Fission of Silence
by Pough
Part 2

Back to Part 1

Janet held Daniel's arm while he lowered himself into the chair. His eyes, dark with uncertainty, darted from Janet's eyes to the surrounding area, never landing on any one thing for more than a brief moment.

"There," Janet said when he finally found a comfortable position. She rolled the bedside tray next to him and lowered it to the height of the chair. "While Sergeant Miller is making your bed, why don't you finish your lunch? We have a busy day." Janet glanced at his eyes, and then followed the line of his focus to the bed being made.

"Daniel?"

He stared with trepidation and intent at the white sheets, flapping and unfurling, floating down, covering the ruined and broken body. The sheet tucked in around the body, and the circle of light flashed, alive with sharp torture. Slicing and burning, thousands of white-hot needles penetrating its skin, and the beast mutely cried out until the fire consumed its body and the sheet.

"Daniel!" Janet yelled, taking his stricken face in her hands, feeling his body trembling with uncontrollable violence. "Daniel!"

Sergeant Miller abandoned the linens in a pile on top of the mattress and stepped to Janet's side in case she was needed.

Daniel's arm shot across the tray, shoving the contents onto the floor in a clamorous mess. His hand grabbed the smooth surface, and his finger scratched a continuous pattern into the tray—up and down and up and circle, circle, circle. Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle.

"Daniel, do you know where you are?" Janet asked, taking his pulse.

Daniel's eyes never left the sheets, a heap atop the bed. A heap—finished and used, ready to be bundled up, stuffed into the old man's bag. Which was the beast's job. Which it was supposed to do.

"Daniel, what are you doing?" Janet asked, taking Daniel's hand in hers while he strained to push himself out of the chair. "Daniel, you need to sit down."

The sheet, crumpled and used, waited for the beast, so the awkward creature reached for the sheet, snagged it in its fingers, rolled the cloth in its hand, and subserviently handed it to the man. Then it sunk to its knees, compliant once again, and tried to lower its head to the floor.

Janet passed the sheet to the sergeant and knelt next to Daniel. "Daniel? Daniel, where are you? Can you tell me that?"

Its face, hidden against the side of the mattress, its fingers scratching up and down and up and circle, circle, circle, the beast forced itself to be still.

Janet placed a hand on Daniel's back. "Daniel, tell me where you are."

The sounds, words entered its mind, and the beast was gone again. Daniel turned his frightened eyes to the voice.

"Daniel? Are you with me?" Janet asked, peering into his bloodshot eyes, half covered by the soft strands of his willful, messy hair.

Daniel stared at her, straining to communicate his horror to her. His nails gouged the mattress, creating a ripping, tearing noise. His nails gouged and scraped, scratched and dug into the mattress.

"Daniel, do you know where you are?" she asked, motioning for the sergeant to come nearer. When her face appeared over Janet's shoulder, she asked the sergeant to bring her a milligram of Ativan.

Daniel's fingertip slid over the rough material, stuttering against its texture.

"Daniel, tell me where you are."

Daniel's hands tapped the mattress, and he turned his face into the rough side.

Janet shook her head and looked from his hand to his face. "I...I don't understand, Daniel."

Again his finger slid across side of the mattress, curving one way, then the other, stopping to begin at the top—a half circle and back in, stopping again to draw another jutting, skipping half circle. Daniel tapped the spot with resolved insistence.

Janet pulled in closer to him, turned his face to her, brushed his long hair out of his eyes. "Daniel, I don't understand. Can you just tell me?"

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...

"Daniel, tell me what you're saying."

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...

"Daniel, I don't...I don't...Oh, my God," she uttered, seeing the pattern more clearly. She watched his finger scratch out the pattern one more time and realized they were letters. Her nerves began to twitch. "Daniel, can you speak?"

He buried his eyes in the crook of his elbow, and yet his hand remained against the mattress.

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...NOOO.

She tipped his head up to look into his watery eyes. "Daniel, why can't you speak?"

Speak. Speak. Can't speak. He knew what she was asking. The trembling in his body shook the tears from his eyes. He slid his hand from the mattress, over his face and pressed them onto his neck.

Janet slowly pulled his hand away and examined his neck. She found a few small scars, but nothing that would indicate a trauma so severe that it would make him mute. "Did you have an injury to your throat?"

His breath came out in sobs, ragged and coarse. His jaw quivered and his tears kept coming.

The sergeant brought Janet the needle full of sedative.

"Help me get him in bed," Janet said, wrapping her arms around Daniel's thin torso. Together she and the nurse pulled him up and placed him in bed.

Daniel curled onto his side, scratching more letters into his pillow, too fast for Janet to read.

"Get the otoscope, please," she said to the nurse and then emptied the Ativan into his IV. "Just relax, Daniel. Everything's gonna be fine."

The sergeant returned with the sterilized otoscope and a pair of gloves for Janet. Janet snapped on the gloves, pulled the scope from the hermetically sealed package and said, "Daniel, I'm going to take a look down your throat, okay? I need you to roll onto your back.

Daniel turned his shoulders back onto the bed, his eyes closed, his nostrils flaring with silent cries.

The nurse tipped his head back and coerced his jaw to open.

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...

Janet leaned over and tried to put him at ease with a smile. "I'm just going to place this in your mouth. You'll feel it at the back of your throat, but try to stay still."

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...tap... Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...tap...tap tap...tap tap tap tap tap...

And then his hand grabbed for the object. He gagged and tried to spit it out, pull his head away, bat at it, anything, just to get it out!

"Okay, okay," Janet said, pulling the scope out of his mouth. She handed it to the nurse and asked for another dose of sedative. "Shhh," Janet said, brushing back his hair from his forehead. "Shhh. It's okay. I'll wait."

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...tap, tap.

Daniel stared at the ceiling and his chest bucked. He covered his eyes with one hand and clamped shut his mouth trying to stifle his sobs.

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...tap, tap, tap.

"It's all right, Daniel," Janet said, smoothing down his hair, tucking it behind his ears. "Just let the medicine relax you." Janet motioned for the nurse to administer the dose into his IV.

Up and down and...and up and down and...

His arms began to feel limp, heavy, and his hips loosened. Daniel could feel his breathing evening out, become less urgent, less frantic. The thoughts of objects forced into his mouth became far away, not so frightening. He closed his eyes and saw only colors, imprints of lights burned into his retina.

Down...

Janet put on a fresh set of gloves and began again. The nurse tilted Daniel's head back and opened his mouth. Janet pressed the scope into his mouth against the back of his throat and peered deep into his trachea. What she saw shocked and appalled her.

"Jesus God," she said, pulling the scope out. "Call General Hammond immediately."

The event horizon blew into the embarkation room, and moments later SG1walked through, an unceremonious entrance after an unceremonious mission.

"You're home early," General Hammond stated, meeting them at the base of the ramp.

"The Tok'ra weren't ready for us," Jack summarized. Sam quickly glanced in his direction. "But they have that disk thingy, so hopefully we'll be hearing from them, though I'm not holding my breath."

"Very good," the general said. "Report to the briefing room at 2000 hours. We'll make it short, and then call it an evening." He turned and made his way up the steps to his office.

"Sir, I think I'll stop in and see Daniel," Sam said, removing her hat.

"Do it after the briefing, Major," Jack said.

"But, sir..."

"After the briefing, Major. That's an order," he said, standing a hair's breath from her. "You have a responsibility to your duties first and your friends second. Do I make myself clear?"

Sam adopted Jack's steely eyes and glared back at him. "Sir. Yes, sir."

"Good."

Jack marched out of the embarkation room.

Sam stared, aghast and angry. She raked a hand through her hair and begrudgingly decided she should follow orders. Even so, her mind whirled with thoughts of how the colonel could be so cold, so uncaring, especially in regards to Daniel. After all, they were friends. Weren't they?

"So, that's it?" Hammond asked, rocking in his chair at the head of the table.

"Yes, sir," Jack said, flattening his hands against the table.

"Very well then," the general said. Sam, Jack and Teal'c began to shift in their seats, making moves to end the meeting, but General Hammond held up a hand. "Before we adjourn, I have news about Doctor Jackson."

Sam and Teal'c turned with nervous expectation to listen. Jack pulled a dour hand across his jaw.

"Two hours ago, Doctor Jackson went into surgery at the Academy Hospital to remove a membrane from his trachea."

"A what?" Sam asked.

"It isn't clear why it was placed there, but Doctor Fraiser is fairly sure whoever was holding Doctor Jackson inserted a...liner of sorts inside his windpipe, thereby taking away his ability to speak."

Sam, shocked and numb, dropped her head into her hands and tugged on the side of her hair. She couldn't comprehend this latest attack. Hadn't he been through enough? Hadn't they all?

"In light of the fact that this was alien technology, General, should not that type of procedure have been performed here on base?" Teal'c asked.

"We simply don't have that kind of equipment here, Teal'c. Apparently, this is a delicate operation for which the infirmary is not equipped. I can assure you that Doctor Fraiser is going to be at his side the entire time, and after recovery he'll be brought back to the SGC."

"Maybe he'd be better off at the Academy Hospital, sir," Jack said, twiddling his pen between his fingers. Hoping that some of his nervous, angry energy would dissipate during the finger play.

General Hammond shook his head. "The security issues are too sensitive."

"Colonel," Sam asked, gritting her teeth against the long succession of cold, indifferent or hurtful comments made by the colonel, "if I may, why would it be better for him to stay at the AFAH?".

"Look, all I'm saying is that he's not talking obviously, so...well, he's not talking. What's the risk of keeping him there?" Jack asked, looking only at General Hammond.

"And why, may I ask, do you think it would be better for him to stay?" the general asked, becoming increasingly suspicious of the colonel's intent.

"I'm only concerned for his quality of care, sir," Jack said, offering the general a cold eye. "After all, Daniel is...still a member of SG1."

Teal'c focused in on Jack's curt expression and held him in bitter contempt. "Yes, he is, O'Neill."

"Then you'll be pleased to know that your teammate will be returning to the SGC as soon as he's fit to transport," the general said, staring at Jack, making it quite clear he was speaking directly to him. "Now if there isn't anything else you'd like to add, this meeting is adjourned. Dismissed."

Jack exploded out of his seat and shoved his chair under the table. "Yes, sir," he replied, half way out the door.

The three who were left seated stared at each other while a blanket of tension covered the room.

"Major, is there something I should know?" the general asked of Sam.

"I wish I knew, sir, but I have no idea what's going on," Sam told him.

"Colonel O'Neill believes it is time to replace DanielJackson," Teal'c said. "He offered Andy Packard the position."

"Colonel O'Neill has no authority to make such an offer," the general stated, rising from his seat. Blooms of uncontrollable red anger sprang up under his skin. General Hammond thumped the table with his fist and grabbed his folder. "No authority whatsoever."

Sam and Teal'c remained standing while the senior officer charged out of the room. When he was gone, Sam slumped back down into her chair and thanked the powers that be that she wasn't Colonel O'Neill for the next ten minutes.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Teal'c and Sam made it to the Academy Hospital. They checked in at the desk, showed proper ID, and were escorted to the ICU where they found Janet reading a chart at the nurses' station.

Sam touched her elbow. "Hey, Janet." Sam turned to the escort. "Thank you, Private."

The young man turned with learned precision and walked away.

"How is DanielJackson feeling?" Teal'c asked.

"All things considered, he's doing well," Janet said, motioning for them to follow her to his room. Janet slipped her hands into her lab coat and led them down the hall. "I don't know how much you were told, but yesterday I examined his trachea and found an obstruction—a filament of sorts. I had him transported here to the Academy Hospital where an ENT and a neurosurgeon operated to remove the film."

"Were you able to do it?" Sam asked.

"Thankfully, yes. It was adhered above and below his vocal folds, but there is considerable swelling and tissue damage at the site," Janet told them. She stopped the two outside Daniel's door. "We had to insert a tracheotomy in order for him to breathe, so don't be alarmed when you see it."

"So, he can talk now?" Sam asked.

"Well, presently there's too much swelling for him to talk. In a few days we're hoping the swelling will subside and then we'll begin to work on vocal production."

"But he will be able to talk," Sam reiterated.

Janet deliberated her answer.

"Janet? Janet, he will be able to talk, right?" Sam asked. She felt her heart beating a wild cadence inside her chest.

"Physically, there shouldn't be any problem," Janet said.

"Physically?"

"During the surgery, we performed a palpitation of the arytenoidal cartilage, a CXR, a cervical spine series, a thyroid scan, a CT and MRI—Hell, we even did a laryngeal electromyography. Every test indicates the vocal folds are able to function," Janet said.

"But..."

"But for some reason he's not able to mouth words. He's not able to understand simple commands," Janet told her.

"Are you now concerned with an injury to the brain?" Teal'c asked.

"Well, that's just it," Janet said. "According to our scans, there has been no injury to the cerebral cortex."

"You said yourself that these...people healed him of his injuries," Sam said. "Is it possible he did have some sort of closed head injury, and they healed it?"

"Not without there being residual dead or scar tissue, no," Janet explained.

"So, this is..."

"I'm not sure what it is," Janet said. She continued to walk toward Daniel's room. "When you speak with him, try to remember to slow it down a bit, keep your sentences shorter than you otherwise would."

"It really is that bad?" Sam asked.

"Yes, Sam, I'm afraid it is," Janet said. She opened the door for Sam and Teal'c to pass through.

The quiet room seemed highly decorated compared to the spartan surroundings of the infirmary. The clean white walls and the light blue privacy curtain that draped around the bed glowed in the afternoon sun pouring through the window.

When Sam and Teal'c entered the room, they found Daniel staring out the window, his eyes brilliant blue with tiny dots for pupils. They could hear the slight rasping of air, but with his mouth closed, they knew it had to be coming from the stubby white button protruding from the base of his neck.

"Daniel?" Sam said, ashamed to find herself affected by the sight. She cleared her throat and stepped to the side of his bed. Teal'c joined her.

Daniel was unaware of their presence. He was drawn to the warmth of the sun upon his face. Drawn to the quiescent comfort of its heat. So many days and nights he had spent cold and shivering, and the ambient sunlight helped to further remind him that he was home. That he was safe.

But things follow you home from peregrinations into the horrific. Images and memories and muscular twinges were a constant reminder you that you were once not home. That you were once not safe.

The solace of the radiant light transmuted into the consuming fire of The Ring, and the beast began to scratch against the sheet...

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...

"Daniel?" Janet said, taking his hand, stilling it, letting him know she indeed had heard him speaking. "What is it?"

Daniel turned away from the light and to the two small hands holding his.

"Are you with me?" Janet asked him while she caressed his fingers.

"Janet, what's going on?" Sam asked, her fear increasing while she took in the lost and anxious look on Daniel's face.

"He spells," Janet told her, patting Daniel's hand. "With his fingers, he spells words. Right?"

Daniel focused on her gentle mouth and let the words fall into place. Spells. Fingers. Daniel blinked and nodded.

"I think it's the only way he could communicate for a long time," Janet said, wanting nothing more than to brush her fingers against the side of his face, comfort him with a light touch, a hardy embrace. She knew it was neither appropriate nor would Daniel readily accept it. Maybe another time. Maybe never again.

"Daniel?" Sam said, stepping beside Janet. She looked back to see if Teal'c still stood by her side. "Daniel, Teal'c and I just wanted to see how you're feeling."

These were his friends, he knew. These were the faces he conjured up in those confusing and painful moments when he needed something in which to take shelter. Daniel glanced from the blue eyes to the dark skin, and for the first time in many months, found the ability to smile—a slight, tenuous show of his relief.

"Hi," she said. Sam leaned over and kissed him above his eye. She pulled away, and his eyes followed her, holding her focus with tenacity.

"It is good to see that your convalescence has been progressing satisfactorily," Teal'c told him.

Daniel squinted, concentrating on Teal'c's mouth, and found the effort to understand draining.

Sam smiled, knowing that Teal'c's syntax could be challenging even at the best of times. "Daniel, Colonel O'Neill sends his best," she lied.

Colonel. Daniel turned the word over and over in his mind until it shone bright. Daniel pulled a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. The sound, the sound. He could see the colonel's face, he knew it was the one he was thinking of, but the sound, how to convey the sound...

Daniel held his hand up in front of his face and pointed his finger. He watched his finger trail through the air and hook to the right. It didn't seem correct. Daniel grimaced and waved his hand.

"Daniel? What?" Sam asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Again he lifted one finger in the air, drew a long, choppy line and then paused at the bottom. Right or left? He pressed his lips together and concentrated. His pointed finger wavered in front of him waiting for the designated direction. Left.

"Was that a..." Sam started, looking to Janet and Teal'c. "Was that an...L?"

Daniel dropped his hands to the bed and pressed his head back into the pillow. A thin sheen of sweat beaded his upper lip.

"It's okay," Sam told him. "Take your time."

Daniel lifted a hand to his head and pulled his hair out of his eyes. He could visualize his friend, could see the darting black eyes, the scarred brow, the glinting hair. Frantic, Daniel rummaged through his memory for the way he used to gain the colonel's attention. What was the sound? A bubble of a thought floated in his mind, coming tantalizingly nearer, always to be carried away on an unseen current of air. Closer. Come closer...

"Janet, do you think if we gave him a pen and some paper?" Sam asked, turning to the doctor.

Janet grabbed Daniel's chart and the pen from her breast pocket and placed them on top of the bedside tray. She rolled the tray over to Daniel's bed and offered him the pen. "Here, Daniel. Try it with this."

Daniel grasped the pen and held it over the paper on the chart. He held the pen in his hand, crushing the end with his frustration.

The sound! There's a sound for him!

Daniel stabbed the paper with the pen and began to etch out...

...up and down and up and circle, circle, circle...

Sam craned her neck to read the scribbling. "No?"

Daniel pulled in his lip and bit it hard. His head shook and the sound of air entering his trachea became more laborious. He hammered the pen against the chart and tried again.

Up and down and up and...

Exasperated and afraid, his brow knotted with tension, Daniel stared at the paper and knew that wasn't right. That's not right. It's not right. Why can't I get it right?

"Daniel, stop," Sam said, holding his hand and the pen still, keeping it from nailing all the way through the chart.

Daniel threw down the pen and pressed both hands to his eyes. His chest rocked with mute tears while he sucked in harsh air through the small tube in his throat.

"It's okay, Daniel," Sam said, covering his hands with hers. She felt her own frustration and fear surfacing. "It's okay."

Daniel pushed her hands away and began slapping his head. Slapping and hitting his skull with his fists. Chastising itself for not being able to do the simplest things. Disciplining the beast for being so stupid.

Teal'c grabbed Daniel's flailing arms and pulled them away from his face. "Be still, DanielJackson."

"No! Teal'c!" Janet yelled, wrestling his hands away from Daniel. Teal'c looked at her puzzled, but relinquished his hold on Daniel. "That'll only scare him more."

The frightened creature pulled its arms to its face and turned onto its side. Shaking hands covered the side of its face, anchored its fingers in twists of hair. The tremulous beast waited and waited and waited some more for a beating that would not come. Finally, gathering up a grain of courage, the beast looked into the faces of those who would hurt him and saw neither the glaring eyes nor the readied fists, but familiar faces. Friends. Daniel dropped his hands to his pillow and closed his eyes, ashamed that he once again had shifted away from reality.

"Daniel?" Sam said, trying to use a soothing tone to calm him. She bent forward to be closer to him. He opened his eyes, but dared not look at her. Not yet. "Daniel, sweetie, I'm here. Teal'c is here. Janet's here. No one is going to hurt you." She reached for his hand and when he neither pulled away nor indicated that he didn't want her to touch him, she slid her fingers across his and with a gossamer's touch, held his hand.

Daniel let the feel of her hand meld with his before pulling it to his chest. He pressed her fingers to him and wept silent tears.

And pled with the silence to give him back his gifts, give him back his life.

"That's fine, Doctor Jackson," Shirley Neville, the speech pathologist, said. Her doughy hands gathered up the picture cards from the desk and returned them to the deck. She placed four more cards onto the table in front of Daniel. "Now, please find the smallest block," she said, folding her hands before her. She looked over her purple-framed reading glasses at the man sitting across from her, dressed in a light blue hospital gown and a dark blue robe.

Daniel studied the cards and repeated the words to himself—find block—but the pictures on the table looked the same, and even so he wasn't sure what they were. He rubbed his eyes and stared hard at the pictures. Daniel pulled the thick pile of the robe closer around his neck. Cold. It was always too cold in the room. No matter how close he held his arms to his body, he never seemed to warm up. Daniel twisted his fingers around each other and pressed them against the meager warmth of his cheek while he studied the meaningless pictures.

"Which one is the smallest?" she said, taking one card away.

Smallest. What...what does that mean? he thought. Smallest...

Shirley removed a second card and kept her voice even and calm. "Which box is smaller? Is this box big?" she asked, pointing to the card with the primary colored box. "Or is this box small?"

Daniel untangled the chilled snarl of fingers, lowered his cheek wearily into one hand and picked up the card. He stared at the box, studied the bright colors of the sides, blinked a few times, and let the card fall from his hand. Crushed by the complete inability to understand even the smallest damn thing, Daniel raked his hands through his hair, covering his ears with both palms.

"I know this is frustrating," she said. "It probably feels like a black hole that's swallowing up your ability to communicate. I'm sure you're very angry."

Daniel closed his eyes and tried to block out the intrusive noise of the speech pathologist, but two of her sounds penetrated his brain and threw up clear, concise images in his mind—angry, frustrating. Yes, I am angry. I am frustrated.

"We'll work together. We'll put this behind you," she said gathering up her tools and cards. She placed them in her tote bag and stood beside him. "I'll see you tomorrow, Doctor."

Her hand touched his shoulder in a brief show of support, and that one innocuous contact started the rigor again in earnest. Daniel forced each of his trembling hands inside the opposite sleeve and screwed his eyes shut so tight he could hear the blood rush through his ears.

And then he could hear the sound of hoarse, raspy air flowing in and out of his tracheotomy. He concentrated on the rhythm, focused away his anger and his fear on the undulating rale, until nothing existed but the sound. Until he was alone again, cold and shivering, with only his body's overwrought cadence to fill his mind.

Shirley stepped outside the room, and the young guard stood at attention. The halls of the Academy Hospital were well known to her, so she passed by him and offered the guard a pleasant smile but did not wait to be given one in return.

The heels of her shoes clicked against the linoleum floor, and her legs created a gentle swishing accompaniment. She made quick work of the short distance between Daniel's room and the doctors' conference room where his neurologist, his ENT, his CMO and CO were waiting for her assessment. She wished she would be able to tell them it was a simple deviation, but it simply wasn't that easy.

Shirley stepped into the room and was greeted by Janet Fraiser, who introduced her to the roomful of people. Shirley took her seat next to Janet and once again folded her soft, round hands together.

"I believe it is Broca's aphasia," she said, her voice level and to the point.

"I agree," said Doctor Schubert, the neurologist.

"Broca's aphasia?" General Hammond said.

"Yes, sir," Shirley said. "Broca's aphasia is characterized by patients who have a great deal of difficulty expressing themselves. What's more, the patient is keenly aware that he is unable to do so, and this only adds to the problem."

"Obviously, you were unable to assess his verbal skills," Doctor Columba, the ENT, asked.

"That is correct. I tried to get him to mimic vowel placement, but he steadfastly refused," Shirley told them. "Now, the good news is his writing skills are substantially better than most Broca's patients."

"He can write?" Doctor Schubert said, taking notes.

"With some limitations, yes."

"Doctors, I am under the impression that aphasia occurs after a trauma to the brain. Is this correct?" General Hammond asked.

"Generally, yes. When there is a TIA...a transient ischemic attack where there is a sudden and temporary blockage of blood to the brain—especially in the left cerebral hemisphere, aphasia does occur," Doctor Schubert said.

"But I have also heard you say that there was no injury...or TIA of any sort to Doctor Jackson," the general said, becoming disheartened by the duplicitous nature of the prognosis.

"That's true, General," Janet said.

"Then which is it, Doctors?" the general asked, eyeing each one.

"It most definitely is Broca's aphasia," Shirley told him.

"And it does not seem to originate from any neurological trauma," Doctor Schubert said.

"From the standpoint of physically being unable to talk, that point is a non-issue," Doctor Columba said.

"Which means?"

"Which means, more than likely, the aphasia stems from a severe traumatic event," Janet concluded for her colleagues. "Certainly having one's ability to speak taken away in such a manner constitutes a traumatic event, especially for Doctor Jackson."

"I'd have to agree," Shirley said.

"So you're saying this is a matter for mental health, not medical science," the general said.

"I'm saying we should consult with mental health, yes, most definitely," Janet said. "I'd like to make the call when he's more physically able to speak."

"Certainly," General Hammond said.

"In the meantime, I'll continue working with Doctor Jackson," Shirley said. "Whether it's emotional or physical, he'll need someone to work with him. It's been a long time since he's talked."

General Hammond gathered up his notes and rose from the table. "I appreciate your time, doctors. Thank you for your efforts concerning Doctor Jackson."

"Yes, sir," three of them said, rising for their superior officer. Doctor Shirley Neville nodded her acceptance.

"My schedule today is tight. Doctor Fraiser, please give my best to Doctor Jackson. Tell him I'll check in on him when my schedule is more accommodating," the general said.

"Yes, sir. I will."

"If there's nothing more..." General Hammond said, opening wide his hands to accept any other comments. When he received none, he said, "Very well. Meeting adjourned."

Janet Fraiser had certain qualms about giving Jack O'Neill the results of his cholesterol test. It really had nothing to do with the numbers, per se (although the gloating about what a perfect specimen of a man he is was fairly humorous). It was the actual thought of carrying on a normal conversation with him that bothered her. His attitude had been subdued and gloomy when Daniel was missing, but it had absolutely deteriorated since Daniel's return.

Still, Janet was not only Jack's doctor, but also she was the SGC's CMO and as such, it was her responsibility to apprise the team leader of the health and welfare of his teammates.

The problem was, Jack carried this terribly disconcerting aura with him that the health and welfare of Daniel Jackson meant about as much to him as the health and welfare of Maybourne.

She decided to make a quick "touch and go" in his office, give him the results, and then try to hold her tongue.

Janet knocked on his door and waited for the answer.

"Yeah? What is it?" came Jack's voice from behind the closed door.

"Colonel, it's Doctor Fraiser."

"Come on in, Doc."

Janet pushed open the door took a few steps into his office. "Colonel, I have your cholesterol test results. Your good cholesterol level is..."

"Look, the numbers mean squat to me," he said, letting the pen topple from his fingers onto his desk. "Just tell me—am I good or bad?"

Janet bristled. "You're fine."

"Good," he said, picking up the pen and continuing on with his work. Janet stood watching him, chagrined by his brevity. Jack sensed her indignant presence and glanced up. "Yes?"

"Nothing, sir. I was just wondering if there were any other questions I could answer for you," she said.

"About my health? No," Jack said.

"Fine. Thank you for your time, sir," she said, hoping to get the hell out of his office.

"How is he?"

The uttered words stunned her. She almost didn't want to acknowledge them. Let him wonder, she thought. Let him ask himself over and over how his best friend was, wallowing in a sea of vexation. But she was an officer, and as such had to act like one. "Doctor Jackson is undergoing speech therapy and other neurological tests, sir, to find the cause for his aphasia."

"Aphasia?" Jack asked, laying down his pencil.

"Yes, sir. Doctor Jackson is, for whatever reason, unable to speak."

Jack stared at her with callous disregard. "I thought you took out that thingy-majig."

"We did, sir," Janet offered, in as cold and clinical a tone as she could muster. "We believe his aphasia is a result of his severe emotional trauma."

Jack let her words skitter past his mind. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to be bothered with it. He picked up his pen and continued to write. "I'm sure you're doing everything you can."

Janet felt her cheeks flush with bitter anger. "Yes, sir. WE are."

Jack bore down on his files and papers, attacking them with a vehemence he'd never shown to paperwork before. Finally, after a moment of thunderous silence, he sat up and glared at Janet. "Is there anything else, Doctor?"

"No, sir. Not in the least." Janet marched out the door and decided an hour of punching the heavyweight bag was in order.

"Hi, Doctor Neville," Sam said, entering Daniel's room.

The portly woman continued sliding cards and sheets of paper into her tote while she looked up and said, "Hello there, Major Carter. How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you," Sam said. She stepped over to Daniel's side and rubbed his back. "Hey, Daniel."

Daniel glanced over his shoulder and gave her a fragile smile.

"We'll see you tomorrow, Doctor Jackson," Shirley Neville said, tipping her head genially to Daniel. "Good work today." Shirley touched Sam on the hand and pointed to the door.

Sam hesitated a moment and then leaned over and told Daniel she'd be right back. Daniel nodded and pulled one side of his robe tighter around his body.

Meeting out in the long, antiseptic corridor of the Academy Hospital, Shirley clasped her hands in front of her and regarded Sam with a kindness most unusual for a military setting. "Sam...may I call you Sam?"

"Yes, ma'am. Please do."

"Sam, today Daniel and I worked on phonation. He can, with some difficulty, produce sounds. It's very uncomfortable for him, but he needs to practice." Shirley flicked her stubby eyelashes behind her half glasses. "It's not hard to see that you two are very close."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're his best hope for regaining his voice," Shirley told her. "Talk to him. Try to get him to talk to you."

"Of course, sure," Sam said. "but..."

"All he has to do is take a deep breath and cover his tracheotomy opening so the air passes his vocal cords," Shirley said, answering Sam's unspoken, hesitant question. "Don't...don't be surprised if it's only a whisper. There's quite a bit of dysphagia there."

"Dysphagia?"

"The muscles that help us to swallow, chew and speak—they're very weak in Doctor Jackson."

"Oh, right. I'm sure they are."

"So, see if you can get him to talk a little, all right?"

"I'll do my best," Sam told her.

"Your friend...it's fairly obvious he's a shattered soul."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam agreed.

"You'll get him to talk, hmmm?"

"I'll try my best."

"Fine. Well, you have a nice day, Sam."

"Thank you, ma'am." Sam watched Shirley saunter down the hall before returning to Daniel's room.

"It sounds like you're really doing well, Daniel," Sam said, pulling Shirley's chair next to Daniel's. She took his hand in hers and smiled cheerfully to him.

Daniel watched her warm hand, swallowed up in his larger hand.

"That's some mean bed head you got going there," she joked, looking at the knotted tuft of hair at the back of his head. She reached forward, pulled her hand back, and then decided to keep going. She pushed an errant lock of hair from his eyes, noticed the tease of gray within, and found herself pulling her hand away once again, as if the gray were repulsive. As if it symbolized every bit of color that had been stripped from his spirit. She smiled, hoping he couldn't feel how nervous she was, and said, "Yup, you've got quite a tangle back there."

Daniel pawed at his hair, suddenly self-conscious.

"Oh, Daniel. No. I didn't mean...It looks fine," Sam said, and realized that he had been able to successfully process her words. Her mouth curled into a heartfelt smile. "Hey, you understood. That's great, Daniel."

Daniel's face shot up and he regarded her with a mix of surprise and scant happiness. His eyes fluttered and a smile, slender and fleeting, crossed his lips.

"Wow," Sam said, beaming. "Wow. I've missed that smile, Daniel."

But the clarity of her words was lost again, sucked up into the nebula in his mind. He lowered his eyes and pulled his hand away from Sam's.

Please don't do that, she thought. Don't leave me again so quickly. Stay for a while. I miss you so much. She choked back the knot forming in her throat. "So," she began, clearing her throat, "Doctor Neville told me you tried talking today. How was that?"

Daniel pressed both hands onto the table in front of him. He saw each of his ten fingers, splayed out on the smooth surface. Ten digits—two thumbs and eight fingers. He noticed each knuckle, the way the slightest movement caused the tendons below the dull skin to jump.

"Daniel?"

The hands grasped at nothing, holding the beast to a wall that it was pinned against by a brutality that pierced the beast. It watched the hand slide across the wall while its body screamed, roaring with dissociative pain. Thunderous puffs of air protesting the act with sacrificial vehemence. Thunderous and impotent. Thunderous.

"Daniel?" Sam said again, touching his face.

His eyes, filled with the beast's memories, lifted from his hands and settled on her face. He knit his brow, pinched his eyes down to mere squints and wanted her to hear him. Hear the terrible pain in his body. He focused all his energy on her, as if to say, "Keep thinking, Sam. It will be apparent to you if you just keep thinking."

Sam searched his eyes, darting from one to the other, while flashes of speculative fear shimmied down her spine. She fumbled trying to pick up the pencil from the table and placed it in his hand. "Tell me, Daniel. Tell me."

Daniel tilted his face down and saw the pencil between his fingers, obscured by his distorted vision. He turned over his hand and pressed the shaking pencil to the paper. With great effort and halting motions, he found one word...

LOUD

Sam read the word and peered into his tear-filled eyes. "What's loud, Daniel?"

He turned his face to her, silently pled with her to just keep searching, keep asking. I'm here, Sam. Keep looking for me. I'm here. Please find me...

Sam squeezed every muscle in her torso trying to hold back her tears. When she finally spoke, her voice warbled. "What's loud, Daniel? Am...am I too loud? Me?" she asked, pointing to herself.

Daniel choked out a sob, grateful that she understood him. Yes, you. Find me.

"Should I speak quieter?" she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. Her lips trembled with restrained emotion.

Speak...speak? Qui..qui-er...Daniel closed his eyes and slumped in his chair. No. I don't understand...He pressed his palms to the side of his head, wishing the beast would leave. Wishing the abominable images and crashing memories would become quiet. Quiet. Daniel grasped the pencil and with great hesitancy drew out a word.

QIET

"Right," she said, finding a slight reprieve in his one-word interpretation. "Right. I said quiet." Sam pulled in closer to him, stroked his back. She swiped her hand under her nose and asked, "I should be quiet?"

Daniel concentrated on her lips, on the words they were forming. I be quiet. No, Sam. Scream for me. He shook his head back and forth.

"I'm sorry, Daniel," she said, her heart filling with remorse. "I wish I could understand you. I'm so sorry. But..." Sam stopped, sniffed away her tears and took his thin face in her hands. She pushed his long, scraggily bangs away from his eyes, wishing away the odd gray hairs. "...but we'll figure it out. You and me. We'll figure it out, okay?"

Daniel touched his lips with two tremulous fingers and reached across to touch Sam's. Scream for me, Sam. Scream.

He hadn't worn street clothes in, God, it seemed like forever. They hung on him, barely holding up on his waist, slumping over his shoulders like a cape. The more layers he wore, the more the superfluous material clumped and bunched up. He had to constantly pull down his t-shirt so that the collar wouldn't get in the way of his trach.

The only things that felt right were his shoes. Something about binding them, tightening them around his icy feet made him feel secure, made him feel like he had some control.

"A few minutes," Janet had said. "I'll come get you in a few minutes, and then we'll get back to the SGC."

She had said that, but could she be sure? People say all sorts of things they can't possibly promise...

Daniel sat in the chair next to the window picking at the dead skin on his thumb. He picked at it, held his thumb next to his lips and thought. While he thought, he rocked. While he rocked, he remembered.

"You can't do this."

He rocked and remembered his voice.

"You can't DO this!"

He held his forehead in his hand and rocked and remembered the pain.

"Please, don't do that."

He clenched his hands over his ears and began to sweat and could feel the hands. The Others' hands...

"Don't! Don't! No!"

He tucked his chin in tight and drilled into his skull with his nails and could taste the rancid brine.

"NO!!"

He rocked and rocked, and they wouldn't go away and he could feel his fingers scrape a painful motif into his scalp—

Up and down and up and circle, circle, circle.

From that moment on it was silence and folding and moving inward and away and hiding and forgetting and forgetting and forgetting. From that moment, when his world imploded and he was powerless to use his greatest gift to halt the destruction, it was endless, relentless hours and days and weeks and months of scrambling to escape into the silence.

Here. Take these things, these useless, obsolete, inefficient words. Take them. They are all I have. Take them as payment for a place to hide. I don't need them anymore. They are worthless to me now and only serve to remind me of who I am. Who I was. Who I...See? The "I" is no more. See? See how pointless they are? Take them, please. Take them and let me disappear into your unceasing reticence.

He rocked, and the hands stopped holding him down, and the pain dissipated, and the acrid recollection left his palate. Only the silence remained, and it consumed him.

Open your mouth, the surd taunted him. Open and speak. I have them all here, waiting for you to seize them back, but you won't, will you? You won't. You are afraid. You are weak. You would rather abandon your treasures to the infinite vacuum than open your mouth. The others have given you some, but I have the rest. Go on. Open your mouth. Why are you afraid? Part your lips, and I'll let them trickle back, a polluted stream through mired sludge, until you have them all, millions and millions of inutile baubles.

Daniel rocked and grasped hold of the chair arms. He rocked and tried to work up the courage to meet the challenge. He rocked and gnashed his teeth together but forced his lips to part. And then his tongue pressed against the bony ridge behind his teeth, and his lips made a ring, and he snatched back his first word...

"No."

He had received the memo from Fraiser; Teal'c had informed him twenty minutes after reading the memo; Carter had poked her head into his office and made a comment to the effect—Daniel was back at the SGC. Daniel was in the infirmary where he would continue to recover, and wouldn't it be nice if you could just stop in and say hi, Colonel?

Just stop in and say hi.

Jack paused just before entering. Paused outside the door and quashed his desire to just let things be as they were. He didn't know what to say or how to act even, and going with his instincts (which seemed to work for him, but somehow always managed to piss people off) wouldn't help anyone at that point.

He looked inside the room and saw him there.

There he was. There was Daniel Jackson, wearing the ubiquitous white scrubs, the ever-present Air Force blue robe, the ridiculously ineffective disposable slippers, and all because Daniel disregarded Jack's direct order all those damn months ago.

Filled with an unquenchable anger, Jack watched Daniel stare at a pencil, held up close to his eyes, examining it as if it were the one artifact that they had been searching for all those years.

What a stupid waste of time, Jack thought, punching open the door. "Hey, Daniel."

Daniel's stunned expression shot up and just as quickly he looked back down.

"Carter thinks I've been avoiding you. I'm not. I've been busy," Jack phlegmatically said, pulling up the back of his pants. He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pulled air through his pursed lips. Jack played with a canker on the inside of his cheek with his tongue and blinked. "So, I hear that..."

"Sorry," Daniel mouthed, his eyes shifting from Jack's face to Jack's chest and back down to the floor.

"How's that? I, uh, I didn't quite..." Jack said, stepping nearer.

Daniel reached for the pad of paper next to him and scribbled a note. He turned it to Jack—sorry.

Jack straightened up from the crooked position he had taken to read the note. "Sorry for what?"

Daniel pulled the pad back, notated a quick line and handed it to Jack—Not for orders.

Jack crumpled his brow. "What?"

Daniel looked at the note and ripped off the top sheet off. He tried again, writing almost in a panic, as if Jack might leave in the middle of the sentence—not follow orders.

Jack read the note with a carefully crafted apathy and tossed the pad back on the tray. Apologies and excuses—hollow, empty words that meant nothing and changed things even less. Jack walked to the second, unoccupied bed in the room and sat on it. He hooked his heels on the lower rail, wove his fingers together and refused to acknowledge the plea for forgiveness.

"You remember Aris Boch?" he asked. "Big guy; cool toys."

Daniel sagged back in his chair, dejected and drained. He lowered his chin, rubbed his eyes and nodded. A frigid draft snaked across the back of his neck and down the collar of his robe. Daniel tightened the neckline and drew up his quaking shoulders.

"Seems he knew a guy who had a friend who once dealt with a guy who thought he heard of someone who might have known something about you. Eight short months later, here you are," Jack stated, never once changing the stoic, somber expression on his face. "That's my side of the story; what's yours?"

Daniel grabbed the pencil off the tray and held it for a brief moment in his shivering hand before beginning to write. When at last he had scribbled out the details to the best of his recollection and ability, he tossed the pad onto the bed between his chair and Jack, and rubbed his hands together against the cold.

Jack glanced at the pad and then at Daniel who stared somewhere other than at Jack. Jack hopped off the bed, pushed his sleeves up and picked up the pad, coughed a little and read it at arm's length—

—Went Eporian. Knock out. Wake up on ship. Maybe three week holding sell cell. Took us 10. Sent to diff planet. Holding cell. Sold, think. Them.

"Them?" Jack read from the note. "Who is 'them'?"

Daniel's mouth opened and closed, he blinked a number of times, shook his head and shrugged.

Jack looked him over, wondered if he was telling him everything. "Well, doesn't matter. You're back." He stepped toward Daniel, dropped the pad of paper onto his table, and began to leave.

Daniel tapped the table and held up one hand, hoping Jack would wait until he finished writing. Jack turned back, stymied by Daniel's call to him, and when he turned it was with great drama, showing his irritation.

Daniel made quick work of the note, keeping a watch on Jack, making sure he wasn't leaving. He let the pencil fall and handed Jack the note.

"You're sorry," Jack said, reading the note. "I know. You already told me." He passed it back to Daniel.

Daniel took the note and folded it in half and then half again and half once more. He pinched the tight folds between his blue-tinged fingers.

Jack looked around the room, pretty sure he was finished for the day. "I, uh, I have some work to do," he said. He ran a hand through his metallic hair. "I...I'll check in on you...later."

No, Daniel thought, his eyes darting from side to side. He bit his lower lip and slapped his hand against the table to get Jack's attention once again. He hunched over the table, wrote as fast as he could, tore off the top sheet and thrust it out in front of him for Jack.

—came for info? That all?

He stared with bitterness and anger at Jack, daring to look Jack in the eye.

Jack took the paper and read it. His head bobbed up and down. He knew what Daniel was asking. He heard the insinuations, even through the perfunctory words. "Well, you know reports. Things needed to be cleared up, other..." he continued while Daniel began a new note, "...other things need to go forward. Protocol and all."

—get came for?

Jack didn't even take the note out of Daniel's fist. The script was hurried, almost illegible, but the acrimony was clear. Daniel breathed quick, raspy air through his tracheotomy.

Jack squinted his eyes and regarded Daniel with as much indifference as he could muster. He took a deep breath and said, "You think of anything else, have someone call me."

And then he was gone, and Daniel was left with only the pounding of his heart in his ears to fill the silence.

"Sir, may I come in?" Sam said, just outside Jack's office.

Jack put his lacrosse stick back in the corner and plopped down in his chair. "Sure, what's up, Carter?"

Without one more cautionary thought, Sam stepped into the subject. "Sir, it's about Daniel."

"Oh, here we go..."

"Sir, have you been in to see him lately?"

"As a matter of fact, Carter, I was just with him yesterday."

"How did he seem to you?"

"I don't know, Carter," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. "Why don't you tell me how he seemed?"

"Sir, I think he would really like it if you talked with him more."

Jack pressed forward and drilled his elbows into his desktop. "Don't start, Carter. I'm not in the mood."

"Sir," Sam said, continuing, "he's lost, and he needs all of us..."

Jack shot a hand into the space between them. "I'm warning you, Carter."

"Sir, you're Daniel's friend..."

"See, now that's where you're wrong," he said, suddenly on his feet. "I'm not his friend; I'm his CO. Seems that's where Daniel misunderstood things as well."

"Whoa! Do you really mean that?" she asked, daunted by his indignation.

"Carter, goddamn it, you're an angstrom away from insubordination. And, ya know, maybe that's my fault. I let you all take too many liberties where orders are concerned. Well, that's over. I'm the CO; you're my 2IC. If you have a problem with that, I can see to it that you're reassigned."

"No, sir," Sam said, standing her ground. "I don't have a problem with that."

"Fine," Jack seethed. "Dismissed."

Sam tilted her head to the side to hide her incredulity from her CO and then marched out of the office.

It was a rare occurrence for Teal'c to leave the mountain unaccompanied, but under the circumstances, he believed the situation called for a talk between friends.

He knocked at Jack's front door, filling his lungs with fresh air, punching up his massive chest.

Jack opened the door and looked down his driveway, not knowing what to suspect. "Teal'c? What's goin' on?"

"I believe it is time we had a discussion, one male to another," Teal'c said, waiting with genteel manners on Jack's front stoop.

"Yut, okay," Jack said, letting the mountain of a man through his door. "Can I get you anything?"

"I require nothing, O'Neill."

"Well, I think I require a beer and a shot," Jack shot back. "Sit down. Make yourself at home."

Teal'c stepped into Jack's living room and took a seat in the chair closest to the heat of the fire. Teal'c had grown accustomed to this Tauri representation of home and heart—crackling logs, a welcoming fire. But Teal'c felt nothing of the warmth and hospitality associated with the scene. He sensed only bitterness, a cold disregard for the suffering Daniel Jackson battled against.

Jack returned with an opened bottle of beer. "You play chess, Teal'c?" Jack asked, setting his bottle next to a mahogany inlaid chessboard. Jack began to place each gleaming piece in its appropriate square.

"No, I do not. However, I am fully aware of the objectives."

"Then, by all accounts, you could play."

"I cannot."

"Sure you can. It's a classic game of strategy. Come on, I'll teach you," Jack said, spinning the board.

"That is not why I'm here, O'Neill."

"I'm sure it's not," Jack said, "but I think I'd rather play a simple board game than get into it with you over Daniel Jackson."

"I come to you tonight as your friend, O'Neill, not as a member of SG1."

"Well, friends play chess together," Jack said, taking a swig of his beer. "You can even go first."

"Is it not your motto that no one person shall be left behind in battle?" Teal'c asked, disregarding Jack's words.

"I'm not sure if I could take credit for it, but, yeah, I've been known to say that...from time to time." Jack sat back on his couch and propped up one foot against the table.

"Have you not, in effect, left DanielJackson behind?"

Jack glared at Teal'c across the neck of his beer bottle. He took a long draw, narrowed his eyes and let the amber bitterness spill across his tongue. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"I believe, in your anger, you are leaving him behind once more," Teal'c said.

"He's home. He's being cared for. I believe I had some part in that," Jack remarked, showing only a touch of resentment.

"Does your responsibility end there?"

"I don't need this, Teal'c," Jack said, sipping his beer.

"I am wholly unconcerned with your needs, O'Neill," Teal'c said. "I am concerned with DanielJackson's welfare."

"And I'm facing facts," Jack said. "The fact is he's damaged goods. Now, we can either coddle him, or we can be realistic and move on."

"If he is, in fact, damaged goods, is it not our duty to help him through his ordeal?" Teal'c said, his voice lowering while he maintained his studied grasp on equanimity.

"That's not my responsibility," Jack said, finishing off his beer. With care and precision he placed the empty bottle on the back row of the chessboard. "Nowhere on my uniform does it say nursemaid."

"I am referring to your responsibility as his friend."

"Well, now, let's talk about that one, shall we?" Jack said, rising from the couch and walking with feigned exuberance to the kitchen. "Friends, in my humble opinion, respect each other," he called from the kitchen where he procured a second beer. "I only remind you of that because I'm taking it in the ass here from you and Carter about me not being Daniel's friend." Jack lowered himself onto his couch once again, opened his beer and tossed the cap onto the chessboard. "So, respect. Would you agree that that is one of the cornerstones of a friendship?"

"I would indeed."

"Fine. So, continuing along that line, would going against orders, defying my directives—does this show respect?"

"If you are referring to DanielJackson's field behavior, I believe the point is moot. The situation is decidedly different now, as you have pointed out. He is no longer in the field with us."

"That's a good point, T," Jack said, tipping his bottle to Teal'c. "And because Daniel is no longer able to be part of our fieldwork, he is no longer part of SG1."

"But he remains our friend."

"See the thing about that is Daniel gets off on being a pain in my ass out in the field. I get frustrated with him, he talks circles around me, and that, my friend, is the basis of our friendship. He's not talking—so I hear—so THAT point is moot. Our friendship, it would seem, is inextricably bound by the SGC." Jack sniffed with haughty self-approval and took another pull on his bottle.

"He is still within the SGC," Teal'c said through clenched teeth.

"He's in the infirmary, Teal'c. He's not in SG1. And while we're at it, why is it he's even in the infirmary? Oh, right! He was being...friendly with—who?—the sons of bitches who took him, not—-who?—the one he keeps saying is his friend. Well, he chose his friends poorly this time, and I wash my hands of it." Jack emptied his beer with one long gulp, placed the empty bottle in the back row on the other side of the board.

Teal'c rose ominously. "O'Neill, I have fought by your side for many years now, and I have come to know you well. And although I have many more years of combat experience than you, I never once gave you anything but my respect and my allegiance. I have respected and will continue to respect your authority as leader of SG1." Teal'c stepped in front of the coffee table. "This situation, however, extends beyond the bounds of our unit, so I am compelled to speak my true feelings."

"Which are what, Teal'c? Just spit it out."

"I believe your behavior toward DanielJackson is reprehensible in the worst kind. You have not only turned your back on him, you have given up on him. If seeing your authority questioned has hurt you, so be it. But keep in mind, my friend," Teal'c said, leaning forward and taking the beer bottle on his side of the board into his hand, "the pain that DanielJackson has suffered and continues to suffer is greater than your petty concerns." Teal'c grasped the bottle on Jack's side of the board and replaced it with his. He tipped Jack's empty bottle over on its side and nodded in respect to him.

Teal'c walked to the door and let himself out.

Jack sat watching the overturned bottle list and roll, fall over the edge of the board, across the table and onto the floor with a startling crash.

Sam uncovered the dish on Daniel's tray. "Yeah, well, I'm not really sure what it is."

"I believe it is meant to be a pasta based dish," Teal'c offered. He voraciously attacked his bowl of noodles with enigma sauce.

Sam sat the cover aside and poked a straw into Daniel's milk carton.

Daniel snatched the carton out of her hand and shook his head.

"Sorry," she said, brushing the condensation off her hands.

Daniel finished readying his meal, all the while maintaining his steely silence.

Dinner with Sam and Teal'c had become habit, at least while they were on base. They'd bring their trays and one for Daniel to his room in the infirmary, and each would take a seat, desultorily meandering through a number of topics, all the while striving to maintain Daniel's focus and level of expanding comprehension. Some days, even Janet joined them.

His days were spent being filled with moments such as his dinner experience—people wandering in and out, rehabilitating his voice, working on his ability to function, making sure he didn't have a moment to himself. Not one moment to be silent, to retreat into the binding, constricting, safe quiet in order to regroup.

They kept coming and challenging him and frustrating him and angering him until the words stopped catapulting off the pages, until the cacophonous significance of sounds began to make sense. They pushed him sometimes beyond his limits until four words, five words, six words became a sentence roaring with multidimensional meaning. They prodded him endlessly to repeat repeat repeat. Good, now one more time, Daniel. That's it. Take a breath. Good...

And he was sick of it. And he was tired of the infirmary and the constant checking in on him. He was tired and frustrated by it all, not the least of which was the awkward tube jutting out of his neck.

"A few more days," the ear, nose and throat man had told him. "It's all looking good, but just to err on the side of caution, let's give it a few more days. Any problems with that?"

Problems with an opening in his neck? Aside from the occasional plug of mucus, the uncomfortable pressure placed on it when he had to speak or cough...except for those minor things—no, it was fine.

"Daniel?" Sam said, touching his knee.

Daniel looked up, gazed at the unfamiliar face staring back at him until it morphed into the features he knew very well. He lowered his eyes, frilled with lashes, and continued to poke at his food with his fork.

"Teal'c and I were just saying the weather is supposed to be nice this weekend," she said. "Would you like to get out of here?"

Daniel paused to let the entire string of words settle, and then, relatively sure he understood the invitation, he shrugged.

"Is that a yes, a no, a maybe, or an 'I don't understand'?" she asked.

He furrowed his brow and thought about the outside world, and couldn't conjure up on succinct image of what he missed.

"Come on. It will be fun, and it would be good for you to get some fresh air."

"While you're out," Jack said, stepping into the room, "why don't you get a hair cut?"

Daniel pushed his plate forward on his table, suddenly not in the least interested in eating.

"Colonel," Sam said, surprised by Jack's appearance.

Jack sauntered over to Daniel's tray, his hands deep inside his pockets. "So, Daniel..."

Daniel propped his elbow up on the armrest and smoothed out the deep ruts in his forehead.

Jack picked up the spoon off Daniel's tray and tapped a bowl full of orange Jell-o. "You gonna eat that?"

Daniel shook his head and wished Jack would just leave them to their quiet little dinner.

Jack took a bite of the gelatin and then tapped the spoon against Daniel's mug. "Coffee? You supposed to have caffeine?"

Her instinct to protect Daniel, even from Jack, was on full alert, and she wasn't going to let Jack goad Daniel into any provocation. "It's decaf, sir," Sam told him.

"Cool," Jack said. "So, getting back into the swing, huh?"

Daniel ignored Jack, largely because Jack's colloquialism didn't quite make sense to him. He was fairly sure it wasn't the fault of the aphasia.

Jack gave Teal'c a sheepish glance, who nodded almost imperceptibly to him, acknowledging that he understood the gesture Jack was attempting to make.

"So, Daniel, how's that feel?" Jack asked, pointing to the trach.

Daniel self-consciously rubbed his neck and nodded. His hands began to shake and he found that in the few passing moments, his mouth had turned to cotton. He picked up his glass of water and tipped it to his lips, but in a moment of missed signals between nerve endings, the water splashed against the back of his throat, and Daniel began to choke. He dropped his glass, and his hand slapped against the opening of the trach, and he coughed and spluttered, sending water across the table and floor and himself.

And then he started to panic.

The beast threw its hands up in front of its face, dropped to the floor, tried in desperation to clean the mess. Its hands rubbed frantic circles into the linoleum using only the cuff of its shirt to sop up water.

Sam knelt down next to him and tried to pull him up. "Daniel. Daniel, it's all right. Don't worry about it."

When it raised its face, the beast's eyes were wild and frightened. Its body shook and its eyes plummeted to the floor.

"Daniel, it's not a big deal. What's going on?" Sam asked, taking his hands, holding them still in her lap. "You just choked, that's all. Doctor Neville told you that might happen. Your muscles are weak. It's not a big deal."

The beast shook its head and it remembered the lessons. No, it thought. This is my mess. I shouldn't have gagged. I'm sorry. I won't do it again...It pulled its hands away from her and began to dry the floor more fervently.

"Daniel," Sam said, touching his face, trying to be as gentle as possible, "don't worry about it. One of the orderlies will clean it up. It was just an accident."

The beast maintained its focus on the floor, just as it was taught to do. It stared and waited for the discipline it knew was coming and it knew it deserved.

"Should I call Janet?" Sam asked, glancing from Daniel's shaking body to Teal'c and the colonel.

"No," Jack all but whispered. He watched Daniel quail and recoil from enemies known only in his convoluted mind, and suddenly Jack was ashamed of himself. Ashamed of being so unforgiving and of being so cold. "No, just...let him ride it out."

The beast waited. It sat trembling and waited for the fists and the hands and the pain. It waited, and when only the silence surrounded him, he began to wonder, and Daniel peeked into the faces of his concerned friends.

"You okay?" Sam asked, hooking his bangs behind his ear.

The muscles in his jaw quaked. He slumped against the wall and crushed his hands into his eyes. This, too, he was tired of. This splitting, refracting sense of self—it was exhausting and terrifying.

"Sam? Teal'c?" Jack said, never taking his eye off Daniel. "Give us a minute, would ya?"

Sam looked over Daniel and wondered if this were such a good idea. He was pale and confused, shaking his head.

"We just need a minute to talk, Sam," Jack assured her, knowing he needed to apologize to her as well. "Please."

"Major Carter," Teal'c said, motioning toward the door. He understood this fragile moment, this time of Jack's mea culpa, and Teal'c fully intended to allow it to happen.

"Yeah, okay," Sam said, rising but never breaking her physical connection with Daniel. She touched his arm before reluctantly letting go, assuring him that she'd be just outside if he needed her. When she stood to leave, Sam shot a look at Jack, warning him not to mess with her. This was personal. This had nothing to do with rank.

"He'll be fine," Jack said. He set his jaw and nodded his head, and Teal'c and Sam vacated the room.

Daniel turned in his chin, tucking it against his chest, and hid his eyes from Jack. He wanted no part of a pep talk from Jack. He wanted no part of an apology. Not now. He just wanted to be left alone.

"You all right?" Jack asked, pushing the tray table aside, sweeping the broken glass away with his boot.

Daniel nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose, while the few remaining vestiges of the hypermnesia diffused.

"Trip down memory lane?" Jack asked.

Daniel nodded again.

"Can I help you up, or can you do it on your own?"

Daniel waited a moment before answering. Waited until he was fairly sure his legs, vibrating still from fear, could hold weight. He pushed himself away from the wall, grasped onto the chair and settled himself down, all the while keeping his shame hidden from Jack.

"How ya doin'?" Jack asked, sitting in the chair opposite Daniel. He crossed his long legs and propped his elbow up on the armrest.

Daniel's knees began to pop up and down, propelled by nervous energy.

Jack pulled his fingers over his end-of-the-day stubble and decided he needed to be straight with Daniel. "Look, Fraiser wants to send you to Mental Health. I think I can speak for you by saying you'd rather not go there." Daniel nodded once more. "Okay, then, here's the deal: You have to give them a reason not to send you."

Daniel shifted in his chair, shook his head and contorted his face in a series of expressions.

"Okay, well, one, you have to start speaking," Jack told him. "That's all there is to it. So let's talk. Right now. Tell me something."

Angrily, Daniel lifted one specifically chosen finger for an answer.

"Well, now technically that counts for two words, but since it was a gesture, I'm not going to allow it," Jack told him. "With your voice, Daniel. Let's talk."

Daniel shook his head and flat out refused.

"Come on, Daniel. You have to talk."

Daniel picked up a pencil on the adjoining table.

"No," Jack said, seizing the pencil from Daniel's hand, " I want you to talk, not write."

Daniel cocked his head to the side and closed his eyes. What right did he have? Daniel thought. What goddamn right? He pressed his fingers to the opening of the tube and sucked in a deep, throaty breath. "Hard."

The harshness of Daniel's aspiration and the abraded sound of his voice stunned Jack, but he soon recovered. "Hard. What's hard?"

Daniel glowered at him, pulled in a deep breath through the tracheotomy, covered the opening and said, "Talk...talking...hard."

"I don't care," Jack told him. "Suck it up. Figure it out. Deal with it, but start talking. The constant head bobbing is making me dizzy."

"When..." Daniel began, lifting his chin, "you...see me bobbing?"

Jack chose to ignore the jab. After all, Daniel did have a point, but it was time to go forward. "Look, nothing says wack-city like silence. So..." Jack waved his hands in the air, cuing Daniel that it was time to speak. Daniel wasn't buying. "So, talk to me."

Daniel evaded the order by turning away. He tightened his expression and refused to listen anymore.

"Fine. You want to go take a little holiday in MacKenzie's funhouse, be my guest," Jack said, "but if you want to stay here, among the land of the not-so-drugged, you're going to have to talk. Your choice, Daniel."

Daniel's shoulders slumped. He straightened back up, and they slumped again. He lifted his hand to the trach and said, "Fine."

"Good, now, next thing: You've been taking pretty good stock of your navel lately. It's not goin' anywhere."

Daniel scowled.

"Hey, you don't look at people, they think you've got something to hide. Daniel," Jack said, "look at me."

Look at Jack. Look at Jack and let him see what I don't even want to see? Daniel thought. Look him in the eye when I know better than to do that?

"Daniel," Jack said, his eyes and expression tender, "look at me."

With his fear of the outcome of such audacity and willfulness fully engaged, Daniel forced himself to raise his eyes and directly look at Jack. It lasted only a moment, and then his heart began to race, but the profundity of safety within those black eyes was something Daniel needed, something he had lost long ago on a planet whose name he didn't even know. He lowered his eyes again, but kept with him a modicum of home.

Jack's heart clenched watching Daniel avoid looking him in the eye. He almost had him for a moment—filled with fear, his blue gaze had locked on his for an all too brief flicker. Then it was gone. Jack knew it was probably his fault, that if he hadn't been so full of damn pride and his own pain, that maybe Daniel would be able to meet his focus.

"Look, I know I've been...unavailable. And, yeah, I'm sorry about that. I am, Daniel. I wish I could..." Jack stopped and raked his hand through his hair. "The point is this: I'm here now, and I want to make sure Fraiser and the rest don't railroad you into going to Mental Health."

Daniel agreed with that. He nodded.

"I've screwed up. I know. But," Jack paused, "so did you when you walked away on LW3-657."

Daniel threw his hand to his neck. "I...say...said I s-sorry."

"I know. And it's over, but if you want me to protect you, you're going to have to do what I say."

Protect, Daniel thought. He was absolutely unconvinced anyone could protect him. Still, he nodded.

"No, I need to hear it," Jack reminded him.

Daniel rolled his eyes and rasped out the word, "Okay."

"Good," Jack said. "I'm gonna let Teal'c and Sam back in. We understand each other? You follow these simple orders and you'll be fine."

More orders, Daniel thought. Will I be able to? What will happen if I...can't?

"Good." Jack rose from his seat, poked his head out the door and crossed to the open bed where he sat so the others could finish their food among the chairs.

"You okay, Daniel?" Sam asked, returning to her seat.

Daniel nodded, and Jack cleared his throat. Daniel touched the opening of the trach and said, "Yes. Okay."

Sam, surprised by the actual words, glanced at Jack and then Teal'c. "Wow. Well, good."

"Is there anything further you would like to eat, DanielJackson?" Teal'c asked.

He began to nod when he saw Jack out of the corner of his eye. Daniel forced himself to look at Teal'c. "No. I...okay."

Jack nodded, satisfied that Daniel was going to follow the protocol. He was sure things would change for the better now, and he was rather pleased with himself for finding the right mixture of compassion and pathos.

"Hey," Sam said, changing the subject, "did you hear Major Grand is getting married?"

While the subject floated around him with no great consequence, Daniel wrapped his chilled hands around his tepid coffee mug to keep them from shaking.

"Okay, that's it. I'm done," Jack said, trying to rub some feeling back into his posterior. "I've waited long enough. I sit here much longer and I'll need a hip replacement."

"They said they'd be back...shortly," Daniel said, rummaging through the pockets of his vest in search of a stick of gum, a mint, a protein bar—anything.

"Who's to say what shortly means to them, Daniel?" Jack shot back. "No. We're outta here."

"Now, hold on a minute, Jack," Daniel said, abandoning his search. "I think we ought to wait. They said they'd be back. I said I'd be here. I'd like to, you know, be here."

"And what if they do come back?" Jack asked. "What are we going to learn that we don't already know?"

"Well, I won't know that unless we wait," Daniel said, letting his head fall to the side to show his frustration.

"Look, Daniel, I think Colonel O'Neill is right. I mean, this entire mission has been a bust. They come out of their homes. They look us over. They go back in. They send one out to say they'll be with us shortly," Sam said. "Something tells me they're just yankin' our chains."

"Exactly," Jack said. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

"And maybe they're trying to decide if they can trust us," Daniel said, lifting his hands in exasperation. "I think leaving at this time wouldn't be conducive to showing our trust."

"And I think leaving at this time would be conducive to staying on schedule, so let's move it," Jack said, walking toward the Stargate.

Daniel held his ground and shook his head. "No, Jack. I think we ought to wait."

"Daniel, I'm not in the mood. Plus, I'm hungry. You know how I get when I don't have my mid-mission snack," Jack said, relying on his sarcasm once again, and motioning Daniel to follow Teal'c, Sam and him.

"Why don't I just go talk to them, see what's holding them up?" Daniel offered, turning to the Eporian's home.

"Why don't you not, and save me the aggravation," Jack said. "Come on, Daniel. That's an order."

"I'll be just a minute," Daniel called back, jogging the twenty feet to the adobe style home.

"Tell me he didn't just defy me," Jack asked of Sam, who shrugged in reply. "Worse than a damn child. Daniel!" Jack yelled. He began to stride toward the home, digging his heels in with each step.

Daniel turned his head and waved Jack back. He turned the corner into the common area between the homes and was met by a terrific jolt of pain. Within seconds he was on the ground, gagged and bound, pulled through the gravelly dirt to a point where his captors all stopped.

A split second before Daniel's body slipped away in a stream of matter along with his three abductors, he saw Jack's face screaming at him. Saw Jack pull up his P-90 and fire. Saw his friend, furious and combative, for the last time.

Eight months later, Daniel sat in his room in the infirmary, his throbbing head held in one hand, while his other hand drew one long, continuous circle on a pad of paper.

Why didn't I just do what I was told? he asked himself. Jack was trying to protect me. I walked right into an ambush. Why didn't I follow orders?

Around and around, until the pencil lead wore away the paper below it. Until the sheet under it began to wear away.

Jack was trying to protect me, and I was so stupid.

Hundreds of concentric circles bit through the paper without the least amount of awareness on Daniel's part.

So stupid.

Compulsively and unaware, Daniel continued to draw until the lead snapped and the shattered end of the pencil thumped against the paper. Stunned, Daniel stared at the mess—specks of graphite littering a hole dug into paper. He let go of the pencil and carefully picked up one of the torn-away, pea-sized paper circles from the rest. He held it between his fingers and concentrated on it, wondered why this tiny circle of paper edged with black made sense to him. He looked it over and found it to be perfect and simple and marvelously contained—an entire universe within its circumference. The Objective Universe, where reality is only real for those in the center. Where reality comes down to what you make of it. Where things can be fine and safe and calm if you decide they will be.

If you decide what the rules are. If you realize you can't make the rules anymore.

Daniel pressed the piece of paper into the palm of his hand and focused on it until his heartbeat slowed, until all he could see was the whiteness in the center.

Until he was the nucleus of this Objective Universe and his trajectory would be one of following rules.

Following Jack.

Daniel and Jack walked at a leisurely pace through the halls—leisurely for Jack; a little too quick for Daniel. He let his eyes wander around the familiar surroundings, the buzz of activity. Had it always gone on so quickly?

"How's it goin'?" Jack asked while they walked. "You all right?"

"I think...thought I walk faster," he said, while an airman passed on his right. "Guess I...Guess I'm still weak."

"You'll get there," Jack said, patting Daniel on the back, which elicited an immediate flinch. "Sorry about that."

Daniel shook his head and rounded out his lips to control his breathing. Touching, especially from behind, was more than he could deal with. He'd have to make that clear to Jack and the others, but he'd have to do it without telling them why. Without having to understand why himself.

"This shouldn't take that long," Jack said, peering around the corner to make sure no one would run into the two. "But during it, at any time, if you need to stop, just tell me."

Daniel nodded, not because he couldn't say the words, but because the long walk was taking a toll on his cardio-vascular system, so used to recovering in the infirmary. The muscles in his legs were beginning to twitch and burn, and a thin layer of sweat cooled the back of his neck.

"Why don't we take a wheelchair?" Jack had said in the infirmary when Daniel was ready to go. Daniel was a thousand light years away in memory and so didn't answer. Didn't even hear. Jack took Daniel's silence to mean that he'd rather walk—a man has his pride and all—so Jack shook his head and said, "Better yet, let's walk. The exercise will do you good."

That part Daniel had heard. Daniel really didn't think he was up to the quarter mile walk, but it was part of the bargain he had made with Jack—do what Jack says, and everything will be fine.

Daniel wanted everything to be fine. In a desperation he couldn't articulate, he needed everything to be fine, so he said, "Yes. Walk. Okay."

A few feet from the briefing room, and everything was fine. Jack had kept his promise, so Daniel began to relax in the fact that he could walk and be all right. Jack was right. Trust Jack.

"Doctor Jackson, it's a pleasure to see you here," General Hammond said, offering his hand in welcome to Daniel. Daniel looked at the hand a moment and then took it. The general pumped his hand with a certain amount of care but also with great affection, and then motioned for him to sit down.

Daniel glanced around the room with a distinct measure of self-consciousness. A video camera had been set up at the end of the table to record his words, sparse as they may be. Sam touched his hand as he passed, smiled for only him to see; Teal'c bowed his head and held the chair for Daniel; Paul Davis reached across the table to shake Daniel's hand.

"It's great to see you again, Doctor Jackson," he said, closing both hands around Daniel's. "You're looking well."

Daniel slipped his hand away from Paul's and nodded, tried to smile. Then he took his seat.

General Hammond looked at Daniel and gave him a brief smile, hoping to reassure the young man, perhaps even give him a boost. "Our goal for today is to get your interpretation as to the events leading up to and surrounding your eight months away from the SGC. It will be video taped, as all our debriefings are, and you will be asked a series of questions, both by me and by Major Davis." General Hammond opened his file and looked over the young man, a mere husk of his former self. "Doctor Jackson, is there anything you need before we begin?"

Daniel's hand trailed up to his trach. He covered it with a light touch, cleared his throat and croaked out, "Water...please."

"Allow me," Paul Davis said, feigning his cheer. He stepped to the sideboard and picked up the pitcher of water and a glass. The vibration of the carafe against the glass was the only outward sign he showed that Daniel's appalling condition and wrecked voice unnerved him. He turned back around, handed the glass to Daniel, saw the ragged scars on his wrist and sat down. Paul took a tissue from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his upper lip.

"Let's begin with...LW3-657," General Hammond said, running his hand across his notes.

"W-where do...you want start?" Whether it was the tube in his throat, the ten sets of eyes riveted to him, or the terrible burden of having to think back, Daniel could barely make himself heard.

General Hammond glanced quickly at the video camera. "I'm sorry, Doctor Jackson, but if you could be so kind as to speak up a little..."

Daniel frowned and nodded. He took a sip from the water and tried again. Daniel placed the pad of his finger over the tracheotomy. "Is...this better?"

"Yes, thank you, Doctor."

"When I go...no—went talk with Eporians, um, I was...hit, um..." Daniel touched the back of his head, showing them where he had received the blow. "I remember...uh..." When the words would not come, Daniel wound his hand around his wrist and looked to Jack to interpret the meaning.

"Bound, sir," Jack said, looking at Hammond.

Daniel nodded. "Uh, they...drag me to middle ground. I don't know what...um, what way they bring me ship. To ship."

"That's the last thing you remember about LW3-657?" Paul Davis asked.

Jack's angry eyes, his voice furiously screaming out Daniel's name—this was his last memory. Being taken away from Jack because he refused to comply, this was Daniel's final memory from LW3-657. This was his underlying pain.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Jackson, was that a yes or no?" Davis asked.

"Yes."

"What happened next?" General Hammond asked.

"Nothing. I was in room for I believe...um, twenty days."

"Were you alone?"

"No. Um, twenty-four when we begin. Began. Seventeen, I think, when we land."

"Seven others died?" Davis asked for the group who had never heard this gruesome fact before.

Daniel lifted the glass to his lips and sipped, taking care not to choke. He placed the cup back down, keeping his hand against the cool side. "Yes. Um, three sick. Two die of injury, yes? Uh, two kill each other."

"There were fights aboard the ship?" General Hammond asked. "Those in the room with you fought against each other?"

Daniel looked at the general trying to sort out the correct phrasing. "No," he said, blinking his eyes. "They kill...um..."

"They killed themselves?" Jack offered.

Daniel nodded and began to feel a familiar chill settle into his body.

There was an inaudible yet palpable gasp from those present in the room. This was the darkness of the memory that Sam was afraid would come. She had sat through hundreds of debriefings before, but none had made her feel as if the questions were intrusive. She wanted to rush the camera, throw her hands over the lens and demand the inquisition be ended. They were only days into the memories of those lost months, and already she felt as if she had heard enough. As if she and the others had no right to know more.

"All right," General Hammond said, understanding they need not pursue that any further. "After the twenty days. What happened next?"

"Reached different planet and...eight taken. Me and seven more. Um, taken to room. I was only human. Uh, two Unas, three...Jaffa, one that I don't...I not sure what." Daniel pulled his cold hand into his shirtsleeves, leaving only one finger free to press against the trach. He slid his other hand under his arm for warmth. "Um, in room we—uh, if we wore clothing—were...stripped?" Sam nodded that he had chosen correctly. Daniel went on. "Uh, in line and...I'm sorry. I don't know word. Um..." He crushed his eyes shut and concentrated on finding the icon for who or what had purchased him.

"Take your time, Daniel," General Hammond all but whispered.

Daniel nodded his thanks to the general.

"You okay?" Jack asked, leaning toward Daniel.

Daniel shook his head and blurted out, "Beings."

"Excuse me?" Paul Davis said.

"Beings entered room to...look over us. One stop...stopped in front me and..." and pried open my mouth with his short, clawed finger, and then smacked me to the ground when I bit him. They laughed. They all just laughed.

"Daniel?" Sam said, touching his arm.

Hadn't he been speaking? Hadn't he told them? "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Paul Davis said. "You said someone stopped in front of you. What happened after that?"

"I think...um, uh..." Daniel paused, tried out the word first in the silence of his mind, and then rasped, "sold."

General Hammond shook his head, disgusted by the thought. "You were sold? Are you saying someone or something bought you?"

"Yes."

Paul Davis wondered what question he could possibly ask next that wouldn't sound cruel. Nothing. There was absolutely no reason to examine why anyone would buy or sell Daniel Jackson. He didn't want to know. He didn't think others needed to know. He went on. "Where were you taken next?"

"The being who...took me a different ship," Daniel said. "Excuse me." Daniel took another sip of water. His throat ached from the constant talking, an act which he was certainly unaccustomed to. He rubbed his hands together to warm them while he tried swallowing against the scratchiness in his throat.

Jack touched the armrest of Daniel's chair. "Daniel, we can..."

"No. I'm fine," he said, waving Jack off. Jack removed his hand and sat back in his chair. "I was place...placed in um, box—no, cage—for travel."

"How long were you in transit?" the general asked.

"Hard to say. My guess, four days," Daniel told them.

"During which time, how were you treated?" Paul Davis asked taking notes so he wouldn't have to actually show Daniel how abhorrent all this was to him.

"How was I treated?" Daniel asked.

"Yes. Were you fed, given time outside the confinement, allowed to shower, use facilities?" Paul asked, knowing it sounded naïve.

"I was fed," Daniel said. And beaten and given a glimpse at what my life would become, such as it were. Daniel's hand fell to his lap and he lowered his tired eyes.

Davis turned the pages of his report, readied his pen and asked, "Did your captors ever try to gain any information about the Stargate Program?"

"If they did, I...I would...wouldn't know," Daniel said.

"Daniel?" Jack said, placing his hand on Daniel's slumped shoulder. Daniel's head shot up. "Do you want to take a break?"

Daniel shook his head and then remembered what Jack had told him. He closed the opening of his trach and said, "I'm fine."

"Doctor Jackson, do you have any idea who it was that...procured your services?" General Hammond said.

Even with his aphasia, Daniel thought the use of the phrase 'procured your services' seemed an appropriately grim euphemism, and General Hammond had no idea the dark humor he had just conjured up in Daniel's mind. "I...I never knew. Um, they d-d-did not speak."

"These...people," the general asked for clarity, "they didn't speak to you?"

"No, sir," Daniel said. "They had no...oral lan-language."

Paul Davis put down his pen. "Then how did you communicate?"

"I didn't."

"Daniel, how did they communicate to each other?" Sam asked.

Forbidden glances of angry faces. Eyes turning him to cinders with a hate filled look. Exaggerated silent conversations, punctuated by pugilistic fear tactics. Unheard commands that only became clear after punishment. Commands that all the others but Daniel understood.

"I think...they were, um..." Daniel shut his eyes, "...yes, telepathic."

"They could read each other's thoughts?" Paul Davis asked, looking to General Hammond to see if the general understood the importance of the discovery.

"Yes."

"Were you ever able to find a way to communicate with them?" he asked.

They beat me. They slapped me. They dragged me. They...they...Yes, we communicated very clearly. "Somewhat."

"But why did they put that liner in your throat?" the general asked. "Did they not, in effect, take away your primary way to communicate with them?"

"I think they...maybe if I can't talk, I can learn...uh, telepathy?" Daniel as much asked as said.

"They muted you so you could learn to be telepathic, and you bought that?" Jack asked.

"Colonel," the General warned, shooting Jack an irritated look. "Doctor Jackson, is it your assumption that you were muted in order to better communicate with the alien beings?"

"Yes," he said, and as soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew he had created another layer of deception around his already multi-layered psyche. Daniel lowered his head and rubbed his eyes.

There was a silence that filled the room while each began to digest the horror of what had happened to Daniel. Finally, Paul Davis resumed his questioning. "Doctor Jackson, while you were with these—I'm sorry, but were they people or some other form of life?"

"Most were...uh, very similar to...humans."

"Fine," Davis said, making a note of it. "When you were with these people, what function did you have?"

Daniel had prepared for this answer over the last few days, knowing it would be asked. "I was, um...you call domestic."

"You were a servant of sorts?" the general asked.

"Of sorts, yes," Daniel said, unable to meet the general's eyes. Daniel's swallowed against his sore, burning throat and the rancid lie he had to now ingest.

"Only a few more questions, Doctor," Paul Davis said. "In her reports on your medical condition, Doctor Fraiser said that there was some sort of healing device used on you repeatedly. Can you describe it, and was it at all like the Goa'uld technology we are familiar with?"

Daniel closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. Concentrate on the words, not the memory. Words. "A circle of...of light. Like MRI only...very pain. Painful. I don't know how works."

"Interesting," Paul Davis said. "Were the effects of the light instantaneous or did they only aid in the healing?"

"Instant," Daniel told him, not ready to open his eyes.

General Hammond took in the pallor of Daniel's skin and decided that any further questions could wait. "I think that's all for the day."

Paul Davis said, reading over his notes, "Actually, I had—"

"They'll have to wait," the general told him.

Paul looked up from his notes and watched Daniel lift a trembling hand to his forehead. "Yes, sir," Davis agreed, closing his file.

"Doctor Jackson, we thank you for your time. We may ask that you join us again in a few days, but until then, you are excused."

Jack helped Daniel stand up, knowing from past experience how draining a debriefing could be. "Easy does it," he said, cupping Daniel by the emaciated upper arms and helping him from his seat. Jack gave a perfunctory nod to the general and said, "Thank you, sir."

Daniel stood, a little less than steady, nodded to the general and to the rest, and then let Jack escort him out of the room.

"You did good," Jack told him in an aside.

Daniel nodded, relieved that he had done well enough by Jack's standards. Relieved that by following Jack's directions, things had, in fact, gone relatively well.

This time when Jack asked if he wanted a wheelchair, Daniel heard.

And did exactly as Jack said.

Part 3

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