The Beginning of Healing Pt 1/3
Jun. 26th, 2010 02:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marzipan77The Beginning of Healing Pt 1/3
by marzipan77
GEN Sooo angsty, but mostly it’s a team story.
Rated: T+ for repercussions from Hathor and some decidedly strong language. Maybe M for Daniel’s memories, but, then again, I have a strong imagination.
Tag for Hathor.
Feedback: Oh, yes please.
A/N: This episode bothered me for many reasons, most notably the undercurrent of amusement in some scenes, and the terrible treatment of male rape. This should never be the butt of anyone’s jokes. Adding a more serious ending was something I struggled with. This was actually the first thing I ever wrote for SG-1, and I found it in an old notebook I opened to make some notes on another story.
Daniel shifted uncomfortably in the corner of the sofa in the darkened room, one floor lamp barely chasing the shadows from its base, his long hair funneling the darkness towards his face. Long fingers tore tiny pieces from the edge of the plain paper plate in his hands, the slice of pizza cooling in its center. Jack watched as the tiny bits of white Styrofoam fluttered onto the carpeting like snow from a night sky but just couldn’t bring himself to care. He lowered the empty beer bottle from his mouth to join its mates on the floor at his feet and made himself count the longnecks scattered around his teammate’s. Huh. That’s a lot.
“So, you’re okay, right Jack?”
Jack pushed himself to his feet, frowning at the unanticipated lack of protest from his knees and back. “Yes, Daniel,” he answered wearily, “for about the fifteenth time, I’m A-okay, five by five, awesome.” He waved his hands dramatically as he weaved his way through the brown-bottle minefield of his living room to make his way to the fridge and another round. “No baby snake swimming around my colon, no X marks the spot.” He sneaked one hand under his shirt and rubbed his stomach, but not for reassurance, he told himself firmly.
“Good, that’s good.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that before, too,” Jack smiled. “Still a lightweight I see,” he enunciated carefully, ruffling Daniel’s hair as he passed.
Daniel leaned forward casually, making sure to move beyond Jack’s reach as he placed his plate on the coffee table and then plucked his beer from its resting place between his crossed legs. Jack frowned at the flash of – something – that crossed his friend’s features before the archaeologist tipped back his head and sucked the last few ounces down his throat. He shook his head and wondered, not for the first time this evening, if this impromptu debriefing with the young man was such a good idea.
Teal’c was the one who suggested the three share a quick drink before heading off in different directions for their two-day imposed downtime. Didn’t quite turn out the way the big guy expected, Jack chuckled to himself, when Daniel had downed his third beer in quick succession sitting next to a largely silent Jack O’Neill. The big Jaffa had followed them back to Jack’s house in Daniel’s car when it became clear that the archaeologist was only interested in chasing oblivion, and that Jack wasn’t far behind. Staying only long enough to get an Airman to pick him up for a ride back to the base, Teal’c had bowed out, literally, hoping, Jack supposed, that Daniel would crash and the two would find some way to help each other over the next few days. Yeah, Jack thought wryly, that was likely.
Finally arriving in the kitchen, Jack pulled open the refrigerator and contemplated the cardboard box on the top shelf with its depiction of the snow covered Rocky Mountains. Bending, he reached one arm into its dark recesses and felt around, brow furrowing when his fingers met only the smooth sides and back. Wrenching backwards he snorted when the empty twelve-pack latched onto his arm and came with him.
Stumbling down the three steps to his teammate, he waggled his arm, shifting the box back and forth, and watched Daniel’s eyebrows rise. “Huh – I guess we finished it.”
“Crap.”
It was Jack’s turn to be surprised. “’Crap,’ Daniel? Not much of a linguist when you’ve had a few, are ya?”
“Mierda, excremento, shifezza, uitwerpsel,” the linguist muttered. “Or, if you’d like more colloquialisms how about dung, manure, muck, skid marks, feces, or, of course, shit, etymology the acronym for Ship High In Transit which was painted on the sides of vessels hauling manure to relate the large quantities of methane which…”
“…Holy – stop! Just… stop,” Jack interrupted eyes wide in panic. “I thought you were trying to turn your brain *off*, Daniel.”
Pushing his glasses up to rest on top of his head, Daniel rubbed hard at both eyes. “Isn’t working.”
The words were muffled by his friend’s hands, but Jack got the drift. “Yeah, me either.” He peeled the cardboard box from his right hand and shuffled to a cabinet that hid in the corner next to the fireplace. Straightening triumphantly he held up the half-full bottle of scotch with two fingers. “What do you think?”
“What is it?”
Jack sighed. “It’s scotch, Daniel. Glenfiddich. Single Malt, aka ‘the good stuff.’” He grabbed two glasses from the shelf and plunked down on the sofa. “Very smoky, very smooth.” He poured two fingers in each and held one out to his teammate. Lifting his glass towards Daniel, Jack hesitated for a moment, one finger raised. “To the stalwart ladies of the SGC without whom, well,” he swallowed, “we’d be even more screwed.”
Knocking back the liquor in one gulp, Jack missed the fear that splashed across Daniel’s face at his words, and the way the light brown liquid sloshed against the glass in his shaking hand. The archaeologist lurched to his feet and tried to fight off the feeling of pressure boxing him in, the heat of fingers skimming his skin, the ripe smell of – he drank the scotch down and coughed, hunching over until he could control his gasps, hoping Jack would think they were just from the alcohol.
“Hey, it’s better than that swill you had the boys on Abydos making,” Jack teased, pouring himself another one.
“Sorry,” Daniel whispered. He blinked at the moisture that momentarily blinded him and turned to face the blurred outline of his CO. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
The colonel grimaced and waved his apology off. “What, for not holding your liquor?” He shook his head. “No big deal.”
“That’s not –” he gritted his teeth and held out his glass for another one. “Never mind.”
Jack poured. “Freaky thing, that Jaffa-making jewel she wore around her waist,” he added, eyes glittering in the low light. “I’ll bet Frasier would have had a field day with it if we could have held onto it.”
Daniel turned away. “Yeah. Too bad.” He sipped his drink and leaned heavily against the fireplace. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want Jack to talk about it. He just had to know if Jack was really okay, then he could go.
Jack leaned back into the cushions and held his glass up in front of his face, admiring the color of the high-end single-malt. Amber, like the Goa’uld’s… He cut off that thought and downed his drink. Maybe vodka would have been a better choice. Linking his fingers together over the glass, Jack leaned his head against the high back of his sofa and closed his eyes. Memories were blunting around the edges nicely. He sighed and settled more comfortably.
Setting his shoulders against the wooden mantle, Daniel watched his friend as the tension oozed from his muscles, empty glass held loosely in both hands on this stomach – his unmarked stomach. The tremors gripped him again and he was glad Jack’s eyes were closed. He started towards the kitchen, stepping clumsily into his shoes on the way by.
“I’m just gonna…” he murmured.
“You know where it is.” Jack’s voice was slurred, sleepy, and Daniel took a moment to watch the creases on the older man’s face smooth out as he went past.
A few minutes later he walked quietly back into the room and tugged his jacket from the back of the sofa, careful not to disturb the snoring man. The cab he’d called should be there any minute. Daniel stood for a moment at the door, one hand clutching the knob tightly. Without turning, he lowered his head and whispered, “I’m sorry, Jack.”
~o~
Something woke Jack O’Neill and he opened his eyes, the rest of his body heavy with sleep. The room was dark and the glass he’d been holding had fallen to nestle between his hip and the middle cushion. His eyes scanned the darkened room and his brows furrowed. “Daniel?” He cleared a throat thick with drink and tried again. “Daniel?” The house was still, completely silent, and had that stale feeling of emptiness.
Stumbling, Jack made his way down the hall, hands pushing against the walls to steady his gait. “Daniel?” The guestroom was unoccupied, the bathrooms pristine. He held himself next to the window and peered through the wooden slats of the blinds. One streetlight sent a cone of light down onto the quiet street, shining from the silvered roof of Daniel’s car.
“Jerk,” Jack muttered, realizing his buddy had scampered. “Just waited until my eyes were closed for a minute, didn’t ya, Daniel?” He stopped off to drain his bladder, sighing heavily with relief, before shuffling to his bedroom. His first grab at the phone on his night stand went wide, but Jack nabbed it the second time and punched speed dial #3. A mumbled voice said something like ‘hello.’
“Carter?”
“Sir?”
“Hey, Carter,” he smiled at the warning tone she could infuse into that one little syllable. “You heard from Daniel tonight?”
Fumbling noises on the other end resolved themselves into a much more concerned sounding 2IC. “Daniel? No, sir. I thought Teal’c said he was going to stay at your place.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too, but when I woke up from a little nap, he’d gone.” He eyed his watch. “Twenty minutes – thirty, tops.”
“Sir, was he driving?”
“Nope. He was blitzed, Carter, but his car’s still here,” Jack assured her. Apparently Daniel had tucked his cowardly tail between his legs and run off, but wasn’t so stupid as to try to drive.
More fumbling. “I’ll check his apartment, sir.”
Carter was on it. Jack’s hand was moving towards the table before she finished talking. The pillows looked good – fluffy. He toppled towards them. “You do that, Carter.”
~o~
“Hey, buddy, we’re here.” Geez, the guy was toast – he’d be lucky to get him out of his cab before he puked all over the damned rug. “Hey!” He reached back and banged his knuckles on the Plexiglas window that separated the front and back seats.
If the driver hadn’t been staring at his passenger’s slack face through the screen of his long hair in the rearview mirror he may not even have noticed the young man’s bright blue eyes snap open. In his 18 years of driving a hack he’d seen a lot of things – some he’d just as soon forget. And in a military town like Colorado Springs the reactions of his passengers often ranged from quietly polite with lots of sirs thrown in to belligerent and scary. Heck, he’d opened the door for one airman once and got thrown onto the pavement for his trouble. They’d laughed about that back at the garage and he’d never been tempted to violate the cardinal rule of hack drivers since then – “Don’t get out of the cab.”
But this guy – the way he froze like some kind of trapped animal – it was just… sad. He blinked a few times behind those great big specs, and then seemed to melt back into the seat cushions.
“Sorry,” he fumbled in his pockets awkwardly.
The driver shook his head. “Good thing I’m an honest guy, buddy – you already paid me, remember? I wouldn’t pick you up until you showed me you had the cash.” He’d been stiffed by a few stiffs before he’d made himself that rule.
“Uh, right – thanks.” He leaned against the door, managing to grasp the handle with one hand before he spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of the apartment building.
“Hey – you gonna make it inside? You need any help?” Something about this kid made him forget all of his longstanding promises to himself. He’d seen plenty of drunks staggering home after a long night and this was different – this kid was more lost than drunk.
“I’m fine.” The mumbled phrase sounded well-rehearsed but the cabbie shrugged. It’s not like he was the guy’s mother – but he did wait with his motor running until his fare stumbled through the doors held open by the night guard into the brightly lit lobby before he pulled out onto the road in search of another stranded soul.
~o~
Samantha Carter combed her fingers through her tangled blonde hair on her way out the door of her small house, not even bothering to stop to make sure the door was locked behind her. She couldn’t get his face out of her mind – sitting there on the bed of the VIP room, the sheets bunched around him in an unmistakable way. He’d just sat there – unmoving, unreachable, and so empty – he hadn’t even blinked when she and Teal’c and Janet burst in to try to take Hathor into custody. She hadn’t let herself think about what the Goa’uld had done to him, not until later when the evidence was inescapable. Oh, God.
She broke every speed limit in the quiet town getting to Daniel’s apartment and didn’t hesitate to park in the restricted zone right out front, flipping down her Air Force ID on the sun visor. Let them tow her – it didn’t matter. Rushing through the chill Colorado night Sam zipped the jacket of her sweat suit and rapped neatly on the locked lobby door.
“Captain Carter.” The night guard greeted her warmly as he stepped aside.
“Frank. Have you seen…” The retired airman jerked one thumb over his shoulder towards the stairs. “I’d have given him a hand, but I’m not supposed to leave the lobby.”
She returned his sad smile before hurrying to the unmarked door around the corner; she stretched her legs to take the steps two at a time. Was it really only a few weeks ago that she and Teal’c and the colonel had come here to clean out Daniel’s apartment after his apparent death?
She didn’t have far to go before she stumbled over Daniel’s foot – the young archaeologist had managed to prop himself up against the wall on the landing between the third and fourth floors, his legs sprawled out in front of him. Col. O’Neill was right – Daniel was out – the question was could she wrangle him up the last two flights to his apartment? And just how much help was he going to be?
Sam crouched down next to her teammate, brushing the hair out of his face. “Dan-”
Off-balance, she wasn’t prepared for the violence of his reaction. His eyes snapped open and he erupted from the floor, flailing about with both arms and yelling at the top of his lungs.
“No! Get your hands off me! No!” One elbow caught Sam on the side of the face and knocked her backwards against the wall. Ignoring the pain she got to her feet quickly, grabbing Daniel by one wrist and spinning behind him to lock his elbow.
“Daniel – it’s me, Sam! I’m only trying to help.” She didn’t want to hurt him but she also didn’t want him to tumble down the stairs in his haste to escape. Even in his alcohol daze he was strong – wiry – and he fought dirty, she realized, barely avoiding contact when he threw his head backwards in an attempt to break her nose. Usually fighting was Daniel’s very last resort in any confrontation, but his lessons at the hands of Jack and Teal’c had accomplished one thing: when his logic and compassion were overruled by his emotions, Daniel wouldn’t go down easily.
Eventually, she wrestled him to the floor, one knee in the small of his back to keep him down, while she tried to get through to him. “Daniel… it’s me… it’s Sam. I don’t want to hurt you.”
It took several long minutes for him to hear her, and when it happened, it happened all at once. One minute he was straining every muscle to get away, silently now, his teeth clenched and the cords of his neck standing out startlingly, and the next he collapsed, drawing in long, whooping breaths that choked off with a cry. She kept her grip for a moment, just to make sure it was over, before releasing him and falling backwards, her own breathing loud in the quiet stairwell.
“Sam?” His voice sounded thick.
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”
He turned his head away from her but made no attempt to get up. She eyed him warily as he pulled his arms in towards his body and clenched his fists so tightly that the skin across his knuckles whitened.
“What – what are you…”
Before she tackled that question, Sam decided to try to get her teammate moving towards his place. She climbed to her feet and stood next to him, one hand stretched down for help. “Why don’t we get you into your apartment – we can talk then, okay?”
Ignoring her offer of help, Daniel got his knees up under him and pushed his way to his feet, stumbling slightly. “Yeah, good idea.” He kept his eyes on the grey industrial carpeting and made good use of the banister to climb the rest of the way to his floor, sometimes swaying a bit, but always managing to avoid Sam’s willing assistance.
At his door he carefully leaned his weight against the frame and closed his eyes. A tired smile played across his features after he patted his pockets in an unsuccessful search. “I musta left my keys at Jack’s,” he mumbled.
“Well, it’s a good thing we gave each other a set, isn’t it?” Sam slid through the keys on her own ring until she found Daniel’s. He rolled to his back against the wall to give her access to the doorknob, his eyes still tightly closed.
“Thanks, Sam,” Daniel whispered once she’d pushed the door open.
He staggered through and she quietly followed, closing the door softly and watching, not quite sure what to do next. The knee-jerk reaction he’d greeted her with in the stairwell was easier to understand than this. He’d yet to meet her eyes – just one glance that touched the swelling she could feel along her right cheek where his elbow had connected before his glance skittered away.
Come on, Daniel, say something, she urged silently.
Using the furniture for support, Daniel made it to the couch in the living room and dropped into it heavily, letting his head loll back onto the cushions. Sam perched on the edge of a side chair, waiting, her gaze flicking between his eyes – now staring at the ceiling – and other familiar objects: the long line of journals on one bookcase, his fish tank, the Egyptian game set up on a low table.
Finally, he dropped his face into his hands, fingers finding their way beneath his glasses. Hand pressed against his eyes, his voice emerged more steadily than she’d imagined it could. “It’s okay, Sam. You should go home. Babysitting duty’s over.”
“Daniel…”
“Jack called you, right? I mean, you don’t usually stop by for coffee at 3 AM.” Resentment left a raw edge along his words. “I’ll see you at the mountain in a few days.”
“You sure you don’t-” She didn’t want to leave him like this, but Sam had absolutely no idea how to help, or even if anyone could. This might be something Daniel just had to work out on his own.
“Don’t, what?” he snapped, dropping his hands and spearing her with a steady glare. “Want you to stay? To tuck me in? Hold my hand?” He leaned forward, clutching quickly at the fabric of the cushion next to him to keep from falling across the coffee table. It might have been funny if anything that had happened in the past 24 hours had been funny – or if she couldn’t see the cold despair behind Daniel’s drunkenness.
“I don’t know,” Sam admitted steadily, her own gaze troubled, but determined to get through to her friend. “Tell me what you need.”
Daniel was the first to look away. “Nothing,” he sighed, finally, “just 48 hours to think without any contact with the SGC.”
She knew the indecision was clear on her face when he looked up. “Really. No calls to Frasier or the general or anyone.” He hid his face in his hands again, but not before she saw the pain there. “You might want to check on Jack tomorrow, but just,” his control wavered for a moment and she heard his breath hitch, “just leave me alone.”
Sam nodded quickly and stood up, blinking back her own tears. She put one hand on Daniel’s shoulder as she walked towards the door, but the deep flinch that rocked him made her snatch it back. She turned once at the door and saw that he’d fallen sideways, his knees pulled up and his arms wrapped around his chest.
“Goodnight, then,” she called. After the door had shut and locked behind her she stood for a moment in the hallway, fingering her cell phone. During the past few months she’d come to respect and admire her fellow scientist for his quick intellect and deep commitment. She trusted him and Teal’c and Col. O’Neill with her life every day. She just hoped she could trust him with his own.
by marzipan77
GEN Sooo angsty, but mostly it’s a team story.
Rated: T+ for repercussions from Hathor and some decidedly strong language. Maybe M for Daniel’s memories, but, then again, I have a strong imagination.
Tag for Hathor.
Feedback: Oh, yes please.
A/N: This episode bothered me for many reasons, most notably the undercurrent of amusement in some scenes, and the terrible treatment of male rape. This should never be the butt of anyone’s jokes. Adding a more serious ending was something I struggled with. This was actually the first thing I ever wrote for SG-1, and I found it in an old notebook I opened to make some notes on another story.
Daniel shifted uncomfortably in the corner of the sofa in the darkened room, one floor lamp barely chasing the shadows from its base, his long hair funneling the darkness towards his face. Long fingers tore tiny pieces from the edge of the plain paper plate in his hands, the slice of pizza cooling in its center. Jack watched as the tiny bits of white Styrofoam fluttered onto the carpeting like snow from a night sky but just couldn’t bring himself to care. He lowered the empty beer bottle from his mouth to join its mates on the floor at his feet and made himself count the longnecks scattered around his teammate’s. Huh. That’s a lot.
“So, you’re okay, right Jack?”
Jack pushed himself to his feet, frowning at the unanticipated lack of protest from his knees and back. “Yes, Daniel,” he answered wearily, “for about the fifteenth time, I’m A-okay, five by five, awesome.” He waved his hands dramatically as he weaved his way through the brown-bottle minefield of his living room to make his way to the fridge and another round. “No baby snake swimming around my colon, no X marks the spot.” He sneaked one hand under his shirt and rubbed his stomach, but not for reassurance, he told himself firmly.
“Good, that’s good.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that before, too,” Jack smiled. “Still a lightweight I see,” he enunciated carefully, ruffling Daniel’s hair as he passed.
Daniel leaned forward casually, making sure to move beyond Jack’s reach as he placed his plate on the coffee table and then plucked his beer from its resting place between his crossed legs. Jack frowned at the flash of – something – that crossed his friend’s features before the archaeologist tipped back his head and sucked the last few ounces down his throat. He shook his head and wondered, not for the first time this evening, if this impromptu debriefing with the young man was such a good idea.
Teal’c was the one who suggested the three share a quick drink before heading off in different directions for their two-day imposed downtime. Didn’t quite turn out the way the big guy expected, Jack chuckled to himself, when Daniel had downed his third beer in quick succession sitting next to a largely silent Jack O’Neill. The big Jaffa had followed them back to Jack’s house in Daniel’s car when it became clear that the archaeologist was only interested in chasing oblivion, and that Jack wasn’t far behind. Staying only long enough to get an Airman to pick him up for a ride back to the base, Teal’c had bowed out, literally, hoping, Jack supposed, that Daniel would crash and the two would find some way to help each other over the next few days. Yeah, Jack thought wryly, that was likely.
Finally arriving in the kitchen, Jack pulled open the refrigerator and contemplated the cardboard box on the top shelf with its depiction of the snow covered Rocky Mountains. Bending, he reached one arm into its dark recesses and felt around, brow furrowing when his fingers met only the smooth sides and back. Wrenching backwards he snorted when the empty twelve-pack latched onto his arm and came with him.
Stumbling down the three steps to his teammate, he waggled his arm, shifting the box back and forth, and watched Daniel’s eyebrows rise. “Huh – I guess we finished it.”
“Crap.”
It was Jack’s turn to be surprised. “’Crap,’ Daniel? Not much of a linguist when you’ve had a few, are ya?”
“Mierda, excremento, shifezza, uitwerpsel,” the linguist muttered. “Or, if you’d like more colloquialisms how about dung, manure, muck, skid marks, feces, or, of course, shit, etymology the acronym for Ship High In Transit which was painted on the sides of vessels hauling manure to relate the large quantities of methane which…”
“…Holy – stop! Just… stop,” Jack interrupted eyes wide in panic. “I thought you were trying to turn your brain *off*, Daniel.”
Pushing his glasses up to rest on top of his head, Daniel rubbed hard at both eyes. “Isn’t working.”
The words were muffled by his friend’s hands, but Jack got the drift. “Yeah, me either.” He peeled the cardboard box from his right hand and shuffled to a cabinet that hid in the corner next to the fireplace. Straightening triumphantly he held up the half-full bottle of scotch with two fingers. “What do you think?”
“What is it?”
Jack sighed. “It’s scotch, Daniel. Glenfiddich. Single Malt, aka ‘the good stuff.’” He grabbed two glasses from the shelf and plunked down on the sofa. “Very smoky, very smooth.” He poured two fingers in each and held one out to his teammate. Lifting his glass towards Daniel, Jack hesitated for a moment, one finger raised. “To the stalwart ladies of the SGC without whom, well,” he swallowed, “we’d be even more screwed.”
Knocking back the liquor in one gulp, Jack missed the fear that splashed across Daniel’s face at his words, and the way the light brown liquid sloshed against the glass in his shaking hand. The archaeologist lurched to his feet and tried to fight off the feeling of pressure boxing him in, the heat of fingers skimming his skin, the ripe smell of – he drank the scotch down and coughed, hunching over until he could control his gasps, hoping Jack would think they were just from the alcohol.
“Hey, it’s better than that swill you had the boys on Abydos making,” Jack teased, pouring himself another one.
“Sorry,” Daniel whispered. He blinked at the moisture that momentarily blinded him and turned to face the blurred outline of his CO. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
The colonel grimaced and waved his apology off. “What, for not holding your liquor?” He shook his head. “No big deal.”
“That’s not –” he gritted his teeth and held out his glass for another one. “Never mind.”
Jack poured. “Freaky thing, that Jaffa-making jewel she wore around her waist,” he added, eyes glittering in the low light. “I’ll bet Frasier would have had a field day with it if we could have held onto it.”
Daniel turned away. “Yeah. Too bad.” He sipped his drink and leaned heavily against the fireplace. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want Jack to talk about it. He just had to know if Jack was really okay, then he could go.
Jack leaned back into the cushions and held his glass up in front of his face, admiring the color of the high-end single-malt. Amber, like the Goa’uld’s… He cut off that thought and downed his drink. Maybe vodka would have been a better choice. Linking his fingers together over the glass, Jack leaned his head against the high back of his sofa and closed his eyes. Memories were blunting around the edges nicely. He sighed and settled more comfortably.
Setting his shoulders against the wooden mantle, Daniel watched his friend as the tension oozed from his muscles, empty glass held loosely in both hands on this stomach – his unmarked stomach. The tremors gripped him again and he was glad Jack’s eyes were closed. He started towards the kitchen, stepping clumsily into his shoes on the way by.
“I’m just gonna…” he murmured.
“You know where it is.” Jack’s voice was slurred, sleepy, and Daniel took a moment to watch the creases on the older man’s face smooth out as he went past.
A few minutes later he walked quietly back into the room and tugged his jacket from the back of the sofa, careful not to disturb the snoring man. The cab he’d called should be there any minute. Daniel stood for a moment at the door, one hand clutching the knob tightly. Without turning, he lowered his head and whispered, “I’m sorry, Jack.”
~o~
Something woke Jack O’Neill and he opened his eyes, the rest of his body heavy with sleep. The room was dark and the glass he’d been holding had fallen to nestle between his hip and the middle cushion. His eyes scanned the darkened room and his brows furrowed. “Daniel?” He cleared a throat thick with drink and tried again. “Daniel?” The house was still, completely silent, and had that stale feeling of emptiness.
Stumbling, Jack made his way down the hall, hands pushing against the walls to steady his gait. “Daniel?” The guestroom was unoccupied, the bathrooms pristine. He held himself next to the window and peered through the wooden slats of the blinds. One streetlight sent a cone of light down onto the quiet street, shining from the silvered roof of Daniel’s car.
“Jerk,” Jack muttered, realizing his buddy had scampered. “Just waited until my eyes were closed for a minute, didn’t ya, Daniel?” He stopped off to drain his bladder, sighing heavily with relief, before shuffling to his bedroom. His first grab at the phone on his night stand went wide, but Jack nabbed it the second time and punched speed dial #3. A mumbled voice said something like ‘hello.’
“Carter?”
“Sir?”
“Hey, Carter,” he smiled at the warning tone she could infuse into that one little syllable. “You heard from Daniel tonight?”
Fumbling noises on the other end resolved themselves into a much more concerned sounding 2IC. “Daniel? No, sir. I thought Teal’c said he was going to stay at your place.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too, but when I woke up from a little nap, he’d gone.” He eyed his watch. “Twenty minutes – thirty, tops.”
“Sir, was he driving?”
“Nope. He was blitzed, Carter, but his car’s still here,” Jack assured her. Apparently Daniel had tucked his cowardly tail between his legs and run off, but wasn’t so stupid as to try to drive.
More fumbling. “I’ll check his apartment, sir.”
Carter was on it. Jack’s hand was moving towards the table before she finished talking. The pillows looked good – fluffy. He toppled towards them. “You do that, Carter.”
~o~
“Hey, buddy, we’re here.” Geez, the guy was toast – he’d be lucky to get him out of his cab before he puked all over the damned rug. “Hey!” He reached back and banged his knuckles on the Plexiglas window that separated the front and back seats.
If the driver hadn’t been staring at his passenger’s slack face through the screen of his long hair in the rearview mirror he may not even have noticed the young man’s bright blue eyes snap open. In his 18 years of driving a hack he’d seen a lot of things – some he’d just as soon forget. And in a military town like Colorado Springs the reactions of his passengers often ranged from quietly polite with lots of sirs thrown in to belligerent and scary. Heck, he’d opened the door for one airman once and got thrown onto the pavement for his trouble. They’d laughed about that back at the garage and he’d never been tempted to violate the cardinal rule of hack drivers since then – “Don’t get out of the cab.”
But this guy – the way he froze like some kind of trapped animal – it was just… sad. He blinked a few times behind those great big specs, and then seemed to melt back into the seat cushions.
“Sorry,” he fumbled in his pockets awkwardly.
The driver shook his head. “Good thing I’m an honest guy, buddy – you already paid me, remember? I wouldn’t pick you up until you showed me you had the cash.” He’d been stiffed by a few stiffs before he’d made himself that rule.
“Uh, right – thanks.” He leaned against the door, managing to grasp the handle with one hand before he spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of the apartment building.
“Hey – you gonna make it inside? You need any help?” Something about this kid made him forget all of his longstanding promises to himself. He’d seen plenty of drunks staggering home after a long night and this was different – this kid was more lost than drunk.
“I’m fine.” The mumbled phrase sounded well-rehearsed but the cabbie shrugged. It’s not like he was the guy’s mother – but he did wait with his motor running until his fare stumbled through the doors held open by the night guard into the brightly lit lobby before he pulled out onto the road in search of another stranded soul.
~o~
Samantha Carter combed her fingers through her tangled blonde hair on her way out the door of her small house, not even bothering to stop to make sure the door was locked behind her. She couldn’t get his face out of her mind – sitting there on the bed of the VIP room, the sheets bunched around him in an unmistakable way. He’d just sat there – unmoving, unreachable, and so empty – he hadn’t even blinked when she and Teal’c and Janet burst in to try to take Hathor into custody. She hadn’t let herself think about what the Goa’uld had done to him, not until later when the evidence was inescapable. Oh, God.
She broke every speed limit in the quiet town getting to Daniel’s apartment and didn’t hesitate to park in the restricted zone right out front, flipping down her Air Force ID on the sun visor. Let them tow her – it didn’t matter. Rushing through the chill Colorado night Sam zipped the jacket of her sweat suit and rapped neatly on the locked lobby door.
“Captain Carter.” The night guard greeted her warmly as he stepped aside.
“Frank. Have you seen…” The retired airman jerked one thumb over his shoulder towards the stairs. “I’d have given him a hand, but I’m not supposed to leave the lobby.”
She returned his sad smile before hurrying to the unmarked door around the corner; she stretched her legs to take the steps two at a time. Was it really only a few weeks ago that she and Teal’c and the colonel had come here to clean out Daniel’s apartment after his apparent death?
She didn’t have far to go before she stumbled over Daniel’s foot – the young archaeologist had managed to prop himself up against the wall on the landing between the third and fourth floors, his legs sprawled out in front of him. Col. O’Neill was right – Daniel was out – the question was could she wrangle him up the last two flights to his apartment? And just how much help was he going to be?
Sam crouched down next to her teammate, brushing the hair out of his face. “Dan-”
Off-balance, she wasn’t prepared for the violence of his reaction. His eyes snapped open and he erupted from the floor, flailing about with both arms and yelling at the top of his lungs.
“No! Get your hands off me! No!” One elbow caught Sam on the side of the face and knocked her backwards against the wall. Ignoring the pain she got to her feet quickly, grabbing Daniel by one wrist and spinning behind him to lock his elbow.
“Daniel – it’s me, Sam! I’m only trying to help.” She didn’t want to hurt him but she also didn’t want him to tumble down the stairs in his haste to escape. Even in his alcohol daze he was strong – wiry – and he fought dirty, she realized, barely avoiding contact when he threw his head backwards in an attempt to break her nose. Usually fighting was Daniel’s very last resort in any confrontation, but his lessons at the hands of Jack and Teal’c had accomplished one thing: when his logic and compassion were overruled by his emotions, Daniel wouldn’t go down easily.
Eventually, she wrestled him to the floor, one knee in the small of his back to keep him down, while she tried to get through to him. “Daniel… it’s me… it’s Sam. I don’t want to hurt you.”
It took several long minutes for him to hear her, and when it happened, it happened all at once. One minute he was straining every muscle to get away, silently now, his teeth clenched and the cords of his neck standing out startlingly, and the next he collapsed, drawing in long, whooping breaths that choked off with a cry. She kept her grip for a moment, just to make sure it was over, before releasing him and falling backwards, her own breathing loud in the quiet stairwell.
“Sam?” His voice sounded thick.
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”
He turned his head away from her but made no attempt to get up. She eyed him warily as he pulled his arms in towards his body and clenched his fists so tightly that the skin across his knuckles whitened.
“What – what are you…”
Before she tackled that question, Sam decided to try to get her teammate moving towards his place. She climbed to her feet and stood next to him, one hand stretched down for help. “Why don’t we get you into your apartment – we can talk then, okay?”
Ignoring her offer of help, Daniel got his knees up under him and pushed his way to his feet, stumbling slightly. “Yeah, good idea.” He kept his eyes on the grey industrial carpeting and made good use of the banister to climb the rest of the way to his floor, sometimes swaying a bit, but always managing to avoid Sam’s willing assistance.
At his door he carefully leaned his weight against the frame and closed his eyes. A tired smile played across his features after he patted his pockets in an unsuccessful search. “I musta left my keys at Jack’s,” he mumbled.
“Well, it’s a good thing we gave each other a set, isn’t it?” Sam slid through the keys on her own ring until she found Daniel’s. He rolled to his back against the wall to give her access to the doorknob, his eyes still tightly closed.
“Thanks, Sam,” Daniel whispered once she’d pushed the door open.
He staggered through and she quietly followed, closing the door softly and watching, not quite sure what to do next. The knee-jerk reaction he’d greeted her with in the stairwell was easier to understand than this. He’d yet to meet her eyes – just one glance that touched the swelling she could feel along her right cheek where his elbow had connected before his glance skittered away.
Come on, Daniel, say something, she urged silently.
Using the furniture for support, Daniel made it to the couch in the living room and dropped into it heavily, letting his head loll back onto the cushions. Sam perched on the edge of a side chair, waiting, her gaze flicking between his eyes – now staring at the ceiling – and other familiar objects: the long line of journals on one bookcase, his fish tank, the Egyptian game set up on a low table.
Finally, he dropped his face into his hands, fingers finding their way beneath his glasses. Hand pressed against his eyes, his voice emerged more steadily than she’d imagined it could. “It’s okay, Sam. You should go home. Babysitting duty’s over.”
“Daniel…”
“Jack called you, right? I mean, you don’t usually stop by for coffee at 3 AM.” Resentment left a raw edge along his words. “I’ll see you at the mountain in a few days.”
“You sure you don’t-” She didn’t want to leave him like this, but Sam had absolutely no idea how to help, or even if anyone could. This might be something Daniel just had to work out on his own.
“Don’t, what?” he snapped, dropping his hands and spearing her with a steady glare. “Want you to stay? To tuck me in? Hold my hand?” He leaned forward, clutching quickly at the fabric of the cushion next to him to keep from falling across the coffee table. It might have been funny if anything that had happened in the past 24 hours had been funny – or if she couldn’t see the cold despair behind Daniel’s drunkenness.
“I don’t know,” Sam admitted steadily, her own gaze troubled, but determined to get through to her friend. “Tell me what you need.”
Daniel was the first to look away. “Nothing,” he sighed, finally, “just 48 hours to think without any contact with the SGC.”
She knew the indecision was clear on her face when he looked up. “Really. No calls to Frasier or the general or anyone.” He hid his face in his hands again, but not before she saw the pain there. “You might want to check on Jack tomorrow, but just,” his control wavered for a moment and she heard his breath hitch, “just leave me alone.”
Sam nodded quickly and stood up, blinking back her own tears. She put one hand on Daniel’s shoulder as she walked towards the door, but the deep flinch that rocked him made her snatch it back. She turned once at the door and saw that he’d fallen sideways, his knees pulled up and his arms wrapped around his chest.
“Goodnight, then,” she called. After the door had shut and locked behind her she stood for a moment in the hallway, fingering her cell phone. During the past few months she’d come to respect and admire her fellow scientist for his quick intellect and deep commitment. She trusted him and Teal’c and Col. O’Neill with her life every day. She just hoped she could trust him with his own.
