Jack glanced at the pad and then at Daniel who stared somewhere other than at Jack. Jack hopped off the bed, pushed his sleeves up and picked up the pad, coughed a little and read it at arm�s length�

--Went Eporian. Knock out. Wake up on ship. Maybe three week holding sell cell. Took us 10. Sent to diff planet. Holding cell. Sold, think. Them.

"Them?" Jack read from the note. "Who is �them�?"

Daniel�s mouth opened and closed, he blinked a number of times, shook his head and shrugged.

Jack looked him over, wondered if he was telling him everything. "Well, doesn�t matter. You�re back." He stepped toward Daniel, dropped the pad of paper onto his table, and began to leave.

Daniel tapped the table and held up one hand, hoping Jack would wait until he finished writing. Jack turned back, stymied by Daniel�s call to him, and when he turned it was with great drama, showing his irritation.

Daniel made quick work of the note, keeping a watch on Jack, making sure he wasn�t leaving. He let the pencil fall and handed Jack the note.

"You�re sorry," Jack said, reading the note. "I know. You already told me." He passed it back to Daniel.

Daniel took the note and folded it in half and then half again and half once more. He pinched the tight folds between his blue-tinged fingers.

Jack looked around the room, pretty sure he was finished for the day. "I, uh, I have some work to do," he said. He ran a hand through his metallic hair. "I�I�ll check in on you�later."

No, Daniel thought, his eyes darting from side to side. He bit his lower lip and slapped his hand against the table to get Jack�s attention once again. He hunched over the table, wrote as fast as he could, tore off the top sheet and thrust it out in front of him for Jack.

He stared with bitterness and anger at Jack, daring to look Jack in the eye.

Jack took the paper and read it. His head bobbed up and down. He knew what Daniel was asking. He heard the insinuations, even through the perfunctory words. "Well, you know reports. Things needed to be cleared up, other�" he continued while Daniel began a new note, "�other things need to go forward. Protocol and all."

Jack didn�t even take the note out of Daniel�s fist. The script was hurried, almost illegible, but the acrimony was clear. Daniel breathed quick, raspy air through his tracheotomy.

Jack squinted his eyes and regarded Daniel with as much indifference as he could muster. He took a deep breath and said, "You think of anything else, have someone call me."

And then he was gone, and Daniel was left with only the pounding of his heart in his ears to fill the silence.

****

"Sir, may I come in?" Sam said, just outside Jack�s office.

Jack put his lacrosse stick back in the corner and plopped down in his chair. "Sure, what�s up, Carter?"

Without one more cautionary thought, Sam stepped into the subject. "Sir, it�s about Daniel."

"Oh, here we go�"

"Sir, have you been in to see him lately?"

"As a matter of fact, Carter, I was just with him yesterday."

"How did he seem to you?"

"I don�t know, Carter," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. "Why don�t you tell me how he seemed?"

"Sir, I think he would really like it if you talked with him more."

Jack pressed forward and drilled his elbows into his desktop. "Don�t start, Carter. I�m not in the mood."

"Sir," Sam said, continuing, "he�s lost, and he needs all of us�"

Jack shot a hand into the space between them. "I�m warning you, Carter."

"Sir, you�re Daniel�s friend�"

"See, now that�s where you�re wrong," he said, suddenly on his feet. "I�m not his friend; I�m his CO. Seems that�s where Daniel misunderstood things as well."

"Whoa! Do you really mean that?" she asked, daunted by his indignation.

"Carter, goddamn it, you�re an angstrom away from insubordination. And, ya know, maybe that�s my fault. I let you all take too many liberties where orders are concerned. Well, that�s over. I�m the CO; you�re my 2IC. If you have a problem with that, I can see to it that you�re reassigned."

"No, sir," Sam said, standing her ground. "I don�t have a problem with that."

"Fine," Jack seethed. "Dismissed."

Sam tilted her head to the side to hide her incredulity from her CO and then marched out of the office.

*****

It was a rare occurrence for Teal�c to leave the mountain unaccompanied, but under the circumstances, he believed the situation called for a talk between friends.

He knocked at Jack�s front door, filling his lungs with fresh air, punching up his massive chest.

Jack opened the door and looked down his driveway, not knowing what to suspect. "Teal�c? What�s goin� on?"

"I believe it is time we had a discussion, one male to another," Teal�c said, waiting with genteel manners on Jack�s front stoop.

"Yut, okay," Jack said, letting the mountain of a man through his door. "Can I get you anything?"

"I require nothing, O�Neill."

"Well, I think I require a beer and a shot," Jack shot back. "Sit down. Make yourself at home."

Teal�c stepped into Jack�s living room and took a seat in the chair closest to the heat of the fire. Teal�c had grown accustomed to this Tauri representation of home and heart�crackling logs, a welcoming fire. But Teal�c felt nothing of the warmth and hospitality associated with the scene. He sensed only bitterness, a cold disregard for the suffering Daniel Jackson battled against.

Jack returned with an opened bottle of beer. "You play chess, Teal�c?" Jack asked, setting his bottle next to a mahogany inlaid chessboard. Jack began to place each gleaming piece in its appropriate square.

"No, I do not. However, I am fully aware of the objectives."

"Then, by all accounts, you could play."

"I cannot."

"Sure you can. It�s a classic game of strategy. Come on, I�ll teach you," Jack said, spinning the board.

"That is not why I�m here, O�Neill."

"I�m sure it�s not," Jack said, "but I think I�d rather play a simple board game than get into it with you over Daniel Jackson."

"I come to you tonight as your friend, O�Neill, not as a member of SG1."

"Well, friends play chess together," Jack said, taking a swig of his beer. "You can even go first."

"Is it not your motto that no one person shall be left behind in battle?" Teal�c asked, disregarding Jack�s words.

"I�m not sure if I could take credit for it, but, yeah, I�ve been known to say that�from time to time." Jack sat back on his couch and propped up one foot against the table.

"Have you not, in effect, left DanielJackson behind?"

Jack glared at Teal�c across the neck of his beer bottle. He took a long draw, narrowed his eyes and let the amber bitterness spill across his tongue. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"I believe, in your anger, you are leaving him behind once more," Teal�c said.

"He�s home. He�s being cared for. I believe I had some part in that," Jack remarked, showing only a touch of resentment.

"Does your responsibility end there?"

"I don�t need this, Teal�c," Jack said, sipping his beer.

"I am wholly unconcerned with your needs, O�Neill," Teal�c said. "I am concerned with DanielJackson�s welfare."

"And I�m facing facts," Jack said. "The fact is he�s damaged goods. Now, we can either coddle him, or we can be realistic and move on."

"If he is, in fact, damaged goods, is it not our duty to help him through his ordeal?" Teal�c said, his voice lowering while he maintained his studied grasp on equanimity.

"That�s not my responsibility," Jack said, finishing off his beer. With care and precision he placed the empty bottle on the back row of the chessboard. "Nowhere on my uniform does it say nursemaid."

"I am referring to your responsibility as his friend."

"Well, now, let�s talk about that one, shall we?" Jack said, rising from the couch and walking with feigned exuberance to the kitchen. "Friends, in my humble opinion, respect each other," he called from the kitchen where he procured a second beer. "I only remind you of that because I�m taking it in the ass here from you and Carter about me not being Daniel�s friend." Jack lowered himself onto his couch once again, opened his beer and tossed the cap onto the chessboard. "So, respect. Would you agree that that is one of the cornerstones of a friendship?"

"I would indeed."

"Fine. So, continuing along that line, would going against orders, defying my directives--does this show respect?"

"If you are referring to DanielJackson�s field behavior, I believe the point is moot. The situation is decidedly different now, as you have pointed out. He is no longer in the field with us."

"That�s a good point, T," Jack said, tipping his bottle to Teal�c. "And because Daniel is no longer able to be part of our fieldwork, he is no longer part of SG1."

"But he remains our friend."

"See the thing about that is Daniel gets off on being a pain in my ass out in the field. I get frustrated with him, he talks circles around me, and that, my friend, is the basis of our friendship. He�s not talking--so I hear--so THAT point is moot. Our friendship, it would seem, is inextricably bound by the SGC." Jack sniffed with haughty self-approval and took another pull on his bottle.

"He is still within the SGC," Teal�c said through clenched teeth.

"He�s in the infirmary, Teal�c. He�s not in SG1. And while we�re at it, why is it he�s even in the infirmary? Oh, right! He was being�friendly with�who?�the sons of bitches who took him, not---who?�the one he keeps saying is his friend. Well, he chose his friends poorly this time, and I wash my hands of it." Jack emptied his beer with one long gulp, placed the empty bottle in the back row on the other side of the board.

Teal�c rose ominously. "O�Neill, I have fought by your side for many years now, and I have come to know you well. And although I have many more years of combat experience than you, I never once gave you anything but my respect and my allegiance. I have respected and will continue to respect your authority as leader of SG1." Teal�c stepped in front of the coffee table. "This situation, however, extends beyond the bounds of our unit, so I am compelled to speak my true feelings."

"Which are what, Teal�c? Just spit it out."

"I believe your behavior toward DanielJackson is reprehensible in the worst kind. You have not only turned your back on him, you have given up on him. If seeing your authority questioned has hurt you, so be it. But keep in mind, my friend," Teal�c said, leaning forward and taking the beer bottle on his side of the board into his hand, "the pain that DanielJackson has suffered and continues to suffer is greater than your petty concerns." Teal�c grasped the bottle on Jack�s side of the board and replaced it with his. He tipped Jack�s empty bottle over on its side and nodded in respect to him.

Teal�c walked to the door and let himself out.

Jack sat watching the overturned bottle list and roll, fall over the edge of the board, across the table and onto the floor with a startling crash.

*****

Sam uncovered the dish on Daniel�s tray. "Yeah, well, I�m not really sure what it is."

"I believe it is meant to be a pasta based dish," Teal�c offered. He voraciously attacked his bowl of noodles with enigma sauce.

Sam sat the cover aside and poked a straw into Daniel�s milk carton.

Daniel snatched the carton out of her hand and shook his head.

"Sorry," she said, brushing the condensation off her hands.

Daniel finished readying his meal, all the while maintaining his steely silence.

Dinner with Sam and Teal�c had become habit, at least while they were on base. They�d bring their trays and one for Daniel to his room in the infirmary, and each would take a seat, desultorily meandering through a number of topics, all the while striving to maintain Daniel�s focus and level of expanding comprehension. Some days, even Janet joined them.

His days were spent being filled with moments such as his dinner experience�people wandering in and out, rehabilitating his voice, working on his ability to function, making sure he didn�t have a moment to himself. Not one moment to be silent, to retreat into the binding, constricting, safe quiet in order to regroup.

They kept coming and challenging him and frustrating him and angering him until the words stopped catapulting off the pages, until the cacophonous significance of sounds began to make sense. They pushed him sometimes beyond his limits until four words, five words, six words became a sentence roaring with multidimensional meaning. They prodded him endlessly to repeat repeat repeat. Good, now one more time, Daniel. That�s it. Take a breath. Good�

And he was sick of it. And he was tired of the infirmary and the constant checking in on him. He was tired and frustrated by it all, not the least of which was the awkward tube jutting out of his neck.

"A few more days," the ear, nose and throat man had told him. "It�s all looking good, but just to err on the side of caution, let�s give it a few more days. Any problems with that?"

Problems with an opening in his neck? Aside from the occasional plug of mucus, the uncomfortable pressure placed on it when he had to speak or cough�except for those minor things--no, it was fine.

"Daniel?" Sam said, touching his knee.

Daniel looked up, gazed at the unfamiliar face staring back at him until it morphed into the features he knew very well. He lowered his eyes, frilled with lashes, and continued to poke at his food with his fork.

"Teal�c and I were just saying the weather is supposed to be nice this weekend," she said. "Would you like to get out of here?"

Daniel paused to let the entire string of words settle, and then, relatively sure he understood the invitation, he shrugged.

"Is that a yes, a no, a maybe, or an �I don�t understand�?" she asked.

He furrowed his brow and thought about the outside world, and couldn�t conjure up on succinct image of what he missed.

"Come on. It will be fun, and it would be good for you to get some fresh air."

"While you�re out," Jack said, stepping into the room, "why don�t you get a hair cut?"

Daniel pushed his plate forward on his table, suddenly not in the least interested in eating.

"Colonel," Sam said, surprised by Jack�s appearance.

Jack sauntered over to Daniel�s tray, his hands deep inside his pockets. "So, Daniel�"

Daniel propped his elbow up on the armrest and smoothed out the deep ruts in his forehead.

Jack picked up the spoon off Daniel�s tray and tapped a bowl full of orange Jell-o. "You gonna eat that?"

Daniel shook his head and wished Jack would just leave them to their quiet little dinner.

Jack took a bite of the gelatin and then tapped the spoon against Daniel�s mug. "Coffee? You supposed to have caffeine?"

Her instinct to protect Daniel, even from Jack, was on full alert, and she wasn�t going to let Jack goad Daniel into any provocation. "It�s decaf, sir," Sam told him.

"Cool," Jack said. "So, getting back into the swing, huh?"

Daniel ignored Jack, largely because Jack�s colloquialism didn�t quite make sense to him. He was fairly sure it wasn�t the fault of the aphasia.

Jack gave Teal�c a sheepish glance, who nodded almost imperceptibly to him, acknowledging that he understood the gesture Jack was attempting to make.

"So, Daniel, how�s that feel?" Jack asked, pointing to the trach.

Daniel self-consciously rubbed his neck and nodded. His hands began to shake and he found that in the few passing moments, his mouth had turned to cotton. He picked up his glass of water and tipped it to his lips, but in a moment of missed signals between nerve endings, the water splashed against the back of his throat, and Daniel began to choke. He dropped his glass, and his hand slapped against the opening of the trach, and he coughed and spluttered, sending water across the table and floor and himself.

And then he started to panic.

The beast threw its hands up in front of its face, dropped to the floor, tried in desperation to clean the mess. Its hands rubbed frantic circles into the linoleum using only the cuff of its shirt to sop up water.

Sam knelt down next to him and tried to pull him up. "Daniel. Daniel, it�s all right. Don�t worry about it."

When it raised its face, the beast�s eyes were wild and frightened. Its body shook and its eyes plummeted to the floor.

"Daniel, it�s not a big deal. What�s going on?" Sam asked, taking his hands, holding them still in her lap. "You just choked, that�s all. Doctor Neville told you that might happen. Your muscles are weak. It�s not a big deal."

The beast shook its head and it remembered the lessons. No, it thought. This is my mess. I shouldn�t have gagged. I�m sorry. I won�t do it again�It pulled its hands away from her and began to dry the floor more fervently.

"Daniel," Sam said, touching his face, trying to be as gentle as possible, "don�t worry about it. One of the orderlies will clean it up. It was just an accident."

The beast maintained its focus on the floor, just as it was taught to do. It stared and waited for the discipline it knew was coming and it knew it deserved.

"Should I call Janet?" Sam asked, glancing from Daniel�s shaking body to Teal�c and the colonel.

"No," Jack all but whispered. He watched Daniel quail and recoil from enemies known only in his convoluted mind, and suddenly Jack was ashamed of himself. Ashamed of being so unforgiving and of being so cold. "No, just�let him ride it out."

The beast waited. It sat trembling and waited for the fists and the hands and the pain. It waited, and when only the silence surrounded him, he began to wonder, and Daniel peeked into the faces of his concerned friends.

"You okay?" Sam asked, hooking his bangs behind his ear.

The muscles in his jaw quaked. He slumped against the wall and crushed his hands into his eyes. This, too, he was tired of. This splitting, refracting sense of self--it was exhausting and terrifying.

"Sam? Teal�c?" Jack said, never taking his eye off Daniel. "Give us a minute, would ya?"

Sam looked over Daniel and wondered if this were such a good idea. He was pale and confused, shaking his head.

"We just need a minute to talk, Sam," Jack assured her, knowing he needed to apologize to her as well. "Please."

"Major Carter," Teal�c said, motioning toward the door. He understood this fragile moment, this time of Jack�s mea culpa, and Teal�c fully intended to allow it to happen.

"Yeah, okay," Sam said, rising but never breaking her physical connection with Daniel. She touched his arm before reluctantly letting go, assuring him that she�d be just outside if he needed her. When she stood to leave, Sam shot a look at Jack, warning him not to mess with her. This was personal. This had nothing to do with rank.

"He�ll be fine," Jack said. He set his jaw and nodded his head, and Teal�c and Sam vacated the room.

Daniel turned in his chin, tucking it against his chest, and hid his eyes from Jack. He wanted no part of a pep talk from Jack. He wanted no part of an apology. Not now. He just wanted to be left alone.

"You all right?" Jack asked, pushing the tray table aside, sweeping the broken glass away with his boot.

Daniel nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose, while the few remaining vestiges of the hypermnesia diffused.

"Trip down memory lane?" Jack asked.

Daniel nodded again.

"Can I help you up, or can you do it on your own?"

Daniel waited a moment before answering. Waited until he was fairly sure his legs, vibrating still from fear, could hold weight. He pushed himself away from the wall, grasped onto the chair and settled himself down, all the while keeping his shame hidden from Jack.

"How ya doin�?" Jack asked, sitting in the chair opposite Daniel. He crossed his long legs and propped his elbow up on the armrest.

Daniel�s knees began to pop up and down, propelled by nervous energy.

Jack pulled his fingers over his end-of-the-day stubble and decided he needed to be straight with Daniel. "Look, Fraiser wants to send you to Mental Health. I think I can speak for you by saying you�d rather not go there." Daniel nodded once more. "Okay, then, here�s the deal: You have to give them a reason not to send you."

Daniel shifted in his chair, shook his head and contorted his face in a series of expressions.

"Okay, well, one, you have to start speaking," Jack told him. "That�s all there is to it. So let�s talk. Right now. Tell me something."

Angrily, Daniel lifted one specifically chosen finger for an answer.

"Well, now technically that counts for two words, but since it was a gesture, I�m not going to allow it," Jack told him. "With your voice, Daniel. Let�s talk."

Daniel shook his head and flat out refused.

"Come on, Daniel. You have to talk."

Daniel picked up a pencil on the adjoining table.

"No," Jack said, seizing the pencil from Daniel�s hand, " I want you to talk, not write."

Daniel cocked his head to the side and closed his eyes. What right did he have? Daniel thought. What goddamn right? He pressed his fingers to the opening of the tube and sucked in a deep, throaty breath. "Hard."

The harshness of Daniel�s aspiration and the abraded sound of his voice stunned Jack, but he soon recovered. "Hard. What�s hard?"

Daniel glowered at him, pulled in a deep breath through the tracheotomy, covered the opening and said, "Talk�talking�hard."

"I don�t care," Jack told him. "Suck it up. Figure it out. Deal with it, but start talking. The constant head bobbing is making me dizzy."

"When�" Daniel began, lifting his chin, "you�see me bobbing?"

Jack chose to ignore the jab. After all, Daniel did have a point, but it was time to go forward. "Look, nothing says wack-city like silence. So�" Jack waved his hands in the air, cuing Daniel that it was time to speak. Daniel wasn�t buying. "So, talk to me."

Daniel evaded the order by turning away. He tightened his expression and refused to listen anymore.

"Fine. You want to go take a little holiday in MacKenzie�s funhouse, be my guest," Jack said, "but if you want to stay here, among the land of the not-so-drugged, you�re going to have to talk. Your choice, Daniel."

Daniel�s shoulders slumped. He straightened back up, and they slumped again. He lifted his hand to the trach and said, "Fine."

"Good, now, next thing: You�ve been taking pretty good stock of your navel lately. It�s not goin� anywhere."

Daniel scowled.

"Hey, you don�t look at people, they think you�ve got something to hide. Daniel," Jack said, "look at me."

Look at Jack. Look at Jack and let him see what I don�t even want to see? Daniel thought. Look him in the eye when I know better than to do that?

"Daniel," Jack said, his eyes and expression tender, "look at me."

With his fear of the outcome of such audacity and willfulness fully engaged, Daniel forced himself to raise his eyes and directly look at Jack. It lasted only a moment, and then his heart began to race, but the profundity of safety within those black eyes was something Daniel needed, something he had lost long ago on a planet whose name he didn�t even know. He lowered his eyes again, but kept with him a modicum of home.

Jack�s heart clenched watching Daniel avoid looking him in the eye. He almost had him for a moment�filled with fear, his blue gaze had locked on his for an all too brief flicker. Then it was gone. Jack knew it was probably his fault, that if he hadn�t been so full of damn pride and his own pain, that maybe Daniel would be able to meet his focus.

"Look, I know I�ve been�unavailable. And, yeah, I�m sorry about that. I am, Daniel. I wish I could�" Jack stopped and raked his hand through his hair. "The point is this: I�m here now, and I want to make sure Fraiser and the rest don�t railroad you into going to Mental Health."

Daniel agreed with that. He nodded.

"I�ve screwed up. I know. But," Jack paused, "so did you when you walked away on LW3-657."

Daniel threw his hand to his neck. "I�say�said I s-sorry."

"I know. And it�s over, but if you want me to protect you, you�re going to have to do what I say."

Protect, Daniel thought. He was absolutely unconvinced anyone could protect him. Still, he nodded.

"No, I need to hear it," Jack reminded him.

Daniel rolled his eyes and rasped out the word, "Okay."

"Good," Jack said. "I�m gonna let Teal�c and Sam back in. We understand each other? You follow these simple orders and you�ll be fine."

More orders, Daniel thought. Will I be able to? What will happen if I�can�t?

"Good." Jack rose from his seat, poked his head out the door and crossed to the open bed where he sat so the others could finish their food among the chairs.

"You okay, Daniel?" Sam asked, returning to her seat.

Daniel nodded, and Jack cleared his throat. Daniel touched the opening of the trach and said, "Yes. Okay."

Sam, surprised by the actual words, glanced at Jack and then Teal�c. "Wow. Well, good."

"Is there anything further you would like to eat, DanielJackson?" Teal�c asked.

He began to nod when he saw Jack out of the corner of his eye. Daniel forced himself to look at Teal�c. "No. I�okay."

Jack nodded, satisfied that Daniel was going to follow the protocol. He was sure things would change for the better now, and he was rather pleased with himself for finding the right mixture of compassion and pathos.

"Hey," Sam said, changing the subject, "did you hear Major Grand is getting married?"

While the subject floated around him with no great consequence, Daniel wrapped his chilled hands around his tepid coffee mug to keep them from shaking.

*****

Eight months later, Daniel sat in his room in the infirmary, his throbbing head held in one hand, while his other hand drew one long, continuous circle on a pad of paper.

Why didn�t I just do what I was told? he asked himself. Jack was trying to protect me. I walked right into an ambush. Why didn�t I follow orders?

Around and around, until the pencil lead wore away the paper below it. Until the sheet under it began to wear away.

Hundreds of concentric circles bit through the paper without the least amount of awareness on Daniel�s part.

Compulsively and unaware, Daniel continued to draw until the lead snapped and the shattered end of the pencil thumped against the paper. Stunned, Daniel stared at the mess�specks of graphite littering a hole dug into paper. He let go of the pencil and carefully picked up one of the torn-away, pea-sized paper circles from the rest. He held it between his fingers and concentrated on it, wondered why this tiny circle of paper edged with black made sense to him. He looked it over and found it to be perfect and simple and marvelously contained--an entire universe within its circumference. The Objective Universe, where reality is only real for those in the center. Where reality comes down to what you make of it. Where things can be fine and safe and calm if you decide they will be.

If you decide what the rules are. If you realize you can�t make the rules anymore.

Daniel pressed the piece of paper into the palm of his hand and focused on it until his heartbeat slowed, until all he could see was the whiteness in the center.

Until he was the nucleus of this Objective Universe and his trajectory would be one of following rules.

Following Jack.

*****

Daniel and Jack walked at a leisurely pace through the halls�leisurely for Jack; a little too quick for Daniel. He let his eyes wander around the familiar surroundings, the buzz of activity. Had it always gone on so quickly?

"How�s it goin�?" Jack asked while they walked. "You all right?"

"I think�thought I walk faster," he said, while an airman passed on his right. "Guess I�Guess I�m still weak."

"You�ll get there," Jack said, patting Daniel on the back, which elicited an immediate flinch. "Sorry about that."

Daniel shook his head and rounded out his lips to control his breathing. Touching, especially from behind, was more than he could deal with. He�d have to make that clear to Jack and the others, but he�d have to do it without telling them why. Without having to understand why himself.

"This shouldn�t take that long," Jack said, peering around the corner to make sure no one would run into the two. "But during it, at any time, if you need to stop, just tell me."

Daniel nodded, not because he couldn�t say the words, but because the long walk was taking a toll on his cardio-vascular system, so used to recovering in the infirmary. The muscles in his legs were beginning to twitch and burn, and a thin layer of sweat cooled the back of his neck.

A few feet from the briefing room, and everything was fine. Jack had kept his promise, so Daniel began to relax in the fact that he could walk and be all right. Jack was right. Trust Jack.

"Doctor Jackson, it�s a pleasure to see you here," General Hammond said, offering his hand in welcome to Daniel. Daniel looked at the hand a moment and then took it. The general pumped his hand with a certain amount of care but also with great affection, and then motioned for him to sit down.

Daniel glanced around the room with a distinct measure of self-consciousness. A video camera had been set up at the end of the table to record his words, sparse as they may be. Sam touched his hand as he passed, smiled for only him to see; Teal�c bowed his head and held the chair for Daniel; Paul Davis reached across the table to shake Daniel�s hand.

"It�s great to see you again, Doctor Jackson," he said, closing both hands around Daniel�s. "You�re looking well."

Daniel slipped his hand away from Paul�s and nodded, tried to smile. Then he took his seat.

General Hammond looked at Daniel and gave him a brief smile, hoping to reassure the young man, perhaps even give him a boost. "Our goal for today is to get your interpretation as to the events leading up to and surrounding your eight months away from the SGC. It will be video taped, as all our debriefings are, and you will be asked a series of questions, both by me and by Major Davis." General Hammond opened his file and looked over the young man, a mere husk of his former self. "Doctor Jackson, is there anything you need before we begin?"

Daniel�s hand trailed up to his trach. He covered it with a light touch, cleared his throat and croaked out, "Water�please."

"Allow me," Paul Davis said, feigning his cheer. He stepped to the sideboard and picked up the pitcher of water and a glass. The vibration of the carafe against the glass was the only outward sign he showed that Daniel�s appalling condition and wrecked voice unnerved him. He turned back around, handed the glass to Daniel, saw the ragged scars on his wrist and sat down. Paul took a tissue from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his upper lip.

"Let�s begin with�LW3-657," General Hammond said, running his hand across his notes.

"W-where do�you want start?" Whether it was the tube in his throat, the ten sets of eyes riveted to him, or the terrible burden of having to think back, Daniel could barely make himself heard.

General Hammond glanced quickly at the video camera. "I�m sorry, Doctor Jackson, but if you could be so kind as to speak up a little�"

Daniel frowned and nodded. He took a sip from the water and tried again. Daniel placed the pad of his finger over the tracheotomy. "Is�this better?"

"Yes, thank you, Doctor."

"When I go�no�went talk with Eporians, um, I was�hit, um�" Daniel touched the back of his head, showing them where he had received the blow. "I remember�uh�" When the words would not come, Daniel wound his hand around his wrist and looked to Jack to interpret the meaning.

"Bound, sir," Jack said, looking at Hammond.

Daniel nodded. "Uh, they�drag me to middle ground. I don�t know what�um, what way they bring me ship. To ship."

"That�s the last thing you remember about LW3-657?" Paul Davis asked.

Jack�s angry eyes, his voice furiously screaming out Daniel�s name--this was his last memory. Being taken away from Jack because he refused to comply, this was Daniel�s final memory from LW3-657. This was his underlying pain.

"I�m sorry, Doctor Jackson, was that a yes or no?" Davis asked.

"Yes."

"What happened next?" General Hammond asked.

"Nothing. I was in room for I believe�um, twenty days."

"Were you alone?"

"No. Um, twenty-four when we begin. Began. Seventeen, I think, when we land."

"Seven others died?" Davis asked for the group who had never heard this gruesome fact before.

Daniel lifted the glass to his lips and sipped, taking care not to choke. He placed the cup back down, keeping his hand against the cool side. "Yes. Um, three sick. Two die of injury, yes? Uh, two kill each other."

"There were fights aboard the ship?" General Hammond asked. "Those in the room with you fought against each other?"

Daniel looked at the general trying to sort out the correct phrasing. "No," he said, blinking his eyes. "They kill�um�"

"They killed themselves?" Jack offered.

Daniel nodded and began to feel a familiar chill settle into his body.

There was an inaudible yet palpable gasp from those present in the room. This was the darkness of the memory that Sam was afraid would come. She had sat through hundreds of debriefings before, but none had made her feel as if the questions were intrusive. She wanted to rush the camera, throw her hands over the lens and demand the inquisition be ended. They were only days into the memories of those lost months, and already she felt as if she had heard enough. As if she and the others had no right to know more.

"All right," General Hammond said, understanding they need not pursue that any further. "After the twenty days. What happened next?"

"Reached different planet and�eight taken. Me and seven more. Um, taken to room. I was only human. Uh, two Unas, three�Jaffa, one that I don�t�I not sure what." Daniel pulled his cold hand into his shirtsleeves, leaving only one finger free to press against the trach. He slid his other hand under his arm for warmth. "Um, in room we�uh, if we wore clothing�were�stripped?" Sam nodded that he had chosen correctly. Daniel went on. "Uh, in line and�I�m sorry. I don�t know word. Um�" He crushed his eyes shut and concentrated on finding the icon for who or what had purchased him.

"Take your time, Daniel," General Hammond all but whispered.

Daniel nodded his thanks to the general.

"You okay?" Jack asked, leaning toward Daniel.

Daniel shook his head and blurted out, "Beings."

"Excuse me?" Paul Davis said.

"Beings entered room to�look over us. One stop�stopped in front me and�" and pried open my mouth with his short, clawed finger, and then smacked me to the ground when I bit him. They laughed. They all just laughed.

"Daniel?" Sam said, touching his arm.

Hadn�t he been speaking? Hadn�t he told them? "I�m sorry."

"That�s okay," Paul Davis said. "You said someone stopped in front of you. What happened after that?"

"I think�um, uh�" Daniel paused, tried out the word first in the silence of his mind, and then rasped, "sold."

General Hammond shook his head, disgusted by the thought. "You were sold? Are you saying someone or something bought you?"

"Yes."

Paul Davis wondered what question he could possibly ask next that wouldn�t sound cruel. Nothing. There was absolutely no reason to examine why anyone would buy or sell Daniel Jackson. He didn�t want to know. He didn�t think others needed to know. He went on. "Where were you taken next?"

"The being who�took me a different ship," Daniel said. "Excuse me." Daniel took another sip of water. His throat ached from the constant talking, an act which he was certainly unaccustomed to. He rubbed his hands together to warm them while he tried swallowing against the scratchiness in his throat.

Jack touched the armrest of Daniel�s chair. "Daniel, we can�"

"No. I�m fine," he said, waving Jack off. Jack removed his hand and sat back in his chair. "I was place�placed in um, box�no, cage�for travel."

"How long were you in transit?" the general asked.

"Hard to say. My guess, four days," Daniel told them.

"During which time, how were you treated?" Paul Davis asked taking notes so he wouldn�t have to actually show Daniel how abhorrent all this was to him.

"How was I treated?" Daniel asked.

"Yes. Were you fed, given time outside the confinement, allowed to shower, use facilities?" Paul asked, knowing it sounded naïve.

"I was fed," Daniel said. And beaten and given a glimpse at what my life would become, such as it were. Daniel�s hand fell to his lap and he lowered his tired eyes.

Davis turned the pages of his report, readied his pen and asked, "Did your captors ever try to gain any information about the Stargate Program?"

"If they did, I�I would�wouldn�t know," Daniel said.

"Daniel?" Jack said, placing his hand on Daniel�s slumped shoulder. Daniel�s head shot up. "Do you want to take a break?"

Daniel shook his head and then remembered what Jack had told him. He closed the opening of his trach and said, "I�m fine."

"Doctor Jackson, do you have any idea who it was that�procured your services?" General Hammond said.

Even with his aphasia, Daniel thought the use of the phrase �procured your services� seemed an appropriately grim euphemism, and General Hammond had no idea the dark humor he had just conjured up in Daniel�s mind. "I�I never knew. Um, they d-d-did not speak."

"These�people," the general asked for clarity, "they didn�t speak to you?"

"No, sir," Daniel said. "They had no�oral lan-language."

Paul Davis put down his pen. "Then how did you communicate?"

"I didn�t."

"Daniel, how did they communicate to each other?" Sam asked.

Forbidden glances of angry faces. Eyes turning him to cinders with a hate filled look. Exaggerated silent conversations, punctuated by pugilistic fear tactics. Unheard commands that only became clear after punishment. Commands that all the others but Daniel understood.

"I think�they were, um�" Daniel shut his eyes, "�yes, telepathic."

"They could read each other�s thoughts?" Paul Davis asked, looking to General Hammond to see if the general understood the importance of the discovery.

"Yes."

"Were you ever able to find a way to communicate with them?" he asked.

They beat me. They slapped me. They dragged me. They�they�Yes, we communicated very clearly. "Somewhat."

"But why did they put that liner in your throat?" the general asked. "Did they not, in effect, take away your primary way to communicate with them?"

"I think they�maybe if I can�t talk, I can learn�uh, telepathy?" Daniel as much asked as said.

"They muted you so you could learn to be telepathic, and you bought that?" Jack asked.

"Colonel," the General warned, shooting Jack an irritated look. "Doctor Jackson, is it your assumption that you were muted in order to better communicate with the alien beings?"

"Yes," he said, and as soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew he had created another layer of deception around his already multi-layered psyche. Daniel lowered his head and rubbed his eyes.

There was a silence that filled the room while each began to digest the horror of what had happened to Daniel. Finally, Paul Davis resumed his questioning. "Doctor Jackson, while you were with these�I�m sorry, but were they people or some other form of life?"

"Most were�uh, very similar to�humans."

"Fine," Davis said, making a note of it. "When you were with these people, what function did you have?"

Daniel had prepared for this answer over the last few days, knowing it would be asked. "I was, um�you call domestic."

"You were a servant of sorts?" the general asked.

"Of sorts, yes," Daniel said, unable to meet the general�s eyes. Daniel�s swallowed against his sore, burning throat and the rancid lie he had to now ingest.

"Only a few more questions, Doctor," Paul Davis said. "In her reports on your medical condition, Doctor Fraiser said that there was some sort of healing device used on you repeatedly. Can you describe it, and was it at all like the Goa�uld technology we are familiar with?"

Daniel closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. Concentrate on the words, not the memory. Words. "A circle of�of light. Like MRI only�very pain. Painful. I don�t know how works."

"Interesting," Paul Davis said. "Were the effects of the light instantaneous or did they only aid in the healing?"

"Instant," Daniel told him, not ready to open his eyes.

General Hammond took in the pallor of Daniel�s skin and decided that any further questions could wait. "I think that�s all for the day."

Paul Davis said, reading over his notes, "Actually, I had--"

"They�ll have to wait," the general told him.

Paul looked up from his notes and watched Daniel lift a trembling hand to his forehead. "Yes, sir," Davis agreed, closing his file.

"Doctor Jackson, we thank you for your time. We may ask that you join us again in a few days, but until then, you are excused."

Jack helped Daniel stand up, knowing from past experience how draining a debriefing could be. "Easy does it," he said, cupping Daniel by the emaciated upper arms and helping him from his seat. Jack gave a perfunctory nod to the general and said, "Thank you, sir."

Daniel stood, a little less than steady, nodded to the general and to the rest, and then let Jack escort him out of the room.

"You did good," Jack told him in an aside.

Daniel nodded, relieved that he had done well enough by Jack�s standards. Relieved that by following Jack�s directions, things had, in fact, gone relatively well.

This time when Jack asked if he wanted a wheelchair, Daniel heard.

And did exactly as Jack said.

***

Sam stood outside the door to Daniel�s private quarters�a square room with a bunk, a table and a chair--the absolute lowest point on Maslow�s hierarchy, but a huge step in Daniel�s recovery. It signified that he was no longer ill enough to be cooped up in the infirmary, but not yet strong enough to go home on his own. A halfway house. A purgatory between solace and perdition.

The door to the room opened, and Janet walked out, almost running into Sam. "Oh, hi, Sam. I was just checking in on Daniel."

"How is he?" Sam asked, glancing into the room.

"I�m not sure. I removed the trach today, so that should make a difference, but�" Janet took Sam by the arm and led her away from the door. "I need to make some decisions about his care. I think it�s time we consulted Mental Health, and I think I should be doing that now."

"He�s not going to like that," Sam said.

"He doesn�t have a choice."

Sam could only hold Janet�s tired focus, knowing her decision was based on Janet�s observations of Daniel from the perspective of a physician, not a friend. "Does he know?"

"I think so. When I ask him how he�s doing with all the changes, he looks away and just�I don�t know, sort of drifts," Janet said.

"Yeah, I�ve seen that."

"Look, I have a mound of paperwork. I�ll let you go," Janet said. She patted Sam�s elbow and walked away. Sam stepped to Daniel�s gray door, rapped on it, and popped her head inside.

"Hey, Daniel," she said, smiling.

Daniel stormed up out of his chair when she entered. "Sam."

"You don�t have to get up. In fact, why�d ya get up?" she asked, looking at him askance.

"I�I�" Daniel stammered and then sat back down. "I don�t�"

"It�s okay." Sam sat next to him and placed a small wax bag in front of him. "Here. I smuggled them in."

"Cookies."

"Yeah."

"You�you�re �trying to fat me," Daniel said, then shook his head and tried again, "�fatten me."

"Kind of," Sam admitted.

"Thank you," he said, in his still weak, gravelly voice. He cleared his throat and pushed the cookies aside. "I�I�" he began and decided just to plow forward, forget about trying to find correct verb phrase, "�eat them, uh, later."

"Okay," she said. Her eyes caught the sight of the fresh bandage on his neck, the place where the trach had just hours ago peeked out. With a sigh, she realized he was in for a new scar. Just another memento of this horrific event.

And when she paused a moment just to look at him, she wondered if he was aware of the healed gash that snuck into his mouth from his cheek. She wondered with a roiling stomach how his nose came to have a subtle angle in it, tweaking it over to the side. She wondered if, when he looked, he knew how the wounds came to be on his wrists. He didn�t hide them, nor did he mention them. She wondered�

Daniel fingered a small circular piece of paper between his fingers, ragged around the edges, worn soft from manipulation. Daniel�s eyes, dark in the subdued light, never left the scrap of paper in his hands. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you� um, do you�remember �"

"What, Daniel? Do I remember what?"

"Your cat."

Sam lifted her eyebrows and blinked. "My cat? Schrodinger?"

Daniel nodded.

"Yeah."

"Tell me w-why�uh, Schrodinger."

"Why did I name him that?" she asked. Daniel nodded. "For Schrodinger�s Cat. You know, the explanation for quantum physics�how a cat in a box can be both dead and alive at the same time. I thought it was kind of�well, at the time I thought it was pretty original. Turns out its a physicist�s first choice for cat names."

"Lots of them?"

"Oh, yeah. Kind of embarrassing," she said, rubbing the red from her cheeks. "Why? What�s the sudden interest in my cat?"

Daniel pressed the small circle into his palm and closed both hands around it. "How is the cat both?"

Sam pulled her brow down low and searched his face for any clue as to why they were discussing quantum physics. "Well, it�s just a theory�an oversimplification of an explanation on how atoms react, really. See, when a cat is in a closed box, until it is observed, it can be both alive and dead at the same time. Now, when we open up that box, the cat can only be one or the other. Therefore, using this theory, when we observe an atom, we can make measurements which way it is moving. It�s the Theory of Complementarity set up by the Copenhagen Interpretation that said�"

"The atom�does it�know?" Daniel asked, touching his finger to the center of the paper circle.

"Does it know what?"

"Which way it�it�s moving."

Sam was stymied, her thoughts fractured in a thousand disparate directions. What a strange conversation, she thought. In milliseconds, between coming up with an answer and finding the words to easily explain it, she also tried to pin down a reason for Daniel asking. "Well, the atom doesn�t exactly know where it is or where it is going. I mean, if it knew where it was, it wouldn�t know where it was going at all. See, if it knows where it is going, then, it doesn�t have a clue about where it is. What I�m trying to say is quantum entities can�t exactly be pinned down to a specific location, and there�s always going to be some uncertainty about where they are going. Does this make sense at all?"

Daniel�s head shifted from side to side. "Um, yes. A little."

"Daniel, why do you ask?"

Daniel closed his hands around the thin scrap of paper. He became silent and introspective, changing her word to useable images. Images of stillness, of silence, of closed compartments and freedom from cognitive servitude.

"Daniel?" Sam whispered, touching his joined hands.

"I understand. Now."

"Then help me understand," she said, forcing her fingers between his two hands. "Help me understand what happened to you."

The look of pain that crossed his face touched Sam in a way she thought years in the military had excoriated from her soul. He opened his hands slightly, allowing her in further, screwed his lips up in a tight pucker and shook his head. He dropped his chin to his chest and for a brief moment, neither drew in breath nor let out the changed air.

Sam laid her other hand on his arm and leaned closer to him. "Daniel. Please talk to me."

When his eyes came up, the sadness filling them seemed to spill out into the small room, pulling in the already pressing walls, dampening the already dimmed lights. "Why, Sam? Would�would it be easy�easier to know?"

"It would be easier if I could just understand."

Daniel looked deeply into her eyes, imploring her with his sorrow. "If I knew, would tell you. But, I�don�t know. I don�t want to know. Please, Sam. Don�t make�don�t make me choose."

"Choose what, Daniel?"

Daniel pulled his hands into his lap and closed his eyes. "I�I�m tired."

And just like that, her window to him was closed. Just like that, she missed her opportunity to gather him up and carry him away from his own torment.

"Okay," she whispered. Sam stood up and walked toward the door. She tapped the handle and just as quickly turned back to Daniel. "May I..." she asked, holding out her hands.

Daniel looked up at her with tense, anxious eyes, dark and swollen underneath. When he didn�t make an effort to tell her not to, Sam slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tucked her face into his neck.

"I�m sorry it took so long to find you, Daniel," she wept, shocked by the suddenness of her own tears. In her arms, Daniel was rigid, trembling to a small yet frightening degree. "We tried so hard to find you, but�I�m so sorry."

When he couldn�t stand the contact anymore, Daniel wriggled away from her, hoping she wouldn�t be offended by his need to get away, but he knew if he let her arms encircle him any longer he�d be beyond his already tenuous control of his emotions.

Sam uncoiled her arms and wiped her nose. She slid her hands into her back pockets and sniffed. "I�m sorry. I guess I needed that more than you, huh?"

Daniel�s eyes fluttered, but he remained silent.

She gave him one last forlorn smile and said, "Sleep well, Daniel," before leaving his quarters.

Daniel heard the door click and then he rushed to his feet, rubbing his arms and shoulders through the heavy cotton sweater, reworking the signals his nerve endings sent to his brain, hoping that by scrubbing his skin he could fool his mind into thinking that there hadn�t been arms around him; that no one had just touched him; that his body wasn�t pinned down, held against his will. He scrubbed and abraded his skin with his palms and his nails until he ached and his skin seared.

Until he no longer could feel anything but pain.

*****

He had the terrifying sensation of utter paralysis but acute sensory perception. One hundred scratching and clawing hands touched him, tore him open, sliced through his body. His cries stuck in his throat�stuffed down with the rest in suffocation. And when the pain became unbearable, he awoke.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, his linens twisted and damp with sweat, Daniel held his head in his hands and hunched over his knees, rocking and contracting into a trembling coil of fear. From deep within him, the poison in his soul rumbled, and Daniel scrambled toward the garbage can, hoping to make it before he became sick.

Panting and heaving over the receptacle, Daniel couldn�t tell if his tears were from the vomiting or his consuming terror, this memory that bubbled up in his mind at night, bursting with frenzied images and horrific acts.

And he was always the center, immobilized, unable to move.

Daniel vomited long past the point of there being anything left in his burning gut. When at last he could feel his stomach calming, he slumped back onto his bony hipbones and propped himself up against the cold concrete wall in the darkened privacy of his quarters. He pulled his knees up and wept, and while he wept, the lingering remains of the dream electrified his frayed and tattered nerve endings, pinched into his most tender flesh.

Without even realizing it, Daniel began to list and roll to the floor, where he curled himself into a timorous mass. There, his arms wrapped protectively around his waist, he pulled in on himself and began to mute the screams that roared in his ears, to diminish the burning in his body, to forget.

He doubled over his thoughts, kneaded away the memory until there was nothing. Until it was silent once again, and nothing could touch the beast.

Until he was both dead and alive.

*****

It wasn�t the meeting he wanted to have, but nonetheless, Jack showed up at the appointed time to have a chat with the general, Doc and the new chief of Mental Health. They had told him the doctor�s name, but Jack didn�t even let it sink in. Didn�t matter.

He puffed up his most petulant self and walked into the meeting, a few minutes late, just enough time to show his disinterest.

"Colonel O�Neill," General Hammond said. "Glad you could make it."

"You kidding? Wouldn�t miss this for the world," Jack said, taking his seat. A woman sat in front of him--mid 50�s, ramrod straight posture and slicked back chestnut hair in a bun that Jack thought was probably torqued three turns too tight. "I bet you�re that new doc from Mental Health. Jack O�Neill," he said, reaching across the table.

"Doctor Abigail Sebastian," she said, taking off her glasses before accepting the hand.

"Heard you�re the big cheese over at the nut house," Jack said, sitting back down. Doctor Sebastian was not amused. "Whatever happened to good ol� Doc MacKenzie? Gosh, I�m gonna miss him."

"Doctor MacKenzie has retired and is in private practice," Doctor Sebastian said.

"Lucky civvies, getting a cracker-jack like MacKenzie," Jack said.

"Doctor Sebastian is here to consult on Doctor Jackson," General Hammond said, putting an end to Jack�s insistence to show his disrespect for her profession.

Jack took a deep breath, keeping his eye on Doctor Sebastian, and then with a flourish, let it all out in one big whoosh. "Why?"

"Surely, Colonel, you realize Doctor Jackson has been through a traumatic event," she said, weaving her fingers together on the table.

"Yeah, I realize he�s banged up, but I think he�s coming around," Jack said. "Besides, none of us are really sure what happened to him, including, I might add, you."

Doctor Sebastian opened a manila folder and said, "The reports I�m receiving�"

"Which are grossly lacking in facts," Jack added.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, the reports I�m receiving are that he is withdrawn, emotionally detached, uncommunicative�"

"He had his trachea lined!" Jack cried. "Give him a break!"

"Yes, but�"

"And really, what you�re describing sounds like me before I�ve had my morning coffee."

"Colonel O�Neill�" Doctor Sebastian said, pulling a different file from the stack in front of her. "Yes, I�ve read your file."

"I bet you wished you�d known me when you were writing your thesis, huh?" Jack said. Doctor Sebastian glared at him.

"Colonel O�Neill, I�d appreciate your cooperation in this matter," General Hammond warned.

"Look, you asked me to this meeting to discuss Daniel. I�m his CO, and my perspective is he�s just tired," Jack said, turning first one way and then back in his chair. "You said it yourself�he�s been through a hell of an ordeal. I think if we just let him rest for a while, get his bearings, he�ll be fine."

"Fine?" Doctor Sebastian reiterated.

"Yes. Fine."

"Irritable heart," she said, closing the file.

"How�s that?"

"That�s how Civil War surgeons used to describe it," she said, sitting back and holding her pen between her hands. Two hazel eyes set under thin lids offered a flat-eyed stare. "Those soldiers who came back from Gettysburg and Shiloh, Andersonville with symptoms of depression, sleep disorders, chest pains, thoughts of or attempts at suicide�they were diagnosed with �Irritable Heart.� Oh, later on they changed the name. During the World Wars it became �Shell Shock,� or �Combat Fatigue.� Tell me, Colonel, is George Patton one of your personal heroes?" she asked, tired of her profession being offensively passed off by idiotic lay people.

Jack leaned forward and pressed his hands against the table. He set his cold eyes on her like a laser beam. "As a matter of fact�"

"I guessed as much." Doctor Sebastian, a full ranking colonel herself, pulled her dress blue uniform jacket down over her waist. "Maybe we could just bleed him, get all those bad spirits out of his system. What do you think, Colonel? Do you think that will help?"

"Isn�t that what you�re planning on doing?"

"Colonel O�Neill, Doctor Sebastian, I believe we�re here to discuss Doctor Jackson," General Hammond reminded them.

"Yes, sir. I apologize, sir," she said. Doctor Sebastian regained her composure and stared at Jack with lifeless eyes. "There�s been some change in thinking in the last thirty years. Now it�s called PTSD�Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"I know what it is," Jack snapped.

"Good, then I won�t have to go through the laundry list of symptoms with you."

"Look, General, this is ridiculous," Jack said.

"I think we need to listen to Doctor Sebastian, Colonel," General Hammond said, trying to give Jack some leeway.

"I think I�d know if he were stressed," Jack said. "He�s not. Tired, yes. Sorting through some things, possibly, but he�s not crazy."

"Nobody said he�s crazy, Colonel, and if you think I did, then perhaps you don�t know what PTSD is at all," Doctor Sebastian said.

"I know what you want to do here," Jack started. He could feel his buttons all being pushed and he forced himself to keep it under control. "You want to take him to Mental Health, drug him up like they did the last time, until he really is crazy, and then you�re going to stuff him away in a room for the rest of his life, or until the Air Force forgets about him. I�m here to tell you, I won�t let that happen."

"Are you saying you would stand in the way of him getting medical treatment if he needs it?" Doctor Sebastian challenged.

"He doesn�t need it," Jack reminded her, leaning across the table to accentuate his point.

"Is that your professional opinion?" she asked, hardly able to mask her dislike of the man.

"Yes, Doctor. It is," Jack hissed, narrowing his dark eyes to her.

Doctor Sebastian stood up, tossed the files into her attaché, and looked at Janet. "I don�t have time for this, Janet. Have Doctor Jackson at my office at 1800 hours on Wednesday."

"I will, Doctor Sebastian," Janet said. "Thank you."

"I can tell you right now he doesn�t want to talk to you," Jack said.

Doctor Sebastian ignored Jack and turned to General Hammond. "Sir, after I talk with Doctor Jackson, I�ll report back to you what I believe--"

"General�" Jack interrupted, holding out a hand.

"--what I believe Doctor Jackson�s treatment options to be," Doctor Sebastian said, and without so much as wavering an inch from her icy decorum, she turned to Jack, impaling him with her glare. "And so help me, Colonel O�Neill, if you get in the way of Doctor Jackson�s treatments, I�ll have you up on charges, sir."

"Will ya now?" Jack answered back.

"Oh, yes, sir. Count on it, Colonel."

For the first time in his Air Force career, Jack felt he had actually met his match in steely intractability.

"Thank you, Doctor," General Hammond said, using his voice like a crowbar between the two.

Janet stood up and said, "I�ll see you out, Doctor."

Doctor Sebastian never acknowledged Jack after that, but Jack did wave brightly to her while she left.

"Nice woman," Jack said.

"Dammit, Jack�"

"Look, General, I�m not going to let this happen."

"You don�t have a choice, Jack," the general said. "And I�d strongly advise you not to consider anything rash where Daniel Jackson is concerned."

"But, General�"

"Do I make myself clear, Colonel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fine. Now, you�ll excuse me while I go run this base," he said.

"Yes, sir," Jack said.

*****

General Hammond signed the final document for the night and closed the folder on a very long day. He stepped out from behind his desk and peered into the briefing room�dark and empty. A brief few hours of reprieve before the cares of the universe crowded the room again. A few brief hours of silence.

General Hammond liked to visit his people at night, that way he didn�t need to feel rushed to get back to his office, nor was there much gate activity to patrol. Rarely did he approve a night launch�didn�t seem like there was any point to that, what, with planets on the dark side of the sun, or planets being in different solar systems, for that matter. What was day on Earth might be night on FL5-971, and vice versa. Why have his people lose sleep over the time change, time being relative and all?

Still there were those few times when other planets sent visitors to the SGC during the quiet of the night�night also being relative and all inside a mountain. It was during those times that General Hammond�s Southern rules of decorum came rushing to the surface. What he often considered doing was sending out a widespread message throughout the universe�"Please respect our time. It�s just rude to call on a person after 2100, people. Sincerely, General George Hammond, USAF."

Of course, he never did it. That in itself would be rude and probably a little on the high falutin� side, as his wife used to say. Being a soft-spoken Southern gentleman at heart, he�d rather graciously accept a visitor at 0200 rather than be thought of as high-falutin�.

Still, nights were quiet at the SGC. Most of the civilian contractors had headed home hours earlier, and the military personnel comprised only those necessary to keep the base on alert, protected and on guard. The rest were in their quarters or in the mess, playing cards or watching TV.

So it was the hushed hours of the evening that General Hammond chose when he wanted to visit one or two of his people in the infirmary, and the only person on his list was one Daniel Jackson.

From the moment he stepped into the dimly lit room, the general knew what the concern for the young man was all about.

Sitting in the middle of his bed, his knees drawn up, his arms propped on them, Daniel held his head in his hands and was crying.

General Hammond came to a dead halt just inside the room. Thirty-five years in the Air Force�Vietnam, Beirut, Iraq�had taught him that if a man was crying in a military environment, there had to be a good reason. He cleared his throat, hoping not to startle Daniel.

Rather than startle him, Daniel didn�t even look up. He kept a relentless focus on the end of his bed, pressed his long fingers into his skull, and wept�mutely, with only the choking hitches of breath to fill the silence.

"Doctor Jackson? Is there something I can do for you?" the general asked, stepping to the side of Daniel�s bed. Thirty-five years in the Air Force had taught him that if a man was so upset that he couldn�t acknowledge the presence of a ranking officer, that man was in pain.

Daniel clasped his fists together and pressed their union to his trembling lips. Tears, heavy with consuming fear, saturated his face. Still, he stared at nothing; at an enemy only his eyes could see. Could feel.

"Daniel, how can I help you?" General Hammond asked, keeping his tone hushed. He reached out and soothed Daniel�s shaking back. Thirty-five years in the Air Force had taught him that if a man was so distraught he couldn�t speak, that man was in trouble.

From the looks of things, General Hammond decided Daniel was in trouble. Trouble, dark and foreboding.

"You go ahead and cry," the general said, wrapping one arm around Daniel�s back, the other stroking Daniel�s sweaty hair. He gathered the young man to himself and comforted him. "You go right ahead. I just bet there�s a whole world of hurt inside, so you go ahead and cry all you want."

Daniel stared without sight while his body vibrated with spastic breaths and tremulous, bone-deep horrific dread. He could not feel the gentle hand wiping away his tears, nor could he hear the lull of the sympathetic voice acknowledging his pain.

He knew only images�frightening and confusing. Images that were more real than the large arms consoling him. Images peppered with violence, buckshot full of terrifying faces and scratching, tearing hands. Images so corporeal that his skin burned as if slapped; his bones throbbed as if crushed; his body screamed as if being torn in two, fiber by fiber.

General Hammond stroked Daniel�s fevered brow, rubbed his shuddering arm and whispered, "Cry all you need, Daniel. I�ve got no where to go."

So Daniel wept and wasn�t aware of a single tear. He wept and heard his own far away screams become suddenly silent, molesting his ears and his mind.

Daniel wept and doggedly, mournfully, silently repeated his one word mantra:

*****

Jack played the moment with a breezy nonchalance. He strode into the mess with Daniel by his side and Teal�c and Sam following close behind, as if it weren�t the first time in nearly a year that the whole of SG1 would be gathered for a meal.

"Daniel, you want me to get a tray for you?" Sam asked.

"He can get his own," Jack said, leading Daniel by the elbow to the mess line. Jack ignored Sam�s look of obvious disapproval. He didn�t care. It was obvious that Sam was coddling Daniel, and the last thing Daniel needed, according to Jack, was to be coddled. No, for the sake of Daniel, the team and for Jack, it was time to get back to normal, and that meant that Daniel had to start behaving like things were back to normal.

Daniel picked up the aqua blue tray from the stack and placed it on the rails. He didn�t think about his next move, didn�t think about the fact that the tray was slick with rinse water. He followed Jack, took whatever Jack took from the cold tables. Daniel filled his cup with whatever beverage Jack chose. He placed his silverware and plate and napkin on his tray in the same place as Jack did.

It was easier that way. Easier just to become a shadow.

No more decisions. No more thinking.

Just follow. Mimic. Blind and silent. Easy�

"Daniel?" Sam said, leaning into Daniel. She had watched him come to a stop after he placed his tray down on the table and Jack had left for a moment to talk with Colonel Mahaffery. Daniel stood, motionless and void.

"DanielJackson," Teal�c said, eyeing his friend from across the table. Teal�c glanced at Sam and was sure his own features mirrored the concern he saw in Sam�s face. "Perhaps you would like to sit down, DanielJackson."

"Daniel? Sweetie?" Sam said, placing a hand on his back. She expected to feel him trembling. She expected to feel his skin moist with perspiration. But Daniel was perfectly calm, and the serenity scared her all the more. "Daniel, let�s sit down."

His eyes wavered a moment. The subtlest shift in emotions crossed his face. A slight clicking in the back of his throat was heard as he exhaled. "Where�s Jack?"

"I think he went over to talk with Mahaffery," Sam said, taking a seat, trying to guide Daniel down to his own. "Daniel, why don�t you sit down? Okay?"

Daniel nodded and took a seat. Sam kept an eye on him, while Daniel kept an eye on Jack. Long, awkward, uncomfortable moments passed before Jack joined the team again.

"Just be glad you�re not SG7, campers," Jack said, smirking. "Daniel, how ya doin�?"

"I�m fine," Daniel said, nodding to Jack, even attempting to smile.

"Good."

Sam wasn�t as appeased, but she let Daniel�s behavior go and chalked it up to nerves.

While they ate and talked, Daniel did what he was becoming very good at�acting casual.

He had reached way back into his memory to come up with the things he used to do when they sat in the mess hall. He had developed a list�purse your lips and nod; roll your eyes at Jack; stir your coffee with the handle of your fork; push food around your plate; push your glasses up from time to time; stare at the center of the table. He cycled through these traits, all the while trying to keep up with the conversation.

It seemed to be working just fine. There was an ease in the room.

Well, at least Daniel felt that Teal�c and Sam and Jack were at ease. At least they weren�t constantly glancing at him, checking to see if he needed anything. At the very least they weren�t slowing down their conversation, asking Daniel if he caught all that. He was catching most of it�that is when he wasn�t diligently pretending to look casual and relaxed.

Sitting in the mess hall, Jack was secretly very pleased with himself that he had shaken Daniel out of his stupor just at the right time. He knew what Daniel needed�he needed to snap out of whatever was in his head--that�s all. Sometimes the firm approach worked wonders. Obviously, this had been one of those times.

Yeah, it had been two weeks since Jack told Daniel to get his act together, and Daniel had done just that. He was speaking with more fluidity, able to carry on fairly well in a conversation, and was even joining them for their meals. It was all coming together.

Jack knew a thing or two about being away from home in a nasty situation. That�s why he decided to let things go with Daniel, if only for a while. If Daniel wanted to talk about it, he would. Otherwise Jack thought it was best to let Daniel work it out. Hell, Jack had been able to work out his own demons. Daniel would, too.

Still there were all those unanswered questions. They knew nothing more about his imprisonment than what the medical records showed�and even that was sketchy. Whenever questioned about it, Daniel could only come up with facts: they had a healing device--a large ring--that encapsulated the patient; yes, he did eat; no, he didn�t know what it was; he spent most of his time in service to one person but he didn�t know that person�s name; no, he didn�t know what he did for him.

What do you mean, you don�t know, Doctor Jackson?

What did he do for him? That was the stumper. When it came down to what Daniel had been doing the last seven or eight months of his captivity, he simply couldn�t recall.

They healed him. That was all he could remember.

That was good enough for Jack. Sam wasn�t as satisfied.

She had heard Jack brag to General Hammond and Janet that he thought Daniel was making loads of improvement, but Sam didn�t think so. She and Daniel had always had an intuitive connection. A kind of bond that flew under the radar. Her gut told her that Daniel was trying too hard. She thought Daniel was putting on a good show. It was just too good to be true.

So, even though she made a concerted effort not to show it anymore, she still worried about him. And she wasn�t even sure why. She wanted to believe what the colonel had said, that maybe it wasn�t all that bad, aside from the obvious physical neglect to his body. Maybe it had been eight long months of nothing.

Nothing.

The ragged, waxy scars etched on Daniel�s wrists spoke otherwise.

"I�m gonna get more coffee," Jack said, rising from his seat. "Anyone want anything else?"

"No. Thank you, sir," Sam said.

"I am fine," Teal�c said.

Daniel remained quiet.

"Daniel? You want anything?" Jack asked.

"No."

"How about a carton of juice?"

"Okay."

Jack wiped his face with his napkin and sauntered off to the food lines.

"Daniel," Sam said, "did you want juice?"

"No." He never looked up from his plate, only moved the peas from one side to the other.

"Then why did you tell Colonel O�Neill you wanted some?" she asked.

"He said he�d get some for me," Daniel told her, his forehead becoming lined.

"Daniel, you�you don�t have to do everything that the colonel says," she reminded him. "Not when it comes to food."

"I know."

"Do you?" she asked. She touched his arm. "Daniel, why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"You are following Colonel O�Neill�s word religiously," Teal�c said, entering the conversation.

Daniel shook his head.

"You are," Sam agreed. "What�s going on?"

"Nothing."

"Daniel, are you�are you afraid of the colonel?" she asked, hoping she was wrong.

Daniel pulled his arm from her hand. "No."

"Then what is it?" she asked. "Why are you capitulating to him? It�s not like you."

Daniel�s words came so softly, neither Teal�c nor Sam were able to fully hear them. As if on cue, they each leaned toward him.

"What?" Sam asked.

Daniel kept his eyes lowered but turned a degree so that only Sam could hear. "I have to."

A chill swept over her. "Why?"

"It�s what I want."

"Here ya go, Daniel," Jack said, placing a carton of orange juice in front of him. Daniel opened it and drank from it while Sam looked on aghast.

"So, where were we?" Jack asked, stirring his coffee with the handle of his fork.

*****

With a painful thud, Daniel hit the floor of his quarters, panting and gasping for air. He was on his feet before he even knew to adjust to the new balance. Stumbling through the room, his chest burning to take in more air than he could draw, Daniel found the wastebasket and retched.

And retched again.

Drenched in cold sweat, his clothes spattered with vomit, Daniel stood up straight, bound his trembling arms around his head and cried.

"No. No. No. No. No. No. No�"

Daniel swayed back and forth until he became off-balanced and began to pace. He paced and marched, and with each pass the pattern became tighter.

Striding around the circular path, Daniel began to feel the split, the segregation of before and after, the bisection of his physical and emotional memories, of himself and the other one.

Faster and faster, his bare feet slapping the ground in a contrapuntal reply to his racing heart, Daniel spun. Gravity and centrifugal force worked in concert, a dynamic tension, the physics of psychosis, until he was then and now, a body and a mind, a thing and a person.

And then he stopped.

And then it was done.

"Him and me and one in the same."

He closed his eyes, let his head roll back, and collapsed.

*****

"Yeah, well, I think so, too," Jack said, swiveling in his chair.

"Sir, the other thing we should think about is that the Tok�ra base is a direct link to Goa�uld information. Sending Teal�c along might be a gesture of goodwill," Sam said.

"Goodwill for whom?" Jack asked, pinching his eyes down.

"I believe it would be advantageous for us all if I were to join the search," Teal�c said.

Daniel sat still, touching his fingertips to his chin, creasing his brow to show his level of concentration.

Jack drummed his fingers against his the table. "All I�m saying is I�d rather not farm out Teal�c here if what we get in return is squat."

Sam rose from her chair and stepped to the side table. She filled her cup with coffee and nodded that she understood the colonel�s concern. Cradling the cup in her hands, Sam leaned against the table and tried to persuade the colonel to see her point. "Sir, because Teal�c will be an integral part of the scouting party, any information gathered will go directly through him. I don�t see how we can miss."

"That�s what I find most intriguing about you, Carter," Jack said, turning his chair out to face her. "You have an endless supply of optimism where the Tok�ra are concerned." He patted his stomach, adding. "Speaking of supplies, I�m hungry."

Teal�c was the first to question the connection. "How does Major Carter�s optimism remind you that you are hungry?"

"It has more to do with this," Jack said, pointing to his stomach. "You hear that? My stomach is making the connection between thirteen hundred hours and emptiness. There! You hear that one?"

Daniel watched Jack�s hands fly to his abdomen, gesticulate toward his body. The hands gestured that something was to be taken care of immediately. Daniel watched the communication of the hands, the abrupt message, and began to lose sight of anything else.

"Look, I think we should continue this discussion after lunch. There it is again!" Jack stated, pointing to his rumbling stomach.

The beast understood.

"That�s fine, sir. We can discuss it further in the mess," Sam said, placing her coffee cup on the side table.

The beast slipped out of its chair and knelt before its master.

"Daniel? You lose something?" Jack asked. He shared an uneasy look with Sam.

The beast kept its eyes lowered while it reached for the enclosure.

"Daniel, what the hell are you doing?" Jack asked, batting Daniel�s hands from his belt.

The beast worked more quickly than before, knowing the master was becoming impatient with the beast�s clumsy hands.

"Stop it!" Jack yelled, grasping Daniel�s wrists. Jack rocketed out of his seat and pushed his chair aside with force. He shook Daniel by the arms. "What the hell�s gotten into you?"

The beast�s eyes shot to Jack�s and it began to tremble. Its mouth opened, but there was no air behind the screams.

"Daniel?" Jack said, still holding the rigid arms.

The beast began to scramble away from Jack, tried to tear its arms out of the master�s grasp.

"Calm down, Daniel," Jack said. He released Daniel to show him he meant no harm. Jack stepped closer to the cowering man, but the horror of confusion in Daniel�s eyes changed to stark, undisguised fear and his arms began to flail and his feet began to kick.

Sam rushed to the phone to call Janet.

Teal�c remained behind Jack, fearing that his presence would only aggravate Daniel�s already frenzied behavior.

Faceless bodies and scrawling hands surrounded the beast, penned it in against the unforgiving wall. Turning to the concrete barrier, the beast clawed its way to the corner where a lamp caught its attention. The beast snatched it and threw it at the faces, at the bestial disciplinarians.

The lamp grazed Jack�s shoulder. "Dammit, Daniel!"

"Daniel, we�re not going to hurt you," Sam tried to assure him. She watched his manic, hazed focus dart over her face. His hair fell in long strands across his eyes.

"No one�s gonna hurt you, Daniel," Jack said, hands upraised, keeping his distance.

The beast wouldn�t be taken, not again. It wouldn�t let them touch its burning body one more time. It would rather die first. It would rather kill first. The beast tore a picture from the wall and pitched it at them.

"Jesus!" Jack hissed, ducking.

The beast�s chest bucked with frantic gasps of air. Eyes fierce with self-preservation bore into the gathering surrounding it. The beast bit down hard on its terror, unwilling to show just how scared it was anymore.

Jack stepped closer, knowing there was nothing else for Daniel to throw at him. "Settle down, Daniel."

The beast held out its hands, shaking and splayed. It pressed itself into the corner, desperate to fend off another attack.

"Everything�s gonna be all right," Jack said. He stepped directly in front of Daniel; let Daniel�s hands, trembling in resistance, press against him. "I�m not gonna hurt you."

The beast shook its head and closed its eyes against the imminent attack.

With great care, Jack touched Daniel�s arms. "It�s all right. Calm down."

The beast shook his head over and over and over, and began to see Jack.

"It�s over," Jack told him, stroking Daniel�s quavering arm.

"What�s happening?" Janet asked, rushing into the room.

Jack held up a hand to her, but never took his eyes off Daniel. "It�s all right. We�re all right."

Daniel quaked, trembled, strung out by the torrent of maddening memories.

"Talk to me," Jack said, speaking only above a whisper. Janet looked on with apprehension, as did Sam and Teal�c.

Daniel�s breath came in stuttering riffs as he whispered back, "What�s happening to me?"

Jack touched his face. "I don�t know, Danny."

"Why would I do that?" he asked, oblivious of the three other worried people in the room. "That�s not me. That�s not�I�m not�why�"

"It�s okay."

"I don�t understand."

"It�s okay."

"I�m sorry, Jack. I didn�t�I didn�t know w-what�"

"Daniel, don�t worry about it."

Tears began to slide across his flushed cheeks. Daniel shook his head. "I don�t�I don�t understand."

"I know. Neither do I, but it�s okay," Jack reassured him.

Daniel took some comfort in his words, and then a renewed sense of shame washed over him--a realized memory of kneeling before Jack, trying to loosen his pants. Daniel�s mouth slung open in horror. He covered his face and wept. "Oh, God. Please don�t look at�me."

"Daniel, I�m not concerned about it. You have nothing to worry about," Jack said, trying to make eye contact with the tottering man. He reached behind Daniel�s neck to give him a comforting nuzzle, but the touch made Daniel flinch. "I�m sorry. I won�t do that again."

"Oh, God," Daniel cried. Frayed and shredded nerves gave way, sending his weakened body sliding down the wall. "Oh, God�"

Jack crouched in front of him, ready to draw him in, hold him back�whatever Daniel needed, Jack was ready. In that moment of waiting for his next cue, Jack began to see the whole picture. He began to see that Daniel wasn�t just drained, that Daniel wasn�t a little confused. Daniel was destroyed, and nothing Jack could do would change that. He began to wonder if the price for maintaining some semblance of sanity these last few weeks had cost Daniel more than he ever realized. More than Jack had realized. Watching this broken and disheveled man, arms and legs twisted in a knot of despair, Jack began to understand.

"Daniel�"

"Why did you�find me?" came the forlorn question, hushed behind shielding hands and thick with sorrow.

"What? Where?"

"Back there."

Jack lowered his face, humiliated by his own recent behavior. "You�re a member of my team. No one gets left behind."

"You could�could have left me," he said, his words thin and brittle like splinters of glass falling from a broken window. "It would�have been easier."

"Daniel, what are you talking about?" Jack asked.

A tortured face, splotchy and wet with tears, rose from the barricade of shaking hands. "They would have killed me."

"But they didn�t," Jack said. "You�re home now."

"I wanted�them to," he said, staring at Jack. With an awful nod, Daniel whispered, "I wanted to�die."

"You don�t mean that," Jack said. The words blistered his soul. "No, Daniel. You don�t�"

"They would�would have killed me�eventually," he cried, bobbing his head up and down, undone by the memory. "Would been�have been easier that way."

The words hung suspended in the room, heavy and cumbersome with burden. Distant sounds of sniffling, of people containing their own grief were muffled by the exchange between the two men�one desperate to hang on; one too tired to care.

The room became a sacred confessional between friends, not a place of observation. Janet whispered a word to Sam and then left the room. Sam touched Teal�c on the arm, and both she and the Jaffa followed Janet out so that the awful moment wouldn�t have to be witnessed by anyone other than the two men inextricably bound to its force.

"God, Daniel," Jack uttered, reaching a hand out to center them both.

"Don�t!" Daniel cried, scratching his way further from Jack. "Don�t�please, don�t�touch me."

"Okay," Jack whispered. "Sorry. I won�t. I promise. I won�t."

A hand waving without reason before his face; a face pinched and tight with tears; tears unbridled and unrelenting; a wail of grief so pungent it bounced without mercy against the walls. Daniel contorted himself into a braid of writhing and defensive limbs and submitted to his pain.

Submitted to his unfathomable shame.

*****

Sitting next to Daniel�s bed, back once again in the shelter of the infirmary where the only sound was the ubiquitous buzzing of fluorescent lamps, Jack was whipsawed between red anger at the people who had destroyed Daniel and blunt despair that he was powerless to change it.

It seemed so simple: act normal and you will be normal. Once you�re in a nosedive, pull up. Easy. It had worked for Jack in the past�forget and go on. It should have worked for Daniel. If there was one thing Jack prided himself on, it was the ability to shoulder hardship and muddle on.

Eight months living in sordid, brutal conditions precluded muddling on, he supposed.

They had �rescued� Daniel. They had plucked him from his oppressors and brought him home using their well-honed, brazen skills. That�s where the story ends.

Usually. It ends with the missing person saying, "Thanks, guys. Sure missed you." A pat on the back, one last flinch to shake off residual trauma, and life is status quo.

That�s the way it was supposed to be.

Even in the tense moments back on R43-972 when Denjo Blont handed over Daniel to them, Jack sensed there was more to the story, but he closed the book, denied his intuition, and might have, possibly denied Daniel the chance to heal. In those moments, Jack�s main concern was getting Daniel through the gate, back to the SGC where he belonged, where Jack could rip into him�or better yet�freeze him out for not following orders. Once again, Daniel wasn�t about to go along with the plan.

Two months later, a barely communicative shell of a man lay huddled in a starched white bed with a storm of memories battering away at his soul.

They had brought him home. That much was true. But what had they returned?

"Colonel?" Janet said, touching Jack�s shoulder.

"Um, I was just thinking," Jack said, clearing his throat. "This Doctor Sebastian�she�s good, right?"

"Yes, she is, Colonel," Janet said.

Jack nodded. "I won�t get in the way. Let�s get him some help. I was�I won�t get in the way."

Janet raised her chin, called up all her stubborn pride and quelled her burgeoning emotions. "I�m glad to hear that, sir."

Jack lowered his eyes and watched his fingers twine together. "They, uh, they used him hard, didn�t they?"

Janet squinted her eyes. "Yes, sir, they did."

Jack nodded again, not wanting to actually hear the word, appreciative that Janet didn�t use it. Jack knew what happened to Daniel. But he didn�t want to hear it. He didn�t think he could stand the sound of it. Didn�t know how Daniel had been able to live with it for so many months.

"This is only the beginning, you know," Janet mentioned, in a voice of vacillating solicitude. "You should be prepared for the fact that�that this won�t be easy."

"I know," Jack said.

"We might lose him after all," she said.

Jack nodded and chose to concentrate on the two pale hands that peeked out of the white sheet next to the white pillow. A few inches higher, on that same pillow, was the face of humiliation and fear, but Jack chose to focus only on the hands. Hands that he was sure had been brutalized fighting off the attacks. Hands that he was sure had defended a body being ripped and torn, a body that had been used in ways unthinkable and unholy.

Jack looked away, unable to look at the hands that had done what Jack was supposed to do�defend Daniel, cover him, keep him safe. Jack looked away from his own failure.

"Let�s get him some help," he whispered.

"I�ll make the call," Janet said. She squeezed Jack�s shoulder and walked away.

They set out to bring Daniel Jackson home. They searched from one end of the Stargate system to the other to bring home their teammate and friend. But who did they actually bring back?

An anthropologist, a linguist who couldn�t make sense of a foreign, alien culture; who couldn�t speak the alien language; whose own language came stubbornly once home.

Whose only wish was to die.

With miasmal bitterness, Jack wondered if he hadn�t done Daniel a great disservice bringing him home. And then he chastised himself for the dark thought.

No, Daniel was home. Daniel was broken and ruined and possibly destroyed, and he was home, dammit, and that had to count for something.

It had to count.

No one gets left behind.

But just what had they been able to return?

A voice as fragile as salt crystals said, "Jack."

Jack�s head popped up surprised to hear Daniel�s voice, breathy and unsure. "Yeah. How ya doin�?"

Daniel�s eyes fluttered for a moment, still heavy from the sedation. "I have to go to�um�"

"Yeah," Jack said, hopping off the stool. He lowered the rails on Daniel�s bed and offered a hand. Daniel ignored the proffered hand and pushed an elbow into the bed to prop himself up. "Ya all right?"

"I�m a little�um, dizzy," he said, pressing the heel of his hand to his eye. "I�ll be fine." Daniel slid off the bed and with stumbling steps, padded to the small bathroom.

Jack waited for Daniel to return, and while he waited his nerves danced beneath his skin. He knew their conversation wouldn�t be one for the memory books.

And while he waited, he realized just how much he had missed Daniel all those months. Missed that stubborn, willful, pain in the ass, remarkable man Daniel had been.

With onerous sadness, Jack wondered if he would ever see that man again, or if this hollow, shelled-out version was all that was left of his friend.

When at last the toilet flushed and the sound of the faucet ceased, when finally Daniel returned to the room, Jack had steeled himself to the thought that Daniel�s fate was in the hands of Doctor Sebastian, and the only thing left to do was convince Daniel of the same.

"I, uh," Daniel muttered, interrupting Jack�s thoughts, taking scattered steps within the small area, "I don�t want�I�m tired of�"

"What, Daniel? What do you want?" Jack asked. "It�s okay. I want to hear what you want."

"I want to sit," he said, almost as if the words had broken over his lips before he could stop them. Jack rounded the corner of the bed and pulled up a chair for Daniel. "Thank you."

Jack brought a second chair into the small room, pushing his stool aside, and took a seat in front of Daniel. "How ya feeling?"

Daniel never looked up. He shrugged his shoulders, picked at his fingernail and bit his lower lip. "I�m fine," he said, convincing no one.

"Daniel," Jack said, "tell me. Just�you know, tell me what you need."

Daniel�s vision played across the floor while he encapsulated one shivering hand inside the other. "I�m a little cold."

Jack leaped from the chair and grabbed a blanket, which he draped over Daniel�s shoulders, seeking Daniel�s approval first. "Better?"

Daniel nodded and pulled the blanket in closer.

"Daniel," Jack began, forcing himself to begin the awful conversation, "I met a doctor a couple days ago who thinks�no, she knows she can help you�"

Daniel shook his head.

"No, now, just hear me out," Jack said. "I met her. She�s good. Doc knows her. She can help you, Daniel. Hell, she threatened to bring me up on charges if I got in her way, so you gotta respect that." Jack smiled, but the feigned expression never reached past his mouth. "I thought she was just being reactionary. I might have, possibly been wrong about that. Maybe. The thing is, even though she pissed me off, I think she knows what she�s doing, and I think you should talk with her."

There was a long pause while Daniel considered his reply. Jack listened to Daniel�s breathing become ragged, stop and hold, and then, in a surrender of air and spirit, Daniel whispered, "I can�t."

"Yes, you can."

When Daniel�s eyes met Jack�s, gone was the frenzied consternation of hours earlier. It was replaced by a frailty�sad and lamentable. "I know it�s my fault, Jack. I�m sorry."

"What�s your fault?"

"I should have�listened to you," Daniel said. He shook his head, annoyed with himself. "I didn�t�I didn�t follow directions. Maybe�it�ll be okay if I just�"

"If you just what?"

"I think if I�maybe if you give me a few more days, I can�I will be able to think more logically, you know?" he said, grinding his teeth, lower over upper. "I could just focus and not�not be so confused all the time. I�ll�I�d be okay." And then he nodded to Jack, hoping his friend would take his word for it.

Jack bobbed his head to the side. "Why don�t we let this Doctor Sebastian help you focus?"

"I can�t."

"Why?"

"She�ll want to look in the box," he said, his voice drifting away on the last word.

"�Scuse me?"

Daniel pinched his eyes down to slits, battling with the fear inside. "I�m okay as long as I�um, can be him and me," he tried to explain. "I won�t if she open�opens the box."

"Daniel�"

"I think�you just give me a few more days, just a couple, I�ll be�fine�okay?" he said, grasping at a shredded sense of certainty. "I�ll do what you say. Just, please, Jack�"

"Daniel, this isn�t about doing what I say. I was wrong about that," Jack said. "It�s about�" And what it was about was what they had all wished would go away. It was about the sight none of them wanted to discuss, but each of them felt a share of its onus. "It�s about this." Jack reached over and took Daniel�s chilled hands in his, turning them out to expose the waxy, raised scars.

Daniel stared at the markings because, even though they were grotesque--an iconography of suffering--they were far easier to display than what was in his mind.

"What happened?" Jack asked, thumbing the taut cicatrices.

"I�m okay with it, Jack," Daniel told him. "It doesn�t bother me. See, I�m focusing better already." Daniel smiled, but it was empty and lacking in any conviction. "I don�t�I don�t want to talk to Doctor Sebastian. I�m fine."

Jack gave the scars one last look and pressed Daniel�s hands together, his own hands wrapped around the union. "Danny, listen to me. I wish I�I wish I could change all this, but I can�t. Doctor Sebastian�she�s good people. She�ll help you."

"No."

"I won�t let them hurt you," Jack promised, grasping tighter to the cold hands that had fought so hard. "I won�t let anything else happen to you. Trust me, okay?"

Daniel�s eyes slid away from Jack, away from another empty promise of trust. He nodded and whispered okay, but once again he found that the walls he was carefully constructing held no strength, and all his defenses were crumbling yet again, exposing him to more danger, more pain.

The box would simply have to remain closed.

"Okay, Jack," he said, and pulled himself in deeper, farther into the darkest corner he could find, and closed the lid, he hoped forever.

*****

Daniel had spent most of the drive in complete silence, looking out the window without really seeing anything. Familiar landmarks�mountains, domed churches, university buildings, the angular peaks of the Air Force Academy Chapel�passed before his eyes without as much as a second look.

Jack flashed his badge to the cadet at the gate of the Mental Health facility and drove into the parking lot. A dozen times he had turned to Daniel from the SGC to the hospital; a dozen times he had turned away, not knowing what to say.

Jack pulled into a parking spot close to the front doors and put the truck in park. If Daniel at that point had said, "Let�s get out of here," Jack would have slammed the truck in reverse and crashed through any barrier.

But Daniel didn�t say a word, so Jack turned the key in the ignition and cut the engine.

"You ready?" Jack asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Yes."

Jack grabbed the handle on his door and pushed it open.

"No."

Jack pulled the door shut. "Okay."

Daniel stared at the doors leading into the facility. "Now I know how Nick felt."

"Your grandfather?"

"He checked himself into the hospital because he thought he was losing�losing his mind," Daniel said, his voice thin as hope. "It never occurred to me how scared he must have been."

Jack turned in his seat to look at Daniel, this pale, husk of a man whose eyes barely glimmered. Daniel�s profile was in sharp relief against the gray background outside his window, and in those sunken features, Jack could see the pain, the extraordinary weariness in Daniel�s spirit that no amount of sleep could touch. Jack wanted to say he was sorry for it all. Sorry for everything, but he knew his apology would be useless and vacuous, and really, who was it meant to help?

The doors to the facility swung open, and two cadets strode through, crisp and sure in their blue uniforms and caps. Daniel watched them with envy for their youth and naïveté, and then he had an unexplainable sense of dread for their futures. In his silence, Daniel cried out to them to abandon their convictions, run away from this world of what is just and what is concrete. Run. Find a spot to just be at peace, because someday, sometime they will find you, and you�ll never be the same again.

"That had to be hard," Jack said.

"Going to the hospital to visit him--it just became too� too much, you know?" Daniel said, returning his attention to the front doors. "After a while, I just stopped going to see him."

"He wasn�t well, Daniel," Jack said, trying to understand.

"But wasn�t I abandoning Nick like he abandoned me?" Daniel asked.

The caustic words struck Jack. A world of concerns blew over him. "Daniel�"

"I mean, wasn�t it easy for me to�to blame it on his psychosis?" he asked.

"Daniel, are you worried we�re not going to visit you?"

"I�m worried that�" Daniel stopped, clapped shut his mouth. Feeling his emotions running raw and exposed, he ran his thumb across his lips while he fought to regain his composure. "I�m worried that if I�m not�not psychotic now, I will be soon enough."

"What do you want to do, Daniel?" Jack asked.

"I want to go home," Daniel said in a weak, sad voice. "But I know that�s not going to happen, so�"

"Why don�t we go inside?" Jack said.

Daniel stared at the two metal doors whose glass inserts reflected the stormy, somber hue of the sky. "Okay."

Jack opened his door, rounded the front of his truck and stood by while Daniel collected his things in the cab. Daniel grabbed his duffel from the back and shut his door. Jack gave him a soft smile, and the two began to walk toward the entrance.

"I can�t remember a lot of it, you know," Daniel said. "What I remember, though, is terrifying."

"I can imagine," Jack said, without really thinking about it. "No. No, actually, I can�t imagine it."

Daniel stood a few feet from the doors and stopped. He glanced at Jack and then said, "I hope not." He let Jack open the door for him, and together, Jack and Daniel walked to the registration desk.

"Morning," Jack said to the attendant behind the desk. He showed her his badge.

"Good morning, Colonel O�Neill," the attendant said in return. "How may I be of assistance, sir?"

Jack put his ID away and said, "I need you to page Doctor Sebastian for me."

"Yes, sir," she said, and began to dial.

Jack turned from the desk to find Daniel standing a few feet away. It seemed to Jack that Daniel was trying to fade into thin air. "Daniel?"

Daniel stared at an invisible image, known only to him, as real and tactile as the bag he held in his hand.

"Daniel?" Jack said again. He touched Daniel�s elbow.

Daniel�s eye shot up. He took a deep breath and said, "I�m fine."

"You sure you�re okay?" Jack asked, concerned that the people milling around the halls might see Daniel�s dissociative behavior.

"Yes," Daniel said, more forcefully than he had intended. A woman in a dress blue uniform seemed to be focusing in on him as she walked down the hall, her pace brisk and militaristic.

"You wanna sit down?"

"No." Daniel wondered why this woman seemed so intent on garnering his attention.

The woman nodded to Daniel and the lines around her eyes and mouth guided a gentle smile into place. "Colonel O�Neill," she said.

"Doctor Sebastian." Jack offered his hand, which she took. "Or is it Colonel Sebastian?"

"Either one. Hello," she said, turning to Daniel, and Jack was put at ease by the genuine warmth he saw in her expression. "I�m Abigail Sebastian."

Daniel glanced at her hand before taking it. "Um, Doctor Daniel Jackson."

"It�s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor," she said. She stepped to his side and motioned for them both to follow her down the hall. "Why don�t I show you to your room?"

Jack looked at Daniel to gauge his comfort level, but Daniel seemed lost, so Jack pointed in the direction Sebastian was walking and silently asked Daniel if he cared to join them. Daniel�s eyes darted from Jack�s hand to the hall to Sebastian, and finally he was able to take that first step toward his room.

There wasn�t a great deal of talking while they walked down the long, sterile corridor lined with doors, none of which were closed. Occasionally, Doctor Sebastian would point out certain areas�the TV room, the group-process room, the counseling rooms�but Daniel followed, knowing full well from his sporadic visits with Nick that when the time came for him to be anywhere, someone would come get him and take him. They always did, both here and there and everywhere in between. It was just a matter of waiting for that time.

"And this is your room," she said, holding the door open for him.

A bed, two chairs, a chest of drawers and a window that would not open.

"It�s almost time for lunch. You may choose to eat in your room today or in the cafeteria," she said.

"Thank you," Daniel told her, looking around the room.

"A nurse will be in shortly to help you settle in," she said. "We�ll talk later today."

"Fine," Daniel said.

"Colonel," Doctor Sebastian said, offering her hand, which Jack took. "Doctor."

"Yes," Daniel said, nodding. "Thank you."

And then she was gone.

Jack walked around the room, touching the bed, looking in drawers, keeping his hands busy so his mind wouldn�t have time to race. "This is, uh�this is nice."

"It�s austere," Daniel said, never having moved from his original spot in the room. His eyes glanced across the white, cotton bedspread, the white walls, the gray floor, the two wooden chairs, one with a green vinyl seat, one with a blue vinyl seat.

"Yeah, well, they don�t want you to get too comfortable," Jack told him, the corner of his mouth curling up. "You won�t be staying long."

Daniel sent Jack a chagrined look. Jack looked away.

"Can I, uh, help you put your things away?" Jack asked.

Daniel looked at the bed again, at the strangely familiar pillow encased in a slightly darker shade of white.

Jack followed his line of vision and said, "Oh, yeah. I stopped by your place and picked up your pillow." He shrugged his shoulders. "I don�t know. I guess I thought it might make you feel more comfortable. I know when I come home after a long mission, hitting my own pillow kind of makes me feel better. I don�t know."

Daniel crossed to the bed and placed his duffel bag on it. He touched the pillow and wondered what it felt like, what it smelled like. "I�ve been gone a long time, Jack. I don�t remember what�what�."

"You will," Jack assured him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and fidgeted with the change while he watched Daniel cross to the window and look out over the grounds of the Air Force Academy. "How ya doin�?"

It amazed Daniel that such a gloomy day could produce such blinding light. He squinted and felt the sting of tears building in his eyes and nose and knew the brightness was only partially responsible. He took a quick glance back at Jack and then again to the outdoors. "It�s bright. Hurts my eyes. I guess I�m not used to the light."

"Yeah. Maybe," Jack said. He listened as Daniel sniffed. Jack picked up the ever-present box of discount tissues off the chest of drawers and slid it along the windowsill to Daniel. Daniel looked at the box, blurred by the ridge of tears, and then looked back out the window, scanning the area for no reason, his focus shifted inward, concentrating on holding his emotions at bay.

"You call me if you need anything. Anything," Jack said.

The trees, the grass, the cement sidewalks chasing away from the building�they all melded together against the ashen sky. Daniel nodded to Jack.

"Doctor Jackson?" a voice said. Jack turned from the window, leaving Daniel to himself. "Oh, pardon me, sir," the young woman said. Jack put her at ease. The woman in the Class B uniform and short black hair said, "Doctor Jackson, my name is Sergeant Nancy Garanzia. I�ll be your day assistant, sir."

"I�m not an officer," Daniel told her, without bothering to turn around. "I�m a civilian contractor." Less than that, he thought.

"I am aware of that, sir," she said. "Why don�t we sit down, and I can talk you through some things."

"Should I�" Jack started, pointing to the door.

"If you would, sir," she said with the utmost respect.

"Sure. Right," Jack said. He patted Daniel on the arm and vacated the room.

Daniel took one last look at the world beyond his grasp, and turned to face his latest caretaker.

Nancy Garanzia pulled up the chairs and invited Daniel to take one, which, after a pause, he did. She sat opposite him, keeping a safe distance from Daniel. "Our main concern is your safety. That�s why the room seems so sparse. With that in mind, we require all our clients to remove their belts and shoelaces if you�re wearing them. Do you understand?"

Daniel�s shoulders slumped. He nodded. He unbuckled his leather belt and slid it through each belt loop, all the while wondering if she thought he was capable of hurting himself. All the while wondering if he were capable of the same. He handed the brown leather belt to her.

"Thank you," she said, laying it on the bed. "Can I help you with your shoes?"

Daniel looked down at his suede oxfords and couldn�t comprehend how the short laces could ever be considered a threat, but he didn�t question her. He leaned over, untied one and threaded the lace through the six holes, handed it to her and started on the second.

"Thank you, sir," she said, adding the shoelaces to the pile. "The door to your room will always be ajar. None of our clients� doors are able to shut. This is as much for your protection as it is for us, should we need to enter quickly. At this time, I need to go through your bag, Doctor Jackson. May I?"

Daniel nodded and feeling the weight of dejection overwhelming him, drove his elbows into his knees, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The humiliation never ended, he thought.

"Doctor Jackson, we�ll supply you with an electric shaver if you don�t have one," she said, taking his razor from his personal affects. "Can I assist you in putting your clothes away?"

"I can do it," he told her from his curled position.

Sergeant Garanzia sat down with him once more and began to speak. "You are scheduled to meet with Doctor Sebastian at 0900 each morning. I�ll come here approximately ten minutes before to accompany you to the session."

"Is that necessary?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she said. "Lunch is served at 1200. You may elect to eat in the cafeteria or in your room. Also, I will be bringing your medication to you and I will stay with you until you take it."

"They�re going to put me on drugs?" he asked, raking his hands through his long bangs.

"In the event that they do, yes, sir," she said. "If there is anything you require, please feel free to ask. I am here to help in any way I can."

"Thank you," Daniel said, but the sound was muted by his awkward position.

Sergeant Garanzia picked up the razor, the shoelaces and the belt from the bed. "Doctor Jackson, would you like to eat lunch here or in the cafeteria?"

"Here."

"Very good. I�ll see to it that a tray be delivered," she said. "You have an appointment with Doctor Sebastian at 1400 today. I�ll be here at approximately 1350 to escort you. Shall I ask the colonel to come back in?"

Daniel nodded, and she left the room.

"Hey," Jack said, stepping next to Daniel.

"Can you bring me an electric shaver?" Daniel asked. He wrapped his hands around the back of his head and tried to shut out the world.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," Jack said, taking the seat the young officer had been sitting in. "You okay?"

Daniel opened his eyes and looked at his shoes, saw how pathetic and useless they seemed without laces. What good would they be if he couldn�t tie them up? Useless and pathetic. "She took my shoe laces."

Jack glanced at his shoes and then back at Daniel, his face obscured by the curtain of hair. "Safety procedures. They just don�t want anything to happen to you."

"What the hell would I have done with a ten inch shoelace?" Daniel cried, lifting his face to Jack. His unruly bangs fell across his eyes.

"Well, for one thing, you could have used them to tie back that hair," Jack told him, raising his eyebrows.

Daniel stared at him for a moment, caught between withering tears and the ironic dark humor of it all.

When a sudden burst of laughter left Daniel, Jack felt himself breathe again. He watched Daniel pull his hands through his hair, away from his face.

"I meant to get it cut," Daniel said, but the levity abandoned his voice before the final word, and once again he was right at the precipice of cascading emotions. He brushed his hand through his hair, almost a form of self-comfort, stroking his hair as if it were being stroked for him.

Jack pulled the chair next to Daniel�s, so that he could sit beside him. He put an arm around Daniel�s back and rubbed Daniel�s arm. There were no words. There were no promises he could make to Daniel that would mitigate the intensity of the moment. Jack could only sit alongside Daniel, hushed and awash in his own oceanic pain.

Daniel felt the hand rubbing his arm, and for the first time in many months, wanted nothing more than to welcome the contact. That in itself, realizing how much he missed the feel of a comforting hand, made it all the more painful. He wanted, needed to be touched in a way that wasn�t base or that inflicted pain, but the months of abuse, the months of having his body violated and used�Even though he wanted to accept Jack�s comfort, he just couldn�t. He shrugged the hand away, and as soon as it was gone, he missed it.

Jack removed his hand and nodded. "Okay."

"I�m sorry," Daniel whispered. "I wish�"

"It�s okay," Jack said. "I think I understand."

"No, you can�t," Daniel said. "You can�t because I don�t understand."

"Okay."

Daniel pressed his shaking hands together, scouring them against each other. "You should go."

"I can stay," Jack said.

"No, you�d better go," Daniel told him.

"You sure?"

"I have some things I need to do," he said, wiping his sweaty palms against his thighs.

"Okay." Jack stood up and fought against the urge to give Daniel a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Electric shaver," Daniel reminded him, unable to meet Jack�s eye.

"Got it."

"Oh, and�"

"Yeah?"

"My loafers. My suit loafers."

"Right."

Daniel nodded his head and made a decision to go beyond his comfort. He reached out a hand to Jack, who took it, sliding his hand against Daniel�s, embracing it with both of his own.

Daniel kept his eyes riveted to the speckles of gray and beige in the tiled floor and shook Jack�s hand. Then grasped it. Then clutched Jack�s hand until the muscles in his arms began to twitch and shake.

"You�re gonna be okay," Jack said, though his words were lost in the sorrow of his voice. He patted Daniel�s hand and ran his hand along the length of his wrist. "You�re gonna be fine."

*****

There was a soft rap on the door, and Nancy Garanzia poked her head in the room.

"Doctor Jackson, it�s time for your meeting," she informed him.

Daniel sat with his elbow perched on the window ledge, letting the warmth of the sun seep into his skin. Quite sure his memories were closed and cordoned off, Daniel stood and followed the young woman from his room.

"How was your lunch, Doctor Jackson?" Nancy asked while they calmly made their way down the shining hall.

"Fine."

"You didn�t eat much, sir. If there�s any other food that would be more to your liking, please feel free to ask."

"That won�t be necessary," Daniel said, wondering which door would be the point of their arrival.

They stopped at a door with a sliding nameplate adhered to the outside. The present psychiatrist, Doctor Abigail Sebastian, was shown to have possession of the room and the head of the department.

Great, Daniel thought. The bigger the head case, the higher the rank�

"Ah, Doctor Jackson," the older physician said, placing her glasses on her desk. "Please, come in."

Nancy Garanzia held out a hand, guiding Daniel into the office. Daniel slipped past her and entered the room, sparse and uncluttered. He took a seat in a mauve modular chair against a pale blue wall. He looked at the reproduced art on the walls�Georgia O�Keefe�and wondered why all offices in the last fifteen years decided O�Keefe�s works symbolized the new aesthetic.

"Thank you, Sergeant Garanzia," Doctor Sebastian said.

"Ma�am," Nancy Garanzia said, vacating the room.

Daniel wriggled in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position. He placed both elbows on the armrests and wove his fingers together, and then waited for the barrage of questions to begin.

Dr. Sebastian slipped on her glasses, gathered a manila folder with its pages folded back, and took a few quick steps to the overstuffed chair across from Daniel. Slowly, with great care, she lowered herself into the cushion and placed the folder in her lap.

"You�ll have to excuse me," she said, with a sheepish smile. "I was in-line skating with my daughter a few days ago and I took a fall. I�m finding, in my fifties, that I don�t bounce back as quickly as I used to."

Daniel frowned, wondering why she was telling him the story.

"At this first session," she continued, jotting a note to herself, "I�d just like to get to know you a little, become familiar with how you came to be here."

"Jack," Daniel said, grasping the arms of his chair, lowering his eyes.

Doctor Sebastian glanced up from her notes. "Pardon me?"

"Jack brought me," he said, proud of his use of sarcasm once again. And just at the perfect time.

"Right. Very good," she said, smiling. Doctor Sebastian looked across the frames of her reading glasses, taking particular interest in the hollowness in his eyes, the way he scraped his thumbnail across the abraded skin on his index finger. "I�ve been reading your file."

"Of course, you have."

"Background information. You understand the need, yes?"

Daniel cleared his throat and nodded.

"You�ve been suffering from insomnia and flashbacks," she read. "Is this correct?"

"Some." Daniel ran his hand across his arm and tried to bring some warmth to it.

"Are you familiar with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?" she asked, flipping the pages of the file over the top, finally reaching the section for note taking.

"PTSD. Yes." He could feel the arctic chill stream across his forearm and up his shoulder. His back prickled with raised flesh.

"After having read your file and through conversations with Doctor Fraiser, I believe our best course of action would be to address the PTSD."

"Fine," Daniel said. He pulled up his collar closer to the back of his neck and hid his eyes from Doctor Sebastian lest she see the fear building in his.

"So," she began, noticing his fidgeting, his attempts at warming his body, "how does it feel to be home again? Oh, and, would you like me to turn up the thermometer in here? You seem cold."

"No. I�m fine. It feels fine," he said. There. That was easy enough. The sting of the chill began to leave his body.

"Fine? In what way? The temperature, or being home?"

Daniel shrugged, shook his head and said, "Um, both. I don�t know. Fine. Um, better than not being home�I guess."

"You guess?" she questioned.

Daniel stopped, regrouped and reminded himself of his purpose�to convince this person not to want to dig any deeper than he would allow. So he straightened himself up in his chair, worked up a smile and tried again.

"I mean, it�s�it�s comforting being back." Smile. Lift the brow. Nod.

Doctor Sebastian smiled back and watched him a studied eye, unconvinced. "Good. I�m pleased to hear that." She waited, kept her soft focus and neutral expression directly on him. Waited for Daniel to fill the silence with whatever he felt needed to be said. When nothing but the whir of the central air remained, she went on. "What�s it like being with your friends again?"

Daniel felt his cheeks flush, and suddenly the temperature in his body began to expeditiously rise. He had prepared himself to discuss the last few missing months, not his relationship with his friends. His eyes drifted across the room, focusing on nothing. A different approach would have to be taken to avoid this type of probing question. Quickly.

"Um, yeah, it�s good," he answered, shifting in his chair. "You weren�t born here, were you?"

"Excuse me?" she said.

"Your accent. Not much, but�English isn�t your first language," Daniel told her, attempting a smile that could hardly be considered sincere. He felt his pulse began to quicken and a throbbing ache beginning behind his left eye.

Doctor Sebastian ignored his question and wrote down a quick note. "Since you have no family, do your friends at the SGC fulfill that need for one?"

"Yes, somewhat. I guess," Daniel told her in abrupt, percussive words. "Where are you from?"

"Why do you ask?" she said.

"Curious," he told her, turning onto one hip. "I�m usually very good with accents."

"Yes, that�s right. You are a linguist," the doctor said, nodding. "You haven�t been able to return to your career yet. Do you miss that?"

Daniel concentrated all his attention on her speech patterns�the dentals, somewhat dampened; the vowels, a tad wider; a smidgen more nasal on the voiced consonants. "I don�t miss the paperwork, no. Um, Macedonian?"

"No," she said. "You seem to be deviating from my question. Is there a reason?"

"I�m just interested in you," Daniel told her, while the throb began to creep over the top of his skull. "I�m lucky enough to be able to speak to someone who is obviously multi-lingual. For a linguist, this is a fun."

"Do you consider yourself to be lucky?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, waiting for his answer, which she knew he would bury along with the rest.

"Luck. Um, no. I�m not sure I believe in luck," he said. Daniel closed his eyes only for a moment and could feel the pressure building in his left eye socket. "Croatian."

"No. What, in your opinion, does it mean to be lucky?" she asked, removing her glasses.

Daniel took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. "Well, let�s see. Luck means you have no control over the outcome of things. If you have no control, there�s no meaning. There has to be meaning," he told her in a short, clipped pattern. "Albanian?"

"Doctor, what do you believe was the meaning of your abduction, then?"

"Filipino?"

"No. What do you think the meaning was, Doctor Jackson?"

"I�m not sure. Maltese?"

"I don�t accept �I�m not sure� and �I don�t know,� Doctor. Now, what do you�"

"Thai."

She crossed her legs and regarded him with reserved skepticism. "Why are you so interested?"

"It�s my job. It�s what I do." Even in his own ears, he could hear that his voice sounded too animated, too manic.

"And when your job is to be the chief communicant, how did it make you feel when you could not communicate?" she asked. "How did it make you feel when they took away your ability to do what you do best?"

Daniel stared at her, stymied and unable to keep up the game. His lips moved, but his mind gave forth no words. Pin pricks of faint lights raced across his vision.

Doctor Sebastian held her glasses by the conjoined earpieces. She waited for his retort. Waited for him to respond. Knew that her question had finally tripped him up. Good, she thought. Perhaps we can begin to talk now.

"Doctor Jackson," she began, "what did you perceive the meaning to be when your captors took away your ability to speak?"

Daniel felt his breath hitch. He felt the cold sweat of a presence too close to his back. He slid his hand under his arm and pinched the hidden skin. "They had no oral�language. They, uh, were telepathic, I�I think." He stopped, stroked his aching forehead with his fingers. "I think they �" He practiced the sentence in his mind, unsure of the words, of the weight of the message, and if he could deliver it with enough credibility. "They muted me so�so I would be able communicate with them."

"Yes, I read that in your official debriefing. Did it help?" she asked.

"No. I�m�I�m not�telepathic," he said, and as he spoke, he found the ordeal becoming more and more laborious.

"That�s good," she said, smiling at him. "I�d be out of a job, otherwise."

Daniel closed his eyes while the tension of unavoidable memory again crept through his mind and the omnipotence of a quick-setting migraine hijacked his body.

Doctor Sebastian slid her glasses back onto her face and watched his physical reaction very carefully. In his chart, she recorded words such as "anxious," "fidgeting," "chilled then warm," "speech patterns interrupted."

"Doctor Jackson, would you like something to drink?"

Daniel ran his trembling hand through his hair, across his neck, and over his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose and crushed the area just under his eyebrow, trying to use acupressure to fend off the pain.

"Doctor Jackson?"

"I�m sorry," Daniel said after a moment. "I have a headache."

"Do you get many headaches?"

"No. Some," he lied. Daniel gritted his teeth and decided he would concede this point to her. "Yes. I seem to be getting more and more."

"Are you able to continue, or would you like to take a break?"

"I�m fine," he said, tossing his head back and feeling the painful tightness through his neck and shoulders.

"Very well," Doctor Sebastian said. "Let�s get back to your inability to communicate with�"

"No, that�s�that�s not correct. Not entirely," Daniel interrupted, holding his finger to his lips, prompting her to wait for his answer. He could feel the itching of panic rising in his spine and capped it off, diverting the question from his memory to his erudition. "Communication takes ma�many forms. Um, I began to�uh, understand their�um�" he waved his hands in the air, searching for the word.

"Body language?" she said.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Was it an effective way of communicating?"

An angry glare, a raised hand, eyes that bore into him. Yes, he thought, it was highly effective. "We came to �understand each other. Yes." Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and felt the taut cords, the tender flesh, all of it in response to the pounding in his head.

"But still, when your voice was restored, it took you a great deal of time before you would speak again. Why do you think that is?"

He thought it was a question he couldn�t possibly answer while the bones in his skull seemed to be cracking. "I�m sorry. I think my headache is getting much worse. Would it be possible to continue this later?"

"Certainly," Doctor Sebastian said, placing his file on the table next to her. She rose from her chair and stepped to her desk. "Are you currently taking anything specific for your headaches?"

"Only Tylenol," Daniel said, leaning forward so he could cradle his throbbing skull in his hands.

"Has that been working for you?" she asked. She removed a prescription pad from her top desk drawer.

"It takes the edge off. Sometimes."

Doctor Sebastian tore two sheets from the pad, wrote a note on each and placed them on the corner of her desk. "Doctor Jackson, I would like to prescribe two different medications for you�one for your headaches, and one to help assuage the symptoms of the PTSD."

"I�d really rather not be pumped full of drugs," Daniel said from his hunched position.

"I realize that, but these medications are very helpful," she said. "I have a sample of Imitrex here. Why don�t you see if it will help?" The doctor filled a glass with water, tore open a hermetically sealed packet, and handed the pills and the cup to Daniel.

Daniel stared at the two triangular pills in the soft-skinned palm of her hand. His focus riveted to the white pills, Daniel felt mired in hip-deep mud. What do I do? he asked himself. It probably started just like this for Nick, he thought. First, one drug for a headache, and soon, your life is about sorting through the blue ones, the round ones, the ones to help you sleep, the ones to keep you awake.

No, he didn�t want them. He hated the feeling of being disconnected and out of control. Hated the fog, the delay in reaction. No. He wouldn�t take it.

But when it felt like the bones of his eye socket were bulging, he acquiesced. He opened one eye so that he could see, took the pills from her hand, threw them to the back of his throat and gulped down the entire glass of water.

"Thank you," he said, handing her the glass.

"Perhaps a warm cloth?" she said, placing the empty glass on her credenza.

"No, I�m�" Daniel stopped and wondered if there was a word that could even come close to describing how he felt. "I�m�"

"Why don�t I call in Sergeant Garanzia and have her take you back to your room? We can continue this at another time," Doctor Sebastian said, stepping toward her door.

Daniel nodded and wished he hadn�t. The pain bounced against his skull with even the most incremental movement.

"Doctor Jackson," the sergeant said, before Daniel even realized enough time had passed for her to enter the room, "can I assist you, sir?"

Daniel kept his head very still, rose from the chair and hoped he could reach his quarters before he needed to vomit.

Continue to part 2

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