Chapter 3

The 'gate alarm. Unscheduled off-world activation!

Jack bolted upright. His feet tangled in the blanket and he took a nosedive toward the coffee table. Somehow he managed a mid-air twist that landed him back on the couch, but he smacked his already bruised jaw on the armrest and wrenched his right knee.

"Shit!"

He snatched the phone from the floor. "O'Neill. And it better be damn near life threatening."

"Very funny, Colonel. What if it hadn't been me?"

"Caller ID, Major. It's a beautiful thing."

"Yes, sir. How's Daniel?"

"Oh, he's--" Jack caught himself before he could utter a flip reply. "He's been better, Carter."

She took a deep breath. "I have some information for you. It's...not going to be easy to hear."

Jack's stomach did a slow roll. "Hang on a minute." He set the phone on the coffee table and walked quietly to the closed bedroom door. All was still, not even the rustle of bedclothes broke the silence within. Reassured, he returned to the couch. "Let's hear it."

"Daniel remained in the custody of Social Services for the first four months after his parents died. It took them that long to track down his grandfather. When Nick refused to accept responsibility for Daniel, he officially became a ward of the state and entered the foster care system."

Jack gritted his teeth. That Daniel's grandfather could simply turn his back on the little boy both amazed and infuriated him. "Go on."

"From what I can tell, Daniel's first foster placement went well--at least, there were no problems listed in the file. Unfortunately, after only six months the husband was promoted to a position that required they spend the next three years in Japan. And Daniel went back to the group home."

"Kid couldn't catch a break. First his parents, then Nick, then his foster parents." Jack rubbed at the headache that was building between his eyes. "But I'm guessing this isn't what you called to tell me, is it, Carter?"

"No, sir. I think you need to hear about Daniel's second foster experience. The one that nearly killed him."

Jack closed his eyes. "What happened?"

"The records are sketchy. My guess is that someone in Social Services tried to exercise a little damage control. There are quite a few holes." Carter's voice sounded thick. "But I was able to piece together enough."

"Such as?"

"Several instances when Daniel was picked up as a runaway. Neighbors' assertions that the husband was often drunk and abusive. A teacher's concern over Daniel's too frequent bumps and bruises. The only thing I can't figure out is why Daniel had to almost die before anyone acted."

"Son of a bitch."

"My thoughts exactly, sir."

"Carter--" Jack broke off, listening. Had he heard a sound from the bedroom? All that greeted him was silence.

"Sir?"

"Sorry, Carter. You said Daniel nearly died. What happened?"

"His foster mother brought him to the hospital emergency room. Daniel was suffering from an extreme case of heat stroke. She refused to explain how a nine-year-old boy wound up in such a condition. So did Daniel."

"Heat stroke?" He could almost hear the pieces click neatly into place. "Carter, I--"

The bedroom door banged open and Daniel stood clutching the jamb. Two bright spots of color burned in his pale cheeks and his eyes were dark with accusation. "You bastard! How dare you?"

Jack winced at the icy tone but spoke calmly into the phone. "Gotta go, Carter. I'll catch up with you later." He disconnected and gestured to the phone in Daniel's hand. "Thought I turned that one off."

"I turned it back on." Daniel tossed the phone onto the coffee table and hobbled into the kitchen. "Get out, Jack. I don't need your kind of help. I don't need you."

Well, shit.

Jack scrubbed his hands through his hair. A part of him wanted nothing more than to take Daniel at his word, pack up, and get out. He'd gone fishing and landed a whale; now he had no idea what to do with it. He was no shrink--his only qualification for helping Daniel was that he'd once been just as screwed up. Worse.

He was tired. Bone weary from too many sleepless nights, the nerve-wracking trek through the jungle, jet lag.…

And he was wasting time arguing with himself. He knew what he had to do.

Daniel was trying to make coffee. Trying, and not really succeeding since it was nearly impossible to hop on one leg while carrying a carafe full of water and a bag of gourmet beans. Jack caught the bag just as it slipped from its precarious position tucked under Daniel's arm.

"Fraiser said no caffeine."

"Fraiser's not here." Daniel snatched back the bag. "Why are you? What part of 'get out' didn't you understand, Jack?"

"I'm here because I'm your friend."

"Friends watch your back. They don't go behind it."

Ouch. Even though he'd expected Daniel's anger, Jack was surprised by how much it stung. Their friendship had always pushed at boundaries, demanded an honesty and openness he'd given to very few people in his life. Yet Daniel evidently didn't feel he could trust Jack with this.

"They don't turn their backs, either." Jack stepped in closer. He could see fine tremors running through Daniel, as if he might fly apart at any moment. "Daniel, you've always made me face the truth about myself. Even when it hurt like hell. Do you really expect me to walk away?"

"If I said yes, would you?"

"Ah, let me think a minute--No."

"God! I should have stayed in the infirmary. At least I was left in relative peace--when the nurses weren't poking and prodding me."

"Fraiser's just as worried about you as I am, Daniel. You might as well drop the act. Believe me, you're not going to be able to handle this one alone."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do! I'm a grown man, not a little kid, Jack. I didn't ask for your help."

"You didn't need to. I'm your friend."

Daniel's shoulders slumped. "I can't do this."

"You have to." Jack took the carafe and coffee from Daniel's unresisting fingers. "Go sit down before you fall down. I'll make the coffee."

"You make it too strong."

"Daniel."

"Sitting down now." He reached for a kitchen chair.

"Ah, ah! Living room, where you can elevate that leg."

Muttering under his breath, Daniel hobbled to the living room. Jack measured coffee and prayed for inspiration.

Daniel accepted the coffee mug and took a swallow, nearly spluttering with surprise. His eyebrows rose. "Ah...Jack? Janet also said no alcohol."

"Yeah? Well as you so succinctly pointed out, Janet is not here."

Oookay. Daniel buried his nose in his mug and tried to ignore Jack's piercing stare. Warmth from the liberal lacing of brandy spread its tendrils through him, steadying his jangling nerves.

"Do you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Daniel."

Daniel surrendered. He was too damn tired to fight Jack's inexorable prodding. "I didn't. I had no memories of those months; it was as if they'd never existed." He looked up at Jack, unable to mask his own bewilderment. "How could I have forgotten something so terrible?"

Jack held his own mug without drinking. "You know the answer to that. Sometimes forgetting is the only way you can cope. You were just a scared little kid, Daniel."

"I hated the way he made me feel. So trapped. Helpless." Daniel took another sip of coffee to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. "He got off on that."

"He drank?"

Daniel snorted. "Oh yeah. He was a mean drunk. And I seemed to provide the perfect...outlet for his anger."

"He hit you?" Jack's voice was dangerously soft.

"He'd never graduated high school and had little use for education. He couldn't understand why I'd rather read than play baseball--or whatever other manly pursuits he valued. The fact that I'd get lost in a book and not hear him calling made him crazy. Literally, if he'd had one too many." Daniel gulped down more coffee, deliberately not looking at Jack.

"And where exactly was his wife in all this?"

The memory was crystal clear--a petite, fair-haired woman with a warm smile and tragic green eyes. "She was good to me. They couldn't have kids of their own, and she really wanted a child. We used to play board games together, bake cookies--things I'd never done, even with my own parents. I could have loved her, I think..." He shook his head. "She was terrified of him. The one time she tried intervening, he beat the hell out of her and then punished me anyway."

Jack leaned forward and his voice gentled. "Is that why you wouldn't talk to anyone about what he'd done to you?"

Daniel set down his mug and tucked his hands into his armpits to hide their trembling. "She begged me not to. And I...I was scared of him. He liked describing what he'd do to me if I ever told." Goosebumps broke out on his arms and he shivered. "His favorite threat was that he'd skin me alive."

Jack sucked in a sharp breath. "God, Daniel. No wonder--"

"Yeah." He laughed, but it sounded too high and ragged. "Talk about a blast from the past."

Jack abruptly stood and disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned he was carrying a whiskey bottle and a tumbler. He placed the glass into Daniel's hand, poured two fingers, and sat down beside him.

"Drink it."

Daniel swirled the amber liquid. "I'm all right, Jack, I don't need--"

Jack blocked his arm as he tried to set down the glass. "Daniel, you look like shit. And we're not done yet."

"I've already told you most--"

"All of it, Danny. Or it's gonna come creeping back to bite you in the ass. You want to break the bastard's power over you? Tell me what happened that last time."

He stared into Jack's eyes for a long moment, drawing strength. One gift his friendship with Jack had given him was security. Jack made him feel safe--whether by watching his six while on a dangerous mission, or by being there when he needed someone to lean on. This friendship was the most stable, long-lasting relationship he'd experienced in his ever-turbulent life.

He could do this.

Daniel tossed back the whiskey, gasping a little as it burned the back of his throat. He took a deep breath.

"It was summer. August, maybe--I'm not sure. It was hot--one of those days when the air feels too heavy to move in and out of your lungs. I don't know what I did wrong. I never did. After a while I stopped trying to figure it out.

"What I do remember is that I'd had enough. Something in me just snapped, and when he swung at me, I caught hold of his wrist and dodged the blow. The look on his face.... I thought he really was going to grab one of the kitchen knives and make good on all those threats.

"I tried to run, but he just scooped me up, kicking and screaming. He started spouting nonsense--or at least I thought so at the time. Stuff about Vietnam and POWs and teaching me a lesson I wouldn't forget.

"They lived in an older home with a full attic above the second floor. You got to it by going up some wooden steps in the back of their bedroom closet. He carried me up and dumped me on the floor like...like a sack of garbage. He said I could scream all I liked but no one would hear. My foster mother had gone shopping for the afternoon and wouldn't be back until dinnertime. He unscrewed the only light bulb and stuck it in his pocket. And then the son of a bitch locked the door and left."

Daniel ran a hand down his sweaty face and around to massage the back of his neck. "It was like a sauna up there. The air was hot and dry, and so musty I wanted to gag. There were no windows, so it was pitch black--I couldn't see my own hand in front of my face."

"I tried to stay calm and rational. I'd never been a kid who was afraid of the dark. Hell, my parents had taken me into tombs with them from the time I was a baby; I didn't spook easily. But this was different. I was trapped; there was no way out but that one door, and it was solid oak. I've never been so hot and thirsty in my life--even on Abydos. It felt as if the heat was sucking the life out of me--and I guess it was. I lost it and started pounding on the door, screaming and crying for him to let me out. Promising...promising I'd be good."

A warm hand rested on his shoulder and Daniel realized he was moving, rocking back and forth. The hand left his shoulder to steady the jittering tumbler. A little more whiskey was poured and he swallowed it, without hesitation this time.

"Your foster mother found you?"

"Eventually. I was pretty far gone by that point, only semi-conscious and laying in my own vomit. I'm not sure how she got me to the hospital--he never let her drive the car. I remember her holding me, rocking me. Telling me she was sorry."

"Not sorry enough to tell the authorities what happened." Jack practically growled the words. When Daniel stole a look at his friend's face, it wore an expression usually reserved for politicians and Goa'ulds.

"She was terrified, Jack. So was I." He bit his lip. "After the hospital, I never saw her again. I always wondered what happened to her. If she went back to him. If he hurt her. Maybe she didn't do as much for me as she should have, but in the end she risked everything to save me."

"You never talked about this? To anyone?" In a heartbeat Jack's tone warmed thirty degrees.

"I told you, Jack. I didn't even remember it." An overwhelming sense of relief spread through him, as if an old and painful wound finally had been treated. Not healed--yet. But stitched and bandaged. Daniel settled more deeply into the cushions and let his head drop onto the back of the couch. "I guess I just stuffed those memories down deep where they couldn't bother me anymore."

"Until now."

"Yeah. I started having some strange dreams-- hallucinations, whatever--while we were locked up in that shack. But when Raphael came after me with the knife...something inside me just snapped and I was that scared little kid again. It all came back." He looked at Jack, managing a weak smile. "For a moment when I saw you...I didn't know where I was. When I was."

Jack's lips curved. "Guess that explains your reaction."

Daniel raised an eyebrow.

"You asked me what I was doing there," Jack explained. He shook his head, his lips curved in a rueful smile. "I wondered where the hell else you thought I'd be. After all, you know the drill by now."

"No one gets left behind." Daniel blinked, a comfortable lethargy washing away the last of the shakes.

"You bet your ass." Jack's finger prodded his chest. "Don't forget this, Daniel. When I burst into that clearing, you weren't lying there passively, waiting to be filleted. That rock might not have been much of a match for a knife, but you were damn well going to go down fighting."

"Not a victim?"

"Hell, no."

Suddenly he felt as if he could sleep for a week, and without the aid of Janet's pills. Daniel closed his eyes. "Wish I'd had you back then, Jack." He snickered. "The bastard wouldn't have known what hit him."

The tumbler was pried gently from his fingers, his glasses removed, and then a drift of soft warmth covered him from chest to toes. "Sweet dreams, Danny."

Perhaps now they could be. But if not, Jack was here. Secure in that knowledge, Daniel let himself go.

"All right, SG-1. You have a go." Hammond stood and smiled at Daniel. "It's good to have you back, Dr. Jackson."

Daniel dipped his head. "Thank you, sir."

Out in the hallway, Sam linked her arm with his. "We missed you, Daniel. 'Gating's just not the same without you." She cast a mischievous look over her shoulder. "I think the Colonel's tired of terrorizing your replacements."

Teal'c inclined his head. "Indeed."

"Now wait just a cotton pickin' minute. It's not my fault they needed constant supervision."

"Jack, do you have any idea how many of my staff refuse to work with you? I've spent the last two weeks soothing ruffled feathers." Daniel shook his head. "These are all competent individuals, experts in their fields. There shouldn't be a problem--"

"I believe the problem lies in the simple fact that they are not you, Daniel Jackson. Is that not so, O'Neill?"

Jack made a face. "Hey, I'm just as glad as the rest of you that Daniel's back. That doesn't mean we have to get all mushy, does it? Now how about lunch in the commissary? I'm treating."

"It is my understanding that the food in the commissary is served without charge to all military personnel, O'Neill. Am I in error?"

Sam chuffed. "Let's go, Teal'c."

"You kids go ahead. Daniel and I will be along in a minute."

Daniel watched them go. "Jack?"

"Come to my office for a minute, Daniel. I've got something to show you."

Daniel followed, puzzled by the subtle tension in Jack's brisk stride. When they reached his office he motioned for Daniel to take a seat and shut the door.

"Jack? Is something wrong?"

Jack leaned against the front of his desk, arms braced at his sides. "Why would you ask that?"

Daniel shrugged. "You just seem...I don't know...worried about something."

"Me? Mister Happy-Go-Lucky? Worried?"

"The white knuckles are a dead giveaway."

Jack rubbed the back of his head. "I've done something, Daniel. And I guess I'm hoping you'll want to thank me, not deck me."

Unease crept up Daniel's spine. "What have you done?"

After a moment's hesitation, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to Daniel. "I found her."

"You found... Oh!" Daniel stared at the scrap, his heart pounding.

"Lisa McKenzie. Divorced from Kurt Butler in 1978." Daniel involuntarily flinched at the sound of the name, but if Jack saw it, he didn't react. "Married to Brian McKenzie for the past twenty years. Two children--a daughter, Caroline, and a son, David." Jack's smile was grim. "Guess it was the bastard's fault they couldn't have kids."

Daniel tore his eyes from the paper to search Jack's face. "She's...she's okay? She's happy?"

"Yeah. I think she is. I spoke to her on the phone. She wanted to hear all about you. Said she'd never stopped thinking of you, Danny. Praying you were all right."

Tears blurred Daniel's vision and he quickly ducked his head. "I was sure she would have forgotten me."

"Apparently not." Jack tapped the piece of paper. "Her phone number is there, as well as her address. She'd love to hear from you. But she'll understand if you'd rather not."

Daniel swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "Thank you, Jack."

"Really?" Jack's voice sounded weak with relief. "I wasn't sure."

Daniel swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "Really."

"Sweet." Jack sobered. "You gonna call her?"

"Maybe." Daniel smiled and stood up. "Maybe not. But you know what? Whether I do or don't will be my choice, Jack. No one else's."

Jack caught him by the scruff of the neck and squeezed. "Damn straight." He cocked a thumb at the door. "Now, how about choosing some lunch?"

Daniel slipped the paper into his pocket. "Sounds like a plan."

End