CHAPTER 19 - THE LIGHT

Into the darkness

Journal Entry, P4X-347

This place is incredible. The film sent back by the MALP didn't begin to do it justice. From what I can tell so far, this is some sort of Goa'uld palace. I don't know what the actual purpose was, but it seems to have been some kind of resort.

I've been here for almost a week, but it's as if time is standing still. I mean, I spend all day - and most of the night - trying to translate the dialect and make sense of this place, but I'm not tired at all. I feel great. In fact, I feel wonderful. Better than I've felt in...well, in a very long time.

I didn't realize how much I needed to get away from...things until I came here. Since Shifu's visit and the - well, I guess you'd call it a 'dreamwalk' he put me through, I'd been having some pretty awful nightmares. What he showed me of what I could become with the genetic knowledge of the Goa'uld keeps coming back to haunt me in my dreams. It was bad enough the first time, seeing myself send Teal'c off on a suicide mission, throw Sam in jail, and blow up Moscow in front of Jack like I was trying to impress him or something, but the dreams kept getting worse. I know it was just a reaction to the stress of finding - and losing - Shifu again, and the memories of Sha're and thinking about what she went through as host to Amaunet, plus the strain of a pretty heavy mission schedule...and maybe it's time to admit it was more than that. Maybe part of it was that I wouldn't talk to anyone about that dream. I just couldn't face the ugliness I saw within myself, the terrible, brutal, dark, place inside me just lying in wait for that power so it could burst forth and claim its right. It's a hard thing to have to face about yourself, and I sure didn't want to tell my friends about it.

I guess I was starting to look, and act, a little ragged around the edges, because Jack was starting to do that thing where he's there every time I turn around. He's the worst 'hoverer' I've ever seen. He's like a humming bird on speed. It's not that I didn't appreciate the fact he was concerned (because I did) and it's not that I haven't done my own hummingbird impression when the tables were turned, but I really needed to get away for a while.

At first Jack thought I was nuts for wanting to come here instead of taking a few days off, but I think he finally realizes that I'm never more relaxed than when I'm on a dig, and he signed me out (like a library book, he said) to SG-5. Jack could take a lesson or two from SG-5. No one is tapping an impatient foot, waiting for me to get on with it, for cryin' out loud! Or making bad jokes about spending all this time trying to read a thousand-years-old grocery list. Or grumbling because he's bored and there's nothing to shoot or blow up. Okay, that last part wasn't fair. But the rest of it is a pretty accurate description of Jack pulling archaeologist-sitting duty.

I talked to Sam yesterday and told her about this place, and now she's coming tomorrow to have a look around too instead of taking a couple of days off. I told Jack she'd come here on her down time. You'd think he'd know her better by now. Easiest fifty bucks I ever made.

~D. Jackson

***

*Jack O'Neill*

As I head down the corridor to Daniel's office I find myself wishing the Air Force issued asbestos fatigues. Even saying 'hello' to Daniel since he got back from P4X-347 has been to risk incineration. He's been moody, short-tempered, distracted, impatient, and downright rude. And if he's slept two hours in two days I'm Apophis. Immediately after the debriefing he shut himself away in his lab and has been fussing with that remote control thing he brought back almost without a break. Even Teal'c has taken time out to do that kel-no-reem thing of his, but Daniel's been pretty much living on coffee and his nerves.

Since Teal'c is the one working with him, Teal'c should be the one keeping an eye on him; i.e., dragging him off to eat and get some rest. But for some reason Teal'c won't do that with Daniel. Oh, he'll respectfully suggest he needs food and strongly recommend he get some rest; he'll even give him a look of severe disapproval when Daniel ignores him. But he won't pick him up and tuck him under his arm, take him to the commissary and force-feed him. That's the difference between Teal'c and me. Not only will I suggest and recommend, I have the power to ground him if he doesn't knock off, get a hot meal inside him and a full night's sleep tonight, and I'll do it.

I rub my eyes as I see his lab ahead. It can be exasperating being Daniel's friend sometimes. After the Harsesis kid disappeared again, Daniel pulled his own disappearing act. Oh, he was still around, but he might as well been in a different state. He went totally tight-lipped about that dream he'd had while he was in the non-coma and brushed off anyone who tried to ask him about it - and everyone from Hammond to Tok'ra errand boy Aldwin asked about it. Whatever that dream was, it really shook him up, and I think I should have pushed a little harder to get him to talk about it. But I knew seeing the kid again - and losing him again - had been really tough on him, so I didn't. Now I'm wishing I had. I talked to him when we opened up the wormhole for their report every day, and he was fine, all wrapped up in an archaeological mystery and happy as a clam. But as soon as he came back to the SGC he started getting irritable and angry. The only thing I can think of is that he's still trying to deal with whatever that kid made him see in his dreams and it hit him again once he was back here.

I can feel the tension as soon as I walk into his lab. Daniel doesn't even acknowledge me as he strides past, attention claimed by a book in his hands. I'm used to Daniel in distracted mode, but with the way he's been acting since he returned from the planet, I know this is more of a deliberate snub rather than his usual absorption in anything resembling language.

So I turn my attention to Teal'c while keeping half an eye on Daniel, who is doing a good impression of a ball in a pinball machine bouncing off one post after another. "Hey. What'cha watching?"

Teal'c looks up from Daniel's computer. "A digital image. I am endeavoring to translate the Goa'uld writings of which Daniel Jackson had spoken."

Daniel stalks across the office again, irritation and impatience radiating off him in waves.

"How goes the endeavoring?"

"Upon second viewing I have discovered a figure moving in the background." He turns the monitor so I can see. "It does not appear to be one of our personnel."

As I lean down to get a look, Daniel slaps down the book he's holding and scowls fiercely at the Goa'uld remote control in his hand. From the look on Teal'c's face, I'd say this is pretty much how it's been going all day.

"He never mentioned anyone else," I murmur under my breath as I watch a shadowy figure slip by on the screen. Teal'c acknowledges that with a nod of his head.

"What is wrong with this thing?" The angry outburst from Daniel makes us both look at him. When he becomes aware of our scrutiny, he holds up the device. "This thing isn't working," he explains tersely.

"Did you check the batteries?"

Okay, asbestos uniform time. If looks could kill...

"I need to go back to the planet and figure out what's going on."

"Hammond suggested we do that tomorrow."

"Well, this thing isn't working and tomorrow isn't good enough," Daniel retorts in a tone that puts my teeth on edge.

"Yes, it is," I answer, my tone final.

Daniel gives me a look that plainly dismisses me and turns away. "I'm going to talk to Hammond."

He's out the door before the indignant, "Hey!" leaves my mouth. I draw a deep breath, give Teal'c a look, then take off after him, hoping I can catch him before he bursts in on Hammond in that mood.

***

"Daniel!" Striding out of Hammond's office I have no trouble catching up with Daniel this time because I am furious. Who the hell does he think he is talking to Hammond like that? He doesn't slow down as he heads for the elevator, but I grab his arm and spin him around to face me. "What the hell was that all about?" I demand, my voice an angry hiss.

He doesn't meet my eyes, and he gives his arm an impatient little tug. "Let me go, Jack."

"Not until you tell me what's going on with you."

A couple of airmen passing by give us a curious look. My glare sends them quickly on their way, but I realize the corridor is no place for this conversation. Still gripping Daniel's arm, I tug him along as I head for my office.

"Jack, don't --"

"Not here, Daniel," I grind out, trying to keep my voice down. I fling open the door to my office, haul Daniel inside, then shut it behind us, only then releasing my grip on his arm. He just stands there, his gaze on the floor, arms moving immediately to wrap defensively around his chest. "Daniel, I don't know what's gotten into you the last few days, but it stops now, you hear me? You are going home, you are going to eat a decent meal, and you are going to get at least eight hours sleep, or I promise you, you will not be going back to P4X-347 tomorrow, you got that?" I'm so angry I'm actually poking him in the chest with my finger.

He doesn't answer me for the longest time, then he gives his head a short nod. "Got it." His voice is a low mumble, not the snarl I expected, and I frown, dipping my head to get a look at his face. He doesn't look angry now, or even sullen or pouting. Instead he looks exhausted, positively drained. Under the harsh lighting in Hammond's office I'd seen how tired he looked, but it didn't fully register until now. I draw a deep breath, searching for that well of patience I store inside me just for this guy. "Daniel." This time my voice is softer, and I touch his arm where I had grabbed him before. "What's going on?" I ask in my most reasonable, come-on-please-talk-to-me voice, which I've perfected over the last four years. It's got about a fifty-fifty shot at working on any occasion, but I can see it's not going to work this time. He just gives his head a sharp shake.

"I said I got it, Jack." Again, he doesn't sound angry, just very quiet and very...empty. But I can tell from the closed look on his face he's not going to talk. Okay, I can put most of it down to the fact he is exhausted. He was probably working eighteen hour days at that Goa'uld palace, no one on SG-5 had the sense to make him rest, and he's been working around the clock since he came back. The Energizer Bunny's batteries finally gave out.

I give his arm a little pat. "I'll get an airman to drive you home." He still doesn't say anything, just nods. When I open the door he leaves silently, and I stare at his retreating back, feeling a cold sort of unease settle in my gut, although I can't explain why. I give my head an impatient shake. He's tired, that's all; and upset about Barber's death and losing Sha're's kid again. A good night's sleep and he'll be bouncing in here tomorrow ready for the mission. I move to my desk and pick up the phone to arrange for his ride home.

***

As I drive over to Daniel's place I keep alternating between worry and pissed off. When I think of how Daniel looked the last time I saw him - and it must have made one hell of an impression because it's as clear in my mind as if I'm holding a photograph - I feel the familiar rush of concern I get every time I have to watch Daniel go through bad times. Saying good-bye again to Sha're's child definitely falls into that category. Then I remember what an ass he's been over the last couple of days and how he acted in Hammond's office and I swing back to pissed off. But then I remember Daniel didn't show up for a mission, and that's about on a par with Carter or Teal'c not showing up. I mean, he might be ticked off with me and he might sulk because he didn't get his way about something, but that's only ever aimed at me - mostly because I'm the one who has made the decision and because, well, if you can't sulk with your best friend, then who can you sulk with, right? I try to remember that when Daniel's being particularly annoying. But Daniel would never, and I mean never, just not show up for a mission because he was angry or embarrassed or licking his wounds. He's too much of a professional - and a team player - for that.

As I ride the elevator up to the eighth floor of his building, I try out the option that he may have been so tired he just overslept...but Carter said he'd answered the phone and then she couldn't get him again. Nope, no good. The needle is stuck on worried.

Then I'm standing in front of his open door, gingerly pushing it to let myself inside. Daniel may have been a little lax on security when he first got back from a year on Abydos where a door was pretty much a strung-up blanket, but he left that behind a long time ago. Even though he lives in a secure building - one of the most secure I could find in this town - he's conscientious about locking his door, not only for his own safety, but because he's housing a virtual museum of artifacts and priceless books here.

"Daniel?" My voice echoes a bit, and although it always does that here if I get a bit loud, this time it gives me the same creepy feeling I'd felt in that chamber where the Linvris... okay, where the hell did that memory come from? Quickly shaking it off - it's an old memory; has nothing to do with the here and now - I step inside.

The first thing I notice is the cold. Why is it so cold in here? It feels like he's left the windows open. Chalk that up to one more very unlikely thing for Daniel to do. He usually keeps his apartment a little too warm for me.

I take the step up that leads to the living room and stop for a moment when I see the phone off the hook and his glasses on the counter. I can't shake the feeling that the apartment is empty, yet something is telling me Daniel is here...somewhere. So why isn't he yelling that he's on his way, he overslept, he'll be right here, he's really, really sorry, Jack...

I walk over to check out the kitchen, noting the half-eaten apple on his table - breakfast? - and stare at the whistling teapot for a moment before turning away. Maybe he's in the shower. With the kettle on? And the door open? No. So why hasn't he answered? Why isn't he running around here pulling on his shoes, trying to remember where he left his glasses and muttering under his breath?

I turn and walk into the living room, struck again by how empty the place feels. Well, okay, this is not exactly a 'cozy' apartment. Until recently when Daniel got some of his grandfather's stuff, it was pretty much a museum. There were no personal memories attached to the artifacts he had here; only the memories of someone else, long dead. I was glad when he got some of Nick's things from the psychiatric hospital - like the piano - because he finally had some things that had memories for him. But even so the things Daniel truly treasures, like his only photograph of Sha're and their wedding bowl, he keeps in his lab at the base. Most of the time this apartment is just a place for him to grab some sleep and change his clothes; almost without exception when we're spending down time together, we end up back at my place, and...

...and this would be why the place is so cold. The patio door is open for cryin' out loud. It takes me a long moment to focus on and understand what it is I'm seeing as I stare through the open doorway. I see a hand. And then I realize it's gripping the railing the wrong way for someone who is just standing on the balcony. It's gripping the railing the way someone would if they were standing...

Holy fuckin' Christ.

My gaze fixed on that hand - staytherestaytherestaythere - I move over to the open door, never more aware of the fact that we're eight storeys up and Daniel is the wrong side of that railing. I stop in the open doorway, squashing my first impulse to run over there and grab him. One slip is all it would take for him to go over - or maybe one wrong word from me.

Keeping my voice quiet and conversational I ask, "Daniel? What're you doing out here?"

When he answers his voice is full of such quiet despair I feel the chill grow around my heart. "None of it means anything."

Don't sound like that, Daniel. Please don't sound like that. Still keeping my voice as natural as possible - we're just having a conversation here, right? - I suggest, "Um, Daniel, why don't you come inside here?" I can only see the back of his head and only have the sound of his voice to go by. I have a feeling if I could see whatever expression is on his face I'd be even more terrified.

"I tried." He takes a deep, shaky breath. "It just...goes away."

What? What goes away? Tell him what he wants to hear. Tell him what he needs to hear. Tell him anything that will get him the hell back here and off that ledge. "Okay. Then we'll get it back." Whatever it is, we'll get it back.

"You can't get it back."

"Well, whatever's wrong, we'll fix it." Just don’t let go. Just stay with me here. Just believe me.

He drops his head to his chest like he doesn’t have the strength to hold it up any longer, and when he speaks his voice is thick with tears. "You don't even know what I'm talking about."

He's got me. He's nailed me. I can't lie to him because he'd know I was lying. "No, no I don't," I admit. I don't have any cards left to play here except my own desperation. "But...come inside."

There's a moment of absolute stillness, then he turns his head toward me, and I see a single tear track down his face. "Jack?"

In that split second of time I know he's back from wherever he was. And in that same moment I know he's so confused and shaken he could fall off that ledge just because he doesn’t know where the hell he is or what he's doing there. I'm at his side in a heartbeat. I've got a hand gripping his arm and my other arm around him, anchoring him to me. He's not going anywhere. You hear me, Daniel? You're not going anywhere. "Yeah," I breathe, and give his arm a brisk rub. Oh, I've got a lovely view of eight storeys up and that very narrow edge where he's standing... oh for cryin' out loud, in his bare feet. I reflexively tighten my grip as Daniel looks around with such stunned bewilderment it makes my heart ache.

His shirt is ice cold; God knows how long he's been standing out here like this.

"What...? How...?"

Daniel's looking around him with the first hint of panic in his eyes. What, how and... why? Apparently he doesn't have any more answers than I do. "It's okay, Daniel," I murmur. "Just put your leg over the railing and let's get you inside, okay?" Nice and calm. Just as if I find my best friend on the brink of committing suicide every day of the week. He still looks confused, but he half turns and manages to get one leg over the railing. That's all I need. Now I've got both arms around him and almost heave him over the rail myself. Once he's got both feet on the balcony, I turn him around and hustle him inside.

One arm supporting him, I quickly shut the door behind me, then barely manage to stop myself from grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him until his teeth rattle for scaring the living crap out of me like that. What the hell was he thinking? How dare he... I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, my anger flaring and then dying like a spark spitting from a fire. I can feel faint tremors racing through his body. Shock. Cold. I guide him until the back of his knees hit the sofa. "Sit," I order quietly. It's more of a controlled collapse than anything, but Daniel drops down onto the cushions, his face a picture of shock and confusion. Welcome to the club.

First order of business is to get him warmed up; a massive shudder travels through his body and he starts shaking so hard his teeth are chattering. I shrug out of my jacket and wrap it around his shoulders as a makeshift blanket, give his shoulders a squeeze, and say carefully, "Stay here." His fingers latch into the leather of my jacket, and he pulls it tighter around himself but doesn't meet my eyes. "I'll be right back." I turn away to head for his bedroom, then hesitate, looking from him to the patio door. My jaw clenched, I stride over to the door, firmly lock it, then set off for the bedroom.

Moments later I'm back, wrapping a woolen blanket around him in lieu of my jacket, then dropping down to work thick socks onto his cold feet. He accepts it docilely, staring at the floor, his fingers now wrapped in the folds of the blanket. From where I'm kneeling on the floor I try to get him to look at me. "I'm going to get you something hot to drink, okay?" A blink and a slight nod is the only indication I get he's heard me before I go to the kitchen.

The tea kettle is still whistling away, and when I lift it off the burner and give it a little shake I find there isn't much water in it; it must've been boiling for some time. I grab a clean cup from the cupboard, throw a teabag into it, and sloppily pour the hot water on top of it, hissing when some of it splashes out onto my hand. I'm trying very hard not to think about how long Daniel was out there like that and what might have happened if I hadn't shown up when I did. I'm also trying very hard not to think about why he was out there and what he meant by the things he said.

'It.' 'It.' What is 'it'? It's no use. I don't know what he was talking about. My best friend was standing on a ledge eight storeys up, that close to stepping off, and I have no fuckin' idea why.

I open the sugar canister and slam the lid down onto the counter, a mixture of anger, confusion and hurt washing through me. How dare he do that to me! How dare he even think of splattering himself on the sidewalk! What if I had gotten here too late? What if I hadn't run that yellow light three blocks from here and while I was waiting at the red light... I hastily scoop two heaping spoons of sugar into the tea, give it one stir, and take a gulp of the scalding liquid. Daniel isn't the only one needing something for shock. I hurry back into the living room and find him still sitting exactly as he was when I left him.

I sit down beside him and carefully wrap his hands around the cup of steaming tea. "Daniel, drink some of this. It'll help warm you up." I have to help steady his hands, but at least he makes an effort to get the cup to his mouth. He takes one sip, then practically gulps the next mouthful. The shock of the hot liquid hitting the inside of his mouth seems to bring him back to himself, and I see the first sign of color in his cheeks.

"Oh, God, Jack, what's wrong with me?" he chokes out.

I carefully take the cup from him when his hands begin to shake too much and slide a supporting arm across his shoulders. "Why don't you tell me what happened?" I ask quietly. There's a part of my brain screaming I should be calling Fraiser and getting a medical team out here; but there's another part of me that remembers a time when I let medical 'experts' convince me Daniel was schizophrenic. I owe him this one. "An airman brought you home..." I remind him carefully. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I have an unwanted flashback to him lying in the infirmary telling me about nine Goa'uld wanting him for a host.

"I came home, I..." He frowns deeply. "I was tired, really tired."

Translation: He was exhausted.

"I laid down for a while...but I couldn't sleep."

Translation: He was up all night.

"I felt..." He shrugs helplessly. "I was just so tired, Jack. So tired of trying. So tired of failing. So tired of losing." He's choking up again, sounding just like he did on the balcony.

I can still feel him shaking a little, and I move my hand up and down his back and ask gently, "Are things that bad, Daniel? You could have called me, you know." I'm still going through a little reaction thing myself here; a mixture of pissed off, scared and hurt to discover that apparently Daniel was so depressed he thought about offing himself, and I was so clueless I never saw it coming. What kind of team leader does that make me? Christ, what kind of friend does that make me? "I know it was hard on you," I continue in a careful voice, "losing the kid again."

"Shifu?" Daniel looks at me for the first time since we've come inside, and I almost wince at how haggard and confused he looks: deep, dark circles under his eyes, his eyelids puffy and heavy, both a testament to how exhausted and sleep-deprived he is. A wild thought skitters through my mind: could he have been sleep walking? I give my head a sharp shake of disgust. I wish it were that easy. "No." Daniel shakes his head, still looking confused and scared, but sounding pretty definite. "This isn't about Shifu."

"Then what?" I ask, frustration making my tone a little sharper than I'd intended. "What is it about, Daniel?"

His red-rimmed eyes look huge in his pale face. "I don't know," he whispers, and I move my hand up to grip his shoulder as I realize he's looking to me for answers. "I don't remember going out there. I didn't even know I was out there until --" He breaks off and bites his lip, quickly dropping his gaze to the floor again.

I relax, relief washing through me, but I keep my grip tight on his shoulder, trying to ground both of us. Not a conscious decision then? Something's definitely wrong, of course, but at least he didn't consciously decide to go out on the balcony and kill himself. That's good. In fact, that's very good. Then I take a good look at his profile, at the dried tear track down the side of his face, and feel my relief evaporate like a drop of water in the desert. Then again, maybe he just doesn't remember making the decision. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and give my head a sharp shake, admitting defeat. I'm so far out of my depth here I need a parachute. Conscious decision or not, something is very wrong.

I give him a quick, supporting squeeze. "I think we'd better get you back to the SGC," I tell him quietly. "Let Doc Fraiser try to figure out what's wrong."

I feel him tense under my arm at the mention of Fraiser, but he gives his head a little nod. As I help him to his feet I make a silent promise: This time I won't screw up. This time no one is taking him away and locking him up 'for his own good'. We're a team, and this time we stick together.

Whatever's wrong, we will fix it.

***

General Hammond studies me from behind his desk, a perplexed frown creasing his features while I pace agitatedly around his office. "Colonel, are you sure that Doctor Jackson --"

"Was about to commit suicide? No sir. Am I sure he was standing on the wrong side of the railing on his balcony eight storeys up? Yes sir," I bite out. What the hell is taking Fraiser so long?

"Colonel, have a seat," Hammond orders gently. "Please."

I shoot him a bitter look, but I obediently drop into the chair in front of his desk. I'd gotten Daniel into my jeep and we were about five miles from the Mountain when he suddenly collapsed on me. He'd been quiet the whole way, but he suddenly clutched his head, let out a wrenching moan that sent a chill down my spine, and slumped over. Christ, I thought he'd died. I pulled off the road long enough to find his pulse, then floored it all the way back here, yelling into my cell phone to make sure Fraiser was waiting for us. She was. She had her team hustle Daniel off to the infirmary, and then banned me going along at the same moment the general paged me to his office. Coincidence? Oh I don't think so. Conspiracy more like. Keep me otherwise occupied so I don't get in the way or think too much about how Daniel looked when they put him on that gurney and rushed him away.

"Did he say...why?"

I drop my head and rub my eyes. "No sir. He said he didn't remember how he got there. Just that he was tired. Tired of trying and failing."

The general sighs heavily. "He's had a lot to bear in these last few years, Jack. Maybe losing the Harcesis child was the last straw. Maybe we should have seen this coming."

My head snaps up. "I don't think that's it, sir," I say firmly. I've had time to think about it now, time to get over the shock of finding him like that at his apartment. "If Daniel really was ready to snap, I would have seen it coming." I know the signs. Hell, I lived through them not that many years ago.

Hammond looks sympathetic, but I know what he's thinking. He's thinking we have a guy whose sum total of knowledge about the Stargate, the civilizations we've encountered, the civilizations we may encounter, and the Goa'uld, surpasses anyone else's in this entire galaxy, and he may be unstable enough to kill himself. He's doing what a good commander has to do under the circumstances: he's doing a threat assessment and thinking of containing that threat. Well, he can be the good commander this time. I dig my toes in and prepare for a fight; this time I'm going to be the good friend. No way is anyone wrenching control from my hands.

Hammond gives me a long look and shakes his head doubtfully. "Colonel, if Doctor Jackson --" He breaks off as his phone rings and picks up the receiver, giving me a reprieve. I do not want to be having discussions about Daniel being suicidal and calling in MacKenzie for an evaluation, which I'm sure would have been his next suggestion. He gets to his feet as he replaces the receiver in the cradle. "That was Doctor Fraiser. She wants us in the infirmary."

***

It wasn't that long ago I stood here by this very bed and Fraiser assured me, despite how it looked, that Daniel wasn't really in a coma; he was just asleep. I don't need her to tell me this time that Daniel isn't asleep, he's in trouble. He looks... God, he's hooked up to every freakin' machine in the infirmary.

Fraiser doesn't give us time to dwell on it. "The PET scan reveals his neurological activity is slowing."

Speak English, for cryin' out loud. "So?"

"Neurotransmitters relay messages in the body. Too many or too few of these chemical transmissions can result in anxiety, depression or a number of emotional or physical disorders."

Give me a reason, Doc. "Does this have anything to do with Barber's thing?"

She gives a short nod. "The remaining members of SG5 are reporting almost identical symptoms. Yes, it seems almost certain. Now the only good news is that it doesn’t seem to be the result of a contagion."

"Well, if it's not a disease, what?"

"I don't know," she replies, and I can hear the frustration in her tone. "Such a drastic shift in levels is generally drug induced, but all of their systems are void of any foreign substances. Not to mention that preliminary MALP readings of P4X-347 have ruled out all the usual suspects: air, radiation."

Okay, then we have a plan. Now we're getting somewhere. "So if we retrace SG5's tracks we may be able to come up with something."

But Hammond shakes his head. "I'm afraid, Colonel, until we get a grasp on --"

"General, we saw the shadow on the video," I interrupt, my own frustration and impatience bleeding through. "Now something or someone is affecting these guys."

"More than affecting them, sir," Fraiser speaks up. "If their brain function continues to fail they could be facing a worst case scenario."

That tears it. No way in hell am I standing by and doing nothing while Daniel lays there and dies. I turn to the general. "So we go in M.O.P. 2 and bring back samples of the usual suspects."

I see the capitulation in his eyes before he gives the order. "You've made your case, Colonel. Watch your step."

"Thank you, sir." I give Fraiser a nod, then leave the infirmary to collect the rest of my team. We have a go.

***

*Jack O'Neill*

Fraiser is waiting for me at the base of the ramp when I step through the 'gate. Her expression doesn't give anything away, but I keep hearing Hammond's words echoing around in my head: He's fallen into a deep coma. We don't know how much time he has left.

I hand over the samples we took in record time after we got Hammond's message. "Here are your samples."

"Did you get the boy's?" she asks.

"Yeah, it's in there."

She gives it to the male nurse waiting off to the side. "Get this off to the lab."

When she turns back, I search her face for answers, find none, and ask, "How's he doing?" I suddenly feel like the next-of-kin about to be handed an official notification from the Air Force. We regret to inform you... Fraiser's eyes are bleak and filled with sympathy.

"I'm afraid his condition is unchanged, sir."

So it's a matter of good news/bad news. The good news is, he's still alive. The bad news is, we don't know how long that's going to last. I can see from her eyes the message she's trying to convey: where there's life there's hope. Nice platitude. Only problem is, I know it doesn’t always work out that way. "Okay," I whisper, not trusting myself to say more, and head for the infirmary.

***

If anything, he looks even worse than before. Like there's no life left in him at all, like something has sucked it all out of him. What the hell is wrong with him? What the hell did that planet do to him? When he came back from the planet he was so... so Daniel. Talking a mile a minute, hands flying all around, excited, enthusiastic, happy. He'd been kind of down and quiet after losing the kid, and my first thought was, we have him back.

I feel stinging in the back of my eyes and press tightly on the bridge of my nose. For Christ's sake, how long is it going to take them to find out what's wrong? I brought Fraiser back everything she said she needed. Where are the answers? I've been sittin' here for hours and no one has done a damn thing for him except check those machines.

I get off the bed. I've got to walk around or something. I feel like I've got ants crawling over my skin. I pick up his chart and stare at the words and numbers that don't mean anything to me. I've been back for - how long? - and all I've done is sit on that bed and watch Daniel slowly slip away. What's wrong with this picture? What's wrong with this picture is that no one seems to be doing a goddamn thing to help him!

Something snaps. There's a crash. The next thing I know I'm holding my head as an incipient headache flares like a supernova.

"Colonel? Are you all right?"

I look up, glaring at the person who dared ask that. "What kind of a dumbass question is that?" I point at Daniel, at the man she's supposed to be helping. "My friend is laying there on his deathbed." The look on her face chastises me a bit, and I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease the pounding in my head. "I'm fine," I say in a more subdued voice.

"We're working on the problem, sir," she offers quietly.

I slam down my fist, causing another crash. "I don't want excuses!" Goddamn it, find out what's wrong and fix it!

"Colonel O'Neill, if you don't calm down right now I will have you removed from my infirmary, is that clear?"

"I'm fine." I'mfineI'mfineI'mfine... What the hell's wrong with me?

"Colonel, I'd like to recheck your dopamine levels."

Little bullets of pain are ricocheting through my skull. "It's happening to me, isn't it?" I grind out. I can hardly think straight.

"Let me find out, please."

I manage a painful nod and move to accompany her, realizing this is what Daniel went through alone last night in his apartment: an overwhelming feeling of despair and hopelessness, of being lost and alone. Only he didn't have anyone there to help him, and he wouldn't have known what was wrong.

***

That damn heart machine monitor is right in my field of vision as we double-time it through the corridors to the gate room, so I've got an up close and personal view of it when it gives a series of short beeps and the line indicating Daniel's heartbeat goes flat. I throw a desperate look at Fraiser.

"He's coding," she announces tersely and unnecessarily. "No time to resuscitate. Let's go!"

Finally. Something I can do. I can get him back to that stinkin' planet, and that will - please God - get his heart beating again and fix all this. Fraiser strips the oxygen mask off him, I grab him and put him over my shoulder in a fireman's carry, and then I haul ass.

As soon as we're through the wormhole, I put him down. "Daniel! Daniel!" Careful, careful, watch the head. He doesn't need a concussion too. I'm panting from the exertion as I quickly check for a pulse. Come on, kid, this has got to work... You're back on the planet, this is what you need... It's got to be what you -- Yes! I feel it! A faint bump against my fingers. That's your heart, Dannyboy, jump-started. Now, wake up, Daniel. Wake up and tell me you're okay. I grab his face, give him a few little smacks. "Come on, Daniel, let's go! Come on!" I urge, desperation creeping into my tone. I glance up, shouting, "Carter! Teal'c!" I could use a little help here.

Breathing. He's not breathing. Come on, focus, O'Neill. Get him breathing. As I move into position to begin blowing breath into his lungs, I hear a faint wheeze. Then I see Daniel's chest rise and fall. Once. Again. He's breathing. He's breathing, and his heart is beating. I don't know whether to cry in relief or dance around the Stargate in celebration. I did it. I got him back in time. He's alive. Daniel, you've got to stop doing this to your old colonel. This one was just too damn close.

I hear footsteps and look up to find Loren watching us rather uncertainly. "Where are my friends?"

Loren indicates with his head. "With the light."

I'm still absorbed with watching Daniel breathe, with making sure it continues. "Get them for me, will you?"

"They won't come," he says apologetically.

"Well, try," I snap, the tattered ends of my nerves flapping in the breeze by this point. He flinches, then turns and runs in the direction of the light room. Oh hell. I shouldn't have snapped at him like that; he's just a kid. Then the sound of louder wheezing pulls my attention back to Daniel, and I can't help the tired smile that breaks out on my face at the signs of returning consciousness. That's it, Daniel. Fight your way back.

I pat one cheek smartly. "Come on, buddy. Open those eyes. That's it, that's it…" I watch anxiously as his eyelids twitch, then flutter, then blink open. He's alive, but I'm not going to relax until I know he's really okay, that he knows who he is, and he knows who I am, and he --

"Jack?"

Oh boy. If I had a dollar for each time I've heard my name choked, wheezed, groaned, whispered or gasped when he's come around from being knocked out by something or the other I'd have… well, way too many of those dollars, that's for sure. He's still rolling his head back and forth restlessly, and I gently trap his head between my hands to still it and make him focus on me. "Hey," I say quietly.

***

*Daniel Jackson*

Too tired. Too tired to open my eyes. Too tired to even care. Awful pressure on my chest... too heavy to move… Go 'way, Jack. You're too far away… can't… Ow! Stop shaking me!

Something like an electric shock seems to shoot through me, and suddenly touch, sound, taste all converge at once. I feel hands on my face, hear Jack's voice in my ears, and taste…why is my mouth so dry? Why does my tongue feel like its twice its normal size? Why does Jack sound like that?

It takes what little strength I have to force my eyelids up. Sight. Oh god. He's positively white. "Jack?" Was that me? I can hardly get his name out, barely have enough strength to pull air into my lungs.

"Daniel." I've never heard Jack sound so…why does he look so scared? Two calloused hands frame my face, holding my head still, (I didn't realize it was moving) and he's speaking very carefully, "Look at me, Daniel. Do you know who you are?"

Is this one of those meaning of life questions? No. Jack doesn't ask meaning of life questions. I manage to whisper my name rather hoarsely. Our faces are so close that even without my glasses I can see the fine lines of strain around his eyes ease a bit. Must have been the right answer.

He hasn't moved his hands, and they feel very warm against my skin, very comforting. "No, don't you dare close your eyes!"

At the sound of his sharp voice my eyes snap open again. When had they closed? More to the point, where am I and why am I lying on the floor? And why do I feel like crap?

"How are you feeling?"

"Crap," I mumble.

That brings a faint smile to his face. "Yeah, I'll bet. I don't think we'd better try to move you just yet." His smile fades. "You're back on P4X-347." I just look at him, trusting him to tell me the rest of it. "Seems that anyone who comes to this planet gets addicted to it. You were going through withdrawal when you came back to Earth."

Withdrawal? Like… oh god. Memories of the sarcophagus wash through me, shameful, painful memories of things I did, things I said...

"Don't close your eyes, Daniel," he orders, softly this time. "No one realized. Everyone who comes here gets addicted. We had to bring you back here to save your life."

Suddenly it makes sense. "Barber?"

Jack nods. "Yeah." He hesitates, looks away for a moment, then turns back and meets my gaze. "And the rest of SG5. "We didn't figure it out in time," he says grimly. "We barely got you back in time."

My breath catches in my chest. "Oh, god. All of them?" I whisper, horrified.

"Yeah."

Withdrawal. Barely got me back in time. "Is that why I feel so…" I barely manage to flop my hand over to indicate how I feel.

He nods. "It was close, Daniel."

I frown, taking in his too-pale face and the anxiety that still hasn't faded from his eyes. "How close?"

A little sigh escapes his lips, and he pats me gently on one cheek. "You don't want to know." He looks away for a moment, then pats me again, this time on the chest. "I have to go find Carter and Teal'c. You stay right here --"

"Wanna get up." I struggle to pull myself up and flop right back down. "Not going to stay here on the floor," I insist, knowing I'm helpless to do anything about it unless he helps.

"Okay, okay, just take it easy." He slides an arm under my back and very slowly raises me to a sitting position. Almost immediately darkness starts to creep in from the edges of my sight. "Oh god…" I gulp, and take deep breaths, fighting down both the dizziness and the nausea bubbling up inside me.

"Easy, easy." Jack's sitting beside me, gently pushing my head down, then rubbing my back in soothing circles as I draw up my knees. "Slow, deep breaths…that's it…" We sit here for a few moments, the only sound my attempts to draw in steady, deep breaths. "Better?" he asks quietly.

I don't trust myself to move my head, so I mumble, "Yeah, I guess." The worst part is that I know exactly what this is; this is just how I felt when I was going through sarcophagus withdrawal at one point. I don't know if I can go through this again…

"It'll be okay, Daniel." Jack's voice is calm and reassuring, and it's right by my ear, so close I can feel his breath tickling my skin. "It happened to all of us. We'll get through it." He gives my shoulder a squeeze. "I need to find Carter and Teal'c. You need to stay right here, okay?" There's a pregnant pause, and then he says in a tone a little too casual, "And don't go near the Stargate, okay?"

If I had the strength I would have lifted my head to stare at him in disbelief. Why would I - oh, Barber. That's how they said he… I wonder what I…? No, I don't want to know. "Jack, I don't even have enough strength to walk over to the DVD, let alone push in the glyphs," I murmur wearily. "I'll be fine. Go find Sam and Teal'c."

He hesitates a moment longer, then I get another shoulder-squeeze. "Okay, sit tight. We'll be back as soon as we can."

Then the reassuring warmth by my side is gone, and I'm left alone.

I remember feeling alone not that long ago. So alone and so tired, and I just wanted it all to go away. I just wanted to stop having to try so hard all the time. I wanted to stop failing and...

Withdrawal. Withdrawal, withdrawal, withdrawal. That's all it was, I realize with a surge of relief. The emotions weren't real. I'm not alone. Jack's here, and Sam and Teal'c. I haven't been alone since I joined SG1. I can do this. I can get through it.

*****