With just under ten minutes left before he was expected in the gateroom, Daniel pounded his fist against the bookcase.

"Come on! Where is it?" he said, his tension strangling the words. All he needed to find was that one book�Empirical Restrictions on the Power of Transformational Grammar�and he could join the rest of the team for their mission. One book, that�s all. Just find it, and go.

When his radio crackled to life, Daniel flinched. His hand slapped to his shoulder, hoping to intercept what he knew would be an impatient inquiry on the other end.

"Give me five more minutes," Daniel said, cramming the radio to his mouth. "Please."

"You�ve got three."

Daniel nodded and released the radio, knowing full well that Jack wouldn�t actually leave without him. Still, rather than risk having Jack burst into Daniel�s office, blasting out one curse word after another, Daniel decided a better course of action would be to just find the damn book as quickly as possible, and then run to the embarkation room. Equally as quickly as possible.

"Dammit!" he snarled, running his fingers over the spines of the books. His nerves were beginning to spark, his skin beginning to prickle and dampen. He was nearing the point of tossing each book from the shelf when his focus lighted on the book, fourth one in, on the top shelf.

Daniel let out a relieved gush of air, tore the book from the shelf and slammed it onto his desk. Placing one foot on the bottom shelf, Daniel hoisted himself high enough to reach the back of the top shelf, his fingers stretching to meet what he hoped would be there. The bookcase rattled and creaked, straining to support his weight but he ignored it. All that mattered was getting what he needed.

And there it was. Cool and smooth, tipping slightly when his fingers glanced it before actually grasping it, Daniel pulled down from the shelf a flashlight. Reaching out his free hand, he took hold of the grammar book. He shimmied the book back in place, grumbling to himself that after all the money he had paid for the damn thing he was finally getting some use out of it, and turned his back to the shelves.

"Light �em up," he said, screwing the top off the flashlight. He brought the handle to his lips and poured from the metal tube a mouthful of vodka. And then two mouthfuls. Always vodka at work. Gin or scotch at home, whiskey at the bar, wine with Sam, but vodka at work. And it wasn't as though deciding to keep a small stash safely hidden in his office was such a big deal. In fact, he began to wonder why he'd been so fastidious in that rule for so long. After all, some rules were made to be broken, especially if they weren't anyone's business but his own.

As the alcohol simultaneously burned and cooled his throat, Daniel closed his eyes, enjoying the immediate placidity, loving that unmistakable cold of alcohol evaporating on his lips. No one would ever understand the instant relief it brought him. They�d never be able to appreciate how much these few sips helped him get through the day, and he had no plans to try to explain it to anyone either. Besides, why try to explain that which didn�t need fixing?

He took one more long, slow sip, letting it pool in his mouth before swallowing, and checked his watch. He screwed the top back on the flashlight, turned it upside down to check the seal, and opened his off-world pack. Daniel pushed aside the paraphernalia which he had crammed into the pack, and lodged the flashlight upright toward the bottom.

Not that he�d use it off world. He had another rule�never off world. That was one rule he had no intention of breaking. Still, it was better to have it than not. Just in case. Although in case of what, he was never certain. And this morning, after the night he had been through (most of which he had little memory), he needed it. Just a couple swallows. Just enough to calm down. Like the saying went, a hair of the dog�

Okay, sure, if he were forced to admit it, Daniel would have to say it was getting beyond a hair of the dog and more toward the entire coat.

And he wasn�t sure how that had happened, at least not so quickly. Well, maybe he knew�

He had known he was getting bad, had known he should cut back, and so he�d resolved to do just that. For three days he didn�t drink. It was difficult, but he had managed. So when he woke up one morning with stabbing pains in his gut he took it in stride, called in sick, and went back to bed. When, two hours later, he woke up drenched in sweat, nauseous and in worse pain, he began to panic. He knew about withdrawal symptoms, and he knew what to look for, but he�d never been that bad before. Never.

"What the hell have I done?" he asked himself, but before he could answer his own question, Daniel doubled over in pain. Somehow he made it to the bathroom before he vomited. Crawling on his hands and knees, Daniel inched toward his bedroom, where he hoped to God he had left his phone. He slung his body against his bed, blindly reached up to the bedside table and found his phone.

"This is Doctor Fraiser."

"Janet?"

"Daniel?"

Daniel lodged the phone between his ear and the bed, clutched his midsection and began to pant in an effort to control the pain. "I�m sick, Janet."

"Okay, do you need me to�"

"I think I need an ambulance. I�" Daniel dropped his head back against the mattress, closing his eyes, sweat beading and dripping down his forehead.

"All right. Help is on the way, but you have to hang up now. Do you hear me, Daniel?"

Of course, he didn�t hear anything after that, and he didn�t care what he was going to have to tell her, and he didn�t care if he ever drank another thing in his life. In that endless fog of pain, fear and waiting for help to arrive, he made a promise to himself that he wouldn�t drink again. If he could just get through this and come out okay, he�d never touch another drop ever again, and�

Two days later he woke up in the infirmary, ready to answer for his condition.

"Well, hello there, stranger," Janet said, smiling down at him. "How do you feel?"

"I, uh�" Daniel hardly knew where to begin. I feel ashamed, I feel tired, I feel sick, I feel�

"You had us worried for a while. Another few minutes and your appendix would have ruptured." Janet reached out and grasped Daniel�s hand.

"My�my what?" Daniel asked, shaking his head in confusion. It was difficult to focus through the fog of medication and the need to close his heavy eyelids and go back to sleep.

"You had probably the worst appendicitis I have ever seen, and now you have a lovely scar as a souvenir," she told him continuing to offer him the softest of smiles.

Daniel closed his eyes and nodded, finding the diagnosis hard to believe. He even had to stifle an urge to laugh.

Appendicitis of all things, he thought. How stupid, how insignificant, and how incredible that it nearly killed me. Even after all the binges and all the times he�d willfully drunk himself into a state of near catatonia, he�d never once considered what damage he was inflicting upon himself. Until a few days ago, that is. For the first time in a very long time, he�d experienced genuine fear for his life. Fear that he�d finally managed to really do himself in this time. And here it was�something as seemingly innocuous as appendicitis. Funny how life worked.

Chiding himself for being so paranoid, Daniel decided to take the news of the ailment for what it was�a sign that it was time to start fresh.

And he did. His body free of alcohol, Daniel felt like he�d been given a second chance. He made a pact with himself to eat better, to exercise, to focus on his work. Focus. He just needed to focus. He had let it get away from him, but now he was back on track.

Focus.

Which is what he did.

Until the Replicators came to town, and Daniel was forced to make another in a long line of terrible decisions.

If anything merited a drink, that day certainly qualified.

That day turned into a week, when he was supposed to still be recuperating from surgery. That week turned into a month, and by the time his medical leave was up, Daniel had returned completely to his routine.

Routines, he decided, were good for a person. They made things easier to understand and deal with. As long as his routine, his only one, true habit didn�t get in the way of work, there was no reason to change it.

"Daniel!" cracked his radio.

"I�m on my way!" he shouted in frustrated reply. Daniel began to head for the door, then remembered something. Tearing open his desk drawer, he grabbed the travel-sized bottle of aftershave he kept there for such instances and dumped a generous amount in his palm. Even though vodka didn�t give any tell-tale odor, it was best not to take any chances. Swiping his hand over his face, neck and even the front of his T-shirt, Daniel planned to tell his team that he�d spilled. Closing the cap on the bottle, he tossed it onto the desk, forgetting to shut the drawer and leaving it gaping open.

As he dashed down the hall, from the breast pocket of his vest, Daniel pulled a wad of grape flavored bubble gum and jammed it in his mouth. The stuff tasted awful and smelled even worse but the stink overrode anything and everything else�a theory he�d tested and proven as far back as high school when in between classes, he�d sneak swigs of whiskey from a thermos.

As he ran toward the gateroom, Daniel�s pack bounced and sloshed across his back, and he began to sweat, grinding the gum with his teeth. He reached the gate room just as the fifth chevron engaged.

"I�m here! I�m�here!" Daniel gasped, filing in line with the others.

"This is a good time for you, I hope," Jack said, eyeing Daniel. "I mean, if it�s not�"

"Jack�"

"Did you get your book?" Sam asked, but something in her tone told Daniel she really didn't care about his book.

Daniel adjusted his pack and said, "No. I mean, yes. I found what I was looking for."

"What�s that smell?" Sam said, wrinkling her nose, her gaze fixed on Daniel.

Daniel glanced at her, tugged at his vest, and then fully took in her suspicious expression. "What?"

Jack leaned toward him and sniffed. "Are you wearing�perfume?"

"It�s aftershave," Daniel corrected. Although Jack was right�the combination of cologne and chemical grape made him stink like the cheap perfume aisle in a department store. Sweat ran down the side of his face and he swiped it away with the cuff of his jacket. "I was in a rush. I spilled a little."

"Well, you�re gonna attract every freakin� bug, animal and alien life form for twenty miles," Jack grumbled, scrunching his face in disgust.

"It�ll wear off in a few minutes," Daniel said. For effect, he fanned the neck of his T-shirt.

Jack turned to Sam. "Carter. When we get back�take Daniel shopping for some more� manly aftershave."

The seventh chevron engaged and they were given a go. As the team made their (its?) way up the ramp, Jack and Teal�c taking the lead, the subject was thankfully dropped. Daniel glanced at Sam who had moved up close beside him, and found she was still staring at him, scrutinizing him, even.

"What?" he said, defying her to question his story. Before she could even reply, Daniel caught up to Jack and Teal�c and stepped through the wormhole, silencing any queries or accusations Sam could pose. Silencing any questions he had no intention of ever answering.

*****

The evening sky was ugly�gray, devoid of nuance or warmth. Heavy clouds pressed down on the city, their outer reaches curling like beckoning fingers. Ropes of cold air braided through the cool, tagging him with what was to come, what could be.

Still, it could be worse. He could be on Euronda, trying to keep a group of genocidal egomaniacs from exterminating a group of "pesky breeders." He could be in an underground world being told to shut up, to do what he was told, to not ask questions, to ask questions, to figure out all the answers, oh, and could you do it yesterday?

A rumble of thunder rolled over the city and onto the balcony, low, ominous.

Rye rolled over the lip of his tumbler and onto his tongue, bitter and burning.

Another night, another end of a week. Or maybe it was the end of the day in the middle of the week�who knew? Did it matter?

History didn�t seem like history when you were living through it, somebody once said. Daniel chortled. Seems his history was his present. "Maybe you�ll think about that the next time you decide to behave like a stubborn little brat," Graham Davies had told him. "Shut up. Clear enough for you?" Jack had told him.

The drink still burned going down, and Daniel cleared his throat to ease some of the sting. Even so, this was better on every level than being in that bunker with a bunch of racist, extremist murderers. And with Jack. And with Sam, who was almost as bad as Jack.

And with Teal�c. And with Teal�c�s questions�"DanielJackson, there is a question I�ve desired to ask for many years."

"Uh, okay. What is it?"

"Why is it that the Tau�ri seem to so often celebrate victories and mourn with a gift of alcohol?"

"Ambassador Alar offered all celebratory wine, and when I declined the offer, he was highly offended."

"Yeah, well," Daniel snarked, spinning a pen on top of the briefing room table, "I wouldn�t take it personally. I�m not so sure that sharing wine and breaking bread with ol� Alar is in anyone�s best interest."

"But you drank with him and his cabinet members."

"Yes, I suppose I did, and my only defense is that it was before I realized we were sitting in an extra-terrestrial version of Hitler�s Eagle�s Nest."

"Well, Teal�c," Daniel began, angered at the turn the conversation had taken, "I drank because it was offered and�" And because I was having the worst shakes� "�and because at that moment, with Jack on my back for doing my job, I needed a drink."

"And why do you do that, drink out of need?"

"Excuse me?"

"I have often heard you and many others say, �I need a drink.� What is it about alcohol that brings such comfort and ease?"

"I�m not sure I want to have this conversation with you, Teal�c," Daniel said, feeling his face hot from anger and embarrassment.

Oh, yeah, sitting on his balcony, joints loose, vision blurred, was considerably better than anything or anyone having to do with Euronda.

"Why do you do that, drink out of need?"

"To hell with Teal�c," Daniel stammered. "To hell with all of them." He tossed back another swallow, and closed his eyes to ease the pain. "Why I do it is my business." Daniel slunk down in his chair and cooled down his aching eyes with the butt of his tumbler.

Why do I do this? he wondered, watching the amber liquid slosh against the sides of his tumbler, leaving legs that slid down to meet the rest. Why do I do this?

Daniel reached below his chair to grasp hold of the bottle�not quite as heavy as he thought it would be, which meant he had drunk more than he�d remembered. He drew the bottle up close to his eyes and tried to look though it with the aid of any light from the waning evening sky. About one third left. Should probably save it.

"For what?" he asked the breeze. His half-empty glass was precariously balanced on the off-kilter chair arm. Daniel lifted it, a dizzying movement, and began to top it off. He�d meant to fill the glass to that respectable level, about an inch below the lip, but what his mind said to do and what his hand was able to do were two different things. Bottle in one hand, tumbler in the other, he had a problem�put down the bottle and risk spilling his drink, or sip the drink and risk tipping the bottle.

He might be drunk, but he had his priorities.

Daniel wedged the bottle between his legs, leaned forward, and sipped the top off the drink. There was no way he was going to spill any of it. Just no way. Accident averted, Daniel grabbed the lightweight bottle, draped it over the side of his chair, and was relatively sure his reach extended to the ground. The ornately carved glass bottle hit the ground with a percussive thunk, and wobbled before righting itself. He glanced down to make sure it was still standing. Satisfied, he brought his glass to his mouth, took a swallow, and asked again, Why do I do this?

Daniel slunk down farther into his rattan deck chair. Such a stupid name for it, deck chair. Four floors above the ground did not make for a deck. It was a patio chair, a cheap, imitation rattan chair. Without allowing himself to consider the potential difficulties bringing Sha�re to Earth would entail, he had bought a pair of the chairs when he moved into the apartment. He had a dream that one day he and Sha�re would sit out on the patio in the warm spring evenings, the cool summer nights. He had saved his money with the same intentions, that when Sha�re came to live with him, they�d buy a house, one that they would choose together. He had bought trinkets, little treasures he thought Sha�re would enjoy, which would make her transition between worlds a little more pleasant. He had kept his apartment clean, uncluttered, in the thought that at any point they�d find Sha�re, and he wouldn�t want to bring her home to a messy apartment. He had slept on the left side of the bed, never on the right, because that�s how they had slept on their bed in Abydos, and when Sha�re�

God, so much time and energy wasted on "when." What an idiot he had been to believe, to dream about such bullshit.

Now the apartment was a mess, thousands of dollars were gone or missing, the trinkets had been thrown away, and the cheap, imitation rattan chairs were pocked with cigarette burns.

He still slept on the left side of the bed. That is when he made it to his bed before passing out. When was the last time he�d slept in his bed?

"And what time is it?" He illuminated the face of his watch. 2309. Daniel dropped his head back and did the math�he needed five hours after his last drink to sober up enough to go to work. Worst case scenario, he needed five hours between his last drink and the time he had to show up in the gateroom. So, okay, 2309� Gateroom by�

He�d get there. And wasn�t that a testament to how well he was handling his drinking? He wasn�t late to work, he got all his paperwork done on time, and as far as he was concerned, it was all good.

Okay, he had to be back on base by�Shit, what time was it?

An unexpected breeze blew back his hair, and he felt as if he�d been drifting.

Daniel ran a hand through his hair and over his scruffy beard. When was the last time he�d shaved? Two days, three days ago? Did it matter? Put it all behind�his day, his week, his job, his future. What a conundrum, placing a future in the past.

"Now that�s something to consider," he said. In order to better explore the possibilities, he swallowed a mouthful of the bitter liquor and cleared his throat. Just like that, the problem was solved. Another sip, and the entire thought was lost.

Did he bring out his cigarettes? Now was the time of night that he liked to have a cigarette or two. It seemed to make the feeling last, or made it even more mellow, smooth, languid. That harsh smoke, mingled with bitter liquid, created a mélange that turned his aching, jutting bones to mush and his aching, jutting thoughts to silence. He patted down his shirt, his pants. He dug in crease of the chair and found a crumpled piece of cardboard. He pulled it free from the fraying rattan. A crushed pack of Camels; he fumbled it open. Only there was nothing inside but empty, damp foil and a muted, but still tantalizing whiff of tobacco. Cursing, he tossed the empty wrapper to the balcony floor in frustration and disgust.

"Dammit." He slumped back in his chair, thumping the back of his head on the chair frame. "I just wanted one fucking cigarette." He rasped his hand over his face, picked up his glass and took a sip. His drink splashed against his lips and burned the inside of his mouth. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the rye, on the welcome burn as it slid down his throat, and somewhere in that communion of spirits, he relaxed. He even forgot about the need for a smoke.

So, what was the reason? he asked himself again, the question swirling and tumbling around in his mind � an endless spiral of doubt and need for justification. Why did he spend all his evenings at home with a bottle, or at a bar with a glass, or off-world hoping the inhabitants would offer him some of their local distilled goods, even if they were war criminals? Because the plan of sipping coffee out on the balcony with his wife was gone, and it had been replaced with the only other thing he could rely on. That he could always rely on. Because anytime he felt the need to forget, he could always buy another bottle. There was nothing in life so remarkably comforting and reassuring as that.

Cool evening air gave over to cold, damp blasts out of the northwest. Ashen skies deepened into coal-black nothingness. Timid mist crept over the balcony railing, followed shortly thereafter by insistent pelting rain.

Daniel covered his drink so that the rainwater wouldn�t dilute its strength.

Some things had to remain consistent.

*****

Mission after mission after mission, two more down, and the two following it turned out to be rather uneventful. Jack thought he should be grateful for the regularity, the utter routine logistics. Unfortunately, Jack had never been one to relish the routine. In fact, it bored the hell out of him, and maybe that boredom was what caused him to get on Daniel�s case, as had been the norm of late. Maybe it was that he hadn�t had to discharge his weapon in weeks, at least not at anything productive. A log or two.

Maybe it wasn�t the mission schedule at all. Maybe, it was� Daniel. The Daniel who questioned him at every turn, even more than usual, who was petulant and short, who�Well, the truth was�and maybe it was years of military standards�Jack was fairly irked at Daniel�s sudden lack of personal hygiene. Every other day he would show up unshaved, or looking like he had shaved in transit, and not to mention, he always smelled like he was trying to drown himself in aftershave or antiseptic mouthwash. Like he was trying to hide something.

Not to mention Daniel�s near-total ambivalence toward their team and his recent space-cadet behavior on missions.

So, yes, Jack had a reason for the litany of lectures. Lectures on why it so wasn�t a good idea for Daniel to be continually late for embarkations. Or the fact that if he didn�t get his head out of the clouds, sooner rather than later, he was going to find himself working at a permanent desk job for the sake of his own personal safety. Acting spacey on missions equaled a target on the back of one�s jacket, Jack had told him, more than once, in both explanation and threat. And even though he knew he was starting to sound like his old nightmare of a drill sergeant, Jack couldn�t help subjecting Daniel to entire locker room briefings on why his recent excessive pissiness wasn�t good for team morale or for Jack�s mental health.

As for Daniel, he was pretty sure the blame lay in Jack�s hands.

Daniel hadn�t thought he was behaving in a spacey manner or acting particularly pissy. Well, maybe a little pissy, but that was only in reaction to Jack, as usual, and of course, Jack hadn�t a clue as to how annoying he could truly be.

Even Sam was in on making Daniel�s life difficult. Asking loaded questions, weighing his guarded answers a little too closely, suspicion clouding her eyes. And Teal�c�well, Teal�c had always been able to express so much disapproval with a mere glance.

To be honest, Daniel was getting sick of it, of all of them.

Lately, he was finding the base itself to be cloying and restrictive. He always had to be on guard, always on his best behavior there, never knowing who would barge unannounced into his office. It was always a relief to be able to go home, and get away from that place, away from all of them. Escaping to his apartment was like finally being able to breathe again. A respite from criticism, from questions and concerned glances when his team thought he wasn�t looking.

Whenever he could, he began to do much of his paperwork from home, on his laptop, a bottle of Scotch and a tumbler beside him on the dining room table. Having the glass within easy reach helped him concentrate and stay focused. Sometimes, he�d down half a bottle without realizing he was doing so until he�d happened to glance at the line of liquid remaining.

The fact that he still felt relatively sober after consuming such amounts should have alarmed him, but it didn�t. Instead, everything�his thoughts, his emotions, his surroundings�muted to a quiet hum, a pleasant sense of calm. It was the state of mind he always strove to attain, and the alcohol was merely a tool to help him reach it. He also couldn�t withhold a measure of pride that his translations were always perfectly accurate no matter how much he�d indulged while working on them.

He was managing just fine. He had it all down to a routine. A science, even.

That is, if you didn�t count the many mornings he overslept and had to drive in to work still legally inebriated and breaking every traffic law in the state. Or if you didn�t count the fact that when he wasn�t drinking, he was always on edge, always wondering when and where he could sneak the next one in.

No, none of those things mattered, because he didn�t allow himself to think of them. If those thoughts and escalating fear did sneak in unbidden, well then, all he had to do was drown them into silence.

Unfortunately, the night before, he had drowned those thoughts a little too successfully, and had woken with a screaming headache, a churning stomach and a matching temper.

Arriving late to work for the third time that week, he tried to slink through the myriad levels and hallways without having to speak to any of his teammates. Security had been a breeze; circumventing the science wing had been time consuming; ducking into another man�s office to prevent a confrontation with Janet had ratcheted his headache up a few notches. However, with his office in sight, Daniel felt his shoulders relaxing, and the knot that was his forehead began to loosen.

Until the Jack�s hulking figure filled the hallway. Daniel tensed as he tried to edge past the total embodiment of his misery. Jack shifted left; Daniel shifted right. Jack shifted right; Daniel shifted left. It was an impasse, which seemed wholly appropriate in his mind.

"Jack," Daniel all but growled, "I�m not in the mood for this, right now."

"Yeah, I can see that," Jack said, eyeing him up and down. Taking in the dark circles under Daniel�s eyes, his tousled hair and missed spots of stubble from his hasty morning shave, Jack arched an eyebrow and said, "So, you still go by Dr. Jackson, right? It�s been such a long time since you�ve shown your face around here, I�ve kind of lost track of your many distinguished titles."

"I see you�re still working on that comedy routine, huh, Jack?" Daniel snarked, shouldering past the other man.

"No time," Jack said, undeterred and hot on Daniel�s heels. "I just can�t seem to find the time between wondering where you are and wondering where you�ve been."

"I�m touched that you care so much," Daniel said, ripping his key card from his jacket, finding his shaking hands were not going to cooperate. Rather than let Jack see the trembling, Daniel spun to face and confront him. "Is there a point to all this? Because if there is, just tell me. Otherwise, I have a lot of work to do."

"Oh, well, sorry to inconvenience you with little matters of� your job, but Carter has been looking for you."

Daniel shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "I�ve been here. She must have just missed me."

"No, see, Carter doesn�t miss things," Jack reminded him. "Carter is thorough, meticulous, even. You, on the other hand, are not. At least not in the last couple months."

"Gee, Jack, had I known I was up for my annual review, I would have brought coffee," Daniel sneered, having had enough of this inquisition already. "But I believe�and correct me if I�m wrong�that I�m not due for my review until next quarter. Which means this impromptu review is neither needed nor pragmatic."

"So, where have you been, Daniel?" Jack asked, tiring of the games.

"Here and there." Daniel wrapped his arms across his midsection.

"And where exactly might �there� be?"

"Again, is there a point to this?"

"Yeah, there is. The point is this: you�ve always been flaky, and I could deal with that, but lately you�re giving the word a whole new definition."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Daniel said, a surge of anger flaring and bringing color to his pallid cheeks.

"It means I�m getting sick of your attitude lately. You don�t seem to give a shit about what�s going on around here anymore."

"Maybe I�ve just figured out that there�s more to life than this base," Daniel countered.

Jack shook his head. "Nah, I�m not buying it."

"You know, Jack�"

"So what is it you�ve been doing that has you coming in here looking like you�ve been sleeping in your car for the past few weeks?" Jack asked, point blank.

"Th-this is�is�" Daniel sputtered, his aggravation, coupled with the blinding headache rendering him incapable of coherent speech.

"You� aren�t sleeping in your car, are you? I mean� you have been known to fall asleep in odd places�"

"Are we done?" Daniel demanded, crooking his thumb over his shoulder, toward his door.

Jack stared at him a moment in blatant disapproval, then clucked his tongue against his cheek. "All right, fine," he said. "I�ll lay it on the line for you here. Consider yourself on notice that you need to step it up a notch. I don�t have time for this�this�whatever it is going on with you."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Finished?"

"I�m not kidding around here, Daniel."

"I�m not laughing."

It wasn�t done, and Jack knew it. He�d seen that deadeye stare from Daniel before, the one that said he�d heard, but had no intention of listening. There was something different about this one, though. It was darker, colder, but something else. Something lost, something desperate.

"Just get it together, Daniel," Jack said, breaking the tense, angry silence. And then, before he caught himself saying things he�d likely regret, he turned his back and stormed away.

Daniel rolled his shoulders, his neck, and wiped the sweat off his hands. He turned and somehow managed to unlock his door.

*****

The negotiations had gone very well. The Purchazi people, a well-organized, amiable civilization on P34-581, were happy to be receiving engineering help. Jack was happy they didn�t believe in violence. General Hammond was happy Sam would be coming home with new ways to enrich naquaada. Teal�c was happy that the Purchazi were wise to the ways of the Goa�uld. They were all happy and ready to go their merry ways. None more than Daniel, who was working on almost 48 hours dry.

But first, a celebration.

The honored guests, SG1, were seated around an ornate table. The surface was covered with bowls of grains, platters of succulent meat, freshly picked fruit, and roasted vegetables. After a perfunctory note of appreciation, Jack forked a piece of the meat, sniffed it for good measure, and forced a smile for his hosts. Knowing he was about to venture into that world where his gastrointestinal system might soon have to take up the "soldiering on through thick and thin," Jack placed the food in his mouth. He chewed it. He quirked a face.

"Carter," he said, leaning over, cutting another piece.

"Yes, sir."

"This meat."

"What about it, sir?"

"It tastes like�"

"Chicken?"

"No," he said, eyeing her curiously, "it tastes like meat. Cow meat. Beef." He paused and curiosity gave way to suspicion. "Really? You taste chicken?"

"Never mind, sir." Sam smiled, and when a plate was set before her, she graciously accepted it, mystery meat and all.

Teal�c was the one who most pleased their hosts, pounding his way through serving after serving of the meal. The Purchazi smiled to each other, nodded, motioned at their guests, making sure the cooks saw how well their dishes were being appreciated.

All were feeling congenial. All but Daniel, whose stomach was cramped and whose limbs twitched with near electrical impulses. He was thankful for the cloth placed in front of him. He wadded it up in his sweating hands. The plate of food before him smelled heavy and cloying, exactly the kind of thing his stomach could not handle. He pushed pieces of food from one side of the wooden plate to the other, manufacturing tepid smiles for their hosts all the same.

"Daniel," Sam said, first lowering, then turning her head so only he would hear, "is everything okay?"

Daniel wiped the cloth over his mouth, tried to pull in one scentless breath through it.

Sam put down her fork and touched Daniel�s back. "Hey, are you okay?"

Daniel glanced at her irritably. "I�m fine. Why are you always assuming�"

"Look, I just asked how you are," she said, taken aback by his tone. "I won�t let it happen again."

"No, Sam � I� I�m sorry," he said, taking a deep breath. Even though he knew Sam had nothing to do with the way he felt, her constant mother-hen attitude toward him had grown annoying long ago. Still, she didn�t deserve being talked to that way. Not completely. "I just�I think I may be coming down with something."

Sam weighed his explanation with what she thought might truly be going on, and decided just to stay on his good side. For now. "Do you need to go back to�"

"Wine?" asked a Purchazi woman who had come up behind Daniel, startling them both.

"Please. Yes," Daniel answered, and even he thought the acceptance sounded a little too desperate, and so with a smile, he added, "but not too much."

The Purchazi woman filled his glass halfway, offered him a smile in return, and moved on. Daniel lifted the cup to his nose and took a deep sniff. His mind said, "Happy day." His expression said, "What is this?" He hoped Sam would read his expression and not his mind. He took one careful, dramatic sip, and pulled a face. All for show, of course. The stuff was strong, much more potent than any regular wine on Earth, but he knew one glass would barely even take the edge off his frayed nerve endings. He drew in another whiff, and the alcohol painted over the back of his throat, seeped into his soft palate. He closed his eyes in relief. When he opened them, he noticed Jack and Sam staring at him. Daniel lowered his focus and reluctantly put the cup down.

"Have you tried it?" he asked Jack, wanting, no, needing to take another gulp more than ever, but he held off, sliding the cup back and forth on the table. "It�s� umm� different."

"Not bad," Jack said, the cold impassivity in his voice barely masking the disdain. "That is, if you like Mad Dog 20/20."

"Nope, can�t say that I do," Daniel replied, pushing the cup away from his plate. Great, he thought. Now there were two sets of eyes locked on him. "I�m going to use the facilities, such as they are."

"Yup," Jack said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes full of suspicion.

Daniel lost himself in the crowd of people inside the squat room. Once he thought he had enough bodies between him and the table, he grabbed the first person passing with a pitcher.

"�Scuse me," he said, smiling amiably. "Is that wine?"

The young woman smiled back and told him it was.

"Look, I need to leave the party for a bit. Can I�?" he said, motioning for the pitcher. She looked confused, glancing between him and her pitcher of wine. Daniel took a peek into the pitcher and found it half full, about a quart or so. Just the amount he thought he might need. "Um," he said, stalling for time, "in my culture, it�s considered a sign of respect to�to take the wine from the host and refill it. It, uh, it�s what we do to show respect."

"Oh," she said, no more clearer on the subject, but even still, she handed the pitcher to Daniel. "The casks are in the house across the lane. Here, I can�"

"No. No, I can find it," he said, afraid she would follow him across the lane, into the house, back to the party, and attend to him the rest of the night. "Thank you. I�ll be fine." He took hold of the pitcher and backed out of the party.

Once outside, Daniel diverted his way and skulked out of sight behind the building. More importantly, out of the sight of his team. They were constantly looking, constantly watching, accusing, asking, judging, and this wasn�t any of their concern. This was something he�d always done alone, something of his own.

He found an unlit sidewall, plastered his back against it, and lifted the pitcher. His mouth met the earthenware vessel midpoint and he let pour a sluice of good fortune. The unsophisticated brew burned his tongue, and the high percentage of alcohol evaporated quickly against the inside of his cheeks. A shiver rippled involuntarily over his skin.

But the wine spread with a delicious heat over his shoulders and through his arms. It went down his esophagus like velvet on fire. He loved this feeling, this first sip, when there was instant relief. When the terrible pressure in his gut was replaced with warm comfort. He let his weary lids shut in order to relish the moment.

And then he drank. Until he was loose. Until he felt he could go back in there.

Until he remembered where he was. He nearly dropped the pitcher when he realized that it was almost empty, not even half a glass left, by his estimation. He hadn�t meant to drink that much � only enough to feel normal again, and this was� this was� god, this was bad�

He hadn�t meant to do this. Not on a mission� Never on a mission.

"Dammit!" he cursed under his breath, a shiver of fear sneaking through the haze, his heart pounding. He dumped the remaining wine on the ground, figuring he could always say that he�d spilled if anyone asked and hurried back into the street, in search of the house that contained the casks. He knocked quietly on one door, but heard nothing. When he started out for the next building down the darkened lane, he became aware of a presence.

"Hello?" he called out, brandishing the pitcher.

"Decided to become part of the wait staff?"

"Jack?"

From out of the shadows, the colonel appeared. "Had a little private wine tasting party, did ya?"

"What?" Daniel asked, flipping through his memory of just how dark it was, and if he had seen anyone behind him. How the hell could Jack know? He couldn�t. Plausible deniability. "This? No, it�s empty," Daniel said, tipping over the pitcher. "I was just helping out the woman who� I told her I�d fill it for her while I was out. And I was just looking for�"

"Uh-huh."

"She said the casks were somewhere in one of these buildings," Daniel said, turning his attention toward the farthest house from Jack.

"Carter said you weren�t feeling too well."

"Carter should get a life," he muttered.

"What�s that?"

"Nothing." Daniel continued his walk through the night-shaded lane, not wanting Jack to get too close. "I guess I just� needed some fresh air."

"Uh-huh."

The tone in Jack�s voice was beginning to grate on Daniel�s nerves, so he stopped where he was and said, "Jack, is there something on your mind?"

"Yup," he said.

"Well, go ahead. Anytime now."

"You know, when we�re off world, on a mission, I expect certain behaviors from my team. The one I might consider waaaaaay up there is not being drunk," Jack said.

"I�m not drunk."

"Yeah, but you will be."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Jack took one darting step toward Daniel. His voice reverberated with anger. "Daniel, I saw you leave with a nearly full pitcher. You told me this was over."

"I � I don�t even know what�" he stammered helplessly a moment, then remembered. "I uh� I spilled it," he added, pointing behind him. "Stumbled on something and�"

"You told me this was a phase."

"It is," Daniel stated before he could work out the appropriate verb tense, which wasn�t lost on Jack whose features became even more clouded with anger. "I mean it was."

"Right." Jack�s black eyes tacked Daniel in his place.

"Jack, I haven�t�" he began, trying to be much more careful and precise with his words. The wine, however, was making its way through his brain. "I haven�t had a drink, besides a little wine tonight, in�I don�t know, four, five days."

"Congratulations," Jack said. "Tell me when it�s been a year."

"What are you trying to say, Jack?"

"It�s this." Jack inched forward, breaching the safe distance that Daniel relied on. "You�re finished for the night. I don�t want you in that hall. I don�t want you with the rest of us. I don�t want you talking to anyone. What I want is for you to get to camp and stay there. You�re no good to me."

"Don�t you think that�s a little dramatic, Jack?" Daniel said, ensuring to speak slowly and carefully, so that he wouldn�t accidentally slur.

"Sir?" said Sam, joining the two men in the darkened street. Even in the limited light, Sam easily understood the tension between Jack and Daniel.

"Tell him, Sam," Daniel said, shooting her a quick, pleading look.

"Tell him what?" she asked.

"That I�m�" Daniel began, tripping over his thoughts. "Jack thinks I�ve been drinking and... and I haven't. At least no more than you guys have... Tell him�"

"Um, sir, I gave Daniel an antihistamine just over an hour ago," Sam said, realizing that Daniel needed a modicum of protection at that moment.

"Yes, see?" Daniel spat out.

"I think it mixed with the little wine he had at dinner," Sam added with an apologetic shrug.

"A little wine," Jack said, trapping Daniel in his stare.

"Yes, sir. I�ll get him some water, and I�m sure he�ll feel better," Sam said.

"Right," Jack said, nodding, pursing his mouth with skepticism. "Do that."

"So, see?" Daniel said, crossing his arms indignantly. "I think you owe me an apology."

Jack stared at Daniel, his face hardened by anger and disbelief. "Carter, take Daniel back to camp now. Make sure he gets that water."

"Yes, sir," said Sam, keeping her eye on Daniel, who seemed to be wavering a little.

"Jesus, Jack," Daniel laughed, the alcohol rushing through his body. "Lighten up, will ya?"

Jack pointed a warning finger at him. "Go to bed, Daniel."

"Daniel, let�s go," Sam said, reaching for his arm.

"Not before Jack�"

Before he could even finish, Jack suddenly had one hand twisted around Daniel�s collar, the other pointing in his face.

"Sir!" Sam yelped. With a glare from Jack, she backed up.

"Listen up, Daniel!" Jack snarled, his nose mere inches from Daniel's. "Tomorrow, we go home. The second we get back, I mean the goddamned second we hit the ramp, you and I are gonna have us a talk, and maybe, just maybe, I won�t report this incident to General Hammond."

"There isn�t any incident to report, other than you acting like a paranoid, uptight ass," Daniel countered as he met the other man�s angry glare full on.

Sam gaped at her friend in astonishment.

"Daniel," Jack growled as he gave the younger man a rough shake. "Not another word."

And by the growing anger in Jack�s eyes, Daniel knew he�d better not push him any further. He looked at Sam. "I... I guess I�m gonna go to bed now," he said, and hoping his voice sounded more spiteful than his spirit.

"I guess you are," Jack said in a deceptively soft voice.

Daniel looked down into the empty pitcher. With the sort of bravado that only the very stupid or the very inebriated display, he handed the pitcher to Jack, smirked, and said, "You might want to fill this up and bring it back to the party. Show of respect."

"Major�" Jack snarled. "If you don't�"

"Right. We�ll just head back to camp now." Sam wedged herself between the colonel and her friend, pulling him away.

Daniel shrugged her off. "I don't think I need any help tucking myself in, but thanks anyway."

"Get out of here, Daniel," Jack ground out through a clenched jaw. "Now!"

"Yes, sir, Colonel, sir," Daniel slurred back, unable to stop himself. He tried for a salute, but it ended up as more of a sloppy wave instead.

"Let�s go," Sam said. She took him by the elbow and nearly dragged him away from his own reckless stupidity. Once they were far enough from the village, Sam found she had some questions of her own. "Daniel, tell me this is because of the antihistamine I gave you."

Daniel stared at her a moment. Antihistamine? He had no idea what she was talking about and had no recollection of having taken one, but still, he shrugged and schooled his features into his most earnest expression. "Yes, Sam. It�s� the drugs. Absolutely."

"Because if it isn�t, I just lied to my superior officer," she reminded him. "You understand how much trouble I could get in for doing that, right?"

"Look, Sam," Daniel said, stopping in his tracks. "I don�t need you to cover for me. First off, there�s nothing to cover for, and more importantly, even if there were something to cover, I wouldn�t need you to do it."

Sam looked him over and wondered how things had escalated to this point. "Fine, you don�t need me. But you need something."

"Yeah, like a better drink," Daniel laughed. "My first batch of moonshine was better than that�"

"You think this is funny? You think this is a joke?" she interrupted.

"Sam, what�s funny is that you all think there�s something wrong with me," he said, anger suddenly filling him. "What I think is you should just back the hell off and leave me alone, �cause I�m fine."

"Fine," she said, hurt by his rejection.

And in a moment of clarity, Daniel realized Sam was his only ally at the moment. He tore his hands through his hair and let out a frustrated sigh. "Sam, look. I�m just tired. That�s all. That�s all this is. It�s been a rotten couple weeks, a rotten� terrible year. I just� I�m tired and like Jack said, I should go to bed." He took a few steps away from her and stumbled over a twig that caught on his boot.

"You really are drunk, aren't you?" Sam stared at him, the truth slowly and reluctantly taking hold.

"No! "Dammit, Sam!" he shouted, throwing up his hands in frustration. "What part of �I�m tired� don�t you get?"

Sam bit back her shock at his uncharacteristic anger, and then her own temper rose to the surface. How many more times would he expect her to believe that excuse? How many more times would she have to listen to it? She didn't want to listen to it anymore. She couldn�t even begin to decide what she wanted to say to him, what she even should say to him at this point. What could she possibly say that would make any difference right now?

Sam shook her head, turned toward camp, listening to make sure he was following behind, which he did after a few moments.

By the time they reached camp, Daniel was barely able to keep his eyes open. She helped him remove his boots and his jacket, and then helped him into his sleeping bag. After he had fallen asleep, she thought she might go through his pack and see if there was anything in there that she should know about. She�d had her suspicions in the last few weeks that he was bringing more than the standard issue on each mission, but she was, in truth, afraid to ask, afraid of the answer. She began to open his pack, but stopped. What was left but the trust she had in Daniel? If she went into his pack, she would in effect destroy the only thing left in their relationship.

And she really needed to hold on to that. Since Sha�re�s death, Daniel was distant at best, angry most of the time, and seeming to self-destruct in front of her. What could she do? She had tried to reach out to him, tried to offer her hand, a shoulder to cry on, a sofa to sleep on. But he had accepted nothing, and had only stepped further and further away from them all. If she gave up on the trust they had built over the years, she would lose the only thing left of their friendship, and she couldn�t do that. She needed him too much.

So she left him sleeping it off, whatever it was. And she hoped that when he woke, they could begin again.

Even still, she found she was beginning to lose hope in that dream, as well.

*****

The sun slanted through the curtains, beams of light falling across Daniel�s face, stirring him to reluctant wakefulness. He pressed his nose into the pillow, needing to sleep more but the pounding in his temples was far too strong to allow unconsciousness to reclaim him.

Lifting his head and squinting against the light streaming into his burning eyes, Daniel realized with a start that the angle of the sun was all wrong. It should have been coming from the opposite side of the room. The blanket loosely clasped in his fist and tangled around his legs was wrong too. Coarse, cheap, pilling brown wool instead of his navy, down-filled duvet.

Bolting upright, he gasped and pressed a hand to his forehead when a wave of nausea and a bolt of pain crashed through his skull. Blinking against the pounding in his temples, he tried to take stock of his surroundings. Wood paneling and faded amateurish prints of indistinct landscapes adorned the walls, a small desk stood beside the bed. The floor was carpeted in a yellowish-brown shag. The room stank of stale cigarette smoke, old vomit and alcohol.

He was in a motel room. A very cheap one at that.

In an instant, panic overtook everything else. Hurling himself from the bed, Daniel stumbled to the dusty, dirt smeared window, peered out to see his own car parked directly outside. Beyond that lay an unfamiliar expanse of highway and a truck stop type diner across the parking lot.

Daniel�s heart began to race with a strange sensation of sickening terror. He had no recollection whatsoever of how he had come to be in this place. Without realizing it, he began to pace, chewing on his ragged thumbnail and frantically attempting to summon any memory of the previous night, but there was nothing. Just a terrifying black chasm of lost time.

No, wait. Something rose to the surface of his scrambled memory. He recalled going to the corner store at around 18:00 to pick up some cigarettes�somehow and somewhere over the past six months, he�d picked up the habit�and after that� nothing.

Daniel had heard of blackouts, but he�d never experienced one before. At least not one of this magnitude, nothing ever this complete. He�d always tried to maintain his control, no matter what. He�d always tried to confine the worst of his drinking to the safety of his home, so how the hell had he come to be here? What in god�s name had he been doing?

"Oh god oh god oh god�" he chanted under his breath, still pacing. His rumpled reflection in the desk mirror caught his attention, but he tried not to look too closely at it. Then he noticed the stationery placed on the desk. He snatched up a business card that read, "Welcome to the Lumbermill Motel, Elicit, Colorado."

Stunned, Daniel let the card flutter from his fingers. Somehow, he had driven 45 miles, and somehow he had ended up in this place�a motel the likes of which he hadn�t seen since his starving student days.

He met his own wide-eyed, bloodshot gaze in the mirror. He was still wearing the same faded blue shirt he recalled putting on the previous morning. His fingers stole to his collar where it was smeared with something beige and pink. Makeup, he surmised after a puzzled moment. Amidst the stale alcohol and sweat, he caught a sudden whiff of perfume.

Another surge of panic consumed him, and he all but lunged toward the small bathroom. Pushing the unlocked door open, he stepped inside and glanced around until he was certain there were no signs of female occupancy.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Daniel this time noticed a raw looking graze on his chin nearly hidden amidst the stubble. Then a faint sting in his palms became apparent, and he turned them over to reveal scraped, roughened skin. He must have fallen at some point in that forgotten night.

"Fucking hell�" he muttered under his breath and tore a shaky hand through his tangled, sweat dampened hair.

God, this is getting bad. This is getting completely fucking out of hand� You have to stop this, he told himself. You have to stop this right now�

But first, he had to get himself cleaned up and then get the hell out this place. Unbuttoning his shirt with a wildly trembling hand, and almost frantically shoving off the rest of his clothing, he stepped into the shower. He adjusted the pelting water to as hot as he could stand in a desperate attempt to scourge himself of whatever he had done the night before.

Somehow, he managed to get himself dressed and checked out of the motel. He was still too queasy and too shaky to drive, so he forced himself to walk over to the nearly empty diner. There, he gulped down a half dozen cups of coffee and consumed a breakfast of rubbery, greasy scrambled eggs and leathery bacon. He tried to use the time to calm down, but the massive amounts of caffeine merely set his heart racing again, and his thoughts only followed suit.

As he choked down a piece of burned, butter-sodden toast, he said a silent prayer of thanks that he didn�t have to be on base that day. There would have been no possible way to explain this. Absolutely no way. It had only been a little over two weeks since that disastrous mission with the Purchazi, and though Jack had never gotten around to their threatened talk, Daniel knew he was still on thin ice with not only the colonel, but his entire team. Daniel had tried to make amends by staying on his best behavior � showing up for work on time, completing all his reports and translations well ahead of schedule, making an effort to stop and chat with Sam in her office like he used to do. Hell, he�d even had only a couple of drinks during the entire past few weeks.

Until last night that is� until he�d evidently had enough to drink to make up for those two weeks and more. Again, he tried to summon any memory of what had triggered the binge, but there was nothing. The utter void in his memory terrified him.

He had to get this back under control before his elaborately constructed ruse was shattered, before they all found out.

He had to be more careful from now on.

*****

Sleep deprived, underfed, over-caffeinated, over-worked, and in need of anything else except matters dealing with those three letters "SGC," Jack and a group of co-workers sat around a blue-draped table, picking at assorted food items in the cafeteria. Now and again, when the conversation lagged, Jack would put his head down on the table. When it picked up, so too did Jack�s interest, like when they were talking about Ben and Jerry�s ice cream.

Daniel stayed long enough to down a cup of coffee and run his hand through his hair repeatedly, having not much more to add to the conversation except monosyllabic utterances. When he left, there was a quiet moment when three of the four remaining concentrated on forking jello cubes, peeling pie crust off pie filling, and continuously stirring black coffee. After an appreciable time, the banal discussion continued on. Janet and Sam mentioned something about going out and spending ridiculous money on manicures and pedicures that would go unnoticed and unappreciated, and Teal�c thought he might like to join them. A kibosh was quickly placed on that plan, and so the conversation continued.

They listed the things they were tired of: MREs, potable water, heavy packs, ineffective insoles, positron annihilation, the last of which when offered to the group was summarily thrown out for being too esoteric. Sam took it personally. A few at the table, Jack, Sam and Janet, would have liked to have shared that they were getting pretty tired of Daniel, but they didn�t want to open up the discussion in case the others weren�t aware of his erratic behavior.

So when Teal�c checked and the report for the weekend looked promising, in fact, downright gorgeous for late fall, talks began about what they would do to celebrate or put to rest (depending on who you asked) the week�s end. Jack had mentioned something about immersing himself in the genius that is Homer Simpson, and that�s when it was decided they�d instead get together at someone�s house to enjoy what may be left of the good weather. Jack�s house was quickly left out of the running. Jack took it personally.

Therefore, when Janet offered up her backyard for a Saturday afternoon barbecue�"Just the few of us, maybe the general, Siler, and plenty of tequila"�Sam hardly let her finish before she volunteered to bring dessert. Jack said he�d bring a ball peen hammer to smack against his own temple if Siler were invited. With a plan in place, each set out to put the final touches on one long week.

What a week.

Endless meetings, one diagnostic after another, training new recruits, one pissy colonel�and then there was Daniel. More and more he was short, terse, caustic, and that was when he could be found. Sam thought for sure one morning she had smelled stale alcohol on him�not just his breath, but emanating from him. He seemed constantly tired and constantly on edge.

Somehow the irony of needing a drink to forget her week with Daniel lost its humor.

The weather reported bore out, and at 2pm that Saturday afternoon, Sam pulled into Janet�s driveway, right next to Daniel�s car. Good sign, she thought. Daniel not only made it to the gathering, but he was early. Maybe her worries were for naught. Maybe he�d just been having a bad week like the rest of them.

Janet met Sam at the door. "Come on in."

"Thanks," Sam said, the weight of her job off her shoulders, replaced by the weight of four half-gallons of ice cream in her hands. "I didn�t know what people were going to want, so�It�s kind of mind boggling how many different flavors you can buy."

Sam paused when Janet didn�t gregariously welcome her in, which was the norm.

"What�s going on, Janet?" Sam asked, looking past her, into the house.

"You�re not going to believe this," Janet said, she said, opening the door completely, taking one of the bags.

"Thanks," Sam said, following Janet into the kitchen, all the while scoping out each room they passed. When they reached the kitchen, Janet placed each cartoon of ice cream in the freezer before turning to Sam, hands pressed to her hips.

"Daniel�s here," Janet said.

Sam scowled, taken aback. "He was invited, wasn�t he?"

"Of course he was, but I didn�t expect him to show up drunk." Janet led Sam to the patio door and pointed out where Daniel was sprawled, one leg and one arm off the hammock, swaying back and forth in a listless rhythm. Cassie sat in a lawn chair next to him, giggling.

Sam closed her eyes, shook her head and snickered. This was getting ridiculous. "How bad is he?"

"I wouldn�t get close to him with a flame," Janet chimed in, monitoring the scene. While they looked on, Cassie jumped from her seat. Daniel grabbed her arm, and Cassie nodded, laughing. She jogged up and onto the patio and slid open the door.

"Hi, Sam," she said, sailing by.

"Cass."

Cassie yanked open the refrigerator, bent over to inspect the contents, and said, "Hey, Mom, do we have any beer?"

"Excuse me?" Janet said, marching to the refrigerator.

Cass stood up, rolled her eyes, and slouched, "Like, it�s not for me, if that�s what you�re thinking."

"Like," Janet began, mocking her daughter, "then why ask?"

Cassie rolled her eyes, flipped back her long hair, shifted all her weight onto her right foot, and said, "It�s for Daniel. Duh!"

Janet shut the refrigerator door and stared down her daughter. "Well, Daniel can get his own beer if he needs it."

Cassie shifted her weight again, her head beginning to do that swiveling from one side to the other thing Janet hated so much. "He, like, asked me to get it for him, Mom!"

"I don�t care what he, like, asked, Cassandra!"

"Uh, Janet," Sam interjected, "I�m going to go talk to�"

"Fine," Janet answered, never taking her eyes off her petulant daughter.

Sam loped across the lawn, hoping Daniel wouldn�t be as drunk as she figured he might. When she reached him, she found him to be unshaven, lacking his glasses, and snoring softly.

"Daniel," she said, eliciting no response. Sam jostled his arm, and when he cracked open his eyes and saw who it was, he drew both arms across his chest and went back to sleep.

"Daniel!" she yelled, shaking the hammock.

"I�m tryin� ta slee�, Sam," he muttered.

"You�re drunk."

"Am not."

Sam yanked the hammock again, almost sending him sprawling to the ground.

"What ta hell�s yer poblem?" he yelped, grasping hold of the sides with both hands.

Sam shook her head in disgust. "My god," she muttered. "You�re all vowels, you�re so drunk."

Daniel grabbed both sides of the hammock and raised his head, trying to focus enough to see who else was in the backyard. "Did Cassie come back out?"

"You sent her in for a beer, Daniel?"

Daniel dropped back down on the hammock, and tried rolling his eyes at Sam, a motion that came across more plastered than peevish. "I jus� tol� her I was�thirsy. Ty. Thirsty."

Sam glared at him. She grabbed hold of the hammock, jerked it up, and let him tumble out. He hit the ground with a heavy thunk, face first.

"Gawdammi�" he mumbled into the grass.

Sam grabbed hold of the hammock and spun it out of the way. She knelt next to his side and rolled him over. "Daniel!" she growled, tapping his face. Daniel swatted at her hand and then his arm melted back down to the grass. Janet lived in an affluent, lovely neighborhood, and Sam was quite sure the sight of an unconscious drunk in her backyard would set the gossip mill spinning. So she stood astride him, gathered up both of his hands and forced him to sit up.

"Daniel, come on!" she yelled, wrapping her arms through his, which amounted to the equivalent of picking up a loose bag of sand. Janet slid open the door and strode across her back lawn to help Sam.

"We�ll put him in the guest room," she said, taking one of Daniel�s arms. Together, the women coaxed him to his feet, his arms anchored over their shoulders, and with his feet barely shuffling along, they dragged him into the house. Cassie stepped back, at once fascinated and scared at the sight of him.

"Cass, will you open the guestroom door, please," Janet said, her voice strained by the weight and disproportionate physics. Cassie slipped by them and pulled open the door. Sam thanked her as they passed, and they dropped him unceremoniously onto the bed.

Janet stepped from the room a moment, and when she came back, she was carrying an armful of towels. "I�m taking no chances," she said, tossing the towels next to Daniel. She pulled one off the top and unfolded it, spread it out next to his face, and went for a second towel. Sam grabbed one and did the same on the opposite side of his head.

After the towels were laid out, they stepped back and looked at their semi-conscious friend.

"So�what?�he just showed up at your door?" Sam asked.

"Yup."

"He actually drove here in that condition?"

"Stunning, isn�t it."

"More like terrifying."

"Is there something I should know?" Janet asked.

"I�m not sure. Maybe."

"Does the colonel know?"

"I think he has his suspicions."

Cassie stood shielded behind her mother, unable to look away from Daniel�s sprawled form. "Is he going to be okay?"

Janet took a step back and kissed her daughter�s cheek, pushed her hair over her shoulder, over her ear. "In a few hours, he�ll sober up."

The young girl couldn�t take her eyes off him. "Is he breathing?"

"Yes."

"He looks awful."

"Why don�t we let him sleep now," Janet said, ushering her impressionable daughter out of the room and into the kitchen where she offered her an enormous bowl of ice cream, any or all flavors. Cassie, unsurprisingly, asked for a small scoopful of each�save for the green tea flavor, which she deemed too �weird.� Janet also planned on offering her daughter a later talk on the truth about alcohol and the devastation that can be associated with it. In a strange way, Janet was almost thankful for the Technicolor display Daniel had shown Cassie. Janet could only hope that Cassie would find it a warning and not a fascination. Or, god forbid, a temptation.

But judging from the way Cassie was listlessly dabbing at her multicolored ice cream, Janet was pretty sure the silver lining to this afternoon was the valuable lesson Cassie seemed to have taken away. Maybe Janet wouldn�t need to have that talk with her daughter, after all.

"How ya doin�, Cass?" Sam asked, taking a seat next to her, giving her shoulders a quick hug.

"Okay, I guess."

"Can I have a bite?" She picked up a spoon, smiled at her young friend, and snuck a little for herself. Sam thought it important to regain a sense of normality for Cassie�s sake. There was no reason, she decided, for someone as young as Cassie to have to shoulder any portion of burden over Daniel�s behavior. "Mmm. That�s good."

"The peppermint is kind of good, too," Cassie half-heartedly offered. "I mixed it with the chocolate."

Sam dipped her spoon in and portioned out equal parts, equally large. She shoveled the entire spoonful into her mouth, tasted the mixture, lifted her eyebrows and nodded. Despite all she had seen and had to deal with today, she helplessly started to giggle, clamping a hand to her mouth to keep the ice cream from spilling out.

Janet tossed a napkin to her, smiling. "I think we�ve had enough drooling for one day."

Both Cassie and Sam snickered, then fell silent. Sam rested her chin in her upraised hand, and said, "Have you given any thought about what we�re going to tell the colonel?"

"Tell the colonel what?" Jack asked, entering the room, two full grocery bags leading the way.

Sam and Janet shared a quick look, and Sam said, "It�s Daniel. He�"

"He has a migraine," Janet took over, keeping her eye on Sam, who nodded after only a momentary pause.

"We�we told him to go lie down in the guestroom."

"I gave him some samples of Imitrex, and that pretty much knocked him out."

"Oh, yeah?" Jack said, finding an interesting kernel of information in the explanation. "What other samples do you have?"

"I have some Cialis? Interested?"

Jack dropped a shoulder, sneered, and dumped his bags on the counter.

"What this?" Sam asked, opening them.

"I brought ice cream," Jack said, pleased with himself, waiting to bask in the warmth of shared adulation. When the three women simply stared at him, Jack blinked. "It�s chocolate."

"Try it with peppermint," Cassie said, returning to her ice cream.

Jack leaned over and inspected Cassie�s bowl. He made eye contact with Sam, and said, "But I always bring the ice cream."

"Yes, sir," Sam said, taking the four cartons of chocolate ice cream to the freezer.

Teal�c stood quietly behind them, a large white parcel in his hands.

"Are those the steaks?" Janet asked, taking them from his hands.

With a nod, Teal�c said, "They are, indeed."

"My god, Teal�c," Janet said, stooping from the weight, "how many people did you think would show up?"

"I have observed Colonel O�Neill, DanielJackson and Major Carter�s eating habits. I thought it wise to err on the side of caution."

"Well, that�s very�thoughtful of you," Janet said, making room for the package in the refrigerator.

Jack took a seat next to the two and motioned for Cass to hand over her ice cream, which she didn�t. "You can get more," he reminded her.

"Go get your own," Cassie said, wrapping a protective arm around her bowl. Jack spun off the stool, putting as much indignation into his movements as possible, and swiveled around the other side of the counter.

"So. Carter," he said.

"I�m not getting your ice cream," she told him, shaking her head.

"Obviously, rank has no privileges," he sighed, coming eye-to-eye with her.

Sam leaned toward her 2IC, and said, "Not when it comes to ice cream."

The remainder of the afternoon was filled with the mouth-watering aromas of perfectly barbecued steaks, corn on the cob and potato salad. Their chatter never strayed beyond anything deeper than their meals, or what happened on "The Simpson�s" that week, and that was generally a one-sided conversation.

Even through all the clatter and talk, when Janet went to check on him, she noted that Daniel hadn�t stirred once. He hadn�t even changed position.

The glorious late fall weather acquiesced to gray clouds and rain and the party reluctantly moved to the kitchen. When fat pellets of rain began to splotch the patio, Jack and Teal�c made their goodbyes, a carton of ice cream tucked under each arm. That left Janet, Sam and Cass to clean up. Janet again checked on a still sleeping Daniel.

At seven, Janet wiped her hands on the dishtowel, and Sam put the broom back into the pantry. They were just about to sit down to watch a movie when a shadowy figure crossed to the door. Janet and Sam stopped what they were doing and watched Daniel attempt an escape. His hair sticking up in tangles and cowlicks, he opened the front door and closed it with a soft click. He hid his fisted hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the cold rain.

"You�re sure," Janet said, turning to Sam.

"I disconnected the battery," Sam told her. They moved to the front window and watched him get in his car and reach to start it.

"This could seriously piss him off," Sam said.

"Good."

Daniel hunched over the steering wheel, biting his lower lip. He turned the key in the ignition, and nothing.

"Maybe we should�"

Sam stepped to the door. "No, I�ll go out there." Janet gave Sam an umbrella, and Sam closed the door behind her, slid her hand into her back pocket, and sauntered over to Daniel and his useless vehicle. A sound of distant thunder tumbled over the sky. When she reached his car door, she rapped her knuckle against the window. "Daniel, it�s not going to start."

Daniel ignored her and tried to turn the key over one more time.

"I sabotaged your car. You�re only going to end up wearing out your starter. Leave it."

Daniel dropped his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He really didn�t need to deal with this right now. What he needed, was to get home. He pressed the toggle on his power window to tell Sam just that, and when he did, nothing happened.

"The battery is dead, Daniel," Sam said, raising her voice so she could be heard through the glass and over the rain.

Daniel scowled and cursed under his breath. No, he didn�t need this. He needed other things�a tumbler full of scotch, a stein full of beer, a pint full of, well, anything�but Sam�s sick attempt at a practical joke, no, he didn�t need that, at all.

"Whatever you did, fix it," he said through gritted teeth, never looking at her, trying to stay calm. "I would like to go home now."

"What?"

"I said whatever you did, fix it!" Daniel slammed his hands against his steering wheel. "Dammit! I just want to go home!"

"I�m sorry, you�ll have to come outside so I can hear you," Sam said, wondering if Daniel was really that stupid to fall for such a trick.

Daniel groaned, swore a few more times, and kicked open his door, a snide part of him hoping it would hit Sam. Once out, he pulled his collar over his head and said, "Whatever the hell you did to�"

"I disconnected the battery."

"Then fix it," he snarled, but in place of his anger, the boom of thunder made the point for him.

"I will," she told him, "tomorrow. Tonight, I�m driving you home."

He glared at her, but she only met his angry gaze full on. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you�re probably legally drunk," Sam told him. "You can�t drive."

"I�m not drunk."

"You were just a couple hours ago, and you still are now."

"Fix my car."

"No."

"Then I�ll fix it myself."

"Without the cables, you won�t be getting very far."

"Dammit, Sam!"

"You have a choice�either you go back in Janet�s house and sleep this off, or you let me drive you home."

"I�m not having this conversation," he said, turning back to his car.

"You�re out of control!" she hollered over the thunderous rain.

"What right do you have to�"

"I�m done covering for you, Daniel."

And for a brief moment, Daniel couldn�t feel the rain. Rising panic swept over him, instead. "Covering what?"

"From now on, if I even suspect that you�ve been drinking, I�m making it known."

"Oh, is that right?" he managed.

"Yes!"

Daniel stared at her, furious. Then he forced himself to take a step back, both physically and mentally. What the hell right did she have to threaten him like this? With that thought, anger replaced the panic and he welcomed it.

Look, Sam," he said, speaking slowly and carefully so she�d finally listen. "Now and again, I drink. It�s not a big deal, and I�m getting sick of this bullshit from all of you. Especially you and Jack butting in where you don�t belong." A concussive clap of thunder made them both flinch.

"We�re concerned about you," Sam said, hunched under the umbrella.

"Don�t be. I�m fine."

"You have a problem."

"No� I don�t," he protested. "You can�t possibly understand�"

"Try me, Daniel."

Daniel shook his head and glared at her. "I have no intention of discussing my�my private life with you! Especially not here, in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm. Jesus, Sam!"

"Daniel, we�ve been down this road before. Remember the sarcophagus? Remember going through that, how you told me I didn�t really know what love was? Do you?" she demanded. Daniel turned away from her. "Well, once again, if you were sober, you wouldn�t talk to me this way, and you sure as hell wouldn�t be behaving this way."

"You�re way out of line, Sam, so just back the hell off," he warned, pushing her aside. Sam grabbed his hand and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to drop to his knees on the sodden ground. Daniel darted his head around to stare at her in shock. "What the hell? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can!" she shouted, wrenching his hand higher up his back. Daniel cried out in pain. "And because you can�t stop me, not anymore. Not like this." With one last torque, Sam let go and stomped through the rain to her car. "Come on. Let�s go."

Still on his knees, his heart pounding with shock and fury, Daniel rubbed his shoulder and nursed his pride. There was no way in hell he was going anywhere with Sam, which left one option. Janet didn�t ask questions or pass judgment like Sam did, so he�d just knock on her door and ask if he could�

And then he saw Cassie, wide-eyed and watching him through the living room window, her small hands pressed against the glass. Daniel was crushed under her gaze. He hoped the ground would somehow open up, swallow him whole and he could just disappear and this would be over. It didn�t matter anymore that it was raining, that he had a pride that needed bolstering. It no longer mattered that he couldn�t stand the thought of being anywhere near Sam and her damned accusations. Knowing that Cassie was behind that rain-drenched window and seeing him at his worst went beyond anything he could bear. He scrambled to his feet, slipped on the wet grass, and made his way to Sam�s car.

Covered in grass, mud and soaked to the bone, he slid into the passenger seat and hoped to God that Sam would just drive. Darting a glance at her, he noticed that Sam was visibly shaking. She put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway without a word. She braked a little too fast, threw the car into drive a little too harshly. Daniel stared straight ahead, unwilling, and, he had to admit, unable to make eye contact with his friend. He didn�t have the energy to face up to Sam�s anger, nor could he summon any will to care. All he could he think of was that look on Cassie�s face�a mingling of shock, fear and maybe disgust, even. When the nausea came, he didn�t know if it was from the alcohol or from self-hatred. He forced himself not to think about it anymore. Forgetting could come later. He forced himself to remain detached from it all. It was easier that way.

They had driven maybe ten minutes in stony silence when Sam felt calm enough to make an attempt at conversation. She glanced at Daniel�s profile and was struck by how pale and haggard he appeared. Taking a deep breath, and in as placid a voice as she could summon, she asked, "Did I hurt you?"

Daniel shook his head.

"Daniel, you know I�ve been trying to help you, but I can�t cover for you anymore."

"So stop then," he muttered, rubbing his forehead and turning his face to gaze out the rain dappled passenger window.

"You know it�s not as simple as that!" Sam all but shouted. The anger and the frustration were resurfacing, and she fought to keep it under control. Getting angry wasn�t going to resolve anything. She had to make Daniel realize what he was doing to himself. "What I�m saying is that you need to stop this, or you�re going to wind up off the team," she said, hoping she�d get through to him. When it seemed like he wasn�t listening, she decided to pull her next card. "What happens when you get pulled over for a DUI, or worse, you kill somebody. Or you kill yourself?"

"Then I suppose I�ll be dead."

"Stop it, Daniel. I�m serious."

Daniel let out a humorless laugh. "I think you�re being a little melodramatic."

"No, I don�t think so." Sam shook her head and glared at her friend, but he wasn�t looking at her. "Have you even taken a good look at yourself lately? You�re a mess, and even now, you can�t even see straight, yet you drove from god knows where to Janet�s. What the hell were you thinking? Oh wait. You weren�t thinking, were you? You�re too drunk to think, and that�s the whole problem, isn�t it, Daniel?"

"All right, fine. You�ve made your point, Sam." Daniel tightly clasped his arms over his chest, keeping his gaze stubbornly averted from Sam�s. "I shouldn�t have driven. I shouldn�t have shown up. I won�t bother you again."

Sam slapped the steering wheel in frustration. "Dammit, Daniel, don�t twist this around�" Sam sucked in a breath, tried to think of a way to get through to her friend.

"Just give it a rest for now, Sam, all right?" he said quietly. "I�m not talking about this anymore."

Sam ground her teeth. She wanted to shout at him, but, instead, she forced herself to remain silent. Three traffic lights later, she glanced in Daniel�s direction and he had tipped his head back, eyes closed, as though he were asleep, but the tense frown and tightness around his mouth betrayed that he wasn�t. He was simply tuning her out. And, Sam decided, it was probably for the best for now. Daniel wasn�t in any shape to see reason, nor was Sam in any mood to be reasonable.

As she drove the rest of the way, the only sounds were that of the tires whooshing on the wet streets and the wipers scraping across the windshield. As she neared Daniel�s street, Sam noticed he had turned his head slightly to look out the passenger window, no longer bothering with the pretense of sleep. All she could make out of his features were the outline of his cheekbone, jaw and the slow rise and fall of his lashes as he blinked tiredly. The raindrops on the windshield cast shadows on his face, making it look as though he were crying. Sam felt like crying herself, wrung out from the tension between them.

Sam was grateful when they finally reached Daniel�s building and she pulled the car up close to the main entrance. Before she could even come to a full stop, Daniel startled her by yanking his door open and stumbling out of the car.

"Daniel�wait!"

Without glancing back at her, Daniel gave her a brief, backward wave that was more of a dismissal than goodbye.

Sam watched as he strode to the front door, fumbled for his key and stepped inside, disappearing from sight. For a long time after, Sam let the car idle in front of the building, rain drumming on the roof, the world awash in a watery haze. Sitting alone in her car, Daniel�s absence did nothing to alleviate the tension in the small space. All at once, Sam realized the odd feeling that consumed her whenever she was around him lately wasn�t anger, nor was it frustration. It was fear. She was scared for him.

With something close to desperation, she also realized that she was completely powerless to help her friend. Sam had always been able to repair everything she set her mind to fixing. Able to sift through any conundrum from every possible angle until she found the solution, and yet despite her best efforts, her best friend was still slipping away from her.

All she had done for Daniel over the past five months was stand by and watch him drown.

*****

The irony of it all had to make Daniel laugh. After weeks, months of speculation on Jack�s, Sam�s, Teal�c�s and even Janet�s part, here he was, dry for four days, and feeling fine.

And it was all thanks to the unknowing efforts of Sam and Janet.

They had arrived in Egypt in search of a stolen artifact and Steven Rayner. Knowing the severity of the situation with a potential Goa�uld threat on Earth, for the most part, Daniel hadn�t had much to drink.

But that flight to Cairo was long, and the adrenaline rush was dissipating. Somewhere over the Atlantic, the crushing headaches began and the electric tremors in his hands started. Thanks to his top-level clearance, Daniel�s backpack made it onto the plane without as much as a glance. At least not from the airmen who helped prepare the flight. Sam�well, Sam was a different story. Her continual, fleeting glances were that of distrust. Daniel was fairly sure he deserved them, but she couldn�t possibly understand what he was going through. Even if she could, what business was it of hers?

So when he got up from his seat and pulled his pack from the cargo hold above him, Sam immediately came over to question him.

"I�m going to go shave, Sam," Daniel told her, ready with an excuse before Sam even had a chance to question him. "If that�s all right with you?"

"Fine," she said, and he knew by looking at her that she didn�t believe him.

"Fine."

And safe in the confines of the tiny bathroom, Daniel searched through his pack for the four airline-sized bottles of vodka he had bought at the liquor store one day on his way to work. Those two-ouncers were portable, easily slipped away, and, most importantly, were just the right size for taking the edge off when he needed it most.

And God, did he ever need to take the edge off�

He fished around in the crevices of the bag. He unzipped the sides completely and searched with his eyes, as well. Wiping sweat from his forehead, Daniel began to implore the bottles to show up. Then, his fingers found one. One. He yanked it out, twisted off the cap, and downed its meager contents without the mouth of the bottle ever touching his lips. He just poured and swallowed. The stuff couldn�t get into his bloodstream fast enough. Pressing his back flat against the wall of the bathroom, he dropped his head back with a muted thud and closed his eyes. Two ounces were a start, but he needed more. He was breathing hard, as if he had just sprinted the distance between here and there. His hands went back to the work of excavation, unzipping side pockets, inner pockets, emptying containers. A second bottle turned up crammed inside his camera case and relief rushed thought him. Jimmying out the bottle with shaking hands, he gulped down the contents. It wouldn�t be long now.

In the meantime, he thought he had better actually shave. From the bottom of his pack, he removed his travel kit, what Jack liked to refer to as Daniel�s own personal beauty regiment kit. And Jack wonders why I drink, he thought. With hands that were now almost under control, Daniel opened the case and found his razor, his cake of shaving cream, his toothbrush and tooth paste, eye drops and a sample-sized bottle of mouthwash. Clear mouthwash. Clear mouthwash in a mint mouthwash container. He unscrewed the top and took a sniff. Decidedly not mint. Daniel stared at the bottle. He wondered when he had filled it.

He stared at it a moment longer, then swallowed it down, too.

He grasped the small sink, closed his eyes, and let his head droop for a moment. God, he was tired. There was some turbulence, and he lost balance, but caught himself before hitting the floor. At least he hoped it was turbulence. Could it have been him? He opened his eyes, and waited for another turbulent. Nothing. He studied his features in the mirror. The harsh, fluorescent lighting cast terribly unflattering shadows across his face. He pulled off his glasses, set them on the counter. He turned on the water, cupped his hands underneath the stream. He splashed the cold water on his face, hoping that it would bring some color to his gray-tinged cheeks. He looked again at his bloodshot eyes, at the sunken, dark sockets, at the deep lines around and between his eyes. He used the eye drops and it burned, like sand in his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, ran his tongue against his teeth. His tongue couldn�t quite make out the texture of his teeth, which was a good sign that the shakes and the jitters and the headache would begin to abate soon after.

Which meant he�d better shave in that trough of time between how he had felt and how he�d soon feel. He lathered up, cocked his head, and pulled down on the skin of his neck. A dull blade. However, it raked against a generally numb face, so�

There. Shaved, cleaned up, and equalized. He rubbed an extra dollop of toothpaste far back on his tongue for good measure. One last look. One more dose of eye drops. Done.

Daniel made his way back to his seat, thankful for the minor set of turbulence that might mask any of his own turbulence. He tossed his bag into his seat and found a corner of his own. "I�m gonna catch some shuteye," he told Sam. He curled up amongst the supplies that were making the trip with them and closed his eyes. Still, he knew Sam was watching him, appraising him. What did he care? The bees that had been swarming through his veins only moments ago were now back in their hive. All was good with the world.

Forty-eight hours later, Daniel and Sam were sitting in Steven Raynor�s military hospital room, waiting for him regain consciousness so they could fill in the holes of his memory with lies. Sam was on the phone with General Hammond, and Daniel was fingering the singed weal on his forehead. Hour after hour, they waited for Steven to open his eyes. Hour after hour, Daniel felt worse, his headache pitching up notch after notch until it was nearly unbearable.

Sam covered the mouthpiece on her phone, and looked at him. "You okay?"

"Headache," Daniel told her truthfully without opening his eyes and massaging his aching brow.

"I�ll get Janet."

"No, I�m�" Gonna be sick, he decided, cold sweat breaking out on his skin. With a blinding pain behind his eyes, he staggered to the bathroom, turned on the water in the sink full stream, then collapsed in front of the toilet and vomited what felt like everything he�d eaten for the past three days.

"Shit," he gasped, staggering up from the commode. He leaned over the sink�s basin and rested his pounding head on his arm. He cupped some water into his hand, sipped from it and spit it back out, trembling from head to foot. This was bad. He knew he had been a little out of control, but he had no idea how far he had allowed it to go. And he couldn�t even blame his pathetic state on the ribbon device. He�d been on the receiving end of that thing twice before, and it hadn�t felt like this. No, this was different. This was something worse.

He splashed some more water on his face, anchored his hands on the sink, and breathed in a few shuddering breaths. "God," he whispered.

"Daniel?" Janet called from the other side of the door.

Daniel peered at his reflection, his red eyes, his sweat-dappled skin. "Um, yeah! Give me a minute, okay?"

"Daniel, I�m coming in," she said, pushing open the door.

Nowhere to turn, Daniel braced himself for the questions he knew were coming.

"Sam said you looked ill. Headache?"

What could it hurt to tell her the truth? He nodded and pressed the heel of his palm into his eye. "Yeah. Crushing."

Taking hold of his wrist to check his pulse, she asked, "Nausea? Vomiting?"

What the hell� "Yeah."

"Well, you know what I think it is," she said, leaning back against the door. Daniel was fairly sure what she was about to say, and he certainly knew what he thought it was�that awful drying out period. "I think the ribbon device had more of an effect on you than you�re letting on."

Daniel took in her expression, hoping she wasn�t messing with him. "Makes as much sense as anything," he muttered.

"I�ve had good results back at the SGC with beta blockers to manage the after-effects of the ribbon device," she said, rubbing his arm a little to offer some comfort. "I�m going to have the nurse bring you some for the pain."

He made a show of reluctantly accepting the medication, told Janet that she was fussing unnecessarily over him, and that he was fine. All of which was met with Janet�s no-nonsense attitude and doctor�s orders to rest for the remainder of the day.

In truth, Daniel was grateful to her, and the medication couldn�t kick in fast enough. Since he couldn�t have a drink, well then, the drugs would have to suffice, and they did. They knocked him out cold for about 10 hours, and he woke up feeling a little achy, but otherwise fine. Better than fine. Good, even

Two days later, walking the halls of this US-held Air Force base in the middle of Egypt, Daniel felt great, better than he had in months. Which was good, because until he was back at the SGC, he didn�t know when his next drink would come.

Maybe he didn�t even need a drink. His drying-out period hadn�t lasted as long as he�d thought it would. He presumed that was because he really hadn�t been drinking as much as he�d thought. Maybe it was over, this latest episode.

Rounding the corner, he collided with Sam.

"Daniel! Sorry," she said. She stepped aside to let him go by. He didn�t.

"I�m, uh�I�m going down to the mess hall, get some lunch. Did you eat yet?" he asked.

Sam brushed her hair out of her eyes, looking strangely bewildered by his question, and answered, "No."

"Wanna� get something?"

She sighed. "Sure."

Walking toward the cafeteria, they didn�t speak. Truth be told, they hadn�t really spoken about anything other than their missions in months. When he and Sam did speak off the clock, it was all arguments and accusations, and he couldn�t take that anymore. Their lives�all of them: Jack, Teal�c, Sam, Janet, and Daniel�seemed to be taking opposite trajectories.

When did it begin? In Russia? No, before. Euronda, certainly. Jack had been short with Daniel; Daniel had been short with Sam; Sam was�

It was even further back. It was�

Daniel felt a sudden heaviness press against his chest. His pace hitched, briefly. The onus, he realized, was all on him. He thought he should stop, right in the middle of the hallway, face Sam and tell her of his realization. But he didn�t. He kept walking, carded his hand through his hair, and just kept walking.

"I�ve been a little detached lately," he said, hoping he sounded sincere enough for Sam to believe him. Hoping she, too, would understand the symbolic gesture of movement, how he was working toward overcoming this inertia in their relationship by forward movement. Somehow, he knew what he had to tell her must be said in transit. Please don�t slow down, Sam� "I know I�ve been� distant. I guess� Which is to say, it really�"

"What, Daniel?" she questioned, her voice softer than he�d heard in many months.

Daniel scuffed his feet along the floors, still gaining ground. "When Sha�re died� It took more out of me than I expected."

"I know," she said, hooking her hands behind her back, walking slowly alongside him.

Daniel sucked in a deep breath. "I just want you to know that�that I�m back. I�m here. And�and I�m sorry."

Sam blinked with surprise. "Okay," she said after a moment. Even so, he didn�t believe that she really was okay with his answer. Not yet anyway. They just needed some time, and they�d make it back. In time.

"Wow, I�m famished," he said with mock surprise, rubbing his stomach.

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. It�s 1400. I didn�t have much breakfast. Aren�t you hungry?"

"It�s just that I haven�t really seen you eating much lately."

That seemed an odd thing to say, but he continued walking. Oddities aside, they were still making progress. "I eat," he corrected, trying not sound too indignant.

"Not lately. Lately, you just drink."

That stopped him in his tracks. Sam stopped, too, a few feet in front. She turned to face him. She squared her jaw and looked him straight in the eye. It was more than Daniel was prepared for. He dropped his gaze to his feet.

"I know. You�re right," he said, and when he glanced at her, she seemed surprised by his admission. "I�ve, uh� I�ve been hitting the bottle pretty hard lately, but," he paused, then raised his eyes to meet hers, his gaze somehow both challenging and imploring, "it�s over, Sam. I�m done. I, uh� I do this every couple of years. I don�t know why� losing Sha�re, I guess was� was too hard� but it�s over now. I promise I�ll make it up to you. I�m finished."

"Uh-huh. When�s the last time you had a drink?" Sam asked, her expression and voice steely.

Daniel felt his face burn with shame. "I� don�t recall. A couple of weeks ago, maybe?"

"No, Daniel," Sam said with almost a sneer. "Try four days ago, on the cargo plane coming over. You forgot a couple of your mini-bar empties in the sink. Good thing I was the one who found them, huh?"

He flinched as though she�d struck him. There it was, the cold hard truth of it all. Finally. He started at her stunned, sickened by his own carelessness and stupidity. Even still, he tried to think of a way to convincingly explain it, to cover up. When all he found in her eyes was pain and anger, he bit back the excuses. He�d seen that look so many times before�in Sha�re�s eyes, in Sara�s eyes. He�d seen it someplace else, too. He stared at Sam until that other, nearly forgotten face became clear, until those familiar yet disapproving, questioning, pain-filled eyes were brought into focus.

"This can�t go on, Claire," Daniel�s father would say when he thought his young son was far from earshot. "We can�t go on like this."

"I�m not having this conversation with you, Melburn," she�d answer, lifting her drink to her lips. Her answer to most things.

"Daniel, I need to know when this ends," Sam said, yanking him back to the present, both with her cutting words and the rough tug on his arm.

"What?"

"I need to know that all the lying, all the covering up�that it�s over." Sam�s eyes were bright with tears and that shamed him ever more. "I can�t do this anymore."

What could he say? He knew those eyes. He understood that look of betrayal. Of realization. His masquerade had finally, fully been exposed, and there really wasn�t anything more to say, was there? Something that felt strangely like relief washed over him. There was nothing more to hide.

"You know what, Sam?" Daniel finally said. "I�m not having this conversation anymore. What I need right now is to get some lunch." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the commissary. "Are you coming, or not?"

Sam just stared at him, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Okay, fine," he said with a shrug, "catch you later." With that, he turned and strode away, leaving her standing alone in the corridor.

*****

Officer Shandley punched the numbers from the license plate into his on-board computer. The file for one Jackson, Daniel, came up. Six two. Blue eyes. Corrective lenses. Resident of the Springs. The officer picked up his flashlight and walked up the side of the car parked in front of him. He shined the flashlight in the side mirror, casting a glaring light on the driver�s face, who winced.

"Evening," Officer Shandley said, taking a quick glance in the car. "You know why I stopped you tonight?"

Daniel had been asking himself the same question. "Actually, no," he said truthfully. "I don�t think I was speeding." He flipped open his wallet against the top of his steering wheel, constantly keeping his hands in plain view, and when he did he saw how they visibly trembled.

The officer shined the light directly into Daniel�s face, once again garnering a wince from the driver. "You�ve been drinking tonight, sir?"

Daniel looked up at the officer and had to think. "No," he said, shaking his head, rather surprised as well. "No, I haven�t."

The officer observed the shaking hands, the red eyes and clammy skin. He�d stopped hundreds, probably thousands of drunk drivers in his time. He knew what they looked like. "I�ll need to see your license and registration and proof of insurance."

"Right. Right," Daniel said, fumbling with his wallet, while the interior of his car flashed off and on red. Between the cruiser�s lights and the spot in his face, Daniel�s head began to throb. "You think you can lower that thing?" he asked, closing his left eye while handing the officer his information.

"How�s your driving record, sir?" The patrolman thrust the flashlight under his arm and looked over Daniel�s license.

"It�s, uh, it�s fine. Clean," Daniel said, and his mind raced to come up with some reason for having been pulled over, for when exactly he had had his last drink. How fast, he wondered, does alcohol metabolize?

"Mr. Jackson, I�m going to ask you to step outside," the officer said, still perusing the registration.

Daniel gaped at the man. "Um, why?"

"I followed you southbound on Academy Boulevard, onto Palmer Park, and in that time I�ve observed some erratic driving," he said, bending over to take a closer look into Daniel�s car.

Daniel�s pulse quickened, his hands began to sweat. "Erratic driving?"

"Yes, sir. Step out of the car, sir."

Daniel swallowed hard, tried to breathe. He tossed his wallet onto the passenger seat and opened the car door. Erratic driving? What had he been doing? Swinging his legs out of the car, he asked, "Exactly what entails erratic driving?"

"Step over here, Mr. Jackson," the officer instructed, pointing to the harshly illuminated area between the two cars. "When�s the last time you had a drink?"

"Um, not recently," " Daniel said, swallowing, trying to remember. "I can�t really� Not in the last couple of days, at least. Look, officer, I think there�s been a mistake," he tried to explain. While they walked, harshly learned lessons at the hands of less-polite captors bubbled up, and he had a moment where he thought he should raise his hands over his head.

"That�s fine, sir, right there. I�d like you to walk away from me, heel to toe, arms outstretched, and when you get to the edge of the shoulder, turn around. Are these directions clear, Mr. Jackson?"

What if Sam or Jack drove by right at this moment? What would they think? What if ANY of the people from Cheyenne Mountain happened to pass by, how long would it take that kind of news to get around the SGC and to the general? Daniel felt himself getting dizzy with fear.

"I haven�t been drinking, officer," he said, and from somewhere deep beneath the panic that rushed through his body, his rational mind kicked in. "I haven�t been drinking. And if memory serves, I have a right to refuse submitting to any�" What was it that Jack had told him? Daniel lowered his eyes and racked his brain for the information.

"Field sobriety test," the patrolman offered.

"Right. Yes. So," he said, biting the inside of his cheek, "I think I�d rather refuse." He hoped, lord, he hoped he was right. The police officer locked eyes on him, and Daniel shivered while perspiration rolled down his neck.

"Would you agree to a breathalyzer test?"

"How long would that take?"

The officer pulled the pocket-sized analyzer from his breast pocket and began to calibrate the instrument. "I need one puff of air, sir, then you can wait in your vehicle while I check the results."

"I�m not drunk," Daniel said, finding he needed, for whatever reason, to defend his pride and reputation. "I�m just tired. It�s been a long�week."

"Yes, sir," he said, holding the breathalyzer up to Daniel�s face. "Deep breath. Exhale into the tube, sir."

Daniel squinted in order to see the tube in which he was to breathe, wrapped his lips around the plastic, blew into it, and felt a crushing sense of humiliation.

"You can go back to your car while I run the test," the officer said, returning to his own cruiser. Daniel shoved his trembling hands into his coat pockets and walked as calmly as he could back to his car, traffic whooshing by him.

He closed the door and grabbed hold of the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead, now and then glancing at his rearview mirror to check on the officer. How long was this going to take? How much longer did he have to stay on the shoulder of this busy street where anybody could see him? What if the breathalyzer could pick up vestiges of alcohol use? Should he call somebody? Who would he call? Sam he immediately ruled out, and Jack already had far too many suspicions. Did he need a lawyer? No, there was nothing to worry about. He wasn�t drunk, was he? God, he needed to talk to somebody. Bill Lee, he�d call Bill. No. Not Bill. He didn�t know Bill�s number, and besides, he didn�t really know Bill all that well.

"Jesus," Daniel murmured, pushing his hand under his glasses to rub his burning eyes.

"Well, Mr. Jackson, you�re free to go," the officer said, appearing at Daniel�s window. "Your test results came back negative, and your record is clean." He handed Daniel his license, registration and insurance card, but not, to Daniel�s great relief, a ticket. "Back on Academy, you were weaving in your lane pretty good and driving under the speed limit. I�m going to let you off with a warning."

"Thank you."

"Are you on your way home, Mr. Jackson?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Get some sleep. Sleep deprivation contributes to some pretty bad accidents." The officer tapped the doorframe and bid Daniel a good night. Daniel nodded to the officer, placed his license back in his wallet, finding it difficult with shaking, sweating hands. He rolled up his window and turned on the ignition. Taking a prolonged look behind him�it would be just his luck to pull out into an on-coming car�he rolled onto the street, leaving the police vehicle, lights still swirling, behind him.

He scanned the roadside for a speed limit sign, paying particular attention to stay directly in the center of his lane. He looked back to see if the officer was following him. No. Good. Forty-five MPH. He looked at his speedometer�forty-three. Close enough. Still not being followed, he pulled off on Iowa Street. He was pretty sure there was a small park somewhere in the neighborhood. Residential area�twenty-five MPH. He checked and rechecked his speedometer, almost missing the stop sign.

"Shit!" he cried in reaction, slamming on the brakes. He took a deep breath, licked his parched lips, and proceeded down the street.

Without streetlights, it was hard to make out, but when his headlights picked up the city sign, he began to relax. Lunar Park�that was it. He knew there was a park back here. He pulled into the gravel parking lot, found a secluded spot�not hard at 2130. Both hands gripped the steering wheel, and his entire body began to shake. He threw the car into park and cut the ignition in time for the first sob. Right hand pressed to his mouth, he stared into the black of night, trembling, overwhelmed by the terror of what could have happened.

What would have happened had he been drinking? The question piled through his mind, and all he could do was blindly absorb its reality. Tears streamed down his face and over the shaking fingers pressed to his mouth. How close had he come to being arrested? Any other night, he thought, he would have been drunk, but not this night. Why? Half sentences and harsh reality zipped through his mind�lose license; lose job; Jack; who�d bail me out?; what�s wrong with me?; police stations; God, Sam�; hate this�

Pushing away from the steering wheel and leaning back into his seat, Daniel dropped his head against the headrest and tried to calm down, but his thoughts wouldn�t stop racing. How could he explain an arrest for DUI? What if the officer had followed him? Would he wonder why a grown man was sitting in the middle of a parking lot in the dark of night crying? Would he suspect that any other night he would have been able to take Mr. Jackson to prison? Daniel�s eyes widened�could he be arrested for retroactive DUI? Would any other officer know just by looking at him that he was a drunk, just not tonight? Daniel shook his head, scared and feeling more alone than he could ever remember, hardly able to breathe through his clogged nose.

What could he do? Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. His whole life. What could he do? It was all just too�What could he do? He needed to�to�There was too much he needed. Sleep. His wife. A drink�

His throat ached, his stomach clenched. He pressed both hands to his swollen eyes and tried to stop the tears. He swiped his palms across his cheeks, and in an instant they were wet again, the skin under his eyes feeling raw and scraped.

"What do I do?" he whispered. Dropping his hands into his lap, he gave up and let the tears fall. In time, they stopped, but his breath still hitched and his chest hurt so badly it felt as though something had ruptured inside him. His lungs burned, his eyes, too. He blinked away the last tears, muted any sound by pressing his lips together, teeth clamped so hard on his upper lip he tasted the copper of his own blood. The energy drained away from his body, and his depleted spirit implored the night.

"Help me," he whispered to no one, a useless request. No one ever heard.

*****

If he didn�t think too much about it, he might actually be able to go through with this. He thought he might actually do what he knew he had to do�walk into the meeting, state his purpose, and get the hell out. That was it.

Unfortunately, not thinking was never one of his strong points, and so it was with great resentment that he made his way to the community center where the meeting was to be held. On the bright side and laced with the sort of irony that Daniel always enjoyed, he realized that the community center just happened to be directly across the street from one of his favorite bars. There seemed to be a justice in the world, after all.

That police officer had given him a good scare, all right. But once the high tension of the event went away and he could analyze what had truly happened, Daniel had decided that, no, he wasn�t really in trouble like he�d thought. He had just been tired, that�s all. Hell, he hadn�t had a drink in days before the stop. That alone was evidence that spoke toward his personal belief that he didn�t have a drinking problem, but a terrific lack-of-sleep problem.

So, why did he find himself stepping into the world of the friendly neighborhood Alcoholics Anonymous? He wasn�t doing this because he believed he had to be here. He was going to this meeting to make a point, to gain the proper ammunition it would take to shoot down the constant nagging in his mind (and others� minds), and he intended to make that perfectly clear. No, he�d seen alcoholics in his time. Hell, he hung out with bars full of drunks most nights, so he knew what they looked like, what they smelled like. That wasn�t him. All he needed was proof, tangible or intangible, that he wasn�t�Well, whatever they called themselves, he wasn�t it.

He was just an ordinary citizen outside the doors of the community center. If anyone saw him walking in, they�d think he was there to take a class, maybe even to teach a class. Highly unlikely, yes, either way, but there was at the very least an element of plausible deniability. Daniel thrived in plausibility of that kind of denial. And so he stood transfixed on the sidewalk, ten yards from those doors that stood at the top of cracking, crumbling concrete steps, wondering how his life might change once he was on the other side.

"This is ridiculous," he told himself, and charged the steps, threw open the aluminum and glass doors, sailed through the entrance and into the vestibule.

He walked the halls, never bothering to ask the receptionist for directions. He had been given a room number when he�d called the hotline�room 102. He was fairly sure he could manage finding a ridiculous room without having to stoop to ask directions. After all, these were not his people, and he needed neither pitying eyes, nor empathetic nods.

There wasn�t a sign that broadcast the reason for the people milling around behind the dappled-glass doors. There wasn�t a greeter at the door, asking for his coat, oh, and any bottles you might have on you, as he thought they might. There wasn�t a sign-in sheet on a pedestal when he walked into the room with its stained, gray carpet, its nondescript neutral walls, with peeling paint, a slight, organic mustiness intermingling with the stale cigarette smoke. No one in the room seemed to give a damn he had walked in. Not a single one. In fact, if truth be told, Daniel was a little disappointed that it was so uninviting. The feeling quickly passed. He wandered as casually as he could amongst the others, every one of them with a prop in his or her hand�a cigarette, a Styrofoam coffee cup, a tightly balled-up napkin. They seemed to hover around the room, noncommittal and tense. Men and women, most of them under fifty, shuffled about, heads lowered, occasionally patting each other on the arm. Not a very excited crowd, which was the first positive notion Daniel had observed thus far. The last thing he wanted to see was a bunch of over-zealous, happy-go-lucky conventioneers, drunk on their own sobriety.

A fog of cigarette smoked hung suspended above them all, and while Daniel walked through the crowd of cheap suits and tight jeans, he realized nothing inside the room could touch him. Nothing they had to say would make an impact. It was all a mistake, and he was certain he�d leave here feeling vindicated.

A woman, her face pocked with acne scars, appeared at Daniel�s side. He glanced at her, wondering if there was something she needed. She remained quiet, holding a few pieces of paper in her hand and just stood there.

"Can I help you?" Daniel asked, pushing his glasses closer to his face.

"You�re new," she said, shuffling the papers, brightly colored and oddly shaped.

"And?"

She pressed the papers into Daniel�s hand and brushed the bangs out of her eyes. "I thought�" she said, darting her head toward the front of the room, to the back, and then to Daniel again. She drew in a breath and pointing to the papers, she said, "When I was new, these helped."

Daniel looked down at the papers. Affirmations and emoticons. Great� "Yeah, well�" he muttered.

"Sometimes finding the right words isn�t that�"

Daniel nodded, letting her off the hook, and hoping she�d give up and go away.

The woman scratched the back of her head and coughed. "I�m glad you�re�um�"

Daniel lifted the papers, shook them a bit, and forced one corner of his mouth into a smile. "Thank you."

"You�ve taken the first step, you know."

"Oh?"

"We all need to� Everyone needs a first time."

"What makes you think this is my first time?"

"I don�t know. You kinda look like it�s your first time."

"Hmm."

"Anyhow, I just wanted to�"

"Yeah. Well. Thanks again."

"Um, sure�" The young woman gave him a shy smile then scuttled away, leaving Daniel with a scramble of multi-colored papers, all of which he knew he�d deposit in a trash can at the soonest possible moment.

"Why don�t we get started?" a man suddenly at the dais said. Coffee cups were filled, people straggled in hushed tones to their seats, and Daniel shoved the papers into his coat pocket. He waited until the last of the assembled people were in place before taking a chair at the far back of the room. "Welcome to the Colorado Springs Community Center and to this meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous." Daniel slid further down in his chair, raked a hand through his hair, all the while trying to ignore the strange mingling of fear and surrealism churning within him. "This meeting is open to AA members and to other individuals who are concerned about their personal recovery."

Great, Daniel mused. Now I�m recovering from something I don�t even have. Waste of time�

"My name is Dave, and I�m an alcoholic."

"Hi, Dave," the amassed gathering droned in unison. Daniel, caught off guard, found himself looking around the room, wondering who had directed the group.

"Will you join me for a moment of silence, followed by the Serenity Prayer?" Dave said, taking a sip of his coffee, eyeing the crowd over the rim of his cup. Row by row, each person bowed his or her head, some nodded in affirmation and others ran hands through tussled hair. The muffled room gave way to only the sounds of cars hissing by outside the building. Beads of sweat dappled the back of Daniel�s neck. Never having been a follower of any organized religion, the thought that he, a staunch guard against forced acquiescence, would simply go along with the others and�and pray�no, this was beyond reasonable. It was, in fact, placed at the top of his list of reasons for leaving this place. Sooner, rather than later.

"God," Dave began, his voice soft and reverential, "grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change�"

Like being at this meeting, Daniel thought.

"�the courage to change the things I can�"

"And the wisdom to know the difference."

"Who would like to read the Preamble tonight?" asked Dave. Chairs scratched against the floor, throats were cleared, and finally the young woman who had given Daniel the reading material stood up. She walked to the front of the room, made her way to the podium and took a nervous look out toward the audience.

"Um, Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength, and, um, hope with each other," she said, keeping her eyes fixed to the paper in her hands, "that they may solve their common problem and help each�help others to recover from alcoholism." She paused there, and Daniel could almost hear her counting off the requisite seconds to fulfill the meaningful silence portion of the evening.

Daniel found his mind wandering back to why he�d decided to show up at this meeting in the first place. Okay, so he�d blacked out that one time. So he�d had a little scare the other night, but so what? He hadn�t been doing anything wrong, in fact, the only thing he was guilty of that night was driving a little too carefully.

Maybe he was just doing this to make a point, to validate that there was nothing wrong with him. Maybe he�d even stay for the duration of the meeting, just in case. What the hell? It was, if nothing else, a chance to observe another cross section of humanity.

Was it still quiet? Had the entire meeting stopped while he was busy pondering this fate? Had he blacked out? Again? When he glanced up at the young woman, her eyes darted back to the paper. Daniel was quite sure she had been looking at him.

"The only requirement for membership," she began again, and Daniel felt himself tuning out, "is a desire to stop drinking," she said, punching the last two words.

Daniel rubbed at the muscles tightening in his neck and while he did, the woman droned on and on, and Daniel gave it his best shot not to hear one single word. This had been a mistake, he decided. He didn�t need to be here anymore than he needed an excuse to get up and leave. It was glaringly obvious, especially having to sit among actual drunks, that he didn�t meet the requirements. He was too smart to be an alcoholic. He was too successful. He was, after all, the preeminent scholar on Egyptian archeology, both in this world and many others. He�d seen things and done things these people couldn�t even conjure in their worst nightmares, and even so he soldiered on. Soldiered on. He soldiered on, all right. And he had an apartment full of dead soldiers in his platoon.

The macabre metaphor for his stash of bottles brought a smile to his face.

"�primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety."

He had just set his feet to stand and try to leave without drawing too much attention to himself when the woman closed the folder and stepped away from the podium. He�d allow her to sit, and then he�d make his escape. Daniel watched her scuffle all the way back to her chair. He even managed a tight smile when she peeked his way. He began to stand up when another woman took the podium. She was dressed in expensive clothes, but the fatigue on her face�dark smudges, puffy eyes and dull skin�spoke to something very different than the affluent life for which she dressed. Finding himself once again fascinated by this latest cross section of the culture, Daniel decided that it wouldn�t hurt to stay a few more minutes.

"I�m Anita, and I�m an alcoholic," she said, her words harshly spilling out like an overturned bucket of nails.

"Hi, Anita."

"I�ve been sober for�" she began, her attention drawn to something she held tight in her palm, and when her hand opened, she showed a fluorescent orange key chain to the group. "Six months."

The accomplishment garnered polite applause, and Daniel felt compelled to join in, even if he thought six months was nothing compared to the months and years he went without a drink. Point number 563 in the "I�m not an alcoholic" column. Nice clothes or not, Daniel felt his attention waning. Maybe she�s done now, he thought. Unfortunately, she was not. Anita took a deep breath and threw her head back. At first Daniel thought she was going to faint, and so he watched with a strange fascination. When she raked her hands through her hair and sighed, Daniel knew she was going to do much worse�lecture.

"One year ago, I was selling over three-quarters of a million dollars a month in real estate. I had a home. Two homes, actually. I had a car and a great SUV. I also had a quart of gin-a-day drinking habit. I was still selling and making my numbers every month, but it wasn�t enough, you know?" she said, which earned her appreciative nods and affirmatives. "Anyhow, six months later, I had lost all my friends. Oh, I made new friends. We�ve all made those new friends, haven�t we?" Heads bobbed. Daniel glanced around confused. "Friends like Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, Heinie, Bloody Mary�the list, we know, goes on and on. Our new friends also include the bartenders at the bars we habituate. My first clue that I was an alcoholic was when Terrence, my favorite bartender, didn�t have to ask what I�d have." She laughed, and Daniel rolled his eyes. "I should have also known I was an alcoholic when Terrance would call a cab for me at the end of the night and not have to ask my address. When Terrance banned me from the bar, then I knew there was a problem. Of course it was Terrance�s problem, and not mine, but there was a problem."

Daniel considered Sam�s problem with his drinking, and was not at all comforted by the fact that he had something in common with Anita.

"Long story short, when I was fired by three clients in one month, I blamed the clients for being impossible. My boss�I can�t believe I put my boss in this position�my boss supported me. When I was sued by a client for breech of contract, my boss fired me. Still�not my problem.

"The job suffers last. I�d read that, I�d heard that, I�d been told that. Actually, the credit rating suffers last. I�ve lost one home, my car, my car insurance, my driver�s license� And even so, I wasn�t ready to admit I was an alcoholic." Anita paused, and when Daniel thought she might break out in tears, she instead began to laugh. "We all have our breaking point. Mine was when I gained twenty pounds, and my trainer at the gym, who really didn�t want to work with me at all because apparently I�d shown up drunk a few times, sat me down and told me that my weight gain was due to all the drinking. I think I swore at him a few times, and then he called me a fucking lush, and I threw a water bottle at him, and they revoked my membership. I remember crying in the cab that I couldn�t lose weight if I didn�t have a gym, and in my grief, I had the cab drive me to the wine shop. I reached into my jeans for a couple bucks, and my hand got stuck. I was fat! I left crying, and went directly to my doctor�s office, who sent me to an out-patient program. That was six months ago. And one key chain." Again, the applause broke out, and Anita blushed. "The point is, we all find our personal breaking point. Even though mine may seem superficial and vain, it got me here. So, anyhow, I�m an alcoholic," she said, nodding, and then added, "but I�m also twenty-five pounds lighter and back in a new gym." Laughter and pride spilled from her mouth, and Daniel had a premonition that she�d lose her sobriety as soon as injured herself on an elliptical machine.

With that, Daniel quickly decided he had observed more than his fair share of humanity and that he was more than ever convinced he was not an alcoholic. Daniel stood up, tore a hand through his hair, noticing that he finally had a clear path to the door.

"We have a new person, it seems," said Dave, standing at the dais. "Welcome. The floor is yours."

Daniel looked around, wide-eyed. Is he talking to me?

When Dave locked eyes with him and motioned for him to step forward, Daniel knew he�d missed his chance to escape.

"Yeah, all right. Whatever�" With hands firmly in his pockets, Daniel made his way to the podium. He lifted the microphone and looked out over the congregants. Lowered the mike. He hated the things. Always had. He batted it aside and began.

"Um, hello."

"Hello."

Daniel scowled at the crowd. What was it he was supposed to say next? "Okay, well, my name is Da�Dennis, and I�m an alcoholic�"

"Hi, Dennis."

"�or so they say," he added. That caused a stir. Daniel shifted his weight and threw caution and care to the wind. "Yeah, so I�m here because�well, because I have some� friends. Not� not friends like you mentioned, more like� family, but anyhow, these, um, friends seem to think I have a problem. See," he said, finding anger and bitterness were churning inside his gut, providing the necessary fuel for a full on rant, "Once in a while, I like to drink. I do. I like the taste of it; I like how it makes me feel; I like the sound the ice makes in the glass; I like the glasses; I like the bottles, and I like twisting the top off; I like�I even like the color of it." He paused, his mouth watering with the thought of a drink he so badly wanted and would find so quickly as soon as he could wrap this up.

He looked around the room, some people were staring at him, and others were nodding, which angered him further. "So, how exactly does that make me an alcoholic? I only ask because apparently my so-called friends think those are the exact qualifications that set me into the category of alcoholic. You, you�re alcoholics," he said, waving a hand out over the assembled masses. "I mean, you willingly ascribe to that, right? And good for you. Really, that�s�that�s great you�re here, but�"

Daniel saw the hurt on some of their faces, and, never having enjoyed offending people, he eased off the edge in his voice and tried to explain. "But�but, it�s not me. I�ve known addiction. Known of addiction, that is, but�" He shook his head and shoved his glasses up his nose. "I� I�m sorry," he said quietly, dropping his head. "I�m sorry. I think I�ve wasted your time." He stepped away from the podium and, without thinking, waved.

The emoticon woman, sitting on the aisle, sprang from her seat. Daniel diverted his path and slipped past the front row of seats, rushing for the door. An odd, irrational fear overtook him. That if he stayed in this room, he�d catch it�this disease�and then he really would be an alcoholic. He nearly ran out the door of the center and into the chilled night air. He nearly tripped running down the cracked stairs and then halfway up the sidewalk, he stopped. He just stood there a moment, taking in deep gulps of arctic air, his heart pounding.

He looked around him and the street was silent and empty. And across the street, thankfully, there it stood. His one true friend. His favorite bar. Of course it would be this bar, and of course it would be waiting for him, ready to greet him. Just like an old friend. He gratefully headed towards it.

He swung the heavy, scraped door open, and the sounds of the bar embraced him. Followed by the smoke. Followed by the immediate cessation of tension through his shoulders. He sat down at an open table and felt as though he could finally breathe. The waitress appeared at his side, and before he could speak, she slapped a cocktail napkin in front of him.

"Thought I wasn�t going to see you tonight," she said, adjusting her bra strap. "Whiskey, straight up?"

"Yeah, thank you. Whiskey, straight up," Daniel said, nodding. He took a deep breath and slouched back in his chair.

*****

If they asked, Daniel was simply going to tell them he had lost his glasses and could only find his prescription sunglasses. But only if they asked, otherwise he was going to wear the dark glasses for as long as his hangover lasted, which by experience, he knew was another couple hours. Of course, the fact that he�d only had three hours of sleep the night before, interrupted briefly by the need to puke his guts out, didn�t exactly qualify as a restful night.

By some miracle, he was able to navigate the floors and halls of the mountain without having to run into any close associates. Those people who only knew him by name didn�t know him well enough to ask questions, and Daniel saw this as one more really good reason not to meet new people. His lifelong mantra of "less is more" where friends were concerned seemed to be holding true.

As soon as he walked into his office, he checked the docket�no off-world activity for the day. There is a god� he thought with exhausted gratitude. Meeting with the oversight committee at 1300. Okay, not a benevolent god� Dinner at O�Malley�s with the committee at 1800. But a god with a sense of timing�

So, he thought, plopping himself into his desk chair, he had just under five hours to get rid of his hangover, get some sleep, shower, eat something that might possibly stay in his stomach. Or�

He remembered finding his bottle of muscle relaxants in his kitchen earlier in the week, and if he remembered correctly, he had placed them in his coat pocket. He patted down the breast pockets, searched the inner pockets, and pushed his hands into his outer pockets. No pills, but something much more disturbing.

"Oh, for God�s sake," he muttered, fishing out the pamphlets and notes the scary woman from the night before had given him.

"Daniel? You busy?" Sam said as she opened the door and stepped uninvited into his office.

Daniel�s head shot up, and a bolt of pain crashed against his skull. "Do we not knock anymore?" he groaned.

"Have we ever?" Sam asked, flipping on the remaining bank of lights.

Daniel shielded his face from the lights, squinting. "Do you mind?"

"Rough night?" Sam said without much sympathy, and in her voice, Daniel could hear the insinuation.

"Did you need something?" he snapped.

"Yikes. I guess it was," she said, "a tough night, I mean." Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, she gave him an appraising look that further escalated Daniel�s irritation. "What did you end up doing? Not that I couldn�t guess."

There it was, he thought. A little sooner than it usually came out, however. Daniel crumpled the papers, and in doing so, he realized that he held in his hand the one thing that just might shut her up.

"Ask me how I�m feeling, Sam," he said as he rifled through the collected pamphlets, "and shut the door."

"Okay," she said, closing the door then leaned once more against it, arms folded over her chest. "So, Daniel, how are you feeling?"

With a dramatic flourish, Daniel held up the emoticon sheet and looked over the rim of his glasses. "Oh, let�s just see, shall we? Am I happy?" he mocked, peering at the smiley face on the top row. "No, not happy. Am I sad? Nah, I wouldn�t say so. How about� Not really sure what that face is supposed to express. It says nervous, but does that look like nervous to you?" he asked, turning the yellow paper toward Sam.

"What�where�"

"Here it is!" he said in mock triumph, pointing at the face with a �V� over the eyes and a down-turned mouth signifying a frown. "Angry. Grrr. Annngrrrryyy." He scowled, imitating the simplistic expression. "I am angry. See it? I look just like that, don�t I?"

Sam cocked her head to the side, fed up with Daniel�s sarcasm, of late. "What the hell is that?"

"What? This?" Daniel asked, waving the emoticon sheet at her. "Or do you mean these?" And with that, he threw the other sheets in her direction. Sam flinched, and the papers spun and floated to the ground. Daniel crumpled the yellow piece of paper in his hand and pitched it across the room.

Sam�s attention settled on one of the pamphlets and she picked it up from the floor. "A Newcomer Asks: FAQs from those just entering AA," she read, then looked at him questioningly.

"I went to a meeting," he said, anticipating her reaction with unkind relish.

Sam couldn�t help gawking at him. "You what? When? Last night?"

Daniel ran a shaking hand over his mouth, his stomach churning with acid and nerves. "It was really fascinating, Sam. You would have loved it. They all welcomed me�well, not all� Those who still had enough dignity to be able to look someone in the eye welcomed me. Nothing like a roomful of sober sycophants, you know what I mean?" Sam could do nothing but stare, open-mouth at him. "When I walked in, a woman offered me these�those�" He flipped his hand toward the fallen literature, at once acknowledging and dismissing them. "She said I had taken the first step. The first step."

"You have," Sam offered, nodding and looking proud of him.

"Uh-huh," Daniel said, jutting his chin, looking away from her. "Okay, well, here�s a question: The first step toward what?"

"Toward sobriety."

"Yeah, uh-huh�" Daniel ran his thumb over his chapped upper lip. "Well said, by the way. You sound like you�ve been to a meeting yourself. Good, good." He nodded a few times, and felt the ripple of heat running through his chest and arms. Another couple minutes, and he suspected that he was going to be sick again. "Well, anyhow, I went. Happy?"

"Are you?"

"I won�t go back," he said, looking her full in the eye and daring her to challenge him. His stomach churned and he tried shallow breathing, anything to stave off the nausea. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead in his hand. "And I�ll tell you why. Because I�m not one of them. Those people� they� they�re sick, they�re genetically pre-disposed, or�or� whatever, but I�m not. I�m not like them."

"Daniel�"

"Like I told you � you wouldn�t understand," he said, keeping his eyes closed, "I just� go through these cycles where I drink for a while, and then I quit."

"You don�t just drink. You binge, and that�s where the abuse comes in."

"And how exactly do you know that?"

"Because I�ve done a little research myself," Sam countered. "And what I see in front of me is not the Daniel I know and love."

"Oh, please," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"I do love you, Daniel. I know you don�t think so right now, and I know you think I�m just being a bitch�"

"Yeah, I do," he muttered.

"I have no problem with that." Sam bent over his chair, braced her hands on the armrests, and came face to face with her friend. "Not a day goes by, Daniel, that I don�t worry about you. Not one damn day when I don�t try to figure out what the hell is happening to you and how I can fix it. And believe me," she said with a bitter, unpleasant sounding laugh, "in these last few months, I would have loved to just let you go and be done with this, but I can�t do that."

"Actually," he said, looking her straight in the eye again, "you can."

Sam yanked hard at the chair, jolting him. "Dammit, Daniel!"

"Do you mind?" Daniel protested, his stomach roiling, and a certain pressure began to build up in his throat. He leaned as far back in his chair as he could, dug in his feet and shoved away from her, forcing her to let go of the armrests.

"You bet I mind!" she shouted, furious and not backing up an inch. "I mind that my friend, my best friend has become an absolute mess�"

"I think you�re a being little over-dramatic�"

"�and he�s just too stupid or proud, or whatever to ask for help!" she shouted, inches from his face.

"Sam� I don�t need to hear this anymore," Daniel nearly pleaded. In truth, he hoped that she�d understand that what he really meant was he was no longer able to listen anymore. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried swallowing back the bile in his throat. He began breathing shallowly.

"Daniel, this has gone on too long. You have�"

Daniel�s eyes flew open. He batted her away and scrambled out of his seat, his chin trembling, his lips pinched tight together.

"Oh, my God," Sam gasped. She reached for the wastebasket and shoved it under his chin just in time. Daniel grabbed it with one hand and turning his back to her, he braced himself with the other hand against the wall while his stomach heaved and heaved.

Sam stood behind him, silent and rubbing his back. It was over quickly because he didn't have much in his stomach. He put the wastebasket back on the floor and shoved it away with his foot. Sam grabbed the box of tissues off his desk and handed a wad of them to him. Daniel shakily wiped his mouth, then his eyes. He blew his nose and spit into the trash. Not once did he look at Sam. He couldn�t.

"I take it you didn�t go right home after the meeting," she said, quietly, just loud enough for it to penetrate his senses. Daniel buried his face into his outstretched arm, fatigue outweighing any attempt at subterfuge. He stayed in that position, his back to Sam, humiliated that he as much as handed her a smoking gun in her growing case against him.

"Daniel, this has got to stop," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. "Can�t you see how bad off you are?"

"It�s not what you think," he managed to say. "I have a little case of the stomach flu."

"Oh, bullshit!" she yelled, wrenching his arm. "I can smell the alcohol on you right now."

"It�s not�alcohol," he protested, straightening up, but still unable to meet her eyes. "It�s�it�s," he tried, but he was simply too damn tired of lying.

"It�s what? Grape bubblegum? Aftershave? Herbal tea? What�s the excuse this time, Daniel?" she spit out, exhausted by his seeming inexhaustible excuses.

"Just go away, Sam. Please."

"Not until you promise me you�ll stop drinking. Right now."

"Okay, fine," he said, too drained to fight anymore. "I promise. Will you go away now?"

"Good," Sam said curtly. "Then you won�t have any problem going without drinks tonight. You do remember our�"

"Yes, yes. Oversight committee. O�Malley�s." The pounding behind his eyes began in earnest at that moment. "Yes. I remember."

"Good. I�ll be watching you, Daniel, and I swear to God if you so much as pick up someone else�s drink to move it out of the way, I�m going to be all over you."

"Is that right?"

"You bet." Sam took one more look at him�unshaved, unkempt and in desperate need of some sleep. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "Someday you�re going to explain all of this to me."

"You�ll be waiting a long time because there�s nothing to explain," Daniel said quietly.

Sam gave him another look of wearying patience, kicked his chair out of her path and strode toward the door. "Here�s the thing, Daniel," she said pausing with her hand on the door handle. "If you want to kill yourself, go ahead, but you�re going to have to do it while I watch. Is that what you want?" She turned her head to gauge his reaction to that.

Daniel didn�t want to give her the satisfaction, didn�t want to let on that she was getting to him, and so he said nothing.

"Because I will," she said, her voice wavering. "If you�re going to destroy your life, you�re going to have to do it knowing I�m watching you. That�s how much I love you, you stupid son of a bitch." Sam was out the door before the first tear fell.

Daniel slumped back against the wall and slid to the floor. He wiped a hand across his face, his eyes burning, his entire body aching. He spotted the AA literature near his foot. He kicked it out of the way and slammed his elbow into the wall behind him. He raked both hands through his tussled hair and pulled until the pain counteracted the agony inside his mind. Once more, he found himself asking how he had let it go this far.

This is madness, husband, he heard deep in his memory. He tugged even harder at his hair and couldn�t hold back a groan of pain.

"I�m sorry, Sha�re. I promise, Sha�re." And again he groaned, but this time, it came out as something more like a cry.

He finally dragged himself to his feet, locked his door and pulled his chair back over to his desk. He slumped down, rested his head on his folded arms, closed his eyes and within a few minutes, he thankfully fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

*****

None of them wanted to do it, but like most things in the life of the SGC, it was one of those necessary evils. And it didn�t come much more evil than the annual meet-and-greet social hour with the new oversight committee. Every year they had to do this�sit for hours on hours defending their program, followed by the obligatory evening dinner and drinks. If there was one thing Jack hated, and his list was getting longer every day, it was pretending to enjoy time with bureaucrats, while eating finger food, in his class A uniform. Yeah, good times�

"As I was saying, Colonel O�Neill," continued Senator Lawrence from Kansas, "I�ve been a staunch supporter of our boys in uniform for years."

"When you say boys, you mean men, right?" Jack asked, tired of the "I�ve been a supporter, but I�m going to screw you anyhow" speech he had to listen to every year.

"Well, yes. Yes. I�ve been an avid supporter of our�men in uniform�"

"And women," said Jack, touching the man�s lapel.

"And women. Great respect for women."

"What�s not to respect?" he said, looking around for the waiter.

"Certainly. As I was saying�"

"Staunch, avid, great supporter."

"Right, I am a�"

"Keen, passionate, enthusiastic, eager�"

"Yes, all those."

"Good to hear," Jack announced, slapping the man on the back and summarily moving along.

Sam, having heard the conversation, smiled and moved along, as well. She checked her watch�they�d been there for forty-five minutes and had another hour and a quarter to go before they could offer their goodbyes. That is before she, General Hammond, Colonel O�Neill and the other colonels could leave. Daniel, for whatever was today�s reason, hadn�t shown up. Maybe he went home to sleep. He hadn�t been the cheeriest at their meeting, but he�d contributed. She hoped he was late because he was thinking about what she had told him that morning. She hoped he was late because he had been caught up at the SGC, instead of what she had come to know was his pattern lately.

"Come on, Daniel. Do the right thing." Sam looked at her watch again, willing him to come through the door.

"Carter," said Jack, startling her from her thoughts, "have you seen Daniel yet?"

"No, sir, but I�m sure he�ll be here any minute." She could hardly suppress the expression of dubiousness that surely must have crossed her face.

"It must be nice to have one�s own time zone."

"Yes, sir. I�m sure he just got caught up at work," she said, lying for Daniel. Again.

"That�s a nice bit of CDA, there, Carter," Jack said, bouncing on the toes of his shining dress shoes, looking over the assorted dignitaries and other monkey-suited wannabees.

"CDA, sir?" Sam asked.

Jack took a long draw on his drink, put the empty on the table, and over-articulated each word as he said, "Covering Daniel�s Ass." He didn�t bother to wait for Sam�s reaction. Didn�t really care. He simply wiped his hand on the cocktail napkin, crumpled it and tossed it into the empty glass.

"Yes, sir," Sam managed, and wondered exactly what the colonel suspected. Maybe it was time to ask. Sam turned toward her CO, but Jack abruptly stepped away from her, hand in pocket, barely concealing his disdain for the event.

And, if asked, it wasn�t just the matter of the reason for Daniel�s absence that irked her. There was a great deal of resentment at having to pick up the slack of the extra gaggle of congressmen and women who cackled about the hall, bandying their assorted beliefs and election platforms. For whatever reason, they never found her all that interesting, and she certainly felt the same about them. Daniel was the one they always wanted to talk to, although lately, she felt compelled to warn anyone to whom he was about to speak that they may be disappointed. The great Doctor Daniel Jackson was a little off his game lately. She was ready to step outside and call Daniel on his cell when the great one himself sauntered through the door.

The minute Daniel entered the room, Colonel Washburn pulled him aside and introduced him to Senator Oblansky from some state that escaped Sam. She watched the meeting, watched the way Daniel stayed close enough to hear, but not too close, watched Daniel�s practiced way of speaking out of the side of his mouth, his head turned slightly. Next, she thought, he�d motion to his�Yup, he was telling the senator he had a cold, that his nose was all stuffed up, and he didn�t want to get too close.

"Damnit, Daniel," Sam muttered. The senator offered his hand to Daniel, and Daniel leaned over to accept it, and just like that the meeting was over. Sam decided it was time for another kind of meeting�a come to Jesus sort of meeting.

Daniel noticed movement coming toward him, looked again and saw Sam marching his way.

"Oh, Christ, here we go," he said to himself, smoothing down his tie so he didn�t have to look at her.

Sam got within six feet of him, and stopped. She glared at Daniel, grabbed a waiter walking by and whispered something to him with a smile. The young man nodded, and Sam turned back to Daniel. He glanced up and caught her eye. He scowled seeing the obvious displeasure in her expression and further loosened the knot in his tie. Indignation began to steel his spine, and Daniel stood firm where he was.

"It�s 1945, Daniel," Sam said, through her teeth.

"Nice to see you, too, Major Carter."

"We started at 1800, Daniel. Six."

"Yeah, well, I had things to�"

"Stop it," she snapped. She stood next to his side, keeping an eye on anyone who might be taking in the scene. "You look like hell."

"It�s nice to know you care."

"I thought we had this discussion, Daniel."

"Actually, the way I remember it," Daniel began, "you spouted off about something, and I tried to explain�"

"Spare me, Daniel."

Daniel wrapped his arms across his chest and braced himself for Sam�s wrath. He knew it was coming. It was a chance he knew he�d have to take showing up late to the meet and greet, having finished off his last drink at O�Malley�s bar only moments before entering the private room. On the one hand, it was distressful getting caught not-quite drunk (however, the possibility of topping off the night and soon at the well-stocked open bar were looking very promising). But on the other hand, it was a relief that he didn�t have to pretend around Sam.

Sam gave the room one more scan, and then faced her disheveled friend. "How soon after the meeting did you have your first drink?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, did you make it to the bar, or did you stop at a liquor store on your way here?" Her icy stare bore into Daniel, and he had a hard time meeting her focus. It disarmed him to think how close she was getting to the truth.

"I don�t�really need to�"

"Or maybe you didn�t make it out of the mountain at all."

Daniel flinched under her accusatorial glare. How could she know? He had been careful. "I�" he croaked, unsure of what was to follow next.

"Isn�t it enough that I had to watch you puke all over yourself this morning? Huh? And now, in front of the brass and all the� Congressman Mantel," she suddenly interjected, offering her hand to a short, balding man who had appeared at her side. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Most certainly," he said, wrapping his hands around hers, insinuating himself between Daniel and Sam. With the congressman�s back to him, Daniel took it as a chance to skulk off in the opposite direction.

"Major Carter," stated the congressman from Rhode Island, touching Sam�s elbow. "I was very impressed with your presentation today. You know, I�m something of a science nut myself." Sam nodded to the man, offered a perfunctory smile, and kept her eye on where Daniel was headed. "As a matter of fact, I think the youth of America would do well to learn more about the men and women in the armed forces who use their education to make the United States of America the great power that it is and will continue to be."

"Oh, yes. I couldn�t agree more," Sam said, pulling her hand away from the politician.

"As you know, I�ve long been a supporter of the�"

"Will you excuse me?" Sam said, seeing the waiter walking toward her.

"Oh. Well. Certainly," said the congressman. Sam smiled at the man and intercepted the waiter, who was looking around the area for the major. Sam took both drinks off his tray and thanked him. She put a bead on Daniel, and sidled up to him, much to Daniel�s chagrin. "Follow me," she snapped, and motioned for Daniel to follow her. When she found an inconspicuous corner, Sam offered him one of the drinks.

"Here," she said, "drink this."

Daniel blinked at her. "Okay, well, now I�m confused. Were you or were you not just�"

"I can smell the alcohol on you, and unless you want the colonel to find out�"

"Find out what?" he said, challenging her.

"That you�re drunk, and you didn�t do your drinking here."

"I�m not drunk," he hissed.

"Look," she said, lowering her voice, "the colonel knows you�re late. What�s he going to think when he�when everyone in the room smells the alcohol on you?"

Daniel snorted. "So what? Look around you � everyone�s drinking."

"It�s coming out of your skin."

Daniel lifted his arm and smelled his jacket sleeve.

"Daniel, drink," she said, shoving the drink in his hand. Daniel, realizing she was probably right, took the drink and sipped it. "So," she began again, a little too loud and much friendlier, "after I checked the transverse ptolemetry of the abductors, I realized, �Yes, we�ve done it.� And do you know how I knew to check the ptolemetry?"

Daniel�s face pinched with confusion. He caught a glimpse of the Florida congressman moving toward them and understood Sam�s subterfuge. She jabbed toward Daniel�s chest and in the process spilled her drink on his lapel, a calculated move. When she moved in to help him clean his jacket, she whispered, "You owe me, you asshole."

Daniel, an half-empty glass in his hand and a wet jacket, stared at her and felt a chill rush through him.

"Doctor Jackson," the Floridian said, reaching out his hand.

"Uh, yes. And you are�"

"This is Congressman Margolies," Sam said, wiping Daniel�s chest. "I�m so sorry, Daniel."

"No harm," Daniel said, eyeing her sidelong.

"Oh, these get togethers always produce huge dry cleaning bills," Congressman Margolies said. "So, what was the topic? It must have been a good one."

"I was just discussing with Doctor Jackson the latest ptolemetric transverse quandaries that we regularly encounter," she said, and on cue, the congressman�s eyes glazed over. "You see�"

"Well, keep up the good work," he said, and was off.

"Nice work," Daniel mentioned, never taking his eyes off the retreating politician.

Sam spun around, her back to the milling crowd. She ground out each word as she said, "I�m getting tired of covering for you, Daniel."

Daniel darted a worried glance over her shoulder. Sam followed his gaze and nearly cursed under her breath.

"Which begs the question, covering what exactly?" Jack asked, leaning slightly over Sam�s shoulder. "Daniel. Nice of you to show up. What�s with the jacket?"

Daniel pulled the lapel away from his chest and inspected it, gave it a good whiff. "Oh, um� it�s wet."

"I spilled my drink on him, sir," Sam interjected before Daniel had a chance to lie, her icy stare never wavering from him. Jack eyed Daniel�s jacket, clucked his tongue against his cheek and stared down the younger man.

"Uh-huh," he said, stepping between his 21C and Daniel. "Daniel, I think we need to talk."

"Jack, all we do all day is talk," Daniel protested, but he knew Jack didn�t have discussing the subtleties of the Stargate Program in mind. "Is this� uh, something we can discuss here?"

"Nah," Jack shrugged, making damn sure his actions came across as nonchalant and friendly. He slid his hands in his pocket, dug a heel into the well-worn carpeting, lowered his gaze and said, "Nah, I think this is something we should probably discuss outside."

"Outside."

"Yeah. Outside. Let�s say, oh, in five minutes we meet out by the pool. Got it?" he said, checking his watch.

"This is all very cloak and dagger, even for you, Jack," Daniel said, his smile lit up by sarcasm. Sam felt the hairs on the back of her neck quill, and she looked away.

"Yeah," Jack laughed, a falsely radiant smile pasted on his lips. He reached forward, took hold of Daniel�s suit jacket and buttoned it. "This is probably not the time for you to be glib, Daniel," he said, patting down the lapels on Daniel�s jacket. He leaned in and said, "Yeah, probably better for you just to shut up and do what you�re told." Jack ended with a fraternal pat on the shoulder.

Daniel bristled with incredulity. "Excuse me?"

"Now, I know that will be difficult for you, especially in your current state, but reach into that brain of yours and try, TRY to find the good sense for which you�re famous."

"Who the fu�"

"Daniel," Sam snapped, stopping him with a hand to his chest. She closely observed the staring match between Daniel and Jack, and could easily sense the anger building up in her CO. "He�ll be there, sir."

"See, now that�s what I like," Jack told Daniel, nodding, straightening his frame. "Five minutes." And he turned to greet the congresswoman from Wisconsin.

Daniel batted away Sam�s hand and struggled to unbutton his jacket. He shivered while beads of sweat accumulated to form a river down his spine.

"My God, Daniel," Sam said, shaking her head.

He rolled his eyes and raked a hand through his hair. "So what do you think? You figure I have time for a drink before I have to meet the boss?"

"Don�t you do this," Sam warned.

"Of course I do," Daniel said ignoring her and answering his own question. "There�s always time for a drink." With a snide grin, he sidestepped Sam and reached out for a passing waiter�s tray. He grabbed a full glass in a sloppy hand, forcing the waiter to quickly re-establish his balance. Daniel gulped the drink while staring at Sam, then slammed the empty glass on the nearest table, the ice cubes clattering. "What the hell?" he said, with an exaggerated shrug and laughed. "If I�m gonna be accused of being a drunk, then I may as well be drunk at the time, right?"

He realized that a few of the attending politicians� eyes were on him. He saw the chagrin in some eyes, the disgust in others, and the pity in still more eyes. His laughter died. He sniffed away his indignation, and stormed out of the convention hall.

Down the oak-paneled hall, under the brassy chandelier, across the marble-floored foyer, and out the door. A blast of ambient street noise caused Daniel to stumble back a few steps. He regained his footing, and continued on to his car in the side parking lot. He wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve and licked his lips.

Too close for comfort, he thought. Too close to being caught by Jack. No, he�d go home, and in the morning he�d tell Jack that he had no intentions of meeting him anywhere to discuss anything, under the circumstances. Or something like that. He was pretty sure in the morning he�d be able to come up with something much more obfuscated and full of righteous indignation.

He reached the parking lot, and stopped. Where the hell had he parked? A panic settled in as he thought that maybe he hadn�t even parked in this lot, but if it hadn�t been this lot, which lot was it? He turned, looking one way, then the other way.

"It�s over here."

Jack�s drawled voice stopped him. Daniel ground his teeth together and cursed in numerous languages. With nothing to do but confront his boss, Daniel made his way over to Jack who was leaning against the hood of his car. Daniel thought that if he could somehow get around Jack without having to speak to him, he�d be able to start the engine and drive away. He reached into his right jacket pocket for his keys, tried the left; patted down his pants�

"Looking for these?" Jack called out, jangling Daniel�s set of keys.

Daniel stopped and stared at Jack with indignation. "Those are mine."

"That�s good, because I found them in your pocket."

"So you stole them?"

"No," Jack said, tossing Daniel�s keys in the air and catching them, over and over. "I confiscated them. Something about how friends don�t let friends commit felonies."

Furious, Daniel marched toward him and snatched at the keys, missing them and stumbling a little Jack caught his shoulder and righted him.

Daniel squirmed away from Jack, ripping his shoulder back. "Let go of me."

"Oh, relax," Jack said, then studied. "What? You�d rather I let you fall?"

"You were s�posed to meet me at the pool," Daniel reminded Jack.

"Yeah," Jack said. "Seems we�re both directionally challenged."

"Give me my keys."

"Give me an explanation."

"I�m not messing around, Jack! Give me my goddamn keys!"

"I�m not messing around either, Daniel." Jack�s glare bore into him, and Daniel flinched under the scrutiny.

"Fine. What�what kind of an explanation do you want then?"

"Explain to me this problem�"

"Oh, for fuck�s sakes!"

"�you seem to be having with�"

"The only problem I�m having is with all of you!" Daniel spluttered.

"Then we�re even, Daniel, �cause your drinking has given me a colossal problem!"

Daniel wavered in the face of such an outright statement. He hadn�t thought that Jack was so on to him. He wanted to argue back. He wanted to irrefutably deny it. But all he could think to say was, "So?"

"So?" Jack replied, genuinely shocked. "That�s all you got? So?"

"Well, what the hell do you want from me, Jack? A dissertation?"

"I want you to tell me why this is happening!" Jack yelled back, inches away from Daniel�s face. "I want you to give me one�just one!�good reason why every time I see you lately, you�re pissed out of your skull!"

"I don� know!" Daniel shouted, forcing a watery stare-down with Jack. "Maybe�maybe it�s because I have ADD."

"What the hell kind of pile-of-shit answer is that?"

"It�s true," Daniel said, pointing at Jack in order to prove his point. "I read it. People with ADD are prone to binge drinking. See? I don�t have a drinking problem. I�m just�I�m just�"

"What? What are you, Daniel?" Jack asked, ready for whatever line of crap Daniel was getting ready to dish out.

"Maybe you�ve been right all along, Jack," Daniel began, in a moment of relative clarity. "Maybe�maybe I�m just a class-A spaz. Maybe�and you can certainly back me up here�maybe you�ve been right all these years, and I�m just a space cadet."

"Space monkey."

"Whatever!" Daniel yelled. Jack rushed him, and tried to stifle Daniel with a hand. Daniel swatted Jack�s hand away and toppled a bit to the side. "So, you see, you were right all along, Jack. I�m a full-blown�whatever you want to call it�spaz!�and not a lush like you think I am."

"Carter thinks you�re a lush. I never said you were a lush."

"Yes!" Daniel said, waggling a finger at Jack. "Yes, you did!"

"I said you were an idiot."

"Oh, nice," Daniel told him, his shoulders slumping, depleted of the fight. "Yeah, see, now that�s helpful."

"Wasn�t trying to be helpful."

"And� you didn�t say I was� an� an idiot. You said something else, but I can�t remember what now." Daniel shook his head and swiped a hand over his face. "Just give me my keys, Jack."

"Yeah, like that�s gonna happen."

"What do you want from me?" Daniel cried out.

"I just want you to be straight and tell me when this ends."

"Gimme my go�damn keys, Jack."

"I don�t think you fully understand what�s at stake here, pal."

"I�m not your pal." A breeze filtered through Daniel�s hair, and he staggered a little. "Gimme my keys. Now."

"One word from me, and you�re gone."

"Fine. Gimme my keys, and I�ll make it easier for you," Daniel said, managing a smirk.

"Dammit, Daniel!" Jack bellowed.

"You�ve been looking for an excuse to get rid of me for years, Jack!" Daniel bellowed back. "Well, here�s your chance. You�ve said it in so many words, the SGC has no room for scientists. Haven�t you!"

"That�s not true, not anymore. And keep your voice down, dammit," Jack hissed. He took a furtive glance around the parking lot and went on. "I have plenty of use for scientists. And not that you deserve any charity on my part, but you�re the one who convinced me of that fact. I�in fact the entire program needs all the scientists we can get. What we don�t need, Daniel," Jack said, his voice tight with anger, "is a liability." He waited for a reaction from Daniel. But there was none. Daniel just set his jaw and glared back at Jack the best he could. "I keep you on, and I�m probably just begging for things to blow up in my face."

"So fire me."

"Oh, you don�t know how much I�d like to."

"Then do it," Daniel pulled a hand across his mouth. "I don�t need this, Jack. You think I�I like the continuous attacks? You think it fills me with a sense of�of self-actualization to know that�that all those years of academic work I put in are used to�to�" Daniel began to wobble, and quickly spread his feet into a wider base. "�to translate�crap?"

"Crap," Jack nodded. "Yeah, see, right there. You can�t even form a cohesive sentence anymore. That�s how I know you�ve become a drunk."

"Fuck you!"

"Clue number two."

"Fine! Okay! You win! I�m drunk, but I�m not a drunk. Okay?"

"Semantics, Doctor Jackson."

"Don�t talk to me about semantics! You don�t even know�"

"Get in the car," Jack suddenly said, grabbing Daniel by the elbow and spinning him toward the passenger door. Approaching from the hotel were most of the senators from the left of the aisle.

"Le�go of me!" Daniel shouted.

"Shut up," Jack whispered, tearing open the car door. "For all that�s holy, Daniel, just shut the hell up." He shoved Daniel into the seat, not caring if he was causing the younger man injury. At forty feet, the politicians were too close for Jack�s comfort. He slammed the door shut and raced to the driver�s side.

"Oh, Colonel!" called out the distinguished gentleman from some Midwestern state.

"Great seein� ya, there�uh, Senator," Jack answered in reply. "Sorry to greet and run, but duty calls."

"I was simply going to ask�"

"Of course you were! Tell you what�email it to my secretary. I�ll get back to you ASAP!"

Jack had the engine going and the car in drive before the man had a chance to call out one more word. Ignoring the posted exit signs, Jack sped through the entrance, flashed his ID to the booth attendant, and raced off into the streets of Colorado Springs.

"For Christ�s sakes, Jack," Daniel protested, gripping the dashboard.

"Shut up, Daniel."

"Me? You�re the one who�"

"Shut up, goddammit!" And to make his point, Jack slammed on the brakes, cranked the wheel, and performed a perfect 180 in the middle of the deserted street. "Shut up, you drunken son of a bitch! Just keep that mouth closed until I drop your sorry ass off at home, or I swear to God, Daniel, I�ll drive you to the SGC right now and have you fired."

"But�"

"Aht!"

The word "fine" poised on Daniel�s lips, but something in Jack�s tone registered through the alcohol, and Daniel remained silent.

Jack started driving again in stony silence. Daniel didn�t say another word and just watched the passing streetlights and taillights, just listened to the drone of the engine. His chest felt tight and heavy, making it hard to breathe.

Everything was crashing down on him. Piece by piece, tumbling, crashing down, and when the last piece fell, he knew there would be no way to put it all back together again. Not this time.

The fact that he no longer cared what would happen then should have scared him, but it didn�t.

*****

It's my first one today�"

Country music from a garishly lit jukebox, whose 45�s flipped like a slinky of the human condition.

Daniel had decided that it was time to venture out from his usual haunts, particularly from his old favorite bar. In his line of work, it was better not to become too familiar and recognizable at any one place. Word had a tendency to get around when and where you least expected it, and after the past few days that he'd endured with Sam and Jack, getting as far away from his so-called life was only way to keep from coming completely unraveled. To forget for a little while.

And so he�d found this place, with its cheap wood paneling, faux Western decor, complete with steer horns hung over the bar itself and packed with wannabe cowboys and women in too-tight jeans and spandex tops.

The laughable irony of it all was that Daniel had never really liked bars in the first place, especially ones that played nothing but country music. It had a way of grating on his brain. It oozed of self-pity. And that twang�

Under normal circumstances, normal being way off the radar screen as of late, he would have ran out of an establishment like this. But tonight� tonight it was perfect, and even the song seemed to speak to that place inside him that was just as dark and congested and false as this bar.

And he certainly would not, under normal circumstances, have ever chosen this particular woman to be dancing with. Dancing being just another abnormal choice in his world turned ironic in the extreme.

He�d already been through half a pack of cigarettes and after his third or fourth drink, he was beginning to hear and feel the music that underscored his own escalating self-loathing.

With his left hand wrapped around a scotch and his right hand wrapped around his cloying dance partner, Daniel found himself moving in a liquid fashion to the sounds of the singer's despair. His eyes closed, he listened to the words to a song that he had spent five dollars on in order to hear it over and over and over. He pulled the woman closer to his body, rested his chin on her shoulder, and took a sip from his glass.

The young woman � what the hell was her name again? he wondered � ran her hands up and down his back, twined her fingers in his hair. She began to hum the song softly and seductively in his ear.

If the scotch hadn�t so anesthetized his body, if he hadn�t been living such an anesthetized life lately, he thought he�d probably really enjoy the sensation of a woman�s lips whispering at his ear, her teeth nibbling at his earlobe. His mind made the laborious journey to his groin to scout out any progress. If memory served, he thought he should be harder.

He slid his hand down to her waist; his fingers urged her hips forward. She groaned and nibbled down his neck. Another sip of scotch, and he tilted his head back, giving her a false sense of accomplishment when in truth, it was to better enjoy the slow burn of his drink.

Two birds with one stone, Daniel thought, smiling a little to himself. Good liquor and an attractive, non-alien woman is sucking on my neck. God, I�m hard as a rock, he suddenly realized with muted relief.

He anchored his arm around her, and she responded by plastering her lips to his. He closed his eyes and her tongue slipped in his mouth. He tasted beer and cigarettes and desperation, and it tasted brilliant. This is what he needed tonight. Every night. To forget. To tune out. Tune everything out.

So he kissed her with an urgency, with a need that was meant for somebody else. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and found the edge of the table to put down his drink. He wrapped her tight in his arms, and somebody else�s face became clear in his memory. In Abydonian, he whispered into her mouth how he missed her. How he loved her. How he was sorry.

She twined her fingers in his hair and devoured his words, his lips, his tongue. She raised one leg and stroked it between his legs. He drew her into his hips, wanted her to feel how much he missed and loved her.

Her mouth slid from his and she grasped hold of his biceps. Daniel opened his eyes as she struggled with her breathing, a passion in her eyes that would have been unmistakable to anyone else. But to him the hazy vision of this strange woman in front of him shattered his illusion, his escape.

"I need another drink," he said, releasing her, fully intending to walk away from her, but she grabbed hold of his hand and swung him back around to face her. Daniel questioned her propriety with a look, but when she pressed up against him, trailed her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and lapped her tongue against throat, he questioned no more.

After all, what better escape was there than this? he realized. She didn�t know a damn thing about him and it that just made it so much easier.

"You live around here?" she whispered into his ear, ending the proposal with a dart of her tongue.

Daniel leaned into the sensation that seemed to begin wet and hot in his ear and end hotter and fuller in his pants. "Uh, I... yeah..." he stammered, "I� I drove. My car�s outside."

"Good."

"You want a... ride?"

"Oh, yeah," she said with lazy, flirtatious smile.

Daniel led her through the bar, turned back to count out what he hoped would be enough to pay for his drinks, and slapped it on the bar. As he stepped outside, struggling with his coat, the blast of cold air momentarily sobered him. The young woman latched onto his arm, leaning heavily against him and he listed a little to the side before righting himself.

"Which one is your car?" she asked while sliding her lips over his.

Daniel pointed into the parking lot. "That one," he managed around her mouth and darting tongue.

She giggled and then they both laughed on their way to his car, arm in arm, as if they were old, good friends, and not strangers seeking what only strangers can offer�anonymity and release. Daniel fumbled with the keys in his pocket, fumbled with his car door, and fumbled with his proposition to her as she slid into the passenger�s seat and pulled shut the door.

"Um," Daniel said, climbing into the driver�s seat, "so, where�"

Her fingers were deft and she had his pants unzipped before he was even fully settled in his seat. By the time her head was in his lap, Daniel understood that there was a certain increase in heat in his groin. And when she did take him into her mouth, he was too surprised to do anything but sit back and enjoy it.

"Oh, god," he whispered, his fingers tangling in her hair. He came much too quickly but she didn't seem to mind. They decided upon her place � Daniel's was in far too much of a state of disaster for him to even consider bring a woman there � not that he�d ever admit that, and besides, she lived closer. He figured he�d stay a little while, get home in time enough to catch a few hours sleep and he�d be fine tomorrow. Even still, his feet felt a little numb on the gas pedal and brake as he drove, but somehow, they made it there.

They stumbled inside, laughing as their limbs tangled together, as they tripped over the clothes, magazines and towels strewn on the floor. She directed him toward her unmade bed and they tugged off each other�s clothes with a renewed sense of urgency. Her fingernails raked down his naked back, their mouths hungrily found one another�s, he pressed tight against her, and then� that was when things came to halt. A certain part of his anatomy refused to cooperate. She laughed it off, kissed and stroked him, ground her hips against him, all to no avail. In the end, she sighed, curled up against his side and fell fast asleep, snoring a little through a clogged nose.

Mortified, his face burning, Daniel rolled onto his back and flung an arm over his head. He knew it was just because he was too tired, too drunk, but still� for Christ�s sakes. Everything he seemed to do lately was a complete fuck-up. Not literally in this case, however. He cursed under his breath again. The bed seemed to be spinning a little, and he took a few deeps breaths in an attempt to counteract the dizziness. Something flicked in the corner of his eye, startling him, and he looked over to see a massive white cat with eyes as yellow as a Goa�uld�s perched on the dresser, balefully glaring at him, twitching its tail, flexing it�s claws against the wood. Scritchscritchscritch�

The young woman muttered something in her sleep throwing her arm over his chest, and Daniel realized that he still couldn�t remember her name. God, he�d gone home with a woman whose name he hadn�t even bothered to learn. What the hell was the matter with him? Careful not to wake her, he slid out from her slight weight and got up from the bed. Stumbling and tripping, he had to hunt around for his clothes and all the while, the stupid cat kept staring at him. He resisted the urge to throw something at it. While he dressed, he looked at the young woman sprawled on the bed. He silently wished her well, then all but tiptoed to her front door and ensuring that the door locked securely behind him, he crept out like some thief and back into the cold night air.

As he drove home, his eyelids kept sliding shut on their own volition. Without realizing it, his chin dropped to his chest. The car veered to the right and careened over the curb. Daniel snapped awake just in time to smash into a mailbox that flew off the bolts anchoring it to the sidewalk.

"Shit!" he yelped and yanked the wheel hard to the left. His head thumped on the side window and with a screech of metal, one of the legs of the mailbox dragged along, caught under the fender then slid off. The car bumped back onto the road and he wrestled with the wheel until he got the car back under control. He let up on the gas, his heart pounding, his hands shaking. He turned the corner, thanking all the deities in the world that there wasn�t much traffic at 3:40 am. He opened his window all the way, allowing the icy air to blast in and he drove home the rest of the way well under the speed limit.

By the time he got home, he was shivering and so tired and so frazzled that he felt nauseated. Stumbling into his kitchen, he snatched a bottle from the cupboard � he didn�t even bother looking at what it was � and took a long swig. Then another. He realized that he could barely even taste whatever it was he was drinking, and it didn�t matter. He leaned up against the counter and took slower, smaller sips until his hands finally stopped shaking.

Carrying the bottle with him, and staggering on legs that felt nearly numb, he made his way into the living room. His couch was covered with papers, books and an old pizza box and so he sat down on the carpet in front of it. Resting his back against the soft leather of the couch, he propped the bottle on his thigh and kept sipping from it. Just a little more until he�d be able to sleep. That way, he could get a couple of decent hours in until he had to get up. He�d just take a few more sips, just close his eyes for a few minutes�

�until his phone rang. And rang. And rang. Daniel�s eyes flew open, then he clamped them shut just as quickly against the bright, morning light. He threw his arm over his eyes, rolled over, only to gouge his cheek on some trinket from any one of his travels. His phone rang one last time before the answering machine picked up. Whoever it was, hung up without leaving a message.

Daniel lifted his arm, drew back his sleeve, and tried to focus on his watch. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and tried again. 0700. No way� it couldn�t be� not yet� He looked at his watch again.

"Shit!" he cried, tearing himself from the floor. He ran into his bedroom, grabbed his bedside clock�0702. "It can�t be. Fuck!" Panicked, he scrambled for the phone. No, no time. He rushed into his bathroom, blasted on the hot water in the sink, scoured his teeth with a dry toothbrush, and, when the water was tepid, scrubbed down his face. He�d have to forget about shaving if he was going to make the 0730 mission. He drew his focus up to the reflection in the mirror, hoping his beard wasn�t too grown out. He peered at his face, turning first one way, then another, then�

"What the hell?" Daniel pressed on the marks bruising his neck. He slapped more water on his skin, hoping to wash away the smudges of dirt, because what else could it be? When the marks seemed permanent, his pulse ramped up. He scratched at his neck, and then at the blotchy red marks around his mouth. Those, fortunately, smeared off onto his fingers.

He had a vague memory of dancing to country music, going to some woman�s place, but that was it. He didn�t really remember getting home and he sure as hell didn�t remember how he�d wound up sleeping on his living room carpet. The sudden ringing of his phone startled him. There was no time to answer it, not time to try to remember what he clearly never set to memory. He rushed around his room, shoving his legs into pants that kept tangling in his feet, his arms into a bunched-up sweater. He found his shoes and turned frantic circles in his living room looking for his keys. They could be anywhere, he thought. He yanked open his junk drawer in the kitchen, scrambling to find the extra set. Nothing. He smacked himself on the forehead, hoping he�d be able to think. Think, dammit!

"Shit!" he yelled into the room, intentionally banging his head hard against the cupboard door to get his mind in gear.

Okay, last place. Think. Last place. Where would I have� Last place. He leapt to the door, tore it open and found his keys on the floor, just inside the hallway. He stared hard at them for a moment. Their position seemed relative to all the rest of his questions from the night before. He bent to pick them up, braced himself for a moment to stave off his dizziness, and ran down the hall and to the SGC.

*****

General George Hammond turned his wrist and took note of the time and date, which he wrote on the bottom of the official document. He picked up the paper and began to read through it one last time before he signed it. It made him sick to have to do it, but rules were rules, and when�

"General, he�s here," the airman said over the intercom.

General Hammond pressed the return button and instructed his aide to guide the man in.

"General?" Daniel Jackson said, entering Hammond�s office. "You, uh, you needed�"

"You�re supposed to be on a mission to P3X-452, Doctor Jackson," the general stated, rising from his seat, his anger rising as well.

"Yes, sir," Daniel began, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets. "I understand that, sir. I was in my office�"

"In your office?" the general questioned.

Daniel paused and took note of General Hammond�s ruddy complexion, always a sign of anger, and Daniel knew he was going to have to talk fast in order to step out of the General�s line of fire. "Yes, sir, I was in my office, readying myself for the mission, and�and I must have lost track of time. I assure you, sir, that that that I certainly didn�t purposefully, nor did I�I simply lost track of�"

"SG1 left the SGC at 0740, a full ten minutes later than was their original departure time," the general said, cocking his head to the side, giving Daniel the very distinct impression that this would end badly. "Are you trying to tell me you were in your office the entire time; that you simply did not hear the repeated calls to your office and to your cell phone? Are these your allegations?"

"Uh, yes. Sir." Daniel felt dizzy and light-headed. He thought he might possibly even faint. "I�m really sorry, General. I�"

"Then explain this," the general said, sliding a photograph across the broad desk. Daniel stepped forward only far enough to glance at the picture, a screen capture from some digital camera. "You�ll notice the time signature on the photo." And in the corner, directly above the clear snapshot of Daniel�s face at the entrance checkpoint, was the imprint 0754. Daniel couldn�t breathe, nor did he dare. "As of this moment, I�m placing you on disciplinary leave�"

"Do you really think that�s�"

"�for the next two weeks."

"Look, General, I do apolgize for my lapse, I do� but I� I don�t think it�s necessary to�"

"During that time, Doctor Jackson," the general continued, never once taking his intractable gaze off him, "I want you to get your life in order so that�"

"My life is in order."

"�So that this official document doesn�t turn into this document," the general said, first holding up Daniel�s disciplinary action paper, and then a "Termination of Duties" paper. "Do I make myself clear, Doctor Jackson?" General Hammond watched as Daniel tried to set his jaw in defiance, but the desperation eyes gave away his fear and his dejection. The general softened his voice and hoped a different tack would touch something in the younger man. "There isn�t one person on this base who wasn�t saddened by the loss of Sha�re�"

"Don�t sir�"

"�and most of those people were reacting only in sympathy for you."

"Sir, this is�"

"I know how difficult the last few months have been, son, I surely do. But it�s time to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and move on."

"Just like that, huh?" Daniel said quietly, with a soft, sardonic chuff.

"Colonel O�Neill, Major Carter, Teal�c�they�ve all been more than patient with you in this time of mourning. But when your personal problems begin to affect the workings of this program, then it�s time to take stock of the situation�"

"There�s nothing to take stock of, sir. I�m fine," Daniel insisted. "I� I realize that I�ve been a little� off lately, but I assure you�"

"You�ve been more than a little off." General Hammond balled up both hands then braced them on the polished veneer of his desk. "We all suffer, Daniel. That pain may never go away, but you still need to function, and right now, you�re not functioning."

To Daniel�s great disservice, at that moment his evening inebriation began to wear off and his morning hangover began. "Actually, I�m functioning just fine," he said, the irritation evident in his voice. "It�s everyone else who�s on my back all day long. Why don�t you write them up?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What I mean, is you try and function with� with Sam and Jack on your back all day," Daniel tried to explain. "It�s like they� they�re ganging up on me, or something."

"I assure you, Daniel, your teammates have only expressed concern for you," the general said with interminable patience that only set Daniel�s teeth on edge. The use of his first name pissed him off even more because it sounded downright condescending. "Take the two weeks," Hammond continued, "and I suggest that you use the time to get yourself back on track and do some serious thinking about your actions of late."

"Fine," Daniel said, jutting out his chin. He crossed his arms over his chest and placed his feet a little wider to keep from wavering. "Fine. Well, you know what? You�ve just done me a favor."

"How do you mean?"

"I� I don�t need this," Daniel said, nodding. And he didn�t need this anymore. He was done. "I do not need this," he repeated with greater vehemence.

"I will see you in two weeks, Doctor Jackson," Hammond said. He pulled his reading glasses from his front pocket, reached for some papers on the corner of his desk and began reading.

Daniel watched the general for a moment then took the hint, and with a mock salute, he turned and strode from Hammond�s office. When he made it back to his car, he scarcely paid any mind to the large dent and scratches on the front bumper that he hadn�t noticed before.

A little over an hour later, dressed in a heavy, well-worn sweater, he sat in the rattan chair on the balcony of his apartment. Next to his feet, was a quart of Scotch. Next to that, a pack of cigarettes. He raised his glass, not the first, nor would it be the last. There were a few more bottles waiting in the kitchen. He took a long drag on his cigarette.

"To the SGC," he sneered, raising the glass a little higher to the gray sky. "Go to hell."

*****

"What are you going to say to him, sir?" Sam had asked.

Driving in his car, with the radio turned down low and three miles from Daniel�s apartment, Jack still had no idea how to answer the question.

"Do you want me to come along?"

"No, Carter, I don�t need any witnesses," Jack had replied, chuffing down the hallway of the base, making his way to the elevator.

"Sir," she said, reaching the elevator doors alongside Jack, "I realize this doesn�t look good�"

"That�s very perceptive of you, Major." Jack punched the up button.

"It�s just that�" Sam paused, not really sure what she wanted to divulge. "Sir, with Daniel, it�s always been�"

"Been what, Major?" Jack demanded, spinning toward her, while the elevator doors swung open. "Painful, aggravating, annoying? Yes, I agree." Jack headed, shoulder first, into the elevator, where he tapped level one.

Sam followed the colonel into the compartment and steadied her nerves. "It�s just that I feel like part of this is my fault."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Carter." Jack crossed his arms and ankles, leaning against the elevator wall. It had been long mission, a longer debriefing, and quite possibly the longest ten minutes of his life trying to explain to Fraiser why their replacement archeologist had returned to the SGC on a stretcher ("How could I possibly have known he was allergic to mastadges?"). "Daniel made his own bed. He can just� do whatever the hell he wants in it. For the next two weeks."

"But, sir, if I hadn�t�"

"Dammit, Carter, were you here at 0530 yesterday morning?"

"Actually, I arrived at 0445."

"Did you, or did you not call Daniel every five minutes before we disembarked?"

"Not�not every five�"

"And did you make it through the gate on schedule?"

"Yes, sir, but�"

"Did you complete the mission as you were instructed?"

"Yes, sir, however�"

"Then knock it off, would ya?" Jack said, waving his hand in frustration. "Look, Carter, this�this business with Daniel is no more your fault than it is mine or Teal�c�s."

"This isn�t Daniel, sir."

"You talkin� foothold situation?"

"No."

"Has he been taken as a host?"

"Not that I�"

"Then it is his fault!" Level one appeared outside the opening doors, and Jack stepped out.

"Sir�"

"I�m tired, Carter, and unless you have something to add�"

Sam fixed her pain-filled, regretful eyes on him, wishing she had some sort of solution. "What are you going to say to him?"

Before the elevator doors whirred shut in her face, Jack honestly told her, "I don�t know."

One more mile to go, and Jack still didn�t know.

*****

Sudden pounding on his door woke Daniel from a fathomless, dreamless sleep. He sat up, stared around the cluttered room and tried to make sense of where he was. It took a moment until, relieved, he realized that he was in his own living room, on the couch. His stomach churned, his head pounded, and he silently begged whomever it was to go away.

"Daniel?" a voice called in between thumps. You there?"

The banging was relentless, and Daniel tried to think around it, but its tempo was matching the throbbing, shrieking ache in his skull. He looked around him to see disarray surrounding him: empty bottles, dirty, smudged glasses, books, papers, last week�s newspapers and there was no way he could let anyone in to see this. No way in hell.

"Daniel. It�s Jack."

"Dammit, Jack," Daniel whispered, dropping his head back against the couch cushion. He swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat and swiped a wildly trembling hand over his mouth "Just go away." Jack was the absolute last person he wanted to see right now, and the absolute worst person to see him in this state.

Daniel�s binge the night before had ended with him getting so violently ill that it felt as if he�d turned his stomach inside out. Maybe it was the combination he�d drank, maybe, in his anger at Hammond, at his team, at the entire fucking world in general, he�d just drank too fast. He�d probably damn near poisoned himself, but it didn�t matter. He had nowhere he needed to be today, so Jack could just go the hell away.

Unfortunately, the hollow thumping, on his door continued on and on, interspersed with the sound of Jack�s shouting voice. Daniel wanted to keep ignoring it, or yell at Jack knock it off and get lost, but he knew that wouldn�t work. Jack would only keep hammering on his door, keep hollering until Daniel�s neighbors called the police, or Daniel gave in and let him in�like he always did.

"Shit." Daniel glanced at his watch - it was already 11:14am - he stumbled to his feet and skidded on a crumpled page by his feet, his head swimming, the world doing a sickening loop for a moment, but somehow, he managed to just reach the hallway without toppling over.

The door clicked open and Jack let himself in with his own key.

Surprised by Jack's effrontery, Daniel stopped so abruptly he had to quickly grab onto the wall for support. What, did the guy think he paid the rent around here, or something? he thought with a surge of anger. He planted a wide, fake smile on his face. "Hi, Jack. Please do come in!"

The sarcasm went ignored as Jack strode inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Jesus, Daniel," Jack breathed out when he took in the mess of papers, dirty clothes, garbage bags and empties.

"If I knew you were coming, I�d�a cleaned up a little," Daniel said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, well, I figured you wouldn�t mind a visit from your old pal," Jack said with a deceptively casual shrug. "Heard you had an interesting meeting with Hammond yesterday morning," Jack said, getting straight to the point as usual, cocking his head to the side. "In case you�re wondering, things went well without you," he continued, raising an eyebrow.

"Actually, I wasn�t wondering," Daniel answered.

"So you... just figured you�d just take the day off, even though you knew how important our mission was?" Jack raised an eyebrow and clenched his jaw.

"Something like that."

"Something like that," Jack echoed with incredulity, surprised by the simple admission. "Look, Daniel�"

"What do you want, Jack?" Daniel said with rapidly diminishing patience. "Last I heard, I was on two-week's suspension, so maybe we should have this talk in, oh... two weeks?"

"No, see, I didn't really come here to talk. I was thinking more about taking a nice pound of flesh, for starters." Jack narrowed his eyes and looked him up and down, assessing him. "Daniel, you do realize that if Carter had pulled the same kind of shit you did by missing our disembark without good reason, I'd ask her to consider reassignment?"

"So you came all the way over here to ask me to consider reassignment?" Daniel said, leaning up against the wall.

"Reassignment, no. Your entire career, yes," Jack blurted, and Daniel blinked, then frowned at him.

"Look, Jack, I really don�t need this, right now�" Cold sweat broke out on his spine and he was so dizzy he felt queasy, even though there was nothing left in his stomach.

"Do you want out?" Jack blurted, and Daniel blinked, then frowned at him.

"What?"

"You heard me," Jack all but snarled. "If you want off the team, just say so, because I've had enough of your subtlety."

"Jack..." Daniel shook his head and had to close his eyes against another wave of dizziness. "Look� I just� okay, I wasn�t feeling well this morning and I overslept. I tried to make it on time and� and I�m sorry, okay?"

"You overslept?" Jack said flatly, but his eyes were blazing with anger. "That�s your actual excuse?"

Daniel nodded, unable to look into those eyes. What he�d said was the closest to the truth as he was willing to get. "Yeah, that�s my excuse, and I apologize to you, Sam and Teal�c for the inconvenience, so can we just drop this now because�"

"We�ll drop it when I get some answers from you," Jack countered. "And I mean real answers, Daniel, not more bullshit excuses."

Daniel dared a glance at his friend. He chewed on his lip and tightened his hands on his biceps, his fingers digging into his flesh. "There�s nothing more to say, Jack," he said quietly, meeting Jack�s gaze full on now. He turned his back and ducked into the kitchen, hoping Jack would get a clue and just leave him the hell alone.

Unfortunately, Jack only followed right behind him. "Don�t you walk away from me, dammit!"

Daniel ducked his head, cursing under his breath while Jack continued to yell at him, something about how he was sick of Daniel�s bullshit, his childish, irresponsible behavior, how he was this close to knocking him on his ass� and from there on, Daniel tuned out. He couldn�t deal with this right now. He couldn�t seem to focus, couldn�t seem to get his brain to make the right synapses between Jack�s voice and his own responses. Or lack thereof, because he couldn�t think of a single thing to say to defend himself. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, his headache unbelievably pitched up another level. For a moment, he couldn�t even comprehend what Jack was saying and the other man�s voice faded to a hum of white noise.

All he knew was that he couldn�t remember ever wanting, ever needing a drink this badly before.

"�the hell is going on with you?"

Jack�s stunned voice drifted back to him as though from miles away. Daniel�s gaze followed Jack�s arm that was waving around to indicate the kitchen. He�d stopped in front of the sink, but his eyes were fixed on the counter. Daniel�s heart seemed to stop beating when he realized what Jack was staring at.

The bottles. Oh, god.

Over the past few weeks, Daniel hadn�t bothered to throw any of the bottles away. He�d scarcely set foot in the kitchen, really.

Jack turned around to face him, fists clenched, features contorted with a mingling of anger and fear. "Had a party, did you?" Jack said in a low, mocking tone, but his eyes held a different suspicion.

Daniel steeled himself, took a few steps back, both physically and mentally. His thoughts churned, all the old excuses whirled in his head and he just had to find the right one to explain this. He could handle this. He could handle Jack.

"Oh, yeah, big party," he sneered after a moment, deciding that the best defense was a good offense. Give as good as you were getting. Sometimes that was the only thing that worked with Jack. "Sorry, forgot to invite you. Maybe next time."

Jack shook his head, blew out air through his nose, scoffing him. He held up his hand with two fingers upraised, like the old peace sign. "Two problems with that story. One: you don�t have enough friends to throw a party of this magnitude." Jack tucked his middle finger down. "Two: you look wrecked enough to have drank all this on your own, not to mention, you smell like a damn brewery, Jack paused to take a breath, his gaze now fixed unwavering on him. "So, how about that explanation now, Daniel."

"There�s nothing to explain," Daniel said, his face burning with shame. "I don�t have to explain anything to you." In truth, he was amazed that Jack hadn�t clued in yet. Couldn�t he see?

Jack planted his feet a little wider, demonstrating that he had no intention of going anywhere. His gaze traveled from Daniel�s pale, bare feet, to his ragged pair of jeans that had gone unwashed for so long they could all but stand up on their own, to his stretched out, faded T-shirt and the two days worth of stubble on his jaw.

"I thought you and I had a deal," Jack said, his eyes narrowed, still appraising him. "After all that mess from when Sha�re died, you said this was going to stop."

Daniel suddenly remembered the promise he�d made to his friend. The one that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.Okay, so maybe Jack could see, after all. Maybe Jack knew all too well what was going on, and he was just having a little trouble taking it all in.

Still, Daniel felt the strange need to defend himself. Still tried to find a way to hide that he�d failed, that he'd reneged on their deal, because, well, old habits were hard break, weren�t they? His stomach churned, his heart pounded too fast in his chest as he tried to think of a way out. Tried to think of a way to make Jack not see anymore.

"Th-this� this is all old stuff," he lied. "I was� I was just cleaning up when you came over. They�re old� from� back then� and I� I just forgot about them�" his allowed his voice to off when he realized that his stammered words sounded as false to him as they probably did to Jack.

"Daniel�"

"I�ll just finish cleaning up, so if you would just leave," Daniel headed toward the sink, pushing past Jack and ducking his head so he wouldn�t have to look at those condemning eyes anymore. He couldn't think with Jack staring at him like that. "I�I could finish cleaning up and�"

"Daniel, listen," Jack stepped close beside him and tried to meet his gaze, but Daniel refused to look at him. Jack continued anyway, "God knows I understand that what we do is hard sometimes. Sometimes a drink in the evening helps you forget. Helps you get to sleep at night. I hear ya on that, but this�this is getting way out of hand," Jack said, his voice softer, trying to understand, trying to empathize.

Daniel shook his head, and he wasn�t listening to this, he didn�t want to hear this, and began to gather up the bottles. Jesus, this was bad, this was beyond bad�

Jack grabbed hold of Daniel's wrist as he reached for a few of the bottles. "Daniel, just stop and listen to me for a minute, dammit�"

Daniel knew just what Jack was going to say next, and he didn�t want to hear it. Sudden anger filled him. A sudden irrational sense of violation. What the hell right did Jack have to just barge in here like this? Who the hell did he think he was? Daniel�s throat tightened with simmering fury, but when he found his voice to speak, it was low, deceptively calm.

"Just get out of here, Jack," he snapped, glaring at his friend and yanking his wrist fee.

Jack blinked, momentarily startled by the mingled anger and desperation in Daniel�s eyes. He took a breath, pursing his lips, trying to summon his patience. "Or what?"

"Get out!" Daniel shouted, the anger rising to the surface. He slapped one of the nearest bottles in Jack�s direction. It spun on the counter toppling to the floor, surprisingly without breaking, but Jack still instinctively jumped out of the way.

Daniel watched him with a brief moment of triumph. Didn�t expect that, did you?

Jack kicked aside the still spinning bottle and charged at him, jabbing a finger in his chest. "I�ve had it, Daniel! You need to shut your mouth and listen up!"

Daniel stood his ground. "No, you listen for a change!"

"Listen to what? The ravings of a guy who�s so pathetically drunk he can barely stand up?"

In an instant, the fury ignited, and all Daniel could see, feel and hear was a red, incandescent, roaring blur. He spun, and seemingly of its own accord, his fist flew out, and his knuckles grazed Jack�s cheekbone before Jack, at the last second, managed to dodge the blow. Jack caught his wrist and yanked him forward. Before Daniel had time to react, Jack had bunched his hands in Daniel�s worn T-shirt. Taking a running step, and using gravity for momentum, Jack slammed him against the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs; hard enough for his teeth to snap together from the impact. Daniel heard his T-shirt rip, heard the cupboard doors rattle.

Jack�s shocked and angry face was inches from his own, his eyes blazing. Daniel bucked against Jack�s grip, twisting and clawing ineffectually at Jack�s forearms. Jack tightened his grip and shoved him back against the wall a second time. The back of Daniel�s head thumped on the wall.

"Tell me why I shouldn�t kick you off the team, right now? Tell me!"

"I�m already on suspension, so what difference does it make?" Daniel shouted back. "Go ahead � make it official, Jack. You�ve been waiting for an excuse for years, haven�t you?"

"Don�t tempt me, Daniel." Jack stared into Daniel�s wild, glazed eyes. "In fact, I�m trying really hard to think of a reason why not to. And trying even harder to think of a reason why I shouldn�t knock some sense into that damned stubborn head of yours!"

Daniel twisted under Jack�s near stranglehold, snarling with fury when he couldn�t break free. Even though Jack was close to 15 years older than him, he was still surprisingly strong. "Let go of me!" Daniel tried to kick out at Jack, but Jack shifted his position, kicking away Daniel�s foot with his own.

"No, I won�t," Jack sneered into his face. "What in the hell are you gonna do about it? Huh?"

"Dammit, Jack, let go!" Daniel shouted, twisting Jack�s coat in his hands. "It�s none of your fucking business what I do!"

"That�s where you�re wrong!" Jack shouted, his fists bunching in Daniel�s shirt. "Everything you do is my damned business!" He punctuated his words by slamming Daniel against the wall one more time. "Because every time you screw up out there, you put my life at risk, Sam�s life at risk, and Teal�c�s life at risk!" Jack's hands pressed up tight into his chest, elbows digging in his ribs, pinning him in place. "That�s why it�s my fucking business, Daniel!" One more hard slam against the wall, and Daniel's teeth snapped down on the soft flesh of the inside of his cheek. He tasted the blood spilling into his mouth, but strangely enough, it didn�t hurt.

"Last time I checked, when we�re off the clock," he gasped around the chokehold on his shirt, "what I do on my own time isn�t any of your business, so fuck off, Jack."

"I swear to God, Daniel," Jack ground out through clenched teeth, his fists tightening, "I could kick your ass from here to Omaha, and nobody, nobody would blame me!"

Daniel met Jack�s glare full-on, challenging him and when he saw black anger in those dark eyes, he knew that Jack was about to punch him. A strange part of him waited for it, even. But Jack didn't hit him, didn't release him. He just stood there, panting, his eyes blazing, warring with himself, and Daniel couldn't stand it anymore.

"Go ahead, Jack! What are you waiting for?" Daniel choked out. He strained against the other man, but he couldn't move. He was pinned in place, completely under Jack's iron control. He forced back the rising panic at that. At the terrible familiarity of that trapped feeling of helplessness. He remembered Davies grabbing onto him like this, pinning his arms, shaking him, taunting him, mocking him, right before he started hitting.

"Go on! Do it!" he shouted, unthinking, his mind a desperate, caged animal that just wanted out! "Let's see what a tough bastard you really are, Jack," he challenged, smiling through bloodstained teeth. "That's what you came here for, right? To kick my ass? So do it already, or get the fuck out of my house!"

Jack's face clouded with greater fury, and he drew back his fist. Daniel looked into Jack�s eyes and braced for the imminent assault. And then Jack just froze, his fist a mere inch away from Daniel�s face, his eyes wide and shocked.

With a snarl, he shoved Daniel away from him. Reeling, Daniel tried to catch his balance by grabbing onto the counter, but his hands slipped in something spilled on there. His feet skidded out from under him. He fell to his knees, hard, his palms slapping painfully onto the floor. Dazed, he just stayed there, on his hands and knees, his head spinning, his ribs aching. He closed his eyes, swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. He dared a glance at Jack, but the other man had turned to stare again at the unbelievable image in front of him. Daniel watched as Jack fully took in the oddly neat formation of the lined up bottles, in stark contrast to the disarray of tottering piles of unwashed dishes surrounding them. Another line up of multi-colored various sized bottles flanked the hallway leading to the living room. Daniel didn't even remember lining up the bottles like that. They looked like sentries, but guardians of what? Against having to think, he supposed. Having to remember, and they were damn good at their jobs.

To an outsider, however, they looked� frightening. Sick.

"I-it�s not what it looks like, I can explain," Daniel said, and pulled himself up from the floor.

"No," Jack said, his face pale, his voice shaking a little. "Not anymore." Jack picked up one of the bottles from the counter. It still had a few shots left in it. "Is this really what you want, Daniel?" Jack asked. He waited until Daniel met his gaze, and lifting the bottle, Jack overturned it so that that the amber liquid glugged down the drain. "Has it come to this?" With a snap, Jack hurled bottle the sink where it exploded with a spectacular smash.

Daniel flinched at stared at Jack wide-eyed. "Jack�"

But Jack paid him no mind. He tore open the cupboard under the sink where Daniel kept his garbage can. Jack all but threw the can to the middle of the kitchen where it wobbled a few times, not even four feet from where Daniel stood. Finally, it toppled over, and when it did, old, moldering food, coffee grounds and bottle after bottle clattered out and onto the floor, some of them shattering on impact. Daniel closed his eyes, and in that moment all the defenses he�d worked so hard to build finally crumbled. All the secrets, all the lies�stacks of them, one on top of the other�were all coming down, one by one. Soon it would all come crashing down to shatter into millions of pieces.

In a way, it was almost a relief.

"What the hell are you doing to yourself, Daniel?" Jack�s tight, wavering voice made him jump. "Look at me, dammit!"

Somehow, Daniel found the courage to look his friend in the eye. Jack righted the trashcan, then snatched an ornate, empty whiskey bottle from the counter and waved it at Daniel. "Is this what you want? Are you really willing to give it all up for this?"

Jack punctuated his query by hurling the bottle in the trashcan. It struck the other bottles still inside with a spectacular smash, and Daniel flinched at the sound, as though he had been struck with a physical blow. Shards of glass flew, some landing on his sleeve, wet and glittering, like crushed ice.

"Do you think this solves anything?" Jack ground out through gritted teeth. He slammed yet another bottle on top of the others, and there was another ear-splitting explosion of glass. "Do you!" Not waiting for an answer, he went over to the counter, picked up the one-quarter full bottle of scotch and pitched it against the back of the kitchen. The bottle exploded, pieces bounced off the cupboard, others showered the floor.

Daniel ducked at the spray of glass, even though none of it reached him. Then another bottle followed�this time sounding like a gunshot. Then another one.

Daniel�s body jolted with each crash. Every bottle Jack threw was a blow of condemnation, of disgust. Each shattering of glass fractured Daniel�s heart, splintered his soul just a little more, until he thought he�d scream. He wrapped his arms tight around his chest and began to shake so hard his teeth were nearly rattling together. He wanted to shout at Jack to stop, just stop it, but instead, he said nothing, he just stood there and took it. Maybe it was because he knew he deserved Jack�s anger. He deserved all of it.

Jack gathered the few remaining empties in his arms, the bottles clinking together. He dropped the bottles tumbling end over end into the trash. The racket was enough to set Daniel's teeth on edge.

Chest heaving, Jack pointed at Daniel. "This ends right now! You got it? It ends, or you lose more than your job."

Daniel stared at Jack, too stunned to say anything, to even move. He�d expected anger, but this� this was� This was it, wasn�t it? He�d blown it for good with Jack. Their friendship, the SGC. Everything. It was done. It had all come toppling down, and he had nothing left. Daniel turned his head away when his eyes burned with the onset of tears. He heard Jack ask him something, but he couldn�t make out the words. It didn�t matter, because he couldn�t answer him. He didn�t dare speak, or look at Jack again, because he knew that if he did, he�d lose it.

Jack cursed under his breath, and Daniel heard the unmistakable jangle of keys. He heard Jack's footsteps thudding on the wood floor in the hallway. Then the front door slammed shut, causing him to flinch again.

And just as quickly as it had begun, it was over, and he was alone once again. He closed his eyes, told himself to breathe, just breathe. He tried to calm down, tried to stop shaking, tried to fight back the tears that wanted to come.

When the danger of bursting into tears and completely losing it passed, he opened his eyes to see the results of Jack�s destruction. The sudden quiet was startling.

Dropping to his hands and knees, he slid over to the worst of the mess and began to pick up bits and pieces of clear glass, green glass, blue and brown glass with his trembling fingers, simply because he couldn�t think of anything else to do. Because it was something he thought he should do in this instance.

Some of the shards lay in shining pools of alcohol, and he had an irrational urge to dab up the spilled liquid and lick it from his fingers. Something dripped onto the floor, leaving small, dark, wet circles on the wood. It took a moment for him to register that the drops were tears. He realized that despite his best efforts to hold it together, he was crying a little. Ignoring the tears he could now feel dripping from his face, Daniel dropped the shards from his palm inside the garbage can. The glass tinkled almost musically as it fell.

In a daze, he continued to pick up the brightly colored pieces of glass until he noticed that the floor was smeared with red. Blood instead of tears. He�d even slid his knees through the blood, and his pant legs were streaked with it. At the sight of his own blood, Daniel suddenly felt the sting in his right palm. Turning his hand over, he saw a wide, semi-circular gash curving from the pad at the base of his thumb to the knuckle of his ring finger. The cut looked absurdly like a ragged, grinning mouth, mocking him. He hadn't even felt the glass cutting into his hand.

He sank down to sit back on his heels, cradled his bleeding hand in his lap, and looked around at all the mess surrounding him. It was too much. Too fucking much.

The intermingled sharp smell of alcohol and the dank stink of old garbage filled the air and his nostrils. His eyes burned and stung with tears, but he couldn�t cry anymore. The tears wouldn�t fall. His breath caught, his lungs hitched with silent, airless sobs, but he couldn�t cry. There was just a tightness in his chest, so tight, it hurt to breathe. For some reason, that tightness felt disconcertingly familiar.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he pulled his eyes open, he was shivering and lying on his side on the cold floor. Glass crunched underneath him when he stirred, poking his cheekbone, his ribs, his hip. His hand hurt, and when he tried to uncurl his fingers, they were sticky with half-dried blood.

Daniel blinked a few times, trying to clear the haziness from his vision. From his position on the floor, his gaze was in direct line with the bits of broken glass scattered across the floor like an army of insects. Each time he blinked and pulled his heavy eyelids open again, the pieces seemed to move. When he shifted his head, the light overhead refracted off the shards in varying colors. Brown, blue, green, amber, clear. They looked more like jewels glittering in the light like that, he thought. Sparkling, cold, hard, sharp.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself to his feet. He didn�t want to look at the glass anymore. At the evidence of his weakness and broken promises. He winced when his bare feet crunched on the shards that lay scattered around him and staggered to his bedroom.

Shaking and nauseous with what he recognized all too well as his body�s scream for a fix, Daniel fell, rather than lay down, on his bed. He ignored the demands and miseries of his body and wrapped the quilt around him, curling up on his side. Burying himself completely in the blanket�s warmth and tucking his face under the covers, he squeezed his eyes shut, and in a matter of seconds, sleep mercifully came and took him away from it all.

*****

He didn�t like doing this. Nope, not one damn bit.

It was just that look in Daniel�s eyes. Christ, if Jack just hadn�t seen that look�scared, lost, pitiful. He�d only seen it once before, and it was behind a gun pointed at Jack�s head. He had hoped to God he�d never see it again, and there it was.

He didn�t like doing it. If there were any other way, Jack wouldn�t be calling Fraiser, but he was pretty sure there was no other way.

"Come on, Doc," Jack whispered into the phone, listening to the dial tone.

When he left Daniel�s apartment a little over an hour ago, Jack was done with him. Done with the lying, the drinking, the denials, the friendship�all of it. Jack had slammed the door, slammed his car into drive, slammed his key into his front door, and slammed a beer. He was about ready to slam the empty bottle into the sink when he realized it might break and cause a mess.

That was the moment the self-recrimination really took hold. That was the moment when Jack had to remember all the empties in his past, each one a white flag of surrender.

He didn�t like doing it. So when Doc Fraiser answered her phone, Jack found it hard to say anything.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"Hey, Doc. It�s me. Jack." Jack scooted the empty across the counter and turned his back on it.

"Colonel," she replied. "How can I help you?"

"Yeah, so, here�s the thing," Jack began, scratching his head. "Daniel�s drunk."

"What�s new?"

That stopped him. "Okay, well, I don�t mean like�like fun-Daniel drunk. I mean like�not-fun-Daniel�drunk." She�d just have to take his word for it.

"Where is he?"

"That�s the other thing," Jack said, turning back toward the counter, where he rested his elbows. Eyeing the empty, he hid it behind the coffee maker. "He�s in his apartment."

"How is that the other�"

"Surrounded by broken glass."

"What? What the hell happened? How do you know that? Why is he alone? Where is�"

"Doc!" Jack snapped, overwhelmed by all the questions. "He�s�He�s there and I�m here, and I�ll be there soon, but I think you need to come with me. Oh, and possibly Carter, too."

"Colonel�" she began in her "all due respect, sir, what the hell did you do this time?" voice.

"Hang on. I�m going to conference in Carter." Jack put Doc on hold, dialed Sam�s number, and reminded himself one more time how much he really didn�t like doing these things. While he waited for the phone to pick up, Jack reached behind the coffee maker and found the empty beer bottle. He opened the lower cupboard door with his foot, tossed the bottle in the trash can, and heard it clang against another empty. That noise, that powerful suggestion of his own culpability caused Jack to pause. Self-recrimination dug in further.

"This is Carter."

"Carter. O�Neill. Hold on. I�ve got the Doc on the other line," Jack said, not waiting for her reply. He pressed the button, brought the phone to his ear, and said, "Doc?"

"Still here."

"Carter."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Well, we have a problem."

"What�s Daniel done this time, sir?"

Jack nodded. That was to be expected, he decided. "He�s got a problem, which means we�ve got a problem."

"Agreed," Doc said.

"Absolutely," said Sam.

"Can we also agree that we�ve all been covering for him in the last couple months?" Jack asked.

Janet was the first to reply. "I can if you can."

"Yes, sir. I have."

"Look, Colonel," Janet said, "now that it�s out in the open that we all know about Daniel, what are we going to do?"

Jack blinked. He hadn�t really thought that far ahead. He went with his gut. "We go to his apartment and tie him to a chair if we have to, until he dries out."

"Have you considered the medical ramifications of that?" Janet asked, lacing her words with a sense of sarcasm.

"Of course I have, Doc. And that�s why I�m calling you�" Jack replied, ignoring her sarcasm.

"I think what Janet�s trying to say, sir, is it might not be that easy."

"Yes, Carter, I know."

"My primary concern at this point is the condition in which you last saw Daniel, Colonel," Janet said. "You mentioned broken glass."

"I guess we�ll find out when we go over there," Jack said.

"We?" the women chimed in.

"Look, call it an intervention, call it power in numbers, but it�s gonna take the three of us to convince him that he needs to pry this monkey off his back."

"Sir, I�m not disagreeing with you, but you know Daniel as well as I do, and he�s not one just to follow orders," Sam said.

"So," said Janet, "your plan is we go over to his apartment to try to convince him that we�re doing this in his best interest."

"Yes. Exactly."

"Oh, he�s just gonna love that," Janet said.

"Yeah, this is gonna go over really well with Daniel," Sam said.

Jack slumped into a chair and realized he had a piece of the puzzle of Daniel�s life that they didn�t. Full disclosure being the running theme of the conversation, Jack said, "I think Daniel�s willing to admit he�s reached his limits."

That quieted them.

"And as much as I really would like to tie him to a chair, this isn�t about placing blame on anyone, least of all Daniel," Jack went on. "It�s about helping him. Should that include a chair and some rope, so be it."

"I agree," said Janet.

"Which part?" Jack asked, hoping he may actually be allowed to actually hog-tie Daniel to a chair.

"I agree with we need to help him, of course," Janet said, thereby dashing Jack�s hopes.

"So do I, but, sir," said Sam, "you�ll have to admit that Daniel might not take it that way."

Janet said, "More importantly, Colonel, if Daniel is as bad as I think he is, then we go to his apartment and take him to a detox center where he can go through the process under medical supervision."

Jack plunked his head down in this hand, and said, "Good idea, Doc. And then I�ll go fill out his resignation papers."

"I don�t think it will come to that."

"Are you kidding me?" he all but yelled into the phone. "What military have you been working for? You know as well as I do that if Hammond�if the SGC, if�if the oversight committee got wind of this, Daniel will be so out on his ass."

Sam said, "I have to agree with the colonel, Janet."

"Well, what do you expect is going to happen, then?" Janet demanded.

"He�ll dry out in the comfort and privacy of his own home," Jack told her. "With us invading the comfort and privacy of his own home, at will."

"I can�t allow that to happen, sir," Janet stated.

"Why?"

"Because it�s not as easy as all that. Depending on his addiction, he could go into convulsions. His heart rate and blood pressure can be compromised, his liver functions may be in jeopardy," Janet said, listing one after another all the reasons she knew Jack would disregard. Still, she persisted. "If he�s as bad as I believe he is, Daniel could be looking at delirium tremens, and that�s not something you can just ride out, Colonel. You, of all people, should know that."

Jack didn�t necessarily appreciate the clarifying appositive thrown his way, especially with his 21C on the other line, but he admitted to himself that those were all possibilities he had actually considered. Jack wasn�t going to admit that to Janet and Sam, however.

"He�s not that bad," is all Jack would offer.

"Exactly how do you know that, sir?" Janet asked.

Before Jack could answer, Sam broke in. "What would be the best-case scenario? I mean, based on what you�ve seen lately, how bad is he, Janet?"

Janet took a deep breath, and Jack prepared himself for news he may not have been able to figure into his equation. "I can�t be sure. A couple days ago I questioned him about his drinking. On his last blood test, his triglycerides were through the roof, and I basically confronted him with the information."

"So�what?�he�s not only a drunk, he�s a sugar junkie?" Jack asked, becoming frustrated with all the talk.

"No, Colonel, I�m saying alcohol is loaded with sugar, and if his blood tests are any indication, he�s been drinking very large quantities. So best-case scenario," Janet said, segueing into Sam�s question, "Daniel has three-to-seven days of terrible discomfort in front of him."

"We�ll stay with him. What�s the problem?" Jack asked.

"I wish it were that easy, Colonel," Janet said. "What if he needs medications? How are you going to determine that?"

"You�ll check on him."

"What makes you so sure?" Janet said, venturing out into the land of insubordination. "Look, Colonel, you know I�ll do whatever I can. But I need to be clear about the fact that I could lose my license for this kind of impropriety."

"And Daniel could lose much more," Jack stated, cold and indifferent. At least that�s what he hoped she would hear, and not the fear and desperation he truly felt.

"Oh, no," Janet interjected, "that�s not going to work on me, Colonel."

"Janet," Sam said, "we understand the spot we�re putting you in, but frankly, I don�t see that we have any other choice."
"Certainly we have a choice, and that�s taking him to detox!" Janet protested.

"Dammit, Doc."

"Fine," Janet said. "Fine. What if he needs urgent medical attention? I can�t cover up official records."

"Right. I understand. But what if we go over there, you check on him, and he seems well enough to detox at home?"

"That�s a pretty big �what-if�"

"Granted, but let�s say he�s not in need of urgent care. He�s still missing from work close to a week, minimum," Sam reminded them.

"Yeah, well, Hammond kind of saw to that," Jack said, not relishing the fact that he had aired Daniel�s dirty laundry out on the phone line.

"Sir?"

"How�s that?"

"When Daniel didn�t show up for disembark, General Hammond put him on suspension for two weeks."

"That�s actually� very convenient," Janet said.

"I�ll say," Sam answered back.

"So, one question answered," Janet said. "What about the meds Daniel�s going to need?"

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"Anything from Valium to Diazepam."

"Well, okay," Sam said, "write a scrip for me. I�ve been pretty shaken up since the memory wipe. I could use some help sleeping at night."

"Oh, no, if we�re going to do this, I�m writing the scrip for you, Colonel," Janet said.

"Excuse me?" Jack said, suddenly pulled back into the conversation.

"Take it or leave it, sir," the doctor said.

"I�m going to guess this falls under the paybacks are hell theme, doesn�t it?"

"Oh, you bet."

"Fine," Jack said, straightening in his chair. "I�m fine with that. See, in my book, one does things for one�s friends. If I have to take one for the team, so be it."

"Nice try, sir," Sam offered.

"Damn." Jack slumped back down and combed his hand through his hair. "Okay, well, anyhow, we have a plan."

"So how do we do this?" Sam asked.

"We go to his apartment, tell him we know what�s going on, and it needs to stop," Jack said. Seemed simple enough to him. "He doesn�t have a choice."

"I�m not sure I�m comfortable with that, sir," Sam said.

"Well, Major," Jack began, "here�s the deal�I couldn�t give one rat�s ass whether you�re comfortable with it, or whether Daniel�s comfortable with it. In fact, I want him to be good and uncomfortable. Right now, he�s in no shape to make the decisions he needs to make, so I�m going to make them for him."

There was an appreciable silence on both ends of his phone, and Jack had a moment to wonder if he�d finally been too short with both of them.

"God, I hate to admit it when you�re right," Janet finally said, and Jack relaxed.

"So you�re saying it�s our job to help get him sober?" Sam asked.

"No, I don�t think so. Correct me if I�m wrong, Colonel, but it�s Daniel�s job to get sober," Janet said.

"Yeah, that�s what I said," Jack told her.

"No, you said�"

"Look, my point is this," Jack said, taking a deep breath, "from where I�m standing, Daniel�s about two drinks from the land of Nick Nolte. I�ve already had enough with the drama. It needs to stop here."

"Just like that?" Sam interjected, incredulous.

"No, not just like that, but where�s this going to end, otherwise?" Jack shifted his weight and massaged the back of his neck. "Bottom line, we have an opportunity to do this, right now. And no, Major, I don�t think it�s going to be easy, but it has to be done."

"Okay, so we go over there and he dries out," Sam said, and in her words, Jack could hear her coming around, but with reservations. "Who�s to say he stays dry?"

"It�s been my experience that drying out is the easy part," Janet said. "Convincing someone they need to stay dry is the hard part."

"Are we really the people to convince him of that?" she asked.

"You tell me�who else does he have?" Jack asked, and when both lines remained quiet, he knew he had finally found the key.

"Okay," Sam said, "then let�s do this. What do you want me to do, Colonel?"

Jack had hunkered down in his chair ready for a heftier battle, so Sam�s offer caught him off guard. "Uh, well, his apartment."

"What about his apartment?"

"It�s pretty bad. I�m thinking trash bags, probably laundry detergent, that kind of stuff. Carpet cleaner, if you can find one," Jack said, realizing he was shouldering her with all the domestic responsibilities; realizing as well the sexist undertones of doing so. He made a mental note to apologize to her later. "Oh, and food. Real food. Can you do that, Carter?"

"I can do that," Sam said, without a hint of indignation in her voice, for which Jack was grateful.

"I do this one way, Colonel," Janet announced, breaking into the conversation. "If, at any time, I feel his life is in jeopardy, I will admit him to the nearest treatment center of my choice. That�s non-negotiable."

"It won�t come to that," Jack said, and hoped it to be true.

"Colonel�"

"But I agree."

"Good," said Janet. "I�ll go back to the SGC and see what I can gather."

Jack paused to look at his watch. "All right, I�m going over to Daniel�s now. Can I expect to see you both within the next couple hours?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said.

"I�ll see what I can do," Janet said.

"That�s all I ask," Jack told them and hung up the phone. He steeled himself for what was to come. For facing his friend.

*****

Sam knew she�d find what she was looking for. She didn�t even dare hope that she�d find nothing. Standing in the middle of Daniel�s office, she knew it was just a matter of looking in the right place. She�d been suspecting it for months. And after her conversation with the colonel and Janet, yeah, she knew. She knew she�d find something here.

Sam slid open his desk drawer, pushed aside papers and supplies. Nothing. She straightened up the contents and closed the drawer again. Was it possible that there really wasn�t anything here? No, Daniel simply would be that obvious about it. She�d find what she was looking for. Opening his file drawer, Sam flipped through papers and files angled back toward the divider. Nothing. She closed the drawer. And thought about angled files. Angled files have a way of collapsing on themselves, not remaining straight. She yanked open the drawer again and pulled the group of files forward.

There it was. On its side. A wedge to prop up all those files. A pint of vodka. Sam lifted it carefully, as if it were evidence, as she supposed it was. She placed it on the desk, sat back heavily in Daniel�s chair, and shut the drawer with her foot.

"Dammit!" she shouted, seizing the bottle and the garbage can next to his desk. She shot up from the chair, pitched the bottle into the can, and vowed to find every last damn bottle in his office. She knew there were more here. She could feel them. She felt them mocking her, from all corners of his office, taunting her that they had been in his office all along, right under her nose.

Throwing open lab-table drawers, rifling through papers and equipment, Sam came up empty. Maybe she had found the one and only bottle. No, she quickly quashed that thought. There were more of them here. She knew it.

The bookshelf, she thought even as her gaze fell upon the rows and books along one wall. Behind ancient textbooks, books on mythology and dead languages would be the last place Daniel would ever expect anyone to look. She began to carefully search behind each book. But that took too much time. Instead, she pushed whole sections of books as far as she could flat against the shelf, figuring that if anything was hidden behind, certain books wouldn�t slide back, like a piece of the puzzle revealed.

And there it was � three books stuck out. Sam grabbed hold of the books on Celtic mythology and inched them out. A nearly full bottle of whiskey was stashed behind them. "Nice," she said, sliding it off the shelf and tossing it, too, in the garbage can. It landed with a sharp clatter.

"Wonder what I�ll find behind the Russian section," Sam muttered under her breath, and going with the same tactic, she shoved every book on the shelf against the back. Then on to the next shelf. With each smack of books against the wall, her anger and resentment grew. How the hell had it come to this? How did Daniel, who was so smart, who seemed so far beyond something like this�

And then she noticed another bulge in the row of books. She ripped the books from the shelf. A fifth of gin. She hurled the bottle into the garbage can. Hooking her fingers onto the tops of entire sections of books, Sam began to tear them from the shelf. First six, then eight, then the rest of the shelf, then the shelf below, all tumbling to the floor, burying her feet, careening off his lab table.

A flashlight. She had come upon a flashlight behind a stack of books. She wiped the tears from her face, blinked, and stared at it a while longer. That was strange... Why would there be a� She picked up the flashlight from the shelf, and when she did, she felt the slosh of something liquid inside. "Oh, Daniel," she breathed out, closing her eyes for a moment. She steadied herself against the bookshelf and let the enormity of the situation careen over her.

"Major Carter."

It was Teal�c, his mellow voice full of concern and his ever-present reason and calm was exactly what Sam needed right now. She slowly turned around and showed Teal�c her stricken, tear-stained face. She jerked her chin in the direction of the garbage can. Teal�c looked at what was inside, and his face became clouded with both confusion and worry. Sam didn�t have time to wonder how much Teal�c understood of this new reality.

"Will you help me find the rest of them?" she nearly whispered. Teal�c looked around at the mess she�d made of Daniel�s office, then gave her a slight nod, sadness in his eyes, and Sam realized that he knew enough.

*****

Over two hours since he�d first stormed over to Daniel�s place, Jack found himself retracing the same route. The entire drive back to Daniel�s place, Jack deemed himself an idiot. All he�d done was make things worse, and he just hoped that he�d get there in time to set things right again. Over and over, he cursed himself for blowing his top like that with Daniel, but dammit, the guy always had to push it right to the limit, didn�t he?

Christ, Daniel had even taken a swing at him. A year ago, hell, a week ago, Jack wouldn�t have thought Daniel capable of that. Sure, he�d learned to be good in a fight, when need be, but striking out at one of his friends? Not in a million years.

But it had happened. And Jack had been so close to hitting him right back. If Daniel hadn�t looked at him like that, with that resigned mingling of fear and strange acceptance, waiting for it, Jack suspected that he would have hit him. God knows, he�d been damned pissed off enough to do it.

And maybe, just maybe, Jack amended, he had been pushing some of Daniel�s buttons, too. He knew Daniel had been acting like a loose cannon for days, hell, for weeks now, and Jack, instead of trying to resolve the situation like he was supposed to do as team leader, and well, as the older, more mature one; he had to admit that he�d only made things worse. He'd gone over there looking for a fight.

Dammit.

Jack flashed back to those bottles. Up until the point when he saw all those damn bottles, he might have been able to rationalize away Daniel�s behavior. But not after taking in the glass skylines of bottles on every counter and lining the floor. This time, it seemed as though Daniel was trying to do himself in. One bottle at a time.

Lost in thought, Jack nearly missed his turnoff. He swung wildly around the corner, waving off the angry blast of horn behind him. Parking on the street in front of the building, Jack climbed out of his truck, jogged up the front door of Daniel's building, nervously jangling his keys in his hand.

Up the elevator and down the hall. How would he explain his own behavior? He had gone to Daniel out of concern, right? After all, that�s how it started, right? Things had just gotten a little out of hand, right? He honestly hadn�t meant to lose his temper.

Stepping in front of Daniel�s door, Jack paused, scrubbed his hand across his face and took one more moment to plan his next move and nothing came to mind. Not a single, encouraging, apologetic word.

Dammit, just wing it, O�Neill, he told himself, frustrated.

"Daniel?" he called out, opening the door with his spare key. The place was completely silent. No drone of the television or radio or stereo. No sounds at all, and it left Jack feeling cold and anxious.

Stepping from the hallway toward the kitchen, Jack called a little louder, "Daniel, you here?" The underlying smell of the apartment surrounded him�of something that had gone bad in the refrigerator. Like sour milk or moldering food. He froze when he saw the mess on the kitchen floor. Broken glass, scraps of garbage�rotten food, tissues, coffee grounds�strewn across the hardwood. Jack was stunned, transfixed with something close to horror. Jesus. Had he really done all that? Bitter acid roiled in his stomach, and he was again ashamed of himself, sickened by his actions.

He stepped farther into the kitchen and noticed the bloody streaks tracking the hall, followed by a clearly imprinted bloody half-footprint leading to Daniel�s bathroom.

"Daniel!" Ice filled Jack's veins as he spun toward the bathroom. In that moment, Jack conjured all kinds of horrific images of Daniel lying bloody and shattered on the floor, bleeding from all kinds of self-inflicted wounds.

He heard a muffled thump coming from inside, and called out once again, "Daniel, you in there?" Not waiting for an answer, he threw open the door, all the while saying a quick prayer of thanks that the door wasn't locked.

Daniel darted his head up, startled by Jack's sudden appearance, as though he hadn�t heard Jack come in. He sat huddled on the floor, his legs tucked up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees and pressing his back against the wall in the space between the shower and the toilet. Wearing nothing but a faded pair of sweatpants, Daniel�s lips had a bluish cast, and he was visibly shaking. His wet hair was plastered to his skull and a washcloth was clumsily tied around his right hand. He stretched out his legs to try to stand up, and that was when Jack saw the open, still oozing cuts on the soles of his feet.

Jesus. Dammit, Jack chanted in his head, just staring at his friend for a moment before his training kicked in. His knees protesting, he crouched down in front of Daniel, touching his bare shoulder, and was shocked by how cold he was. "Daniel, are you okay?"

Daniel nodded even though his teeth were rattling together with cold and probably shock.

"Yeah, right you are," Jack muttered, �stupid question, huh?" He yanked a towel from the rod and wrapped it over Daniel�s shoulders. "Stay here. Don�t move," Jack ordered, getting painfully back to his feet and rushing from the bathroom. Stumbling over assorted garbage, Jack went into Daniel�s bedroom, found an old, tattered robe hanging from the back of the door. He snatched it up and quickly made his way back to the bathroom. Daniel had managed to haul himself up from the floor and was sitting on the closed toilet seat, hunched over his legs, still shivering. Jack pulled the towel away and helped Daniel pull on the robe. It was too big and Jack tucked the collar snug around his friend�s neck. As he leaned closer to the toilet, he caught a whiff of old vomit and had to bite back another curse.

"What the hell, Daniel?" Jack growled, vigorously rubbing his hands up and down Daniel�s arms through the thick robe, trying to generate some heat, some response.

"T-took a c-cold sh-shower," Daniel managed through his rattling teeth. "Th-thought it might m-make me f-feel better�"

"Guess that wasn�t such a good idea, now was it?" Jack said a little more gently, relieved that Daniel was at least coherent. And then he remembered the bloody footprint. He reached down for one of Daniel�s cold feet, and peered at the underside. He crouched down to an uncomfortable level to get a better view, and in doing so rattled off an impressive string of curses.

"I�m fine," Daniel whispered, pulling his foot from Jack�s grasp. "I�m okay. J-just gimme a minute�" he muttered, wrapping his arms tight around his chest. "W-what are you doing here anyway? Didn�t you j-just leave?"

"Yeah, I did," Jack said, looking at his friend again. "And� yeah, I�m back," he added somewhat inanely. He dug around in the cupboard under the sink, tossing out cleaning supplies, soap and paper towel, until he found the first aid kit. Perching on the edge of the tub, Jack picked up Daniel's foot again and rested it on his knee. A weak attempt was made to gain back his foot, but Jack shot Daniel a warning look and held tight to his ankle. Daniel scowled at him, but held still.

Not allowing himself to think too much, Jack pressed peroxide-soaked gauze pads to the worst of the cuts. Daniel hardly registered the resulting sting, so Jack bandaged the cuts as quickly and as efficiently as he could. Then he took hold of Daniel�s wrist, gently tugging until Daniel gave in and held out the injured one. Jack took great care unwrapping the stained washcloth, and as soon as it was off, he saw the deep, ragged cut and winced in sympathy.

Jack folded a towel and placed it under Daniel�s hand. He poured more of the peroxide over it, dabbed some sterile gauze on the cut and then fashioned three of the closest approximations to a butterfly bandage he could devise, and applied them to the cut. He wrapped gauze around the hand and finally sat heavily on the tub rim. He took a long look at his friend, still hunched over a little, still shaking. Jack reached out a hand and lightly rubbed Daniel�s back, trying to offer him some warmth, some atonement for earlier.

"It�s gonna be okay," he said, but he wasn't sure if the reassurance was for his benefit, or for Daniel's.

Daniel whispered something, but it was so faint, Jack barely registered it.

"What�s that?" he asked, leaning closer.

"I�m sorry, Jack."

"Yeah, me, too," Jack said glancing down a moment and clearing his throat. "What d�ya say we move this someplace a little more comfortable, huh?"

Daniel nodded and Jack took hold of him by the wrist and around his back. Daniel pulled away as soon as he was on his feet, but Jack hovered close as Daniel limped to the living room.

Jack carefully steered him away from the sight of the kitchen, and settled his friend on the couch. He picked up the blanket crammed in the one corner of the cushions and draped it over his friend, tucking it under Daniel�s cold, bandaged feet.

"Stay put, all right?" he ordered again, but Daniel said nothing and sank down into the cushions, dropping his head back, and closing his eyes. Jack took that as an affirmative.

A quick assessment of the kitchen, and Jack set into effect his plan of attack. He turned on the water kettle, and while he waited for it to boil, he quickly swept up the broken glass. He only found one empty garbage bag, which was quicklly filled, and so he swept the rest of mess into the far back corner of the kitchen where it would be the least in the way. Carter would have to deal with it when she got here.

When the kettle whistled, he brewed a strong cup of tea and set it on the counter. While it cooled, he cleaned up the smears of blood from the floor.

Before carrying the steaming cup out to Daniel, Jack ladled in two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. He figured that Daniel was in some kind of shock, or withdrawal, or something to do with triglycerinigens or whatever the hell Janet had called it, and he knew the caffeine and sugar would help.

Jack perched on the coffee table in front of Daniel, holding the cup in his hands. "How you feeling?" he asked when Daniel darted a glance at him.

Daniel chuffed out a soft, sardonic laugh. "Not so good," he said quietly, his eyes bright with the onset of tears.

The admission caused another wave of guilt to pour over Jack.

Swiping a hand over his eyes, Daniel looked away from Jack stare at the rows and rows of multicolored spines of books on a tall shelf opposite the couch.

"Drink this," Jack told him, leaning forward to press the mug in Daniel�s hands.

Daniel carefully accepted the mug, but made no moves to drink from it. He kept his gaze fixed on the shelf. He seemed to looking at something in particular, and Jack followed his gaze and noticed the old photos; one of Daniel as a kid, grinning and sitting on top of a camel, one with his parents, his mother sitting off to the side, nearly outside the frame of the shot. Jack supposed that maybe Daniel was thinking of happier times, better places than this, and Jack sure as hell couldn�t blame him.

"Daniel. Drink. It�ll help," Jack repeated, uncertain what to do, uncertain that Daniel was even aware of what he was holding.

Finally, Daniel nodded, and leaned over the steam, his hands shaking so badly the tea nearly splashed over the sides of the mug. Keeping his eyes averted from Jack�s, he took a careful sip. "I didn't think I'd see you again," he said in a quiet, subdued voice. "Not until my suspension was up. That is, if I�m even still on the team."

"Never mind about that now," Jack said, leaning forward, trying to meet Daniel�s gaze, but he still wouldn�t look at him. "Daniel, I'm gonna ask you something and I want you to be straight with me, all right? No matter what your answer is, I promise that I�m not get mad or yell at you, I just� I want you to know that you can trust me, okay?" Daniel's gaze flicked in Jack's direction for a moment, but he didn't reply. "This has been going on for a lot longer than you've been letting on, hasn't it?"

Daniel tensed, and Jack thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he nodded.

"How long, Daniel?" Jack's voice was soft, but firm and unwavering. "How long have you been drinking?"

Daniel looked down, then took another sip of his tea before answering. "'For a long time," he answered in that same resigned voice. "Nearly my whole life, since I was twelve, I guess. But after Sha�re... it�s just... it's been harder to... to get it under control."

Jack was momentarily taken aback, stunned. "Jesus, Daniel." He thought back to all those times Daniel had turned up late for his briefings, for all those times he, Carter and Teal�c had spent waiting for him to turn up in the gateroom. Daniel had always passed off those lapses with the excuse of losing track of time, with having too many things to prepare, his typical, �sorry, had my head in a book and forgot that it was Tuesday,� but how many times had those absent-minded excuses been flat-out lies?

Jack couldn't wrap his head around it. He simply couldn't figure out how Daniel had managed to hide it so well. Even after he'd had to rescue Daniel that one night downtown, Jack had never suspected anything of this magnitude. Not a thing. The enormity of what he had been trying to pull off, and had largely succeeded at up until these past few months, was mind-boggling. Jack tore a hand through his hair. He was suddenly developing one hell of a headache. All that other stuff, the details, could wait. Right now, he had take charge of this situation.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "Okay, well... we need to do something about this." Daniel finally met his gaze, his expression guarded, cautious, and Jack felt another pang of remorse for his own out of control behavior. He moved from the table to sit beside Daniel on the couch as a show of camaraderie, that he was on Daniel's side. "Listen, in a little while, Carter and Fraiser are coming over."

"What?" Daniel frowned, his eyelids blinking heavily. "Why?" He sat up a little straighter to give Jack more room and placed the nearly full mug on the coffeetable.

"Well, call it an intervention, of sorts," Jack said, turning so that he was sitting facing Daniel. "The lying, the covering up� it stops right here, and we�re gonna help you get past this."

Daniel stared at Jack. "I� I can quit on my own."

"No, you can�t, bud," Jack corrected. "Not anymore."

"Yes, I can," Daniel shot back a little desperately. "I�ve always been able to quit�"

Jack held up a hand, halting him. "Daniel. It�s over. We�re on to you, and you have two choices right now. One � you let us help you, and no one else has to know about this. Or two - Fraiser throws your ass in a rehab clinic, and I think we both know what�ll happen to your career if it comes to that." He stopped and waited for his words to sink in.

Daniel shook his head, fury and barely suppressed terror warring for dominance on his features.

Jack met his gaze full-on. "What�s it gonna be, Daniel?"

Daniel dropped his gaze. He tried to take a deep breath that nearly turned into a sob. He pressed his bandaged hand to his mouth, trying to halt the tears that wanted to come.

"Hey, it�s gonna be okay." Jack leaned forward and grasped hold of Daniel�s other hand. "All you have to do right now is let us help you. Trust me, after all, I know a thing or two about this drying out business."

Daniel shot him a perplexed frown at that, his natural curiousity coming forth, despite everything. "Such as?"

"I�ll tell you another time," Jack said with a faint smile, squeezing Daniel�s hand a little tighter. Daniel curled his fingers around Jack's, accepting the offer of comfort and reassurance for a moment before pulling his hand free.

"Okay," Daniel said, nodding. He swiped his arm over his eyes and took another deep breath .

"Okay," Jack echoed, and through the weary resignation, he could detect a glimmer of cautious hope in his friend�s blue eyes. Jack knew that Daniel's simple affirmation meant that one battle had been fought and won.

The next, most difficult one, however, hadn�t even begun.

*****

When Sam finally drove up to Daniel�s apartment building, loaded down with cleaning supplies and heavy-duty garbage bags, she was surprised to see Jack just getting out of his truck. She had thought he was going to be at Daniel�s long before she got there. Sam found a parking spot next to Jack�s truck. In the rearview mirror, she took one last glance at her eyes, knowing they�d be all blotchy, no matter how much concealer she tried to apply. She sighed, rearranged her hair a little, got out of her car and went around to the trunk. "Colonel."

"Fancy seeing you here, Major," Jack said, reaching for a bag in the bed of his truck. He noticed how many bags Sam was attempting to juggle, so he locked up his truck and offered an arm for Sam to fill with bags.

"Carter?" Jack said, immediately noticing the puffiness around her eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Sam placed a bag in Jack�s arm, tried to smile, and said, "Janet here?"

"Yeah," he said, using his knee to find a better grip on the bags. "She�s with Daniel. Sent me on an errand."

"How�s� how is he doing?" Sam asked, slamming her trunk shut.

"For the most part, he�s okay," Jack said, turning to make his way back to the apartment. "Doc�s checking him over now though."

The two used Daniel�s key to enter the building and his apartment. Before entering, Jack turned toward Sam. He felt he needed to warn her. He thought he had warned Doc Fraiser, but he knew by her reaction when she had first entered the apartment that he might have, sort of underplayed the actual state of the place. "Whatever you�re imagining, double it. No, multiply it by a factor of�"

"I got it, sir," she said, peeking over his shoulder.

Even so, it wasn�t enough. Sam thought that she was prepared for the sight based on what she had seen in Daniel�s office, but this was so much worse. This once immaculate apartment looked as though it had been trashed and burglered. Artwork and artifacts were askew on the walls, tipped over on shelves. And everywhere she looked, bottles and glasses, everything was on the floor � clothes, books, papers.

She wouldn�t cry. Not anymore.

"Hi, Sam," came Janet�s quiet voice. The two women hugged. Over Janet�s shoulder, Sam watched Jack clear a place for all the cleaning products, for his own bag. She saw him furtively glancing at the two women, and Sam had a moment to wonder if the colonel was hurting as much as she.

"How�s Daniel?" Sam asked as she pulled back.

Janet cleared her throat, forced a smile, and said, "He�s a mess, but I�ve got it under control. I gave him a Valium. His blood pressure was a little on the high side." She nodded in the direction of Daniel's bedroom. "You can go in, if you want."

"I� I wouldn�t know what to say," Sam said, finding herself suddenly, ridiculously afraid to face her friend.

Janet touched Sam�s elbow. "You don�t have to say anything. Just the fact that you�re here is good enough."

Passing the colonel, Sam paused to look into the bags. "Did I get everything we need?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it�ll do." Jack pulled a bottle of Lysol from one bag and set it on the counter. When he noticed Sam heading toward Daniel�s bedroom, Jack said, "Remember the warning I gave you about this place?"

"Yes, sir."

"I�m just sayin�� I've seem crack houses in better shape."

"I�ll be all right," she said. She knew what he was trying to do - trying to distract her, and she was grateful to him for that.

When she opened the door to Daniel's room, she called out his name. Looking around the nearly dark room, she tried to take stock. It was almost as bad as the rest of the apartment, but not quite. Perhaps the decided lack of light helped mask most of it, or maybe he hadn't been spending that much time in here.

There was no sound from the still form buried under a mound of blankets. Sam padded across the room. She had to see him, she decided, invitation or not. "Daniel?" she called again, crouching down beside the bed.

Daniel turned over onto his side facing her, his eyes still closed. She was stunned by the pallor of his skin. His swollen eyes, rimmed with dark circles and the three day�s worth of beard made him look far older than his years. A wave of remorse swept over her. She wondered if she had just said something sooner, if she had confronted him sooner, if hadn�t tried so hard to cover up for him, then maybe it wouldn�t have come to this. Maybe...

"Hey, Sam."

She blinked, pulled from her recriminations and tried to smile at him. "Hey," she echoed and rubbed his arm. "How are you doing?"

"I�ve been better," he said with a faint smirk, a glimmer of the old Daniel. After a moment, he sat up, leaning his back against the headboard. "Janet gave me something�" he said as he swiped a hand over his face, and blinked a few times. "it�s making me a little� spacey."

"It�s okay," she said softly. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. I�ll just let you get some sleep. Sam started to get to her feet again.

"I� I�m sorry, Sam," Daniel nearly whispered, looking up at her, his voice wavering, his chin trembling. She stopped, then perched on the bed beside him, taking hold of his hand. "I didn�t mean for this�"

"I just don�t understand all this, Daniel," Sam admitted, and despite her best intentions not to cry anymore, tears filled her eyes, her throat tightened. "How could this happen? How could you let it go this far?"

"I don�t know," Daniel said, and his breath hitched. "I just... I couldn't stop. I couldn't..." He looked down at their joined hands and tears spilled down his face.

Sam leaned forward, cupped the back of his head and gently touched her brow to his temple. His skin was hot, clammy, and in this close, she could feel his entire body trembling.

"I�m sorry," he quietly said again. Sam pulled him into her arms, and after a moment, he returned her embrace, tucking his chin against her shoulder.

Sam held tightly to her friend, as though she'd never let him go, and she supposed she needed some forgiveness, too.

*****

Janet ladled the soup into the bowl, placed a sleeve of crackers next to it, and took a deep breath to steel her resolve. She�d need it. In the last day, even the most trivial request or minor question directed toward Daniel was met with either snappish derision or petulant silence. It was part of the process, she knew. Well, the scientist in her knew. The friend couldn�t help but feel more than a little pissed off.

Jack, flipping through a newspaper while sprawled out on the couch, offered, "You want me to go get him?"

"No," Janet said, although, truth be told, she would have preferred it. "No, I�ll get him. I�m sure it�s my turn."

"Suit yourself," Jack shrugged.

Janet padded off to Daniel�s bedroom door, all the while realizing how very tired she was. After she had arrived and assessed Daniel�s condition, she�d decided to dose him with Librium, sedate him properly so that he could rest.

Then, Jack, Sam and she had spent the better part of two days cleaning his apartment, carrying garbage bag after garbage bag down to the dumpster, and searching through his belongings in order to find hidden contraband.

Now and again, they�d check on him, one at a time, trying not to wake him, or aggravate him. A few times, Jack was called into service to help Daniel into the bathroom. Through it all, Daniel was largely silent.

But now, the Librium had worn off, and Daniel had refused any further medication. He was over the most serious withdrawal symptoms, but this next level�headaches, sweating, anxiety--was almost as difficult to ride out.

"Daniel," she said, tapping on his door. "Daniel? I have some soup for you." When there was no reply, Janet slid open the door and peeked inside.

He was sitting hunched on the end of the bed, holding his head tightly, as though he was afraid it would explode, and Janet knew that his headaches were getting unbearable.

"Daniel? You okay?" she asked, taking measured steps toward him. She had a bag full of all sorts of pills that would help. All he needed to do was ask.

"Daniel, how can I help?"

"Just� leave," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"I mean how can help you manage your�"

"By leaving."

"Okay," she said, brushing the loose hair from her forehead, fatigue weighing down her shoulders. "Let�s take another route. Daniel, I made you some soup. Would you like to come out and eat, or would you like me to bring it in here?"

"I don�t want any."

"You need to eat."

"You don�t know what I need."

"Okay, then why don�t you tell me what you need?"

Daniel considered the request, and raised his head, his eyes bloodshot. "Look, I�ve done this before. I know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Taper off."

"Daniel�"

"What I need�what I want is a shot of gin," he interrupted. "Two�two shots. Just to take the edge off. That�s all."

"You want me to bring you a drink."

"Yes," he said, nodding, his fingers twining together. "See, I think�I know I would be much more successful, more comfortable if I could just�"

"Daniel, I�m not going to allow you to drink and you know that."

Daniel stared at her, his wide eyes suddenly flashing with anger. He visibly forced it back, chewed on his lip a moment, then stood and began pacing. "You� you don�t understand how this works."

"Daniel," Janet began, closing her eyes, finding she, too, had quite a headache, "this is part of the addiction and the withdrawal symptoms that I explained to you."

Daniel kept pacing and threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Well, you asked me how you could help! And I told you!"

"Daniel, I was asking about your obvious pain levels," Janet said as patiently as she could. "You don�t need to suffer like this."

"And I told you that I wouldn�t be in any pain if you� you people would just let me�let me go through this on my own!"

"Is there a problem?" Jack asked, entering the room.

Janet sighed, turning to face Jack. "Daniel would like me to get him a drink."

"Yeah, right," Jack snorted, "like that�s gonna happen."

Daniel stopped pacing to lean up against the wall, his arms woven tightly around his head.

"Look, Daniel," Jack said, "Doc made you some lunch. Now here are your options; you eat, or you don�t. You�ll notice that nowhere in that list did I include a drink."

"Leave me alone," Daniel nearly pleaded.

"What�s your decision?" Jack asked.

"I said leave me alone!" came the muffled, angry reply.

"I guess that's a 'no' to the lunch," Jack said to Janet.

"I guess it is,� Janet agreed, and she and Jack shut the door on their way out, leaving Daniel alone in the room.

Daniel began pacing again. They didn�t understand. Or, he thought, maybe they did understand, but maybe they just wanted to see him suffer. Oh, and he was suffering. Every vein in his body felt like frayed electrical wires; his skin crawled, pulling taut over the hard ache of bones. And his head�a constant pounding, right behind his eyes. He leaned his forehead against the wall and pressed his palms against his skull. It didn�t help. His jaws ached from grinding his teeth together, only adding to the pressure in his head.

A prisoner in his own home, he snorted. Jack and Janet�they were the two guards outside his door, who stood between this madness and his sanity.

"Just one fucking drink!" he bellowed. He was fairly sure he wouldn�t get a response.

But this pain, this razor-blade slicing of pain was too much. He dug his nails into his scalp, and finally called out for Janet.

In the kitchen, Janet exchanged a glance with the colonel, and waited for Daniel to call out her name again.

"Janet!"

"I believe I�m being beckoned," she said, rubbing a hand over her forehead.

"Want me to go talk to him?"

"No, I can handle him."

"While you�re in there, ask him if he has anything better to read," Jack requested, depositing himself back on the couch. "Some Tom Clancy, Stephen King, I�m not fussy."

"I�ll see what I can do." Once again, Janet returned to Daniel�s bedroom, not bothering to knock on the door. She found him leaning up against the wall, breathing hard, his features pinched with pain.

"Yes, Daniel."

Admitting that he was in pain was admitting he was in withdrawal. Admitting he needed something to ease the pain was admitting that he couldn�t handle it, even though he knew he deserved this punishment. He�d let this go way too long, and this misery was all his own damn fault, but still, he�d had enough. His bruised and battered pride had capitulated long ago, but even still, it was hard to say the words, to give in.

"You gave me something in Egypt," he said, refusing to look Janet in the eye.

"Beta blockers."

Please don�t make me say anymore, he thought, biting his lip.

"I�ll be right back," Janet said gently, sympathetically, and he wanted to weep with gratitude, but he didn�t. He held it together until she got back. He choked down the medication and waited for it to take hold. Even when it did, he still wanted a drink so badly he could almost taste it.

*****

Of all the aches and pains assailing him, Daniel would have had to say that his back hurt the worst. It could have been the intermittent retching from the constant nausea, or possibly the near-constant tremors, but more than likely, it was the long hours spent in bed sleeping. Either way, he had to get up, and if he left the room, he was going to need� something.

What he didn�t need was another one-sided heart-to-heart with whoever was the counselor du jour.

Weighing the difference between spending another minute in his cloying bedroom, or chancing having to speak to another person, Daniel reluctantly chose the latter and dragged himself from bed. He rolled to his side, coughed, and tried to focus. Okay, next step: sit up. He clenched the sheets, steadying himself, waiting out the nauseating vertigo. He pulled in a shaky breath, coughed up what felt like half a lung, and slapped his hands to his burning kidneys.

Great, he thought, I either have pneumonia, or I�m going through kidney failure�

And still, he needed.

With the help of his cluttered nightstand, he pushed away from his bed. Standing seemed to relieve some of the ache in his lower back. He decided he knew exactly what else he needed right now. Padding into the living room, he made a beeline for his desk. He steadied himself on the back of the chair and scanned the surface of the desk. He fully expected to see the pack of cigarettes right on top. He slapped away a few papers and scattered the books.

"Looking for something?"

He jumped, almost forgetting that Jack was in the apartment. Daniel, his mouth gaping in surprise, shook his head, irritated with himself and turned back to the desk.

"I threw all the bottles away. Even the hidden ones. You�re very creative," Jack said, casually flipping the pages of Daniel�s "Athena Review."

"I�m not-" Daniel began.

"Is this magazine always so boring?" Jack interrupted.

"A pack of cigarettes," Daniel finished, blurting out the words. "I�m looking for my cigarettes. And that�s a quarterly, not a magazine."

"Excuse me?"

"I had a pack, right here." Daniel scowled and looked some more through the cubbyholes. "Somewhere."

"Since when do you smoke?"

"I don�t know. Does it matter?"

"Kind of comes with the territory?" Jack said, raising an eyebrow.

"Something like that. Daniel tore open the top drawer again, hoping the pack would miraculously surface, but no such luck. "Dammit!"

"Can you describe them?"

"Camels. A whole, unopened pack. God dammit, Jack! Have you seen them, or not?"

Jack lost interest in the game, all the while seeming to almost enjoy Daniel�s spectacular annoyance. Jack ambled over to the kitchen and picked up the missing pack of cigarettes off the top of the refrigerator. "I suppose you�ll need the lighter, too." Daniel only glared at him in reply. After a moment�s search, Jack came up with the lighter, and handed both to him, who all but ran out onto the balcony.

"You�re welcome," Jack called after him.

Daniel tore at the cellophane wrapper and barely managed to yank out the first cigarette before his shaking hands lost grip. The cigarette fell to the balcony floor, where the light breeze whisked it away and over the edge.

"Fucking hell!" Daniel shook the pack once again, managing to grab hold of the second cigarette. Fingers trembling wildly, he brought the cigarette to his lips, lifted the lighter, and tried to steady his hands. Once, twice he tried to work the lighter and nearly dropped it both times. The lighter quaked in his hands; the cigarette bounced in his lips. Wrapping both hands around the lighter, he cursed and gave it another try.

It was too pathetic to watch. Jack remembered having been on that bitter, hairy edge of need once upon a dark and nasty time. And as much as he wanted Daniel to suffer through this�the whole, tough, suck it up lesson�even Jack couldn�t watch this kind of suffering. He stepped onto the balcony, stood next to Daniel, and held out his hand. Daniel stared at him, knowing full well what Jack meant by the gesture, and that in and of itself was infuriating. Jack snapped his fingers a few times and held his hand open again. Rolling his eyes, Daniel slapped the lighter into it. With one controlled flick of his thumb, Jack lit it and cupped his hand around the flame, leaning in close to Daniel. Unfortunately, the younger man was shaking so badly that Jack feared he�d accidentally wind up burning his lips off.

"Ah, jeez," Jack muttered, snatching the cigarette from Daniel�s mouth and placing it between his own lips. Jack lit up, closed one eye against the smoke, and waited until the end changed to embers. He pulled the lit cigarette from his mouth, exhaled into the morning air, and placed it between Daniel�s lips. Waving his hand to fan the smoke away from him, Jack coughed.

Daniel ignored him and turned to face the railing, stared unseeing at the view and inhaled deeply, relishing the first modicum of control he�d had in days. With one arm wrapped around his midsection, his back hunched against the chilled air and the dull ache in his back, he inhaled one long drag after another. Smoke curled above his head, where the wind drew it into a dance.

Watching his friend sucking in the smoke so deeply that his cheeks hollowed out with every puff, Jack couldn�t stand seeing him like this; haggard, too thin, too pale, at such a low, debilitating point in his life. He knew Daniel well enough to know that Daniel hated it even more.

Jack took a seat in the rattan chair off to the side and gave his friend some space. He watched Daniel pace the far end of the balcony, watched the glowing orange end of the cigarette burn down. So many questions, so many unanswered speculations were wrapped up in that mind, wrapped up in the rigid posture of the man before him.

Ten years earlier, it would have been Jack in this place, pacing, hunched around his misery. Ten years earlier�had it really been that long ago?�it would have been Jack rifling through the barren landscape of his own soul, searching the dusty remains for a reason to buck up, to go on.

You�re killing yourself, O�Neill, his old CO had told him when the reality of Jack�s abuse of painkillers became too obvious to ignore. You�re destroying your career, your commission and your health. Get a hold of yourself, O�Neill.

And Jack did. He got a hold of himself by popping twice the amount of pills. Besides, prescribed medication wasn�t killing him. Four months in an Iraqi prison was the true culprit. Those four months, with a skull fracture and a third-world repair to his knee, were truly the destroyer of his world. The painkillers simply allowed him to survive the death of everything else.

So what if his addiction to Percocet and Vicodin was a death unto itself? With the right combination, it didn�t matter. Many, many days and nights Jack had found the right combination. Many, many days and nights were lost.

How many days of Charlie�s short life had he missed?

How many days had Daniel missed? What was he trying to kill?

So many questions needed to be asked.

Jack shifted in his chair. He wanted to be able to see Daniel better, to see if the shaking had subsided. He wanted some sign that he could ask him some of those questions, that the questions wouldn�t shake him up even more. When he saw Daniel raise a fairly controlled hand to his mouth and snap off a long, gray ash off what little was left of his cigarette, Jack decided to march ahead.

"So, Daniel�"

"I need�" Daniel began, cutting him off, then seemed to think better of using a word that constituted all his miseries. He drew in the final hit off his cigarette, dropped it to the ground, and ground it out. "I, uh� I want another one."

The tension in his face alone told Jack that Daniel should have stuck with his original word. He needed, all right, and Jack couldn�t help another wave of empathy towards his friend. Jack stood up, tapped another cigarette from the pack, lit it, and handed it to him.

Daniel, humiliated once again, focused on the glowing end of his cigarette and began pacing again. He stopped at the far end of the balcony, turned to the city once again. Somewhere down there were the cold nights spent in D�Angelo�s bar, the damp early mornings spent at the Sticky Wicket, and the anonymous afternoons with the other desperados at Jake�s. In between were the equally anonymous moments spent buying bottle after bottle of increasingly cheaper spirits. Somewhere down there were six lost months.

"Believe it or not," Daniel said, turning to Jack, startling him, and waving his cigarette. "But I hate these things. Always have."

"Nasty habit," Jack agreed, as though he himself hadn�t smoked for the better of fifteen years when he was too young to know better. Since Daniel had made the first attempt at conversation, Jack decided now was as good a time as any to clear some things up. "So, uh, you think you might want to talk for a minute?"

Daniel drew in a long toke and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "About what?" he asked, smoke streaming from his nostrils.

"Like the apartment full of bottles Carter and I spent cleaning up, for starters," Jack waited for a caustic reply, a surly barb. Instead, all he got was a quick nod, and Daniel sucked in another long puff. "Those sure as hell weren�t here a few months ago."

Daniel tapped the ashes off the end of his cigarette over the street below and watched them dissipate into the air. "No, they weren�t," he admitted, returning the cigarette to his mouth.

" So what happened?" Jack said. "You sure as haven�t been drinking that heavily all your life or you would have killed yourself a long time ago. How long have you been�been�"

"Binge drinking?"

"Yeah."

"About the same time I started smoking."

"Which was�"

"I don�t know. Around April, I guess."

"Just about the same time�"

"As when Sha�re died," Daniel finished quietly.

Jack cursed under his breath. He should have known better; he did know better. After he�d picked up Daniel from phonebooth that miserable night, he should have taken that cry for help a little more seriously. And he sure as hell shouldn�t have expected a promise and a pat on the back to make it all better. He had miscalculated, what they had all miscalculated, was Daniel�s resilience. All of a sudden, Jack felt the crush of personal responsibility.

"It�s not your fault," Daniel said, resting his elbows on the railing, all but reading Jack�s mind, as he�d always done. "I have been hiding my drinking for nearly all my life, remember? I�m pretty good at it."

"Yeah, well," Jack started, pushing out of his chair and joining Daniel at the railing, "I hate to break this to you, but you kinda blew your cover."

Daniel smiled a little at that. "I guess I did."

Jack massaged the back of his neck, gazing down at the city; ant-like people bustling around, toy cars driving stopping, driving stopping. "Why didn�t you talk to me, Daniel?" Jack blurted, asking the one question that had been niggling at him, tormenting him all along, turning toward his friend, but not quite making eye contact with him. "You could have come to me, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Daniel said, not looking at him either and sucking in a quick draw. "It was easier just to drink, I suppose. It�s what I�ve always done." Eyes lowered, mouth set in a tight line, he exhaled a quick blast of smoke through his nose.

"You know, I honestly had no idea it was ever this bad," Jack said, wondering how many times he�d been completely oblivious to his friend�s pain, and again, he was completely bowled over by Daniel had managed this for so long. "Just out of curiosity, how often would you say you�ve been drunk in the, oh, last six months?"

"How many days are there in half a year?" Daniel asked.

"That many?"

"Give or take."

"Jesus, Daniel."

"Yeah." When you break it down like that, it sounds pretty�"

"Bad."

"Yeah."

"You know, when I was twelve, I was playing Little League," Jack said, suspecting all too well what would drive a kid to that desperation.

"Count yourself lucky then," Daniel said almost abruptly and Jack knew that was a conversation for another day. Daniel took a final puff then put it out against the rough metal of the railing.

"So what�s the next step after this?" Jack asked quietly.

Daniel slowly ran his fingers across his brow, as though he had another headache, and said, "I really wish I knew."

"Okay, well, it�s fairly obvious you need to�I don�t know�join Triple A, or something."

Daniel blinked at him, confused. "I already have car insurance, and that... that dent in my car-"

Jack stared at him a moment. "No. No, AA. Alcoholic�s Anonymous. You know, or something like that."

Daniel chuffed out a soft laugh and leaned his elbows on the railing, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. "I already tried that."

"You did?" Jack said, surprised. "How�d that go?"

"Well... it was a month or so ago."

"So, not that well."

"No." Daniel shook his head. "I�m�I�m not like those people, Jack. I�ve never needed to drink every day, and I�ve quit before and I can do it again."

"Doesn�t the very fact that you've been binge drinking your entire life before suggest something about your success rate? Or lack thereof?"

"I don�t know what to do, Jack," Daniel admitted, turning his head to look at him, and Jack heard the hopelessness in the words, saw the bleak despair in his shadowed eyes. "I... I don't think I can go back there."

"Is it possible you went to a meeting when you weren�t ready to accept that you� are like them?" And with those words came the reappearance of the shaking hands, the tightening of his features. "Daniel, listen to me: I don�t have a clue what you should do. But it seems to me you gotta find some professional help."

"But it's... it's never been this... bad before," Daniel choked out, somewhere between an embarrassed laugh and a shame-filled cry.

"That's how it works, Daniel. Every addict figures he has it all under control, and you do. For a while. You manage. You function, and then, all of sudden the addiction becomes everything. Nothing else matters - your family, your job, your life. Nothing. All that matters is getting that fix, and that's why it's come down to this." Jack knew this was a crossroads, and it was the time for clarity, for purpose, and for honest words, no matter how painful.

"The fact of the matter is�" he began, at the same time, he wondered if he could speak the truth. He narrowed his eyes, took a breath and started again, his voice soft and insistent. "The fact of the matter is I can�t let you back on the team until you get this under control. I can�t put Carter and Teal�c in that kind of jeopardy."

"I know," Daniel said, dropping his head. I understand."

"I guess it comes down to how badly you want to stop this."

For Daniel, it was a different question: Could he stop? Did he have the strength to be sober? Nights were terrifying, long and cold. The pain was too sharp. Faces and accusations clanged discordantly all day long in his mind. The tumblers of Scotch and ice evened it all out.
Could he stop what he'd been doing all his life?

"What�s it gonna be, Daniel?"

Here in the cold, the soon-to-be darkness, Daniel twined his fingers around each other, until his knuckles were white with tension. A tension, that uncontrollable tension that sat so heavily in his chest, was building toward a cry, so he rasped his conjoined hands against his stubbled chin. The tears would just have to dry up in the breeze.

"Daniel?"

"Can you light me another cigarette?"

Jack nodded, tapped another cigarette out of the pack, lit it, and handed it carefully to him. Daniel took it with a nod of thanks, and Jack was relieved to see that his hands were only trembling just a little - the nicotine must be having some effect.

"It�s getting colder out here." Jack rubbed his hands over his sleeves. He'd said all he was going to right now, and really, it came down to a single decision. For Daniel to realize that he had to stop doing this to himself and get his life back on track. Jack just wasn't sure if his friend had reached that point yet, and it scared the hell out of him.

"Daniel," he said, watching while Daniel drew in one long, staccato inhalation, where his haggard face glowed orange behind the breathing embers, "you wanna go inside?"

"I never smoke in the apartment."

"There are rules to these things?"

"More than you�ll ever know," Daniel said with a faint, sad smile. Slowly, his fingers lessened their grip on each other and the cigarette. Slowly, his breathing became more fluid and some of the tension left his body. "I should," he paused and cleared his throat, "um, probably try again. Try a... a little harder this time."

"Yeah, I think you�re right," Jack said as casually as he could, even while a surge of relief, of hope coursed through him.

"I guess I�ve known for a long time."

"And by a long time, you mean�" Jack asked, titling his head, uncertain. Daniel just shook his head, and that was okay. They had plenty of time to talk later.

But for now... words disappeared. Enough truth had been spoken; enough promises. Jack understood by the quick spasms of breath that Daniel had reached his limit of how much was willing to admit at this point. He also realized that Daniel probably needed time to digest this huge realization.

Stepping away from the railing, Jack gave Daniel�s elbow a quick squeeze, and said, "It's damn cold out here. Think I�ll go in." Daniel nodded, bent further, until his forehead rested atop his clasped hands on the railing. "Why don�t you�"

"It goes away."

Jack wasn�t sure if it was the sadness in Daniel�s words that got to him, or the enigmatic words themselves. Either way, he pivoted back toward Daniel, a step or two behind him. "How�s that?"

"Every time I think I have it under control, it� it just goes away." And with one hitch in his breath, Daniel�s knees buckled. Jack lunged for him, but found that Daniel wasn�t collapsing. Merely hunkering down. He held tight to the railing, his forehead pressed against the cool Plexiglas. "It scares me, Jack, because sometimes� sometimes I wonder if I�ll ever get it back. Completely back."

"You will."

"You don�t know that." With a toss, Daniel�s spent cigarette floated to the pavement below.

"Well, I've found that you can be pretty determined when you set your mind to something," Jack said. "In fact, you're the most stubborn son of bitch I know, so, if anyone can do this-"

"Jack, I�ve known that I�m an� I mean, I�ve accepted that, where alcohol is concerned," Daniel broke in, his voice a little muffled. "I�m, uh�" Puffs of air condensed on the glass in front of his face, and Jack could just make out the tortured expression on Daniel�s face in the reflection. "But I swear to God, sometimes I really can�t differentiate between the why and the why not. Sometimes, Jack, I just think�" His voice dissolved into a barely suppressed sob.

"I think it means you�re tired. You�ve been through hell. Let�s go inside."

"No..." Daniel whispered, rocking his head against the pane. "Everything I do... it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't make any difference. It never has."

"Daniel," Jack said, exasperated, "look, right now, nothing has any sense, okay? Give yourself a break, would ya? Come inside. I�ll make you something to eat. Come on."

"I don't know if I can do this, Jack. I don't know what to do."

And with that quietly whispered fear, Jack pulled the rattan chair close to his friend and lowered himself into the seat.

"It's gonna be okay," Jack said as firm and resolute as he could. Reaching out, he grasped hold of Daniel�s shoulder. When Daniel glanced at him, surprised by the contact, Jack held his tear-filled gaze, offering his friend his own strength. "We�ll figure it out, Danny," he whispered, and found a knot forming in his own throat. He squeezed Daniel's shoulder a little tighter. "We'll get your through this."

*****

Jack didn�t know what was worse in those next days, the quiet agitation, or the way the day�s light seemed to slide over Daniel�s features, morning to night, without Daniel saying a word or moving from his place at the window in the living room.

Finally, Jack decided Daniel�s non-stop introspection was over and that he needed to get some air.

And so it was that that morning, when the sun was still long from cresting the horizon, Jack gathered Daniel�s clothes and shoes and dumped them on his lap.

"You need to get out," Jack said, when Daniel turned his head to scowl at him. "Get dressed. We�re going out."

Daniel shoved the clothes to the floor and shook his head. He looked back at the view outside the window, a focus he had maintained for hours.

"Daniel, let�s go." Jack grabbed his arm and gave him a tug, which elicited a barely comprehensible snarled curse as Daniel snatched his arm back.

"Right. I�m so scared," Jack said rolling his eyes. "If you want to get dressed fine. If not, you're going out in those rank sweats you've worn for the past two days. Either way, we�re leaving in five minutes."

"Where?"

"Hey, it speaks!" Jack crowed.

"Where are we going?" Daniel repeated through gritted teeth.

"Quandary Peak," Jack said, liking the double entendre of Daniel�s predicament and one of Colorado�s fourteeners.

"Lovell Gulch," Daniel amended, choosing an easier trail, without elevation.

"We�ll work up to Quandary," said Jack, masking his surprised pleasure that Daniel was actually willing and on board.

Once there, even that trail proved to be difficult for Daniel as he slogged through the minor crags and hills. The next morning was a little easier. By the fourth day, on the Kroenke Lake trail, Daniel was outpacing Jack.

Even so, the quiet continued. Jack didn�t mind. It wasn�t important that they talk. It was important that Daniel get out and exercise, replace one activity with another. That natural adrenaline was a good for alleviating withdrawal symptoms. He�d learned that watching Doctor Phil one afternoon, an admission he wasn�t about to make to anyone, even under the threat of Goa'uld infestation.

On the fifth day, Jack decided The Crags would be a great workout�a little rock climbing, a nice stream. He�d bring his fishing pole. Nothing like a little catch and release to heal the spirit.

But unlike the last four days, when Daniel pushed himself through the hike, on this day, Daniel lagged. After a difficult ascent up a particularly rocky trail, Jack suggested they take a break. He told Daniel to drink some water, eat one of his protein bars. Again in silence, they rested, and both of them ate their snacks and drank their water.

When Jack was about to say that it was time to get started again, Daniel rose from his spot and walked to the edge of the trail, overlooking the valley below. Jack had a moment where the hairs on his arms stood at attention, hoping Daniel wasn�t stupid enough to get too close, to...

"Jack, did you ever read my personal file?" Daniel asked, which surprised Jack.

"Oh, Daniel, you know me and paperwork," Jack offered, and when Daniel�s brow furrowed in frustration, Jack knew it wasn�t the time to be anything but honest. "Yeah. Of course I did. Long time ago."

"Then you know about what happened after my� my parents died," Daniel said.

"Some of it." Jack tucked his water bottle into his pack and rose to stand alongside Daniel. The canyon below was dizzying.

"You know about the�foster care?"

"Like I said, I read your file years ago. Daniel," Jack began, hoping to give Daniel a way out of this conversation. By the way Daniel squinted his eyes and set his jaw, Jack knew this wasn�t going to be a warm and fuzzy story.

It was true, Jack had read Daniel�s file. He was required to read it before Daniel joined SG1. At the time, he thought he�d find the ordinary: education, childhood indiscretions, etc. What he found were police reports, medical records, court proceedings. The kind of thing an employer would never see, but a military installation seeking to give top-secret clearance to a person would have access to. Jack never forgot those reports, nor the garish, awful picture of a boy he never knew, but who had turned into the man he would learn to trust with his life.

"Among my many placements over the years, one of them was with a couple, the Davies," Daniel said. Jack braced himself, not only for his own reaction, but for the obvious pain it brought Daniel.

Jack remembered the picture�a mug shot, really, of a boy with a bruised face and a split, swollen lip. But what was worse, was the apathy in that child�s eyes, the complete and utter lack of care. It was a stoicism borne of pain and betrayal, loss. How often had Jack seen it in the last years�

"Mr. Davies was a real son of a bitch, ya know?" Daniel said, letting go with a forced smile, which fooled neither of them. "Control freak, bully�that sort of thing. I�ll never know why Child Welfare would� although he did put on a pretty good front. The picture of the model all-American citizen."

The memory had cost Daniel, and Jack did the only thing he could�gaze at the spectacular view, give his friend some space.

"His wife, Dolores, she was nice. She was good to me, but she was�" Daniel began. How could he put into words what he spent years trying not to remember? "Well, she got the worst of it. She couldn�t protect herself, let alone me. And I was too young to protect myself, even though I tried sometimes. Most of the time it was just bullying, you know, yelling, berating, beating you down, but sometimes... sometimes he got violent. Once time, he threw me so hard against the closet door in my bedroom that it flew off its hinges, all because I forgot to pick up my clothes from the floor. There was nothing I could do to stop him, but then I... I figured out how I could escape, at least for a while, for a few hours a day. He always kept his liquor cabinet well stocked, and he never suspected a thing. And... and that�s when I started drinking."

"When you were twelve?" Jack asked, though it all made sense now. He couldn't help the rush of anger towards the unseen man who had driven his friend to such desperation, to such a dark place that he had never truly been able to escape.

"Yeah. Fourteen when I� when I was removed." Daniel closed his eyes for a moment, a nervous energy cruising through his body. He took a deep breath and held the air in his lungs until his chest began to ache. "Anyway, that's why I wasn't playing Little League, or doing all the things that normal kids are supposed to do. Not that I ever was a normal kid... but I... I thought I owed you an explanation."

"You don�t owe me anything," Jack said gently.

"No, I do owe you an apology," Daniel said, turning to Jack. He swallowed hard and kept going. "A proper one. And I am sorry, Jack, for all the�" He wondered how he could apologies for things he barely remembered. He cleared his throat and tried again. "For all of it. I don�t know what else to say."

"It�s enough," Jack said, stepping close to his friend and clapping his hand on his arm. "Apology accepted."

"Thank you," Daniel said, ducking his head to quickly swipe his sleeve over his eyes.

"But you gotta know, Daniel, it�s going to be a long time before�"

"Before you completely trust me again. I know."

Jack nodded, wishing the truth weren�t so evident. "Just keep doing what you�re doing."

"One day at a time, as they say," Daniel offered, the cynicism clear in his voice.

"Have you ever wanted to look him up?" Jack asked, as the thought came to him.

"Davies?" Daniel asked, and Jack nodded. "Every couple years I do an internet search. I don�t know why. He�s still around. Still lives in the same place. Both of them."

"You ever want to show up on his door step?"

"Why?"

"I don�t know," Jack shrugged. "Clear the air? Punch his lights out?"

Daniel shook his head, loosened the cap on his water bottle, tightened it back up. "Wouldn�t change things."

"Maybe not," Jack agreed. "And maybe it would."

"How?" Daniel asked, searching Jack�s expression. "I�d have still found my way to the bottle, with or without Davies. I'm pretty sure of that," he said thinking of genetic predisposition and fate and all those things that he'd tried so hard not to believe in. "Besides, what would I say?"

"I�m not sure."

"Exactly." Daniel nervously unscrewed the cap once again on his water bottle, looked down into its contents, and could only manage to shake his head.

"Thanks for..." Jack pulled his cap down farther on the back of his head, and looked down, "telling me that. Although it does me want to go back to that freaky planet, find that grandfather of yours and give him a piece of my mind."

Daniel couldn't help laughing at that. "Yeah, good old Nick. But it wasn't all bad, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Daniel said, still smiling a little. "After the Davies, I went to another placement. Lila. She... I guess the fact that I've made it this far is all thanks to her."

"Hey, give yourself some credit, too," Jack said.

Daniel shook his head. "My accreditations, my PhD's, that all came fairly easy to me. What Lila gave me was a lot more important."

"What was that?"

"Acceptance. Safety," Daniel said. "The whole time I was in foster care, even before the Davies, I was always scared. But not with Lila. Being with her was the closest thing I had to a real home after my parents died."

Jack smiled a little, too, grateful that Daniel had at least found that. "You ever look her up?"

"I lost track of her," Daniel said with a shrug. "I think she got married again. I haven't seen her since I was seventeen. I always wondered how she was doing, though." He rubbed the back of his neck, squinting in the bright sunshine. "Maybe I will try finding her one of these days."

"Good plan," Jack agreed.

Daniel shifted his feet, scuffing his hiking shoes in the dirt, getting restless.

"You know the way back down the trail?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," Daniel said, looking at him questioningly.

"Then lead on, Kemo Sabe." Jack lightly slapped at his friend's back, picked up his pack, and waited for Daniel to start down the trail, leading the way home.

*****

Daniel knew he didn�t want to go back to that community center. It was just one more site of negativity. He knew enough about himself that the sheer institutionalization of the place would excuse enough to never go back, to never give this a fair shake.

Instead, he went online and did a search on Colorado Springs AA meetings, and was shocked at just how many there were, how often, and the variety in gathering places.

One that caught his eye was at 6 AM, every morning, at a place called Ute Pass. Daniel knew it well. There was a covered picnic area at the trailhead. It would be perfect.

Well, as perfect as going to an AA meeting could be.

At 4:30am on a dark, cold Tuesday, fully ten days after his last drink, alarm clock blaring, Daniel dragged himself from bed and then from his apartment. He stopped to buy a cup of industrial-strength gas station coffee and made his way to the trailhead. He thought he�d be more nervous, more anxious about willingly attending an AA meeting, one where he was prepared to listen with an open mind, but for some reason, he instead felt calm, accepting, even.

When he arrived at the pavilion, there were a couple dozen people gathered under the lodgepole pine and tin structure. Daniel gathered up his coffee, buttoned up his leather jacket, and joined the rest. He chose a seat near the periphery of the group and was tremendously relieved when no one offered him any pamphlets or other unsolicited information. He simply sat down, wrapped his hands around the warm paper cup of his coffee, and listened.

A young man with tanned skin and longish hair, handsome in a scholarly, bookish way and not much older than Daniel, stood up from his chair, his hands in his black North Face coat.

"My name is Jason," he said, bouncing slightly on his toes. The entire group welcomed him, including Daniel. "I�m an alcoholic. I�ve been sober for three years and five weeks. I�ve always been one to come to the party late, so it took me a long time to realize I was one of them. You know what I�m talking about. We�re not one of them. We�re too smart, too educated, too upwardly mobile to be one of them, an alcoholic," he said, running his hand through his hair, a smile highlighting his features. "Yeah, well, guess what? I�m one of them. I�m an alcoholic.

"I�m a sociology professor at a college in the area, and I absolutely knew that alcoholics were people outside of academia," Jason continued. "They had to be. Yeah, sure, there were differences between the way I drank and the way my colleagues drank. For instance, when we�d go out, they�d all be sipping their first drink, and I�d be on my fourth or fifth. When my friends started to notice how I could throw down drinks, I started excusing myself from the table. I�d go to the bar, drink a couple, go back to my seat, and say I had been on the phone."

A few nervous twitters floated over the crowd. Daniel found himself staring at this articulate, charismatic man, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. So much of the man�s story was his own.

"We�re very good at hiding, aren�t we?" Jason said with a cynical smirk. "I never understood how the others, how my friends and family were able to stop at one or two, and I stopped only when I passed out. Finally, the scientist in me came up with the answer. This difference had nothing to do with logic or control. It had nothing to do with willpower, or the lack thereof. And it certainly," he said, and paused to laugh to himself. "It certainly had nothing to do with my morality, which I was led to believe by certain people. It had to do with the way my brain works. Once I surrendered to that fact, I started to get better."

Jason lifted a steaming cup of coffee, took a sip, and looked out over the mountain range. "Cold this morning, isn�t it?" Random people nodded, voiced their agreement, and the general consensus was that he was correct. "So here I am, a little over three years sober. I�d like to say I�ve become a better person in those three years, more family-oriented, a better teacher, more tidy around the house. I haven�t. But I have been sober, and that, in and of itself, is something. It�s something huge. And that�s why I keep coming to our little pavilion in the sky."

Jason smiled a little shyly at everyone before sitting back down, and Daniel felt somehow invigorated. For the first time in years, that part of his soul that felt abandoned and alone was being filled, and it was almost overwhelming, almost too much. There was a long silence as everyone looked around at one another, some chatting quietly amongst themselves. And then Daniel found himself on his feet, even before he had a chance to think about it.

"Um, hi," he said, and the group turned toward him. "My name is�Daniel. And... and I�m an alcoholic." An older man closest to him to Daniel said hello, and Daniel nodded at him, then continued. "It�s been ten days since my last drink." A few "good jobs" were thrown out from the crowd. Daniel looked over the gathering of people. They all looked like him�ordinary, intelligent people. People who had more to gain than to lose. "I think�I think that�s all I�m prepared to say right now."

The others nodded their assent, some smiled at him and he heard a few "that's okay's," and he quickly sat down, his heart pounding, and for the first time in years he felt his breath coming easily.

The older man next to him offered Daniel his hand. Daniel took it, and the man said, "Well done." Daniel thanked him, shook the man's hand.

He knew that this solitary, secret life was over. That he didn�t have to carry the world or his pain by himself anymore.

*****

"I�m not drunk, Jack," Daniel said again, trying hard to lift his head off the back of his passenger-side seat.

"I know you�re not, Daniel," Jack said again, checking the speed of his truck. Only six, seven more minutes, he thought with desperation. "Just keep talking to me, do you hear me?"

But once again, Daniel�s head lolled, and he fell into an oblivion that frightened Jack enough to step on the gas, upping his already dangerous speed. With one hand, he reached over and tapped Daniel�s cheek, which felt clammy under his fingers. Daniel�s head rolled as the truck swerved a little, his eyes rolled back and his breathing sounded much too erratic.

"Hey, now. Wake up for me, Daniel," Jack nearly pleaded, snapping his eyes back to the road. "We�re almost at the SGC, buddy."

All Jack received was a feeble moan.

"Dammit," Jack whispered, taking a corner much too fast.

No, Daniel wasn�t drunk, but in a strange twist of fate, or irony, Jack wished to God he were. Drunk would be simple. Drunk you could get mad at. Drunk would allow him to yell and hit things. This�a barely responsive, pale, sweating man�this was frightening, and Jack really didn�t like frightening moments, moments that were out of his control.

And this, watching Daniel collapse, right before his eyes, it was totally out of his control. He didn�t know what was wrong, but in the time it had taken Jack to help Daniel over the rail on his balcony, into his apartment, and then into Jack�s truck, Jack had watched his friend... come apart. His lucidity, his consciousness, his body control�all of it.

"Daniel, come on!" Jack yelled, rubbing his knuckles against Daniel�s sternum, eliciting as much pain as he could. Daniel groaned and pressed his head into the car seat. Jack took a much-needed deep breath and hoped he had bought his friend another couple of minutes.

Janet would be waiting, along with her staff. They�d meet him at the mouth of the mountain. Just get him to Janet, and she�d know what to do, Jack chanted to himself. Just get him to the SGC. He�ll be all right once he�s there. Just�

"Almost there, Daniel," he said, but Daniel had slumped over against the door. Jack tried to prop him up, all the while steering on-handed down the highway. "Come on, bud. Stay with me!" Jack pressed his fingers to Daniel�s neck, grabbed hold of his Daniel�s boneless wrist, trying to find his pulse, trying not to careen off the road. "Daniel, let�s go!"

His truck�s engine growled, furiously churning out more RPMs than it was used to. Miles flew by in a blur. Jack forced his eyes to keep on the road, not on Daniel. Keep looking at the road.

Jack was hitting 93 MPH when he came to the patrolled entrance drive to the mountain. Jack fished around for his ID, but apparently a call had already been made to the security detail who watched over the gate because it was thankfully already open and waiting for him.

"We�re on the grounds, Daniel," Jack said, one hand one the back of Daniel's neck, holding up his head, one hand maintaining his side of the road. The mouth of the mountain became closer and clearer and bigger, until, with a skid, Jack jammed the truck into park.

Before he could run to Daniel�s door, Janet and her staff were already there, sliding the unconscious man from the passenger seat and placing him on a gurney.

"Is he gonna be okay?" he asked, standing helplessly at the front of his truck, but no one had the time or inclination to answer him. All he do was stand there and watch, and pray.

"Hold his head."

"Get that IV started."

"Daniel? Open your eyes, Daniel."

"How long has he been unconscious?" Janet asked, snapping Jack from his shocked fascination.

"Umm, I don't know. Couple of minutes, maybe. He was kind of in and out," Jack managed, watching Daniel�s slack hand slip from the gurney.

Janet nodded, pulling back Daniel's eyelid and snapping on her penlight. "Pupils are sluggish."

An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth.

"Colonel O�Neill," said a nearby airman, "I�ll park your truck for you, sir."

Daniel's shirt was sliced open. And then the medical team was running with him, racing along the pavement toward the elevators.

"Colonel O�Neill," prodded the airman.

Jack fixed his eyes on the young man, not really seeing him, waiting for the words the man had spoken to break through all the other words and sounds around him. And when they did, Jack nodded his permission, then ran to catch up with the squad of people rushing to keep Daniel alive.

"Hold that elevator!" Janet called, and the team bustled into the enclosure. All except Jack, who was halted at the entrance. "Colonel, I�ll call you when I know more."

As though in a daze, Jack caught the next elevator and stumbled to the infirmary where he was ordered to wait outside. He stood in the hallway, his back to the wall, and he felt strangely numb.

"Colonel!" yelled Sam, charging down the hall toward Jack, Teal�c close behind. "How is he?"

Jack turned his head in Sam's direction, and tore a hand through his hair, trying to get his brain to kick back into gear. "I have no idea."

"What happened when you got to his apartment? Did he- Was he�"

"No, Carter," Jack said, waving off the barrage of questions, knowing what she had been about to ask. It was what they all believed would be the case: Daniel taking a long tumble off the wagon. "No, but he�s not... right. He was�talking crazy and standing on the wrong side of his balcony railing."

"What?" Sam gasped, her mouth dropping open in horror.

"Listen, Carter, Teal'c," Jack said, looking at his teammates in turn, his voice shaking as the reality of what had almost happened fully sunk in. Jesus, if he'd been a few minutes later... "Did he seem at all�off this week? I mean, you know, more than usual."

"DanielJackson seemed to be managing quite well," Teal'c said.

Sam looked at him, then shook her head, her eyes bright with the threat of tears. She looked down, then blurted, "Do you think... that maybe when Shifu�"

"No, no," Jack said, waving her off. They�d been through it all. He and Daniel had a long talk on the their favorite trail and Daniel had told him everything. He had been given a dream, a dream that taught him a lesson on the dangerous power of absolute control. Daniel had admitted that the dream had scared the hell out of him, and he sometimes still had nightmares over it, but the message had been received loud and clear. And, yes, he would miss the boy, but�

But then Jack remembered Daniel�s expression when Shifu left the SGC�forlorn, lost. Jack braced both hands against the wall and leaned heavily into it.

Sam wrapped one arm around her waist, one hand to her mouth. "He's just been through so much lately... maybe..."

Maybe he'd just snapped, Jack finished in his mind. Had enough.

"Well, all I do know for sure is that he was about a minute away from doing a header into the street," he said after a moment. The glower from Teal'c and renewed look of shock on Sam's face was more Jack could deal with right now. "Go back, look over that video again. There�s gotta be something we missed."

"Yes, sir," Sam said. "Will you be here?"

"Where else?" Jack said wearily. Daniel's surly, yes, sir, echoed in his mind. You know, it is beyond my comprehension how anybody like yourself, who has so much power, can miss the point entirely!"

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering his friend's outburst the day before. At the time, Jack had fully believed that Daniel was drinking again. A sober Daniel never would have talked that way.

And then when he didn�t show up for their disembark, it was just one more reason to believe that all their hard work had been for naught. Jack had been fairly certain he�d show up at that apartment, find a table full of empties, and Daniel back at square one.

And if that had happened, Jack suspected he would have been tempted to wash his hands of Daniel. To march into the apartment, calm and collected, and end all relations with his friend right there and then. There were only so many lines that could be crossed. Or so he thought, but he'd never know now, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

He thought of that balcony and how damn close it had come. He thought of all those seemingly incoherent, tearful words Daniel had spoken, his trembling hands the only thing keeping from dropping off the edge. None of it means anything, and Jack remembered Daniel saying those words before, and he hoped to God that it hadn't come to this. That it hadn't gotten so bad again without Jack knowing.

Then, with one single word, Jack's name whispered on his lips, and somehow, Daniel had come back to him from whatever abyss had sunk into. With one quick step Jack had him. Safe. He hadn't directly yanked Daniel over the railing. He hadn't wanted to scare him any further.

Jack had swung Daniel�s arm over his shoulder, grabbed him around the waist, and with every ounce of restraint, had carefully hoisted him over the rail, surprised at how much weight his friend had lost over the past few months. Daniel had fallen against him, his limbs heavy, boneless, and Jack had held on tight.

He'd all but carried his friend through the apartment, down the hall and punched the button for the elevator.

Daniel leaned heavily against him, and then he'd raised his head enough to stare Jack straight in the eye, and with a voice and cognizance that was beyond what he should have been capable of, very clearly said, "I�m not drunk."

"I know you�re not," Jack had reassured him, hefting his friend's weight in his arms as the elevator door opened. He was immensely grateful that no one else was inside. "Just hang in there, buddy. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay," he remembered babbling all the way down and to the truck, but Daniel hadn't seemed to be able to hear him anymore.

All those scraps of his friend's non-sensical words, the rush of his own scrambled emotions tumbled over and over in Jack�s head.

He sighed, rubbed his forehead, and when he realized that his legs were shaking a little, he slid down to sit on the floor, and decided that he was getting too old for all this shit.

*****

Daniel didn�t remember any of it.

One minute he was in his apartment, making a cup a tea, the next he was sitting on the steps of a faraway planet, the last place he had remembered feeling well.

So strange, all of it. This lack of memory wasn�t like the blackouts he�d experienced drinking. The after-effects of those were ghosts of memories, hovering around the periphery of his mind. After waking from a drunken blackout, he had to deal with the physical ramifications and sometimes the monetary ramifications.

No, this was different. Since arriving back on the planet, the initial fatigue and lethargy had tapered, and the only conscious memory that remained was a clear image of making tea. Everything after that, gone, as though none of it had even happened.

And maybe that was a blessing. From the reports he received concerning those lost hours, it wasn�t, as Jack said, pretty.

Jack, for his part, was also grateful for Daniel�s lack of memory. It wasn�t one he would relish in his old age.

Life on the planet, sitting in this Byzantine-inspired pleasure dome, was slow. It was quiet, and it was restful. In short, it was absolutely what he, Daniel and Sam needed to regroup.

Primarily Daniel.

For years, Daniel had used many excuses to justify why he'd never taken the time to stop and take stock of his life. His education, his publications, his all-too brief time on Abydos, his search for Sha're and then Shifu, his job with the SGC and the fighting the Goa'uld and protecting his very planet, all of that was much more important.

But now... this silent place presented him with more than enough time and opportunity to do just that. To stop, to think, to figure out how he had come to be in this particular place. Not just his physical surroundings, but his state of mind and where he was heading.

The only problem with taking stock is that some of those insights weren�t entirely pleasant. But it was part of the process, he supposed. No pain, no gain, right?

And his life had become a myriad of processes. The process of withdrawal. The process of recovery. The process of sobriety. The process of building trust in his team. The process of regaining trust in himself. The process of being honest.

His team were all involved in processes, including Loran, and it was quickly understood that Daniel was well suited for assisting in the young man�s own arduous progression toward forgiveness and acceptance. Loran told Daniel about his parents, and Daniel told Loran about his parents.

Loran told him tales of the adventures he and his parents had taken, and Daniel related tales of digging through archeological sites with his own parents. Loran spoke about how frightening it was living with parents who had neglected him due to addiction, and Daniel spoke about how his parents taught him Arabic.

For some reason, he found it important not to ever disclose his mother's secret, the one she had, whether directly, or by learned association, passed on to her son.

Honesty, it turned out, was the hardest process of all.

Writing in his journal, a process, well, more of a ritual he had maintained for most of his life, and had in recent months abandoned, became a renewed and consuming passion in those days.

In his chosen corner, in the Light room, outside�for short bursts of time�near the seashore, on the steps of the Gate�Daniel hunkered down with his journal and wrote until his fingers became cramped and almost numb. And what came out were those memories that had been docked in waiting for years. They were threads of his past, and by following a path, the patterns of his life were revealed.

He thought it was ironic that he had spent the greater part of his life excavating the remains of other people�s lives while simultaneously trying to bury his own.

And so it was in the midst of sifting through his life�s fragments one afternoon that Sam chanced upon him. He was on the beach, sitting hunched on a large piece of driftwood, enjoying the salty fresh air. Sam paused for a moment, wondering if she should interrupt him. Just about to walk away, Daniel called out to her.

"Am I disturbing you?" she asked, feeling suddenly awkward. "If you'd rather be alone-"

"No," he said, straightening his back, the muscles aching from hours hunched over his journal. "No. It's okay..." And if Sam felt awkward, Daniel was downright uncomfortable.

Of all his friends and coworkers, Sam was the one person he hadn�t been able to reclaim, not completely. Of all his friends and coworkers, Sam and Jack were the two he needed to bring closest. He and Jack were well on their way, pushing on through to find that connection once again. But, Sam�

"Do you..." he paused and brushed off some of the sand on the wood beside him, "you wanna sit down?"

"Sure." Sam smiled and sat down.

"Sure." Sam smiled and sat down. She looked out over the water, seemingly as lost in thought as Daniel had been.

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

"You seem�What are you thinking about?"

"Oh," Sam said, blinking, not aware that she had so easily let down her guard. "Oh. Nothing. Something I hadn�t thought about in a long time."

"Yeah?" he said, turning to look at her. She glanced at him, then at the journal he held tightly in his hands. "Like what?"

"I was thinking about when I was a little girl and all the times my parents brought me to Mass," she said, then laughed a little, embarrassed. "I used to get bored and watch people. You just... the way you're were sitting, you reminded of how they would lean over their prayer books, cradling them in their hands." She mimed the motion with her own hands.

He smiled, and it was a little progress. Even a week ago, she probably wouldn't have told him that.

"I've only been to Mass once," he said. "One of my friend's parents invited me along after I told them that I was an atheist. I think they were trying to salvage what was left of my soul."

Sam grinned. "How old were you?"

Daniel shrugged. "I don't know. Ten, maybe."

"So cynical at such a young age," she said, returning his smile.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged again. "When you have archaeologists for parents... I got bored, too, and started reading a comic book. They never invited me again. Probably figured I was a lost cause."

Sam began to fidget. "Daniel�"

"So, I�ve been thinking a lot about�" he said, interrupting her, taking advantage of this rare, unguarded moment to try to break down this fragile wall between them. "I know there are things I need to say to you, things I need to explain."

"That�s okay," she said, looking at him, surprised.

"No," he told her, shaking his head, "It�s not okay. I�" He hardly knew where to begin. He lifted his journal and skimmed what he'd written. "I�m sitting here, trying to accept certain facts about myself. I�m trying to work it into my general description�I�m 6�2", with brown hair, blue eyes, my wife is dead, I�m a PhD, I�m an alcoholic, and I wear size 11 shoes. I figure if I keep saying it like that, maybe one day, it won�t feel like I�m saying that I�m a serial killer." He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. "What do you think?"

Sam smiled, then met his gaze, her eyes somber. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Daniel."

"I know," he said nodding, "I keep trying to tell myself that, but, but what I am ashamed of is... is how I treated you� You were always there for me, trying to help me and... and I was too messed up to realize it. To appreciate it."

"Daniel, it's okay," Sam protested, "I know you weren't yourself-"

"No.. let me finish, okay?" He looked at her until she nodded. "I said some� terrible things to you. I did. I remember, and it can't be excused away as the alcohol talking. I was being a selfish asshole. I forced you to cover for me at the sake of our friendship and your career. I�ll never understand why you�how you can still�" He had to stop to catch his breath, to swallow down the tightness in his throat. "Sam, your friendship means more to me than anything... and I... I just hope that maybe one day-"

"Daniel," Sam said, reaching out to touch his arm. "I know. I understand. This has just been really hard. I hated having to see you like that."

He looked deep into her eyes, and within that warmth, Daniel found a part of himself that he�d thought he�d lost. And he�d found it safe in Sam�s eyes. "Do you forgive me? Can you forgive me?"

"It�s already done," she said and reached down to grasp his hand. "Don't you know that I love you, you jerk? And nothing is ever going to change that, okay?"

"Okay," he said, and twined his fingers in hers.

"Well?" she said, looking at him.

"Well what?"

"When someone tells you that they love you, you're supposed to say it back."

He grinned and looked down, feeling his face redden a little. "Oh, right. Well, I love you, too. All of you guys, but don't expect me to say that to Jack or Teal'c."

"Your secret's safe with me," Sam said and snuggled a little closer to him until their shoulders were touching.

A silence descended upon them, one of camaraderie, but also of loss. A loss of time, of things that had never been said, and things that should have been said.

"Daniel, can we talk about Sha�re?"

Daniel stiffened a little and gripped his journal. The pages were filled with memories, with stories of Sha're. Not just of her tragic death, or his ignominious decline. The goal was to remember her, to immortalize her in a way. To forever capture the love they'd shared, to honor her spirit and her courage, how she'd fought against an unimaginable fate. It was easy to put the words on paper. But to speak of Sha�re? He wasn't certain if he could do that, but for Sam, he would try.

Daniel cleared his throat, hoping when he spoke that his voice would be clear, strong and hide the true fear and reluctance. "This journal is turning out to be my catharsis," he told Sam. He ran his fingers over the pages almost reverentially. "You know, I drank for so long, just so I didn�t have to remember things. The really bad, ugly things, you know?"

"Yeah. I know."

"Well, of course, the problem with that is I never let myself remember the good stuff, too. So, I�m writing." He flipped through the pages of the book, and while he did, the names of the dead flipped past him�Sha�re, Mom, Dad�as did the treasured names of those places where his life began, flourished, ended�Cairo, Chicago, Abydos�

Sam pressed a little closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder, watching the words of his journal pass like leaves caught in an autumn breeze.

"I have to learn how to remember again," he said, lowering the journal, lifting his eyes to focus on the horizon. "When I was drinking, everything was a sign. When I�" A sudden breath, a chasm of pain he needed to leap over. He shook his head, and continued. "When I was drinking, I really thought Sha�re knew what I was doing and that she�d be so disappointed in me. Or, that my mother�" Once again, he paused. To speak of his mother meant he�d have to divulge what he only now was beginning to understand. Another part of him wanted to protect her, to safeguard her memory, but he knew he could trust Sam with this final secret.

"My mom drank, too. I've never told anyone that before, Sam," he paused to look at her and she nodded, a silent promise that what they shared now would be forever between them alone. He gave her a faint, grateful smile, adjusted his grip on her hand, then forced himself to continue, "When I was drinking, really laying into it, I had these thoughts that my mother could see me drinking, and I hoped she�d feel really bad for that." He chuffed at the ridiculousness of his words, at how immature, how impossible they sounded. "I have so few good memories of them�of my mom, my dad, Sha�re..." He released Sam�s hand and closed the journal, silencing the memories for a moment, and turning the book over in his hands. "I want to focus on those good memories for a while."

Sam again nodded that she understood. She brushed a tear off her cheek. He took her hand again. He could feel the tremors starting up, and soon the crawling, restless, thrumming would course through his veins, a different kind of need this time. He could feel Sam's hand shaking a little, too, but they still had time before they had to go back the Light room. Neither of them wanted to go back yet.

Relishing the little time they had left alone together, they sat in silence, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, and Daniel found himself focusing on the here and now. The sounds of the waves, Sam's fingers twined in his, the warmth of her body pressed against his, and for the first time in a long time, he was at peace.

This was a moment he would catalogue among the good memories in his journal one day. It was one worth remembering forever.

*****

The air was cold and clear. Ice crystals glinted against the winter-morning sky. Mountain peaks snagged wispy mare�s tails.

And down below, on the silvery, frozen alpine, they came from all directions�the newly cognizant, the seasoned observers. They came to share their stories, to seek absolution, to remember why they returned.

Daniel joined them, walking in step, occasionally offering a greeting to another he recognized. They took their seats, straddling picnic benches, sitting atop picnic tables. Some simply rested against log poles. When the obligatory announcements were over and a request was made for volunteers, Daniel stepped forward.

"My name is Daniel, and I�m an alcoholic," he said, his focus skimming over the faces in that crowded the mountain pavilion. "I�ve been sober for�" He stopped, looked at the Two-Months Clean keychain in the palm of his hand, and could hardly believe so much time had passed. "I�ve been sober ten weeks and two days, but only recently, I�ve come to know why I need to stay sober."

Daniel scuffed his shoe against the dirt, a nervous habit, and summoned both the strength and willingness to keep going. "See, about a year ago, I lost my wife. I thought that if I didn�t have to think about the pain, if I drank long and hard enough, I�d be able to get past those first few... awful... terrible months. Well, I was wrong. Grief, I�ve come to find out, has incredible staying power. It waits."

A brisk wind swept through the pavilion, and Daniel, and the congregants, drew coats closer, hats farther down. Winter had come early this year. For Daniel, though, it was a welcome change. It meant he could feel, and it reminded him of the months he had spent anesthetized against the world. His story, he decided, must go on.

"My wife�she loved me, even when I went through a time where was a fall-down drunk. I�ll never know what she�" The weight of her memory and strength bore down on him, and Daniel took a moment to let that burden settle in, become more manageable. "She�d say, �Danyel, the drink has summoned a beast in you.� She�d say�" Again, the onus of the past stopped him short. Drawing his shoulders back and letting his eyes close against the cold, he pushed through the pain. "She�d say, �This is madness, husband.� Madness." Despite his heavy coat, Daniel felt the cold seep into his skin, felt the sting of tears come to his eyes when the wind became a cutting blast. Beyond the pavilion, the sight of the monochromatic mountain ridge against the azure sky enervated him. He felt�alive. He felt sober and sparking with life. "My wife would have loved it here. I�d like to think she�d be pleased that I�m here, too. So anyhow," he said, "everyday is a little easier, and every day that I�m sober helps me to go forward, and I know my wife would want that. So, uh, thanks."

Daniel found his seat amongst the others, shook a few proffered hands. The wind tickled down his neck, across his ear, and within it, he heard Sha�re�s voice�"Yes, husband, there is the goodness. It is your true core, this goodness. I love you, my husband. Our demons are gone."

*****

The thought kept pestering him, even after their return to the SGC and what was, for them, normal. It was the one area of his life that wasn�t settled. It was the question "What if?"

So he�d made the decision, but refused to think about the ramifications. He�d gone online, found a cheap flight that would get him there in the morning and back home that night. He�d only told one person where he was going�Jack. He didn�t feel the need to explain this to anyone else.

That morning, he had jumped out of bed (having hardly slept), taken a quick shower, gathered his boarding pass. No books, no files, no iPod�he didn�t want any extraneous gear to get in the way. Something inside him said this had to be done simply, in the most pure way he could conjure up.

He had slept on the plane, or at least he had dozed a little. And when the plane touched down, his ability to keep his emotions in check began to wane. His pulse increased, his hands began to sweat. Still, there was a forward momentum in place, and he�d be damned if he�d let a little anticipatory nerves stop him. After twenty years, there were things that had to be said, needed to be made clear. And yes, that was a little scary, but he�d done plenty of scary things, much more frightening than this, especially in the name of what was right and good and important.

He tried to tell himself that this fear wasn�t the man in him but the boy.

And it needed to be done. Twenty years was a long time to wait.

It had been a decade or so since he�d been at JFK. The terminal had changed. A little brighter, more "futuristic," a term that always resounded with a sense of irony in him. Gone were the flipping letters and numbers stating gate changes. LEDs and computer monitors lined the walls. He followed the signs to ground transportation. To calm his nerves, he read those signs in all seven languages, just to make sure there weren�t any grammatical or syntactical mistakes. He followed the current of anonymous travelers through the cavernous terminal and down the bottleneck of the escalators. Once they reached the bottom, people seemed to scatter away in every direction, leaving a group of stationary men and women holding signs for those whose connections ended there.

What was the name of the limo service? Airport Pickups. That was it. He scanned the signs, most of which were illegible or hastily written. He only had six hours before he had to be back on the plane, and the minutes wasted trying to find his name amongst the scrabble began to rasp against his nerves.

Drivers and travelers paired up, thinning out the crowd, and finally Daniel saw his name�Jackson. Not Daniel, not Doctor, not Mister. Just Jackson. He stepped up to the squat, disinterested man holding the sign, nodded at him, and the driver flicked the sign under his arm and started for the waiting Town Car.

"You got any bags?" the driver asked over his shoulder.

Daniel frowned at him, then looked around to where the driver might possibly think he was hiding any luggage, but simply and politely told him no.

A blast of cold air hit them once outside, and they instinctually drew their shoulders to their ears. The driver opened the backdoor of the Town Car for Daniel and skulked around the front of the car to his own door. He picked up a clipboard and turned just enough for his voice to carry over the back of the seat.

"New Rochelle?"

"Yes," Daniel said, fastening his seat belt.

"2155 Aiken Avenue?"

"Yes."

Any further conversation ended, the engine turned over, and Daniel was on his way. The choice of a car service over the subway was already paying off.

If there was one thing Daniel absolutely loved about New York City, it was its ability to hide a person within its crowded borders. People didn�t expect the ubiquitous mid-western hello from strangers, nor were they offended by sliding a window up between you and them. At least not limo drivers.

Enclosed in the backseat, Daniel set his mind to the next step�what to say. He had waited for days to even begin to think about the conversation he was about to have. For once he thought Jack�s maxim of "you think too much" applied, and so he had put the particulars of this meeting out of his head.

Until now.

Hello, he thought. Do you know who I am?

No, that was too cordial.

Too didactic. He needed less objectivity and more outright honesty.

Yes, but more. Not just an acknowledgement of the present, but an indictment of the past.

Close, but not quite.

No, that wasn't right, either. Daniel could feel the adrenaline buzzing through his limbs, up the back of his neck. He leaned his elbow into the armrest and pressed the heel of his hand into his aching brow. Words didn�t seem to be enough. He tore off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. After everything he'd seen and experienced, he decided that he was being ridiculous. He'd simply knock on the door, set his jaw, look Davies straight in the eye, and say, Do you remember, me, you son of a bitch?

Could he do this? He had no choice. Number six on the list of twelve said that he had to get rid of defects in character. Being able to stand eye-to-eye with Graham Davies was the surest way Daniel could think of ridding himself of that one particular defect�the defect of fear.

No, Doctorates of Philosophy meant nothing to a man like Davies. What mattered was the Golden Rule, as in "he who has the gold, rules."

Call me Doctor Jackson, Graham.

A man like Davies would respond to that kind of power. Davies was the kind of man who puffed out his chest and wore you down to a nub with his despotisms, and when that didn�t work, he broke you with the back of his hand.

Daniel could almost feel the slice of Davies� signet ring across his fourteen-year-old cheek. He pinched his eyes shut and swallowed hard.

Daniel�s shirt collar was damp with sweat, as well as his palms. He put his glasses back on, then thought of Jack�s advice where glasses and weaknesses were concerned. Daniel tore them off again, folded them up, and placed them in his inside jacket pocket. The whir of the partition startled him.

"2155 Aiken," the driver asked.

"What? Already?" Daniel pushed back his sleeve and looked at his watch. Thirty-five minutes had flown by while he had perseverated over these plans, twenty years in the making.

"You want I should drive around the block?"

With a muttered curse, Daniel threw his glasses back on, peered out the window, and instantly recognized the white colonial.

"This is the place, right?" the driver asked.

These were the same black shutters that he had spent weekends scraping and painting, hanging and washing. There was the oak, much taller now. That would have made it a lot easier to escape the tyranny.

"So, what? Is this the place, or no?"

Daniel pulled off his glasses, and nodded. "This is it." He pulled his wallet from his pocket, fished out a twenty, and tapped the driver on the shoulder. "I�m gonna need you to wait for a few minutes. I won�t be long."

"Your money," the man said with a shrug.

Daniel left his glasses on the seat, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car and into the street. He could feel Davies in the house, could feel that rigid, oppressive force. It was a palpable shockwave emanating from the core of the house, hitting Daniel squarely in the chest.

He glanced both ways down the street. The houses that book-ended the Davies� had changed, and by looking at them he was able to abate some of the wildly careening memories coursing through his mind. There, on the curb, the stenciled numbers�2155. He remembered having to paint, repaint and repaint again those numbers. "You�ll do it until they are straight and clear, Dan. Straight and clear." Jesus�

The same walkway. The edging was sharp. Daniel never understood why grass had to be tamed in such a way. Same cold, white siding. There was that same formidable silence that pressed out of the house. Even in abject fury, the silence was the worst part. Daniel�s heart raced, but he forced himself to breathe as normally as he could, and continued his walk toward the house.

What if Dolores answered?

No, he decided. Dolores had never opened the door. People and circumstances don�t change. Davies alone will answer the door, he thought with absolute assurance.

There was Daniel�s old room, the curtains looking unchanged and meticulously hung. He wondered how long after he'd gone it had taken Davies to find the bottle of rye Daniel had hidden in the eaves just outside his window. Sweat dappled his shirt.

The dark green shrubbery around the stoop was exactly how Daniel remembered it�manicured and angular. Completely out of fashion with the assorted colorful landscaping up and down the street.

And then he was at the black door. His breath caught in his lungs; his ears rang. He knocked once, then three more times, harder. He turned his ear toward the door, tried to catch any movement through the gauzy window treatments in the side windows. There didn�t seem to be anyone in the house. He was sure his Internet research listed them both�Graham and Dolores�still residing in this house. It hadn't even occurred to him that they may not be home, and he felt an odd combination of regret and relief.

The doorknob rattled. A vacuum of air, and the door was open. Daniel clenched his teeth.

"Yes?" said the man.

Daniel stared at the old man, whose face held a mask of illness. Had he always been so short? Daniel lowered his eyes a full four inches from where he thought he�d be peering, blinked and looked again. "Is this, uh�" he began, stepping back to take another look at the numbers over the door.

The man�s hair was gray and wispy; his skin was pale and thin. Light brown blotches stained his scalp.

Daniel cleared his throat. "Is this, uh�I�m, uh�"

"What do you want?"

A memory, Daniel supposed. It was as if a great storm had been percolating miles away, only to have the system die at your county line. The hours of preparation had been useless. A waste of time.

"I was given this address," he said, glancing over the man�s shoulder. Same striped wallpaper that had always supported his idea that this home was a prison. "I was looking for someone who lived here a long time ago."

"I�m the sole owner of this home. I�m Graham Davies."

Jesus, Daniel thought. This can't be the same man. It can't be.

"Who are you?" the old man demanded, his glassy eyes veiled behind wrinkled, droopy lids. "Do I know you?" he asked, squinting at Daniel.

"I think I have the wrong Graham Davies," Daniel said, certain that he had made a mistake.

And then a spark of recognition lit the old man's eyes. He leaned toward Daniel, mouth agape, two fingers pressed to his pale lips. "I do know you."

"No, I don�t think you do," Daniel said, taking a few unconscious steps back.

"I never forget a face," the man said, peering deep into Daniel�s eyes, probing, assessing, looking for weakness. "It�s been a long time, but I�m sure�"

For a moment, Daniel didn�t breathe. And then he recognized him, too. It was the eyes. The same colorless, emotionless eyes. Flat, cold, like the eyes of the dead. He stared at Davies, at his rounded, stooped shoulders, at his curved back, his sloped neck. He couldn�t help but take in Davies� hand curled around the doorknob�tissue-thin skin and deformed, arthritic joints. The same gold ring that had cracked so often against Daniel�s face remained, loose around Davies� finger, held in place only by the arthritic knuckle.

"No," Daniel said, averting his eyes, and there wasn't any point to this. Not anymore. Time had already ravaged the man for him. "I've got the wrong house. I'm sorry to have-"

"Come closer," Davies demanded, crooking his finger at him.

Daniel bristled. That tone of voice hadn't changed one bit either, that same voice that had scolded him, humiliated him, beat him down.

"I know you. You�re that boy I took in. Dan. You haven't changed much," he said, still peering at Daniel's face.

Daniel stepped back, shook his head, and said, "No. My name isn�t Dan. It�s Doctor Jackson." Still Davies stared at him, and Daniel met that icy, unrelenting glare full on. "And you don�t know me. You never have."

Daniel turned away from Davies, walked down the steps. Reaching the limo, he gave the house one last look. A strip of siding next to the upper eave was loose and waved in the breeze. Shingles were covered in moss; an arc of a scrape from the oak tree scarred the roof. The windows were sooty and dull. Davies stood in the open doorway, still watching him.

And a ghost of a figure in Daniel�s former room raised her tiny hand and pressed it against the glass. Deep sadness draped over his shoulders, and Daniel lifted his hand to her. At least he had escaped. At least he had been able to leave it behind. Dolores Davies� slight outline faded from the window, and Daniel slid into the backseat.

He took a moment to collect himself, his head against the back of the seat, his breaths coming in shallow pants. He wiped the sweat from his brow and closed his eyes. It was over. It was unsatisfying and anticlimactic, and yet he was glad he had found the courage to go through with it.

"That it?" the driver asked, his arm crooked over the back.

"Yeah. We're done here." Daniel breathed out, raising his head. He fished around in his coat pocket for a scrap of paper he'd placed inside his coat. Just in case. He unfolded the paper, then showed it to the driver. "I have a different address. 78 Prospect Hill. Pelham. Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

When the driver pulled away from the curb, Daniel leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and somehow managed to sleep for a little while.

When they arrived, he opened his eyes, clear and calm. He�d never been to this home. Her home. Even so, it seemed to radiate her warmth. A plump, longhaired cat lolled on the top stoop, soaking in what little heat there was in the low sunlight. Daniel reached out and ran a hand down its silky side. He came to the door, and found an odd sensation washing over him; serenity. Nothing to lose by being here, and nothing to be gained, either. It was just another stop along the way.

Before he could knock, the door swung open, startling him, and an older man with round, old-fashioned spectacles and gentle face smiled at him.

"Didn�t mean to scare you. I saw you walking up the steps. How can I help you?" he asked.

"Uh, I... I was looking for Lila...?"

"Oh, sure," the man said, making way for Daniel to enter the foyer. "She�s just out back. I�ll go get her."

The man stepped away before Daniel could thank him or stop him. Which left him standing glued to his spot in the foyer, feeling like if he took one step further he�d be imposing. He looked around the living room�comfortable and rich with deep earthy colors. The hardwood floors gleamed under a thick Persian rug. A few smartly framed photos adorned the mantle. Tidy. Too tidy. Not like he'd remembered at all.

The clip-clop of a quick stride began to sound closer, and Daniel felt his pulse begin to race again. The "what ifs?" began again, too.

"What can I do for you?" she said, and the tone in her voice touched something inside him. It was as if a crack in a bell had been healed, and the sound vibrated warm and deep within him. Overwhelmed, Daniel looked away from her and into the living room. He pointed at the surroundings, dropped his hand, but when his voice wouldn�t come, Daniel pointed again.

Lila craned her neck following the direction of his hand. She quickly searched behind her for her husband�s presence.

"Is there, uh�" she said uncertainly.

"Your house is clean," Daniel finally managed.

The words stopped her, and then the realization propelled her forward. The voice, the timbre of a young man she had known so well. She laughed and clapped her hands together with delight. "Well, if it isn�t my Little Prince, come for me at last."

And like that, the warmth of the house was anchored around Daniel by way of Lila�s arms. She patted him on the back, laughed into his ear, stretching a bit to hook her chin on his shoulder. He smiled and buried his face in her soft, silver hair. She smelled of vanilla and lavender, of daylight, acceptance and love. Just like he remembered.

"Oh, let me look at you," she said, grasping him by the upper arms and stepping back. "I want you to tell me everything!" Her eyes sparkled with surprise, with watery joy. But when she saw his eyes, bloodshot and full of far too much grief and disappointment, Lila laid her hand on his cheek, and said, "What is it? What's happened?"

He was sure his voice would betray him, and so he just shook his head. He swallowed hard before speaking again. "I just..." he stammered and managed a smile. "I was in town... and I... I wanted to see you again."

Lila smiled again and patted his cheek. "I'm so glad you stopped by. This is a wonderful surprise, Daniel," she took hold of hand and led him to the warm, inviting living room. "Come, sit down. We have far too much to catch up on."

Daniel followed her and paused at the mantel. There were framed photos of Lila and the man who had answered the door, Lila when she was younger, some kids he didn't recognize, and there was one of him. It was his high school graduation photo, and he had a wide, happy grin plastered on his startlingly innocent face. Daniel was surprised to see himself looking so happy at that age.

Lila stood beside him, watching him. "My kids," she said with a shrug. "You were always my favorite, though."

He smiled. "I bet you say that to all your kids."

They moved to the couch and they talked and they caught up. Sipping cup after cup of coffee, Daniel found himself telling her everything. Well, as much that was unclassified. She listened and held his hand through the parts that were difficult to admit, that he had to force out, and there Daniel found the answer to all those "what ifs?"

And the answer was, "You will heal."

*****

The Colorado Avalanche had just scored on Minnesota, an easy five-hole shot, and Jack was inconsolable. The season was over, even though it was early in the regular season, and the game was lost, even though it was six minutes into the first period.

"You�re killing me, McClennan!" he shouted at the TV in disgust. Jack picked up his empty beer bottle and decided he needed the comfort of something reliable, unlike goalies, and he�d find it in another beer.

Walking through the kitchen, the blustering storm outside the window caught Jack�s attention. What had begun as a light rain, odd enough in December, was beginning to freeze, tapping against his window with each drop. Great, he thought, pulling a beer from the refrigerator, road�s�ll be a mess in the morning. With a snap, he sent the bottle cap sailing across the kitchen.

It hit the wall with a dull thud. Three times.

That stopped Jack. He took a cautionary step toward the bottle cap, peered at it, and heard the thuds again.

Straightening, Jack realized it was his front door, not the workings of a gram�s worth of metal.

"What?" he said, whipping open the door.

There he was, huddled against the doorframe, shoulders up around his ears, soaked to the bone. "Daniel?"

"Yeah."

"Wha�cha doin' here?"

Daniel clutched his coat at the neck and shivered. "My apartment is another fifteen miles away. The roads are pretty bad."

Jack looked over Daniel's shoulder at his front lawn, gleaming with ice. "Yeah, I can see that."

"I just got in from New York."

"Get in here," Jack said, at once understanding that Daniel's unexpected visit had nothing to do with the state of the roads.

Daniel stepped into the house, stamped his feet and shrugged out his coat, heavy with sleet. Jack went to the linen closet and brought him a towel.

Daniel thanked him and rubbed the towel over his wet hair and the back of his neck.

"Roads are bad, huh?" Jack said, plunking himself down in front of the TV.

"Yeah, pretty nasty." Daniel took off his shoes, and motioned questioningly toward Jack with the towel. Jack told him to throw it down the hall.

"Can I get you anything?" Jack asked. He looked at the beer in his hand. "Um... sorry."

"Were you going to offer me one?"

"No, wasn�t planning on it."

"Then don't apologize," Daniel said, stepping into the living room. "I�m the alcoholic, not you, remember?"

Alcoholic. There was that word that they had all tried to help Daniel reconcile with, and here it was presented in context, and Jack was the one who couldn�t quite wrap his mind around it. "I have coffee."

"Maybe later."

"Juice?" Jack said, glancing at the game. It was still going badly and he looked back at his friend.

"I�m fine, Jack," Daniel told him, pacing back and forth a few times before taking a seat across from him.

"You sure?"

Daniel shifted back in his chair, rested his elbow on the armrest, chin on the heel of his hand, seemingly deep in thought.

"Daniel?"

"I had to go there."

"Go where?"

"New York. It was important for me to go."

"Yes, it was," Jack agreed. "So... how'd it go?"

Daniel looked at him, chewing on his lip and didn't say anything, as though he was still working it through in his mind, still deciding. "It was okay," he said finally. "No... it was more... strange, actually. It was worth it, but even still, it doesn�t change anything."

"But�" Jack shook his head, confused.

"Davies turned out to be this... pathetic little old man," Daniel said with slight sneer. "It was hard to associate him with the same guy I was so scared of as a kid, and so I... I just walked away from him." He shifted, running his hands through his damp hair. "I saw Lila, too."

From Daniel's smile as he said the name, Jack knew things had gone a little better there. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Daniel's smile widened and he looked down at his feet. "It was good to see her again. I... I've done a lot of thinking these past few months, and I realized that all my life, I've never allowed myself to feel anything that was negative, or painful, or uncomfortable. It was too easy to drown it out. To numb myself, and I guess it became habit." He paused and twined his fingers together. "What I'm finding... what I'm realizing is that habit is almost as hard to break as the drinking. When Sha�re died, I did everything I could not to be burdened by grief. I tried my damnedest not to burden you guys with it, also. Getting on that plane to New York was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but it also made me fully realize that while I can�t change what's happened, I can change my patterns and my way of thinking."

"Okay," Jack said, "That's... that's good."

"Yes, it is," Daniel agreed, nodding. He got up from the chair and came to stand before the crackling fireplace, holding his hands in front of the flames, warming them. "On the plane, I got bumped up to first class."

"Sweet."

"Yeah. The flight was delayed, and so all the passengers were given complementary beverages. The flight attendant gave me this," he said, pulling a mini-bottle of champagne from his pocket. "You�ll notice it�s still unopened."

"Good."

"When she gave it to me, I... I kind of panicked," Daniel said without looking at him. "I didn�t know what to do or say. I wasn�t sure if I should give it back to her, leave it on the plane, or what. The whole drive over here, I could feel it in my pocket, like... some timebomb, or something." He paused, then glanced uncertainly at Jack. "You said if I ever needed to talk to someone..."

"Yes, I did."

"Well, I um... I need to... to talk..."

"This doesn't make me your sponsor, does it?" Jack said, worried that maybe he wasn't fully equipped to deal with this kind of situation.

"Nope," Daniel said, smirking at Jack's discomfiture. "I already have a sponsor. His name's Jason. He's your typical academic type - reads too much, thinks too much, can't tell football from hockey. You'd hate him." Daniel turned back to watch the dancing flames, the warmth soothing him. "What I think I need right now is a� a friend."

"And you�ve got one, right here, Danny," Jack told him.

"Thanks, Jack."

Jack rose from his couch, joined Daniel at the fireplace, clapped him on the shoulder. "I�ll go make some coffee."

"Sounds good. I�d like that."

--- finis ---