MEDICAL CONSIDERATIONS -- NEED
by:  OzKaren
Feedback to:  bosskaren@ozemail.com.au

*****

DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters and property of Stargate SG-1 belong to
MGM/UA, World Gekko Corp. and Double Secret Productions.  This fan fiction was created solely
for entertainment purposes and no money was made from it.  Also, no copyright or trademark
infringement was intended.  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.  Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the
property of the author.  Not to be archived without permission of the author(s).

*****

"So," I said. "On a scale of one to ten, just how pissed off are you, Colonel?"

"Thirty seven," said Jack, glowering. "And a half."

Oh, dear.

You know, over the years I've collected quite a lot of handy little tips for survival. Tips
like, 'Don't jump out of an aeroplane without a parachute'. 'Don't threaten to shoot someone
holding a gun unless you're sure you've got bullets in your gun'. 'Don't ever leave the house
without lipstick'. 'Don't make Jack O'Neill mad, especially not at you'.

That last one I consider particularly important.

I didn't know, then, exactly what had happened on P3R636. All I knew was that Jack, Sam and
Teal'c had come back looking like they'd just had a two week vacation in hell ... and Daniel
didn't. And that as far as Jack was concerned, it was all Daniel's fault.

I said, "Uh huh. Well, try to relax anyway, or I won't be able to finish this exam. Okay?"

Jack gave me a look that would easily have ignited rock. But he made an effort to untense his
muscles.

It wasn't a long exam. For once, he was still in one piece. But he was malnourished, dehydrated
and exhausted. There were some nasty bruises, a few cuts and scrapes that thankfully only
needed Betadine. The anterior cruciate ligament in his left knee was just about dangling by a
thread, begging for surgery ... but raising the subject of a looming knee construction wasn't
an option just then.

All in all, he'd been lucky. I'd say only his extreme fitness level saved him, and even that
nearly wasn't enough. Forty isn't old, but as they say it ain't the years, it's the mileage.
Jack has more wear and tear than I like to think about, and the Stargate project isn't helping.

I took blood for a routine screen. Gave him a multi-spectrum vitamin B group injection. Jotted
some notes in his file. Jack could barely keep his eyes open. I don't think I've ever seen him
so tired, before or since.

"Okay," I said. "You're on forty eight hours medical leave, as of right now. All of you are.
I'm going to arrange for a car to take you home. Captain Carter, too. Neither of you is in a
fit state to drive."

With a grunt, Jack shook his head. Stared at me muzzily, and said, "Can't. Debriefing. Hammond
--"

"Can wait," I said. "No arguments, Colonel. I want you to go home."

He was swaying where he sat. "Sleep here."

"No," I said. "Not this time. I want you at home, in your own bed. When you wake up, I want you
surrounded by your own things, not bare concrete walls. You were in prison." He opened his
mouth to object. I held up a hand. "Yes, you've been there and done that. I know. I don't care.
Your minds are as battered as your bodies. They both need rest. Which you will best get at
home. And that's an order. Now get dressed and I'll call you a limo, Air Force style."

Jack hates it when I pull medical rank. I grinned. He scowled. Just as he finished dressing,
General Hammond knocked on the door.

"Come in, sir," I said. "We're done here."

"And how's our favourite Colonel doing?" the General asked, smiling. Putting on his brave face
... but I knew him well enough, by then, to see beneath the surface.

"He's fine," I said. "But I'm afraid your mission debrief will have to wait a couple of days,
sir. I'm placing SG1 on immediate forty eight hours medical leave."

"I suspected as much," the General said. Reached out a tentative hand and patted Jack's
shoulder. "You look like you could sleep for a week, Jack," he said gently. "And I wish I could
give it to you, but I can't. I'm afraid you'll have to settle for a couple of days. Go home.
Recuperate. Then we'll talk."

"Yes, sir," said Jack. "If you insist." On principle maintaining his grouchy reluctance, but he
wasn't fooling anyone. With studied nonchalance, he rested a hip against the exam table. From
the looks of things, it was that or fall over.

The General and I shared a sly smile, then he said, "Captain Carter? Teal'c?"

"Teal'c is Teal'c," I said with a shrug. "Thanks to the symbiant, he's fine. A little tired,
not surprisingly, but he assures me he'll be back to complete health and fitness by tonight.
Captain Carter is very tired, too. Malnourished, dehydrated, like the Colonel here. But with a
little rest she'll be as good as new."

"Ah, youth," said the General, with a sigh. "I remember it well." Then he hesitated. Frowned.
"What about Doctor Jackson?"

My heart sank. Daniel. There was something very, very bad going on with Daniel. I said, "To be
honest, General, I'm not exactly sure. I'll know more once his blood work and muscle biopsy are
complete. But I have to
the fact that he seems to have somehow developed perfect 20/20 vision when two weeks ago he was
myopic with an astigmatism, his whole demeanour is significantly altered. If I had to take an
educated guess as to what's wrong, I'd --"

"Wrong?" Jack straightened. "I'll tell you what's wrong," he snarled. And it really was an
honest to God snarl. "What's wrong is the little bastard screwed us."

"That's not fair, sir," a quiet voice said from behind us. The General and I turned. Sam. Not
quite as debilitated as Jack, but visibly tired. Dark smudges beneath her eyes, cheeks hollowed
from hard work and lack of food. "It was the sarcophagus."

Wincing, Jack stepped forward and jabbed a finger in Sam's face. "Don't," he said, and his
voice was as close to menacing as I've ever heard it among friends. "Don't you dare stand there
and defend him to me. He nearly got us all killed, Sam. Nothing excuses that."

It was as though the General and I had disappeared, and it was just the two of them. Exhaustion
had stripped something from them, some layer of dissembling or polite usage. The air was
suddenly raw, storm clouds descending, a cold wind howling.

Sam said, "He never meant to hurt us. You know that. He's not -- you can't hold him responsible
for his actions. It was the sarcophagus, it --"

"Screw the sarcophagus!" Jack said. "A drunk driver gets behind the wheel and takes out a
family. Do you say, oh well, never mind, it wasn't his fault, he's not responsible, it was the
whiskey? Nobody made him climb into the damned sarcophagus, Sam! Nobody made him keep on using
it, even after you told him it was dangerous!"

Sam said, "But it was Shyla --"

Jack slashed the air with a bladed hand. "She put him in it after the rock fall. To save his
life. Fair enough. But after that, it was him. His choice. And while he was playing with his
new toy and his precious princess, we were dying. And nothing you say can change that."

"Look," said Sam, and closed the distance between them. Reached out her hand and brushed his
forearm with her fingertips. "I know you're angry. Disappointed. What he did was thoughtless, I
agree. But you know him. You know him. He would never hurt us in cold blood. Never."

Jack shook his head, and he looked so tired, so beaten, that my heart broke for him. "Don't ask
me to pretend this didn't happen, Sam," he said, so quietly it was hard to hear him. "Don't ask
me that."

"Sir," Sam said, and it was a whisper. A plea. "We have to get past this. We have to. Or SG1 is
finished."

Jack shrugged. "Then I guess it's finished." He looked at General Hammond then, and that
peculiar air of intimacy vanished. "Sir. With your permission, I'll be heading on home. Doctor
Fraiser won't let me drive, so if it's all right with you I'll borrow an airman and a car, and
I'll see you at 0700 Friday."

Speechless, the General just nodded. Stared after Jack as he left the room, limping slightly. I
was pretty speechless myself.

Sam said, "He didn't mean it, General. He's just upset. It's been a bad two weeks, sir, and he
thinks Daniel let us down."

Gathering himself, the General stared hard at her. "And is he right, Captain?"

She struggled with that. Took her time before answering. "Sir ... Daniel made a mistake. A
couple of mistakes. I won't deny it. But sir, we all make mistakes. Now that he's home again,
away from that damned sarcophagus, I'm sure Daniel will be fine. And when the Colonel calms
down, they'll work things out."

"Colonel O'Neill didn't have the look of a man willing to work things out, Captain," the
General observed.

Reluctantly, Sam nodded. "No, sir. I know. But give him a couple of days. He'll come around."

"I admire your optimism, Captain," the General said. He didn't look as though he shared it. I
can't say I did, either. Jack's been cranky with Daniel, mildly pissed off, moderately annoyed
... but until then I'd never seen him truly, deeply angry.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

General Hammond said, "What's all this about a sarcophagus? Do you mean a goa'uld sarcophagus?
One of those healing machines?"

Tiredly, Sam nodded. "Shyla and her father had one. Daniel was crushed in a rock fall. She put
him in it to save his life, and then somehow convinced him to keep on using it after he was
healed. That's when everything started to go wrong." She pulled a face. "Well. Really wrong."

"How so?" asked the General.

For a moment she didn't answer. Just rubbed a hand over her face. She looked near to tears.
"Captain," I said, "I know you're exhausted. But if I'm going to help Daniel I really need to
know what you know."

"Yeah. It's okay," she said. Sniffed. "I had a -- well, I guess you could call it a vision. In
the mine. I remembered something. But it wasn't my memory, it was Jolinar's. The sarcophagus --
"

"I'm sorry," the General interrupted. "You had a what?"

"A vision," said Sam. "It's the best word I can think of to describe it." And as we stared at
her, open mouthed, added, "There's nothing to worry about, I'm okay."

The General turned to me. "Doctor?"

"This is the first I've heard of it," I said, and gave Sam a look.

"I really am okay," she insisted. "I promise."

"Well --" The General said. Sighed. Appealed to me again. "Doctor?"

"Nothing in my most recent exam suggests that there's anything to worry about right now," I
said. "But I will be conducting a thorough examination with CAT scans and an MRI as soon as
Captain Carter has recovered from her latest mission."

"Fine," said the General. Harrassed. Overburdened. Oh, did I know how he felt. "Now. You were
saying, Captain? About the sarcophagus?"

Sam said, "It does more than heal sickness and injury. It enhances -- perfects -- a healthy
body. But it screws up your mind at the same time. I think that's what's happened to Daniel. I
think he's addicted to the effects of the sarcophagus." She had to bite her bottom lip to stop
it from trembling.

"Addicted?" the General echoed. "Like a drug?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not sure. All I know is that he's different. Changed. And it's not
for the better."

The General turned to me. "So now what?"

"I wish I knew," I said. "I guess we'll just have to take it one step at a time. One hour at a
time." I patted Sam on the arm. "Thank you. Now go home. Rest. And don't worry about Daniel.
He's in good hands."

She managed a smile. "I know."

"You've acquitted yourself with distinction, Captain," the General told her. "Now do as the
doctor says. Find yourself an airman, and have them drive you home. Try and put the last
fortnight out of your mind."

"Yes, sir," said Sam. "Thank you, sir." And with a quick, strained smile, she was gone.

"Where is Doctor Jackson now?" asked the General.

I answered without thinking. "Floating somewhere between the stratosphere and outer space." And
then, at the look on the General's face, I added, "He's around here somewhere. Teal'c is
keeping him occupied, sir."

The General looked about as helpless as I've ever seen him. "Is Captain Carter right?" he
asked. "Is Daniel addicted to this goa'uld machine?"

I spread my hands. "It's possible. I don't know much about them. I've only ever seen one once.
The Hathor crisis, remember?"

He grunted. Glanced away. Not our boys' finest hour, that. A topic unsuitable for mixed company
around the base.

I said, "It healed the Colonel, but I have no idea how. I couldn't begin to tell you if what
the Captain says about it is true or not."

He pressed the heel of his hand over his eyes. "Dear God. What next?" he murmured. Sighed. "Is
he dangerous?"

And wasn't that just the sixty four million dollar question. I chewed my lip for a moment.
"Right at this moment? No. I don't think he is. He's ebullient. Expansive. Aggressively
confident."

The General's expression was grim. "In other words, he's high."

Reluctantly, I nodded. "Yes. I suppose that's as good a term as any."

"And what goes up, must come down," he added. "How far down are we looking at, Doctor?"

God, I hate questions like that. What did he think? That I had a crystal ball tucked into my
pocket? "It's impossible to say just now, sir. The next twenty four to forty eight hours will
give us an indication, I suspect."

The General turned away, started to pace. His disquiet, his frustration, were palpable. I felt
for him: I was disquieted and frustrated, too. He wanted answers. He wanted to know what the
hell was going on. He wanted a situation that he could understand, that was familiar and
controllable and covered in an Air Force procedures manual.

In which case he should have turned down this assignment, shouldn't he?

"Does he pose an immediate threat to this facility?"

Ooh. That was a curly one. I chewed my lip. Took a deep breath. "As of right now, sir, I'd have
to say no. He doesn't."

"But he might?"

God. What to say? "Sir -- look. I know you're worried. So am I. But I have no evidence to
suggest that Doctor Jackson is in any way a danger to himself or this base. Not at the moment.
And I can't lock him up because I think he might be in the future. What I can do is make sure
he's kept under close observation, monitor his vital signs, and be ready should the situation
deteriorate."

"Is there any point asking him about the sarcophagus?"

"I can try," I said doubtfully.

The General stopped pacing. Sighed, a deep, right from the bottom of his boots sigh. "All
right, Doctor. The truth. What do you really think?"

My own sigh was pretty boot deep, too. "I think, sir, that it's going to get worse before it
gets better."

You know .... I really hate it when I'm right.

*****

I went to find Daniel. The whole sarcophagus thing had me spooked, really spooked ... this job
is hard enough without throwing alien medical technology into the mix. I felt like running
around the base waving my arms and yelling 'Warning! Warning! Danger, Will Robinson!' Or, in
this case, Daniel Jackson. Except that the damage was already done ... and all I could do was
wait for the other shoe to drop.

Which is nowhere near the top of my list of favourite things to do.

Daniel was in the library. Sorting books. Teal'c was with him, seated in a corner, impassive
and self-contained and worried as hell.

"Hey, Doc!" Daniel said when he saw me. "How you doing?"

"I'm fine," I said. "How are you?"

He laughed. A feverish excitement thrummed in his voice, illuminated his face. "You tell me.
You're the doctor!"

I exchanged glances with Teal'c. Perched myself on the corner of the table. "Have you got a
minute to talk, Daniel?"

He held up two books, waved them in my general direction. "What do you think? Do you think I
should take the Tacitus and leave the Seutonius? Shyla might find Tacitus a little heavy going,
what do you think?"

That name again. Shyla. His precious princess? I said, "What can you tell me about the
sarcophagus, Daniel?"

His smile vanished. A sly, crafty expression slid over him, black and soft as a shadow. "You've
been talking to Sam," he said, in a sing-song voice that shivered me like ice water. "And
Jack." His face contracted, as though he'd just tasted something horrible. "Jack." His disgust
was as thick as clotted cream.

"I'm curious," I said. Calm. Conversational. Not scared. Not appalled. "How does it work?"

He turned back to the books. "You sleep. You wake up. You feel fantastic. It's brilliant." He
glanced at me. A look of pity. "You don't want to listen to them, Doc. Sam. Jack." That look,
again. There was something awful brewing there. In his face a curdling of anger and resentment
and defiance.

"You seem pretty upset with Jack," I said. "Any reason in particular?"

Daniel started banging the books around. Muttering under his breath. I caught words at random:
respect -- bossy -- ignorant. Then he said, clearly, "He thinks he knows everything. Thinks
he's always right. He doesn't give a rat's ass about what I think." He flung himself around to
face me again. "He told you it was bad, didn't he?" he demanded. "Said the sarcophagus was
evil, a devil machine. Superstitious bullshit. He's wrong. It's wonderful."

"I see," I said. It didn't sound wonderful to me. I exchanged another glance with Teal'c.
Minutely he shook his head. He was right, of course. Trying to get Daniel to see sense when he
was like this was futile. But I couldn't give up that easily. I said, "So, how many times have
you used it? Do you remember?"

"Shyla says you have to start out with a lot of sessions at first, really soak in the power,"
said Daniel. "Once you've done that, you only need to use it once a day. Kind of a top up. I
really should be getting back, I'm overdue for my next --" He giggled. "Nap."

I'd never met this Shyla person, and already I was beginning to hate her. "If it's all right
with you, Daniel, I'd like you to stay around for just a little while longer," I said
carefully. "I'd like to run some tests. Learn more about how the sarcophagus has helped you. It
sounds like there could be hundreds of medical applications we could use it for."

"Oh," he said. "Oh. Well. I guess. Okay. But not for too long. Shyla's expecting me, and it
isn't good manners to keep a lady waiting, you know." A brilliant smile. Brittle, like the
first ice of winter.

"No," I said. "Not for long."

My eyes met Teal'c's for the third time. His expression warmed, slightly. I smiled back, my
chest aching, and withdrew.

Oh, God. Oh, hell.

*****

So for two days I kept him under observation. Ran test after test. Tried without much success
to decipher exactly what it was the sarcophagus had done to him, and how. Unfortunately none of
my five hundred dollar medical textbooks were of any use. Not even Teal'c could help me. Jaffa
are forbidden to use the sarcophagus. Only the Goa'uld know its secrets.

Right.

Daniel kept asking when he could leave. Bald-faced, I lied.

Just a few more tests, Daniel. It won't be long, Daniel. No, no, of course you're going back.
Tomorrow, okay? Tomorrow. For sure.

Jack and Sam came back Friday morning. "How is he?" Sam said as soon as she saw me.

"Coming down," I replied. "Slowly."

"What can I do to help?"

"Watch," I said. "And wait."

Jack didn't even ask. I think that worried me more than everything else combined.

The mission debrief was the beginning of the end.

"Why am I here?" Daniel kept asking. "You don't need me. I should be packing. I have to go
back. Shyla's expecting me. I said I'd go straight back. I don't appreciate you making a liar
out of me."

I wanted to ask whether he thought Sha're would appreciate Shyla making an adulterer out of him
... but heroically I restrained myself. No question it would have made me feel better... but I
don't think it would've helped the situation any.

"All in good time," the General said. "Let's get the debrief finished, and then we can discuss
other matters."

"Well, come on then," said Daniel, kicking the briefing table's pedestal. "Get on with it. I
haven't got all day, you know."

Teal'c didn't utter a single word through the whole debrief. He just looked at Daniel, and
there was a kind of puzzled hurt in his eyes that I'd never seen before. As though he couldn't
quite bring himself to believe what was happening right in front of him.

Sam kept her eyes pretty much pinned to her notes. Every so often she'd glance at Daniel, and
there was so much anxiety in those looks they broke my heart. She didn't say much. One word
answers, yes, no. A couple of clarifications. Her glances at Jack were an odd mix of
supplication, understanding and resentment.

And Jack? Jack didn't look at him once. Didn't speak to him once. He referred to Daniel as
though he weren't in the room. As though he were dead, and unlamented. Even when Daniel
interrupted, to explain or justify or just rant. He simply waited till Daniel finished, and
continued from where he stopped. As though the interruption were nothing more than the drone of
a low flying aircraft.

It was one of the coldest things I've ever seen in my life. Pitiless. It was like watching
someone get buried alive.

When the debrief was done, and the General dismissed us, Daniel tried to block Jack as he
headed for the door. Stood in front of him, and grabbed hold of his arm. Said, "Hey. I want to
talk to you. Colonel." The dislike in his voice was as shocking as bloodshed.

Jack looked at him, then, with a searing contempt that went through all of us. Even Daniel, as
far gone as he was, even Daniel backed off. Broke contact. "Fine. To hell with you, then," he
said. Turned on his heel and stormed out, muttering under his breath.

The General said, "Colonel, if you've got a moment I'd like a word with you in private. My
office."

"Certainly, sir," said Jack. Scrupulously neutral. Side by side they left the briefing room.

Sam said, "Teal'c?"

Teal'c nodded. "I will ensure that Daniel Jackson does nothing to endanger himself, or this
base."

He left, and it was just us. Sam dragged her fingers over her face and hair. "Please tell me
this isn't happening."

"I wish I could."

When she looked at me, I could see she wanted to cry. She's a sensitive person, Sam. Feels
everything acutely: joy, sorrow, triumph, defeat. No half measures. She said, "When we were in
the mine all I could think about was getting out. I kept telling myself, over and over, once we
get out everything will be okay. But it's not okay, is it? I don't think it's going to be okay
ever again."

"I think it's a little too soon to be deciding that," I said.

"Is it? God, Janet. Leaving aside the question of Daniel's physical condition ..." She stopped.
Folded her arms across her chest and stared at the floor, blinking.

"I know," I said. "It's awkward. But can you really blame Jack for being angry? From what I
just heard, Daniel behaved with a reckless disregard for his own safety, and the safety of the
team. In the Colonel's book that's a cardinal sin. You know that. I know that. And so does
Daniel."

"Yes," she replied. "I know he was wrong. But I can't help thinking that if he'd done nothing,
if he'd let that wretched woman jump to her death ... how would I feel about him now?"

It was a good point. Was it really fair for any of us to blame Daniel for being -- Daniel? We
love him because of his boundless compassion, not in spite of it. Besides. Jack had known him a
long time. Knew what he was like. Impulsive. Reckless. Inclined to act from the heart, and not
the head. Jack knew that. Was any of this truly surprising?

No. Not really.

But then Daniel knew, too, that Jack was fast losing his tolerance for impulsive recklessness,
Daniel style. There'd been words about it, more than once. Loud words. Emphatic words. And not
so long before the mission. So really, knowing Jack, could any of us expect him not to be
coldly, comprehensively furious that Daniel had, in effect, blithely thumbed his nose at him
... and put their lives at risk as a result?

No. Not really.

It was stalemate. And I had no idea what we were going to do about it. Clearly, expecting Jack
to forgive and forget was out of the question. And expecting Daniel to even dimly comprehend
his crime just then was equally useless.

God grant me the strength to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I
can't, and the wisdom to know the difference.

In front of me, grimly determined not to surrender to her emotions, was the one person I could
maybe do some good.... even if it was a case of being cruel to be kind. Because I know Sam. I
know how she operates. And I knew, like I could look inside her head and read her thoughts,
what it was eating her like a cancer.

I said, "What about you, Sam? Were you going to let this Shyla jump to her death?"

Startled, she looked up at me. "There was nothing I could have done. It all happened so fast
and I was too far away. She walked to the cliff edge, the Colonel said 'she's going to jump'
and almost before he'd finished, Daniel was flying to the rescue."

"Okay. But if your positions had been reversed? I asked gently. "If you'd been close enough to
reach her in time?"

"We were there to observe," she whispered. "At that point it looked like the place was run by
goa'ulds. There were jaffas everywhere. Well. They looked like jaffas. Our primary objective
was to gather information."

"And not get caught," I reminded her.

"Right," she said. "And if that meant watching Shyla throw herself off a cliff --" She shook
her head. "What does that say about me? What kind of a human being does that make me?"

Ah, yes. Just the sort of question to keep you tossing and turning and searching your soul in
the long cold hours before the dawn.

"I mean," she continued, "here we are fighting the goa'uld, hating them because of their
cruelty. Their inhumanity. Yet there we were, all three of us, Jack, Teal'c and me, prepared to
stand back and watch someone kill herself. Without so much as lifting a finger to save her.
Only Daniel acted. Only Daniel did the human thing. And now he's being punished for it. Is that
fair? Is that right?"

"It was a tough call," I said. "Military life is full of them. You might want to re-think your
career path if the consequences are going to be this difficult."

"But --"

"Sam," I said. "What if they really had been goa'ulds? What if you'd all been implanted with a
parasite? What you know the goa'uld knows. And that would have been it for us."

"I know!" She shoved her hands into her pockets. Said again, "I know." Quietly. Sadly. "I just
wish it didn't have to be this way. That's all."

"Well, it is," I said, blunt as a hammer. "So deal with it, or deal yourself out, Captain.
Otherwise you're going to drive yourself crazy."

For a long time she stood there, staring at things I couldn't see. Her expression melted into
sorrow ... regret ... acceptance ... and then reformed into resolve. Her eyes refocused, and
she said, "So what's going on with Daniel, Janet? What's with the Jekyll and Hyde routine?"

It was a good question. Pity I'd yet to come up with a good answer. I said, "It's hormonal.
That much I know for sure. The blood I took from him directly after you came through the gate
showed massively elevated levels of endorphins. I'm talking twenty times the concentration that
you'd find in someone who's just completed a comfortable five mile run, for example. I've been
testing new samples every six hours since your return, and the levels have been falling
steadily. The sample I took first thing this morning was almost normal."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest." I laughed, not feeling very amused. "Since I joined this party
I've spent more time saying 'I don't know' than 'here's the answer'. It's enough to make a girl
question her competence. Bottom line? Whatever it was the sarcophagus did to him, whatever
hormonal high it put him on, the party is nearly over. I think it would be wise if you kept
Daniel with you for the rest of the day. Cook up some kind of excuse. I don't think he should
be alone right now."

"Why not confine him to the infirmary?"

I shook my head. "I've no reason to, as yet. And he's in such a volatile mood that if I try to
force the issue I'm afraid I'll only make things worse. If something happens, I'm only an alarm
bell away."

She thought about it. "Yeah. Okay. I wanted to have a play with some of the naqueda we brought
back. I'll get him to help me with that."

"Fine. Perfect. And don't forget .... if something goes wrong, if you're uneasy about anything,
tell me. Or the General."

"I will. Thanks," she said, and headed for the door. When she reached it she stopped. "Janet?
Tell me this is going to have a happy ending. Tell me we all get to live happily ever after
once this nightmare is over."

I couldn't answer. I wanted to. God, how I wanted to. But I was afraid and discouraged and the
words wouldn't come.

"That's what I thought," said Sam, and she closed the door behind her. After a few moments, I
headed back to the lab, where I was growing interesting things in petrie dishes courtesy of
SG7. Busy, busy, busy ... that's me.

Four hours later, the situation blew up in my face.

*****

Being attacked by Daniel is like getting savaged by a teddy bear. Not that he isn't strong. He
is. Scarily so, as it turns out. But he really is the last person you'd expect to go flinging
people about, or pounding on them without provocation. Which is why, even with all the medical
data in my hands, I completely underestimated him ... and ended up shrugging one-shouldered for
a week.

So there you are. You do indeed learn something new every day. Or you do around here, anyway.

It hurt all of us to see Daniel tied to the bed like some kind of dangerous animal, but I
really didn't have a choice. Sam isn't the only one faced with tough decisions, or with the
will to carry them out regardless of the cost. In my job, as in hers, it comes with the
territory.

I still don't know how Daniel managed to get the restraints undone. It should have been
impossible. God knows they're hard enough to undo when you're on the outside of them. But
somehow he managed it. Assaulted poor Rod Brown. Came damn close to shooting Jack.

I heard the shots. Called for backup to take care of Brown and ran like hell: I was so afraid.
The acoustics in the complex are hopeless, the gunfire could have come from seventeen different
directions.

When I found them, the crisis was over. Daniel was disarmed. Weeping into Jack's shoulder, a
sodden mess. Three base guards milled around, completely incapable of deciding whether to
arrest Daniel or hand him a box of Kleenex. Men. I shooed them away.

Jack was rocking Daniel like a child. As he must have rocked Charlie in the aftermath of
catastrophe. Was saying, over and over, "It's all right, Danny. It's all right." Soothing
himself as much as Daniel, I think.

Daniel didn't believe him. Between hiccuping sobs I could make out just one word: sorry.

Describing Daniel as 'child-like' does him a grave disservice. He is a man, in every sense of
the word. Nevertheless there is something ... innocent at the heart of him. It's hard to put
into words. I think it has to do with his childhood. The death of his parents. The loneliness
that followed. Being an only child. Circumstances that drove him inwards to live within the
fantastic realms of history and his own imagination.

Whatever you want to call it, he has a quality that touches the hardest heart. The most alien.
It's his gift, really. But it makes him vulnerable to pain in a way that most of us aren't.
Thank God.

And Jack, whose armour against pain has over the years grown to medieval proportions, was
defenceless against it. Our eyes met over the top of Daniel's bowed head ... and I saw he was
shattered. Drowned. Undone by Daniel's abandoned despair. I felt suddenly crude. Oversized and
intrusive. Unwelcome.

Echoing footsteps in the corridor freed me. Sam and Teal'c. I held up my hands, held them at
bay. "It's okay," I said, hurrying to meet them. "It's under control."

"What happened?" Sam demanded.

"I'm not sure, exactly," I said. "Daniel got loose, attacked me and Airman Brown, made a run
for it."

Teal'c was frowning. As well he might. "Airman Henson said shots were fired."

"Yes. But no one's bleeding," I assured them. Not on the outside, anyway.

"Where is Daniel Jackson now?" Teal'c demanded.

"He's with the Colonel, just around the corner. I think you should give them a min--"

I was talking to myself. I looked at Sam, she looked at me. We both sighed. "Is he really all
right?" she asked.

"I think the worst might be over," I said. "But no. I wouldn't say he was all right."

"Oh, God," she said. "Come on. We'd better see what's going on."

Not a lot, as it happened. Daniel was asleep, or unconscious, still cradled in Jack's arms,
still slumped against his chest and shoulder. Jack was still rubbing his back, cramped
awkwardly on one knee. Teal'c stood over them, impassive and radiating distress at the same
time as only he can.

"I really need to get Daniel back to the infirmary," I said, fighting the urge to whisper.

"I will carry him," said Teal'c. Reached down and lifted Daniel out of Jack's embrace in a
single effortless motion, holding him as easily as if he were Riyak.

"Okay," I said. "Let's go."

When I turned round to see who was following us, there was only Sam. Surprise, surprise: Jack
was gone.

*****

Daniel woke up an hour and a half later. Sam and Teal'c had surgically attached themselves to
his bedside, and I was busy analysing blood test results on a computer in one corner. Daniel
coughed, we all jumped, and I left the glowing screen to check on my troublesome patient.

He looked awful. Paper white. Eyes dull and red rimmed. Sooty smudges beneath them. Exhausted.
Demon-driven.

He said, "I tried to kill Jack." His voice was hoarse and cracked.

Sam was holding his left hand. His right rested on the blanket, knuckles raw and swollen and
brown with Betadine. "Shhh," she said. "It doesn't matter. Don't think about it now."

His face looked naked without its glasses. Defenceless. "Is he all right? Did I hurt him?"

"You did not," said Teal'c.

Daniel lifted his free hand, went to rub it across his face, and winced. Turned it over to
stare at his battered knuckles. "I hurt someone," he whispered. "It's all a mad dream, but I
remember. I hurt someone, didn't I?"

"Yes," I said. "You attacked Airman Brown. You blacked both his eyes, broke his nose and his
right cheekbone, and you split his lip."

"No," said Daniel, shaking his head. "No...."

"I'm afraid so," I said. "But he'll mend."

He was frowning. "There's something else ... I can remember, I --" He sucked in air. "It was
you, Doctor Fraiser. You were bending over me, and I --"

"Daniel," I said, using my scalpel voice. "Enough. I am all right. Airman Brown will be all
right. There'll be more than enough time to exhaust the rights and wrongs of this situation
once you're well again. Do I make myself clear?"

Fretting, he turned back to Sam and Teal'c. "Jack's okay? I didn't hurt him? I shot at him, I
was trying to kill him."

"No, you weren't," Sam said. "You were confused. Sick. You weren't trying to kill anyone."

"Where is he?" said Daniel. "Where's Jack?" He struggled to sit up. Before I could protest,
Teal'c flattened him against his pillows with one hand.

"Colonel O'Neill is not here, Daniel," he said.

"Oh, God," said Daniel, and wilted. "He hates me."

"No, he doesn't," Sam said sharply. "Daniel. He doesn't."

Daniel wasn't listening. "How can you be here? How can you even want to look at me? God! How
can I make it up to you, Sam? Teal'c? What I said. What I did. How I acted. Please forgive me.
I don't know what I'll do if you can't."

He was working himself into a fine old state. Sam and Teal'c exchanged anguished looks. Well.
Sam's was anguished. And Teal'c's would have been, if he'd let it.

She said, "Don't. Daniel, don't. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. You didn't mean any of
it. We understand that, don't we, Teal'c?"

Teal'c nodded. "It was the sarcophagus."

"That's right," said Sam. "It was the sarcophagus. You didn't mean any of it."

Blanched, shaking, Daniel said, "I meant to kill Jack. He won't forgive me for that. You know
him, Sam. He'll never forgive me. Not for any of it."

He was on the brink of a complete breakdown. Time to pull the plug. "Okay," I said. "Visiting
hours are over. Teal'c, Captain Carter, I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. You can come back
again tomorrow. For a short visit."

They left, and we were alone. I collected stethoscope, thermometer and bp cuff and began a
routine exam. Daniel stared up at the ceiling like a man bereft of hope. He was flaccid beneath
my hands, inert and unresisting. I took blood, inserting the needle between the bruises in the
crook of his arm. He didn't even flinch.

"I am so disgusting," he said, as I labelled the sample and set it aside.

"No, you're not," I said.

"Yes. I am. Look at what I've done. I abandoned my wife. I left my friends to be worked to
death in a mine, starved and chained like animals, while I lived in a palace. I attacked you,
and Brown. I tried to kill Jack." His voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands. "I'm
a monster."

I put down the sample. Settled myself beside him on the bed, and took his hands in mine. Gently
pulled them away from his face and said, "Enough. Listen to me, Daniel. How long have we known
each other now?"

Dully, he said, "Two years, about."

"And in two years," I said, "have I ever lied to you?"

"No."

"No. And I'm certainly not going to start now. This is a bad situation, Daniel. It's dire.
There will be consequences. Serious consequences. You have more broken fences to mend than I
can even count. And even if you can mend them all, I suspect some will never be the same again.
You've been foolish, and reckless, and other people have paid the price for it. But you're not
a monster, Daniel. Okay? You're not a monster."

He started to cry, then. Silently. No sound. No movement. Just tears, sliding hot and fast down
his hollow cheeks.

There was so much more I could have said. Wanted to say. But he was in no fit state to hear it
and besides ... it really had to come from Jack.

I just didn't know whether Jack would say it. Or if Daniel could bear to hear it from him.

I gave him a sedative. Left him alone. Closed the door behind me, flagged it 'do not disturb',
and went to find the General.

*****

"I'll be honest with you, Janet," General Hammond said. "I don't know what to do."

Oooh. He called me Janet. He practically never calls me Janet. Mystery readers would call that
a Clue.

I didn't need one. I already knew we were in deeper shit than I had a shovel for. And the smell
was getting worse by the minute. I'd already reassured him as to Daniel's physical recovery.
Now we were contemplating the wreckage of his friendship with Jack ... and the view was
anything but encouraging.

I'd already reassured him as to Daniel's physical recovery. Now we were contemplating the
wreckage of his friendship with Jack ... and the view was anything but encouraging.

I sighed. "What does the Colonel have to say?"

The General's smile was grim. "Nothing I'd care to repeat in mixed company."

Helplessly we stared at each other across the pristine expanse of his desk. "Well .... does he
still want Daniel on the team?"

"I don't know," the General replied. "Hell. I don't think he knows himself. I'll tell you this,
though. God forbid I should ever make Jack O'Neill angry with me. The man could disembowel you
with his tongue."

"Yes," I said. "I know."

His eyebrows lifted at that, but I didn't elaborate. He said, "Any idea as to how Daniel
feels?"

"Daniel," I said, "is a mess. If he could, he'd be pouring coals of fire on his own head.
Remorse doesn't begin to cover it."

The General sighed. "I wish I thought that would mean something to Jack ... but right now, I'm
not sure it would."

We sat in depressed silence for a while. I picked at the fraying pocket of my lab coat. The
General drew spiky stars on his blotter.

"We have to do something," he said explosively, digging his sharpened pencil into the creamy
paper. "I'll be damned if I just stand idly by and watch those two fools self-destruct!
Besides. All personal considerations aside ... this operation can't afford to lose SG1. It's as
simple as that."

I said, "We could always call in Tom Mackenzie. He's got clearance. He's a good psychiatrist.
Daniel and the Colonel know him."

"Right," said the General. "And you think Jack's changed his tune on clucking dogs and barking
chickens and all things psychiatric because ...?"

My turn to sigh. "Right." I straightened. "I guess there's no other way. I'll talk to him."

"No offence, Doctor, but ... what makes you think he'll talk back?"

Because I know him. I know which buttons to push. And if he doesn't I'll nail his feet to the
floor and make him watch Daytime soaps until he's begging for mercy.

"Oh," I said. "Just a feeling I have. I can't see him staying angry forever. He's as invested
in the friendship as Daniel is. He just needs some time, and a fresh perspective."

Which didn't exactly answer the question. I watched the General's face flicker with
speculation. Kept my own expression bland and unreadable. I don't think I fooled him.

He said, "Yes. Well. Let's hope you're right."

"Yes," I agreed. "Let's."

I got up to leave. Wished the General good night. As I headed for the door he said, "By the
way, Doctor. I understand you and Daniel got into a little rough house of your own. Are you all
right?"

"Sure," I said. "I've gotten worse playing softball. I'm fine."

Which wasn't strictly true, but Daniel was in enough hot water already. General Hammond can be
a touch old fashioned about some things ... and attacking women is pretty much top of the list.

By the time I'd settled Daniel for the night and briefed the nursing staff, it was after seven.
Driving away from the base, heading home, I dithered. It was Friday. Cass was at a slumber
party. I had no food in the house. Well. Nothing I wanted to eat, anyway. The evening yawned
before me, empty and uninviting.

On the other hand, I could go see Jack.

*****

I'll be honest with you. It wasn't a conversation I was looking forward to. Yes, there were
things that needed to be said. And for a great many reasons, I was the best -- maybe the only -
- person to say them. And yes, time was an issue. Jack was more than capable of letting the
problem go unaddressed indefinitely -- it's his favourite coping mechanism -- but the General
had a point. SG1 was needed.

It's just that I know Jack. He guards the perimeters of his privacy like the barbarians are at
the gate. Even now, even after all this time and everything we've been through, he's reluctant
to let us in. Okay. So now maybe we don't give up so easily. Now we've each got ourselves a
personalised set of lockpicks, and when we need to we let ourselves in.

And sometimes ... just sometimes ... he even leaves the gate unlocked himself. But not then.
Then, he still had the portcullis down and the drawbridge up and the moat full of nasty
surprises. Then, he considered himself under attack ... and nobody is more dangerous than Jack
O'Neill when he's defending himself.

Especially from a friend.

Like I said. It wasn't a conversation I was rushing to have.

But we had to talk, he and I. And it had to be soon. Some wounds time can heal. Others, if left
alone, fester and mortify and lead to an ugly death.

Daniel was bleeding. Jack was bleeding. I'm a doctor.

Says it all really, doesn't it?

*****

"Janet," said Jack, holding his front door open. His expression was a study in wary pleasure.
"Hello."

"Have you eaten?" I said, holding up two Dragon Palace take-out bags. "I've got beef and black
bean sauce, mu shu pork, honey prawns, mixed vegetables and rice. And two sets of chopsticks."

"I burned two omelettes, ran out of eggs and gave up," he said. "Come on in."

Something lovely was playing on the stereo. Jack took dinner out of my hand and disappeared
into the kitchen. I stood in the middle of the lounge room and listened. Two violins were
having a conversation, poignant and full of longing.

"Brahms Double Violin Concerto in D Minor," said Jack, sticking his head around the door.
"Second movement. You want wine?"

"Yes, please," I said, and smiled quietly to myself. Wondered how many people knew that Jack
has a classical cd collection that takes up half a wall, and seems to be growing at a steady
rate. "It's beautiful," I said, wandering into the kitchen. Hunted up placemats and coasters
and set them on the round table in the corner.

"Yeah," he agreed. "One of my favourites."

We carried the decanted food and wine over to the table, sat down and started eating. I was
starving, and Jack was making respectable inroads as well. He eats like he does everything
else: economically, precisely. I tend to drop bits, myself, but he forgives me.

He was looking tired, too. Even more withdrawn than usual. Forty eight hours wasn't nearly
enough down time balanced against two weeks of slave labour. I would have liked to have packed
him off to a tropical island somewhere, or better yet back to Argosia and some time with
Kinthea ... but we'd had that conversation before, more than once, and I was still smarting.
This was definitely not the time to bring up old arguments.

Not when a brand new one was looming on the horizon.

He glanced up. Caught me checking him out. His look was long suffering, but all he said was,
"Where's Cass?"

"Slumber party," I said, chasing rice around the bottom of the bowl with my chopsticks.
"Fifteen squealing girls, a foot high pile of Leonardo DiCaprio videos, enough junk food to
feed an army, and someone else's basement. My idea of heaven."

He laughed. "How's she doing, anyway? How's school?"

"Better," I said. "The lessons are finally starting to make sense now, her grades are
improving, she's got some good friends. She still gets a little homesick now and then --"

"I'm sure she does," he said.

"But that's getting better, too."

"Good," he said, reaching for his wine. "Good. She still on for next weekend?" I grinned.
"Aside from the slumber party, it's all she's talked about since you set it up."

"Yeah?" he said. Ever so casually, like it didn't really matter. As if he was going to fool me.

"Yeah," I said, letting him know that I knew. He can be so transparent sometimes.

And so can I.

He said, "This isn't just a social call. Is it."

I shook my head. "No."

Tapping his chopsticks against the bowl, he pulled a face. "Hammond?"

"Is worried," I said. "So am I."

He shoved his chair back. Snared his wine glass and the bottle and retreated to the rustic
warmth of the lounge room. A moment later I followed him.

The Brahms had finished, and now it was something starring a piano. I said, "I know that.
Mozart, isn't it? Elvira something or other?"

"Madigan," he replied. "Elvira Madigan."

He was sprawled in his favourite two seater. I took my usual chair by the fireplace. "You
haven't even asked how he is."

His glance was swift. Derisive. Defensive. "What makes you think I'm interested?"

Oh, for God's sake ... I thumped my wine glass down on the side table. "Jack --"

"I mean, you know, I kind of figured that if he was dead you would have mentioned it. Hi, Jack,
I've got beef and black bean sauce, mu shu pork, honey prawns, mixed vegetables and rice and by
the way, Daniel died."

"Jack."

He had the grace to look shamefaced. Lifted a hand in brief apology. "All right. All right. How
is he?"

God Almighty, he can be such a bastard. He could give my ex lessons and trust me, that's saying
something. Tartly, I replied, "Much better. His body chemistry is almost back to normal. He's
coherent."

"Does he remember what happened?"

"Yeah," I said. "He does."

For a while, then, we were silent. I was content to wait. Cool my temper. Nobody riles me like
Jack, but there's no point getting angry. It gets you nowhere. Plays right into his hands,
actually. The trick is never to take anything that he says personally.

Which is much easier said than done, believe me.

He was still furious. I could see it in the set of his shoulders, the tension round his eyes
and mouth. The way he swallowed the wine like he was biting off the head of an enemy.

But then I'd expected that.

What I hadn't expected was the brittleness beneath the fury. An overwhelming sense of
fragility. Disorientation, almost. As though without warning he found himself stranded in
unfamiliar territory and couldn't quite bring himself to ask for directions.

Generally speaking, if you want to get Jack to talk you have to put some of your own cards on
the table first. Only rarely will he open up without prompting. Or copious amounts of alcohol.
Or extremes of physical duress.

That night, against every expectation, every scenario I'd imagined on the drive over, I got the
feeling that he was trying to reach out. Trying to find some way of asking for help. That he
knew to the millimetre how high the stakes were ... but was too afraid to call. Too afraid to
raise. Too afraid of what he had riding on the game.

I didn't dare speak. The wrong word at the wrong time would shut him down, I knew it, and that
would be the end of everything.

I don't know how long we sat there like that, saying nothing, with the music flowing gently
beneath the silence. I started to drift. I was tired. Sad. My shoulder hurt. When he finally
spoke, I nearly dropped my glass.

He said, not looking at me, barely loud enough for me to hear, "My best friend at the Academy
was an addict. Stevie. He started out with pot. Nothing serious, a few joints now and then.
Second year, he started to wash out. Couldn't handle it. His dad was a three star. There were
... expectations. He graduated from pot to smack. Kicked it twice. Cold turkey. I helped him.
Third time he wasn't so lucky. I had to id the body, his folks were in Germany."

"I see," I said. It was hard to picture ... Jack that young. That wild. Had he smoked pot, too?
Jack O'Neill stoned: now there was an image. God. Had he, too, ventured beyond the relatively
harmless bounds of marijuana?

He looked at me then. Smiled. Reading me like a book, the bastard. "Once."

My eyebrows went up. "Once?"

His smile faded. "I liked it too much."

"Oh," I said. And thought it was one of the most frightening things I'd ever heard. "So ...
Daniel reminded you of Stevie?"

Jack upended the last of the wine into his glass, but didn't drink it. Just swirled it gently
from side to side. "He used to say, don't worry. I use heroin, heroin don't use me. I'm the one
in the driver's seat, boy, don't you fret." He frowned. "First time we did the cold turkey
dance, he promised me never again. Second time? Never again."

"And the third?" I asked.

His face contracted. "I wasn't there the third time. I'd already walked away."

Oh. I cleared my throat. "Um --"

"He was so cocksure," said Jack. "So convinced he had it all under control. He knew what he was
doing. I didn't. But he did. He was in the driver's seat."

"Stevie?"

Jack looked at me. "Daniel."

I took a deep breath. Let it out. I said, "My fifth wedding anniversary, I decided to do
something special. The marriage was in trouble. Bob knew it. I knew it. But neither of us had
the guts to come out and say so. I left work early, went shopping. Sexy lingerie. Perfume.
Lobster and asparagus. You know. I had it all planned out. Candlelit dinner. Romantic music. A
slow, sweet seduction by the fireplace ... all the elements to rekindle the embers. I got home
and found him in bed with my best friend. Well. On couch, if you want to be specific."

"Ouch," said Jack.

Ouch is right. I'll never forget how that felt. That visceral kick in the solar plexus, the
hammer blow to the heart. There were tears in my eyes, pricking, and my throat felt sore and
tight. Even after all that time. I said, "Things got a little ugly, then. I filed for a divorce
the next morning. Scratched her name out of my address book. Got drunk. More than once. Tried
to figure out what I'd done wrong, what made it okay to do that to me."

"I'm sorry," said Jack. Meaning it.

I blinked a few times. Cleared my throat. "The point I'm trying to make here, Jack, is this.
Loving people makes us vulnerable. We give them our hearts and then hope like hell they don't
do something stupid like break them."

Jack shifted in his chair until the shadow from a lamp fell across his face. "But they do."

"Sometimes," I agreed. "But hardly ever on purpose. I can't comment about Stevie, Jack. I never
met him. But I know Daniel. And so do you. Is Daniel another Stevie? Really? Or are you just
getting them confused because you're angry and hurting and feeling betrayed?"

No reply. Elegantly civilised, the music played on.

I said, "Daniel's terrified, Jack. Terrified that you hate him. That you won't forgive him."

His face denied me, I watched Jack's hands. His fingers on the stem of the wine glass. They
were unmoving. "You think I should? Forgive him? Pretend that it never happened?"

God. He can be so black and white at times it makes me want to scream. "Of course you can't
pretend it never happened, Jack. And what I think isn't the issue here. It's what you think.
What you want. What do you want, Jack?"

I waited as he thought about it, and I was afraid. I've heard people complain about Jack. Say
he's a hard nosed hard hearted sonofabitch. That he expects too much. Drives people beyond
their limits. And maybe they have a point. But what they don't stop to realise is that he
drives himself even harder. Expects more of himself than he does of anyone else. Asks himself
the hardest questions of all ... and is unforgiving if he comes back with the wrong answer.

It's hard to forgive other people if you can't forgive yourself.

He moved again, out of the shadow. His face was cold and uncompromising. He said, "That mine
was a hell hole, Janet. You have no idea. We watched people die in their chains every day.
Watched the guards drag them out and throw them into mass graves. Beat and kick and shoot old
men, young women, because they got sick and couldn't keep up. The mine was exhausted, there was
virtually no naqueda left to dig up. But they blamed us when the quota wasn't filled at the end
of the day. Starved us. Hurt us. Daniel could have stopped it. He didn't. At the end, Sam was
in so much pain she was crying in her sleep. Daniel could have saved her that. He didn't."

"So you're angry because of what he put Sam through. And the other people, too."

"Hell, yes. Of course I am!"

"And what about you, Jack?"

He looked away. "I don't know what you mean."

Oh, yes he did. He wasn't getting away with that, no sir. "Why are you angry for you? How has
Daniel hurt you?"

He didn't like the question. I knew he wouldn't. But it had to be said. Acknowledged. If he was
going to banish Daniel, he had to know why he was doing it. We all did.

I said, "If you're going to punish him, Jack, it can only be for what he's done to you. Not Sam
or Teal'c. They'll make their own decisions on that, it's not for you to make them."

"Like hell it isn't!" he said. "They're my team. He jeopardised my team."

"Yes," I acknowledged. "That's true. But a team is comprised of people, and those people, Sam
and Teal'c, are faced with the same decision you are. How would you like it if they presumed to
task Daniel on your behalf?"

He answered without thinking. "They wouldn't dare."

"No. They wouldn't. Because it's not up to them. What relationship you choose to pursue with
Daniel after this matter is resolved is your business. Not theirs. And the reverse also holds
true."

And he didn't much like that, either. Too bad.

Jack said, "I'm the team leader. Everything to do with SG1 is my business."

"Yes. And I'm assuming that at some point, as a team, you'll get together and discuss whether
or not you still want Daniel on SG1. But before you can do that, you have to work out what it
is that you want, Jack. What it is that you feel. As Daniel's friend. Not as his commanding
officer, team leader, whatever. Because you're not feeling all this pain as a Colonel, Jack.
You're feeling it as a friend who's been hurt. Deal with it. Don't hide it behind rules and
regulations and 'this is about the team' bullshit. It's too important."

He drained the last of his wine. Placed the empty glass with meticulous precision on the two-
seater's arm rest and looked at me. "Tell me. Did you forgive Bob? And your best friend? After
what they did to you, did you forgive them?"

I never should have opened my mouth. "No," I said, throat tight. "No. I didn't."

"But you want me to forgive Daniel."

I sighed. "I told you. What I want doesn't matter."

"Say it does." He leaned back. Let his head thump gently against the wall. "Say it matters."

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. "What I want," I said slowly, "is for you to think very carefully
before you do anything. And while you're thinking, I want you to remember one thing: that all
of this started because Daniel saved a life. We don't know what happened between him and this
Shyla woman. We don't know how hard he tried to get you out of the mines. We don't know what
kind of threats were made against you to get him to co-operate. We don't know why he started
using the sarcophagus in the first place, or if he tried to resist its effects, and wasn't
strong enough. Jack, there's so much we still don't know. So far, all we have is your side of
the story. Before you make any decisions, I think you owe it to him to hear what he has to
say."

Jack said, "All of this started because he disobeyed my directive about charging into
situations without thinking first or checking with me."

"Oh," I said. "I see. So you're angry with Daniel because he wouldn't do as he was told. That's
pretty rich, coming from you."

That got him. Scowling, he snapped, "There is a big difference and you know it. I've spent the
last ten years behind enemy lines, living on my wits, making a hundred decisions a day that
meant the difference between life and death not just for me, but for hundreds, thousands, of
people. I've earned the right to disobey orders when I know they're ill-conceived. That order
to Daniel was not ill-conceived. And even if it had been, what gives him the right to question
my judgement in the field? What's he spent the last ten years doing? Living off government
handouts? Digging up old pots? Propping up a shelf in a library somewhere with his head buried
in a book?"

"Perhaps," I agreed. "And if he hadn't been doing all of that, there'd be no Gate travel, you
two would never have met, and you'd probably be two years dead of a self-inflicted gunshot
wound. Is that what you'd prefer?"

"Fuck you," said Jack, and walked out.

Ah, the 'f' word. Apparently I'd struck a nerve.

Elsewhere in the house, a door slammed. Heels thumped along polished floorboards. Jack re-
appeared. "And anyway," he said, looming at the top of the stairs connecting lounge and
kitchen. "It doesn't matter that he had an altruistic motive. Daniel's motives are always
altruistic. What matters is his damned altruism nearly got me killed, probably took ten years
off my life, and screwed up my knee even more than it was before the mission! And I didn't
think that was possible!"

I didn't know I was going to say it till the words were out of my mouth. "I know what's pissing
you off. Daniel saving that woman was a blatant slap in the face. An outright criticism of your
behaviour. Wasn't it? That's what's got you so riled up."

He stared. "What?"

Too late to back out now. "You were going to let her jump. Let her kill herself. Daniel --"

"Oh, here we go," said Jack, scathingly. Thumped down the stairs and started to pace. "Spare
me, for Christ's sake. We weren't on a family picnic. We were in hostile territory. Spying. If
they'd been real goa'ulds we'd be dead or worse by now. I had more to worry about than the life
of one person. I was responsible for the lives of my team, and everyone on Earth who would have
been at risk if we'd been taken by the enemy. One life against billions. You gonna sit there
and tell me you wouldn't let one person die to save billions?"

"This isn't about me, Jack," I said quietly. "And you haven't answered the question."

He slammed his fist against the closest wall. "What gives him the right to judge me? To judge
me, for fuck's sake? He's only walking around breathing free air because of me, and all the
people like me, who've bled to keep him safe. What, does he think it's easy being in command?
Does he think I enjoy making those kinds of decisions? Jesus Christ! Does he think I'm some
kind of a murderer?"

"I don't know, Jack," I said. "Why don't you ask him?"

He jerked like someone who's just been shot. Turned away, fingertips touched to the wall. He
said, distantly, "We were there to observe. That was it. No interaction with the indigenous
population. I made that perfectly clear before we left. Daniel chose to disregard my
instructions. Now he can wear the consequences. Like the rest of us had to."

I said, gently, "You don't think he's been punished enough already?"

"No," he said baldly. "Not nearly enough."

I didn't know what to say. I'm still not sure if he meant it. Or whether he just wanted to mean
it. Spoke out of hurt, and the human need to lash out at whoever caused the pain. God knows, I
know what that's like.

He said, "I'm pretty beat, Janet. Thanks for dinner."

I stood. Pulled my car keys out of my pocket and jangled them on the end of my finger. "Will
you at least think about what I've said? Please?"

"Drive carefully," said Jack. "Give Cass a hug for me."

I sighed. "Yeah. Sure. Good night, Jack. See you tomorrow."

Safely home, I made myself a coffee, added a generous dollop of brandy, took a couple of
painkillers and went to bed. Feeling like a failure. Crushed with uncertainty. Brimful of
unshed tears. I replayed our duet over and over, searching for what I might have said better,
or differently, or not at all. Sleep came late, that night.

The next morning, still sore but feeling better, I went in to the base. Daniel had had a quiet
night. His vitals looked good. He'd eaten some breakfast. After getting up to speed on the
other patients, I went to see him.

"Doctor Fraiser," he said. "Hi." Still subdued. Haunted. But his colour was better, and he'd
been reading a book. "How's your shoulder?"

"It's fine. I told you. Stop worrying about that," I said.

"Have you seen Jack this morning?"

"No," I said. "I haven't."

He looked away. Picked at the unravelled binding on the spine of his book. "Neither have I.
Have you spoken to him?"

"Today? No."

"At all?"

I hesitated. What to say? How much more to interfere? I had the awful feeling that last night
hadn't made any difference at all.

"Please," said Daniel. "You have to help me."

"How?" I asked him. "What is it you think I can do?"

"I don't know!" Daniel said, and threw the book on a nearby chair so hard that he loosened the
pages. "Jack's avoiding me. I know he is. How am I supposed to fix this if he won't even see
me?"

"Daniel ..." I took a deep breath. "Maybe you should just let things happen as they happen.
Don't try and force the issue. Healing takes time. Like the song says: let it be."

"But I have to -- to apologise, I have to let him know how sorry I am that --"

I rested my hand on his shoulder. "Daniel. He knows."

Daniel swallowed. "So what you're saying is, it's not enough. God! What do you think I'd give
to undo this? To make things so it never happened? I know he's angry. Of course he is. I
understand that. But if he'd just give me a chance, if he'd hear me out --"

"He will," I said, hoping like hell that I was right. "But it'll be when he's ready, Daniel.
Not before."

"When? When will he be ready? And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Am I off the team?
Off the project? Should I just go home and wait for a phone call? I don't know what to do!"

"Well, you could try shutting up and listening," a dry voice said from behind us. "Doctor
Fraiser has been known to give good advice, now and then."

Jack. Looking tired. Sleepless. Chaos behind the guarded eyes. But he was here. Against every
expectation, he was here.

"Good morning, Colonel," I said.

"Good morning, Doctor," he replied. Smiled a grim little smile. "Doctors."

"Jack ..." said Daniel. Faintly. Looking like he wanted to dive under the covers and stay there
for a week.

"I wonder if you could give Daniel and me a few moments alone," said Jack. So cool. So
collected. Professional to his fingertips. Like this was about discussing ball point pen
requisitions.

Well. Two could play at that game. "Certainly," I said. "I should be getting along anyway, I
have rounds. Colonel, once you and Daniel have concluded your business, I'd appreciate it if
you could stop by my office. Some unfinished business, you understand."

"I'll do my best," said Jack. Meaning not a hope in hell, lady. We'd see about that.

"I'll be back to see you later, Daniel," I said, opting for a dignified retreat. "Try to
remember, Colonel, that Daniel is still convalescent?"

"How could I forget?" said Jack, sweetly.

Daniel flinched.

I tell you, there's almost nothing I wouldn't have done to be a fly on the wall in that room.
Jack's never told me what was said. According to Sam, Daniel's never breathed a word to her,
either. As I started to pull the door closed behind me, I had no idea if this was a beginning,
or an end.

Then I heard Daniel say, brokenly, "Jack. God, Jack. Where do I start?"

And Jack reply, in a voice I'd never heard before ... haven't heard since ... "Jesus Christ.
Danny...."

That's when I was sure, for the first time really sure, that in the end, everything would be
all right.

And it was. In the end. In time. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't always pretty. Jack is a hard
taskmaster, and Daniel's penance was often painful. But he survived it, and he's stronger now.
Just as Jack intended.

Being cruel to be kind ... it's something else we have in common.

So. The fences are all mended. And if they don't look exactly the same as they did before, if
there's a crack showing here, a little shakiness there ... well. I consider us damned lucky.
Some fences never get mended at all. I'm not complaining.

Well. Not much. Not often.

And only to Sam, when we've both had one glass of wine too many. Like I say ... there's no
point playing the 'if only' game.

It'll only drive you crazy.