Colonel Jack O'Neill kept an eye on the rapidly moving sun as the members of SG-1 made their way across the verdant terrain of PCC332. The days here were short and the nights long and he wanted to get as close as possible to the temple SG-7 had reported before making camp for the night.

This was a supposedly deserted planet, but it was an apparent recent desertion, and there were no bodies or other evidence of what had happened to the inhabitants. The other SG team had taken pictures inside the well-kept temple showing walls of hieroglyphs and other writing. Since the disappearance of the populace could be Goa'uld related, General Hammond ordered SG-1 to PCC332 so their resident linguist and all-around cultural expert, Doctor Daniel Jackson, could study the writings first hand and see what could be learned.

O'Neill glanced to his side to where their all-around cultural expert was walking, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark clip-on sunglasses, then turned his attention back to their surroundings. During the hike he heard Major Carter attempt to strike up a conversation with Daniel, and even Teal'c had made a comment or two, but nothing so far had drawn the usually verbose young linguist into a dialog.

Once again, Jack's mind played back the events of almost two weeks ago; as much as he'd tried to put it all behind him, he couldn't. The organic Goa'uld killing device that had infected Daniel and made him schizophrenic (made him appear schizophrenic, Jack corrected angrily) might be dead, but its effects were still haunting the team. Once the device had left Daniel and he'd managed to convince Dr. MacKenzie -- how, Jack had no idea -- not to give him any more drugs, he returned to normal and was the one who presented the theory that ultimately led to Teal'c's recovery.

It had only been hours earlier that Jack had been faced with what seemed like yet another loss in a life already littered with them: the loss of the man who was Daniel. Of witnessing that brilliant mind solve yet another seemingly unsolvable puzzle; of the sight of blue eyes shining with excitement when faced with a new discovery; of the sound of words tumbling out on top of one another from a mouth that couldn't quite match the lightning speed of its owner's brain; of that look of annoyance on the boyish face when Jack picked the most inappropriate times to tease him; and the loss of a friendship that had warmed Jack's life like no other.

But it was over now, Jack reminded himself firmly, and Daniel was fine. He shot another sideways look at the silent archaeologist; or at least, he should be fine. But he wasn't. And Jack hadn't needed either Janet Fraiser or Doctor MacKenzie to explain depression to him or the fact that after Daniel's experience, it was only to be expected. When they had tried, he explained a few things to them. His lips curved in a grim smile as he remembered their confrontation in the infirmary. He'd blistered the air for a good five minutes, without pause, as he told them exactly what he thought of their 'care' of Daniel during the time that young man had so desperately needed help. Okay, so it wasn't stress, like he'd kept insisting. But it wasn't Stargate-induced schizophrenia, either, and neither of those professionals had bothered to look any further for a cause. He had nothing but contempt for MacKenzie; his disappointment he saved for Fraiser.

SG-1 had come to trust and depend on Janet Fraiser and she had let them down badly. She had let Daniel down badly, and he was concerned about the after-effects of that. If Daniel didn't trust Fraiser, would he confide in her, be completely honest if another situation came up and he was hurt or ill and his symptoms weren't immediately apparent? That was a worry, Jack acknowledged, and one they would have to confront before too long. They came back through the Stargate far too many times battered, bruised and bleeding, and they didn't have a choice about the doctor on call. Daniel either had to trust the physician treating him, or ... or what? Would he trust any physician after his experience? Jack very much doubted he'd ever trust another shrink. Frowning, he made a mental note to talk to Hammond about that; the SG units all went through regular psych evaluations, and he wanted to make sure Daniel didn't have to get anywhere near MacKenzie for those.

Once the crisis was over and Teal'c had recovered, Daniel began a gradual withdrawal from the people who cared most about him. A bout with depression after what he'd gone through certainly wasn't unexpected, but it was frustrating and worrying for his friends. First there had been the physical side-effects from the drugs that had been pumped into Daniel to control his apparent psychosis; and then there had been drugs to counteract the side-effects of those drugs, for crying out loud. It was no wonder Daniel was trying to shut himself away. It was a wonder he still trusted any of them at all.

At Jack's request, Hammond had kept SG-1 on stand-down until a mission came along that O'Neill felt comfortable enough about to include Daniel. Fraiser had released him as fit for duty, but Jack was reluctant to push him too far too fast. PCC332 seemed to provide just what he was looking for: a safe planet with something guaranteed to grab their linguist's interest. He could only hope it turned out that way. He had a sinking feeling that Daniel's confidence and self-esteem, never high to begin with, had taken a bad beating with his treatment in Mental Health, and all he could think to do was gather the team around Daniel, put his friend into the type of environment where he excelled like no one else, and hope the healing began.

When O'Neill finally decided they'd made enough progress, he called a halt in a small clearing and ordered Teal'c and Carter to scout the perimeter.

***

The bushes moved. Hadn't the bushes moved? Daniel stared at the undergrowth: was it the breeze, or something there, or...

Jack moved up beside him, sensing his distraction. "What's the matter?"

"I thought I saw..." Daniel let his voice trail off, not sure he wanted to complete the sentence.

"Thought you saw what?" O'Neill prompted, dark eyes raking the brush where Daniel had indicated and taking a half-step forward to place himself between the archaeologist and possible danger.

Daniel continued to stare at the thick greenery, but not a leaf moved. "Nothing, I guess," he mumbled with a little shrug.

"I too saw the movement, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c announced, appearing at their side.

Daniel's head whipped around to stare at Teal'c. "You did?" He hated the fact he felt so relieved that someone else had seen it.

The Jaffa regarded him calmly. "It was one of the small creatures we saw from the probe's film."

"Those rabbit-type things," Jack remembered, nodding. Then he grinned, patting his rifle. "Dinner?"

Carter, who had returned from her short reconnaissance, made a disgusted face. "Colonel."

But O'Neill simply shrugged unrepentantly. "Okay, kids, let's get camp set up. You know the drill." When everyone turned to attend to their assigned tasks, Jack walked past Daniel, who was sorting through the supplies, and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "See, Daniel, you weren't seeing things," he teased.

Daniel froze. Behind him he could sense Sam and Teal'c doing the same. Finally, he felt Jack come to a dead stop beside him as he realized what it was he had said. He heard a hissed, "Shit!" by his ear, but continued with what he was doing. Very deliberately, without looking at anyone, he carried what he needed over to where Sam was building the fire and began the food preparation. He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't.

Evening meals off-world were usually times for casual dialogue and shared camaraderie, unless they were on guard against some threat. This meal should have been comfortable and relaxing, a pleasant ending to a tiring day; instead the conversation, kept deliberately light by both O'Neill and Carter, seemed forced and the atmosphere held an undercurrent of tension. Daniel was all too aware of the reason for that tension, but try as he might, he just couldn't respond the way his friends obviously wanted him to. He saw the worry in Jack's eyes whenever the colonel looked at him, and Sam never had been very good at keeping her thoughts from showing. Even Teal'c was watching him closer than he usually did, his dark eyes solemn and a little puzzled. Probably wondering what's wrong with me this time.

Across the fire Jack was telling some joke, but he'd missed most of it, so when O'Neill delivered the punch line, he was left staring blankly into the flames while Sam groaned at the colonel's version of humor. Aware suddenly of both Jack and Sam looking at him, he jumped to his feet. "I think I'll take a little walk," he mumbled, and quickly turned away.

He had only gone a few steps when Jack called out quietly, "Don't wander too far, Daniel."

"Afraid I'll get lost, Jack?" He had meant it as a lame attempt at humor -- they'd been trying to get him to join in all evening -- but it came out sounding pathetically defensive.

Jack's dark eyes rested on him. "No," he corrected evenly, "but we don't know for sure this planet's really deserted. Just because we haven't found any residents yet doesn't mean they're not out there." He smiled slightly. "Stay within sight of camp, okay?"

Feeling somewhat foolish, Daniel gave his head an affirmative jerk, then quickly walked away from camp. Finally, close enough to obey orders, but far enough away to be out of earshot of their conversation and give him at least the illusion of solitude, he found a log and sat down, his back to his team mates. It was a good location. He could hear the trickle of water down the nearby hill where Teal'c had located a small stream, and the view of the blazing sunset was spectacular.

He wondered how long it would take for Jack to join him.

Some indeterminate time later he heard soft footsteps approaching from behind, but didn't look up until Jack came to a stop in front of him. The older man held out a cup of coffee like some kind of peace offering and Daniel accepted it with a murmured, "Thanks."

"You mind some company?" O'Neill asked, gesturing toward the empty spot beside him on the log. When he didn't object, Jack sat down and took a drink of coffee. They sat in silence for a time, looking at the sunset, listening to the sound of the running water. Finally Jack broke the silence. "You've been kind of scarce back at base the last few days," he said conversationally. "And you missed some good lasagna at Sam's the other night."

"Well, I've been kind of busy with those artifacts SG-3 brought back from PCX299," Daniel said, realizing as he spoke how lame that sounded. But it was better than admitting to Jack he just didn't want to be around people right now, even his friends. All he really wanted was to be left alone. He'd discovered as long as he stayed in the room he'd claimed as his office and kept the door closed, people assumed he was lost in his work and mostly stayed clear. Except Jack, Sam and Teal'c, of course. Closed doors didn't stop them; he had an idea even a locked door wouldn't have stopped Jack. They still came by regularly, to drag him to meals, to bully him into taking breaks (that was Jack, mostly), and try to coax him off base for an evening.

But Jack only nodded, as if his excuse was perfectly reasonable. "Right. You've been kind of quiet today, too." When Daniel didn't comment on that, he asked tentatively, "You okay?"

"Am I okay?" Daniel echoed the words and gave a soft bark of humorless laughter. "I wonder when people are going to stop asking me that question."

"Probably when we're sure you're okay," Jack answered patiently. He paused, then continued carefully, "You went through a pretty rough experience with... that thing in you. And this is our first mission since then. I just wanted to make sure..."

Daniel let out a deep sigh and dropped his head. "I'm okay," he replied testily. "I'm not hearing voices, I'm not seeing event horizons in my tent, I'm not seeing corpses --"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" O'Neill pulled Daniel around abruptly by the arm, pinning him with a tight-jawed glare. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Daniel ducked his head, embarrassed by his outburst. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Jack looked at him a moment longer, then moved his hand to Daniel's shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. "Okay," he said, his voice calmer, "you want to tell me what that was about?"

Daniel took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, suddenly very, very tired. What a time for his insomnia to catch up with him; he'd probably have to confess that to Jack, as well. He was hardly at his best for this mission, or this little chat, come to that. "What is it about me, Jack," he said finally, "that would make everyone so quick to think I could be crazy?"

"What?" Suddenly Jack was in front of him, crouching down so they were at eye level. "Is that what's been going on with you?" He sounded absolutely stunned. "You think when all that stuff was going on with Machello's little land mines we just naturally assumed you must be nuts?"

"Didn't you?"

Jack looked at him for a long time before answering. "No," he said firmly, "I didn't."

Daniel considered that for a moment, remembering how Jack had insisted it was just stress, at first. "It did take you a little longer," he agreed, his voice devoid of all inflection. "But you got there in the end."

O'Neill opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. Finally, he dropped his head, and Daniel heard a soft, frustrated growl that sounded like, "Damn it, Daniel."

Daniel gazed at him impassively; he couldn't even call up enough energy to be hurt. "Let me ask you this: if it had been Sam or Teal'c having those hallucinations, how quick would you and everyone else have been to throw them into a rubber room?"

O'Neill's head snapped up, and even in the dimness of dusk Daniel could see the flash of pain in his eyes.

When Jack didn't say anything, Daniel felt something twist in his chest. "Right," he mumbled and started to get to his feet. This was more than he could handle right now.

"No, hold on." Finally able to speak, Jack made it to his feet before he did and pressed him back down with a quick hand on his shoulder. "You deserve an answer to that, Daniel."

"I don't think I want to hear it," he said numbly, trying once again to get to his feet.

But the older man kept his hand clamped on his shoulder. "Daniel, please. We need to talk."

Daniel looked up at him in surprise. Jack O'Neill wanted to talk? You usually couldn't see Jack for dust when there was even a remote chance of someone wanting to talk.

Seeing the expression on Daniel's face, Jack rolled his eyes. "Oh, for cryin' out loud. Okay, I know I'm not always very good at it, but I think we do need to talk, agreed?"

Daniel gazed down at the cup of coffee in his hands. "I'm not sure there's really anything to talk about, Jack. In this case, maybe actions speak louder than words." He rubbed his forehead, as if that action would rub away the headache blossoming there. "Doctor MacKenzie --"

"MacKenzie is an ass," Jack said flatly.

Daniel couldn't disagree with that; but he was the ass everyone apparently listened to regarding his condition.

Suddenly words seemed to explode out of O'Neill's mouth, "Damn it, Daniel, I am not going to have you believing that we threw you into a psycho cell because we didn't know what else to do with you!"

Daniel blinked at him in the growing dimness. "Isn't that what you did?"

There was a moment of absolute stillness between them, then Jack turned and dropped down onto the log beside Daniel, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Yes," he answered, his voice a harsh whisper, "that's exactly what we did."

Hearing that confession Daniel felt strangely empty inside. "Okay. Well, I guess there's not much more to talk about, is there?" he asked hollowly, and stood up. This time Jack didn't try to stop him, and he left.

***

The sun had long since set when O'Neill returned to camp. Daniel was nowhere in sight, Teal'c was standing watch, and Carter was waiting for him, her face anxious.

"Daniel?" he asked.

She nodded toward the archaeologist's tent. "Colonel, is he all right?"

When are people going to stop asking me that question?

Probably when we're sure you're okay.

O'Neill took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. "I don't know." Carter looked down at the ground for a moment, then cleared her throat. When she didn't say anything, he growled, "If you've got something to say, Major, say it."

"It's just... I feel like we let Daniel down, sir. And I don't know how to fix that."

O'Neill turned to look at the tent where their friend was. "We did let him down, Carter. And I don't know how to fix it, either." He rubbed his tired eyes, wondering if he'd manage to get a decent night's sleep tonight when he hadn't been able to for at least a week. "We should've looked for another answer. We should've stayed with him. We should've listened to him when -- Hell, this whole damn mess is full of 'should've's'. Bottom line is, we blew it." He gave his head a sharp shake, unable to banish the images of Daniel huddled in that padded cell from his mind. "He deserved better from us."

Sam said softly, "I keep remembering when we were 'gated to Antarctica. How everyone else had given up on us, but not Daniel. If it hadn't been for him, refusing to believe what everyone else did, we'd be dead."

O'Neill closed his eyes for a moment. Good analogy, he thought painfully. He refused to give up on us against what must have seemed impossible odds, but look how quick we were to give up on him. "Thanks, Major," he muttered. "I feel so much better now."

Carter bit her lip. "Sorry, sir, but --"

"No, no, you're right. Too damn right."

While they were talking Teal'c had walked up to join them and he said in a solemn voice, "Daniel Jackson is well again, but yet he is ..." He hesitated, searching for the right word.

"Depressed," Sam furnished, her voice soft. "That means he's very sad, Teal'c. The memories of what happened to him are very painful."

Teal'c seemed to consider the explanation, then nodded. "As you were when Jolinar died?"

Carter looked startled for a moment, then thoughtful. "Yes," she agreed. "Like that. Like something has... died inside." She looked at O'Neill suddenly, her eyes wide. "Sir, do you think -- "

When she didn't finish, Jack asked wearily, "What, Major?"

Her eyes searched his face. "Do you think that's it?" When he frowned, she continued quickly, "Do you think he's lost his trust in us? Do you think that's why he's so... distant with us?"

Jack rubbed his tired eyes and blew out a breath. He'd asked himself that same question more than once since the land mine fiasco and came up with the same answer each time. "No," he answered quietly. If anyone had reason not to trust his friends after what had happened to him, it was Daniel, but Jack was convinced that wasn't what was going on with him. The one person Daniel asked for when he was struggling to regain control of his mind was Jack. He was willing to risk the horrors of schizophrenia all over again by going into the lab when Jack and Fraiser had been infected. Those weren't the actions of a man who no longer trusted his team mates. O'Neill wasn't a shrink, but he was convinced Daniel's depression didn't have anything to do with losing faith with his friends. He was afraid it was much worse. "I think he's lost trust in himself."

Carter bit her lip and looked away.

Teal'c looked at them both, a puzzled frown on his solemn face. "I do not understand."

After exchanging a look with O'Neill, Carter said carefully, "It's made him doubt himself, Teal'c. I mean, when he started having... problems, we were all so quick to --"

"Jump on the bandwagon that he was nuts," Jack finished bluntly. "We all thought he was nuts, Teal'c. We let them diagnose him, pump all that shit into him, and lock him away in a room without a view. All he knows right now is that we lost faith in him. If anything," he said bitterly, "he trusts us too much."

"And he doesn't trust himself at all," Sam murmured.

"Is it not our duty to help him regain that trust?"

"If he'll let us," Carter murmured.

"Even if he doesn't," O'Neill corrected sharply. "Sorry," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't know how we're going to do it, I just know we are. No doctors, no shrinks, no drugs, just us. If I know Danny -- and I think I do -- he'll get through this; but he'll get through it a lot easier if he doesn't have to do it alone." He turned and looked one last time at the Jackson's tent. "I'm going to turn in. I'll take last watch."

*****

Daniel liked taking the third watch off-world. Since no one else on the team was particularly fond of it, he usually drew the assignment. Unless they were in a threatening situation, this time of the night was usually quiet and peaceful and it gave him time to write in his journals or continue any work in progress by the firelight without Jack nagging him about ruining his eyes.

Tonight he sat cross-legged on the ground, open journal in his lap, pen in his hand. The blank pages seemed to stare at him accusingly. He hadn't been able to write anything since... since his stay in Mental Health. He knew the drugs were out of his system and he was back to normal -- had been for the last few days -- but he just couldn't seem to put his thoughts down on paper. Or maybe the thoughts were just too painful to commit to paper, he admitted, rubbing his thumb along the pen. Maybe committing them to paper would make the memories, or his fears, too real. Ever since he first began working in the field, back when he was still in college, he found keeping a journal a wonderful release, a way of focusing his thoughts, theories and plans. Only now he didn't seem to have any plans. And his thoughts were... What? It felt like he was hiding something from himself, that there was something nagging at him, but it was lingering out there at the edges of his mind, just out of reach. If he started writing, started letting his mind translate his thoughts into words on paper, he would probably discover what that was. Shutting the book with a snap, he tossed it aside. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he didn't want to know what was out there teasing at him, whispering to him...

Suddenly he was on his feet, pacing rapidly around their small camp, running a hand distractedly through his hair. No, no, no. There were no voices. No voices. No voices. No --

A sudden muffled cry from one of the tents behind him made him whirl around, heart pounding as the peaceful silence was broken. As his heart began to slow to normal he began to experience the now-familiar doubts that plagued him. Had he really heard something? Or was it just his --

There it was again -- from Jack's tent. He almost sagged in relief even as he moved swiftly toward his friend's tent. Pausing outside, he whispered, "Jack? Are you all right?" When the only answer was a soft moan, Daniel quickly pushed the flap aside and flicked on his flashlight. The sight that greeted him made him freeze.

Jack was lying on his side on top of his sleeping bag, almost bent double, eyes squeezed tightly shut as his head moved back and forth, and Daniel could hear his rapid, harsh breathing. "Oh, geez," he murmured sympathetically. They both had enough nasty memories hidden away in their pasts to prompt nightmares, and Daniel had woken Jack from a fair share, just as Jack had done for him on many occasions, so this was nothing new. But it always shook Daniel to his core to see his tough, emotionally-contained friend so vulnerable.

Kneeling down at the colonel's side, he carefully laid a hand on one tense shoulder, ready to get out of the way if necessary. He'd learned the hard way that sometimes Jack

O'Neill woke up from nightmares leading with his fists. "Jack," he whispered, giving the shoulder a firm shake. "Jack, wake up --" He quickly jerked back as O'Neill suddenly reared up with a gasp, but still managed to keep contact with his friend. He knew from personal experience that sometimes that touch, and a few soft, reassuring words, were enough to ground him to the here and now even after a particularly vivid nightmare. "It's okay. You were dreaming."

The older man sat hunched over, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes, breathing still harsh and irregular. "Dream?" He seemed to choke on the word.

"Just a bad dream," Daniel reassured him, moving his hand up and down his friend's arm in a soothing motion.

O'Neill's breathing was slowing to normal and he began to straighten, so Daniel slowly pulled away his hand. "You okay?" he asked softly.

His face hidden by shadows, O'Neill gave a sharp jerk of his head. "Yeah," he said hoarsely.

Daniel could still feel tension radiating from the man and hesitated to leave. "It was a bad one, huh?" He knew it sounded inane, but he thought if he could get Jack talking a little, perhaps he could distance himself from whatever it was that had terrified him so in his dream.

"Yeah." O'Neill was scrubbing his face, and Daniel wondered if he'd been crying in his sleep. The thought of his friend, the man who was always in control, trapped in a nightmare so terrible it could bring tears, broke Daniel's reserve in a way nothing else could.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked gently.

"No." The answer was abrupt, definite.

Daniel's eyes slid shut. Why do I even bother? "Fine," he said dully and got to his feet. Without another word or a backward look, he left the tent.

He was settled once again on the ground, cup of coffee in his hands when he heard Jack's tent flap rustle and then footsteps approaching. A few moments later, the older man dropped down by his side. Silently, Daniel poured another cup of coffee and handed it to him.

The colonel accepted it with a nod and they shared a minute of silence until Jack said abruptly, "It was about you."

He turned, his jaw dropping, "What?"

"The dream. It was about you and..." O'Neill let out a long, ragged sigh, dropping his head to his chest and scrubbing his free hand through his hair. "Oh, Christ, Danny," he muttered. "I'm so sorry. I am so fucking sorry. And I don't know how to fix this with you --"

"Wha -- what are you talking about? Fix what?" He was honestly confused and more than a little concerned at how upset Jack seemed.

The older man looked at him, the flickering fire casting eerie dancing shadows on his face. "Fix what? What we did to you," he ground out harshly.

Ah. Daniel quickly turned his attention back to the cup of coffee in his hands, noticing with dismay that they'd started to tremble slightly. "You didn't do anything," he said quietly.

A bark of grim laughter made him jump. "You are so right. We didn't do a goddamn thing. We just stood by and let them lock you up --"

Abruptly, Daniel set his cup down and moved to push himself to his feet. "I don't want to talk about this right now --" A firm hand grasped his forearm and held him fast.

"Daniel, we have got to talk about this," Jack said quietly. Daniel flinched when Jack grabbed his arm; for an instant he was back in Mental Health with strangers twice his size gripping his arms to restrain him while another stranger injected him with drugs. O'Neill must have seen something of that in his face because he let go as if he'd been burned. "Danny, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to --"

"Will you please stop that!" he burst out angrily. "Will you just stop apologizing! Will you stop looking at me like that! Stop treating me like -- like --"

"Like what, Daniel?" Jack asked gently. "Like someone's who been hurt and is trying to heal?"

Some well of bitterness inside Daniel finally spilled over. "No," he snapped. "Like someone who's already gone over the edge once and you're just waiting for it to happen again!"

The older man recoiled and Daniel could hear him swallow, hard. "Is that what you think?"

Was that what he thought? "It's how it feels," he mumbled, watching as the fingers in his lap began to intertwine and twist together as if of their own volition.

"Daniel."

He didn't look up at that soft inquiry and a hand hesitantly settled on his shoulder. When he didn't shrug it off, it moved to the back of his neck.

"Danny." The inquiry was more insistent now and he raised his head, reluctantly bringing his gaze around to meet Jack's. The other man's eyes were searching his face and there was something like fear in their dark depths. "Is that what you think I believe?"

The air whooshed out of Daniel's lungs and he shook his head without hesitation. "No," he answered honestly. Jack was the one person who had stood with him and by him until it seemed like he had no choice but to stand aside. Given the evidence of his behavior, Daniel didn't see where Jack could have done anything else.

O'Neill's body sagged a bit and the hand on the back of his neck squeezed gently before dropping away. "Well, that's a start," Jack murmured, not trying to hide the relief in his voice.

Daniel closed his eyes wearily. He was so tired, so miserably tired; why couldn't Jack just let this go? "Nothing that happened was your fault, Jack, I know that."

"Then you know more than I do," O'Neill said tightly. He gave his head an impatient shake. "Look, Daniel, we relied on medical advice because that's all we had to go on. And I was scared -- really scared, that we were going to lose you."

Daniel's eyes snapped open and his jaw tightened. "I was scared too, Jack," he said sharply. "The only difference was, you were out there in the real world, free to come and go as you please, with Sam and Teal'c, and I was locked up in a little room, with strangers pumping drugs into me, and I was alone --" His voice broke. "I've never felt so alone --" Oh, no, he wasn't going to do this. He'd promised himself he wasn't going to do this. It was over, he just needed to tuck it away deep inside him and forget about it. He wasn't going to...

No sooner did the first sob shake his body than he felt himself pulled into a fierce embrace. He tried to resist, but Jack's arms only tightened and a hand gently, but firmly forced his head down on a strong shoulder. "You are not alone, Danny," a thick voice whispered fiercely into his ear. "You will never be alone." Oh God, it felt so good to let it out, all the fear, all the anger, all the pain and frustration. And Jack didn't seem to mind, seemed to be encouraging him, so he let it out.

After an eternity, when his sobs had quieted, he thought he heard the murmur of voices in the background and felt Jack make a motion with his head. Probably Sam and Teal'c wondering what the hell was going on now. Never a dull moment with SG-1. That thought made him snort and he drew in one last, shaky breath before lifting his head. Jack's arms tightened once again, briefly, then released him and he pulled away, wiping at the wetness on his face. He thought he glimpsed shiny tracks on Jack's face, too, but didn't comment when the older man looked away and quickly rubbed a hand over his face.

The two sat in silence for several moments, regaining their equilibrium, Daniel wiping his glasses before resettling them on his nose. That action finally seemed to release Jack from his silence and he cleared his throat. "Um, Daniel, don't take this the wrong way, but... are you okay?"

Daniel shot him a sharp look, saw the concern and hesitation in the normally self-assured eyes, and gave a brief, but genuine smile. "I will be," he replied, and was a little surprised to find he believed that. Finally. He had finally touched that kernel of grief he'd tucked away in his soul and exposed it. The effect was rather like draining an abscess. It hurt sharply for a moment, but the result was relief.

Jack nodded, a small, somewhat sad smile on his lips. "You're a strong man, Daniel Jackson," he said quietly. "I only had those things in me for a few minutes and I still remember the things I... saw." He rubbed his eyes. "I meant what I said before, Daniel. I thought we'd lost you. And in the last few days, I've been afraid we were losing you all over again." He was studying his hands as if they were the most fascinating things in the world. "You've been a little..."

When he couldn't quite say the word, Daniel supplied, "Depressed." Jack conceded that with little shrug, but still didn't look at him. "It's not clinical depression, Jack," he explained, torn between being irritated or reassuring.

The other man's head snapped up. "I know that," he said quickly, then grimaced. "Fraiser and MacKenzie gave me a crash course in depression and... you know."

"What to expect."

Jack nodded. "Yeah."

Daniel smiled without humor, remembering his own interview with the two doctors. "Me, too."

"Its just that, well, you didn't seem to want to be around us."

Jack made the statement into a question and Daniel sighed. "Jack, I didn't want to be around anyone." He shrugged. "That's the way depression works. I just wanted to be left alone while I tried to work through things -- or avoid working through them," he admitted, remembering how he had been trying to bury himself in work and ignore the fears and anger gnawing at him. "I just... I just felt so helpless. Not just when I was in Mental Health, but even after I was out, when the effects of those drugs just kept hanging on and I couldn't trust myself to know what emotions were really... real."

"And now?"

Daniel met his friend's gaze squarely. "I've been released for duty," he retorted, a little sharply.

Jack's eyebrows raised a fraction. "Not what I asked," he said mildly.

Daniel grimaced. "Sorry. Knee-jerk reaction."

"Well, you're entitled to a few," the older man said easily. "You were saying...?"

Daniel took a deep breath. "I'm not helpless anymore," he said simply. "I've got control of my life back. I can't say I won't think about what happened and wonder what might happen the next time I come up with some far-fetched theory that everyone thinks is crazy..."

"Daniel, you can't think --"

He held a hand up to stave off quick retort. "Okay, so I'm a little bitter."

"I don't blame you," Jack said slowly, his eyes never leaving Daniel's face. "I think I'd be a lot mad."

That was probably an understatement, and Daniel acknowledged that with a small nod. "I may have some bad days, but at least I can face them now, not run away from them." He paused, then said suddenly, "MacKenzie wanted me to take anti-depressants."

"More drugs," Jack muttered under his breath in disgust.

"I let him give me the bottle," Daniel continued, a small, tight smile playing at his lips. "Then I flushed the pills down the toilet."

There was a light smack on Daniel's knee. "Good for you, Doctor Jackson."

The deep approval in Jack's tone sent a warmth through Daniel that did more to heal those jagged nerve endings than any pill ever could. Why hadn't he tried to talk to Jack before? Because he wasn't ready, he realized. And maybe Jack hadn't been ready, either. He remembered something he'd once read. "Someone once said, depression is anger turned inward. I never really understood what that meant, but I think I know how to deal with it now."

O'Neill turned away and stared into the dying embers of the fire. Daniel could sense he was trying to work through something. Suddenly he blurted, "Daniel, are we okay?"

Daniel blinked. "We? As in 'us'?" A slow smile creased his features and he felt something in himself uncurl as the truth made itself known. "Jack, we've always been okay."

Slowly, Jack raised his head and turned to look at him. The open relief took years off his face and he smiled, the first real, uncomplicated smile Daniel had seen from him in days. "Good." Then his smile faded and it was like turning a light off. "Daniel, when they took you out of our hands... put you into Mental Health... you weren't the only one who felt helpless. I didn't have any weapons to fight schizophrenia."

"Jack, you don't --"

"Let me finish." O'Neill rubbed his forehead and slowly continued, "Whenever you've ended up in the infirmary, no matter how bad it seemed, there was always some kind of plan of action, something we could do. I could see what the problem was and I could understand how it could be fixed. As long as I could see that and know what we were doing to fix it, I always believed we'd get you back." He smiled briefly, "And you've been real good about that comin' back part. But this time... I was lost. I couldn't see the injury and they told me there wasn't any real cure. There wasn't one damn thing I could do; I couldn't even hope we'd get you back this time because you just seemed to be slipping further and further away." He licked his lips and took a deep breath. "But I wish I'd tried. I wish I had done something -- anything -- in that cell. I wish I'd never let them --"

"Jack." Daniel interrupted him gently, putting a hand on his arm. "It wouldn't have made a difference. Listen, I know you guys came to visit me when I was in there, but I don't remember a lot about what happened. I was drugged out of my mind, remember. And I was pretty far gone thanks to that bug. Nothing you could have said or done would have changed anything."

"Maybe I wouldn't feel like such a coward now," O'Neill said harshly.

Daniel gave his arm a little shake. "You came when I called you, didn't you?"

The older man looked up with a frown. "Of course," he said, as if that was only to be expected.

"That's what matters," Daniel said firmly. "You came when I asked for you and you listened to me and you believed me. Well, okay, not at first," he conceded wryly, "but enough so that you got me out of that place. Jack, that's what I remember -- not some visit when I was under the control of Machello's Goa'uld killing invention and drugged almost into oblivion. When I really needed you, when there was something you really could do, you were there. That's what I remember, and that's what matters."

Jack studied him for a few moments, his eyes burning into Daniel's as if testing the truthfulness of that statement, then slowly he nodded. "Okay." Just when Daniel thought the conversation was over, the older man said suddenly, "There's just one more thing." Jack's face screwed up as if he were trying to find the right words. "It's only... natural after going through something like that, through a situation where you begin to doubt yourself..." He obviously wasn't happy with his choice of words or how he was expressing himself, because Jack let out a gusty sigh of exasperation. "Hell, Daniel, what I'm trying to say is, just trust your instincts, okay? We do." He paused and looked Daniel straight in the eye. "I do. And that hasn't changed."

Daniel ducked his head, feeling his cheeks warm with the unexpected compliment. They didn't come often from Jack O'Neill, and that made them all the more sincere, and all the more special. "Thanks, Jack," he murmured.

"And now," a swat on his arm got his attention, "go get some sleep. It's my watch."

Despite his recent bouts of insomnia, Daniel was so wide awake he knew he'd never get to sleep. It seemed like a shame to lie there in his sleeping bag and waste the next few hours. "Actually," he said picking up his discarded journal, "I think I'll catch up on my writing."

"For cryin' out loud, Daniel, you'll ruin your eyes."

Laughing softly to himself, Daniel poured another cup of coffee and settled down to his journal to the accompaniment of Jack O'Neill's grumbling.

Epilog - two days later

In his office, Jack put his signature on the mission report for PCC332, then dropped it into the file to be delivered to General Hammond. The mission had not been much of a success as far as the military was concerned, but as far as he was concerned, it had turned out far better than he had hoped.

Daniel had lost himself in doing what he did best, translating the ancient writings in the temple and piecing together the history of a lost people. Unfortunately, the writings had provided no clues as to why the inhabitants of the planet had vanished or where they had gone. But it had been a restful period for them, and the team dynamics had slowly returned to normal.

While the hike to the temple had been a silent, somewhat tense one, the hike back to the Stargate had been filled with Daniel's chatter regarding theories about the missing civilization and recounting some of the myths he'd uncovered on the walls. Her eyes sparkling with mischief, Carter had encouraged him by asking all the right questions and trying to poke holes in his theories. While Teal'c took it all in stride, Jack could only roll his eyes as the two kept the jabbering going all the way home. Still, it felt good, and he couldn't complain. The earlier silence had been unnatural; this had felt right.

Fingering his pen, he wondered yet again why Daniel had suddenly left base after the debriefing. He'd been planning to invite the team over to his place tonight for beer and pizza and some socializing around the TV, and was a little disappointed that Daniel had gone off on his own without a word. Maybe he still needed some time to himself, he conceded. After all, he couldn't expect the guy to bounce back overnight from what he'd been through --

A knock on his door brought his head up just as the door opened and Daniel poked his head in. "Jack? You busy?"

Surprised, and pleased, to see his friend, Jack indicated the folder. "Just finishing." As Daniel walked in, carefully closing the door behind him, he said, "I thought you'd gone home."

"Ah, no." The archaeologist took a seat on the other side of Jack's desk and rubbed a thumb on the side of his face. "Actually, I went to see Doctor MacKenzie."

"MacKenzie?" Jack said the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Why?" he asked suddenly. "What's wrong?"

Daniel gave him a look of patent disbelief. "Jack," he explained slowly, "you don't really think if there was anything wrong I'd go to him, do you?"

O'Neill conceded that with a jerk of his head. "Good point." Tossing his pen onto the desk he asked, "So why did you go?"

Daniel didn't meet his eyes. "The last time I talked to MacKenzie, I wasn't quite... myself. I mean, I was still dealing with a lot of stuff, and I didn't really say much of anything other than to answer his questions. But now I had a few questions of my own."

When he didn't continue, Jack prompted, "Such as...?"

The younger man began rubbing absently at a non-existent spot on top of the metal desk. "You remember those questions I asked you on PCC332, about why everyone was so quick to believe I was crazy? And if it had been Sam or Teal'c, if everyone would be so quick... well, you know."

"Yeah, I remember," he said quietly. He also remembered he had no real answers to give.

"Well, I figured he'd be the person to answer those questions."

This was like pulling teeth, and Jack had an idea Daniel was doing it deliberately; nice to know everything was back to normal. "And did he?"

Daniel looked up then, his face expressionless. "It seems like they've been on the look out for something like this to happen, some sort of side effect from Gate travel. I just happened to be the perfect candidate."

"What the hell -- why?"

The other man shrugged. "My history, my 'tragic' background, the emotional upheavals in my childhood, some of the things that have happened to me while I've been in the Program, my unsettled past." He gave a snort of humorless laughter. "He had quite a list."

Jack felt uneasiness gather in the pit of his stomach, wondering if all the good they'd done on PCC332 had been undone by one visit to a shrink. "Daniel, you don't believe that load of crap?"

Daniel blinked, surprised. "What? No, of course not. But the point is, Jack, he believed it." He shook his head and said thoughtfully, "You know, in the field of archaeology, and in linguistics too, for that matter, I've met a lot of professionals with very narrow, closed minds, but still it always surprises me when I find a supposedly well-educated person who can't see beyond the nose on his face." Jack stared at his friend, but before he could react to that, Daniel continued conversationally, "He asked me how I was doing with my depression."

Instinctively knowing this was going to get better by the second, Jack obediently asked, "And you said...?

The expression on Daniel's face was innocence itself. "I told him I thought I had a lot of suppressed anger about what had happened to me, but that I had finally found a focus for it."

Barely keeping his grin in check, Jack prompted, "What'd he say?"

"Oh, I think he was pretty pleased. Until he found out who the focus was."

Feeling his grin blossom, Jack could only shake his head in admiration. What he wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation! A lot of people made the mistake of taking Daniel at face value, seeing only the gentle, polite, self-effacing, shy genius with multiple degrees. Daniel was all that, of course, but he was also a strong, determined, courageous man who was not afraid to stand up to anyone -- Goa'uld gods or shrinks included -- when the situation demanded. MacKenzie, with his smattering of diplomas on the wall and rigid views, would have been no match for a focused, resolved, drug-free Daniel Jackson in his face asking some very pointed questions and making his own feelings known.

Jack let his eyes sweep over the calm face of the man opposite him, and nodded at what he saw. They had Daniel back. He tossed the file folder into his out basket. "So, pizza and beer at my place tonight? Thought we'd have a 'team night'."

"What's the matter, no hockey game on tonight?" Daniel asked dryly, joining Jack as O'Neill got to his feet and moved toward the door.

"As a matter of fact, genius, there is a game on," Jack retorted, sliding a casual arm around his friend's shoulders as they stepped into the corridor. "Teal'c is becoming quite the fan. So is Sam. It's you we're all worried about. Speaking of which..." Reaching up he ruffled Daniel's cropped hair. "I was going to ask Hammond to make sure you didn't have to deal with MacKenzie for our psych exams. But I guess that isn't a problem now?"

Daniel's soft laughter echoed in the hallway. "I wouldn't bother, Jack. I think MacKenzie's going to beat you to it..."

~fin~

© September 7,1999 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.