CHAPTER 13 - LEGACY
Infiltration
Part 1 - Prologue
Journal Entry, Earth
"We now return you to your regularly scheduled nightmare."
Those were Jack's first words when he found me huddled on a flat rock by a stream on PCX221 for the third night in a row. He wasn't making a bad joke; in fact, he was positively grim. We've been on enough overnight missions for him to know I occasionally have some very bad nights, and I know he's no stranger to nightmares himself, but he worries when I get locked into one of those cycles of recurring nightmares.
The worst part was, I couldn't even talk to him about it. I told him it was another one of my dreams about Sha're, but I don't think he bought it. I hated lying to him, but I don't think he needed to hear I was dreaming about Hathor implanting him with a Goa'uld. I know he's had a few nightmares about that himself and the last thing I wanted to do was remind him of it.
Sometimes I can pinpoint what it is that brings on one of these really bad nightmare sessions, but I don't know it was anything specific this time. I only know I look at Jack sometimes and I see that thing burrowing into him, I see the look of absolute terror in his eyes, and I hear his screams. That's what I get in my nightmares, in glorious Technicolor and surround-sound. Only in my nightmares there is no Tok'ra to save him, and Jack is a Goa'uld. And I see myself, standing there watching my best friend being destroyed in front of my eyes and doing nothing to stop it. I've asked myself a thousand times since then what I could have done, and I haven't been able to come up with an answer. I know Sam and I were as helpless as Jack was, but that doesn't make it any easier to remember I was a witness to that atrocity, that I was right there, and did nothing.
If Jack knew what I was thinking -- well, he's not going to know. I finally relied on an old tried and true method of mine for dealing with nightmares to get me through it. With enough caffeine in my system I can go for a couple of days without any sleep, easy. We didn't have any missions scheduled, so I decided to bury myself in the work that has piled up until I thought I had broken the pattern.
It's not just translation work any more, or even archaeology research. They've had me working with the diplomatic team as well. Now I'm the one they come to when they're drawing up treaties and agreements so I can advise them the best way to approach the different cultures. General Hammond told me that Jack made that recommendation; he said I'd been to ten times as many planets as anyone on the diplomatic team, and besides, if I could handle the Terrible Trio when Thor set up the treaty talks here, I could handle anything.
So it hasn't been any problem finding enough work to keep me busy. The only problem was Jack caught me here in my lab in the wee hours the other night. He wasn't very happy with me, but since he was wandering the halls when he should have been sleeping, he didn't have any room to talk. So I didn't get any lectures about sleeping pills from Janet this time, but I did get Jack camped in my office for a couple of hours and a taped hockey game on some sports channel. I think he may have hoped that game was as good as a sleeping pill where I was concerned. The funny thing was it worked, but not for the reason he thought. Relaxing with Jack like that, listening to his bad jokes, watching him cheer on his team and insult the other... it was just very normal and reassuring. Jack does that for me a lot, although I'm sure he doesn't realize it. Or maybe he does. Maybe that's why he came here the other night. Whatever the reason, I'm glad he did. I haven't had that nightmare for the past two nights and I've caught up on my sleep just in time for SG1 to begin going on missions again.
Part 2 - "I have a very calming effect on stressed-out people."
*Jack O'Neill*
Daniel's face scrunches up in concentration as he considers his next move in what has become our most evenly-matched chess game to date. Must be the medication, usually he's beaten the pants off me by this point.
Schizophrenia.
Sitting here across from Daniel, I see the same guy I saw yesterday and the day before that and the year before that and...
Okay, he's the same, but different. The long hair that would have dipped over his eyes a few months ago if he'd lowered his head like that is gone. This shorter cut has to be a whole helluva lot easier to take care of off-world, but it makes him look even younger, which is a little frightening when you think about it. But that's the only physical change. The rest is all internal.
He's a little more sure of himself than that nervous geek who stumbled through the wormhole on the first mission to Abydos, or the lost, bewildered refugee who stumbled back. I wonder if he's ever stopped to think how far he's come since then: from the desperate civilian in borrowed clothes who fought so hard to join SG1 in order to find his abducted wife, to the respected scientist/ linguist/ archaeologist/ diplomat who is such an essential part of the SGC. He's always so wrapped up in his work, always involved in some quest for knowledge, that I wonder if he's ever stopped to look around himself long enough to realize how much we depend on him, how many times we come to him for the answers, how much we need him to be right when we ask for those answers. I wonder if he knows how much I depend on him.
Schizophrenia.
Commit him to Mental Health? What the hell are those people thinking? This is Daniel.
Okay, so he's had some headaches. So what? The guy's allergic to just about every plant and animal on this planet, not to mention the flora and fauna on other planets. No wonder he has headaches.
So he was... seeing dead Goa'uld in his closet.
Okay, that one's a bit trickier. But he was working late, he was probably tired...
Stress. That's all this is. Once he gets some rest, chills out a bit, he'll be fine. In the meantime, I'll stick around to keep him occupied and get his mind off things, and --
"Check."
I blink at the board, pulled out of my thoughts. I'm checked all right, but I've got an easy way out and take it. Not like Daniel to overlook something that obvious.
"Oh."
I look up at his slightly puzzled face. "What? You didn't see that?" Must be the damn pills. Why is a doctor's answer to everything either a needle in the butt or a pill down your throat?
"Actually, I was 'Ohing' about something else." I watch as he reaches across the board and moves his rook. "Checkmate. I should have done that two moves ago. I don't know what I was thinking."
Where the hell did that move come from? And why didn't I see it? "Yeah, well... you're a little off."
He sits back in his chair and I can sense he's getting antsy. Fraiser and MacKenzie were very specific that Daniel wasn't to be doing any work, but I could have told them it was going to take more than a few pills and some board games to keep that always-spinning mind of his off work. But it's more than that. I can see he's bewildered, and worried, and a little scared. No, it is not normal to see a wormhole in your closet. But I do not want people using the words 'Daniel' and 'schizophrenia' in the same sentence. And I particularly do not want Daniel telling me he could be having a nervous breakdown.
"I don't feel 'off'. I feel...I feel fine. No headaches, no tension, I feel normal."
The good doctors haven't told Daniel about their Stargate Causes Schizophrenia Theory. He thinks they're just keeping him under observation until they figure out what was causing his hallucinations. But Daniel is no one's dummy, even with drugs in his system, and I'm afraid he may be concocting his own theories.
"That's because it was just stress." I'm very firm on that point because I don't want him talking himself into something else. "And I have a very calming effect on stressed out people." I get a raised eyebrow at that comment, and suggest, "How about a game of gin?" For a smart guy he really sucks at gin.
"I'm not very good at gin."
"Good! Get the cards."
That coaxes a quick smile out of him, which makes me feel better, and he stands up to get the cards.
Schizophrenia. For crying out loud.
He tosses the deck of cards on the table and I begin shuffling as he gets the score card ready.
"Jack?"
"Yeah?" That's an automatic response but I hear the odd note to his voice and look up to see if anything's wrong. Was he that pale a minute ago? "What?" I keep my own tone soft, inviting him to continue.
There's an expression on his face I can't quite place, like he expects me to know what he wants. I wish I did know what it is he wants; hell, I'd get up on the table and sing Yankee Doodle Dandy if it would get that look off his face. He gives his head a little shake, and drops his eyes, returning his attention to the pad of paper in front of him. "Nothing." But he's tensed up, and I can't see any reason for it.
"You all right?" I keep the question as casual as possible, but I'm watching him closely without trying to look like I am. Something has changed in the time it took him to bring the cards back to the table but I haven't a clue what.
He looks up again, but he can't quite meet my eyes; it's like he's nervous or scared. "I'm fine," he lies with a brief, tight attempt at a smile. "How are you feeling?"
I think about that as I continue to shuffle the cards. Okay, I'll play along, for now. But I'm going to get it out of him. "Good. Real good."
The next thing I know his eyes go wide with panic and he's out of the chair and trying to rip my shirt off. "There's a Goa'uld in you! I've got to get it out!"
Twenty years of military training kick in and I've got him off me in an instant, shoving him away and raising my hands defensively. "Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. There's no Goa'uld in me!" What in the hell is going on with him?
He goes dead white. The panic fades from his eyes and he looks like he's dazed. "I'm sorry," he breathes. "I saw it. I saw it..." He puts his hand to his head like he's having another one of those headaches and starts to turn away.
I get a hand on his arm to support him. "You all right?" I start to steer him to the bed; all I can think of right now is to get him off his feet. "Come on." But we barely go a step before his legs buckle and I grab him in time to keep him from hitting the floor. "All right, easy, easy. Put your head down." I guide him to the floor and make sure his head is safely down before I give him a quick, reassuring pat and stride over the phone. Help. We need help here.
***
*Samantha Carter*
It's unusually warm in the briefing room, but I feel cold. Oh, God, what's wrong with Daniel?
Teal'c is sitting very still, but there's real distress in his eyes. General Hammond, at the head of the table, isn't meeting anyone's eyes. And the Colonel... the Colonel can't sit still, he's been pacing around the room ever since we were all called in here. He looks like he wants to hit something... or someone.
Come on, Janet. We've been waiting here since --
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Janet comes into the room, and she's not meeting anyone's eyes, either. But all our attention is on her as she takes her seat and very carefully and precisely places a file folder on the table in front of her.
The Colonel pulls out a chair and sits directly across from her, his face expressionless now.
"Doctor Fraiser." The General's voice is quiet. "What is Doctor Jackson's condition?"
Janet takes a deep breath. "We've sedated him. Doctor MacKenzie thought it best to avoid any further episodes like the one with Colonel O'Neill."
I can almost feel the Colonel flinch beside me. "What do we do now?" he asks flatly.
Janet is studying the file in front of her with quiet intensity. "We have no choice now, Colonel. Doctor Jackson is being transferred to Mental Health under Doctor MacKenzie's care."
"He's being transferred there now?" The Colonel's voice is positively grating. "I told you I wanted to see him before anything --"
"I'm sorry, Colonel, Doctor MacKenzie thought it best --"
"Well, who the hell gave Doctor MacKenzie permission to --?"
"Colonel, please." General Hammond's quiet voice cuts the Colonel off. "I know you're upset about Doctor Jackson. We are all concerned about his condition. The Air Force gave Doctor MacKenzie permission to proceed as he thought best. Doctor Jackson is a member of this facility, a senior member, and we only have his best interests at heart."
"Excuse me, sir." The Colonel is practically vibrating with tension beside me. "But we're talking about Daniel here. I think we have his best interests at heart as well. When did this get taken out of our hands --?"
"Colonel, it was never in our hands," Hammond corrects gently. "I'm sorry, but I think it should be obvious to all of us after his last episode with you that Doctor Jackson needs professional help, the kind we can't give him here in this facility."
The Colonel looks at Janet for the first time since she came into the room. "Did you tell him what was going on?"
Janet's gaze drops to the table, but she brings them back up resolutely to face the Colonel. "I'm afraid that wasn't possible, Colonel. He wasn't lucid, and then Doctor MacKenzie --"
"And then you knocked him out," the Colonel breaks in, his voice rising with every word. "So you're telling me he's going to wake up in a mental hospital, in a strait jacket, and not even know what's going on?"
"He's not going to wake up in a strait jacket, Colonel," Janet protests, but her cheeks are flushed. "He'll be sedated and kept safe --"
"From what?" the Colonel demands.
"From himself," Janet shoots back, her own voice betraying her emotion. "Colonel, need I remind you that you were present when Daniel had his last hallucination. He attacked you and --"
"He thought I had a Goa'uld in me!"
Janet looks at him for a long moment, then says quietly, "Exactly."
The Colonel exhales sharply as if he's had all the breath knocked out of him, then drops his head. "God damn it," he whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear. When he finally looks up, his voice is hard with determination. "I want to see him."
Janet shakes her head. "I'm afraid that's not possible."
Before the Colonel can explode, the General asks with a frown, "Why is that, Doctor? Certainly his treatment can't include isolating him from his friends and team mates?"
"I'm afraid it does for the first forty-eight hours, sir." She holds up as hand as the Colonel again opens his mouth. "Those are not my rules, sir. Those are the rules at Mental Health. For the first forty-eight hours there is no outside visitation allowed; that time is spent in evaluation of the patient's condition."
"Daniel," the Colonel says carefully. "His name is Daniel."
A spark of anger ignites in Janet's eyes. "I am as aware of that as you are, Colonel."
"Just making sure no one forgets, Doctor."
Hammond sighs. "I know this is a difficult time for everyone --"
"Not as difficult as it is for Daniel," the Colonel mutters, rubbing his forehead. Finally, he looks up, his face once again a mask, but no one can miss the burning anguish in his eyes. "Are we through here?"
The General looks like he wants to say something, but instead turns to Janet. "Do you have anything to add, Doctor?"
Janet shakes her head. "No, sir."
"Keep me apprised of Doctor Jackson's condition. I want regular reports, Doctor, and that includes these next forty-eight hours when he is being evaluated."
"Yes, sir."
The General gives a brief nod of his head, then stands and leaves the room. The Colonel follows without a word to anyone, and Teal'c does the same, leaving Janet and me in the room together.
"Janet?"
Her hand is trembling a little as she carefully closes the file in front of her. "I had no choice, Sam."
"It's just..." I grope for the words. "No one can believe this is happening. I mean -- Daniel." I lean across the table suddenly and she lifts her head. I'm trying to be calm, but I can't keep my voice from breaking. "Janet, just tell me he's going to get through this. Tell me he's going to be all right." I can't bear the thought of Daniel, that brilliant mind, all that curiosity and compassion, being so cloaked and dulled with drugs until he isn't even Daniel any more.
It takes a long time for Janet to find her voice, and when she does, it's barely a whisper. "I wish I could." Then she is on her feet and hurrying out the door, leaving me sitting here alone with my fears.
***
Part 2 -"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For being such a head case."
*Jack O'Neill*
You can do a lot in forty-eight hours. Like track down the only shrink you ever trusted who is now retired from the Service and living the good life in Florida.
You can learn a lot in forty-eight hours. Like more than you ever wanted to know about schizophrenia. Things about positive and negative symptoms. About visual and auditory hallucinations. About how there is treatment but no cure. About psychotic episodes. About environmental stressors. About excessive levels of dopamine. About clinical phases. About anti-psychotic drugs and their side-effects. About psychotherapy and psychosocial treatment and pharmacotherapy and a whole lot of other 'therapy's' that are unpronounceable and unspellable.
A lot can happen in forty-eight hours. In the space of one very long, long-distance phone conversation, all your worst fears can be confirmed, and a whole basketful of new ones can be dumped into your lap.
The one thing you can't do in forty-eight hours is find any god-damned way to take control. To find any way to help that doesn't involve abandoning your best friend to the care of strangers and drugs.
***
We're a silent group as we walk down the hallway that leads to Daniel's... room. Even in a mental hospital the smell of antiseptic gets into my nose, making my nostrils twitch. Carter, Teal'c and I spent a jolly half hour with MacKenzie being filled in on Daniel's condition, and I heard the same words from him that I heard over the phone two days ago from Jim Marcus in Florida.
Carter looks like she's in shock. And Teal'c... who can tell? He hadn't said a word during the trip from the SGC and the whole time MacKenzie was debriefing us. Hell, I didn't say anything either after, "How is he?"
"Don't expect much." MacKenzie's matter-of-fact words snap me out of my thoughts as an aide even bigger than Teal'c unlocks a door and we're ushered inside. "If he becomes agitated, call the aides."
Christ Almighty. One glimpse is all I can stand before I have to turn away and try to pull myself together. Everything Marcus and MacKenzie has said comes back to hit me like a solid punch to the gut. Suddenly, it's real: Daniel is locked up in a padded cell because he is so sick he's a danger to himself and others and all they can do at this point is pump drugs into him to try to stabilize him.
I stuff my hands into my pockets so the others don't see my clenched fists and take a gulp of air. When I turn back, Daniel is staring at our legs from his position on the floor. His bare feet make him look... okay, they warned me about a lot of things, but they never told me he was going to look like this, like a scared, lost kid in white, baggy pajamas. He blinks dopily and remembering the list of drugs MacKenzie rattled off, I wonder if Daniel even knows who we are.
"Jack...?"
My mouth goes dry. Even doped to the eyeballs, I'm the one he calls for. I'm always the one he calls for. When he's hurt, scared, or excited, whether he sees a Jaffa or an artifact, it's my name he calls. Truth is, I've always been kind of proud of the fact that it's me he always turns to when he discovers something really exciting (even when he knows I probably won't understand what the hell he's talking about) and me he looks for whenever he opens his eyes in the infirmary. But this time I wish he hadn't called my name. Because this time I can't come running to the rescue; this time there is nothing I can shoot or punch or zat to keep him safe.
It's Carter who answers. "It's us, Daniel. Can't you see us?"
He looks back down for a moment, hands curled in front of him. "I was just making sure you weren't figments of my... mind." Those fingers won't be still, it's like they're fidgeting. "They took away my glasses in case I broke the lenses and, ah... tried to, ah... hurt myself."
A danger to himself and others. When I stuck my hands into my pockets, my right hand automatically curled around my keys; I can feel them biting into my palm now as my fists tighten. Not only doped to the gills but they've left him blind as a bat as well. Why the hell hasn't he been shaved? And why is his hair wet? Are they even making sure he's eating? MacKenzie and I haven't finished yet. "They treatin' you okay?" Keep it simple. He should be able to understand that and give a coherent answer.
"Yeah."
In that moment he sounds just like... Daniel. Just like when he's sitting on the couch at my place and I ask him if he wants a beer. Then the illusion is shattered as he drops his head into his hands and begins to sob. "I'm sorry."
We're giving him antidepressants, but he'll still be prone to abrupt mood swings until we establish the correct dosage. I can barely get the words out. "For what?"
"For being such a head case." The sobs dissolve into something like laughter.
"It's not your fault, Daniel." Carter's voice is shaking. I know just how she feels.
Then Teal'c speaks for the first time since we left the SGC, and his voice is blessedly calm and normal, addressing Daniel as if he were doing it in the Gate Room. "Colonel O'Neill believes it has something to do with the Linvris."
Hearing Teal'c speak reminds me of one of the reasons we're here today and I focus on that. Daniel did say he felt something brush by him in the Linvris Chamber -- unless, of course, his sickness had already kicked in then -- so I had put Carter and Teal'c to work on that while Daniel was incommunicado. Carter went over Fraiser's report on the corpses, trying to find something, anything, out of the ordinary. Teal'c spent forty-eight hours on the tablet translation Daniel had started, hoping to find something there. I even got Hammond's permission to let Carter contact her father to see if the Tok'ra knew anything about the Linvris that could account for Daniel's illness. Nada. Zip. Nothing.
But maybe Daniel knows something, maybe the answer is locked away inside him somewhere and we just have to get though to him. I take a leaf out of the big guy's book, talking to Daniel just like I would at any other time, trying to reach him, willing him to be 'normal' in return. "You remember in that chamber, you said you felt something brush by you?"
He looks like he's concentrating, remembering. "Yes." I relax a little, encouraged by his rational reply. Then something in his voice changes and he seems to curl in on himself. "It was them." He states this with absolute certainty, and throws me a look of such paranoid fear that I know instantly we've lost him again. "I know you don't believe me, but I felt them." He looks around apprehensively, eyes darting to all corners of the room. "They heard me!" Suddenly he looks scared to death. Before any of us can react, he's on all fours, crawling quickly to one of the corners of the room, where he wedges himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. "They're coming... they're coming!"
Delusions of being followed or watched is common... he's still having visual and auditory hallucinations...
Teal'c's voice is a lot less calm now. "Only your friends are here, Daniel Jackson."
But it's as if Daniel is lost in a world of his own making. "They're coming." His eyes are flitting everywhere. "I hear footsteps... footsteps..."
I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, make him see reality, make him come back to us. Only MacKenzie's warning that any movement or contact on our part might trigger another psychotic episode keeps me in place. "Daniel, there are no footsteps." Without conscious thought, I make it an order, "Stay with us!"
That has the exact opposite effect I would have hoped for. Instead of throwing him a lifeline, it's like I've suddenly cut the rope and sent him into a free fall... without a net. His face crumples and he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. From where I'm standing I can see him trembling. "Footsteps."
Then his eyes fix on something, or someone -- Teal'c? And he starts laughing, the kind of laughter I hope I never hear again. Raising an arm, he points at Teal'c. "I told you," he says in a shakily triumphant voice. "It's one of them. He's right there."
His voice very quiet now, Teal'c responds, "There is no one at my side, Daniel Jackson."
But Daniel has the certainty of his delusions. "Yes, there is."
I can't go on looking at him like this. Carter's close to tears; in three years of serving with her and seeing her go through situations that would have reduced a lessor officer, male or female, to jelly, she's as close to losing control as I've ever seen her. Quietly, I tell her to get the aides and she nods and quickly turns away. Christ, we came here today to give Daniel some support, some comfort, hopefully get some answers, but all we've done is make him worse. Does he even know who we are now? Does he even recognize --
Suddenly Daniel is a blur of movement, scrabbling to his feet and making a mad dash for... Carter? A danger to himself and others. I'm so out of it I don't even see it coming and it's Teal'c who grabs him and holds on, managing to do that without hurting him.
I feel the spark of hope I brought with me today, the hope that this isn't schizophrenia, that somehow we're going to be able to get some information from Daniel to figure this out and do something about it, fade and die. This isn't Daniel. Daniel's in there somewhere, but right now he's in such deep cover we can't even reach him.
Daniel jerks suddenly and pulls away from Teal'c. Teal'c lets him go and Daniel stumbles back to the wall, staring at us. "Something just went inside Teal'c!"
"You're hallucinating, Daniel," I tell him firmly, even though I know Daniel -- our Daniel -- can't hear me. The next thing I know two hulking aides are rushing into the room and wrestling him to the floor. Keep your hands in your pockets, O'Neill. Don't say anything. Don't interfere. They've got to get him under control. It's for his own good. It occurs to me in a flash of revelation that if I were to see Daniel manhandled by two thugs in any other situation, I'd rip them off him so fast they wouldn't know what hit them. And if I weren't around, Teal'c would. And if we weren't around, Carter would. But here we have to stand by and do nothing, because it's for his own good.
"Don't just stand there! Get it out of him!"
The more he struggles, the harder they hold him. For Christ's sake Daniel, stop resisting! A nurse injects him with something and whatever it is, it starts working fast. He's fading even as MacKenzie says something about raising the dosage.
Part 3 - "Promise me you'll let me talk to Jack O'Neill."
*Jack O'Neill*
Infirmary. Chair. Styrofoam cup. Nothing new here, except the person in the bed isn't Daniel this time, it's Teal'c. It's never Teal'c. That's the one thing I could always count on. When Teal'c gets hurt, Junior steps in and saves the day. When Daniel gets hurt, he ends up in the infirmary.
Except this time Daniel is across town in a mental hospital and Teal'c is dying. And I can't do a fucking thing for either one of them.
Fraiser doesn’t think Teal'c has more than a day, two at the most. I can at least be here with him. Daniel is safe and being taken care of -- they had better be taking care of him a whole lot better than the last time I saw him -- and he'd want me to be here with Teal'c. Why is all this happening now? Daniel, Teal'c... Daniel was so sure what happened to him had something to do with the dead Linvris. But we were all in that chamber together, nothing happened to Carter or me. And Fraiser says it isn't related: Daniel isn't dying and Teal'c isn't nuts... but I may be before this is over.
I glance up as General Hammond comes in. He gives us all a look before saying, "Doctor MacKenzie seems to think there is some sort of change with Doctor Jackson."
Oh god, what now?
Fraiser looks over from her post beside Teal'c. "A change, sir?"
Hammond is looking at me, his face grave, "He's requesting you come out there, Colonel."
It takes a second for that to register, then I'm off the chair like a shot and heading for the door.
*****
*Daniel Jackson*
It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay. Doctor MacKenzie said he'd call Jack...
But will Jack come?
Of course Jack will come. Jack always comes.
Yeah, but the last time Jack saw you, you weren't exactly the Poster Child for Good Mental Health. You were nuts.
I wasn't nuts.
Jack thought you were.
MacKenzie will tell him --
Tell him what? MacKenzie doesn't believe you, either. Maybe he didn't call Jack.
He promised.
So?
He didn't give me any more drugs. That means he believes me. Jack's coming.
Then why isn't he here yet?
MacKenzie said Teal'c is sick. Jack's probably with him. And it's a long drive from the mountain. He'll be here.
What if he doesn't come?
Why wouldn't he come?
Maybe he doesn't want to leave Teal'c.
He has to leave Teal'c. I have to tell him what's wrong with Teal'c.
What if he doesn't believe you?
Jack will believe me.
He didn't believe you when you told him about the dead Goa'uld.
That's because there weren't any dead Goa'uld.
But you didn't know that.
I know it now. Jack will come, I'll tell him what happened, and he'll get me out of here.
Do you really believe that?
I believe in Jack.
*****
*Jack O'Neill*
A change with Daniel. What the hell can that mean?
He could be worse.
What's worse than nuts?
Permanently nuts?
Daniel is not permanently nuts. They said they could help him.
They said they could treat him, not cure him.
Maybe he's better.
Better than what? It's only been a few hours since you've seen him. Was he acting like a man who was getting better?
And just maybe everyone is full of crap about what's wrong with Daniel. Maybe this really does have something to do with the Linvris.
You mean the nine Goa'uld that came through the wormhole in his closet and want him for a host?
I mean, it wouldn't be the first time we've run into something we didn't understand. Maybe this is just something else we don't understand.
MacKenzie ran all the tests, you can't ignore those.
I'm not saying something isn't wrong with Daniel; I'm just saying everybody might be wrong about the cause.
What difference does it make why he's sick? He's still sick.
Daniel was sure he felt something in that Linvris chamber. Maybe he did. Maybe he's not really...
Nuts? Oh, pu-leeze. You saw him. That wasn't Daniel.
That's just the point -- it is Daniel.
You keep driving at this speed you're going to get a ticket.
You keep holding conversations with yourself, O'Neill, and they're going to find you a nice room to match Daniel's.
***
Same walk down the same hallway. Same smells. Same room at the end of the hall. Except this time MacKenzie says Daniel isn't doped up, he's actually lucid. Somehow Daniel managed to convince Doctor Let's-Raise-The-Dose not to give him any more medication. He's still got some leftover drugs in his system, but he's lucid right now, and he asked for me.
It's always me he asks for.
I take a deep breath as we reach his door. MacKenzie said he didn't know how long this lucidity is going to last; he told me to be prepared in case it doesn't. I don't think I can prepare for that. I don't think I can stand by and watch him lose it again.
The aide opens the door and I can't help myself, I flinch in readiness for seeing Daniel huddled in a corner, sobbing. That's not an image I've been able to get out of my mind. But Daniel is calmly sitting cross-legged on the floor against the wall, and he gets fluidly to his feet when I step inside his...cell. Nothing wrong with his coordination anyway.
"Hey, Daniel." He walks back and forth a few times, open relief on his face. He can't seem to tear his gaze away from me, like he's afraid to believe I'm here. Did he really think I wouldn't come when he asked? With a stab of guilt and self-recrimination I remind myself that he probably never thought I'd walk away and leave him in a padded cell, either.
"You don't need to walk on eggshells anymore. I'm... I'm better."
His eyes are clear and focused, not like the last time I saw him when his gaze flitted anxiously around the room looking for dead Goa'uld. He looks and sounds just like Daniel, just like the sane, normal Daniel we had safe back at the SGC before he saw that wormhole in his closet. But he's fidgety, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands; he rubs his face, shakes a hand, brushes back hair that isn't there any more. He used to do that a lot when we first got back from Hathor's planet; he'd be lost in concentration staring at some artifact and I'd see him reach up to brush back the hair that bitch had cut for reasons I can only guess at. He'd freeze for a moment, and his face would go still, then he'd give his head a little shake and go back to doing whatever it was he was doing. I'm not sure it's a particularly good sign that he's picked up that habit again.
"So I hear," I say carefully. "Ah... It's not that I doubt you, but... um... why do you think it happened all of a sudden?" Despite the fact this Daniel no longer looks like the Daniel I left here, the one who was hallucinating dead Goa'uld all over the place, and being held down and force fed drugs, I still steel myself for the very real possibility that this balloon might burst at any moment.
He stops walking back and forth and wraps his arms around his chest in a stance that is comfortingly familiar. "I don't completely understand it myself," he says, and he sounds so wonderfully normal I allow myself to relax, "but I saw something come out of me and go into Teal'c, and then I heard Machello's voice."
My heart sinks. "Ah... Machello." I can almost hear the hiss as the air leaks out of the balloon.
He raises his index finger in a gesture everyone from General Hammond down to Sergeant Siler has come to recognize as Daniel's 'I'm sorry I'm going too fast for you, just give me a moment and I'll explain it so you can understand' signal. "Just...just hear me out. I'm guessing it wasn't actually Machello."
Well, that's something.
"It was probably some sort of technological or organic recording. And it said something about delivering Machello to the vile Goa'uld, which made me start thinking. Maybe I got some sort of Goa'uld killing invention inside of me." He pauses, looking at me intently, and says significantly, "One of Machello's inventions."
I'm trying, really trying, to get my mind around this. He sounds just like he sounds every time he spouts off some off-the-wall theory that no one quite believes, but turns out to be right. "And that's what made you..." No other way to say it. "Nuts?"
There's just a touch of impatience in his tone. "Well, since I don't have a Goa'uld, a side-effect of this invention must make normal people act like they're..."
When he lapses into hand signals, I feel compelled to helpfully whisper, "Nuts?"
"Schizophrenic," he corrects.
Okay, I give him that one.
"Look, Teal'c is sick, right?"
My mind flicks back to the SGC where a friend lies dying. "Right."
His gaze locked with mine, he says pointedly, "Well, he does have a Goa'uld."
Daniel persuaded MacKenzie to call the SGC because he was sure Teal'c was sick. How the hell did he know that?
Something just went inside Teal'c.
You're hallucinating, Daniel.
Oh, shit.
What if he's right?
What if we dumped him here, believing the doctors who told us the Stargate was making him sick, when all along it was some alien device inside him?
What if that's what's wrong with Teal'c?
I slowly become aware of his gaze on me and the anxiety he's trying to hide. Only this time he's not worried about dead Goa'uld coming to get him. This time he's wondering if I'm going to turn around and leave him in this padded cell again. Just like I did before.
"I'll go talk to MacKenzie." It comes out more abrupt than it should have, probably because there's a healthy dose of anger in my tone, and his eyes widen.
"You mean you believe me?" he blurts. Then, as if realizing what he just said, he immediately wraps his arms around his chest again, his face closing while he waits for my answer.
In the time I've known Daniel, in almost every instance he has asked me to believe him, he has been right. How was I to know that was a trap we could all fall into? Daniel was the one who said he thought he might be having a nervous breakdown. And, yes, I kept telling everyone who would listen that it was just stress, but that was because I refused to believe it was anything more serious, something we couldn't fix. But in the back of my mind some part of me recognized the fact that Daniel is nearly always right, so if Daniel said he was having a nervous breakdown...
And now he's asking me to believe he had one of Machello's inventions inside him making him think he was sick, that it went into Teal'c, and that's why Teal'c is sick. Do I believe him?
Leap of faith. With Daniel, it's so often a leap of faith.
Never taking my eyes off his face, I reach around and bang on the door. A moment later, it opens and the aide waits for me to step out into the hallway. Taking Daniel by the arm, I do just that. "We're going to see Doctor MacKenzie," I announce, marching purposefully past the stunned aide.
"Sir, you can't --"
"Watch me," I snap in my best Colonel hardass voice, keeping my hand clamped firmly around Daniel's arm. Part of that is for Daniel's reassurance; the other part is for mine.
He is hurrying to keep up with me, his bare feet making slapping sounds on the linoleum as he looks around with wide eyes. "Jack, are you sure you can do this?"
"Watch me," I repeat, but this time it's for him, and I feel his tense muscles relax under my grip. Oh, we are so outta here.
***
I can smell the enticing aroma from the bag on the passenger seat beside me even though the cups are tightly capped for travel. Daniel loves Starbucks coffee.
Daniel is also under medical restriction and has left the base without permission, a very un-Daniel-like thing to do. Some people might worry about that -- in fact, there are several people back at base who are worried about that -- but I take it as a healthy sign. I figure if I'd been the one locked away in a padded cell thinking I was going nuts, then managed to figure out what was going on no thanks to anyone else, especially the people I called friends, I wouldn't want to hang around with them right now either. And I sure wouldn't want to put myself back into the care of the two doctors who had misdiagnosed me in the first place, and I would be angry as hell to find out I now needed to take even more drugs to counteract the after-effects of the ones forced into me while everyone thought I was nuts. The way I look at it, this little sign of rebellion and anger is a very good sign. I'd be a lot more worried about Daniel if he had just submitted meekly and retired to his room on base like he was supposed to.
After Machello's bug crawled out of Teal'c's ear, Daniel hovered over him until Fraiser assured us all that Junior and Teal'c were both definitely on the mend, then he left. But before he left, he made it a point to ignore Janet when she tried to steer him into another part of the infirmary so she could start this new round of drug therapy, and walked out without a word while she was still talking. She's got some fences to mend there.
Hammond was duly informed of Daniel's disappearing act, but despite Fraiser's request that we find him and bring him back immediately so she could keep an eye on him, I managed without much trouble to convince the general to let me handle it. I think he feels as bad as everyone else about the way Daniel was shipped off to that padded cell; and I think there are going to be a lot of people around here not quite able to meet Daniel's eye for a while.
Including me.
Part of me insists I did everything I could. But since that turned out to be, in effect, squat, that argument isn't holding much water right now. In fact the only thing in this whole mess I can find that I did right was leave Teal'c's side to tear across town to Mental Health because Daniel asked me to. And I got him out of that place.
But before I go patting myself too hard on the back, I remind myself that by that time Daniel wasn't sick any more and had worked out the whole Machello bug thing on his own. So we're basically back to squat.
I turn off onto Daniel's street and slow down as I drive by his apartment building. The fact that his car isn't parked along the street doesn’t much surprise me and I continue on my way. I guess if you don't consider the fact that Daniel and I travel to other planets on a regular basis, neither one of us has much of a life. When he's not on base it's probably a toss-up as to where he spends more time -- at his place, where he just continues the work he starts at base, or my place, where he's forced to watch movies, endure sports programs and drink beer. I sometimes wonder if Daniel ever learned to play as a kid; he sure doesn't act like he's ever fully grasped the concept. But then he'd probably say spending hours on the Internet doing research or hunched over some old tablet transcribing a dead language is his idea of fun. I'm more of the opinion that all work and no play, yadda yadda, so when he's with me we do fun things, and yes, we go by my definition, but I figure he wouldn't come over to my place so often if he didn't enjoy at least most of what we do.
I'm not surprised to see his car parked in front of my house -- I'd be worried if it wasn't here -- and pull into my driveway and shut off the engine. The house is dark, and he's not sitting on my steps or in his car, so I grab the bag of coffee from the front seat and head for the ladder at the back of the house.
He's sitting on the floor of the roof, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them, staring at the night sky. It's too overcast to see much tonight, but he's not up here star gazing. I drop down beside him without a word and hold out one of the cups.
He accepts it automatically, then stops when he sees the Starbucks cup, and shoots me a little look. "Thanks."
"Welcome." I wait for the reaction as he removes the lid and takes his first sip. When he gives me a disapproving frown, I tell him, "You're going to have to live with it for a week, Daniel," stopping myself before I add, 'doctor's orders.' Fraiser was quite firm on the no caffeine rule until Daniel's system gets back to normal, but I don't think he wants to hear anything about doctors right now. I hold up my own cup. "Solidarity," I say gravely and take a drink of my own decaff.
We sit in silence for several minutes drinking our coffee. It's cool, but not unpleasant, and we can probably stay up here another hour or so before it gets uncomfortable.
Suddenly his quiet voice breaks the silence. "I'm sorry if I worried you. I think I had to prove to myself that I could actually walk out of there and no one could stop me." He gives a sudden soft snort. "And how stupid does that sound?"
Actually, it makes a lot of sense. It was his first step to taking back some control of his life. "Doesn't sound stupid at all." I wonder if I should tell him how long it was before I could stand to be in a room with the door closed after I got back from Iraq.
As if reading my mind, he gives me a long, considering look, then turns his attention back to his coffee. "I suppose Fraiser wants you to bring me back in," he says flatly.
Fraiser. Daniel never calls her 'Fraiser'. When he figures he's been poked and prodded enough, thank you, it's a polite 'Doctor'. When he figures he's been a guest in the infirmary long enough and is itching to get back to his books and rocks, it's a wheedling 'Janet'. But never 'Fraiser.' "She's worried about you."
"Well, now she knows what it feels like to think you're losing your mind --" He breaks off suddenly and drops his head, sinking his fingers into his hair and giving it a good pull. "I can't believe I just said that."
I clear my throat. "Actually, I know what it feels like now, too, and let me just say that it wasn't a whole lot of fun." And I knew what was going on. What Daniel went through must have been a hundred times worse. Whereas I was armed with the knowledge that it was an alien device making me appear nuts and that I had the whole SGC just on the other side of the door who also knew and would be working on a cure, Daniel had no such reassurances. He actually thought he was losing his mind, doctors told him he was losing his mind, and all his friends did for him was allow him to be hauled off to a mental institution, as far as he knew, without so much as a murmur of protest.
"Jack?"
I slowly become aware of Daniel saying my name and turn my head to find him staring at me with a worried little frown on his face.
"Are you okay?"
Trying not to roll my eyes, I reply levelly, "Yes, Daniel, I'm fine." I should be asking him that, but I know it's still too early for that question. He hasn't even begun to work through what this experience has done to him, and even if I ask, all I'll get at this point is a tight-lipped, "I'm fine" to mimic mine.
It might be too early to ask him another question, too, but I have to know. I'd like to think Daniel came here tonight because he feels safe here, because he feels safe with me. I have done everything in my power -- and some things beyond it -- to keep him safe since he joined my team. I haven't always succeeded, but I have always tried. Now for the first time I feel like I didn't try hard enough, that I didn't fight for him when I should have and that I let him down, not only as his commanding officer, but as his friend. And if Daniel feels that way too...
But before I can work up the nerve to ask the question, he speaks up again in a soft voice, "Look, I know she and MacKenzie want to start me on this program of drugs to counteract the side-effects of all those other drugs, and I know I need it..." He holds up a hand for me to see, and the tremor is obvious. "Side-effect number one," he says bitterly. "You don't want to know about numbers two and three."
I heard the list of possibilities from MacKenzie and Fraiser along with Daniel, but I just nod, waiting for him to continue.
"I'll go back... but not tonight." There's determination and a touch of belligerence in his tone. He makes a fluttering gesture toward his head, his hand still shaking a little, "I can still feel those other drugs, Jack. They're not completely out of my system yet. I just want to get my head clear before I let them put anything else into me." Rubbing his forehead, he mutters, "They must've used industrial strength."
Let's raise the dose. Daniel wouldn't remember that, but I do. There's a lot I'll be remembering, and a lot of nights in the silent, cold hour before dawn where it will play through my mind from beginning to end, every scene as crisp and clear as if it were happening all over again.
"Why don't you stay here tonight?" Which is another way of saying, the only way you're not going back to the SGC tonight is if you're in my house where I can keep an eye on you.
He gives me a little sideways look that makes me wonder for a moment if I haven't spoken that last thought out loud without realizing it. "You're not going to try to make me go back?"
As if! "No," I say clearly.
Staring fixedly at the floor in front of him, he continues, "And you're not going to --"
Afraid the next words out of his mouth are going to be 'let them drag me back there against my will', I break in with a vehement, "No!"
His head snaps around and I'm treated to a pair of wide blue eyes that slowly narrow, then widen again the way they do when he's concentrating on a translation and everything suddenly snaps into place for him. He turns back to gazing at the floor and after a moment continues conversationally, "You do know I don't blame you for any of this, right, Jack? There wasn't anything you could have done to change what happened."
No, actually I don't know either of those things, but I am so ready to be persuaded that I did not let him down in at least a dozen ways.
Daniel picks up his Starbucks cup and studies it as if it were an artifact dug up from another age. "I don't remember a lot from my time at Mental Health before that bug went into Teal'c," he says slowly. "Just... impressions mostly. Flashes of things."
Like guys twice your size holding you down so you can be drugged into submission? That's an impression I'm not going to forget in a hurry.
"But I remember you and Sam and Teal'c being there." Even in profile, I can see his wince. "I must've been pretty nuts by then."
I don't trust myself to say more than, "Yeah."
"Yeah," he echoes. "And yet, when Doctor MacKenzie called, you came. You left Teal'c, who was dying, and you came."
"Of course I came," I snap, a little impatiently. What, did he think I wouldn't come? There is nowhere, no how, any situation I can think of, on this planet or any other, where Daniel would send out a distress signal and I wouldn't get there, or die trying.
He turns to look at me, his eyes large and piercing behind his lenses. "There's no 'of course' about it, Jack. Don't you get it? You're the only person I could count on to do that. I knew if I could just get through to MacKenzie and persuade him to call you, that you'd come." He pauses, then adds firmly, "And get me out of there."
I'd love to take credit for that in the worst way, but painful honesty forces me to point out, "Daniel, by that time you were back to normal. You could have talked your way out by yourself."
"But not in time to save Teal'c," he counters with a definite shake of his head. "We only just got to him in time as it was."
Remembering how close that was, even with me hustling Daniel out of that place at something like the speed of light, I acknowledge the truth of that statement with a nod. So I guess this all had a happily-ever-after ending, in a manner of speaking. Teal'c's going to be fine, and Daniel is back with us and... I turn and meet his steady gaze, reading my answer there. He's going to be fine, too. Maybe not right away, but he's already working his way through it in that stubborn, determined way of his. I might even get over it some day.
I decide it's time to get off this roof and inside to a nice fire, some hot food and a little quality time in front of the TV; the kind of normal stuff I think we both need right now. "So," I say a little brightly, "there's a hockey game on tonight. Bruins and --"
"Um, Jack." Daniel scrunches his face up like he just bit into something distasteful. "Why don't we kind of... branch out? You know, try something different? Check out the Discovery Channel for a change?"
Discovery Channel? What's this? Mutiny in the ranks? "You mean like... documentaries and stuff?" I scrunch up my face to show him what I think of that.
He drops his head and I swear I see a smile there. "Yeah, documentaries and stuff. They can be just as much fun as hockey." He clears his throat. "Actually, to some people they can be more fun than hockey."
I get to my feet and automatically reach out to steady him as he gains his feet a bit more slowly. "Not to this person," I tell him firmly and head for the ladder so I can go first and support him in case he needs it on the way down.
"That's because you haven't tried it, Jack."
"Don't need to try it to know I won't like it."
"Now, you see, that's the kind of closed-mind attitude ..."
I grin to myself as we reach the bottom and head inside, Daniel still arguing good-naturedly for his documentaries while I'm already anticipating the Bruins and the Rangers.
Nope, this never gets old.
***
Part 4 - Epilog
Journal Entry, Earth
You don't realize how blessed you are to feel 'normal' until you don't feel that way any more. It's taken me the two weeks since I was infected with Machello's bug to feel normal again. All the drugs are out of my system now and all the side-effects of the anti-psychotic medication are finally gone and I'm back to how I should feel.
I've been staying on base for the most of the last couple of weeks so Janet could monitor my progress. When Jack brought me back to start the drug regimen I asked for another doctor. Jack didn't say a word, just talked to General Hammond and arranged for me to be seen by Doctor Warner. He still sent the results to Janet, but he was the one I went to for check-ups. Janet and I actually did a very good job of avoiding each other for the first week. Then Doctor Warner was called away for a family emergency and Janet was the doctor on duty when I showed up for my next appointment. To say it was a little awkward would be an understatement, but we got through it. I got through it by being very polite and she got through it by trying to act like nothing had changed. But we both know something has changed. We've lost something, and I don't know if we can get it back.
For the first few days after the bug was gone, I kept waiting for people to treat me differently, to find them watching for signs that I could turn into a gibbering heap again. I mean, with my reputation for theories that have been kindly described as 'out there', I was afraid people might think I was on that path anyhow and Machello's bug just speeded up the process. But I haven't seen any of that. I guess I underestimated the people at the SGC. (I told Jack about this one night when I was really, really tired and not watching what I was saying, and he gave me this 'look' and told me I was underestimating myself.) I think what it really amounts to is that the people who thought I was wacky to start with still feel that way, and the ones who didn't, still don't. I guess I can't ask for more than that.
The General came to see me a couple of days after I got back to ask how I was doing and if I needed anything to help me get over what I'd been put through. (Sam couldn't believe he actually came down here and said that was unheard of for a general to leave his office to come see anyone. But I think he just likes to get out now and then and see the base he commands.) He all but used the word 'counseling', and I had just gotten warmed up on the subject of psychologists in general and MacKenzie in particular when Jack walked in, trying to make it look like he was just dropping by. But from the look on his face, I think he must have heard me several doors away.
Long story short, I won't be seeing MacKenzie. In fact, won't be seeing any shrinks at all unless either my commanding officer sees some decline in my work performance that he feels is related to my inability to cope with matters, or the chief medical officer feels it is necessary and recommends it. Somehow I don't think Janet's going to be recommending I see a shrink.
Things are back to normal with the team, too, or at least mostly. Sam and Teal'c were a little overly anxious at first, and they both had a tendency to hover, but I know it must have really scared them seeing me go nuts in that padded cell. We slipped back into old routines easily enough, Sam pulling me into her lab to talk out theories, Teal'c helping me on translations, both of them either dragging me to the cafeteria when they think I should be hungry, or bringing food in. They're not very good at hiding those little looks, though. The ones they shoot my way when they think I 'm not looking, the ones where they're trying to determine if I'm really coping okay.
With Jack, aside from the fact that he just 'happens' to drop by my lab about twice as much as usual and I get more cups of Starbucks coffee in a week than I usually do in a month (he has to make a major detour on his way to base to get the stuff) he really has been trying to keep things just the same as they've always been between us. And despite the fact that he's better than Sam and Teal'c at hiding those little looks, he does it a lot more often.
I won't say I haven't had some bad moments and that maybe some of those looks were justified. There was the matter of the recurring nightmare that hit me three nights running and left me pretty cranky and more than a little jumpy. Jack picked up on that quick enough, and the next night found me at his place 'just to get off base for a while' he said. It broke the pattern pretty effectively, and I haven't had that dream since.
I can say in all honesty since the drugs are out of my system now, I'm feeling pretty good. I've been cleared for active duty, too -- all three of them dropped by a little while ago to give me the good news. I know Jack was getting restless being on stand-down so long, but I don't think this next mission is going to do much for all that excess energy he's got stored up. It's going to be strictly a scientific and cultural mission, and I can't think of two words that will send him into a coma quicker. I wonder how long it took Sam to find a peaceful, technologically advanced planet apparently peopled by descendants of the Aztec (I've seen the reports) who are willing to exchange technology and allow an archaeologist loose on their planet to excavate the sit around their Stargate. I smell a conspiracy, but I don't care. Finally it looks like I’m going to get a chance to really excavate a site instead of filming it, grabbing some artifacts and running for my life. It'll be a nice change.
But I'm also happy to find that there are some things that haven't changed. When we're at Jack's place we still watch the game of the week and if I want to see a documentary I have to do it at mine. I really wouldn't have it any other way.
D. Jackson
[Chapter 14:Forever In A Day/Past and Present]
© March 6, 2000 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.