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Chapter Text

T-Shirt Series #1 - The Black T-Shirt

Saturday, August 8, 1998
5:30 AM

JACK O'NEILL

"Daniel?  Ready to go?"

It was early morning, just past five, but I had to be at the SGC in an hour for a 10:00 mission.  And on the way over, I had to drop Daniel off at Catherine Langford's.

It was the first time for all of us, our first mission, post Daniel-resizing.  I don't count the S&R off world for Ferretti and his team.  That had only lasted an hour and I considered it more of a wake-up call that something needed to be worked out for where Daniel was supposed to stay if I wasn't available.  I had thought of Catherine, but trust Daniel to have worked it out with her before I even had a chance to call her.  It was nice to know, at least, that we were on the same page.

Catherine had welcomed the idea, seemingly having no difficulty comprehending that Daniel Jackson, our SG-1 archaeologist/linguist/triple-doctorate-holding colleague was temporarily housed in the body of a five-year-old, with all the emotional baggage and daily, mind-boggling craziness that goes along with being a little kid. 

It was a difficult business, balancing this child version of my friend with the adult intellect.  I admit freely that I was winging it.  In the week since we'd been back on Earth, most of that time had been spent fighting the Powers that Be to allow him to stay at my place while we were waiting for Geb to contact us.

On our last mission, at the end of July, Daniel had been wounded by a staff weapon and brutally tortured.  He was about to die when an alien called Iasib had put him into a type of sarcophagus called a ka’kun, which, of course, had malfunctioned and left us with a three-foot tall version of Daniel. 

That’s when Geb showed up – and believe me, when this guy walks into a room, you don’t miss him.  First, he’s a freaking Goa’uld – but not your normal garden-variety, creepy-psychotic, bow-down-before-me Goa’uld.  Geb is a seven-feet tall, black as night, fatherly-type Goa’uld from an alternate reality – and if that’s not enough, he has a Tok’ra-type setup with his equally intimidating host Kemsa… although, come to think of it, technically, Kemsa is the one with the impressive body, and Geb is just the snake inside him.

So Geb eventually promised to help us get Daniel resized, but first he had to find the rest of his family who were missing.  And then he had to find a new ka’kun.  He seemed legit, but his return in a few weeks or possibly months meant Daniel was going to be short for the near future.

In the week since we’d returned from the planet, we'd hardly had time to just go about our normal lives, however abnormal they were.  Daniel had changed.  He cried suddenly if he got upset.  He was distracted more easily.  He got cranky if he needed a nap.  His food tastes seemed modified.  His temperament had changed, too.  He was still definitely 100% Daniel Jackson, yet... he wasn't.  It was hard to explain, hard to put into words, even among ourselves.

He wasn't even what Daniel Jackson would have been like at that age, because he had this vast reservoir of knowledge.  He was the size of a five-year-old; yet he'd been married.  We hadn't poked at that whole can of worms much.  Daniel talked about his wife Sha're, wanting to get 'taller' again so he could keep on looking for her, so we knew he felt something for her, even though it might have just been a sense of family and obligation.  I'm sure if this wait turns into months that all the SGC psychologists and psychiatrists and the whole ball of wax will want to sweep down and psychoanalyze him to death, but for now, a nice little letter from the President himself was keeping them all at bay.

Doc Fraiser was more concerned about the physical and, I guess, sexual abuse that Daniel endured on the planet before Iasib had put him in the ka’kun, but Daniel seems to have nicely distanced himself from that.  She only agreed to back off on it for now when it was clear that Daniel really didn't feel that had happened to him; in his mind it had happened to the Big him.

I was under orders to watch him carefully and report the slightest sign that he was going to freak out or lose it.  He’ll have some counseling sessions set up in a week or two, I imagine, but it was felt that as long as he seemed content, he needed time to first get his feet under him and get settled. Up to this point he'd been doing great, but he'd also been at the SGC, buried in paperwork and happy as a clam getting caught up on translating and whatever it was he did in that office of his. 

He was quiet in the evenings, and I didn't question or comment on his intense need to have me nearby when we were not on base.  It was as though when he was at his desk in his own office, it was easy for him to work and he didn't have to think about his situation.  But at home, at night, with no translations or paperwork, the demons came out, and he would sit close to me on the couch and watch The Simpsons, asking all sorts of bizarre questions about Marge's hairstyle and how old exactly were Bart and Lisa.  And if the show had been on so many years, how come the baby was still a baby?

I'm no dummy.  I knew he just wanted the closeness, and I generally let him call the shots.  I picked him up when he came to me.  I hugged him when he needed a hug.  If he was cranky and tired, I was big and mean and made him take a nap when he needed one.  But I didn't crowd him.  I didn't force him to be one thing or the other.  And I waited until he was sound asleep at night before I gave him a kiss on the forehead.

I knew he was my friend, not a kid.  But right then, he needed me to be more of a parental figure-type friend.  That's what Carter called it, anyway.  She had it all figured out.  I was "Father/Friend Jack -- although that sounded a little too “priestly” to me.  Carter was "Aunt/Big Sister Sam" and Teal'c was "Cousin/Big Brother Teal'c".  I didn't argue with her logic, whatever it was.  She said it all showed the pluralism of our relationship with him.  Or something like that.

Whatever.  It was all temporary, right?  Who cared what we called it?  Just a few weeks or months, we would tell ourselves.  Come on, it’s only for a few weeks, Daniel would insist to anyone who'd listen.

He was so serious that morning, rushing about packing what he'd need for four or more days.  I had told him the previous evening to pack for a week, which had startled him.

"But you said the mission was only four days, Jack."

I came and sat down on his bed, pulling him to stand in front of me.  "Hey, kiddo, you and I both know that a four-day mission can last a week or longer, if..." I struggled to find a safe way to word it, "if more time is needed."

He studied my face, as though worried I might know something I wasn't telling him.  Then he nodded.  "Better to over-pack, I guess.  Although I'm sure Catherine has a washing machine."

"I'm sure she does, too." 

So he ran about gathering items for his suitcase while I made some coffee for the road.  Then when Daniel popped into the bathroom, I hurried into his room and checked his packing job.  As I'd expected, his mostly empty suitcase contained two sets of navy blue oxford shirts and navy chinos, and two sets of beige oxford shirts and beige chinos -- outfits he considered to be his Stargate Command BDUs.  Five black T-shirts.  Three pairs of briefs.  Two pairs of black socks.  And my old T-shirt that he interestingly enough slept in most nights. 

Sigh.

I quickly added eight more pairs of underpants -- he was in a five-year-old body, after all -- and a handful of white socks.  His cargo shorts, light-up sneakers, velcroed sandals, and an assortment of clean, various colored T-shirts.  I didn't want Catherine to think I wasn't taking care of him.  Kid Daniel had more clothes than I do, and he'd only been living with me for a week.  And I wanted to make sure it was clear that he wasn't to work on projects all weekend, either.

Daniel returned to the bedroom just as I finished putting his BDUs back on top, his arms laden with texts and bundled paperwork.  I snapped shut the suitcase and fished an empty box out of the top of his closet.  "Use this."  I showed him how to put the books upright, so he could access things easier at Catherine's, and there was enough room left for his laptop.

"What about the rest of my stuff?" he asked, looking around the room.  After all the confusion of those first few days, he was really thinking of it as his place now.   We'd retrieved quite a few things from his apartment, and his bedroom walls were now lined with bookcases filled with... well... books.  Floor to ceiling books.  I think it made him feel cocooned and somehow protected.  It made him feel at home.

It made me feel stiff from carrying them all.

"Do you need any of these books in the next few days?"  I responded.  "If not, leave them here.  I'm not sure what your setup will be at Catherine's."

He ended up taking his alarm clock and leaving the rest.  "I have my keys, in case I need to get something from my Big place or from here," he announced, his gaze resting on his only photo of Sha're.  He carefully placed it in the box with his laptop.

"Good plan.  Let's go."  I picked up his suitcase and hoisted the box of books and supplies to one hip.  I didn't need anything of my own; everything I needed for the mission, I would get at the SGC.

Daniel scooted to the kitchen and retrieved my sealed coffee mug as was our week-old custom, gathered the Saturday morning newspaper, then, after I set the alarm, he closed and locked the front door after us.  We had got it down pat.

It was a quiet ride to Catherine's.  He stared out the window thoughtfully, brows furled.  Despite it being a "day off" for him, with no plans for him to go into the SGC until Monday, he was wearing his blue chinos, black T-shirt, blue oxford shirt, and his desert boots.  I think it made him feel like an adult.

The uniform was cute enough, but it was Saturday.  He should have been in Saturday stuff.  Hell, I was in Saturday stuff --  my beige cargo pants and a T-shirt.  I had hoped he'd get the hint, but I think this had already become a habit for him.  Or else he felt that he wasn't a part of us anymore if he didn't wear the BDUs.

The black T-shirt he was wearing was just so damned sad.  Kids shouldn't be in black.  Black is boring.  Black is solemn.  Black means work in our business.  Black means responsibility.

Whether he liked it or not, he still appeared to be only five.  Barely.  He shouldn't have been wearing black on his day off. I tried not to tell him what he should or shouldn't wear, but I admit that I was starting to get concerned.  We all knew that Big Daniel never was good about taking a day off.  This Short Daniel’s first weekend back on Earth had been quiet, just us doing errands, and I had hoped that after the hectic events of the week, this second weekend would also be a downtime for us.  He’d been back living with me officially since Tuesday but hadn’t settled in yet.  The plan had been for us to tackle all kinds of projects on Saturday.

Friday, though, a mission came up and, well, we're the flagship team; we had to go.  The whole point of us all arguing that we could make this setup of Daniel living with me and staying with Catherine when we were on missions was about to be put to the test.  We’re taking two members of SG-5 with us, though, so there’ll be five of us.  I know that two extras won't add up to one Daniel.

I looked at him again in the rear-view mirror, and his arms were crossed as though he were mad about something.  Probably mad he couldn't come with us.  He knew he couldn't -- he didn't even ask if he could -- but I knew if I were him, I'd be pissed off at the hand I'd been dealt.  The universe was beckoning, and all he got was a "Do Not Pass Go".

I wondered what he thought he'd do all day at Catherine’s.  Work on his computer?  Sit and read?  Do research?

And I wondered about Catherine, and what she had planned for him.  And the reclusive Ernest, her slightly crazy, live-in boyfriend... how would he handle being around a little kid?

I pulled into the side driveway of Catherine's treed property and drove to the rear of the large, pale yellow house.  Catherine had assured me that they rose early, and the 5:30 AM arrival time wouldn’t be a problem.  Sure enough, Catherine and Ernest were sitting on the back veranda in the dawn light, being served tea by her maid -- not Martha, the gracious blonde woman I had met before, but a younger, slightly built woman who was probably the night staff.  Catherine came from what my grandmother used to call "old world money".  She set up shop in Colorado Springs in the early 1980s, already pushing for the Stargate program to get up and running.  I forget now what they called it back then.  Certainly not 'Space Telemetry'.  And they didn't get the name of gate itself correct until Daniel showed up.

Catherine rose as the car approached, a wide smile across her face.  I waved, catching a brief glimpse of Daniel waving at her also.   He had known her just a short time before his stay on Abydos, but there was a comfortable connection between them.

I glanced to my right, to the wide landscaped, grassy lawn and secretly hoped Daniel would play out there among the flowers.  Get some fresh air.  I didn't like the idea of him sitting inside all day.  Yet I couldn't picture him running playfully after butterflies.  At least, not yet.

"Daniel," Catherine said affectionately as I lifted Daniel from the truck and set him on the bottom step.  She opened her arms, and he ran up the stairs and hugged her.  "I'm so happy you're here, Daniel."

"Thank you, Catherine," he said formally, stepping back from her.  "This means a lot to Jack and me.  Especially Jack, so he won't have to worry about me while he's gone."  Daniel whipped around and looked back at the truck.  "Jack, don't forget to leave my things here, okay?  I’ll need them."

"Oh, okay," I said, smiling at him.  He nodded quickly, his head bouncing up and down as he tried to sort it all out.  Strange how it appeared that work-related things seemed to process through the adult side of his brain, and everyday-life things usually seemed to be processed through the five-year-old side.

That settled, he turned and went straight to Ernest, seated at the patio table.  "Hello," he said, holding out his hand shyly for Ernest to take.  "Thank you for letting me stay here."

"The more the merrier," Ernest said, and I thought of the way he had looked a few months back when we found him, a castaway on a distant planet.  He'd gained a few pounds, but still looked skitterish.  He'd probably never really lose that.  Being absolutely alone for almost fifty years on another planet would do that to someone.

"Once again, I'm letting a strange young man into my house," Catherine murmured to me.  "I seem to be doing that a lot lately," she said, smiling affectionately at Ernest.

So were they sleeping together? my brain wondered, but fortunately my mouth didn't ask.

The maid had disappeared into the house when we arrived and now reemerged with a glass pitcher of orange juice.  Catherine motioned Daniel to sit on one of the veranda chairs next to Ernest.  "Jack, can you stay for breakfast?  It’s a little chill at this time of morning, but we enjoy the brisk air, so we thought we'd eat out here today."

"Wish I could, but I'll grab something on base.  I've got a meeting at oh-six-hundred."  I picked up Daniel's suitcase and the box and brought them up the veranda stairs.

"Jack!" Daniel admonished.  "Don't use military talk around Catherine.  She won't know what you're talking about.  Sorry, Catherine," he said, turning to her seriously.  "He should have said that he has a meeting at six o'clock this morning.  We tend to use military talk when it's just us guys."

"Thank you for translating, Daniel," Catherine said, with a wink in my direction when Daniel turned his attention to the glass of orange juice the maid handed him.  Navigating drinking from a glass was always a two-handed job these days and involved a lot of concentration for him to pick up the glass, drink from it, then set it back on the small round table next to him without spilling it.

Catherine followed me inside the house.  "He'll be in the room at the top of the stairs on the left," she said, indicating the route. 

I followed her directions up the stairs and into a room that I had expected to have a high four-poster, queen-sized, antique oak bed with a white chenille bedspread over it.  Instead it had a single bed with captain's drawers beneath it and a denim bedspread on top of it.  There was a table with a lamp and telephone, and large French doors opening to a small balcony overlooking the back yard. "Nice," I said, as she joined me.

"Do you think he'll like it?” Catherine said, smoothing the cotton pillowcases.  “My niece used to stay here when she was younger.  She was a bit of a tomboy then--everything had to be denim.  I had hoped Daniel would be comfortable here."

"He'll love it."  I glanced at my watch.  "I'm sorry, Catherine; I've got to get going.  General Hammond waits for no man."

Catherine followed me into the hallway, then lightly grabbed my arm, stopping me before I could go down the stairs.  "Jack--if I'm not out of line here--"

"Go ahead," I said, patting her hand.

"Jack, why ever is he wearing one of his uniforms?  Isn't that a bit extreme?"

So she'd noticed it, too. "Not my idea.  His."

"But a black T-shirt?  It looks so morbid on a small child.”

"His idea," I repeated.  "I packed some colored shirts in his bag.  See what you can do."

"I will," she said thoughtfully.  She'd commented on how cute he'd looked in his 'uniform' last Tuesday, but I absolutely agreed with her now that out of context, his black T-shirt land makeshift uniform looked sad and desperate.

"I've gotta go," I said again, shrugging my apology.  I turned and headed down the stairs quickly and out onto the back veranda.  "Hey, sport.  See you in four days!" I said, crouching in front of his chair.

"I'll be there, Jack."  Daniel surprised me by throwing his arms around my neck and squeezing me vigorously.  Then he took my face in his little hands and looked me in the eyes.  "You have to be careful, because I'm not there to take care of you.  Listen to Sam sometimes, and Teal'c, because you don't always have all the answers even though you think you do."

"I'll keep that in mind," I promised gravely.  I waved goodbye to Ernest and to Catherine who had just rejoined us, and went out to my truck.

As I drove away it was with a heavy heart, for my last sight of him was a pale solemn child sitting there on his day off on the back steps of a beautiful home, wearing that boring, dreary black T-shirt, yet surrounded by brilliant flowers and the dawn-kissed bright colors of summer.

I just wanted some of that color and life to be on him.  Was that too much to ask?

continued

Chapter Text

T-Shirt Series #2 - The Red T-Shirt

Saturday, August 8, 1998
5:45 AM

DANIEL JACKSON

Daniel sat on the stairs and watched Jack's truck disappear around the side of the house.  So this was it.  Jack was gone.  Daniel was really here, and Jack and everyone else was there.  Jack was going away on an adventure, and he was... not.  He was being babysat.

He scrubbed a tear from his face, hoping that neither Catherine nor Ernest had seen him.  How very Doug, he thought, shaking his head

Doug was what he called the part of him that came up with dumb kid ideas.  Daniel preferred to be Frederick most of the time; Frederick was the adult, the calm, rational, brilliant side of his brain.  Or was it that Frederick was part of his personality?  It was all a little confusing 

Either way, he had to get a grip.  Life was moving on.  Again.  Without him.

Fine.

Behind him, he heard Catherine's voice.  "Daniel, Yvette will be bringing our breakfast in a minute.  Come up here and join us."

And on with the show.  Sighing, Daniel stood up and stuck a smile on his face, tried to move it around a bit until he thought it might look fairly happy, then turned and went up the stairs.  "Thank you, Catherine," he said, at his most pleasant, because it wasn't her fault this had happened, and she was being very nice.  "I appreciate your hospitality," he added, because, after all, he wasn't a kid.

When he reached the table, Catherine pulled out a chair for him that was probably more like a bar stool or something.  It didn't quite match the other chairs, but it would get him to the right height at the table, which was again kinda nice of her.  This whole thing was kinda nice of her, letting him hang out at her place and everything.  She was a very nice lady.  He liked her a lot. 

Still, he had no way of actually getting on top of the barstool until he saw Yvette bring out a step stool.  At least he thought that must be Yvette, because who else could it be?  And she was wearing an apron.

Sucking his determination in, Daniel climbed up the little steps, sat on the bar stool, then gritted his teeth with embarrassment as the tiny Yvette struggled to move the chair forward along the slatted veranda flooring.  She stopped when he was a little too close--he could hardly breathe because the table was digging into his chest which made him feel a little wheezy--but Ernest noticed it and gave the chair a jarring kick which knocked it back an inch or so and Daniel thought it might also topple over, but it didn't.

"Thank you, Ernest," Daniel choked out.

"You are welcome, Daniel."  Ernest almost looked like he was going to get up and hug him, so Daniel braced himself, but then Ernest just picked up his tea cup instead.  "I knew your father," Ernest announced after a moment.

"You did?"  Daniel tried to think of how that could be.

"He came to rescue me when I was far away from here.  He was the first person I spoke to in many years."  Ernest sipped on his tea loudly, kinda slurping.

Oh.  Daniel didn't know what to say.  He looked over at Catherine, who just smiled at him and nodded a little sadly.

"That's where I've seen that Jack guy before.  On Heliopolis.  Jack was there, too," Ernest exclaimed and pounded the table as though he'd discovered something amazing.  "I knew I had seen him before."  He smiled triumphantly at Catherine.  Then he noticed Daniel's wide-eyed stare and leaned over towards him.  "I'm a little addled, you see," he said, confidentially.  "Some days, I think I'm making this all up, and I'm still there pretending to drink orange juice from a glass.  I wonder if I've slipped over the edge into insanity, but all this, it's so much more than I could have imagined, that I stop and think about it and have to admit, it must be real.  Right?" he asked, his face only inches now from Daniel's.

Daniel leaned slightly away from him, nodding quickly. 

Ernest went back to drinking his tea, then leaned towards Daniel again.  "Sorry to hear your father is missing," he said, a little too loudly.

"He's not really missing.  Just away for a while," Daniel said quickly.

Fortunately, Yvette brought out breakfast plates of fluffy scrambled eggs and warm biscuits and blueberry preserves, carrying all three of their plates at once just like in a restaurant, so Ernest's attention was diverted.

So apparently he would be Daniel Jackson Junior around Ernest.  Well, he could do that.  He would probably be Daniel Junior around Yvette and that other maid, too.  The nice day one.  At least, Catherine knew he was really an adult.

"What are you plans for today, Daniel?" Catherine asked, cutting his biscuit in half for him.

He almost told her not to do that, but she'd already done it, and now that he thought about it, maybe cutting the biscuits in half by himself might have been a little hard to do.  She should have asked though.  He'd have to think of some nice way of getting her to ask first and not just assume he couldn't do--

"Daniel?" Catherine asked, and one of her eyebrows went up a little bit, just like Teal'c's did sometimes.

"Yes?" he asked, trying not to stare at her eyebrows.

"What are your plans for today?"

Right.  She'd asked him that and then he had started complaining inside about the cutting the biscuit thing and hadn't answered her.  Because, really, it would have been nice if she'd asked him first before just cutting--

"Nothing planned?" she asked again, and he knew he wasn't doing too good a job of paying attention.

"I brought some translations I really need to get at and--"

"Nonsense," Catherine said, and poured more tea for Ernest.  "You'll do no such thing."

Daniel stared at her, his mouth hanging open in shock.

Ernest leaned over.  "We're going to the zoo," he said, very pleased.

Daniel looked at him warily.  "Why?" he asked, drawling the word out.

"Because I want to see the zoo.  I haven't been to the zoo since... well, for about sixty years at least.  I thought about it a lot when I was there, and one day I decided that when I got back, I would take time to see the zoo.  And I haven't done it yet, have I, Catherine?" Ernest asked quickly.

"No, you haven't, Ernest," Catherine said, putting jam on her biscuit.

"I don't have to go with you, though," Daniel said, trying to be very polite.  "You can go and have a good time with Catherine, and you don't have to worry about me at all.  I'll just stay here and get some work--"

"You'll go to the zoo with us," Catherine said, and Daniel thought she sounded a little too firm, considering he was an adult and all.  Although, when he thought about it, she talked to him this way even when he was thirty-two.

Daniel leaned over to her.  "Catherine," he said, softly.  "I'd really rather not go.  I've got stuff to do."

"It's going to be a lovely, sunny day out, and Ernest wants to go to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, and you and I are going to take him there."

Daniel huffed to himself and tried again.  "Wouldn't you rather just go alone with--”

"No."  Catherine reached over and put blueberry preserves on his biscuit.   "You need to help me here, Daniel," she said, barely audibly.  "It's all Ernest has been talking about, ever since he heard you'd be here this weekend, and with my bad leg, I don't think I can do that much walking."

Daniel stared at his plate, then nodded slightly, resigned.  He apparently was going to the zoo.  He looked up at Ernest.  "So.  The zoo?"

"The Cheyenne Mountain Zoo.  When I was a youngster like you, my parents used to take us several times a year.  I'm most curious as to what it looks like now.  Much more progressive, I'm sure."  Ernest looked over at Catherine.  "Is it time for us to leave yet?"

"The zoo opens at 9:00 a.m.  It's not even six yet, Ernest."

"Sorry for making you get up so early," Daniel said, picking up his biscuit.

Catherine laughed.  "Oh, this isn't early for us.  Alone on that planet, Ernest used to get up with the light and go to bed when it got dark.  It's been difficult enough for him to adjust, so I've tried to change my hours to match his."

"That's probably a good idea," Daniel agreed.  "I've been waking up earlier these last two weeks, too."

They chatted while they ate, mainly about the zoo and the exhibits that Ernest wanted to see.  Ernest wasn't sure if some of them would still be there or not, and was delighted to hear that the zoo had a website.  Ernest was very impressed by websites.

"I've always been partial to the gorillas, myself," Catherine said.  "They have a wonderful new enclosure for them.  "What is your favorite exhibit, Daniel?"

"Uh, I don't know," Daniel said, mashing the last of his scrambled eggs.  This Yvette was a real whiz at scrambled eggs.

"Daniel Jackson, if you are about to tell me that you have never been to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, I'll be very disappointed," Catherine said very sternly.

He wasn't about to tell her that at all. 

She waited.

He glanced up at her over the rim of his orange juice glass.

She waited.

He put down the orange juice glass.  "I've been busy."

"It's one of Colorado Springs' finest attractions," Catherine said, sounding very disappointed in him again.

Which made him a little mad.  "For your information," he said in a tight, hushed voice, "I've haven't been just hanging around having fun.  I've been fighting the Goa'uld and trying to find a way to rescue my wife.  Visiting the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo has never remotely made my list of things I need to do.  My wife is missing.  Do you know what that's like?"

"Do I know what it's like to have someone you love taken from you and missing for years and years?" Catherine whispered back, her eyes intense.

"Then you know that looking for her is my first priority."  He had tears in his eyes, but he didn't care.

Catherine had tears in her eyes, too.  "I'm asking you to go with me, Daniel, because the person I lost for years and years is back now, and he wants to go to the zoo, and I need your help so he can go."  She sounded very hurt and sad.   "I thought you of all people would understand."

Daniel blinked back his tears.  She needed help and really, he did understand when he stopped to think about it.  And she had done so much for him.  He had to.  "I'm sorry.  Of course I'll go.  I'm sorry, Catherine.  Don't be so sad," he said, patting her hand.

Ernest looked up from his empty plate, startled to see them both in tears.  "What happened?  What's wrong?" he asked anxiously, looking around. 

"Nothing," Daniel said, trying to sound excited.  "We're going to the zoo in a while, and Catherine really wants to see the gorilla exhibit.

"Excellent!" Ernest exclaimed.  "The gorillas!"  He leaned over.  "My memory may be addled, but I distinctly remember us one evening at the gorilla enclosure, Catherine, and--”

"Oh, hush!" she said, her cheeks reddening.  Yvette was taking their dishes away.  Catherine brushed some crumbs from her lap.  "If we're going to the zoo, we need to wear proper clothing.  I'm changing into a pair of jeans, and I suggest you do the same, Ernest.  Daniel, find something lighter and more sporty to wear."

"This is fine," he said, gesturing to his BDUs and black T-shirt.

"No, it's not.  This is a day off.  Even soldiers have time off, Daniel.  Even you have time off."  Catherine stood up.  "Now go to your room and get changed.  Upstairs.  First room on the left."

Daniel dropped from the chair and stormed into the house.  He was peripherally aware of Yvette looking at him from where she stood at the kitchen sink as he stomped past her and into the hallway and up the stairs. 

"She's treating me like a kid," Daniel muttered to himself, pounding his feet on each stair. "I'm not a kid.  Not a kid.  Not a kid.  Not a kid.  Not a kid."  He ran out of stairs before he ran out of temper, but he didn't slam the door to his new room shut, although part of him wanted to.  The Doug part.  Doug was really pissed off, even though he wasn't sure what he was pissed off at.  Frederick knew what he was pissed off at, but Frederick was too busy sulking to tell Doug.  So Doug was just reacting.

Daniel dragged his small suitcase off the bed, then stared at it lying upside down on the carpet.  That was dumb.  He shoved it right side up.  Catherine was going to be really sorry because all he had packed were his BDUs and black T-shirts, so he really didn't have anything else to change into.  He'd just tell her that.  It was warm enough not to need the jacket, so he'd just wear his black T-shirt and the navy chinos and it would have to be good enough, he'd tell her, unless she just happened to have kid-sized clothes hanging around her house.

Daniel unsnapped his suitcase and pulled out the small stack of black T-shirts, the extra BDUs, and the-- "Hey!" he exclaimed, frowning.  What was this?  Who stuck these in here?

There was a whole bunch of colored T-shirts in his suitcase!  And shorts!  And another pair of shorts!  And sandals!  And his little day backpack! And a bunch more stuff he hadn't put in there!   Jack had stuck stuff in his suitcase without telling him! 

How mean was that?  Jack had deliberately gone behind his back and snuck into his room and had invaded his private property and had stuck all these clothes and shoes and stuff in his suitcase.  Just plain mean.  Just plain--

A folded piece of paper fell out from between some of the clothes Daniel was scattering around the room.  He opened it.  "Daniel," he read, "have a good time at Catherine's.  Ernest thinks you're really five, so give him a break.  If you go out with them, remember to pretend to be five, so you don't draw attention to yourself.  This whole thing is still under probation and we don't want to blow it and have you confined to the base.   I hope this doesn't sound too sappy, but I'm really going to miss you a lot.  And I mean a REAL lot.  I won't get to yell, 'Daniel, don't touch that,' even once.  And I won't get to ask you how your day went and find out about all the neat things you've done during the day, so please write them down or just remember them all so you can tell me about it all when I get back.   If you need a hug, ask Catherine-- or Ernest.  He likes hugging.  Or just hold this letter to your face because I just gave it a big smacking kiss and my germs might still be hanging around.  And now, since this is longer than most of my reports, I'll just say:  Be good.  Give yourself a break.  Stay safe and don't get lost.  I'll do the same, and I'll see you in a few days.  Jack."

Daniel stared at the letter for a minute, then looked around the room at the mess he had made. 

Maybe he should pick up all the clothes he had thrown around.  That might be a good idea.  An adult idea.  And if Catherine and Ernest were dressing casual, he probably should, too, since Ernest thought he really was a little kid and like Jack said, he was kind of undercover and he had to not draw attention to himself.

Reluctantly, Daniel picked up the clothes and put them in the drawers under his bed.  Which were really cool.  They were very deep and went back a long way, so his clothes just fit in the very front part of each of the drawers.  He had to remember to pull the drawers out slowly, so the stuff inside didn't slide to the back and get hard to reach.

He took out a red T-shirt, so he wouldn't get lost from them, because sometimes he didn't always pay attention to stuff around him, and Jack wasn't there to find him, just two old people.  And Jack hadn't packed his jeans, just his shorts, so he'd wear them.  And shorts look dorky with shoes, so he'd wear the velcro sandals like Jack's.

Daniel got changed quickly.  He noticed right away that he felt a lot cooler because there was more of his skin showing for the air to get at.  This red T-shirt was the first thing he'd bought with Jack that first night.  He'd worn it that night and the next day.  And it was washed and he was wearing it again now. 

He carefully folded his blue chino pants and put them in the drawer with his other BDUs.  And he was going to put his black T-shirt in the drawer with the other T-shirts, but he noticed he had gotten jam on it.  Well, that hadn't taken long.  He put it back in his suitcase, which he could use as a laundry basket.

He put his wallet in his day backpack, and then he thought about it for a minute, and he rolled another T-shirt up and put it in backpack, because if he spilled at breakfast, he might spill at lunch.  And he crammed another pair of briefs at the bottom, even though he wouldn't need them, but because he had a five-year-old bladder and he had to be prepared and allow for the unexpected, because that's how adults thought.  And he put the other pair of shorts in, too, because if he needed the underwear, he'd likely need the shorts, too.  He was glad kid clothes didn't take much room, because there was still lots of room in the backpack and it was really small and maybe he might see something he could get for Jack.

And he might have to be careful after lunch, in case he had a stomach ache, because the Internet said it meant he probably needed a bowel movement, and he would tell Catherine he needed to use a bathroom, but not why.  Because that was Too Much Information.

And he would tell her if he got tired after lunch, because even if he didn't need a nap, he might need to sit for a while and relax.  He had a feeling that Catherine and Ernest would tire out before him though, and maybe they had naps, too.

"Daniel?" Catherine called out.  "When you're ready, we'll go.  We thought we'd take a drive first."

"I'll be right there," he said loudly, and did up the little backpack.  He put the SGC logo in the outer pocket, just in case he needed it for some reason.  And he put the letter from Jack there, too.  Just in case he needed it.  For some reason.

He took it out again and opened it up and held it up to his face, but he couldn't smell Jack's germs on it, just a little bit of his aftershave.  It smelled nice and... comforting or something.  It made him feel all calm inside.  A little sad, too, because Jack wasn't there, but kinda good, because Jack had written him a letter.

He glanced at the door, which was still closed, then he kissed the letter quickly, folded it, and put it in his backpack.

He apparently was going to the zoo.  And he was going to have a good time.

continued

Chapter Text

T-Shirt Series #3 - The Favorite T-Shirt

Saturday, August 8, 1998
9:00 AM

Jack.  You asked me to write down what happened today.  Well, we went to the zoo.  It was okay.  I had to keep my eye on Ernest, because he wandered off sometimes.

Daniel noticed that Catherine kept looking over her shoulder to where Ernest was the whole time she was standing in the lineup to buy tickets.  There was a longer lineup than Daniel had anticipated, because it was a Saturday, and because of the tourists.  Catherine had sure been right.  The Cheyenne Mountain Zoo was popular.

Daniel was more used to being on the other side of Cheyenne Mountain though.  Truth be told, he'd had some vague idea that there was a zoo somewhere nearby, but he'd given it no thought.  And Jack -- who usually dragged him other places -- never took him to the zoo.  Not that Daniel would have gone with him, but usually Jack bugged him and bugged him to go places -- or else just outright lied and told him they were going somewhere else, then changed direction at the last minute.

Sometimes Teal'c was with them, and Jack said it was an outing for Teal'c, and Daniel knew more about the museum or whatever it was than Jack did.  Which was usually true when it was things like that but not when it was about science stuff.  Then Jack conned Sam into going along, but Sam usually liked talking about science so it was okay with her.  Then Jack would con Daniel into going along because Teal'c's command of English wasn't perfect, and Daniel was the best translator in the world, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Then Jack would have to explain to Teal'c that 'yadda, yadda, yadda' was from a cartoon show called The Seinfelds, about a Homer Seinfeld and his wife Marge and his son Jerry, or maybe the son was Kramer.  Or something like that.  Daniel didn't always listen if it was about a TV show.

When Ernest started wandering towards a teenager selling popcorn and bird seed, Daniel quickly ran after him and took his hand.  "We have to get our tickets first, Ernest," Daniel said, giving him a little tug.  "Let's go back to Catherine.  We have to do things in the right order."

Ernest happily went back with him, and Daniel knew suddenly that Catherine really did need his help at the zoo.  So he held onto Ernest's hand carefully as they joined Catherine at the entrance gate. 

Once inside the zoo, they walked by the Thundergod Snack & Gift Shop, which made Daniel kind of snicker.  If that Thor god they met on Cimmeria only knew there were candy shops named after him.  It was too early for ice cream or anything, but Catherine bought a guidebook and Daniel wandered around inside the store and looked at all the stuffed animals.  There wasn't much else to look at.  He didn't really want a stuffed animal, but that's all that was at his height level, aside from a bunch of plastic snakes and spiders and stuff. 

He found a little plastic spider for fifty cents.  Maybe he could stick it in Jack's Fruit Loops one morning.  He really wanted to get something for Jack, but he couldn't find anything cool.  Or Jack-ish.  He looked at a Cheyenne Mountain Zoo water pistol, but it looked sorta cheap.  And a Cheyenne Mountain Zoo scarf, but it looked too long, and why would Jack need a scarf in August?  And there were books and things, but Jack probably wouldn't read them or even look at the pictures.  Then Daniel spotted a pair of Cheyenne Mountain Zoo boxer shorts with orangutans on them that had hair the same color as Jack's hair, so he pointed it out to one of the clerks and they got a pair down for him, so he could buy them.

"Ready to go?" Catherine asked him.

Daniel tucked the plastic bag with the spider and the boxer shorts into his day pack and followed Catherine and Ernest out of the gift shop.

Catherine led them over to a bench, and they all sat down and looked over the map of the zoo and at the program for the day that the girl at the gate had given them.  Daniel saw immediately that there were penguins and gorillas and lions.  He was going to point to all the places, but then he remembered that he was an adult and he was only there for Ernest to have a good time, so he didn't point to them.

The trouble with the zoo being on a mountain was that there were a lot of steep trails.  On the map, everything looked easy to get to, but when he looked up the trail at the grade and then looked back at the map, he knew that with Catherine's bad knee, seeing some areas would be difficult.  Maybe they wouldn't go see the gorillas and the other primates, or the hippopotamus or the pythons or the penguins.  It would have been kinda nice to see a penguin, because Daniel couldn't remember if he'd ever seen a penguin.

"At least the tram is still here, I see," Catherine said.

"A what?" Ernest asked.

"A tram.  It says here there are seven spots it stops at."  Catherine pointed out the areas on the map.

"So we can see the penguins after all?" Daniel asked, a little too excitedly.  "I'd really like to see the penguins."

"Then we shall see them," Ernest declared, happily.

Daniel rechecked his map and the program quickly.  "They feed the penguins at 10:30," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Ernest studied his watch.  "That's over an hour from now.  What's between here and there?"

"The Komodo Dragon demonstration is at ten o'clock," Catherine said.

"What are they demonstrating against?" Daniel quipped, pleased that Catherine smiled but worried that Ernest just looked puzzled.

"Are they unhappy?" Ernest asked.

"No.  I think they're happy," Daniel reassured him.  "But we could go check it out.  If you want, of course," he added, quickly, looking at Catherine.  Because, really, he was only here to help Catherine, right?

The tram helped a lot, and they took it to the first stop, and then slowly walked up the hill.  Daniel held onto Ernest's hand tightly, so he wouldn't wander away.  Catherine held onto Daniel's other hand.  Daniel figured she really wanted to hold Ernest's hand but was still a little embarrassed to, in public, so holding onto Daniel's hand was the next best thing.

So he let her.

It felt kind of nice, he noticed, walking in between them.  He'd never known his paternal grandparents, and his maternal grandmother had died before he was born, so the only grandparent he had known was Nick, who wasn't very grandparently.

They stood and watched the Nile Hippopotamus for a long time, both Catherine and Daniel remembering their childhoods.  Daniel remembered his father holding him up as they stood at the side of the boat and watched the hippos in the water, their eyes and noses above the water.  Daniel had held tight to his father, hoping he wouldn't accidentally fall into the water, because if the hippo was that big above the water, he didn't want to think how big he was below the water! Because that's where most of the hippo was.  Sort of like a big leathery iceberg.  Although Daniel hadn't seen an iceberg, either.

The penguins were fun to watch, and Daniel pointed them out to Ernest, especially the last one who took so long deciding to go into the water that Daniel got excited and climbed on the railing and yelled "Jump!" and Catherine had to remind him the sign said not to climb on the railing.  Ernest had shaken his head and made clucking noises as though he disapproved of Daniel's behavior which made Daniel mad until he saw the otters, and he and Ernest had great fun laughing and watching them safely while obeying all the signs.  Catherine was laughing with them, too, or maybe she was just laughing at Ernest and him.

Daniel tried to remember animals in Egypt, but all he could remember were donkeys and camels and dogs.  Oh, and elephants. And the hippo in the Nile river.  And they had gone somewhere else once that might have been Kenya, and he had seen a lion from their jeep, and giraffes, and gazelles, and the place they went to had a gorilla in a cage, and Daniel remembered that his father had been very angry about the gorilla and elephant tusk that the man had on display, because that was wrong, he had said.

Daniel stared at the gorilla now and realized he'd forgotten how very... human it was.  The gorilla sat inches from his face, on the other side of a glass enclosure, and studied Daniel just as thoughtfully as Daniel studied it.  Daniel put his hand on the glass to lean closer, and the gorilla copied his move and put his very big hand up on the glass, which had startled Daniel, and he'd fallen backwards.  Ernest frowned at the gorilla and scolded it as he helped Daniel stand back up.  Catherine was sitting on a bench nearby, and she started to get up, but Ernest had called out that they were okay.

Daniel's elbow hurt and he wondered if he had broken it, but probably he hadn't because after a moment, it didn't hurt as much.  He needed a bandage though.  A teenaged park worker came over and took Daniel over to a water fountain, washed his elbow and very proudly put a bandaid over the small scrape.   Daniel remembered to thank her, and she smiled really big.  She sure was young, but then, so was he.  Really young.  Younger than she was.  But not really.

Daniel went back and looked at the gorilla again, but he'd moved and was in a tree now, still watching Daniel.  Ernest was sitting on the bench next to Catherine and they were talking, remembering things probably because they were looking all embarrassed and goofy at each other.

Daniel wasn't sure what to do because he didn't want to bother Catherine and Ernest because Ernest was being... okay... at the moment.  And he knew he shouldn't walk away, even though he was wearing the red T-shirt.  Hey, it was a good idea he'd worn the red T-shirt because there was a little bit of blood on it because of the elbow, and it didn't show.  Much.

He dusted himself off, because after all he was an adult and didn't need anyone to tell him that he'd be okay.  And he didn't cry or anything, although his eyes did tear a little.  It wasn't as though he needed a hug.  Because he was an adult, right?  Right?

He wondered where Jack was. 

Jack would have left on his mission already, going through the stargate to somewhere else.  He'd be fine.

Daniel looked around again, but Catherine and Ernest were still talking and it looked serious and he didn't want to disturb them.  He walked over to the gorilla's window and put his hand on the glass again, and after a moment the gorilla sauntered over and put his hand over Daniel's, which made him feel very good, until the gorilla went and put his hand over another kid's hand, and then it wasn't special anymore.  The other kid was sure happy though.  And the other kid didn't seem to think it wasn't special because the gorilla had done that to Daniel's hand first.   So Daniel thought he probably shouldn't feel slighted or anything.

But he was bored with the gorilla and he saw a sign about orangutans and they were funny and there were Lion-Tailed Macaques!  It was higher up on the trail and it would be hard for Catherine to walk that far up the steep slope, so Daniel decided to just take a quick look while they were talking and then they could leave.

I didn't get lost or anything.  Well, not exactly.  And not for very long.

Boy, were those orangutans ever funny.  They always made him laugh.  He wasn't sure where he'd seen them before, because he was pretty sure he hadn't seen them in Africa in the wild, and it had probably been at a zoo somewhere, but they were in a weird mood and picking on each other, and Daniel was sure they were just doing it because they were bored and because all the kids were laughing and joining in on the fun.

And then the kid next to him looked around kind of startled and started crying for his mom.  Daniel remembered seeing the mother with another littler girl and a baby stroller, but he couldn't see her now.

"Mom!" the kid screamed, looking around frantically.  "Mom!"

"Don't worry," Daniel told him.  "You can't be lost because you're in a enclosed park, and you can't get out without going through the entrance and no way would your mom leave you."  And Daniel grabbed the kid's hand and even though the kid was an inch or so bigger than him, the kid went with Daniel around the corner of the exhibit, and Daniel saw another one of those zoo helper teenagers. 

The big boy came over and knelt down beside them.  "Are you two lost?" he asked, as though he was very important. 

"He is.  I'm not," Daniel said.  "He got separated from his mom.  She's African American, about five foot seven, wearing white shorts and a blue and green checked shirt.  She's pushing a dark blue baby stroller and there's a little girl with her about two or three years old with pink ribbons in her hair."

The little boy who was lost looked at him, squinting-like.  "How do you know that?  Do I know you?"

"I'm just the observant type," Daniel answered.  "Just stay with this guy."

"Wait," the teenager zoo helper called out to Daniel.  "Where's your folks?  You shouldn't be here alone."

"I'm not alone, " Daniel said, turning around and heading back to the orangutans.  He wanted to check to see if Catherine and Ernest were still talking.

"But I'm not allowed to let you go by yourself," the teenage zoo helper insisted, looking a little worried.  "If I find you, you're supposed to stay with me until I make sure you're okay."  

"But you didn't find me.  I found you.  There's a difference," Daniel said.  Then he spied a blond family heading to the Hummingbird Garden.  "Oh, there they are."  And he headed over to them.  They looked up and smiled as he approached, and the teenage zoo helper seemed satisfied and looked away.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy the Hummingbirds," Daniel told the family, as he strode past them.  He could see Catherine and Ernest walking slowly arm-in-arm down the hill.  They hadn't even noticed he was missing.   Then again, he was an adult, not a kid.

We took a tram around the zoo.  After we saw the gorillas, we went to the next stop that had a café and bathrooms.  We all used the bathroom, and then Catherine and Ernest wanted to have lunch there, so we did .

It was only 11:00 a.m., but breakfast was a long time ago, so they ate their lunch.  Catherine ordered a salad and toast and Ernest ordered a bowl of soup and some toast, but it didn't sound like what Daniel wanted.  He wasn't sure what he wanted.  Restaurants were hard to figure.  Last time at Denny's, he'd stared at the menu for a long time, and then Jack had ordered for him.  And the other time he'd gone to a restaurant, Jack had ordered for him, too.  It had been on Tuesday night and they had gone to O'Malley's -- the restaurant part, not the bar part -- and it had been good, but Daniel had been too excited and too tired to eat much.

They had pizza here on the menu.  And sandwiches.  And soup and salads.  And chicken.  And hot dogs.

Hot dogs.

That sounded about right, and Jack did say to act like a kid, right?

Daniel took the letter from his day pack and read it over, just to make sure that's what Jack had said.  It was nice reading the letter again, and it made him laugh, because boy was that Jack funny sometimes.  And then he put the letter away and he got a little sad because Jack wasn't there with them.  It would be nice if maybe... maybe....  Well, maybe he'd come back here with Jack one day, because maybe Jack didn't even know about this place.  Maybe that's why Jack hadn't brought him here, because Jack wasn't even aware it existed.

Or maybe it was because of Charlie.  Charlie sometimes still made Jack feel very sad.  Daniel decided he'd have to be careful about Charlie.

Meanwhile, though, he'd have a hot dog, because Jack would agree it was a good thing for regular kid to have.

I remembered to be prepared, Jack, and I had brought another shirt along and that was a good thing, because of the mustard from the hotdog that landed on it.  But Ernest had a different idea that I had to go along with.

Daniel looked down at his red T-shirt in dismay.  A big blob of bright yellow-orange mustard had smeared down the front, just missing his shorts.  "Boy, I can't take me anywhere," he quipped, smiling up at Catherine and Ernest, so they wouldn't be anxious about it.  "Don't worry, though.  I was prepared for something like this and --”

Ernest interrupted him, looking way too happy.  "You can wear the gift I bought you!"  Very excited he took the big bag that Catherine was carrying and took out a T-shirt from it.  It was brand new and still had the tags on it.  It was zebra striped.  The entire T-shirt.  Big bold zebra stripes.  It had the zoo's name on it, too.

Ernest handed him the T-shirt.  "Go get changed!" he said, pointing to the bathroom.  "You're going to look great!"  He gave Daniel a little push that made him skiddle along the floor a few steps.

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Daniel took the T-shirt and headed to the bathroom, furiously trying to figure a way out of wearing the zebra T-shirt.  Why did the store have to sell zebra T-shirts?  There weren't even zebras at the zoo!  It was like false advertising or something.  He went into one of the cubicles in the restroom and pulled his mustard-stained, red shirt off -- being careful to keep the shirt inside out -- and then he rolled it up.  He looked into his backpack at the yellow T-shirt, the one he didn't like, the one he had brought along just as a backup.  Now that he had a zebra-striped shirt, he had a new shirt to be the one he didn't like the most.

But Ernest was really excited, so Daniel put on the zebra T-shirt.  When he looked at what it said, it was all about raising money for a new exhibit.  He put the rolled up red T-shirt in his day pack and shouldered it.  He started to leave the bathroom and then went back in to wash his hands.  There was a handicapped area so at least there were paper towels at a height he could reach.  He put the used paper towel in the trash can, then picked up a few other ones because maybe the handicapped people dropped them, but then he saw a man toss a crumpled towel toward the trash can and miss and shrug and walk out.  He and Jack missed the trash can when they threw their crumpled towels at it all the time, but they picked up their misses.  Because it was adult and responsible.  That guy sure wasn't responsible or very adult, even though he was tall.

When Daniel got back to the table, Ernest and Catherine were finished eating and they got up to go to the restroom before they continued their tour.   They left Daniel alone at the table, which was okay since he knew where they were.

And then Ernest came out of the restroom.  He was wearing a zebra striped T-shirt just like Daniel's!   Daniel didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he made a kind of strangled noise.  "Ernest, we're matching!"

"We are!  I bought us both the same T-shirt.  Isn't it great?"

Great wasn't exactly the word Daniel would have chosen but was Ernest ever excited.  And then Catherine joined them, and she was wearing a zebra striped T-shirt, too!  She looked a little embarrassed but winked at Daniel and then turned to Ernest and said, "Thank you for these gifts.  Daniel and I will remember this day."

And it was true.  Daniel would always remember this day.

Ernest proudly walked out with them, one on each arm, and they headed for the tram stop again.  Daniel was glad they didn't suggest he play at the Kids' playground or the petting zoo, because that was just too weird.  Maybe when Jack went with him, Jack would want to play there, but no way did Daniel want to go over there by himself.

So they went by the stop with the wolves and the stop with the petting zoo and the stop with the Amur Leopards and Tigers, and they got off at the stop with the Snow Leopards.  And were they ever big.

I think I liked the snow leopards almost the best of everything.  They were very cool, Jack.  I'd like to see the other leopards and tigers one day.  Maybe.  So maybe if you want to see the zoo sometime we could go, but only if you really want to.

It was almost one o'clock when they got back on the tram.  Daniel's feet were starting to drag, because he was getting tired.  He was really worried about needing a nap.  He just had to slow down and be calm, because no way was he going to get cranky.  Ernest was getting a little cranky, but Ernest wanted to see the lions and the giraffes before they went, so Catherine said okay.

The tram drove by some of the animals and even the African elephant which made Daniel's eyes get all teary for some reason.  It just made him miss his parents a little.

And then they got off at the giraffe place and walked back to the lions first, because Ernest really wanted to see them.  And Daniel was really glad, because the lions were just so very calm and powerful and somehow above everything going on around them.  They reminded Daniel of Jack.  Not that Jack was noble or anything, or maybe he was, but it was because Jack made him feel all calm inside, too.  Daniel leaned against the enclosure and dreamily watched the lions until Catherine said it was time to go. 

They slowly walked back to the giraffe enclosure and used the restrooms again, and then they got to feed the giraffes, which made Daniel and Ernest and Catherine all laugh at the same time and look at each other and smile big smiles because the giraffes were eating out of their hands.  And then Catherine made Ernest and Daniel go to the bathroom and wash their hands again because the giraffes had touched them -- and their faces -- and then when they came out, she bought them all ice cream, which tasted very wonderful on such a hot day.

And then they got on the tram again and rode the short distance back to the entrance and it was all over.  So at two o'clock, they slowly trudged into the parking lot just as Catherine's limo showed up.

"Hey, how did he know to be here now?" Daniel exclaimed.  "Is he a mind reader or something?"

"I told him to be here at two o'clock, and here he is," Catherine said and handed the driver her bag.  The driver helped her into the back seat, and then Daniel and then Ernest.  They all sat there in their striped T-shirts and Daniel was almost a little sad -- almost -- that he had dripped ice cream on his zebra shirt.  They sure had had an adventure today.

Ernest was humming to himself as he looked out the window, and Catherine sighed happily and closed her eyes.  Daniel sat with his day pack on his lap, his hands over the little pocket with the logo and the letter inside.

And then we came back to the house, and we sat out on the veranda in the shade and had iced tea and Ernest and Catherine fell asleep in their chairs, and I didn't even need a nap although I did close my eyes for just a minute, I think.  Then suddenly it was dinner time and we had chicken so I was glad I didn't have it at the restaurant.

And that's what we did today.  And now they've gone to bed and I'm sitting writing this down, so I won't forget to tell you about it.  In one way, nothing really happened.  I didn't get lost or anything or touch anything I wasn't supposed to, and I pretended to be a kid in case anyone was watching, and I helped Catherine with Ernest, and I helped a kid who was lost.

It was just a nice day.

Pen in hand, Daniel sat at the writing table in his room at Catherine's house.  Spread on the table before him was the letter from Jack.

I guess I sorta miss you, too, Jack.  I hope you are writing down what you did -- not the report part, but the 'you' part -- so you can tell me, too.  And I'm kissing this note, so you'll know I was thinking of you on the Saturday of your trip. 

Daniel almost erased the last line, but he'd written the note with pen so he couldn't.  And he didn't want to throw the note away and have to rewrite it all.  It felt very weird to be kissing the letter, and he wondered why he'd said he was going to do that.  It just sorta came out of his pen.

He carefully put the kissed note to Jack in his day pack, then turned the light off.  He took the letter from Jack and his SGC logo and put them under his pillow, then he crawled into bed. 

He was wearing Jack's old T-shirt that might have been black or navy blue at one time, but was now gray and threadbare and comfy.  There had been a Chicago Blackhawks logo on it originally, but you had to look really carefully to make it out.

And of every T-shirt he now owned, it was his favorite.   Because it was Jack's.

continued

Chapter Text

T-Shirt Series #4 - The Regulation T-Shirt

Off-World

JACK O'NEILL

Colonel Jack O'Neill stretched out on his sleeping bag and scratched his stomach.  It had been a long first day and there was still another half-day hike before they reached their destination.  It was warm and muggy out at night on the planet, and his T-shirt clung to him.

He wondered how Daniel was.  What had the little guy done that day with Catherine and Ernest?  Daniel had looked so forlorn, just sitting on the stairs watching as Jack's truck had driven away from Catherine's house.  Catherine had told Jack about wanting to go to the zoo, and he wasn't sure which way Daniel would go with the idea.  He'd suggested that she guilt him about Ernest.  Daniel and guilt always worked.  Usually.

And he wondered what Daniel had thought of his letter.  Had it been too... daddyish?  He'd worried about that after he'd finished writing it and read it over.  Maybe Daniel had just rolled his eyes and crumpled it up.  Or snorted and tossed it back into his suitcase.  It all depended on his mood.  He hoped Daniel had understood what he was trying to say.

It was quiet here.  

He was used to Daniel talking.  Usually on a mission after their evening's meal, Daniel would talk about what he had done that day.  What he had seen.  He'd ask Teal'c questions.  He'd confer with Carter about stuff.  He'd ask Jack if he could go back to that one rock and turn it over again.  And then he'd want to know why he couldn't.  Just for a little while?  Maybe on their way back then?

Carter and Teal'c weren't big talkers.  At least not to each other, but they exchanged a lot of dry looks that they both seemed to understand.  Probably just saying: Who made him the boss?  But they were familiar companions, and they worked well together as a team, even if they were presently short one.  The short one.

Jack raised the edge of his T-shirt and waved it, hoping for a breeze.  Maybe he could dry the sweat from it and get another day's wear out of it.

"Sir?  I don't mind taking first watch," he heard Carter say.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.  "I wasn't asleep."

"Didn't say you were, sir."

She was going through some tai chi-type movements, trying to sort out her muscles.  The regulation T-shirt she was wearing was several sizes too big and looked odd on her.  It moved about her in the light evening breeze, sweat stains in more girlie places.  Not that he'd say that girlie thing out loud.  Certain thoughts he'd learned to keep to himself.  And anyway, she was probably cooler in the looser shirt.

Jack thought about Sara and how she had looked when she was pregnant and wore his T-shirts as maternity nightgowns.  It somehow made him feel good knowing that if he was in another country fighting while she was pregnant and unable to hold her at night, then at least his T-shirt was on the job.  Surrounding her.  Taking care of her.

"Sir?" Carter had stopped her movements and was staring at him.  Probably wondering why he was staring at her.

"Nothing, Carter."  He sat up.  "Is there more coffee left?"

"There is," Teal'c said from over by the fire.  Teal'c was on kitchen duty and was cleaning up after their light meal.   "Do not get up.  I will bring it to you."

Now, the same black regulation T-shirt on Teal'c looked way different.  Teal'c's was stretched amazingly thin over bulging muscles.  Seams were debating on whether or not to stay together or avoid the strain and just split.  The mole on Teal'c's back was totally visible through the T-shirt.  Teal'c hadn't worked up much of sweat today, though, despite their long trek in the heat.

Teal'c turned around and caught him staring, but wisely said nothing.  He brought the coffee over, and Jack accepted it gratefully.  Hot and oh-so-strong.   Like that girl in the wrestling magazine that Teal'c liked.

"I miss Daniel being here," Carter announced, accepting coffee from Teal'c.

"Is it my method of making coffee?" Teal'c asked, frowning almost.

"Oh, no," Carter lied.  "I just miss him."

"As do I," Teal'c said gravely, then headed down to the river they were camped near. 

"Sir?" Carter prompted.

"What?"

"Do you miss him?"

"Yeah, yeah, I miss the little gopher."  Jack put his empty coffee cup on the edge of a nearby log and stretched back on his sleeping bag.

He did miss him.  A lot. 

Maybe he'd get some sleep.  He glanced at his watch.  It was early evening here but according to his watch it was almost midnight on Earth.  Daniel should be in bed already.  Good night, sport.  Sleep tight.

Jack had smiled when he'd seen his old T-shirt in Daniel's overnight bag.  Daniel hadn't said anything, but his new pajamas lay untouched, and he wore Jack's old T-shirt to sleep in.  Sort of like Sara when she was pregnant, he thought.  Daniel just wanted something of Jack nearby, so he wouldn't miss him.

When Jack had left Catherine's place that morning and headed towards the mountain, an idea had occurred to him: If Daniel felt better wearing Jack's T-shirt, then Jack figured it might work the other way, as well.

Which was why Jack and Teal'c and Carter were each wearing one of Daniel's adult-sized regulation black T-shirts today, so they could have him with them.

Jack smiled, patted the Daniel-shirt, and went to sleep.

continued

Chapter Text

T-Shirt Series #5 - The White T-Shirt

Sunday, August 9, 1998
6:00 AM

DANIEL JACKSON

Sunday morning. Daniel lay in bed and wondered what he should do.  They hadn't really talked much about what would happen on Sunday over dinner the previous evening.  They were all tired and Ernest almost fell asleep at the table.  Catherine had to keep saying things like, "ERNEST, please pass the peas," or things like, "ERNEST, the peacocks looked glorious, didn't they?"  She'd say his name loud and his head would bob up, and he'd be back in the conversation lickety-split.

And Daniel wondered for a moment where the expression lickety-split came from.  Old Amos on the work crew of that Datara excavation when Daniel was only six used to say that all the time. Maybe it was like kitty corner and the meaning had changed so many times that everyone had forgotten now what it originally meant.

Old Amos was American from Boston.  At least he said he was from Boston, but Daniel's mother said that if Amos was from Boston, she'd eat her hat, which Daniel figured out meant that it was unlikely Amos was telling the truth.  Daniel asked Amos the next day where he was from, because he wondered if his mother would really eat her hat, but Amos had said Boston again.  Amos had been the only American on that particular site, except for Daniel's mother and father. And, Daniel supposed, himself, although he never knew he was American back then.  He thought he was just Daniel.

The light was coming through the bedroom windows of his room in Catherine’s place.  It was 6:15 and the house was still quiet.  Usually, Catherine and Ernest were up by now, Daniel knew, and it kinda made him nervous that everything was quiet today.  On Saturday, when he got there, they had assured him that they were always up early.

But today, Sunday, it was quiet.

He wondered if they were okay.  They were both old.  What if...

His hand nervously reached beneath his pillow and fingered the letter and the logo patch. They were still there, and that made him feel a little better.  A little less... alone.

Daniel rolled onto his side. Should he try to go back to sleep?

He wasn't very sleepy though.  And thinking about Amos and his claim that he was from Boston made Daniel think of Mr Chomica, who also said he was from Boston, but he probably really was.  So now Daniel wondered how Mr Chomica was.  And then he wondered if Mr Chomica wondered about him sometimes?  Maybe he did.  Maybe when a few weeks would go by and Daniel wouldn't show up to listen, maybe he'd wonder why.  Or maybe when he showed up with a bad throat because Vishnoor had tried to strangle him on Hadante, then Mr Chomica might wonder why Daniel had a funny voice because it didn't sound like he had a sore throat.  Or maybe when he showed up and sounded like a little kid, then Mr Chomica might wonder why that had happened.  Or how it had happened.

He had been hoping Mr Chomica would play Bach today, but that was back when Jack said they could go to St. Mary's Episcopal Church and listen to Mr Chomica again, before Jack got assigned to go somewhere else.  So Daniel decided to hope that Mr Chomica would play Bach next week instead, because Jack said they would go next week for sure.

Daniel looked again at his clock.  It was almost 7:00 now, and still it was very quiet in the house.  He sure had spent a long time thinking about Mr Chomica.

He felt a little guilty, because he had hardly thought of Jack at all, just when Jack and Mr Chomica happened in the same thought.  So now he wondered how Jack was and that made him feel very nervous and a little scared because what if Jack wasn't okay?

Maybe he wouldn't think about Jack.  Maybe he'd just think good thoughts and send them Jack's way.  Many cultures and religions thought that sending good thoughts was like good karma or blessings.  So it couldn't hurt, right?  Daniel couldn't think of any cultures or religions that thought it would hurt someone to send good thoughts, so he was fairly safe.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine being bigger again.  Taller.  Getting out of bed and doing whatever he wanted to without other people always thinking they got to tell him what to do.  It wasn't really fair, but everyone else but him thought it was.  Because he was different now.

Was he really the same person? 

He thought he was.  Jack said he was.  That he was 100% Daniel Jackson.  But Janet and others said he was different.  Even Jack sorta said that Geb had said that he might -- one day -- start to be more Five than Thirty-Two, but that would probably be years from now.  And Geb would be back soon, long before years from now.

But sometimes when he thought back over things, he wondered if he would have done something differently if he was taller.  Like kissing the letter.  Would he have kissed the letter to Jack if he was taller?  Probably not.  He'd have to watch things like that.  With Jack, he wasn't thinking so much of what he ought to do, and just more of what he needed to do.  Jack didn't care if sometimes Five and Thirty-Two got blurred, but Daniel decided again that he was going to have to concentrate on the Big Me stuff.  He had to stay Thirty-Two.

Daniel slipped from the bed and went to where his laptop was set up on the table.  He had discovered a phone jack the previous night, so he put his ear up against the bedroom door and listened hard but he heard a lot of nothing.  If they weren't up yet, then they wouldn't be using their telephones, which meant he wouldn't be using the phone line when they needed to make a call.  He carefully plugged in the telephone cord for his modem so he'd get the Internet.  He'd check his email. Maybe there would be mail for him and he could answer it.  He was still behind in a lot of his mail. That would be a good adult use of his time.

He smirked. Funny how it was called a phone JACK. There were sure a lot of expressions using Jack's name. Jack Rabbit. Jack of all Trades. Jack-in-the-box. Union Jack. A Jack fool. The House that Jack Built. Jack O'Lantern. A jack ass. Jack of Diamonds. Jack of Clubs. Jack of Hearts. Jack of Spades. Black Jack. Cracker Jacks. The cereal Apple Jacks. The flower Jack-in-the-pulpit. The dog Jack Russell. Hydraulic Jack. And even jacking off. And names, too, like Wolfman Jack, Jack and Jill, Jack the Ripper, and Jack Frost.

During a boring debriefing once a few months ago, he'd made a list of thirty-two different Jacks. Jack had told him there was one he missed, and Daniel had tried to guess it all the way back to Jack's place and then Jack had pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels, and they had laughed a lot and drank the whole bottle, because, after all, it had their names on it.

That was before, of course. He was fairly sure they wouldn't be drinking Jack Daniels for a while, at least Daniel wouldn't be drinking it.  Not until Geb came back.

So there was another one he'd missed on his list before. Telephone jack.

Daniel rolled his eyes. Yeah, like Jack even had a clue how a telephone jack worked.  Daniel had tried to explain the Internet to Jack once and Jack had just stared at him.  And then Sam had tried, and Jack had made strangling noises and then stuck his fingers in his ears and made gagging sounds.

Jack was weird sometimes.

Daniel turned down the sound on his laptop when it made a lot of noise dialing up, and then he went onto the government site to get his email.  There wasn't much.  Not much new in the last week anyway.  Since he got short, no one seemed to be bothering him about things.  Or more likely, Jack had threatened them to leave him alone.  Yeah.  That was probably it.

But there was an email from Sam.  How weird.  And then he noticed it was sent today!  That morning!  At 7:00 a.m.!  That was just fifteen minutes ago.

Were they back already?  Had something happened?  If they were back, why hadn't Jack come over to get him?  Or at least called him or-- OR, what if something had happened to Jack?  Daniel's finger, about to click on the email, paused in mid air.

Maybe he wouldn't open the email.  Because if he didn't open it, then he'd never ever know about the bad news.

But that was dumb, he thought, whacking himself on the forehead.  That was such a little kid thing to do.  He was Thirty-two.  Thirty-two.

He clicked on the email and held his breath.

Oh.  Sam, apparently, had sent him a card.  Frowning, he clicked on the link and it took him to another page.

It was one of those greeting card sites.  Sam had sent him a birthday card on it before, a long time ago.  Well, a month ago. Back when he turned Thirty-two, a month before he turned short.  Life was sure weird these days.

He thought for a moment that the link hadn't worked, but then in the middle of the screen a little yellow duck appeared.  It looked at him and quacked.  And then another yellow duck waddled onto his screen and quacked.  And another.  And another.  All waddling around and bumping into each other and quacking.  At first it wasn't funny, and then suddenly it was really funny and he laughed quietly. 

Then the first duck (at least he thought it was the first duck, it was hard to tell) blew a little blue whistle and all the other ducks waddled off his screen.  Then the words came up on the screen, all done in little duck footprints, and it said, "Daniel, we really miss paddling around the big puddle with you. See you on Tuesday! If you need help, ask for it!"  And then Sam had put her name with x and o after it.

Daniel read it through a few times.  That was a sneaky way of Sam saying the Stargate, calling it a big puddle.

He missed the big puddle.

Daniel got down off his chair and got the letter from Jack out from under his pillow and read it again, just in case he'd missed something before.

A little while later, he folded it again, sniffed just a little, and put it back on top of the bed. Then he logged off his email and crawled back under the desk and unplugged the wire from the phone jack.  He'd forgotten about those delayed messages that you could do.  That's what Sam had done, of course.  She'd sent him a delayed message.  That was nice of her, thinking about him before she'd even left.  Just like Jack had by writing the note.

Daniel clicked on one of the messages from Bill Lee that he'd downloaded, and something odd happened.  A little duck popped up in the corner of his screen.  It just sat there, then it looked right at him, and said, "Quack."  Daniel stared at it.  How had that happened?  How had it got there? He wasn't on the Internet anymore.  He'd unplugged the wire from the jack.  He looked under the table, just to double check, even though he was sure he'd done it, and the wire was just lying there.

He looked back at his monitor, and the duck was still looking at him.  He went to move his mouse and the duck quacked at him again.  And then another duck showed up at the other side of the screen.  It didn't look at him but waddled over to the first duck.  They both looked at each other, and then they both looked at him and at the same time, said, "Quack."

He frowned and decided he would ignore them and look to see what Bill Lee had written him, but as soon as he moved his mouse, another duck showed up.  And then another.  And another.  He tried to click on them to make them go away, but that didn't stop them at all.  They just kept coming and coming!  He tried the delete button, but they just moved away from the button.  Then he pressed the escape button and escape and escape and escape but even though one would go away, two more would show up, until all his screen was filled with ducks again.

This was really weird.

Why would Sam do this to him?  How was he supposed to get any work done?

He sat and watched the ducks waddling around and all bumping into each other and quacking.  What had Sam said? he suddenly wondered.  He thought about it.  Something about the big puddle, because he remembered thinking that it was kinda funny the way she sneakily said "stargate".  But she'd said something else, too.  What was that?  He closed his eyes and remembered back to exactly what she'd written.

"Daniel, we really miss paddling around the big puddle with you.  See you on Tuesday!" and then she had written... "If you need help, ask for it!"

That was a weird thing to say.  Or was it a clue?  Maybe it was a clue.  But how could he ask them for help?  They weren't even on the planet.  Or maybe someone at the base could help him, but that would be kind of embarrassing.  Excuse me, I need help with a duck problem.

The milling, quacking ducks made it hard to think.  They were doing silly things, too.  One was playing leapfrog and another was doing somersaults.

Sam was playing a joke on him, so she must have done it so he could figure it out.  But how could he ask for help to make the ducks go away?  That didn't make sense.  But then, neither did a whole pond full of poking, butting, and shoving ducks on his screen make any sense.

Wait a sec!  He couldn't call help, but... he could type it.  Smiling to himself, he typed the word H-E-L-P and then the 'enter' key and whammo!  They all disappeared.  And then a few words showed up in the middle of the screen.  "Love you, miss you, see you soon!  From Sam Duck, Teal'c Duck and the Big Jack Duck."

Daniel's mouth dropped open and he laughed.  And then suddenly the words were gone and it was his email page again, open to the boring email from Bill Lee.  He read it, but it was just as boring as he thought it would be.  He kinda missed the ducks.

A moment later there was a knock at his door.  It was Catherine.  "You're up early," she said, poking her head in.  Catherine was wearing a pale pink fluffy housecoat that looked too warm to wear in August.

"Just doing my email."

"We sleep in on Sundays," she said, pleasantly.  "Until eight o'clock.  Then we have breakfast and go to morning services."

"Oh."  He wasn't sure what else to say.

"You get yourself dressed and we'll meet you downstairs on the veranda for breakfast.  It's almost ready."

"Okay," he said and hopped down from the chair as she closed the door.

Back to picking out clothes.  He looked in the big wide drawer where he'd put his clothes and decided that maybe Ernest would like it if he wore the ugly striped zebra shirt again with the little bit of ice cream down the front.  And there was some chicken gravy on it, too.   If he wore it now, then Ernest would see he'd worn it through a few meals and he'd never have to wear it again.

Daniel pulled off Jack's T-shirt that he'd slept in and struggled into the zebra shirt.  Then he'd put on a pair of shorts and, barefoot, went down the stairs.

They had a nice breakfast, talking mainly about the zoo the day before, and then Catherine said, "And now we need to change into our good clothes.  The limo will be here in ten minutes to take us to church."

Daniel really, really wanted to say that they should go without him, but he didn't know how to do it without sounding ungrateful.  Or hurting her feelings.  He didn't want to go to some strange place and be shown off as her pseudo-grandchild and have old people pat him on top of his head like what happened at the zoo a few times the day before.

He wanted to go on an adventure.  He wanted to do something exciting.  He wanted to be with Jack and Sam and Teal'c and do things that no one else would ever believe.

They all went back upstairs and once again Daniel was alone in his room staring at his meager supply of clothes.  What could he wear?  He didn't know what to wear.  He never worried about what to wear when he went to see Mr Chomica.  Because, really, Mr Chomica couldn't see him.

He took all T-shirts out of the drawer.  The red T-shirt and one of the black ones were already dirty and in the laundry suitcase.  And at breakfast he had spilled orange juice on the striped zebra one on top of the chicken gravy and ice cream, so it joined the other two in the laundry suitcase.  With a sigh, he put back all the black T-shirts, since he knew Catherine didn't like them.  What was left was a light blue T-shirt and the white Gap Kids T-shirt Sam had bought.  And the yellow T-shirt, that he didn't like.

He peaked out the door of his room and saw Ernest walking by.  Ernest was wearing a light gray suit and a white shirt.  And a tie!

Oh,oh.  Daniel shut the door again.  He didn't have a suit.  Did they even make suits his size?  Probably for weddings or things like that.

He stared at the yellow T-shirt.  It reminded him of Janet's place, except it was the wrong shade of yellow.  It was more like the yellow on Catherine's dishes.  Yellow Tea Rose, it was called.  Maybe he'd wear it and she'd be happy and he'd say it was like the Yellow Tea Rose plates and that he'd worn it just for her so she'd be happy.

Except he still didn't like the T-shirt.  Maybe because that girl in high school had told him he looked like he'd been sick for a long time when he wore yellow.  That it wasn't his color.  She said it made his complexion look bad, although he privately thought that the pimples on his face looked bad no matter what color he wore.

Maybe... Daniel sighed.  Maybe he'd wear it for Catherine. She'd probably like that.  He fingered the material.

"Daniel!" he heard Ernest call out.  "The limo is here.  Are you ready?"

"Almost!" he called back.

The problem was, he just didn't want to put the yellow T-shirt on.  He hated yellow.  Why had Jack bought it?  Daniel sighed again, really loudly, because he was the only one in the room.  Yeah, yeah; he'd do it for Catherine and he'd be a hero.  He picked the T-shirt up, turned it around to put it on -- and there was smudged chocolate on the back of it!  How did--?

Oh, oh.  He'd stuffed a chocolate bar in his day pack at the zoo and the emergency T-shirt was at the bottom of the day pack in with his emergency underwear and the shorts he was wearing right now.  Did everything have chocolate on it?

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and sure enough, there was chocolate on the beige shorts he was wearing.  And he checked the drawer he'd put his underwear in, and there was chocolate on the emergency underwear he'd tossed back into the underwear drawer.  At least he hoped it was chocolate.

He put the underpants and the yellow T-shirt in his laundry suitcase.  At this rate, he'd have to do laundry tonight.  He'd have to ask Catherine if she could help him.  Or maybe that maid would help him.  What was her name again?  Yvette?  He was a little worried about the washing machine and the dryer.  They were taller than he was.  How would he get the clothes in them?  Or reach the buttons?  Jack had done his laundry this week by just throwing Daniel's clothes in with Jack's.  Jack didn't care if there was spilled food on Daniel's clothes, but Catherine probably wouldn't want dirty clothes in with her clothes when they were being washed.  Because her dirty clothes probably weren't really dirty at all.

Yvette probably did all the laundry, though.  That's what maids did.  Laundry and beds and...  Daniel looked over at his bed.  Yup.  It was made.  He checked and the logo patch and the letter were back under his pillow.  He hadn't made his bed this morning and now it was made.  By the maid.  The maid made the bed.  If her name was Mary and she was happy, he could say that the merry maid Mary made the bed.  Or if--

"Daniel?"  Now it was Catherine and she was knocking at the door.  "Are you ready to go, dear?"

"Almost!" he yelled out quickly.  "Don't come in!" he said, pulling off the chocolate stained shorts.  Now all he was wearing was his underwear!

"We'll be waiting for you outside!" she called out, and he could hear her going down the stairs.

Nuts.  This was nuts.  What was he going to wear?  Who really cared -- he was a kid, after all, as far as most of them were concerned.  A kid.  What did a kid wear to church?

Okay, Sarah in university used to tell him if they were going somewhere dressy, to a reception or something, that if he didn't have a suit he could always go with the classic white top, dark bottoms.  The first time, he'd put on an old white shirt that had seen better days, and a pair of jeans, and she'd been a little mad at him.  He sure hadn't made that mistake a second time.  No, sir.

So... white top, dark bottoms.  That meant the designer white T-shirt that Sam spent a fortune on, and... and... and... and... the only pants he had left were one of the pair of dark blue chinos that were his SGC uniform.  Hurry, hurry.  He dragged them on.  Hurry!  He put on his socks and his good shoes that had also got stuck in the suitcase by Jack.  And he opened the door and ran down the staircase, hoping that he didn't have food on his face.

He burst out the front door into the sunshine and flowers.  Ernest was standing by the limo and Catherine was already inside it.  He ran down the sidewalk and quickly crawled in beside her and then Ernest got in behind him.

Catherine looked very lovely, he thought affectionately.  She was wearing a pale lavender dress and had a little hat on with a lavender feather.  It would have looked ridiculous on someone like Sam, but on Catherine...   "You look nice," he said to her, as Ernest helped do up his seatbelt.

"And you look very sharp indeed," Catherine said, and bent sideways to kiss his cheek.

"Indeed," Ernest echoed, and kissed his other cheek.

"James," Catherine called out to the driver.  "Please take us to St Mary's Episcopal Church. Jack O'Neill tells me there's a wonderful organist there, and we really must go hear him."  She looked down at Daniel's shocked face.  "You don't mind, do you, dear?" she asked.

No, he didn't mind.  Daniel settled happily in between them and, smiling, he took their hands in his as they drove off.  They were going to have an adventure after all, thanks to good old Jack!

As soon as they got back, if those damned ducks let him, he'd type it all down in a report for Jack.  And he'd thank him for telling Catherine about Mr Chomica, and he'd tell Jack that he picked out the perfect thing to wear, all by himself!  No one helped him at all!  He was getting good at this.

Except... Jack had helped him.  Jack had put the right things in Daniel's suitcase, so that Daniel could make the right choices later.  That's just how Jack was.  Prepared for emergencies and seeing the big picture.

And it made Daniel feel good inside.

And he would be sure to say thank you.  With an x and an o.

continued

Chapter Text

T-Shirt Series #6 - The Dirty Yellow T-Shirt

Sunday, August 9, 1998

DANIEL JACKSON

Dear Jack,

Today we had breakfast.  Then we went to see Mr Chomica.  Good idea to tell Catherine and Ernest about Mr Chomica.  Except we went at the church service time with a lot of other people, and I don't think he knew I was there.  He did look over in my direction--well, his head turned in my direction-- so maybe he did.  I tried to go and see him after the service, but there was this recessional down the main aisle of the sanctuary with all the candles and stuff, and Catherine made me wait until it was over because that's the proper thing to do, so by the time I got away and ran up to the front he was gone.  

Catherine way overreacted to me getting away from her and held my hand a little too tightly until we were out in the car again.  I don't like it when she treats me like a kid.   

Ernest had a good time.  He really liked the pipe organ music, and it made him cry.  Luckily Catherine had tissues in her purse, because he cried during the choir singing, and the kids being talked to at the front (Catherine asked me if I wanted to go up there with them!), and he cried during the sermon, which wasn't too long and that guy was an interesting speaker.  His Adam's apple went up and down when he talked.  

Hey, why do they call it an Adam's apple?  I'll have to look that up later.  Catherine stole all my research stuff because it's Sunday and she said Sunday is a rest day.  So I have to rest, but I was allowed to type this up for you on my laptop before I went to bed, because I told her you said I had to.  She took my modem connection, though.  

I think my typing is getting better.  Not as fast as before but better.  That's a good sign, huh?  

After going to see Mr Chomica, we had lunch.  It was really nice.  The maid put blankets out on the back lawn and packed us a big picnic lunch, and we went and sat on the blankets and had our lunch.  The flowers are really pretty.  All different colors.  Catherine told me what kind they were but I forgot already.  I tried really hard to remember but when I started typing them out to tell you just now, all I could think of was blue and yellow and white and pink and orange and even purple.  I know those are colors and not flower names, but that's all I got.  

We pretended we were on another planet, and we were roughing it.  Although I don't think it counts as roughing it when you have crystal glasses and china plates and silver cutlery.  And cloth napkins with little pyramids embroidered on the corners-- Catherine let me keep mine because I told her how cool it was!  She said they're heirlooms from when she was a little girl in Egypt.  

And Ernest told us about his special meals sometimes before on that place where we found him.  Sometimes when he found something cool to eat, he would pretend it was a big celebration like Thanksgiving and he would even put his clothes on and eat.  

Ernest doesn't like to wear clothes most of the time.  He told me that.  But he knows he has to wear them and so he does.  But he doesn't have to like it, he said.  Catherine knows, but she says what he does in his room is up to him.  And then she kind of shuddered.  

I wasn't going to tell you what we had for lunch, because you'll be eating rations and stuff and I didn't want you to feel bad, but then I remembered that you won't read this until you're home, so it won't matter.  We had fried chicken, and potato salad (but not the good kind with the mustard like you make), and little cut up vegetables with this neat dip, and strawberry rhubarb pie and ice cream (although the maid came out and brought the ice cream otherwise it would have melted.  I think she must have been watching us with binoculars, because she sure came outside at the right time.)    

After lunch Catherine and Ernest had a nap.  

I think I was supposed to nap, too, but I didn't feel like it.  I wasn't the least bit tired.  And Catherine had already taken my stuff away, so I couldn't work on stuff.  So I decided to help out by weeding her vegetable garden.  

I put on my yellow T-shirt even though it had a spot on it, because I figured it was only going to get dirtier.  And I was right.  And I put on my shorts that had spots on them too.   And my sandals that look like yours.  

I don't know where the maid was then, because she wasn't anywhere, so I found some plastic bags in the kitchen and a pair of rubber gloves I discovered under the sink, and I went out to the garden.  Not the flower garden, Jack, but the vegetable garden at the far back of the property.  It has a little gate on it and is all fenced in.  I am presently just tall enough to open the gate, which was good, and maybe a little unfortunate.  They have all kinds of vegetables in their garden.  Carrots.  Lettuce.  Zucchini.  Peas.  Celery.  Strawberries (I know that's not a vegetable, but they had it there.)   And red and green and yellow peppers.    

I guess I should have told someone I was going to be in the vegetable garden, because apparently they can't hear you yelling for help from there.  

Now before you get mad, I think I wasn't being careless or anything like that.  I was actually being very careful, and kind of thoughtful, wanting to help out.  I just don't know a whole lot about gardening.  On Aby---- (I'm not putting the whole word in, just in case) they didn't have gardens like this.   

There are little walkways through the garden, so you walk through it by walking from step to step on these little stones.  Except the problem was that the stones are set too far apart for me and I had to jump from stone to stone which was kind of fun until I missed and landed on the edge and then fell over into the broccoli and squashed some.  Oh, yeah.  There was broccoli in the garden, too.    

I wish I could just tell you that I did a little weeding and went back to the house then, but I suppose you'll hear all about it from Catherine and Ferretti, so I might as well just tell you what happened.  It really wasn't my fault, though.    

I told you about falling in the broccoli, right?  Well, the sprinkler had been on and everything was still a little wet, so I got really muddy when I fell into the broccoli.  I brushed myself off as best I could and there was a little scrape on my knee but it wasn't even bleeding or anything.  I kept walking though, deeper into the garden. Catherine had corn there, too, three rows of it.  And even a scarecrow.    

Jack, I really had meant to do weeding, but I couldn't find any weeds, so I just kept looking and looking and then I saw the blackberries on the other side of the fence at the far end of the garden.  And there was a bunch of berries all ready to be picked and I thought I'd pick them and surprise Catherine and Ernest and maybe we could have them for breakfast.  I had brought that plastic bag for the weeds and it was empty, so I could use that for the berries and the rubber gloves would work for the brambles.   

I thought it through carefully, Jack, and I had everything I needed.  I was prepared.  

So I climbed up the fence and tried to get over it but my current hands are too small and I couldn't hold on so I fell and this nail caught me on the back of my T-shirt on the way down and I got stuck.  And I mean stuck .  I was facing away from the fence post and couldn't get down and couldn't turn around to find my footing.  And the stupid T-shirt wouldn't even rip and let me down.  It just made me hang there with my back to the post staring out.  

The only good thing about it was that I was staring out at the blackberries.  I could reach some of them so I ate a whole bunch.  And I wasn't close enough to get prickled by them, just to reach the close ones.  

So anyway, Catherine got all worried when she woke up from her nap and they couldn't find me.  I guess because of the garden being down a slope at the far end of the property and the corn and because of the fence being in the way and because of my hair and my yellow shirt and all the mud, no one could see me.  I could sort of hear them calling for me, but they were a long way away, and I couldn't yell loudly because I was hanging from a fence post.  Did you know that when you are hanging from a fence post it's hard to yell loudly?  You should try it sometime, Jack, and you'll see how hard it is.  Plus I was facing the other direction and my voice was going the other way.  

Then they stopped calling for me and I got a little worried, but then I could hear the sirens.  The police came first and I could hear them calling me but no one came down to the garden, which was actually sloppy on their part.  And then the people from the SGC came, and Ferretti found me in the garden and you better kick his butt because he laughed for a long long long long time before he got me off the post.  That wasn't very nice or very professional of him, was it, Jack?  

And then everyone kept laughing when they saw me because I had blackberries all over my hands and face and squashed broccoli in my hair and dirt all over me and my shirt was all ripped up in the back.  Catherine kept turning me around and around looking for blood but I had to make her stop or I'd throw up on her.  (I ate a LOT of blackberries, but I had nothing else to do.)  

Then Catherine made Ernest take me upstairs for a bath (although he left me alone once he washed my hair) -- why can't people remember that I'm not really a kid, Jack?  Catherine invited Ferretti and the other guys over for dinner but I'm glad they had to go back to the base and couldn't stay.    

Do you think maybe we could have them over for dinner one night, Jack, because even though I was sort of embarrassed about everything, I'm glad they found me or I'd still be hanging there.  

I feel asleep during dinner, partly because I wasn't hungry because of eating all the blackberries, but also because I guess I was tired and maybe I should have tried to have a nap in the afternoon, and then I wouldn't have tried to garden.  I don't like gardening much anymore.  

The best part of it all was that I got to throw the yellow Tshirt in the garbage because I really didn't like it anyway.   I hope I didn't hurt your feelings.  I know that I didn't buy it, and you must have picked it out, but I really didn't like it, Jack.  I don't like yellow.  I'll explain it sometime.  Sorry.  

I sure can't wait until I'm big again.  It's hard work being this height.  

So that's my Sunday.  I hope yours went well.  I'm looking forward to hearing all about it.   

There's just tomorrow, and then it's Tuesday and you'll be back and we can go home.  

Daniel  

continued

Chapter Text

 T-Shirt Series #7 - The Old, Discarded, Two-Sizes-Too Small T-Shirt

Offworld

RAYMOND DOUCETTE

Raymond Doucette stared at the saffron-sprinkled, honey-coated, lettuce-covered old man and frowned inwardly.  He had no idea what the significance was.

"Well?" came the bemused question from the team leader Colonel Jack O'Neill, one thumb gesturing to the alien treaty negotiator.

Ray tried to ignore him.  That's what Daniel had told him to do, but it was difficult to keep doing so.  Daniel Jackson had thoroughly briefed him on what might happen during the mission, although most of the lecture had been about how to deal with the oft-impatient Jack O'Neill, not what to do about saffron-sprinkled, honey-coated, lettuce-covered old men -- other than warning him that in all likelihood odd things would happen in negotiations, and you just had to roll with them.

"How the hell should I know?" Ray muttered as O'Neill again asked, "Well?"

"You're the linguistic expert here," O'Neill pointed out.

"Well, he's not talking.  Let's see: saffron, honey, lettuce.  Maybe he's the buffet table."

"Looks a little scrawny to me," O'Neill responded, wandering away.

What to do... what to do...  Ray mentally twiddled his thumbs.  The upside of Daniel Jackson's temporary height reduction (as Doctor Jackson insisted it be referred to) was that Ray got to go on a mission.  Unfortunately, it was also the downside of Doctor Jackson's height reduction -- that Ray was the unlucky guy chosen to go on the SG-1 mission.  As though his single degree was any match for Jackson's gleaming trio.

Ray glanced at his watch.  Also -- unfortunately -- it was another thirty hours before the mission was over, which means he had a LONG time left to stall.  And stare at a saffron-sprinkled, honey-coated, lettuce-covered, scrawny old man.

JACK O'NEILL

It was stinking hot and Jack could feel the sweat trickling down his back and pooling in his shorts somewhere.  Great.  He'd probably end up with some unspeakable rash in unmentionable places.  He wrinkled his nose as another sweaty drop ran down his forward and plopped onto the end of his nose where it hung for a moment, debating what to do next, until he batted it off.

Stinking hot, high humidity, and crazy aliens.  All added up to a boring mission so far.  And Daniel's genius kid Raymond was driving him crazy.   He was SO damned slow at figuring things out.

Jack reached into his pack, drew out a T-shirt, and mopped off his face.  And neck.  And under his hat -- which was beginning to smell distinctly unpleasant.   Oh, for a nice shower, shave and new set of clothes.  Alas, that was a day and a half off.  He'd just have to put up with another day of Eau de Teal'c, a scent which seemed to mask all the rest of their scents.  Pungently so.  Teal'c just shrugged and said it was something he ate.  Probably asparagus.  It always made your pee smell funny, and it just made Teal'c smell rank.  Jack was sure Carter could fill him in on the reasons, but he'd just rather not know.

Carter ambled over and pulled the pack off her back, dropping to the shady bit of grass Jack had retreated to.  She took a long swig of her water canteen, swished it around in her mouth, and took another slug of it.  "It's damned hot here.  Sir," she added.

"Good thing we're wearing all this protective gear," Jack muttered.  At Daniel's insistence, they had on Kevlar vests while negotiating with the alien group, although Jack was now firmly of the opinion that this was just a bit of paranoia on Daniel's part.  A determined wish to have them all return home alive.

Oh, Jack would be alive all right.  And probably ten pounds lighter.  He patted himself dry again, quickly replacing the cloth, and followed Carter's example of hydrating himself with a generous swig of water.  Fortunately there was a stream of good water nearby.

"What was that?" Carter asked.

"What was what?" he responded vaguely.

"That striped thing."

"Nothing.  Just a piece of cloth."

"Why's it in your pack?"

Interesting that when she's being nosy, she's not saying 'sir' every two seconds, Jack grumbled to himself.  "Does it matter?"

She shrugged and flopped back on the sparse grass.

He took out the striped cloth, tipped some of his water on it, and wiped down his face again.  "If you must know, it's an old T-shirt of Daniel's that I thought I'd put it to good use."

Carter turned her head and looked over at him.   "Kid Daniel?"

"Yeah."

"How can Kid Daniel have an old shirt, sir?  His clothes are at most a week old."

"Okay, not an old shirt.  He's just outgrown it, that's all."  Using his old line, he tried again, "I just thought I'd put it to good use."

"How could he have outgrown it, sir?  Is he growing fast?  Janet never mentioned that."  Carter was appearing more interested now in the topic, rather than less interested.

"Okay, not really outgrown it.  It's just two sizes too small.  I thought I'd put it to good use."

"I can understand Daniel buying his clothes too big, sir, but I'm surprised he would buy one too small.  Did he make a mistake?"

"Okay, not really too small.  It's just one he never wears.  I thought I'd put it to good use."

"He hasn't worn most of his clothes yet, sir.  He hasn't had time."

She was like one of those pesky little dogs with a bone to gnaw on.  Jack scrambled to find some kind of response.

"Okay, not really one he never wears.  Just one..."  Now he couldn't think of anything.  Damn Carter, anyway.

"It's okay, sir," Carter said, hiding a smile as she got to her feet.  "I'll go relieve Teal'c."

Jack grumbled to himself while she was gone.  It was just an old shirt.  No big deal.  Just something he thought might be useful, and it was.  Not something worth making a criminal case over.  Geez.

Teal'c approached.  "O'Neill."

"How goes the treaty negotiation?" Jack asked.

"The vegetable-coated man is now rolling in dirt."

"What does Doucette say about it?"

"Little."

Teal'c also took a drink from his canteen while Jack glanced at his watch, wondering how much longer it would be until evening when it was supposed to cool down, and how much time he had left on this planet.  It would be nice to get home sooner, if the treaty got finalized quickly. 

"Daniel Jackson is in good hands," Teal'c intoned.

"What?" Jack asked, startled back to the present.

"You are concerned for Daniel Jackson's wellbeing."

"No, I'm not."

"I believe you are."

"Not."

Teal'c abstained from the ping-pong conversation.  "I will return to my post."

Jack nodded, adding quietly, "Not."

As Teal'c left, Raymond Doucette trudged over to the morning shade and stretched out under the tree, his eyes closed.

"Are you done?" Jack asked.

"Nowhere near it."

"Why?"

"The old guy fell asleep."

"Again -- why?"

"It's hot out." 

"So now what?" Jack prompted, when it appeared Raymond had nothing to add.

Raymond opened his eyes unexpectedly, and Jack crammed the striped T-shirt back into his pack.  Too late.

Raymond smiled.  "I miss him, too, sir."

"What?"

"Daniel.  I miss him, too.  He'd have figured this out by now."   Raymond sighed and got back to his feet.  "I better get back to work."

"Yeah, hurry it up.  We've got a time limit," Jack growled.  "Four hours, and then we start the hike back."

"Got it." Raymond headed back to the sleeping old man.

Jack glanced around.  No one else in sight.

He took out the T-shirt.  Okay, maybe it wasn't an old shirt.  And maybe it wasn't two sizes too small.  And maybe it wasn't one that Daniel had discarded yet.

He wasn't sure why exactly he'd taken it from Daniel's bag and tossed it in his own.  Well, actually, he did know why.  He had been packing Daniel's stuff, adding T-shirts and clothes for his stay at Catherine's, and he had put too many T-shirts in the suitcase.  He pulled one out, then he heard Daniel coming down the hall, so he'd snapped closed Daniel's suitcase and stuffed the little striped T-shirt in his pocket.  It was just an automatic gesture, one he wasn't even thinking of, just trying to hide the damning evidence that he'd been messing around in Daniel's suitcase.  Adding notes and stuff.

It was a cute little shirt, he thought, studying it now that his team was out of the way.  Green and white stripes, with a baseball bat on the front.  Jack had seen it in the store that first day and had found the right size and tossed it in with the others.  Tiniest little thing.  A little smelly now, granted, since he'd been using it to mop up, but it actually made a good sweat cloth.  Daniel had never actually worn it yet, as he seemed to have an extensive wardrobe, courtesy of that shopping trip with Carter. 

Maybe he'd play catch with Daniel.  Well, not with Daniel.  Although Teal'c could probably toss the little guy around pretty easily... but maybe he'd teach Daniel how to play catch.  He wasn't sure if he still had a glove of his own around, but he'd stop somewhere and pick up some gloves and a few softballs.  Or maybe one of those Nerf balls to start.  Maybe Daniel wouldn't mind playing catch.  Good eye-hand coordination drill, or something like that.

He could buy Daniel a glove.  Yeah.  Trick was trying to do it without enraging him about catering to Doug.  That Frederick was strict sometimes.  Doug, Frederick... Daniel.  He did miss the little guy. 

He held up the shirt again.  Yeah, he missed big Daniel, too, but he missed being around the little guy.  Hearing him talk.  Their one-week-old bedtime routine.   Helping him do stuff.  Helping him figure things out.  It had been a long time since someone had needed him like that.

"Cute shirt," Carter commented from behind him somewhere.

Jack winced.  Damn.  Caught.  He stuffed the T-shirt back in his pack.

Carter reached into one of her pockets, withdrew a folded piece of paper, and bent down to hand it to him.  "Daniel told me to give this to you, if you start -- in his words -- acting weird or missing me a lot."  She smiled and wandered off.

Jack turned the piece of paper over in his hands a few times, then casually glanced around to make sure he was alone.  Apparently he was not the only one leaving notes.

Jack.  Be nice to Ray.  He's one of my best guys, and I don't want him scarred for life.  I'll probably be too busy working on stuff to miss you much.  Frederick thinks I should suggest that we get together for-- here the word coffee was scratched out -- a drink when you get back.  But Doug just kinda wants to sit on the couch next to you and watch tv.  And I'll let you pick this time.  Just come back, okay?

"Okay," Jack whispered, refolding the paper.  He took out the little striped T-shirt and wiped the sweat from his face -- Really!  It was just sweat, he told himself.  Nothing more.  He tucked the T-shirt back out of sight, then got to his feet and headed out to look for Raymond.  Maybe he could help him somehow so they could get out of here to... to escape the heat. 

Yeah.  That's what he'd say.

continued...

Chapter Text

 T-Shirt Series #8 - The Official SGC T-Shirt

Monday, August 10, 1998

DANIEL JACKSON

Daniel sat very still in the back of the limo and tried not to bounce.  It was weird how he had to really concentrate to keep this body under control.  Because he really wanted to bounce without even hardly knowing why.  He just did.

Maybe it was probably because he was excited because he was going to work.  Yes, that was sure to be it.  And it was kind of an obvious thing.

Catherine had arranged it all with General Hammond, so here Daniel was, at ten o'clock on Monday morning, driving to work.  Well, not really driving -- the limo driver was driving the car, but at least they were going to work.  Although technically, the limo driver wasn't, because he was already working, doing the driving part.  Daniel was just sitting in the back.  Trying not to bounce.

And Catherine and Ernest must have finally understood that he was an adult, because weren't even with him.  They said he could go by himself, and Catherine waved at him from the front window and Ernest made sure he was in the booster seat okay.  When they had driven in the limo before, he hadn't sat in the booster seat, but he probably should have.  Jack had said to, but they'd all kind of forgotten it.  Well, Daniel hadn't actually forgotten it, but he thought he'd rather not say anything.  But the limo driver had quietly said to Catherine that he didn't mind taking Daniel alone to the mountain, but he'd prefer he was in a safety seat, as it was the law, and he didn't want to get fined. 

Daniel hadn't really liked the idea, but the driver was right and sometimes there was no arguing with being right.  You can try, but it's not a good thing to do, because that would mean that you were arguing for the wrong thing, and even if you won, it wouldn't be the best thing for you.

So he hadn't complained about the booster seat.  Jack had even said last week that it was like when you were flying in a rocket, you had to be safely buckled in it, for your own protection.  It might be uncomfortable, but it beats being squished somewhere, lying in an unrecognizable putrid mess in your own pool of blood. 

Jack says really gross things sometimes, Daniel thought.

Four hours.  That's how long General Hammond said he could stay at the SGC.  From ten-thirty to twelve-thirty, then he had to have a break.  Then from one o'clock to two-thirty, and then he had to go home.  "Period.  End of story."

Daniel had wanted to ask for more time, but General Hammond had been quite firm about the "Period.  End of story."  There hadn't been a lot of room for argument.  And four hours wasn't very much time, but if he concentrated and worked hard, he could do it.

Beside him on the seat was his briefcase.  There wasn't a whole lot in it, because Jack made him leave most of the stuff in his office on the base.  He didn't have his lap top with him now, just his zip drive, which he could use in both places.  He had his zip drive in his briefcase, and also inside it was a lunch that Catherine had made for him.  Although probably one of the maids had made it for him.  But it was kinda the same thing. 

And he had his small backpack with him, and he had remembered to pack an extra set of clothes because that was being responsible and thinking ahead and being ready for emergencies.

He strained in his seat to see if they were there yet -- and they were!  They were at the gate.  The driver in this car was sure a long way away from him.  Stretch limos were just that: stretched.  He couldn't even hear what the driver was saying to the guard, except for the word Hammond, which was a good word to drop.  The driver of the limo didn't park but went straight to the processing building, where you had to be scanned before you could get on the shuttle bus.  The driver stopped the car, then got out and went around the car and opened Daniel's door.  He waited a moment, then probably remembered that Daniel was stuck in the booster seat until someone unlatched him, so he leaned forward in the car and unhooked Daniel, and Daniel thanked him, even though the man had coffee and cigarette breath.

Daniel wondered what the man thought, delivering what appeared to be a five-year-old to the NORAD building.  Daniel got out of the limo by jumping from the car ledge to the sidewalk.  The limo driver reached in and got his briefcase and his backpack.  He helped Daniel put the backpack on and handed his briefcase to him.  Then Daniel nodded to him, just like Catherine nodded to him.  The driver nodded back.

Daniel turned around and looked at the big building and the doors that opened automatically, and he started feeling very short.  And small.  He held his briefcase and slowly walked to the doors.  They didn't open.  Apparently you had to either weigh more than he did or else be higher than he was for it to register.  The limo driver stuck his foot on the sensor and the door opened.  Daniel turned and waved goodbye to him, because he wasn't sure what to do next.

Inside the building, he was alone.  Everyone was staring at him.  He inched his way toward the x-ray scanners trying not to be scared.  What was there to be scared about?  He did this every morning usually, and half awake.  You just walked over, dumped your briefcase on the scanner and walked through the doorway thing, and then collected your briefcase and walked out the other side.  Easy. 

Except he couldn't lift his briefcase high enough.

He bit his bottom lip.  He was not going to cry.  No way.  He wouldn't. 

Suddenly his briefcase was taken from him and Walter was standing right in front of him.  "Good morning, Danny," Walter said with a wink, and Daniel remembered the different name he had to use.

"Walter!  It's you!  How did you know I would be here?  Are you just coming to work now, too?  Did you see the car I came in?" Daniel whirled around, but the limo was gone.  "Oh.  But it was really big and long.  A stretch limo -- and it was!  I sat in the back."

Walter put the briefcase on the conveyer belt and took off Daniel's backpack and put it on the conveyer belt.  "I'm glad you could join us, Danny.  It should be fun today."  Then he moved Daniel through the scanner and helped him put on the backpack again.  "Your father will be glad to see you."

For one moment, Daniel thought he meant Jack and his heart kind of leapt in his chest that maybe Jack was back early.  It was a strange expression, 'leapt in your chest', because if your heart really did that, it sure wouldn't be very healthy.  But Walter probably meant the mythical Doctor Daniel Jackson when he said 'your father'.  Not that Daniel was mythical, but there was only one of him, not two and he was already right here, so there wasn't another person to meet.  Or something like that.

Sometimes, he really wanted to have two of him.  That way, one of him could just sit around and read and learn stuff and do research and... read.  And the other one of him could look for Sha're and fight the Goa'uld, and that kind of stuff. 

Walter headed towards the door, motioning for Daniel to go with him.  He followed Walter to the little jeep that he'd rode in with Jack, and he remembered sitting on Jack's lap and going through the tunnel and learning about the bat cave and the spikes holding the tunnel together.  It seemed like a long time ago and it made him miss Jack again.   Jack had sure been gone a long time.  It seemed way longer than forty-eight hours.  That was only two days.  Although if he counted Saturday as the first day, and Sunday as the second day, then this was already the third day and tomorrow, Tuesday, would be the fourth day, and Jack would be home.   That way, it sounded like he was gone longer, but he would be home sooner, and that would be good.

Walter turned to him.  "Can I give you a boost to the seat?"

"Sure, Walter," he answered, agreeably.  "That would be great."  It was nice of Walter to ask first.

They went into the tunnel and they talked about the spikes again and the bats and whether Jack would drive Raymond Doucette crazy before Raymond Doucette drove Jack crazy.  They decided it was kind of a toss up.

Walter had everything arranged and they went through the next check-in really quickly and headed down to Daniel's office.  Walter got really serious and official, once they were inside Daniel's office.  "The general went over your schedule with me, Doctor Jackson.  You have one hour to work in your office here, and then there is a departmental meeting you can attend from 11:30 until 12:30, and then I'll come and get you and make sure you get something to eat for lunch.  He said you could eat in here if you wish.  Then you have another thirty minutes to work, and he's set up a briefing with several of the linguists regarding upcoming missions, and he'd like you there from 1:30 until 2:00, during the opening remarks.  That gives you another thirty minutes to pack up and put together what you need, and I'll take you back upstairs to your limo for 2:30."

Daniel listened carefully.  Part of it was good and part of it was too laid out for his liking, but at least he got to do a little of everything.  "Walter, you can use military time.  I'm not really a little kid, remember?  I'm just short."

"But we never use military time when it's just the two of us.  I thought you wouldn't want me to treat you any differently," Walter responded, and Daniel thought about it and decided it was true. 

Walter looked around the office.  "Do you need anything before I go?"

Daniel thought about it, and shook his head.  "I'll catch up on my emails and interdepartmental mail first.  Thanks, Walter."

Walter took off at a good clip, and Daniel was alone in his office.  He put his briefcase up onto the desk.  It was sure weird being this short.  He looked down at his black T-shirt and navy chinos and navy shirt.  He'd even made sure his SGC patch was on the shirt, but not the SG-1 patch yet, because General Hammond still hadn't decided about it. 

It was in his back pocket.  Along with his letter from Jack, which he thought he better bring along in case he needed it.

Getting into his chair was no problem, ever since Siler had brought him the new nifty one.  It was the perfect height and he could see everything he needed to.  He worked through his email, answered a few pressing messages, and deleted the rest.  As for the departmental memos...  He glanced up at the clock on the wall.  It was almost 11:15.  He paged through the memos until he found the info on the meeting at 11:30.

Oh.  It was about him and his 'situation'.  He wrinkled up his nose at that.  He'd rather it had been about something else.  Well, General Hammond had allotted an hour, so maybe he could switch things around so they could report on how his department was doing.

Walter knocked at the door.  "Ready to go?"

Daniel looked at the clock again.  It was 11:25.  "It's okay, Walter.  I can go by myself."

"I'm sure you can, Doctor Jackson.  But I'm under orders."

Oh.  Hard to argue with 'orders'.

"And," Walter look a little embarrassed, "and the general said I should suggest you visit the... bathroom, before the meeting."

Daniel would have argued, but he did have to go, so it would have been kind of stupid.  "Okay.  Good idea."  Next time, he'd remember to use the bathroom in his office so he wouldn't have to use a strange bathroom.  Jack had put a stool in the bathroom in Daniel's office.

He went with Walter to the men's bathroom, managed by himself while Walter waited outside the door, and then they went to the Archeological Departmental meeting.  Walter saluted him outside the door and went down the corridor.  Daniel gulped, took a deep breath and went inside.

The hour went quickly.  It was easy being there, asking questions and stuff.  Bill Thomson and Bill Lee were already used to him at this height, and Bill Lee wanted to talk about the gizmo from P4D-889 and when could Daniel have a look at it?  And Bill Thomson wanted to talk about P3X-974 and could more research be done on repairing Thor's Hammer.  And Daniel had to be very firm with them and ask for their reports on the Gatekeeper facility.  Bill and Bill and the others had looked around rather sheepishly since they hadn't done anything, and Daniel had to speak a little harshly with them about keeping focused on their work.

And then Walter was back and he had to go for lunch.  Walter had him set up in his office and had already brought his tray of food there.  Donna had fixed Daniel a special lunch, he said.  And Donna had fixed Walter one, too, so he was going to eat with Daniel. It went okay, but Daniel knew Walter was just trying really hard to be interested in everything, but really he had his mind on all those other things he did every day and not babysitting a shrunk doctor.

When they were done, it was almost 13.00 hours and Walter took their trays.  "Your meeting with the linguists is in half an hour.  General Hammond was hoping to speak with you just before the meeting."

"But Walter, what's the linguistic briefing about?  How can I brief them when I don't know what the missions are?"

"Blue file folder," Walter said with a wink, and pointed to the new folder to one side of Daniel's desk.  "General Hammond will come by and pick you up in twenty minutes.”

Daniel was already reaching for the file and had it flipped open by the time Walter reached the door.  Three mission briefings!  How was he going to read all this in twenty minutes?  That was a little unfair.  General Hammond needed to give him more time than this! 

He wasted a few minutes grumbling to himself and panicking, then he started reading quickly.  He read all three overviews and was started on the first mission details when General Hammond knocked on his door and entered.  At least he probably knocked.  Daniel didn't exactly hear him.

"Hello, Doctor Jackson."

His head jerked up.  "General Hammond?  Did you come early?"  He looked at the clock.  "Oh.  I guess you didn't.  I'm not exactly ready, sir.  I could use more time."

"That's fine, Doctor Jackson.  I've asked them to brief you, and not the other way around.  I think it is only courteous that we keep you informed of the mission readiness of your department.  And you may have suggestions for their research."

"Oh."  Daniel's fingers played with the papers in the file as he looked down at them.  "I thought I was the one doing the briefing."

"They are reporting to you, Doctor," General Hammond repeated.  He sat down in the chair next to Daniel's desk and put a zipped confidential Eyes Only bag on the desk.  "Before the meeting, though, I have a request to make of you."

Daniel looked at him warily.  He wasn't sure if he should be happy or worried.  He kind of felt both.

"It was brought to my attention," Hammond began, "that Colonel O'Neill took it upon himself to have several patches made.  One of them is pinned to your shirt."

Daniel looked down at the SGC logo he had pinned to the sleeve of his navy Oxford shirt.  He put his hand over it, suddenly afraid.

"Oh, don't worry, son.  I'm not going to take it away from you.  I just had something to give you."  And General Hammond unzipped the Eyes Only bag and took out a black T-shirt.  A kid sized one.  On it was written: Official SGC Personnel.  "I took the liberty of having this made for you."  General Hammond turned the T-shirt around.  On the back it read: Mess with the kid and you'll be talking to me.  And it was signed with General Hammond's recognizable signature.

Daniel blinked a few times rapidly, then looked over at General Hammond.  "That's a nice T-shirt, General.  Thank you."  He didn't know what to say.  It was a cool shirt, and with his navy Oxford shirt on over it, but unbuttoned in the front, people could see the very important first part, about him being an Official SGC Personnel, but no one could see the special message on the back unless he wanted them to.

"I've got another request for you."  The general leaned forward to touch Daniel's pinned-on SGC logo.  "Why aren't you wearing the other patch that Colonel O'Neill made for you?"

"The other patch?" Daniel asked, feeling a little stunned.  "The SG-1 patch?"

"Yes.  Don't you want to be considered part of SG-1 any longer?"

"I do!  I do, General Hammond!" Daniel cried, wiggling so he could pull out the patch from his back pocket.  "See?" he explained, waving it.  "I've been carrying it around with me, but I didn't think I'd be allowed to wear it, because I'm so short."

In answer, General Hammond leaned over and took it from him.  And then Hammond pinned it on his other shoulder.  "You should get these sewed on," the general said.  "It looks more professional."

"I'll do that!" Daniel exclaimed, brushing the tears from his eyes.

"Good."  General Hammond stood up.  "Now we've got a meeting to go to."

Daniel smiled big and hopped down from his desk.  "We sure do."  He looked from his left shoulder to his right shoulder, then back to this left.  "Thank you, general.  For this and for the official SGC T-shirt."                             

"Aren't you going to wear it?" the general asked, sounding a little hurt, so Daniel quickly took off his plain black T-shirt and put on the new one.  "And don't worry about spilling on it or anything," Hammond said.  "I got four of them for you.  And I made sure they are washable."

Daniel's smile got even bigger.  "You just think of everything!"

"Now these are only for when you are on duty, here at the SGC.  You can't wear them off site or when you're not strictly on duty."

"I won't forget, General," Daniel promised fervently.  Wait until he showed Jack the T-shirts!  Would Jack ever be impressed!

And he walked down the corridor, feeling very official because of the black T-shirt that read 'Official SGC Personnel' and the two patches that Jack had given him, one on each shoulder.

And he felt very special because of the general walking beside him and very special because of the general talking to him as they went through the corridors.

And he felt very special because of the note from Jack in his pocket.

And Jack would be home tomorrow.

And that was very special all on its own.

continued...

Chapter Text

 T-Shirt Series #9 - The Dirty T-Shirt

Tuesday, August 11, 1998

DANIEL JACKSON

A noise woke him and, disoriented, he looked around the room at the strange shadows and blurry shapes.  "Jack?" he whispered, sleepily.

But Jack wasn't there.  Jack was on another planet, Daniel remembered.  And Daniel was at Catherine's because it was his own idea to be there.  It had been a fairly good idea, too, even though Sunday afternoon he'd hung around on the far side of the vegetable garden fence for a while, and Ferretti had laughed at him.

And the previous evening had been fun.  When he'd returned from the SGC on Monday, Catherine had told him quietly that Ernest loved playing a game called RACK-O.  Would Daniel mind playing a game with them?  They usually played a game every evening, all different kinds of games, but RACK-O was Ernest's favorite.

Daniel rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, but sleep seemed to be just out of reach.  Usually he slept okay but maybe his mind was too stimulated from all the excitement the evening before.  He remembered reading about children's bodies and how they shouldn't be over-stimulated in the evening.   He'd snickered at the word 'over-stimulated', because he could imagine all the things Jack would say about that.

The three of them had played RACK-O for four hours and had laughed a lot and Daniel had won most of the games.  Apparently he was really good at it.  You were dealt ten cards and you had to put them in these slots in the plastic racks in the order they were dealt.  Then as your turns progressed, you had to gradually get ten cards in sequential order from the front to the back.  Like when you started it might be a 34 in the first slot, and then an 8, and then a 16, and then a 60, and then a 12, and so on.  So if you were dealt a 5 card, you could replace the first card -- the 34 -- and you'd have a few in a row.

But Daniel had quickly learned that even though the 60 was in sequential order, the card still had to go because there were only 60 cards in all, and no way the 60 card be in the fourth slot!   Then he discovered that you got lots more points if you had cards in a row, like cards 22, 23, and 24, which he did three times!

RACK-O was an old game, from the 1950s, but it was after Ernest's time.  But Ernest liked it a lot, because he had made up one like it and played it on the planet when he was stuck there for fifty years.

That sure must have been terrible.  To be alone all that time.  For fifty years.  That was a very long time.  Everyone Ernest had known then was dead, except for Catherine, which was really good for him that she was still alive.  When Ernest came back his parents and family were dead, but then, so were Daniel's, when he was a kid before.

Sha're was still alive, or at least Daniel hoped she was alive.  He used to think about her all the time when he was... taller, but he had trouble remembering what she looked like now.  A few times he had tried to close his eyes and think about her and what it was like being married to her and sleeping with her... and stuff.  But even though he would start thinking about Sha're, he would end up thinking about the baby goats on Abydos, or the funny guy who used to bring them the orange root vegetables that looked like turnips but fortunately tasted more like sweet yams.  Boy, was that guy ever a laugh.

Daniel smiled now, just at the thought of him.

And then he thought about Jack and got sad, because he could remember Jack very clearly, and he sure missed him a lot.  But Jack would be home tomorrow, or maybe it was even today, depending on which side of midnight he was awake at.  He thought about opening his eyes and looking at the clock but he fell asleep instead.

Tuesday morning was almost a repeat of Monday morning, except he took with him his suitcase and the rest of his stuff.  Because tonight he'd be going home with Jack.  Jack was coming back!

He better be coming back, Daniel thought, panicked.  He froze in the middle of packing up his 'laundry' suitcase.  No, Jack would come back.  He would.

He would.

Daniel determinedly continued his packing.  Almost all his clothes were in the dirty clothes suitcase.  At least that's what he had started calling it, and now he couldn't stop.  He'd put all his clean clothes in the drawers under the bed here, and as his clothes got dirty, he'd put them in the little suitcase, so he could take them home again later to wash.  There were a few black dirty T-shirts in it.  And a red dirty T-shirt.  That was from the zoo.  And the zebra-striped dirty T-shirt was from the zoo, as well, and from breakfast the next day.  The yellow one was thrown out.  The white dirty T-shirt had Sunday's meal on it.  And his sleeping-in T-shirt, the old one of Jack's, was in the laundry suitcase because it was probably dirty, even though all he did was sleep in it for three nights.

In fact, the only T-shirt that was clean, besides his last black T-shirt, was the light blue T-shirt.  He was saving that one for going home in.  Jack had been wearing a T-shirt the exact same color when he left, so he must have put it in Daniel's suitcase, with the beige shorts that matched Jack's beige cargo pants, just so Daniel would wear them when Jack came back.  Right?

In his small backpack he put the rolled up light blue T-shirt and the beige shorts and his last clean pair of underpants, not counting the clean pair he'd just put on.  And he put in his velcro sandals just like Jack's.  He was wearing his last black T-shirt with his last beige Oxford shirt and beige chino pants, and his brown desert boots were starting to really get a lived-in look about them.  It meant that they were more comfortable, because they were broken in, but it made him a little nervous because he really wasn't planning on being short that long.

And it was okay that he didn't have a second black T-shirt to wear because he was going to change as soon as he got to the mountain and put on his official SGC T-shirt which was in his locker there.  There were four all together, but he'd worn one yesterday, so there were three left.  That should be enough for today.  He only had the chino paints he was wearing, as the rest all were in the laundry suitcase.  He'd have to be really careful today.

Daniel looked around the room carefully.  He'd put his bedside clock and his two pictures back in the suitcase, on top of the dirty T-shirts and underwear and other clothes.  He went down on his stomach and looked under the bed and found a sock of his.  He looked in the drawers and made sure he had everything out of them. 

He stared at the bed.  When he stayed at Jack's before, when he was tall, Jack had always said not to make the bed when he left, but just strip the sheets and put them in the laundry room.  Daniel wondered if he should strip the sheets, but the maid would probably do that.  He was pretty sure she had remade the bed every day after he left, even though he'd tried to make it himself.  It just looked nicer or something when he came back into the room.

He went into the adjoining bathroom and got his toothbrush and toothpaste and comb.  He looked around the room, but nothing else of his was in there.

Now his official stuff. He opened his briefcase to make sure all his papers were there and found his packed lunch from the previous day.  He stared at it for a moment, blinking, trying to remember why he hadn't eaten his lunch.  He remembered Catherine handing it to him.  He remembered putting in his briefcase.  He remembered thinking about it on the way to the mountain.

Then he had forgotten all about.

Oh.  Walter.  Walter hadn't known about the lunch in his briefcase, and Walter had brought them lunch from Donna in the commissary.

Then why hadn't he noticed his lunch when he had his briefcase open?  That took some more thinking, but after a few moments' thought, he realized he hadn't opened his briefcase at his office.

There was a tuna fish sandwich, which he normally liked, but now was probably not a good time to eat it.  Daniel tore it into little pieces and flushed it down the toilet because he didn't want Catherine to know he hadn't eaten it.  There was a juice box and an apple and a chocolate bar.  Daniel put the juice box and the chocolate bar back in his briefcase, because he could eat them later in his office. 

Next, the computer case.  Daniel carefully packed his laptop in its case, with the extra mouse and all the power cords and the telephone connection cord. 

Well, that was it.  He was all ready to go.  Dressed, packed, and waiting.

Except he hadn't had breakfast.  And that wouldn't be for a while.

Catherine and Ernest weren't even up yet, either.  Probably because it was only 4:30 in the morning.  He thought it might take him longer to pack his things to go to the SGC and then home with Jack, but it hadn't. 

Daniel sat on the edge of the bed.  He had another five and a half hours to go before the limo driver would take him to the SGC, because he wasn't allowed to be there before 10:30 a.m.  

That was a long time.  Not fifty years, but still a long time.

He sighed.  And took a bite from the apple.

But at least Jack was coming home today.  It was finally that day.

Standing in front of his locker at 2:40 p.m., Daniel sighed again.  Well, the day had gone quickly at least.  Except for the morning waiting part.  Then once Catherine and Ernest got up, they had all had a nice big breakfast together, and even had time for two more games of RACK-O before Daniel left in the limo for the mountain. 

He'd gone straight to the locker room when he got to the SGC and took off his black T-shirt and put on his official SGC T-shirt.  Good thing General Hammond had given him the official SGC T-shirts, because at breakfast Daniel had spilled his orange juice on his last clean black T-shirt.  The glasses at Catherine's place had weird balance or something because that had happened to him almost every morning.

Then he'd spent the morning working in his office.  And he ate the chocolate bar and had the juice box from the lunch from the day before.  He decided to ration the chocolate bar, allowing himself one quarter of it at 10:30 and one quarter at 11:00 and one quarter at 11:30 and there was supposed to be the last quarter at 12:00, but he'd forgotten at 11:30 and had eaten both pieces when he wasn't looking.

Which was just as well, as he would have spoiled his appetite for lunch.  He sure had a big appetite these days.  Well, not really big, just when it was meal time, he was really hungry but just not for as much food at a time as he used to eat.  And he really needed to eat regularly or he'd get cranky and stuff, which he tried his very best to avoid.  The chocolate helped, of course, in the morning.

He had lunch with Ferretti, which was kinda fun, and Ferretti only mentioned the scarecrow thing once, which made it even better.  Walter was busy doing stuff, Ferretti had said, so he had volunteered to bring Daniel his lunch.  Apparently everyone must have thought that Daniel shouldn't eat in the commissary without Jack, considering his previous track record there of dropping his tray and stuff.

Ferretti had walked Daniel to his meeting with his department, and there had actually been a pretty productive hour there, from 1:00 to 2:00.   The Bills weren't arguing, and Daniel had sorted out a translation problem, and the duty roster for the next week, and approved eighteen requests for supplies to be forwarded to General Hammond's office, and the team had reported about the Gatekeeper's facility.

Then back to his office for more emails.  At 2:30, Walter had dropped by his office and they had walked to the locker room so that Daniel could get changed out of his SGC gear.  General Hammond had surprised Daniel by saying that Daniel would go home with him for dinner, and then they'd go back to the SGC after dinner to get ready for Jack to come back.  There was no exact time that Jack would be back, just sometime between 7:00 and 9:30, probably.  General Hammond wanted to be back by 6:15, and Daniel agreed.

Once Walter had left, Daniel took off his SGC T-shirt that had tomato soup on it from lunch, he noticed now, cringing when he thought about being in the meeting in the afternoon with his department.  How stupid that must have looked.  He dropped it into his SGC laundry bag, the mesh one with his name on it.  He took off his pants, then picked up his shirt and put them both in the bag as well.   There was also a note attached to the long sleeved Oxford shirt, requesting the pinned logos to be sewed on.  He stood on his toes and dropped it in the big laundry hamper in the corner.

It was cool how that happened.  He would drop clothes in the hamper one day, and the next day there would be clean clothes returned in the mesh bag on a hook in his locker.  He never ever saw anyone take the mesh bags from the big hamper, or anyone bring them clean clothes back.  Maybe one day he'd ask Jack who did the laundry and where.  He'd like to see who washed his clothes that he wasn't allowed to take home.  They all had clothes they left on base usually, and every day at the end of the day, they put their dirty clothes in the mesh bag with their name on it and they came back clean the next day.                            

He carefully unfolded his light blue T-shirt and slipped it on.  He had to fumble with the ties on the desert boots for a while, since they had knotted and it was hard to undo them, but finally he got them undone, and he put them in his backpack.

He put on the shorts and his velcro sandals and he was ready for Jack to come home.   But first, he had to go to General Hammond's.  He'd been there once before, but with the team, after a mission.  This time he was going by himself.

General Hammond walked in.  "Oh, there you are.  Ready to go?"

Daniel almost said, "Well, where did you expect me to be, since you told me to stay here until you got here."  But he didn't say it.  Instead he said, "I'm ready."

They walked out of the locker room, took the elevator up, and left the SGC.  It sure was easier doing all that when you were with a general.  There was a black car up top that met them and drove them out of the tunnel and right up to the general's Crown Victoria.  Daniel looked at the car's windows and wondered if this was the same car the general'd had a year ago, when Jack had broken the windows on the general's car when he thought Daniel was dead when he really wasn't because he was with Nem on the planet Oannes.  Maybe not.  It looked new.

And when they got inside the car, it even smelled new.

There was a booster seat in the back, which was weird until General Hammond reminded Daniel that he had granddaughters.

"Are they going to be at your place?" Daniel asked, a little worried, but the general reassured him that the girls were with their parents, which was a relief because Daniel had no idea how he would interact with them because they would think he was a kid, and he wasn't.

The general had a big place.  It was very green, which was nice because much of Colorado Springs wasn't very green.  It reminded him of Jack's place, but a lot bigger and fancier.  Inside, it reminded him more of Catherine's place.  Oldish.  With kinda boring oldish things, although Daniel would never have said so to General Hammond.

The general didn't change really, but he took off his jacket and put on a sweater, even though it was August.  "Would you like to see my rose garden?" he asked, holding open the back door, which Daniel figured out was a rhetorical question, since it was obvious Daniel was going to see the rose garden whether he thought it was a good idea or not.

They walked a short ways down the grassy slope and over to a freshly watered rose garden.  There were a lot of different colors of roses, all different shapes and sizes and smells.  Some smelled better than others and some smelled more than the others and some hardly smelled at all.  Sometimes the roses were too tall for Daniel to smell, so the general carefully picked him up and held him so he could smell the roses.  The general knew a lot about roses.  Their hardiness and blooming time and fertilizers and water schedules.  And he knew their common name and their Latin name, and Daniel explained the Latin roots to the general, and they had a nice time.

Until Daniel slipped on the walkway and fell.  And landed on his butt in the damp soil, then rolled to one side.

He slipped again, trying to get to his feet, and when the general helped him up finally, he was dirty all over his light blue T-shirt and his beige shorts, and his velcro sandals were muddy and wet.

Daniel tried not to cry but didn't do too good a job not doing it.  Tears ran down his face.  His 'meeting Jack' clothes were ruined and he didn't have any clean clothes left.  Jack had left the clothes for him to wear when he got back, and Daniel had made a mess of them.

The tears ran faster, and a little hiccupped sob slipped out, even though he had decided he wouldn't cry in front of the general.  Doug slipped out, too, and before Daniel could do anything, Doug started crying and wouldn't stop.

The general led him inside the house and into the laundry room.  He took the dirty clothes off Daniel and put them in the washing machine, giving him a white housecoat with a Barbie logo on the pocket to wear.  The general helped Daniel use a washcloth to clean himself up, although the general did most of the work.  It took a while to rinse off the velcro sandals in the sink, but that just made them clean and soaking wet and not just dirty and soaking wet.

It took a while, but Daniel finally stopped crying and was then so embarrassed he almost started crying again.

"I'm sorry," he got out, as the general set the sandals on yet another towel on top of the dryer.

"For what?" the general asked.  "Nothing to be sorry for.  This happens sometimes with my granddaughters, so believe me, I've done this all before."

"But I'm not a kid.  I'm just short."

"Doctor Jackson, if we were in the Navy, I'd say you're just getting your sea legs," the general said quietly and calmly.  "You're in a body that you're not accustomed to, your balance is off, which is quite understandable and probably explains your minor mishaps.  I'm sure you're doing a much better job it than I would, if I was in the same predicament."

"Yeah?" Daniel responded.  "Do you think that's it?"  That would be nice, if it were true.  He hoped it was the reason.

"I'm positive," the general said solemnly.

The washing machine cycle finally ended, and the general transferred the clothes and towels in the dryer.  Then they went into the kitchen which smelled nice because the general's housekeeper had cooked up a nice light dinner for them and left it for them.  The general put the covered plates in the microwave and told Daniel to sit at the table on the covered back porch.  It was spaghetti and a salad and garlic bread.  And even though it was only 4:30 p.m., Daniel was really hungry and ate a lot.  He'd been up for twelve hours already.  This was another long day.

When they finished eating, the dryer 'binged', right on time, and Daniel's clothes were done!  He took off the white housecoat with the Barbie logo on the pocket and put on his nice warm light blue T-shirt and the beige shorts.  The velcro sandals, though, were still wet.  He looked down at his bare feet, then up to the general.

"Hmm...." the general said.  "We'll have to make a stop before heading back."  Since it was 5:30 already, they headed out to the car.  The general had to carry Daniel, which was really weird.  Daniel didn't know what to do with his hands.  He didn't want to hold onto the general.

He missed Jack.

Once in the car, the general strapped him into the booster seat and they drove down the hill towards the town.  The general stopped at a small general store, then looked at Daniel's feet for a moment, as though eye-balling the size of them.  "I'll be right back," the general said.  The door locks went 'click' as they locked.  Daniel felt strange sitting alone in the back of the general's car.  The windows were down, and they'd parked in the shade, but Daniel knew it wasn't a good idea to leave children alone in a car in the heat because they could get--

"I"m back," the general said, opening the rear car door.

"That was fast," Daniel said, surprised. 

The general put a pair of flip-flop sandals on Daniel's feet.  They were the dollar kind, with the little plastic strap that went between your toes.  "I hope you can walk okay in these," the general said.

"I wear these all the time," Daniel reassured him.

"At this height?"

"Well, not yet, but I'm sure I'll be fine.  Thank you," Daniel responded.

The general drove them back to the SGC and Daniel was smiling again because he was wearing the right T-shirt and shorts and he wanted to bounce because in just a short time Jack was coming back through the gate.

And they could go home together.

continued...

Chapter Text

 T-Shirt Series #10 - The Light Blue T-Shirt

Wednesday, August 12, 1998

12:10 AM

JACK O'NEILL

He almost made it. 

I found out later that the official time clocked in as 20.43.   Stiler won the bet, although I was a close second, only fifteen minutes off.   Carter had said 20.15, and Teal'c had foolishly signed up for 21.30.  As if.

I've said it before and I'll say it again.  Cute as hell.   And I mean that in a good way, I hasten to add.

We came through the gate, tired and dirty and stinking to high heaven after a four-day mission.  When we stepped into the wormhole, it was midday on the Planet of Dung, as I affectionately named it, but almost ten at night on Earth when we arrived at the other end.  All I could think of was having a shower and cleaning up.  Being clean again and not smelling.  The guards on duty actually stepped back from us as we came down the ramp, and Carter had disappeared out the door before the dust had settled in the gateroom.

It was our first mission off world since Daniel's downsizing, and despite my concern over how Daniel had been during my/our absence, the sight of Walter's 'thumbs up' in the control room put my fears to rest.  Everything was okay.  Walter wouldn't lie about that.

So I headed to the infirmary, put up with the standard post-mission poking and jabbing, hustled to the locker room in a threadbare bathrobe since my BDUs were confiscated, had a nice steamy shower, and dressed in the beige cargo pants and the T-shirt I'd arrived in on Saturday morning.

Then, I went in search of Daniel -- not too difficult since a note was taped to my locker to please pick up Doctor Jackson in the control room.  Stopping long enough to toss my towel in the basket, I headed for the elevator.

And there he was.  Cute as hell.  I know, I said that already, but he really was.  Dressed in beige cargo shorts and a light blue T-shirt (suspiciously the same color as the one I was wearing), Daniel was out for the count on an office swivel chair, still sitting upright except for his head at an angle resting on one shoulder.  One slip-on flipflop had slipped off and his bare little toes looked like they were begging to be tickled.  I wouldn't, of course, but they were still begging.

That's when I saw the time Walter had posted.  20.43.  It was now just past midnight and way too late for a five-year-old, even a recently become five-year-old, to be up.  He'd tried, he'd almost made it, but age will tell.

I crouched in front of the chair.  "Hey," I whispered.

He turned his head slightly toward my voice, but he continued sleeping.

"Daniel?" I said a little louder. 

His eyes opened to half mast.  He looked at me for a moment, then slid forward off the chair into my arms, his little face finding the side of my neck.  His arms tightened briefly, then he snuggled back into sleep, giving a small sigh of satisfaction.

He's so damn eloquent.

I stood up with him in my arms, relishing the feel of his acceptance of me in his life, of his simple joy of my presence, and his immense trust that I will take him where he needs to go.

Walter moved the chair back to where it belonged, then returned to me as I hitched Daniel higher in my arms.  "Doctor Jackson told Ms Langford that he'd wait for you here tonight and go home with you.  At around 19:00, he showed up here in the gateroom with the general after they had dinner together, then just hung around.  He almost made it."

"Thanks for keeping an eye on him."

"My pleasure, sir."

"I'll see you tomorrow," I started to say, then was interrupted.

"Take a day," General Hammond said, standing in the doorway, obviously on his way out.  "But I expect to see you at 08:00 on Thursday."

They're saps, both of them.  But I will take advantage of a sap any day.

"Thank you, sir."  I walked with the general to the elevator.  "And thanks for all your help with him, sir."  I never used to be able to say thanks.  Now it falls from my lips with heartfelt gratitude.

"He's been no trouble at all.  And the way he's driving his department, they're all scurrying double time.  He wants them caught up on all the backlog.  He's telling them they have to accomplish a lot now, before he's resized."

I smiled at the image of the limp bundle in my arms with those little bare toes ordering all the flaky linguists and archaeologists and all the other 'ists' around.  And they had thought the adult Daniel was a taskmaster.  I bet they just can't find it in themselves to argue with the kid version, not when he can still think circles around them and over them and way above them.

He just can't stay awake long enough to accomplish everything he wants to.  Like this.

I'll make sure he knows how incredibly welcomed I felt anyway, just knowing he was there, and how incredibly lucky I felt walking out to the shuttle bus with him, even if he's fast asleep.  He's still good company after a long, sometimes stressful mission.

Carter slipped into the seat behind us in the shuttle that takes us to the parking lot, gently brushing back the sweat-dampened hair from Daniel’s forehead.  He stirred, opened his eyes to see her, smiled, and then went back to sleep.  She sat back, content and refreshed, feeling just as touched by that small token of friendship as I had been.

A short time later, I waved goodbye to Carter and sauntered slowly to the truck, enjoying the evening silence, the cool breeze and a dark sky full of bright possibilities.

I tucked him into his booster seat and did up the safety belt.  I took one more look at his face, surprised to see his eyes open.  "Hey."

"I'm glad you're back," Daniel murmured, his eyes already shuttering.

"I'm glad to be back," I whispered, then leaned forward and kissed the end of his sunburned nose.

And I drove us home.

continued

Chapter Text

 T-Shirt Series #11 - The Lousy T-Shirt

Wednesday, August 12, 1998

2:30 PM

JACK O'NEILL

Jack wiped up the coffee spill on the counter.   He had just almost tripped for the third time, Daniel seeming to get in the way every time he turned around.  Daniel had been doing this all day, ever since he woke up and registered that he was home and Jack was home.  Except now, in the kitchen, it was proving dangerous.  "What's up?"

Daniel shrugged.  "I dunno.  What are you doing?"  He tried to see up onto the kitchen counter.

"Getting a cup of coffee.  You want one?"

Daniel shook his head.

"Then let's go back to the living room.  You don't have to follow me every time I leave the room."

"I was just wondering what you were doing."

And you don't want me out of your sight.   It had been a long four days for both of them, and Jack had the sneaking suspicion that Daniel had no idea why he needed to keep Jack in his direct line of vision. 

"I'm not going anywhere, except back to my newspaper.  Come on."  Jack steered Daniel out of the kitchen, through the dining room, towards the stairs to the living room, trying to keep his coffee in the other hand far away from the kid.

As luck would have it, the door bell rang, and Daniel twisted out from under Jack's hand and raced for the door.  Hot coffee spilled onto Jack's hand and the floor.  He sighed and went back for something to clean it up.

"Sam!" Daniel exclaimed, as Carter entered the house.  "You're back from the mission!"  He hugged her, and she returned it joyfully. "You're back!  Hey, Jack -- it's Sam!  She's back!"

"We sure are!  I saw you last night, Daniel, in the shuttle bus.  Did you forget?" Carter asked, enjoying the youthful enthusiasm. 

Jack dropped a dishtowel over the coffee spill, then glanced up as Carter tossed him a package.  He caught it, spilled his coffee again, and headed back to the kitchen while Daniel was still distracted.

Teal'c entered behind Carter, which set off another round of: "Jack!  It's Tealc!  Teal'c's here!  And he's got dessert!  Teal'c, you're back from the mission!  I missed you guys!"

Jack hated interrupting the love fest, but he poked his head into the hallway.  "Daniel, you gotta keep your voice down, okay, sport?  Top secret stuff, remember?"

"Oops!" Daniel whispered, covering his mouth and looking horrified.  "I was too loud, wasn't I?"  He slammed the door shut.  "There.  The neighbors can't hear now."

Teal'c brought the cake into the dining room, nodding affectionately as Daniel clamored onto the chair to take a look at it.

"Wow, Teal'c.  That's a great cake."  Daniel looked over at Jack expectantly, but Carter emerged from the kitchen with plates and forks.

"Teal'c and I thought we'd stop by and see how Daniel made out while we were gone."

"Forget that; nothing happened," Daniel said, quickly, "just tell me about the mission!"

"Tomorrow you'll be at the briefing.  You'll hear it all then."  Jack brought in a coffee for Carter and root beer for the others. 

"Besides, Daniel, we all brought you a present."  Carter was grinning ear to ear.

"You did?"  Daniel's attention was moving between Carter and Teal'c, who was cutting the angel food cake. 

Jack returned from the kitchen with the tissue-wrapped gift in his hand.  "First, we need to talk."

Daniel nodded.  "Sure.  Okay.  What about?"

"This cannot leave this house.  Deal?"

"Is it from the planet?" Daniel asked, his eyes fixed on the package. "Is that allowed?  What is it?  An artifact?  Does it need translating?  I can translate it; I'm sure I can.  Just let me get my notes and--” He was half off his chair, but Teal'c's hand stopped him.

"We secured General Hammond's approval for its removal," Teal'c intoned.

Jack frowned and looked to Carter, who nodded.  "Well, we had to get his permission to have it made, sir."

"What is it?" Daniel asked, breathlessly.

Jack placed it before him.

With shaking hands, Daniel removed the tissue paper.  It was a T-shirt.  "There were T-shirts on the planet?" he asked, confused.

"Hold it up," Carter said.

Daniel unfolded the large T-shirt and read the words emblazed across the front.  MY TEAM WENT TO AN ALIEN PLANET AND ALL THEY BROUGHT ME WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT.   He held it up and it hung down to his knees.

"We thought you'd like another night shirt," Jack explained.

Daniel's grin said it all.  He hugged them each in turn.  "Thank you!  Thank you!"  And then he looked at the T-shirt again.  "You know, the best part?" His smile faded and he looked carefully at Teal'c and Carter and then Jack.  "My team came back from an alien planet.  Alive.  And you're all here with me."

"Then you do not need the shirt?" Teal'c asked.

Daniel dragged it on, patting the words on the front.  "I need it.  I need it."

"Then let's eat cake!" Jack said.  He drank his coffee and watched Daniel eat, hardly stopping to chew as he chatted away to his teammates, clearly thrilled to be in their company.   Daniel looked his way and grinned, his eyes seeking Jack's.

He smiled back.  It may have been a lousy T-shirt, but it currently contained a priceless treasure.

continued...

Chapter Text

FIVE series # 1 - Officially Five

Thursday, August 13, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"Jack?"

I looked up over the edge of my newspaper at my breakfast partner, currently spilling Cheerios all over the table as he poured them unsuccessfully into his bowl.  "Yeah?"

"How old am I?"

I slowly lowered my coffee cup.   That fell in the “loaded question” category.  "What do you mean?"

Daniel put down the cereal box and looked at me thoughtfully, his little brow furling in concentration.  "How old do you think I am?  I mean, this body, not how old I really am."

"What did Fraiser say?" I asked, treading carefully.

"It doesn't matter what she says.  I'm wondering what you say."

"Fraiser said your body age is between four years eight months and five years two months." 

"Five years old then, right?"

"Somewhere in there, yeah."  I reached across the table to steady the gallon jug of milk Daniel was attempting to pour into his cereal bowl.  He certainly had the body strength of a five year old.

"What do you mean by that?" Daniel asked, looking up anxiously, the milk splashing to join the cereal on the table.

"Huh?"  I got up, put the milk away, and got a cloth to wipe up the scattered cereal and liquid.

"You said, 'somewhere in there'. Are you saying I'm not five yet?  That I'm closer to the four years eight months?  Is that what you're saying?" Daniel asked worriedly.

"No, no.  Didn't say that.  You're probably right at the five-year-old age mark."

"Janet said that going by my height and weight, the mid-mark age was four years, eleven months.  That can't be right, can it, Jack?  Doesn't that sound way too young to you?"

"Eat your cereal."  I settled back in my chair, wondering how to handle this particular sticky situation.  I'd forgotten that about kids.  The sticky, uncomfortable questions.  Sort of like “wife” questions.  Sara's "Do I look fatter in this dress or that dress?" questions.   You were damned no matter how you answered it.

"Jaaack?" Daniel asked, around the spoon in his mouth.  He was clearly not going to let this topic go.

"Let's just say you're five."

"Officially?"

"Huh?" I responded again, stalling for time to figure out what to say.  "How officially?"

"I want to be five officially.  How can I do that?  I don't want anyone to think I look like I'm four at all.   I just can't be four, Jack.  Not even for another few weeks."

I thought about it, then announced, "I’ll be right back."  I fled into the kitchen and poured myself another cup of coffee, thinking furiously.  The fake I.D. was just in the process of being made, but I wasn't sure now what birthday they'd decided to put on it.  Different dates had been tossed around, but the paperwork hadn’t been approved yet.  I was pretty sure I still had time...  Yeah. Okay.  How to do this…?

I rummaged around in the kitchen drawers, then scratched my head some more and found what I needed.  A moment later, I walked back to the dining room with a blueberry muffin on a plate, five lit candles stuck into it.  "Happy Birthday to you..." I sang, glancing up to see Daniel's mouth fall open in surprise.   I put the muffin in front of Daniel.  "Now make a wish and blow them out, and you'll officially be five."

"Really?" Daniel stared at the burning candles.

"Really.  I'll make sure they record the date on your I.D."  I waved towards the still-burning candles and sang the ending, "Happy Fifth Birthday to you."  

Daniel stared, transfixed, at the candles, his face almost blank.

"Daniel?" I prompted softly.

"Jack?" came the quiet response.

"Blow them out."

Instead, Daniel dissolved in tears, his face scrunching up, his arms reaching across the table to me.  Startled, I quickly bent down and picked up the crying child, rocking him, trying to figure out what the problem was now.   I thought I’d figured it out.  You need a damned doctorate for this stuff.  "What's up?" I whispered, after a few minutes.  "Hmm?"

Daniel pushed back and looked at me, rubbing his eyes, the adult in him struggling for control, and embarrassed to find himself in this situation.  "I dunno."

"You don't know why you were crying?"

"It's dumb," he said finally.

"What?  My birthday candles?"

"No.  This!  Me!  Caring so much how old I look like.  It's dumb."

"No, it's not.  It's never dumb.  You just need to know.  Everyone needs to know how old they are—how old they look like," I quickly amended.

Daniel looked at me thoughtfully.  He sniffed.

I nodded my head toward the shortened candles.  "Better hurry and get your wish in.  It's a limited time offer."

Daniel stared at me for a moment longer, then smiled and twisted around on my lap, his elbows and forearms leaning on the table as he blew out the candles with an enthusiastic burst of air.

"There," I said.  "That settles it.  You can tell everyone you are five."  I helped Daniel get back in his booster seat and pushed the neglected cereal bowl back in place.  "What did you wish for?"

"Not telling," Daniel said, quite seriously.  "It doesn't work if you tell."  He contemplated a big spoonful of Cheerios, then opened his mouth and crammed them in, using one finger to push in the ones escaping.

I went back to my cup of coffee and my newspaper.  At least that crisis was solved.  Maybe I'd get my newspaper article read before the next crisis.  Daniel was concentrating on something or other while eating his bowl of cereal, so I had a few minutes’ grace.

"Jack?" Daniel asked, thirty seconds later.

"Daniel?"  I put my newspaper away.  I’d try again later.

"So do I get a party tonight?  And gifts?  And cake and ice cream?  Can we invite Sam and Teal'c?  Teal'c came to my last birthday party a few weeks ago when I turned thirty-two, so maybe he'd like to come to my new birthday party today when I turned five.  And can we invite Janet and Cassie, that way Janet knows for sure I'm five and it will be even more official. And Cassie loves chocolate cake, too, so we could maybe get a big chocolate cake.   And maybe even can we invite General Hammond?  And Ferretti?  And Catherine and Ernest, because Ernest will love the cake and everything, especially if it's chocolate, and maybe if there are balloons we can bat them around because Ernest saw balloons at the zoo and Catherine wouldn't let him have any so maybe we could get balloons and--”

Oh, boy, I thought, with a resigned sigh.  I drained his coffee mug and went back for more.

"So, we're having a birthday party tonight?"  I ventured, settling Daniel into the truck's booster seat as we prepared to head to the SGC.

"No."  Daniel leaned sideways to snag at his briefcase, and I moved it closer.

"No?"  I paused before closing the rear door, surprised.  "I thought you'd planned the guest list and balloons and everything."

"I changed my mind.  Doug wanted the party, but Frederick thinks it's a dumb idea."

"Why would Frederick think that?"

"Because after all, it really doesn't matter how old I look like now.  What matters is that I just turned thirty-two in July.  And you said that my new birthdate -- the one just for the official records -- will be today, August 13, 1993, so that way everyone knows I presently appear to be five and not four point eight."

"But if Doug wants a party--” I tried.

"You know, Jack, I have to go with Frederick's choices, because they're more adult."  Daniel pulled out a document from his briefcase with a Cheerio stuck to the bottom.  He flicked it off with a sigh.  "That Doug is getting more and more sloppy, I think.  Good thing I'm phasing him out."

I stared at Daniel a moment, then shut the door and got into the driver's seat.  With Daniel busy reading whatever it was he was reading, that gave me time to think, which contrary to public opinion, I could do and drive at the same time.  I wasn't sure what had happened between breakfast and getting in the truck.  Daniel had been anxious about being perceived as less than five, so I had quickly dealt with the situation and officially declared him five  -- then put in two emergency phone messages for General Hammond to change the dates on the identification to August 13, 1993.

So just as I had started putting my own master plan into effect, now suddenly... the party was off.  One minute Daniel had enthused over the idea of a birthday party, with presents and a cake and all his friends invited over, and then the next minute, Frederick had apparently stuck his nose in when I stepped out of the room for a moment.  Sometimes I wanted to throttle Frederick.

"Are you sure you don't want a birthday party, Daniel?"  I asked, stopping at a red light.

"Huh?"  Daniel met my eyes in the rear view mirror. 

"Are you sure you don't want a birthday party?  It would be easy enough to do."

"No birthday party, Jack," Daniel said firmly.  "That's for kids, and I'm not a kid, remember?"

"Adults have birthday parties, too.  We had a birthday party for you last month."

"Jack, that's my point exactly.  I already had a wonderful surprise birthday party last month.  I think it would be rather presumptuous to have another one so soon.  Promise me, no birthday party."

"It really wouldn't be a problem--”

"Jack..."

"Okay.  No birthday party."  I turned onto the highway.  A mile later, I added, "Are you sure though?"

"Positive."

"Oh, I get it."

"Get what?" Daniel asked.

"I think I know what the problem is: You had presents for a thirty-two-year-old last party, that's why Frederick doesn't want a party.  He's already had his.  But what about your five-year-old part?  Doug sure liked the idea."

"Yeah.  Doug would," Daniel muttered.  "He's such a kid."  Again with the shaking of the head in dismay, followed by the rustling of paper.  "Jack, I'm trying to read my notes here.  I've got a meeting at nine with Bill Lee."

"Sure."  I dropped the topic for a few minutes, until I turned onto NORAD Road.  "I just think Frederick is being selfish."

"Huh?" Daniel asked, looking up.  "What?"

"Frederick is being selfish.  You are thirty-two AND five.  Frederick already had his presents, so he's not letting Doug get his five-year-old presents."

"Doug doesn't need five-year-old presents."  Daniel looked back at his paper.  "Besides, I won't be five that long.  I'll be resized soon, remember?"

I mulled that one over as we got to the compound gate and the guard waved usI through.  "I still think Frederick is being selfish.  We discussed this already, Daniel.  Both sides of who you are presently are valid, remember?" I tossed back.

"I remember.  I just don't want to cater to my Doug-side.  You promised.  No birthday presents."

"What about Christmas?"

"Christmas?  That's months away.  I'll be big again by then."

I parked the truck and turned around to study Daniel. "But what if you're still five at Christmas?"

"I won't be."

"But what if you are?"

"Won't be."

"But what if you are?"

Daniel shoved his paper back in the briefcase.  "Fine.  IF for some reason I am still five then, you can get Doug some Christmas presents.   Satisfied?  Now let's get going."

I mulled it over for a second, then got out of the truck.  Yeah, that would work.

Later that afternoon, Daniel slid the key in the lock and, after a brief struggle, the front door opened.  I rushed in, my arms laden with too many grocery bags; I raced for the kitchen and set them on the table. 

Daniel was staring up at the security alarm.  "How come it's not on?"

"Must have forgotten to set it when we left."  I went back to the truck for our briefcases and Daniel's laptop.

"I saw you set it," Daniel said, when I returned.

"Well, it's not on, so I must have forgotten to set it."  I glanced into the living room.  "Television and stereo are still here, so we're fine.  You'll have to remind me tomorrow."

"I saw you set it, though."

"Daniel, just drop it.  Come and help me put the groceries away."

"But I saw you!"

"Drop it."

With a last scowl at the security alarm, Daniel reluctantly followed me into the kitchen.  I unloaded the groceries, and Daniel put away all he could reach.

"How come you bought so much food, Jack?"

"I thought we should eat at home more in the evenings.  Besides, it's summer and I like barbecuing."  I moved one plastic bag further back on the counter, out of sight of five-year-olds.  "What do you want tonight?  I've got ribs, chicken, and pork chops."

"Ribs," Daniel said, after a moment's consideration.

"Good choice. They're messy, though, so we better get changed.  Did you bring stuff home to do?"

"Yeah, I have to read a brief from SG-5.  They want some advice on a Gaelic culture they came across.  I've scheduled a meeting with them first thing tomorrow."

"Why don't you do that in your room and get changed?  Dinner will be in half an hour.  Is that enough time?"

"Only enough for me to read the brief.  I'll do up my notes later."

"Need help connecting your laptop?"

"I can do it myself, remember, Jack?  That new plug-in they put in my room works great."

Daniel dragged first his briefcase, then his laptop case, down the hallway and into his bedroom.  We had found a suitable desk for Daniel's room at a thrift store the day before and moved it in.  The telephone plug-in had been added while I was off-world, courtesy of Siler.  It was a separate line, as well, so my telephone line wasn't always being used by Daniel's ever-present modem

I busied himself with putting the rest of the groceries away, smiling in relief as I heard the telltale modem scream saying Daniel had gone on-line.  Perfect. 

I ducked down to the basement and stealthfully brought up the Christmas tree Carter had decorated that afternoon.  It slipped into a corner of the living room.   Carter was skulking by the patio door, so I let her in to finish the room decorations.  We moved with silence and precision.

I ran out to get the barbecue going, then back in for a listen and a peek through Daniel's half-open bedroom door, but the little guy was frowning away at something on his computer screen, so I hurried back to the kitchen to finish off my dinner preparations.  I had enough ribs for twelve...  should be enough.

I put all the necessary paper plates and cutlery in a big box, threw the picnic table's plastic tablecloth over it all, and I was ready.  More or less.

I motioned Carter to back out of sight, checked the angles in the hallway and entrance for any view of the tree, and then headed back to Daniel's room.  "Hey, help me with the barbecuing?"

Daniel didn't even look my way, totally involved in whatever he was doing.  "Huh?"

"I could use your help with the barbecue, sport."

Daniel tore his eyes from the monitor and stared at me.  "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why do you need my help?  You've never needed it before."

"Okay, I'd like some company out there.  Bring your brief if you want to read it outside."

Daniel looked like he was about to object, but then shrugged and hopped off his chair.  He was back in cargo shorts and that little red T-shirt he looked almost adorable in.  While he grabbed whatever it was he needed, I was waiting by the front door, my laden box in hand. (Okay, he looked adorable.)

"This way," I said, nudging the door open with my foot.

"Why are we going out the front door?"

"Because I want to go out the front door.”

"Isn't it easier going through the patio doors in the living room?"

I huffed.  "Are you coming with me or not?  Just close the front door after you."

"Okaaaay..."  Daniel shook his head at the craziness of all senile colonels and followed me out the front door.

Once I got us both into the back yard, things were easier.  The patio drapes were closed, masking Carter's activities inside the living room.

Daniel perched at one end of the picnic table and looked around.  "How come the picnic table isn't on the deck?  How come it's in the middle of the yard?"

"Because I moved it." 

"When did you move it?"

"About fifteen minutes ago."

"But why did you move it?"

"So it would be in the shade for our dinner."

"But it was in the shade on the deck."

"I wanted it closer to the grill."

"But how did you get it out here?  It's too heavy for one person."

"I'm stronger than I look."  I concentrated on the barbecue dials, willing Daniel to drop the subject and read his damned brief.

For once, it worked.  Daniel shrugged and started reading the brief again.

A few minutes later, Ferretti walked into the yard.  "Hi, guys."

Daniel looked up.  "Hi!  Jack, look who's here!  It's Lou!"  Daniel popped down from the picnic table and ran over to Ferretti, stopping just short of hugging him.  "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood," Ferretti said, already eyeing the grill.  

"Want to stay?" I asked cordially. "There's lots."

"Sure," Ferretti agreed.

"Why were you in the neighborhood?" Daniel asked, staring up at Ferretti.

"Just visiting some friends," Ferretti responded smoothly.  "So, Daniel, still 'hanging around' here, I see," he said, successfully changing the topic.

Daniel turned red.  "Uh, thanks for getting me down from the fence post on Sunday."

"You're welcome.  Hey, Colonel, any beer I could take off your hands?"

"I'll get you one from the fridge--” Daniel started, but I quickly interrupted.

"Yeah, in the cooler by the picnic table."

As Ferretti headed for the large red cooler, Daniel stared at it.  "Jack, why is the cooler out here?"

"To keep our drinks cool."

"That's the big cooler, though."

 “I can really get thirsty sometimes.  Hey, Ferretti, get me one, too.  Daniel?"

"What?"

"What do you want to drink?"

"I don't know."

"Pick something."

"Root beer."

Ferretti scooped a root beer from the cooler, opened it and handed it to Daniel, then handed an open beer to Jack.

DANIEL JACKSON

Daniel went back to the picnic table with his can of soda, watched the two men chatting at the grill, then turned his attention back to the brief from SG-5.  There was something in the phrasing that wasn't quite right...

When he looked up again, Walter was talking with Jack and Ferretti.  Walter?  "Walter?" Daniel exclaimed.  "What are you doing here?"

"Just bringing some papers for the colonel.  What are you working on?" Walter asked, heading over to Daniel.

"Help yourself to a drink in the cooler," Jack called out.  "Want to stay for ribs?  I've got lots."

"Hey, thanks, Colonel."  Walter detoured to grab a cider, then joined Daniel, who explained to him about his upcoming meeting with SG-5 and that he was trying to read the brief before his meeting the next day and that there was something in the phrasing that wasn't quite right...

"Hello, Daniel."

Daniel interrupted himself and looked behind him.  "Catherine?  Hi, Catherine! -- Jack, look who's here!  It's Catherine.  What are you doing here, Catherine?  Is Ernest here?"

"You left one of your black T-shirts at my place.  The maid found it behind the bed, so she washed it and mentioned it to me this morning.  It was such a nice evening out that Ernest and I decided to go for a drive and return it to you.  Besides," she said with a whisper, "Ernest misses you."

"Where is he?" Daniel said, looking around, then spotted him at the grill, talking with Jack and Ferretti and Siler.  Siler?

"Siler?" Daniel called out, running over.  "Siler, what are you doing here?"

"On my way home from work," Siler said, tapping his watch.  "I thought I’d check on that outlet I put in your room.  How is your modem connection?"

"It works great," Daniel said.  "You should have called and saved yourself the trip."

Siler shrugged, then turned to talk to Walter, who had joined the other men around the grill.

"Hi, Daniel Junior."  Ernest was drinking a root beer.  "Jack says this is your favorite drink, since you've come to stay with him."

"It is."  Daniel watched as Jack added more ribs to the grill.  There were a lot of ribs on the grill now.

Jack looked down.  "Daniel, go see if Catherine wants a drink and tell her they are welcome to stay for ribs.  Ernest can't remember ever having ribs before.  We have to fix that, don't we?"

"I guess.  Yeah." Daniel blinked up at Jack, then looked at the growing number of people standing around chatting in the back yard.

"Daniel?" Jack prompted.  "Catherine?  Her drink?"

"Oh, yeah."  Daniel ran back to Catherine sitting alone at the picnic table.  Except she wasn't alone.  General Hammond was sitting talking to her.  Daniel stopped mid run and turned back to Jack. "Jack, look who's here!  It's General Hammond!  Did you know he was here?"

"Be a good host and offer him something to drink!" Jack called out.

"General Hammond," Daniel exclaimed, breathlessly, running up to the table.  "Hi, General Hammond. What are you doing here?"

“I just dropped by to let you know the birth date is now official for today, August 13.  You are officially five."

"I am?  Great!" Daniel turned around and ran back across the yard to Jack.  "Jack, guess what?  Even though I’m really thirty-two, General Hammond says I'm officially five now in the paperwork.  Thanks!  It worked!"

"Good to hear, Daniel!" Jack leaned down towards him.  "Did you offer them drinks yet?"

"Oh, yeah."  Daniel ran back to the picnic table.  "Can I get you both something to drink?"

"That would be very nice," Catherine said.  "Is there any iced tea in the cooler?"

"Make that two," the general added.

"I don't know.  I know there is root beer in it.  I'll check."  Daniel flipped open the cooler and tried to look through the ice to all the different bottles of things to drink, finally fishing one iced tea out and then another.  "You're in luck!" he called out.  "Jack really likes to be prepared, you know," he said to General Hammond as he handed him the iced tea.

"Stay for dinner, General?" Jack called out.  "You might as well -- feeding one more is no problem."

"Thank you, Colonel O'Neill.  I'd love to.  I've been catching up with Catherine."

Daniel carefully counted all the people there.  Besides Jack and him, there was Ferretti and Walter and Siler and Catherine and Ernest and General Hammond.  Wow.  That was six more people for dinner.  They'd need more plates and stuff.  Well, Jack was busy with the grill, so he could help with plates.  After all he was living here too, for now, and Jack said he needed to be a good host.  He headed for the house.

"Daniel!" Jack called out before he even got to the porch.  "Where are you going?"

"To get more plates and stuff," Daniel called back.

"Check the box on the picnic table.  All our picnic stuff, paper plates, etc., should be in it.  I'm sure there's enough there for everyone."

"Yeah?"  Daniel went back across the yard to the picnic table, crawled on the bench, then the table and looked in the box.  There were a hundred paper plates and a box of forks and another box of real knives and a whole bunch of paper napkins.  Daniel shook his head in wonder. That Jack, boy-- was he ever prepared for everything.

"Daniel?" Jack called out.  "I just called Carter and Teal'c and told them to join us.  They might as well.  We seem to be hosting our August backyard barbecue."

"Yeah," Daniel agreed, smiling.

Then his eyes narrowed.  Wait a cotton-picking minute...

"So Daniel, General Hammond tells me you are officially five now," Catherine said, and the wondering vanished from Daniel's mind.

"I am.  Now there's no more confusion about my current age or anything.  But I'm still really thirty-two, you know.  This isn't like a real birthday for being five; it's just a date to make it official."

"Well, that's good to know, then," Catherine agreed.

"Yeah.  In case someone outside of the SGC asks me how old I am, I don’t have to worry about giving out wrong or unofficial information.  I can say, ‘Yes, I'm five.’"

"That's wonderful."

Daniel nodded, then looked back at Jack.  Sam was talking to Jack!  And Janet was with her!

Daniel ran back to Jack.  "Jack!  Looks who's here!  It's Sam!  Sam, you sure got here fast!  Jack just called you!"

"I was with Janet, so I invited her, too.  Is that okay?"

"Hi, Janet.  Where's Cassie?"

"Oh, she's around.  We were going to go to McDonald's tonight for dinner because it was too hot to cook, but looks like the colonel here has a great idea.  I love barbecued ribs."  Janet stood near the cooking ribs, took a deep breath, and sighed.

"The more the merrier," Jack said, turning the ribs over.  "Daniel..." he bent to whisper, then glanced meaningfully towards the cooler.

"Oh, yeah.  Can I get you both something to drink?"

Janet and Sam went with him over to the cooler and spent a long time looking over the choices before picking out a peach cider and a lager.

Daniel looked back at Jack, who had handed his barbecue tongs to Ferretti and was talking on his cell phone.  Jack motioned for him to come over.

"Can I help you, Jack?" Daniel asked, because it was an adult thing to do.

"Can you get me the pot holders from the kitchen?" Jack asked, closing his cell phone.

"Anything else?  Because I can carry more than just pot holders," Daniel asked, looking around the yard.  "There sure are a lot of people here, Jack."

"There sure are," Jack agreed.

Daniel nodded and started running toward the house.  He stepped through the patio door into the living room and started running for the kitchen when he stopped, his eyes blinking from coming in the dark house after being outside in the bright yard.

There was a Christmas tree up in the living room.  With lights.  And decorations all over.  Huh?  Someone must have broken in and...  Huh?

"Daniel Jackson."

Daniel turned to his right.  Santa Claus was sitting in the arm chair.  Daniel's eyes grew even wider because part of him knew it was Teal'c really, but... it was still Santa Claus, all in red with the proper hat and boots and everything.  "What are you doing here?"

"It is Christmas."

"Not until December."

"Christmas is also in July."

"No, it's not."

"According to the newspapers, there were many sales in July celebrating this event."

"It's just a marketing ploy.  It's not real.  And it's not July now, it's August.  August 13," Daniel insisted.

"I have brought gifts," Santa Claus/Teal'c continued.

"But it's the wrong time of year.  It is the summer."

"In the southern hemisphere, Christmas is celebrated in the summer."

"But it's still December there, even if it's summer!"

Santa Claus stared blankly at him.  It reminded him of how Teal'c stared blankly at him sometimes, when he was being dense about something.  It was the "you are being dense" stare that Teal'c had.

"Why?" Daniel ventured.

"Because," Santa Claus/Teal'c replied.

"Because why?" Daniel persisted.

"I have brought gifts.  It is what this person does," Santa Claus/Teal'c said, gesturing to his outfit.

"For who?" Daniel asked, looking at the wrapped gifts under the tree, but not going near them.

"For Daniel Jackson."

"Wow, are you ever lucky," Jack said from behind Daniel.

Daniel reached out and took Jack's hand, because he was feeling uneasy.  He wasn't sure what was going on and it made him a little nervous.

Jack crouched down beside him and Daniel backed into him.  "What's wrong?" Jack whispered.

"I don't understand," Daniel whispered back.

Jack reached under the tree and snagged a gift, then handed it to Daniel.  "Hmmm, it's for you."

Daniel glanced at it, running one finger over the tag.  "It says Daniel."

"That's you, isn't it?"

Daniel shrugged, looking around the room again at all the decorations.  He'd never seen so many decorations, except in the mall once.   He moved even closer to Jack.

Jack sat down on the couch next to the tree.  Daniel wanted to crawl up onto his lap, but the room was full of people now, and he really wasn't five, even though it was official and everything.  He was thirty-two.  So he just stayed very still in the safety area between Jack's knees.

"It's not Christmas," he whispered.

Jack scratched at his beard-rough chin.  "Well, Daniel, it's like this: Frederick didn't want a birthday party for Doug, even though Doug was turning five and it was officially Doug’s birthday.  But I figured, Doug is you, and Doug needs to be recognized somehow, as this is a special day for him, not Frederick.  And since you said that Doug probably won't be around at Christmas, I thought maybe we could celebrate Christmas for Doug a little earlier.  This way, Doug gets to have a party and some gifts -- not a birthday party, mind you, a Christmas party -- and have the use of all this stuff now when he needs it.  Then when you get tall again, some other kid will have fun with it when you donate it somewhere."

Daniel turned to face Jack, ignoring everyone gathered around them, even Cassie.  "You did this all for me?"

Jack nodded.  "Daniel, you are you.  You are also who you refer to as Frederick and Doug.  I don't want Frederick to be a bully and treat Doug as not as important as Frederick.  Doug is pretty special, too.  I know he frustrates you sometimes, but Doug's a great guy.  I'm really enjoying my time with Doug, and I hope you'll accept all this in the way it was intended.  Carter put up all these decorations to make it special for Doug.  All your friends have gathered here today, to spend time with you, to celebrate that you have an official birthday, and to honor Doug with some gifts that maybe that five-year-old part of you might enjoy.  Okay?"

Daniel really, really wanted to say no.  It wasn't okay.  He didn't want a party.  He didn't want gifts.  He didn't want Doug.

But.

He tore his eyes from Jack's and looked around the room at everyone watching him.  All his friends.  Sam and Janet and Catherine and Ferretti and Walter and Ernest and Siler and General Hammond and Cassie.  And Santa Claus/Teal'c.  All were looking at him anxiously and hopefully and happily.  The part of him who was Frederick was starting to think that it would be really rude to reject the well-meaning gifts that had been offered by these friends and coworkers.

"But I'm not a kid," Daniel said softly, both to Jack and to that ‘Frederick’ voice in his head.

"Right now, Daniel, part of you is five.  Officially."

"But I don't want to be five."

"Sometimes things happen in our life that we don't like.  Sometimes we have to enjoy what has been dealt to us."

"Like being happy I'm five?  I can't do that, Jack."  He put his head down, trying not to cry, because he wasn't going to cry in front of everyone.

Into the silence came a booming voice.  "Why isn't he opening the gifts?" Ernest asked loudly, and Daniel jumped, startled. "I'm hungry!" Ernest added.  “Gifts for Daniel Junior, then food, Catherine told me.”

"How about it, kiddo?" Jack whispered.

Daniel shrugged.  "Maybe after we eat?"

"The ribs have another twenty minutes.  They're slow cooking.  This is the perfect time."

Catherine came over and took Daniel's free hand, gave him a little tug and drew him over to the tree.  "This one's from me." She handed him a small gift.  "Would you open it?"

Daniel took it from her and reluctantly tore the paper off.  It was a photo taken at the zoo the previous Saturday, one of Catherine and Ernest and Daniel, all in zebra-striped T-shirts and eating ice cream.  Daniel remembered when the zoo worker took it.  And it was in an official Cheyenne Mountain Zoo frame.  Daniel looked at the little boy in the picture, looking very happy and enjoying his ice cream.

That was him.

He was just a little boy.

A tear fell on the glass of the frame. 

He was such a little boy.  He was only five years old.  Officially.  Today.

"Thank you," he whispered, to Catherine, and gave her a hug.  Even if he didn't want to be happy about the picture, he was.  It brought back memories of that happy day.

Then he went back to Jack and shyly showed him the picture.  "It was from when I was at the zoo with Catherine and Ernest.  I told you about it."

"That's a nice picture," Jack agreed.

Cassie grabbed a gift from under the tree and handed it to Daniel.  "I got you this.  I picked it out myself."

Daniel tore the paper off.  It was a water pistol.  A fluorescent lime green water pistol.

"I have one just like it," Cassie said.  "I figured that they won't let you near weapons because you are so short, and this way you can keep up with your target practice and besides, I have one, too."  Cassie took her hot pink water pistol out.  "If we get too hot, we can squirt each other."

"Thank you, Cassie," Daniel said, still a little uncertainly.  It sure was bright green.  He couldn't imagine using one to play with.  He had one in his apartment somewhere for shooting spiders with so he could make them go out onto the deck and shut the sliding door on them.  But it was probably true what she said about target practice.

Over the next fifteen minutes, he opened up a big supply of small chocolate bars (from Walter, because less is more now), an expensive set of pens and pencils designed for a smaller hand (from Janet), a blow-up beach ball (from Ernest), a really cool briefcase/laptop case on wheels (from Sam), an official size five SG-1 BDU jacket (from the general), a little flak jacket (from Ferretti, so Daniel wouldn't get hooked on fences any more), a 'reach-it' tool (from Siler, designed for wheelchair people to reach items on upper shelves), and a working miniature staff weapon (from Teal'c, which made General Hammond very nervous and Teal'c had to promise to return it to the SGC and Daniel could only use there -- supervised.) 

And last of all from Jack, there was a box with a softball in it and two gloves, one small kid-sized glove and one larger adult-sized one.

"These are really nice, Jack."  He touched the soft leather.  For some reason, it made his eyes water again.

"I thought maybe we could play catch after work sometime.  It helps relieves tension for me, and I thought you might enjoy it."

Daniel glanced up to the fireplace mantel, and the picture of Charlie in a baseball uniform.  It had probably been a long time since Jack had played catch and relieved his tension.  He looked back at the box and it made more sense now.   "Hey, Jack, there's one for each of us!" Daniel exclaimed.

He was getting into this now.  It was kinda fun, all these things for him and everyone so excited about what they had given him.

"They're both for you, kiddo."  Jack got up.  "I'd say dinner is in order.  Ribs and baked potatoes should be done by now.  Carter, Doc -- you're on salad duty.  They're in the fridge.  Cassie, bring out the butter and sour cream for the potatoes.  Guys, find a chair and bring it outside."

Daniel ran outside after Jack, still holding the two gloves.  "We each have a glove, see, Jack?"

"Nope, I already have one.  They're both yours," Jack said.  At the barbecue, Jack took a big bowl and took the wrapped potatoes from the grill and dropped them in the big bowl.

"But this one is too big for me," Daniel said, holding up the big glove.

Jack put the bowl of potatoes on the picnic table.   Then he came back and squatted down in front of Daniel.  His knee went crick.  "Daniel, one glove is for you when you're in a little body, and one is for you when you get resized.  Either way, you're my best friend and I want to play catch with you.  Deal?"  Jack waited.

Daniel looked at the big glove, trying to take in what Jack had said.  Wow.  He smiled.  Jack was sure good at being prepared for everything.  "That's great, Jack."

"Do you know how to play catch?" Jack asked.

"Of course I do.  Well, did.  I guess.  Not really.  I think I had to play in school in gym class.  I'm not sure.  But it's probably like riding a bike, right?  You don't forget."

"Probably.  And check the garage later.  I found a bike on sale and figured, why not?  We need to keep in shape and get our exercise, right?"

"You bought me a bike?"

"Daniel, I've got a yard full of hungry people.  Let's continue this conversation later."

Daniel nodded, because Jack was right.  There was a crowd of visitors to take care of.  He'd better make sure they all had drinks, because the cooler was his height and it was something he could do.

When he ran to get the drinks, he looked over at Jack, who wasn't looking at him but who had a big smile on his face while he was taking the ribs off the grill. 

And Daniel realized that he had a big smile on his face, too.  He was really happy.  For a moment, he couldn't remember what it was like being taller.  Or older.  Or... adult.  He was just him.  And feeling... actually... okay about everything.

Jack's smile turned to him and got bigger.  And Daniel knew the smile on his face got even bigger.  It was a good feeling.  Comfortable.  So nice it was almost scary.

It wasn't really Christmas, even though he understood the point of it all and would remember to say "Merry Christmas" to everyone all evening.  And it wasn't really his birthday, even though it officially sorta was.  As Frederick had pointed out, sometimes, the adult thing to do was just to go along with something because it made so many others happy.

There sure was a lot of love in this backyard, and that was the best gift of all. 

So he went back to the cooler and got Jack his favorite beer, all by himself, without even being asked.  Because sometimes little things were all you could do to show someone that you love them, too.

continued...

Chapter Text

FIVE series # 2 - After the Party

Thursday, August 13, 1998

DANIEL JACKSON

Daniel watched Jack turn off the porch light as the last guest drove away.   For what Jack claimed was an impromptu gathering, everything had been very organized, and everyone had seemed to have a good time.  They were all smiling and laughing, which was usually a good sign. 

Daniel wasn't exactly sure what he thought about it, though.  Part of him had had the best time ever, but the other part was... a little put out.  He'd find himself smiling, then he'd feel angry and like kicking something, which wasn't very adult, even though the part of him who was unhappy was Frederick, he suspected.

Frederick had very strict ideas about how things should be, and Daniel knew he'd broken a bunch of the rules that evening.  At the time, though, he'd just gotten all caught up in the party and getting drinks for everyone and helping Jack, and he had forgotten sometimes what he was trying to enforce with everyone.  That he wasn’t really five.  Just officially.

Frederick didn’t care how old he looked or if he was officially five or not.  He had rules about proper behavior befitting adults, even if they were in the body of a five-year-old.  Rules like not running, or crying, or getting all excited unless it was a linguistic breakthrough or an archaeological find.   There were rules about not being dependent on people and rules about being allowed to do everything he'd been allowed to do when he was taller.  And there were especially rules about Doug.

Sometimes Daniel found himself doing things that the Frederick side disapproved of. Doug got excited about stuff, like ants on the sidewalk.  Doug had almost pointed them out to Jack, but Frederick stopped him just in the nick of time.

Janet said it probably wasn't a good idea to talk about himself as Doug and Frederick, but Jack understood it was just himself he was talking about and his conflicting emotions.  And his conflicting everything.

In the middle of the evening, while the party was still going on, Jack had coaxed Daniel into taking a bath, partially in the hopes that some of the birthday/Christmas party invitees would get the hint that it was 9:00 pm and they would leave.  Unfortunately, subtlety only worked on some of the guests.  When Jack had announced that Daniel was going to have a bath, Catherine and Ernest said their goodbyes and left right away, followed closely by Janet, Cassie, and General Hammond, who had a driver who was also able to take Teal'c back to the mountain.  Daniel had dutifully thanked them all for joining them for dinner, and for their kind, thoughtful gifts, and he had assured them the gifts would be donated to a young child immediately, as soon as he was resized.

Daniel had left the rest -- Siler, Walter, Ferretti, Sam, and Jack -- on the back porch and had his bath, declining to add the bubble stuff that Jack had pointedly left on the edge of the tub.  Instead, he had diligently soaped and scrubbed and ducked under the water and even did his hair.  He'd drained the tub on his own and had made sure he left everything nice, because it was the bathroom that visitors used.  That was also a very adult thing to do, he knew, and then he felt a little guilty, because he knew that when he was tall, he wasn’t always good about cleaning up after himself.

He checked to make sure no one was looking, then he'd bundled his clothes under his arm and dashed across the hallway, wrapped in his towel.  He had almost laughed when he saw the nightshirt Jack had left on the bed, and after a moment, decided it would be okay to wear it.  He'd be in on the joke then.

So, freshly scrubbed, Daniel had sauntered onto the deck in his "Lousy" T-shirt and generated a round of cheers and kidding.  He had a rather witty verbal exchange with Ferretti, shared a ribald knock-knock joke with Walter, asked Siler's advice on the proper care for the gadget he'd been given for his pseudo birthday, and teased Sam about her new hair cut.  Then Jack had finally put a halt to the evening, chasing everyone out and saying he had to get a certain officially-five-years-old SG1 team member off to bed.

Daniel hadn't liked that very much and had bristled at the suggestion of being herded off to bed like a four-year-old while his friends were still present, but their speedy departure had curtailed that particular irate speech he was brewing.

Jack shut the front door and turned on the security system.  "I don't know about you, Daniel, but I'm beat.  What you say we just make it a night, huh? "

Daniel froze for a moment, his revised irate speech on hold, and then nodded quickly.  "Of course, Jack.  It's been a long day for you.  Arranging all this must have been taxing."  Jack was tired, so it wouldn't have been very adult to complain about stuff and keep Jack up later.  Jack needed his sleep, after all.  His body was getting old.

Jack went down into the living room and made sure the patio door was locked.  "Did you have a good time?"

Daniel wasn't sure what to say now.  He didn't want to hurt Jack's feelings.  Jack had spent a lot of time preparing the party, even if Daniel had made it clear he didn't want it.  Jack sure had been sneaky about it, because Daniel had said no birthday party and Jack had done Christmas in the middle of August.

Jack unplugged the Christmas tree lights and came up the stairs to where Daniel was still standing.  "You okay?" he asked, in that nice way he had sometimes, the way that made you feel like maybe whatever was wrong would get fixed eventually.

"Yeah.  Uh, thank you for all the work you did tonight.  I know you did it for me because you thought it was a good idea."  There.  That should do it.  Thanking him without saying it was a good idea, just that Jack had thought it was a good idea.

Jack looked down at him for a moment, and then nodded in a kind of sad way.  "Well, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, at least."

Daniel nodded agreeably.  "The, uh… the ribs were good."

"Ernest came back for thirds."

Daniel started to laugh, and then caught himself.  "Well, I shouldn't keep you up, Jack.  Have a good sleep.  I think I'll go put away the things in my room."

He moved quickly down the hall and into his room.   Cassie had arranged the gifts nicely on the bed, but they were in the way now.  He picked the bike helmet up, looked at it carefully, and placed it down again.  There were some pads, too, for his elbows and knees; Jack said they were for his bike and the skateboard.

There sure was a lot of stuff here.  Some of it was going to be very helpful and was very considerate, but some of it he wasn't sure what to do with.  And a lot of it he had no intention of using.  Like that skateboard.  Why would he need a skateboard?  Ernest had given it to him.  Ernest wasn’t all there sometimes.  Then again, Ernest didn't really understand that he wasn't five years old.

Daniel picked up the picture of him with Catherine and Ernest.  Now, that was a nice gift.  A nice memory.  Very adult.  He put it on top of one of his low bookcases, moving it one angle and then the other.  It was with the photo of Sha're, the one of his parents, and a team photo taken a few months ago.  They all looked nice together.  Sam had taken some pictures tonight, one with the whole gang, and had said she would give him a copy.

He opened the set of writing tools Janet had given him, packs of pens and fine-line felt pens, all with special rubber grips on them.  The packaging was tossed in the wastepaper basket, and the pens put in another gift from Cassie -- a mug from the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, and then he placed the mug carefully on his desk.  He was glad he had a use for the mug.  It was very big -- a huge latte mug -- and since he didn’t care for lattes at the moment, it perfectly held all the pens and stuff so he could make use of them when he worked at home.  Well, here.  His temporary home, not his real one.  His apartment was his real one.

Next was his new rolling briefcase.  He dumped out the contents of his current, rather battered briefcase and found places for all his papers and documents in the compartments of the new one.  There was even a place at the back of the case for his laptop, so he unhooked his computer, folded it up and put it in the neat padded spot for it.  And the cords had their own place to be.  And the mouse. 

There.  He nodded appreciatively.  This was perfect.  More efficient.  He was all ready for work, and he didn't even need Jack's help or anything.  He could do it all himself and prove to everyone that despite the current appearances, he was still Doctor Daniel Jackson, a thirty-two year old adult who didn’t need any help at all… Well, maybe he would need some help lifting the case and putting it in the truck and taking it out of the truck, but that was it.

He picked up the water pistol.  Water pistols were for kids.  He'd indulged Cassie and had squirted it at her a few times, but he really had no need for one.  Daniel opened his closet door and put it in an empty box on the floor at the back of the closet.  Then he picked up the beach ball, tossed it up in the air once, then stopped himself from doing it again.   Beach balls were definitely kid toys, not for adults.  Which he was.   He let the air out of the beach ball, clumsily folded it, and tossed it in the box next to the water pistol.  He didn't need kid toys.

Moving quickly, Daniel gathered up a few of the gifts -- the skateboard, a plastic shovel and pail, and some other game-like things -- and he put them in the box, too.  He didn’t need them.  Doug had gotten a little excited over a few of the items, but that was just dumb.  He had to be very careful not to play into their expectations of how he should act.  If they saw him appear to be just a five-year-old kid -- which he had to admit he physically appeared to be -- and then they saw him act like a five-year-old kid... well, then, how could he expect them to treat him like an adult?

Then he'd have to convince them all over again that he was just an adult in a kid's body.  And boy did that ever take a lot of work.

He was studying Siler's reach-it tool, a clever gadget to help him extend his height and grab items like books off hard-to-reach shelves, when Jack spoke up from his doorway.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Jack said.

Daniel put the tool down.  "Yeah.  I guess.  It's one of those things that I have no idea what I should do with it, but I know I'll probably be using it a lot over the next few days," he said with a shrug, "or weeks, I guess.  Until I'm taller."

"Yeah."

"Jack?"  Daniel looked around the room.  "Where's my jacket?  The one from General Hammond?"

"Walter took it.  He said he'd put it and your flak jacket in your locker."

"Those were good gifts.  Very adult," Daniel said.  "Useful."

"They certainly were.  And I bet they weren't easy to find."

"And I've never seen a staff weapon that small."

"Pretty cool."

"Yeah.  Teal'c's gonna teach me how to use it.  It's a very smart thing to do."

"Could come in handy," Jack agreed.  "So... you're okay with everything?  You liked your stuff?"

"Of course, Jack.  Some of these things are very helpful.  But I'm not a kid.  I don't need toys.  There were a few toys, so I guess people forgot when they were looking for gift ideas, but that’s okay because I put them away.  I don’t need them, after all, right, Jack?  Even though everything was supposed to be about my Doug-side at the party today, it'll work out great because my Frederick-side knows best what to do with it all.  Toys are for kids, so I'm glad everyone basically remembered that I’m really thirty-two.  Did you notice how most of the presents were work-related?  Because, really, that's what's important.  Not Doug or anything else, Jack."

"Oh."  Jack picked up one of the baseball gloves, and Daniel's eyes widened as he realized the inappropriateness of his remark.  "So you don't want these?" Jack asked softly, and Daniel knew he’d hurt Jack’s feelings.  And that was what he hadn't wanted to do.

"Your gift was different, Jack.  I liked it.  You put a lot of thought into it," Daniel said hurriedly, grabbing at the smaller glove and putting his hand in it.  "We can go play catch now if you want.  Would that make you feel better?"

Jack put the larger glove on a shelf and took Daniel's off his hand.  "Tomorrow maybe.  After work.  Right now you need to get in bed."

Daniel started to object, and then Frederick once again shut Doug down.  "Certainly, Jack.  It's been a long busy day and I need to get my sleep before work.  I've got a busy day tomorrow."  Daniel crawled onto his bed and Jack helped him moved the bedspread down and get under the top sheet.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Jack went to sit on the edge of the bed, ready for their usual nighttime routine, but Daniel reached over and turned the light out.

"Well, goodnight, Jack.  You better get to bed soon, as well.  You're looking tired," Daniel said, then rolled over, his back to Jack.  He hoped Jack would get the message.  Their evening talks were a little too Dougish, and it was probably best they stop doing it.  It wasn’t very adult.  Adults didn’t ask how their days were or what they liked best about doing stuff.

Adults could take care of themselves.

Daniel started making faint snoring noises.  One good thing, Daniel thought, as Jack left the room, now that I have that new rolling briefcase and the reach-it tool, I really don’t need anyone’s help at all.  Not at all.  I don't need anyone.  I'm totally self-sufficient.

He said the word to himself a few times.  Self-sufficient.  Self-sufficient. 

It made him feel funny.

He had thought the word would make him feel good, but instead, it made him feel sad.

Lonely.

From his nice bed in Jack's spare bedroom, he heard the shower come on in Jack's bedroom down the hall.  Then after a few minutes the shower went off, and he could hear the shower door close.  Then, he couldn't hear anything from Jack's room.  It was quiet.

He listened and listened, and then sat up in bed and listened. 

Nothing.

He lay down again.  Jack was probably in bed already.  He had been really tired.

But... what if he'd fallen or something?  What if Jack had slipped and fallen and was unconscious on the floor of the bathroom?

Daniel dropped out of his bed and stood in the middle of his room.  Should he go check?   Well, of course he should, if Jack was unconscious.  But what if he was just sleeping? 

He wished Jack would snore or something.  Jack wasn't a big snorer, probably because of being a black ops guy.  Black ops guys didn't snore.  And they probably didn't slip on the floor of the bathroom and fall either.

Daniel got back in bed.  He was being too kid-like, worrying about Jack.  Jack could take care of himself.  Jack...

Yes, Daniel thought quickly, trying to change the thoughts in his head, that rolling briefcase was a great gift.  He'd have to thank Sam for it again.  She'd put a frizzbie in it, but he'd taken it out and put it in the box of toys he didn't need.

But what if Jack had slipped?  After all, Jack had been tired.

Daniel sat up again.  Maybe it would be adult-like just to check on how Jack was.  Not because he needed Jack or anything, but as an adult, he was concerned about his friend's well-being.

He thought about it for a few minutes and decided that was a good thing to do.  Just a quick peek.  If Jack was unconscious on the floor, he'd run to the phone, call 911, then grab the first aid bag and fix Jack up.  Then he'd go get the reach-it tool and turn off the security alarm, so it wouldn't go off when the ambulance got there.  He'd call Janet and let her know.  And Sam.  And then he'd go get some clothes from his room and take them to Jack's room and quickly get dressed, so he'd be ready when the ambulance got there.  Maybe pack an overnight bag for Jack, too.

That's what an adult does.

Maybe, to save time, he'd get the first aid bag first, and take it in with him when he checked on Jack.  That would probably be smart.

Daniel got out of bed again and headed out of his room and down the hall.  And stopped.  Where exactly did Jack keep the first aid bag?  In the bathroom?

He checked the bathroom, under the sink and in the cupboard, but nothing.  Maybe it would be in the kitchen, then.

He went into the kitchen, checked under the sink and in the cupboards there, but he couldn't see anything.  Unless it was really high in the cupboards...   Daniel dragged a chair over, got on it and checked the mid-height shelves but there were no first aid bags.  Would Jack have put the first aid kit up really high?  Or maybe it was in the hall closet. 

He opened the door to the hall closet and checked under the jackets.  No first aid bag.  He backed up until he hit the wall but he couldn't see anything first-aid-y on the upper shelves.

He really should know where the first aid bag was.  What if there was an emergency?  What if there was... an earthquake?  What if he needed the first aid kit?  Maybe in the basement?

He turned on the light and went down the stairs carefully.  Why were basement stairs always so narrow?  At least these were carpeted and everything.  He stopped halfway down the stairs and looked around, but there wasn't a lot to see.  Washer, dryer, water heater, and then to the right there were outer walls lined with storage stuff that Jack had all neatly labeled.  Daniel carefully read every label. And there was nothing that said 'first aid kit'. 

He looked around the rest of the basement, but there was nothing except the junk room on the left side of the stairs with the burned-out light bulb.  It probably wasn’t in there.   First aid kits weren’t junk.  They were very important.

You know, when you stay with someone, Daniel thought, hands on his hips, they should really be thoughtful and tell you where the first aid kit is, in case you needed it to save their life sometime.  Jack could be sprawled on the bathroom floor, his life blood draining out of him, and Daniel couldn't find where Jack had hidden the damned first aid bag!  How inconsiderate of Jack.  That was really not thinking things through very carefully.

Daniel stormed up the stairs and down the hall to Jack's room, where he pushed open Jack's bedroom door so hard it banged and Jack sat up in bed, obviously woken out of his sleep.

JACK O'NEILL

"What?" I said, blinking as I turned on the bedside light, startled from my sleep.  "Daniel?  What's wrong?"

"I can't find the first aid bag.  Why did you hide it?" Daniel demanded, his little face one big frown.

"What?  Are you hurt?" I jumped out of bed and knelt beside him.  "Daniel?  Where are you hurt?" I asked, trying to check him front and back in the dim light from the hallway.

"I'm not hurt," Daniel said impatiently, pushing my hands away.  "But what if you'd fallen in the bathroom and hit your head and I had to call 911 and fix you up and I didn't even know where the first aid bag was?  I checked the kitchen, the bathroom, the hallway closet, and the basement.  You should have told me where the first aid bag was when I came to live here."

I sat back on his heels, my rapid heart rate starting to slow down.  What the hell, Daniel?  I glanced at the clock.  It was almost one-thirty in the morning.  I would deal with this in the morning. “The first aid kit is in the linen cupboard outside the bathroom."

"Why's it in the linen cupboard?  It's not linen," Daniel asked, exasperated.  "Why's it there?"

"Go to bed, Daniel."  I stood up wearily and crawled back into my abandoned bed.  I turned the light out and settled in under the sheets.  This was clearly Frederick's revenge for the party.  I pointedly ignored Daniel, silhouetted now by the light in the hallway, still standing, hands on hips.  "Go to bed," I repeated, closing my eyes.

I heard my bedroom door shut, none too quietly.  Then a moment later, Daniel's bedroom door slammed shut with full force.  Oh, great.  Someone was in a temper.  Should I do anything? I wrestled with how to handle this. 

Half an hour later I was still awake, unable to get back to sleep.  Damn that Frederick.  Why'd he have to ruin a perfectly good day?  I got up and noticed the hallway lights were still on.  When I turned them off, I could see the kitchen light was on -- and then I saw most of the lower kitchen cupboards were open.  Apparently Daniel had been looking for the first aid bag for quite a while.  I headed down the hall, stopping to turn off the light to the basement.

I eased open the door to Daniel's room.  The bedside light was still on, although it looked like Daniel was asleep.  I bent over to turn the light off.

"Jack?" came a sleepy voice.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

I sat on the edge of the bed.  "I'm fine.  What about you?"

"I got scared that you weren't okay."

"I'm fine, Daniel."  I started to get up, then paused, studying the sad little face visible in the faint light from the hallway.  "So how was your day today?"

Daniel looked up at me, too sleepy to put up much of an internal battle.  "Pretty quiet. I had a few meetings that went well."

"And..."

"My best friend threw me a surprise party," Daniel whispered, taking my hand in his.  "Thank you, Jack."

I looked down at the small fingers clutching my hand.  "You're welcome, Daniel."

"Things get all mixed up in my head sometimes, Jack."

"Frederick and Doug?"

Daniel shrugged.  "I know using those names is silly, but I don't know what else to call these two sides of me.  It’s all so complicated in my head."

"Daniel, you're a very complicated guy, you know, even before getting shorter."

"Yeah, I know."  Daniel thought about it.  "Maybe it's just because now... I'm doing all the same amount of thinking but there's less space to work in or something like that."

"Maybe.  I think you're doing great, though."

Daniel shrugged and sighed.  He studied my hand, his fingers tracing the callouses on my palm.  "Jack, what was your favorite thing about today?" 

"Hmm... Probably you opening the baseball gloves gift."

Daniel smiled.  "That was the best gift, Jack.  You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it was for both of us, wasn't it?  For you and me?"

I paused.  Strange how Daniel still wasn’t getting it.  But close enough.  One day he’d figure it out and until then, "Yeah.  You're right." I gave Daniel's fingers a squeeze, then got up.  "Good night."

"Night," Daniel murmured, already half asleep, a wistful smile on his face.

continued...

Chapter Text

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN...?" series # 1 - Nothing To Wear

Sunday, August 16, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"What do you mean you have nothing to wear?" I said, walking into his bedroom.  "You have drawers full of clothes."

Daniel had a towel wrapped ineffectively around his skinny little waist, his hair still damp from the shower.  "My underwear drawer is empty.  I can't get dressed without underwear."

"Sure you can.  Just go commando for a day.  We'll do laundry tonight."

"Ja-ack!" Daniel indignantly stretched my name to two syllables.  Or more.

"Then put your bathing suit on.  Same diff."

Daniel was stumped by that one, reluctantly opening his third dresser drawer and looking in at his not-yet-worn, bright red swimming trunks.  He pulled them out, using only his thumb and his middle finger, holding them up for inspection.  "That's not what they're for."

"So be creative.  I thought you were the creative, whimsical type."

"Can't we just do some laundry?"

"Tonight, sport.  I've got some work to do before we go this morning.  Just wear those."

Figuring the conversation was over, I headed back to the kitchen, trying to quickly put together some sort of nutritious breakfast, when we were seriously short of groceries.  Daniel's Cheerios box was empty, so he was going to have to have some of my brand of cereal.  The banana looked fairly spotted -- enough so my picky eater would pass on it -- so I peeled it, sliced it, and added it to the bowl of Fruit Loops.   Fruit and cereal -- eat your heart out, Fraiser.

It had been a long week.  The mission.  Meetings.  New routines. 

On Friday, we started our new schedule.  Daniel came in with me in the morning, then Catherine had arranged to have him picked up at three, as the general had strict time limits for Daniel's working hours.  Catherine and Ernest entertained Daniel over dinner, and it was nine in the evening on Friday and after ten on Saturday before I was able to swing by and collect him.

That's probably what it's going to be like for the next little while.  Daniel never complained about the arrangements; he knows what deadlines are all about, and he knew that between doing my own stuff and running around driving him places, I was pretty well taxed.  And now it was a Sunday, and instead of doing the chores I'd planned, Hammond had called us in for another meeting.

I was just about to pour the milk over the cereal, when I heard a clatter coming from the stairwell.  I dropped the milk carton on the counter and dashed down the hallway, ears straining for the sound of whimpers or cries of pain.  Instead, as I rounded the corner, I heard a quite nasty Abydonian curse.

Daniel was at the bottom of the stairs, as was his laundry basket, its contents scattered over the basement floor.  He kicked at the basket -- probably not a good thing to do with bare feet, which he soon discovered.  As I watched, he hopped about on one foot, massaging his toe, 'ouching' to himself.  He was stark naked, his towel having fallen off somewhere during his flight down the stairs, something I didn't want to know about.

As I watched from the top of the stairs, he put everything back in the basket and dragged it to the washing machine.  He was stumped for a moment, doing his best to lift the lid, but not having the height or angle to manage it.  Wheels turned in his brain as he analyzed his situation. Then he dumped his clothes out of the overflowing basket, turned the plastic basket over, and stood on the bottom. 

Now I couldn't have gotten away with that without crushing it, but Daniel weighs next to nothing at the moment, and it worked just fine.  He managed to get the lid open, then he closed it again and hitched himself higher so he could see the controls, his bare toes tangling inches above the laundry basket, little fingers doing their darnedest to reach the buttons and levers.  Fortunately, my washing machine is idiot proof, so with a tentative flick of a switch and a push of another button, the sound of running water could be heard. 

The laundry soap was on top of the drier.  He opened the lid to the washing machine again, then tilted the soap powder to one side, watching as far-too-many soap crystals fell into the washing machine, then set it upright a wee too abruptly, causing yet another spray of Mountain Breeze scented detergent flakes to settle on his already clean hair.

Next came the clothes.  He was right.  Every single pair of his twenty-odd underpants were in the laundry basket along with assorted socks and a shockingly high amount of T-shirts.  How he'd managed to wear them all since the last time I did laundry, I had no idea.  Daniel goes through more clothes in the course of a day than I do in a week.  Then again, he is fastidious about his appearance these days.  Clean is the name of the game.

I quickly disappeared out of the doorway as he climbed down off the laundry basket and set it upright.

"Daniel!" I called out.  "Breakfast's almost ready!"

"Coming!" he called back, and I could hear his bare feet smacking on the stairs.  "Uh, I'll be just a minute."

I got my coffee poured, his orange juice poured, the toast buttered, and still no sign of the kid.  Once again, I went looking.  He was back downstairs standing on his laundry basket, except this time he was adding some of my laundry to the machine, shoving whites and darks together indiscriminately.

I almost called out to him to stop, then changed my mind and went back to the kitchen.  Gray was an okay color for my white T-shirts, right? 

He finally showed up and crawled up into his booster seat, wearing his red swimming suit and his zebra-striped T-shirt, the only one left hanging in his closet.  And he was wearing a big smile.

"What's up?" I asked, sitting across from him.

“You're gonna be really surprised, Jack," he said, around a mouthful of Fruit Loops.  He looked down in his bowl.  "Hey, there's banana in here.  What a great idea!"

"I thought so," I said, modestly.  "So what's the surprise?" I prompted.

"You'll find out in about an hour -- but don't go downstairs, okay?" he added, worriedly.

"I won't," I assured him.  I'd let him have his surprise for me.

"Hey," I said after a moment of watching him eat, "how about we go out for dinner tonight?  Just us?"

"Just us?"  The smile grew bigger.  "Where?"

"Your choice.  As long as it's within an hour's drive," I added.

"That's another great idea, Jack.  I like when it's just you and me sometimes," he said, quite seriously.  "And I think you're gonna find that I'm going to be a much bigger help around the place, now that I'm five."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he agreed, lifting the bowl to drink the milk.

continued...

Chapter Text

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN...?" Series # 2 - Extension Cord

Sunday, August 16, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"What do you mean you need another extension cord?" I asked, looking up from the paper-strewn desk in my home office.

Daniel was oh-so casually lounging in the doorway.  "You know, an extension cord," he said with a feigned innocent shrug.

"I know what an extension cord is.  I just don't know why you've asked me for three already, and we've only been home for thirty minutes."

The meeting with General Hammond had only lasted an hour, so I had opted to take my work -- and Daniel -- home with me.   I figured I could work on the report there, and Daniel could... well, play or something.  Not that he played, really.  He puttered and read and sighed a lot.  But at least he wasn't at the SGC or at Catherine's, so it gave him a change of pace.  And I got to spend a summer's day sitting in my shorts and a T-shirt, instead of in BDUs twenty floors below the surface of the planet.

"What do you need these extension cords for?" I asked, I thought very reasonably.

"Nothin'," he said quickly, then shrugged again.  "Uh, just redoing stuff in my room."

Whoever had done the original wiring in the room we now called Daniel's hadn't anticipated that more than one set of plugs would be needed.  Up until now, Daniel needed one for his night table light and one for his clock radio.  Then last week we added a desk, so I put in two extension cords, so his lamp and radio could share one plug, and his laptop and a desk lamp could share the other.  One of these days I'll have another set of plugs put in, but there didn't seem to be a need right now.

I got up, intending to go check what he was doing, and Daniel panicked.  "No, no, don't look.  It's a surprise!"

Ah, swell.  Another surprise.  I was currently wearing one of my morning surprises from Daniel, an almost white T-shirt that miraculously survived being loaded in the wash with nine of Daniel's black Ts.  One shoulder has an unusual gray smudge on it, but the rest is white.  Well, white-ish.

"Rearranging everything?" I asked.

He nodded agreeably.  "Yeah.  And I want to surprise you."

"You're not moving big furniture around are you?"

"No-o-o," he said, looking down, and I was out of practice at this father-thing to not press the matter further.

Instead, I thought about it and decided that if it kept him happy moving stuff around, and I was able to get my work done while he was occupied, so be it.  "There's another extension cord downstairs.  I'll get it," I said, standing up.

"I can get it!" he said, too loudly and too quickly.  "Just tell me where.  You don't have to get up.   You're busy, Jack."

"The problem here is that I don't know exactly where the extension cord is, Daniel.  It'll only take a second for me to find it."  I started moving toward the door of my office, when he blocked it, little arms on either side of the door jamb and holding on tight.

"It's okay.  I don't need it," he said.  "Just stay here and work.  We're going out for dinner tonight, right?   What about the Greek place on Skanton?" he added, obviously hoping the topic had successfully been changed.  "We haven't been there for a while.  What do you think?"

Daniel is odd.  I mean, I know he has all the intelligence and memories of being an adult – “Frederick” -- but he also has this strong “Doug” streak of five.  I could just picture Doug on one side of the tug-of-war rope and Frederick on the other, each tugging away, trying to pull more of Daniel one way or the other.  Right now, I had no idea who was driving the show.  Was Doug winning the tug-of-war and Frederick's foot perilously close to the line?  Or was it the other way around?

"The Greek place is fine," I said.  "And if you need another extension cord, I'd be happy to get it for you."

He looked back over his shoulder, thinking furiously.  "Okay... but give me a minute.  Stay right here, Jack, okay?"

"Sure," I agreed, sitting down again.

He disappeared down the hallway and down the stairs to the basement.  I got up and listened from within the safety of my office, faint noises from downstairs indicating objects being shifted around.  My imagination went in several directions until I heard him coming up the stairs and I leapt back to my desk, pen in hand, staring at a report I'd barely started.

"Okay," Daniel said, appearing in my doorway. 

He followed me down the stairs to the basement, and I tried to not give away that I was searching the area for clues while hunting down the illusive extension cord.  He'd done a load of laundry earlier this morning and his laundry basket was still in the basement, currently upside down over something.  His clean clothes -- and some of mine -- were scattered creatively over something, and I couldn't figure out what it was in the quick glance I allowed myself.  Obviously whatever this was, it was part of the surprise that I was going to ruin if I went over there.

Mind you, Daniel was standing between me and the pile, leaning one-handed against the dryer, whistling.

It's weird to think of Daniel as cute -- I never thought of adult-sized Daniel as cute or otherwise, just kind of mop-headed and round glasses and prone to wear the same clothes over and over, or wear clothes that looked too big for him.  But this little version -- and I'll blame it on the five-year-old personality -- can be darn cute sometimes.

I handed him the extension cord.  "Here ya go.  It's extra long.  Will that be enough?"

He nodded, clearly pleased with the 25-foot cord.

I couldn't resist myself.  I pointed to the stack of laundry on the floor.  "What's this about?"

"Wha--?" he mumbled looking back and around as though he couldn't see what I was talking about.

"The clothes on the floor.  What's up with that?  I thought you were going to deal with them."

"Oh.  I was... sorting them.  Just sorting them, Jack, so I can bring them upstairs and put them away.  Sorting them."  He smiled up at me, pleased with his explanation, so I let him get away with it.

"Great.  Good job, sport," I said, returning his smile, then heading up the stairs.  Daniel followed me, opened his bedroom door just long enough to toss the cord in, then shut it quickly.

I went back to my office, and he appeared in my doorway.  "Yes?" I asked, keeping my face neutral.

"Can I get you anything, Jack?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"I dunno.  Water.  Coffee."  He thought a moment.  "I know!  There's some iced tea in the fridge.  I'll get you some iced tea."

I pointed to the mostly full glass of iced tea currently on my desk.  "This is fine."

"Okay then," Daniel casually closed my door after him.  "See you later.  I'll leave you alone, because you have work to do.  I'll just close this so any noise I make won't bother you."

"Sounds fair," I allowed.  The door closed, and my face erupted in a smile.  Yeah.  Cute.

And what the hell was he up to?

Over the next few minutes, standing with my ear pressed to the door, there was a sort of clanking sound, as though something was being dragged upstairs from the basement.  Trouble is, I couldn't quite place it.  It wasn't the laundry basket.  It wasn't -- well, I couldn't figure out what it was or wasn't, so I obediently went back to my desk and tried to put it out of my mind with more pressing matters, like my finished report that Hammond wanted emailed to him by four o'clock.

Forty-five minutes later, I stuck my head out the door.  My glass of iced tea was empty and I wanted more -- including a breeze of some kind, which my closed door prevented.

No sign of Daniel.  There was, however, an extension cord snaking out from under his door.  I traced it, plugged together with two other cords, and reaching all the way to my bedroom at the back of the house.  From there it went under my bed and into probably one of the only unused plugs in the house, behind my dresser.  How he had found it, I have no idea.

I listened outside his door.  There was a creaking sound from within, and Daniel's mutterings as he... and I couldn't figure that out, either.  The creakings stopped abruptly and the room went dead silent. 

I kept walking down the hall and to the kitchen where (surprise, surprise), Daniel appeared a moment later.

"Hi, Jack."

"Hi, Daniel."

"Whatcha doing?" he asked.

That should be my line, I thought.  "I'm getting some iced tea.  Want some?"

He nodded.  He looked hot.  Whatever he was doing, he was expending a lot of energy doing it.  He accepted the glass from me and drained it, gulping loudly, then handed it back.  I refilled it.

"Are you going back to your office now, Jack?" he asked.

"I sure am.  I'll be working for another..." I glanced at the clock trying to figure out how long he might need for his surprise, "for another half an hour..." He looked anxious, so I quickly changed it to, "another hour, I mean."

That suited him better. 

And I had stuff I could do, so I decided to give him the time he needed.

I went back to my office and closed the door, leaving it open a crack, then took my place at my desk.  Ever so slowly, my office door began to close all the way, the door knob turning slowly until it clicked shut. 

Message received.  Stay here.

I gave him his time and another fifteen minutes beyond that, then the stuffy room and my curiosity got the better of me.  I had to see what he was doing.

I opened my door, making sure it banged loud enough for him to hear it.  Then I started down the hall.  The extension cord was gone.  The creaking had stopped in his bedroom, although I could hear him rushing around in there, doing something or other.

I had almost reached my bedroom when his bedroom door popped open.  "Hi, Jack," he said, sticking his head out the door.

"Hi, Daniel," I replied.  "How you doing?"

"I'm almost ready for your surprise," he said, the smile pulling at his face.

"I can hardly wait," I said, continuing down the hall. 

"Stop!" he yelled out, jumping into the hallway and closing his door.  "Don't go in your room yet!"

My bedroom door was partway open.  Nothing looked amiss.

"I need like... two minutes," he said.

Oh, how often has Daniel asked me for just another two minutes?

"I'll be in the living room," I agreed, retreating past his beady blue eyes and out of sight.

I sat and pretended to casually read the paper I'd already read that morning while I'd waited for our clothes to dry.

Finally, he appeared at the top of the short staircase leading down to the living room, one hand behind his back.  "Okay," he said.

"Now?"  I thought he was going to hand me whatever was in his hidden hand, but instead, he waited for me to join him, then, surprisingly, took my hand and led me down the hallway to... my own bedroom. 

"The surprise is in my bedroom?" I asked.

He nodded, but he was nervous now, biting his bottom lip, as though he was hoping I'd like his surprise, but he wasn't sure about it.  His eyes looked like he had been crying, and I wasn't sure what to make of that.

I walked in and looked around.  Everything looked the same.  Except my bed was made now, and I hadn't done it before because I was going to change the sheets later.  "You made my bed," I exclaimed loudly. 

"And I put clean sheets on it," he said proudly, "because on Sundays you always put clean sheets on the bed."  He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, as though he hoped I wouldn't notice.  One hand was still behind his back.

"That's true!  Thanks for doing that.  That saves me a lot of time." I sat on my bed, admiring the care he'd taken to do it.  It wasn't as crisp and tight as I usually made it, but he'd done a good job for a little kid.  Not that he was a little kid, but... crap.  He was a kid.

"That's not really the surprise," Daniel said, now looking even more worried.  He took a deep breath and went to my closet, opening the door. 

My shirts had been ironed. 

I had this basket of shirts downstairs that I'd been meaning to get to, but instead the basket had just gotten more and more full until I had given up and just worn T-shirts around the house and to work, knowing I had BDUs once I got there.

"You ironed my shirts?" I asked incredulously, realizing the clanking sound I'd heard earlier was the ironing board being dragged upstairs from the basement, and the creaking noises in his bedroom had been him ironing my shirts on the somewhat wobbly metal ironing board.

"Daniel?"  I took a closer look at one, taking it from the hanger.  He'd done a good job.  A really good job.  "The dry cleaner couldn't have done a better job!  You saved me a bundle of money, and now I have all my shirts back!"

That's what he needed to hear.  A big tear ran down his face.  "And I didn't burn any of them."

That was reassuring, although the thought of him in his room all that time with a hot iron was a little worrying.

And... the other shoe dropped. 

I sat on my bed and drew him close to me.  "But did you burn yourself?" I asked gently.

He looked up at me and tears flowed down his face.  He drew his hand from behind his back.  The outer edge of his left thumb had a tiny burn mark on it, and I knew it must smart.

"When did that happen?" I asked, picking him up and taking him down the hall to the kitchen.

"Just now.  When I was putting it away.  I was hurrying."

"Because of the two minutes?"

He nodded.

I set him on the counter top and got some ice from the freezer, wrapping the ice cube in a towel and pressing it against his burn.

Although part of me wanted to scold him for using a hot iron unsupervised, I had time to think about it before saying anything.  He was an adult, after all-- albeit, a five-year-old adult.   He'd ironed before.  I know he regularly ironed his collection of worn plaid shirts, because I had to wait one day because he hadn't finished before I got to his apartment. 

But it was Daniel I had to thank, not Frederick's knowledge of how to do it, nor Doug's inexperienced awkwardness in causing the burn.

"You were such a big help to me today.  First the laundry and now this.  Thanks, kiddo."

He sniffed, and smiled shyly, leaning forward from the counter to put his head against my shoulder.  "Jack, you've helped me so much.  I just want to help back."

That brought a tear to my own eye, but I got rid of it before I turned his face up to mine.  I am, after all, a ruthless, black ops colonel with a reputation to uphold. 

Then I ruined it all by saying, from my mushy old father's heart, "You help me every day, Daniel.  Just by being you."

He met my eyes, testing what I was saying, then nodded.  "Thanks."  He took a deep breath, and let it all out slowly.  Then another thought popped into his head.  "Hey, when are we going for dinner, Jack?  I'm really hungry."

I swung him down from the counter, relieved the burn seemed to be forgotten.  "How about now?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, running ahead of me down the hallway to his room, Doug finally pulling Frederick over the line in Daniel's haste to get ready for our special dinner out.

And me?  I went and got changed into my chinos and a freshly ironed shirt.

continued...

Chapter Text

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN...?" Series #3 - He Needs a Wrench

Sunday, August 16, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"What do you mean you need a wrench?"  Okay, I wasn't expecting that one. 

He needed a wrench.  He comes out into the living room in those little blue cotton pajamas, at 10:30 at night, an hour after he goes to bed, and tells me he needs a wrench.  A wrench.

He shrugged, watching his bare toes dig into the carpet by my feet.  "I just do."

I stare at the television screen, the evening news muted now.  More on the Middle East, which will have to wait now, because for some unknown reason, Daniel Jackson needs a wrench.  At 10:30 in the evening.

"Sorry, bud.  I need more info than that.  Just give me a hint why you need a wrench.  Fixing the bathroom sink or something?"

He perked up.  "Wow, Jack.  How'd you guess that?" he exclaimed.

I leaned forward.  "You're fixing the bathroom sink?"

He nodded, bright eyes fixed on me.  He didn't look the least bit like the tired, half-awake kid I saw to bed an hour ago, the one who sleepily discussed his day with me, proud of his achievements in surprising me in the laundry and ironing departments, then fell asleep a moment later.

"Why?" I asked. 

"Because it was leaking."

"The bathroom sink was leaking?"  My eyes narrowed.  "Do you mean it was dripping?  The faucet was dripping?"

"Something like that."

"So, instead of calling me to fix it, you've decided you're going to fix it yourself?"

He nodded.  "After all, I'm not a kid, Jack," he said, while wearing the cotton pajamas Fraiser had bought for him with the little blue sailboat on it. 

That's when I noticed that his pajama bottoms were damp around his ankles.  And he looked like he had been running in the sprinkler.

"So, Daniel.  How far did you get?  Fixing the tap?"

"I turned the tap around and around and around, but then it started spraying me, so I stopped."

Did I want to know what the bathroom looked like?  "Have you ever fixed a dripping tap before?  Like, in your own apartment?"

He shook his head.  "Not exactly.  But, Jack, I'm sure all I need is a wrench."

"Humor me here.  You put the tap back on, and it stopped spraying.  So, what did you do next?" 

"I looked under the sink and turned the tap off there."

"Good thinking."

"I know.  I would have thought of it earlier, but I forgot it worked like that.  Sometimes I forget things like that.  I don't know why.  Maybe Sam will know."

"Just curious here," I said, leaning back in my chair, "what are you doing up?  I thought you were in bed."

"I was, but you didn't remind me to brush my teeth.  I had to brush my teeth, Jack."

"Oh, it's my fault that you didn't brush your teeth.  I thought you were an adult, and I didn't have to remind you of these things."

That stumped him for a minute.  His little brows furled in exasperation.  "It's just best to check, Jack."

"So, you turned the main water valve off for the sink.  Then what?"

"Then I checked to see if the water was running out still, and it did for a few seconds, but then it stopped."

"Smart kid.  And then?"

"Then I took the top of the tap off and this time it didn't spray me.  But I couldn't get it all the way off, so I went in your room and got your fingernail file and used that to undo the screw on the top."

"My fingernail file?"

"Yes."

"From where?"

"On top of your dresser."

"Why not get a screw driver?"

"Because then I'd have to disturb you, and you were watching the news."

"So did the fingernail file work?"

"Yup."

"And?"

"I got to take all the pieces off."

"You did?"

"Mostly.  But I think a wrench would help finish the job."

"Okay, let's get a wrench."  He followed me to the storage room off the kitchen where I keep all my tools in an old dresser that had seen better days.  A little unorthodox maybe, but I'd scooped it from a neighbor's front yard where he'd put it out with the trash.  I liked all the little narrow drawers.  I can see everything at a glance.

I found the wrench, an assortment of screwdrivers, and a little box of various sized washers I had collected over the years. 

Daniel watched me get everything out, probably noting where everything was for the next time he needed tools in the middle of the night and didn't want to disturb me.

Then we headed to the bathroom he uses.  I stopped on the way at the linen cupboard and grabbed a handful of towels, which I needed the moment my stockinged foot touched the bathroom floor.

Daniel went straight to the toilet, crawled up on it, then over onto the counter top.  "See?" he said, pointing to the taps.

"I see that, Daniel."  I also saw a wire coat hanger that had been unraveled and was sitting on the counter.  One mystery at a time.  I turned my attention back to the taps, noting as Daniel nonchalantly pushed the coat hanger off the counter onto the towel-covered floor.  Something else I wasn't supposed to know about.

I used the wrench to loosen the packing nut and removed the stem beneath.  Yeah, the washer was getting old.  I held it next to my various sized washers and took one out that matched, dropped it in place, then put all the pieces back together.  "There."

Daniel had watched everything intently, then slid off the counter when I bent underneath it.  "Oh, Jack -- wait!" he said anxiously, as I went to turn the water valve back on.

"What?"

Again, that uncomfortable little face.  "Uh, what happens if you accidentally drop something into the sink, and it goes down the drain?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, just something important," he said nervously.  "Is there a way of getting it out?"

Oh, for crying out loud.  Now what?  "Did you run water after it accidentally fell down the drain?" I asked.

"No.  It was after I turned the water off, when I was trying to figure how big the washer was."

"Daniel," I said, very slowly, "what went down the drain?"

The tears started flowing.  "I didn't mean to, Jack," he hiccupped. 

I couldn't think of what he had that he would have used that was shaped like a washer.  "It's probably in the trap."

"It's trapped?" he sobbed.  "I'm sorry, Jack.  I'm sorry.  I didn't think it would be trapped!  I tried to get it out, I could see it and everything, but I just couldn't get it!"

It occurred to me then, that he hadn't answered my question before.  "Daniel," I said firmly, "what fell down the sink?"

"Your--” sniff, sob, "your--” sob, "your wedding ring."

"What?"  My wedding ring? 

My wedding ring?   Okay--another one I wasn't expecting. 

"Daniel, how did my wedding ring...  Why did you... What were you doing with my wedding ring?"  I didn't even know how to ask the damned question.

"I saw it when I got the nail file and I thought it might be a good way of checking the size of the washer, but then I dropped it and--”  He dissolved again in a bucket of tears.

I let him cry.  Little twerp.   "Daniel, stop crying and help me get it out."

"But it's trapped!  Do we have to call a plumber?"

"No, it's not trapped--”

"But I can't get it out, Jack!"

"It's not trapped; it's in something called a trap.  Now are you going to help me or not?"

I admit, I was a little peeved by this time.  My wedding band.  Okay, I'm divorced, but the ring still had meaning for me even if I hadn't worn it in years.  I picked it up and looked at it sometimes, and remembered everything it meant, and thought about Sara and Charlie and the life I once had.  It was personal.  I didn’t know I had to lock it up somewhere.

"Okay," Daniel sniffed, wiping his nose on a piece of toilet paper.  "I'll help.  What can I do, though?"

"Go to the kitchen and get me the big pot, the one I cook spaghetti in."

He ran off obediently.

I couldn't believe he'd dropped my wedding band down the bathroom sink.  On a Sunday night.  An hour after going to bed.  I wondered if I'd let him believe he was only four, would he being doing all this now?

He returned a moment later, lugging the pot.  I put it under the pipes, loosened the ring nuts of the trap and pulled it off, turning the trap upside down over the pot.  Fortunately the ring rolled down into it with a clanging noise, and Daniel snatched it up, holding it tight in both hands.

I put the trap back on, turned the water valve back on, and checked everything. 

The tap still dripped.

Daniel's tears were falling faster than the drip.  I quickly turned the valve off again, and changed the washer on the other tap, then turned it back on.  Fixed.

I held out my hand and Daniel put the wedding band in the middle of my palm.  Then he sighed and started picking up the damp towels.  I let him take them down to the basement and put them on top of the washing machine while I cleaned up the tools and put them away.

I went to my bedroom and put my ring back on the jewelry tray thing on my dresser--however had Daniel even see it?   Then I went in search of the little guy.

I found him sitting on the basement stairs, silently crying his little heart out.  I sat down next to him.  "Daniel?"

"I'm such a loser, Jack," he sobbed.

"Says who?"

"I can't even fix a drippy tap."

"Daniel," I said, lifting him onto my lap.  The cement stairs were cool and those little cotton pajamas weren't that insulated in the butt area.  "Next time, just mention it to me, and I'll fix it."

"But I'm not a kid.  I'm an adult!  I should be able to do it myself.  And I wanted to help you, instead of you helping me all the time."

"Well, pointing it out to me and helping me fix it would be a real help to me, right?  Besides, there are some things that are easier for me to do, and some things that are easier for you to do."  I stood up and took him upstairs.  "And you do help me.  You did the laundry and my ironing today.  You paid for our dinner.  Don't I get to do anything?"

He shrugged, his arms going around my neck, his cheek against my cheek.  Ladies and gentlemen... Doug.

"It's eleven-thirty. Ready for bed?" I asked, heading in that direction, feeling him getting heavier in my arms as I walked.  Weird how kids get heavy as they fall asleep.  I helped him into some dry pajamas, settled him under the covers--again-- turned his light out, and then brushed the hair from his eyes.

"Thanks, Jack," he whispered, rolling to his side, facing me.

"Thank you, Daniel," I whispered back.  He was a good man, and now he's a good kid, even if he tries too hard. 

"I don't like changing washers," he whispered.

"And I don't like ironing.  We're even."

"Yeah?" he said, smiling crookedly up at me.

"Totally.  See you tomorrow."

He nodded and closed his eyes.

I paused in his doorway.  "And Daniel, any other household repairs you should encounter in the middle of the night--say, the toilet, the front porch light, the lever on the air conditioner--just leave me a note, and we'll get Siler to take care of it."

He smiled, already asleep.

I watched him for a few minutes, then quietly closed the door. 

You know, my former life, the one with Sara and Charlie was pretty special. But this one, this one has a charm all its own. Daniel has been doing something to my heart, healing the wounds that were there and doing his own special late-night repair on an old colonel's soul.

continued...

Chapter Text

WHAT DO YOU MEAN...?" Series #4 - Stuck in a Broom Closet

Monday, August 17, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"What do you mean you're stuck in the broom closet?"   I swear, this present version of Daniel is driving me crazy.  "What exactly were you doing in the broom closet?" I said into my cellphone.

A totally reasonable question.  Yeah, you'd think.

I was sitting in the briefing room with General Hammond and SG-2 and 11 debriefing from their last mission, and my questions to Daniel drew a few snickers that I waved off.

His waivery little voice answered me.  "Nothin'."

"Nothin'?  There must have been a reason for you to go into--”  Why was I bothering?  I cut to the chase. "Daniel, which broom closet are you in?"

"On Level 26.  The one down the corridor from your office."

Eight floors down from where he was supposed to be sitting in his lab on the 18^th floor doing some simple translation work. 

"I'll call maintenance to go get you out," I said, shaking my head.

"No!  No, Jack.  I want you to come get me."  On reflection later, he had sounded a little desperate, but at the time I only heard the whine.

"Daniel, I'm in a meeting.  An important meeting.  I told you that on the way in today."

"But I need you to be there, Jack.  I don't want anyone else to see me."

"I have to get maintenance, Daniel.  I don't even have the keys for those closets."

"It's not locked."

"Then why can't you open the door and get out?"

"Because the cupboard fell over and it's up against the door, and I can't make it move back." 

Oh, Daniel.

Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.

Dare I ask? 

"How did that happen?"  By now, I had switched Daniel to speaker phone, and the eight men around the table were doubled over laughing, hands over their mouths to keep quiet.  I probably shouldn't have done that without letting Daniel know, but the guys had had a rough mission, and this was actually doing them a lot of good.

Besides, welcome to my world.

"Daniel," I repeated.  "Why did the cupboard fall over?"

"I was trying to get the floor cleaner down, and I guess I tipped the shelves over."

Really, it's like you're dragging the information from him, inch by inch.

Floor cleaner.

"And why were you getting the floor cleaner down?"

"I just needed it."

"For?"

Ah, he was squirming now.  I could picture him sitting there--

"Daniel, before you answer that, are you okay?  Are you hurt at all?"

"Not really.  I'm just kind of sticky all over."

"Because--?"

"I think you should talk to the maintenance people, Jack, because they're very sloppy putting things away."

"I'll get right on it, sport.  Meanwhile, why are you sticky?"

Daniel mumbled a reply, which I couldn't hear over Ferretti suddenly choking on his muffled laughter and one of the SG-11 lieutenants at the briefing table pounding his back.

"Sorry, sport, can you repeat that?"  Silence.  "Daniel?  Louder, please."

Ferretti waved them all silent and they leaned closer to the cellphone.  The general included.

"I think I have paint on me, Jack."

"Paint?"

"Yeah."

"You think you have paint on you?"

"I guess it's pretty much for sure."

"So... what?  The paint can tipped over and you stepped it in?"

"Sorta.  It kinda fell over slowly and all the paint came out onto my head, but now it's run all over me."

"Paint," I repeated.

"Yeah," he said, glumly.

"What color is it?" Ferretti asked.

"Huh?  Who's that?" Daniel asked.

"Hi Daniel.  Lou Ferretti, here," the SG-2 leader answered, grinning at me.  "Sorry to hear you're in a bit of mess there.  Just wondering what color the paint is."

"Hi Louis.  Is Jack still there?"  Daniel asked worriedly.  "Did Jack come to get me?"

"I'm still here, Daniel."  I had maintenance on the other line, so I put them on hold.  "Daniel, I'll come up in a few minutes, okay?  You gonna be okay?"

"I guess."

"So what color is the paint?" Ferretti asked again, as if it mattered.

"I dunno.  There's no light in here."

"How come?"

"I think when the cupboard fell over, the boxes on top of it fell and smashed the lightbulb."

"Oh."  Ferretti looked over at me in wonder. 

"Yeah, I deal with this every day," I said softly.   I went up a notch in their books.  "Daniel, is there glass around?"

"A bit.  From the lightbulb and my juice glass."

"Your juice glass?"

"That's what caused the problem in the first place, Jack.  My juice glass."

Maintenance buzzed me.  I spoke to them quickly, made arrangements to meet them, then stood to leave.  Everyone else stood, too.  Apparently everyone, including the general, was coming with me.  No way were they missing this.

"I'm on my way, Daniel."

"Good.  Cause it's dark in here.  And kinda smelly."

"Because of the paint?"

"Yeah.  And the floor wax.  And a bunch of other things that opened, too."

"So, Daniel," I said as we all piled into the elevator.  "What did you need the floor cleaner for?"

"I told you, to wash your office floor."

No, he hadn't mentioned it.

"Why did you need to wash my office floor?"

"Because when I was standing on your desk, my foot accidentally hit my apple juice glass and knocked it all over your floor."

God, give me strength.

"And you were standing on my desk because-- "

There was a long silence as we went up a few floors.

"Jack, are the other guys still listening?" he asked, tentatively.

I switched the speaker feature off my cellphone as I stepped from the elevator.  I could see the maintenance team down the corridor, Siler directing them as they worked the hinges off the door in question.  Because it opened in, they were going to have to remove the entire door to get at him.

"It's just me now," I said.  "Daniel, why were you in my office, standing on my desk?"

He took a deep breath.  "Sam gave me a picture she took at my sorta fifth birthday party last Thursday, and, Jack, I wanted to put it up on the bulletin board above your desk.  It's of you and me, Jack.  I wanted you to have it somewhere you could see it.  It's a really special picture.  I know later when I'm taller again you'll just laugh at it and me being short and everything, but that's okay because... well, I don't know, but it's okay because you're my friend."

I paused in the middle of the corridor, the guys all plowing into me.  "Thank you, Daniel," I said.  "I'll be sure and put it up."

"But now it's ruined.  I put it in my shirt pocket but it's got paint in there now, too," he sobbed out.

"We can always ask Sam to give us another picture, Daniel.  Maybe a real big one and we can get it framed properly."

"Really?" he choked out.

"Really."

"A big one?" he asked, with a sniff, sounding interested.

"A really nice one.  You could choose the frame yourself."  I arrived just as the maintenance team had worked the door off the hinges.  "I'll see you in a sec, sport."  I closed my phone.

From within the pile of boxes, jars, bottles, paper towels, and brooms, a rather lemony Daniel emerged.  He looked like the entire gallon of "Mellow Yellow" paint had been poured over his head.  In one determined hand, he clutched the floor cleaner, though.  You gotta give the boy credit -- he got what he went in for.

Siler wrapped a blanket totally around him, just leaving enough room for his face to be seen.  "I'll take him to the shower room and hose him off, sir."

"Jack!" Daniel squealed, anxiously, twisting toward me.

"Thanks, but I better do that."  I put my cellphone in my pocket and picked up the blanket-wrapped kid.  "Call Fraiser, someone, okay?  I want her to take a look at him.  Who knows what chemicals were in there."

"I'll make a list of them, sir, and send them to her," Siler offered. 

Ferretti and the captain of SG-5 charged to the nearest phone, fighting over which one got to make the call to the doctor.

General Hammond glanced at his watch.  "Will half an hour be enough?" he asked me.  "We can meet again at 9:30."

I nodded, grimly.  "I'll be there, sir.  Thank you, sir."

It was Monday.  We'd been at the SGC for a grand total of forty-five minutes.

Lord, have mercy.

continued...

Chapter Text

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN...?" Series #5 - He Needs a Ride from the Hospital

Monday, August 17, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"What do you mean would I come get you at the hospital?"  I leapt from my chair, my heart lurching into a pounding staccato beat.  I should have requested a break earlier; I was reeling from hunger.   "Why are you at a hospital?  What happened?"

"Just a bit of a mix-up, Jack.  People just aren't very good at listening to me sometimes and--Huh? -- No, I want to talk to him--"  I could hear Daniel arguing with someone else over the use of the telephone.

Then an adult male voice came on.  "Colonel O'Neill?"

"Yes, speaking.  What happened to Daniel?" I asked, sprinting down the corridor from the briefing room.  I patted my pockets, locating keys and wallet.

"Daniel is fine.  It's you we'd like to speak to.  Could you come down to the ER at Memorial Hospital?  Ask for Doctor Kingsley."

The line went dead, and I hit the elevator call button as I dialed up Fraiser.  "What happened to him?  Why wasn't I called?" I demanded.

"Colonel," Fraiser said calmly in greeting, "who are you talking about?"

"Daniel.  Who else would I be talking about?  Why'd you send him to Memorial and not call me?"  I rushed into the elevator and hit the Level 21 button for the infirmary level, several floors above me.

"Maybe because I didn't send him to Memorial, Colonel.  He walked out of here about ten minutes after you dropped him off for me to check him out after you cleaned him up from his paint spill.  Said he was going to his office to work on his translating for SG-8."

"Then how'd he get to Memorial?"  Wishing I could cancel the infirmary floor button, I hit the Level 18 button for Daniel's floor.  Maybe this was all a mistake somehow.  Maybe Daniel was just sitting in his office and... what?  Some other kid named Daniel just happened to call my cell phone? 

"He's in Memorial?  What happened?" Fraiser asked quickly, finally cluing into my conversation. 

"I don't know.  I'm heading straight over there now," I said, changing my mind and hitting the Level 11 floor button.  I'd go straight there and figure this out.   "I'll let you know," I said, and snapped my cellphone shut.

If Daniel was in Memorial Hospital, he obviously must have left the base at some time or other.  But why?  I know I had given him strict orders not to disturb me for any reason while I was in my meeting with the general and SG-2 and 11 -- especially after holding up the meeting for almost an hour when he got stuck in the supply closet earlier in the day -- but I think that whatever emergency had him leaving the building would definitely count as a reason to contact me.

Then again, this is Daniel we're talking about.  Adult Daniel was often on a different wavelength than me.  Little Daniel...?  He's on a frequency all his own.

And he left the damned building without telling me!

The elevator stopped at the Level 21 and I hit the 'close' button, impatiently.  Why don't they have 'cancels' on elevators?   It dutifully stopped on Daniel's office level, and I hit the 'close' button, a little harder than necessary, perhaps.  Finally, up top, I signed out, scanning up the names until I saw Daniel's.

10.20   Daniel Jackson Jr

He signed out at 10.20.

It was now 14.15.

Four hours.  Daniel had been gone for four hours.

To where?

"Was Daniel alone when he left?" I asked the guard. 

"Yes, sir."

"And you didn't find that odd?" I demanded.

"No, sir.  He leaves by himself every day.  We just make sure he gets on the shuttle bus okay."

Well, that was probably true.  Catherine's limo was now scheduled to pick him up at the gate and take him over to her place around 2:30 every day.

I jogged toward the shuttle bus, trying to get my mind around this latest... stunt.

I don't care if he is actually thirty-two or not.  I'm so going to tan his hide.

The ride to the parking lot took forever while my mind presented image after image of Daniel injured in a car accident, struggling to breathe from an asthma attack, suffering from anaphylactic shock, arms broken, legs broken, blood pouring from his shattered little body, each frightening picture overwritten by the doctor saying that Daniel was fine.

Then why the hell was he at the hospital?

My hand fumbled with the key to my truck, scratching the area around the lock as I tried to jam it in.  Oh, God.  Catherine.

Or Ernest.  One of them must have had an accident of some kind.  Or a heart attack.  And Daniel found out.  Why hadn't he told me, though?

Swinging behind the wheel of my truck, I hit the speed dial on my cellphone for Catherine's place, hoping to God I wasn't too late.

"Hello," Catherine answered calmly, only confusing me further.

"Catherine?  Everything okay there?"

"Jack!" she exclaimed warmly.  "How's your meeting going?"

"My meeting?"

"Yes, Daniel called around ten this morning to say he wouldn't be coming over today.  You were in a meeting most of the day, and he had things he needed to get done."

"Things?"

"He said he'd be here tomorrow, though.  We're going to take Ernest bowling.  Over to Bear Creek Lanes, I think, although Daniel also suggested Classic Bowl, as he says the pizza there is good.  What do you think, Jack?"

"Can I get back to you on that, Catherine?" I asked, quickly ending the phone call as I sped from the parking lot, wheels spinning in the dust.

So, Catherine and Ernest were okay.  Daniel had left the SGC at 10:20 in the morning.  Daniel had called Catherine and told her that he wouldn't be going there today.  Without talking to me.  He left the building without talking to me.

Oh, we were so going to have a talk about this.

If Daniel was truly fine, as the doctor said, perhaps the doctor was a little premature with that statement.  Daniel was not going to be 'fine' after I got there.

With no memory of actually driving through the city, I parked my truck in the emergency parking lot at the hospital, fed some coins into the outrageously overpriced meter, then jogged through the automatic doors to the emergency area.  No sign of him in the waiting area. 

I went to the front desk.  "I'm here for Daniel Jackson."

The nurse looked up at me.  "Colonel O'Neill?"

"Yes, I'm Colonel O'Neill."

Her expression changed slightly.  A little colder.  "Through those doors please, Colonel O'Neill," she said, pointing to my left.

I followed her directions and spotted Daniel sitting on the edge of an examination bed.  He looked okay.  Maybe a little bored.  He was sitting on his hands, swinging his legs and staring at his feet.

He looked up as I headed towards him.  "Jack!  Jack, this isn't my fault at all.  I shouldn't be here.  I told them that.  But police never listen to you, Jack, not when--”

"Police?" I asked, weakly.  "What do the police have to do with this?"

"Colonel O'Neill?" a voice said from behind me, and I whirled around to see a young female police officer.

"Yes?"

"I'm Detective Spanner.  This way, please, Colonel O'Neill."

I turned to reach for Daniel, and she blocked my way.  "He'll be fine here.  We'd like to speak to you alone, sir.

"I'll just be a moment.  I'd like to speak to Daniel first."  It sounded like a reasonable request to me, but she'd have none of it.

"You'll be given the opportunity to speak with him later, sir," Detective Spanner said, gesturing with her hand for me to head to a room across the hallway.

With a last look back at a suddenly sheepish Daniel, I followed the lovely Detective Spanner into what looked like a private room, the type they use to tell you that your loved one has just died, is dying, or has some fatal disease which there's no cure for.

My heart clenched again, but the doctor had said Daniel was fine.  I clung to that.

"Sit down, please."  We were joined by a man in a white jacket whose name tag read 'Doctor Kingsley'. 

I offered my hand and introduced myself, noting they were both reluctant to shake my hand.  We all sat down on uncomfortable metal chairs.

Doctor Kingsley looked up at me after a moment.  "I understand that Daniel Jackson is currently in your care.  Is that correct, Colonel?"

"Yes."

"How long has he been in your care?"

"Officially?  Just over a week.  About ten days, I guess."  I returned his stare.  "What's this about?  Is something wrong with Daniel?" I asked quickly, my heart rate doubling again.

"The police first aid attendant checked Daniel over, and he was brought here due to some injuries the attendant witnessed."

"Injuries?"  I sat up.  "So he was hurt somehow?"

"Small things, really.  Just the nature of how he received this injuries, quite frankly, Colonel, has us concerned."  The doctor exchanged looks with the police detective, and they both looked to me for answers.

"What happened?"  I asked, trying not to sound as utterly confused as I was.  "What injuries?"

The doctor glanced at his notes.  "Daniel has a bruised toe.  From doing your laundry, he said."

I nodded, ruthlessly forbidding the smile to come to my face at the memory of Daniel kicking the laundry basket when he'd decided to do laundry the day before.  Something told me I wouldn't be smiling very soon.

"Yes," I acknowledged, cautiously.

"Daniel also has a minor burn on his left thumb from... ironing your shirts, a blister on the palm of his hand from changing the washer in your bathroom sink, and a series of fresh bruises from injuries received while attempting to wash the floor in your office."

Oh, oh.  I suddenly saw where this was going.

"Colonel," the police detective said icily, "we have some serious concerns over your ability to safely offer care for this child.  Daniel is five years old.  He's not your personal slave.  He's not a servant or house boy to clean your bathtub and wash your dishes.  He's a child."

"I know that.  You're not getting the whole picture--” I started.

"We deal with facts, Colonel," the doctor said.  "Injuries on a young child that shouldn't be there.  We've called social services and a worker should be here shortly."

"Hang on.  Hang on, just a cotton-pickin' second," I said calmly.  This was stopping right now.  I wasn't going to get dragged into this circular, never-ending argument.  I opened my wallet and dropped my identification on the table, plus my own personalized, get-out-of-jail-free card, a document that may not have been made for this very reason, but was certainly going to be played.  Daniel wasn't the only one to carry his insurance letters in his pocket.

The doctor picked it up, read it over quickly, then looked over at me, surprised. 

He handed the letter to the detective, who read it over quickly, and looked over at me, suspicious.  "What's this?" she asked.

"A letter, signed by the President of the United States, giving me undisputed custody of Daniel Jackson Junior, and declaring that, basically, I can walk out of here with said child without answering any more of your questions."  I stood up.  "Does Daniel require any further medical treatment?"

The doctor wordlessly shook his head.  I think he was a little awed by the letter.

I turned my business card over and jotted down Fraiser's name and telephone number.  "This is Daniel's private physician at Cheyenne Mountain Base.  Please forward all medical records to her."

He nodded.  The police detective stood at the door, really, really not wanting to let an obviously delinquent and abusive parent out of her sight.

I walked out the door.  Daniel was still isolated up on the examination bed, which was a bit to high for him to get down from.  I think I'll purchase one of them.  An isolated, confined Daniel was sounding pretty good right now.

I went over and picked him up, hardly aware now of the automatic way his arms and legs curled around me, hanging on.

"Jack, if I could just explain about the police and everything--”

"Oh, you will most definitely be explaining," I said in a hushed voice between clenched teeth.  "But not a word here, Daniel.  Not a word."

He shut up, eyes wide as he recognized the level of my annoyance.  My irritation.  Vexation.  Aggravation.  Anger. 

Fear.

He's okay, I told myself, holding him tight all the way to the truck.  He's okay.

I plunked him into his booster seat in the back, snapped him in, dialed Janet and in less than five seconds told her that he was fine and I'd fill her in later.  I then drove silently a block down to a restaurant where I could get something to eat.  Maybe if I wasn't so damned hungry, this would make more sense.

He followed me into the restaurant meekly, sitting in the booster seat the waitress brought him without a word of complaint or sarcasm.  Then he set the menu up on the table so he could hide behind it.

I couldn't think, staring blindly at the choices.  The waitress came by and I ordered the soup of the day and a Turkey BLT.   Daniel ordered the same and reluctantly handed the menu to the waitress.  Daniel doesn't like most soups that much, so I knew he was worried.

"So?" I asked.  "What happened?"

"The police at the police station wouldn't listen to me."

"What were you doing at the police station?"

"They came and took me there.  I didn't want to go there, Jack.  I told them that."

"Why did the police take you to the police station?"

"Because of the wheel on my cart.  It went all wobbly all the time."

"Your cart?"

"Yeah.  They should make sure those wheels work better."

"What wheels are we talking about here?"

"On my cart," he repeated, as if I were a dumb idiot.  "The wheels were responsible, Jack, not me.  Because of the wobbly wheel, I bumped into a display and it went all over the place."

"A display of what?"

"Beans."

"How did you bump into a display of beans?"  Hey, I was getting better at this.

"I told you.  The wheels--”

I cut him off and tried a different tactic.  "Where were you, Daniel?"

"At Safeway."

"Safeway."  Cart.  Beans.  Okay... "You were at a grocery store?"

"I know it's not our usual store, Jack," he apologized with a shrug, "but it's the one the cab driver took me to."

"The cab driver?"

He nodded earnestly.  I've noticed that about the five-year-old Daniel.  Like the adult, he is almost always earnest.

"What were you doing at the Safeway, Daniel?"

He looked at me like I was crazy.  "I was buying groceries, Jack."

"Why?"  The waitress brought me my coffee and I took a healthy, scalding swallow, hoping its normalness would calm me.

"Because you're so busy, Jack.  I decided I'd help you by buying our groceries."

"And the police came because?" I prompted.

"The police came because the manager called them."

"Because..."

"Because of the beans."

"Because you knocked over a display of beans?"

"But not on purpose, though, Jack.  It was an accident.  The manager didn't listen to me, though.  And I even said I'd pick them all up for him.  He called the police when I said I'd pay for any damages and I handed him my credit card."  Daniel's face suddenly scrunched up.  "Hey, Jack.  We have to go back to the Safeway.  I bet he still has my credit card."

"We'll go later."  The soup had arrived.  Bean soup.  Figures.

Daniel was delighted, however, it apparently being his very favorite type of soup.  He alternated between blowing on it and slurping loudly.

I was still counting to ten.  Over and over and over.

Maybe I'm just not cut out for this.

"So," I tried again, "you called a cab from the SGC and decided to go shopping at Safeway to buy groceries."

"No, Jack," Daniel said, reaching for a piece of sourdough bread.

"No?"

"I called the cab later."

"From where?"

"From the U-Frame-It store."

"The what?"

"The frame store.  The place where you take pictures in to have them framed.  It's a good store, too.  He took my credit card without a problem."

"What were you doing at a frame-it store?"

"That's where the clerk at the first photo store sent me."

"The photo store?"

"Because they didn't have the mats I wanted, Jack."

"The mats?"

"For the photo of you and me.  You said I could get a big photo and pick out the frame.  So I got the digital camera card from Sam and took it to the photo store and had them make me a big picture of the one I wanted.  Then I walked two blocks to the U-Frame-It place and picked out which mat and which frame I wanted.  I think you're really gonna love it, Jack."  Daniel glanced at his watch.  "It'll be ready any time after six tonight, the guy said.  They're open until seven, so we just have this small window of time to get it."

I sighed and ate my soup.  The waitress took my empty bowl and brought our sandwiches.  Despite all the noise from across the table, Daniel had barely made a dent in his soup.

"So, let me see if I got this right.  You walked out of Fraiser's office, went to Carter, got the camera card, decided you would go alone and have a photo made and framed, left the building without even letting me know, and then took a cab to the photo store?"

"No, Jack.  You got things wrong a couple of times.  I did let you know.  I left a note on your office door."

"Well, sport, I never made it to my office.  I was still in the briefing room when you called me."

"Did I interrupt the meeting again, Jack?  I didn't mean to.  I was trying really hard not to interrupt your meeting again."

"The meeting was over."

"Oh, good.  I'm glad I didn't interrupt it.  And I didn't take a cab to the photo store, Jack.  You got that wrong, too.  I hitched a ride with Dr. Lee."

"Dr. Lee?" I asked, my voice rising.

"Yeah, he was just heading out, so I asked him for a ride."

"To the photo store?"

"No, to the butcher's."

"The butcher's?"

"You know, he lives near that butcher you like, so I got a ride with him there.  I told him I was picking up meat for our barbecue tonight.  We talked about have a barbecue tonight, remember, Jack?   I had finished my translation work, and you still had that big meeting, so I figured I'd surprise you by getting the meat and everything.  Hey!" he yelled out, as something else occurred to him.  "That Safeway manager had better have put my meat in the fridge or something.  He took it and it wasn't even his, Jack.  That's wrong, isn't it?" he huffed, indignantly.  "I didn't even buy it there and he confiscated it along with the rest of the things I had in my cart.  And I had finished, too, Jack; I was just on my way over to the check out."  He shook his head at the injustice in the world as he pulled a piece of bacon from his sandwich and nibbled on it.

"So," I tried again to sort this out.  "You went with Dr. Lee to the butcher, you bought the meat for our barbecue tonight, and then..."

"And then I took a bus to the photo place," he finished, slurping more soup.

"A bus?" I asked, wearily.

"Yeah.  I figured I'd just get on the first bus that came and watch out the door for a photo place and it worked just great.  I was watching and saw one, so I got off at the next stop and walked back, just like that.   Pretty smart, huh?"

Not what I would call it.  Daniel would hear my thoughts on the appropriateness of a five-year-old riding the bus around the city alone later.  Daniel would actually hear a lot from me later.  Meanwhile, I had to try to keep him on topic, and he was slipperier than a greased pig.  "So you then walked from the photo place to the frame-it store, then called a cab and went to Safeway?"

"Sorta."

"Sorta?"

"I didn't exactly call a cab.  I was going to take another bus, since it's cheaper, but my feet were getting sore and the meat was getting heavy, so when I came out of the frame-it store, I saw a taxi cab across the street, so I went over and asked him to take me to a grocery store."

"The Safeway?" I asked, just to make sure there were no other stores in between.

"Right."  He tilted his glass of Coke perilously as he sipped it. 

I finished my sandwich without any further questions.  I was tired.  My brain hurt.  It really, really hurt.  I remembered that movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger when he went undercover as a kindergarten teacher and thought he had a brain tumor.   I could sympathize with him now.

I watched absently as Daniel dunked his sandwich into his bean soup, then took a big bite of it.

"So you knocked over the entire bean display?"

"I 'splained that to you," he mumbled around a full mouth of turkey sandwich.

"Yes, you did."

Silence for another few minutes, as I tried to sort out where I wanted to start.

"Daniel, I don't know if I can properly explain my feelings to you about today.  Words fail me.  You left the SGC without talking to me, went to a butcher to buy meat for dinner, went to a photo place and frame-it store, then went grocery shopping, after which you were arrested by the police, sent to a hospital where I was called down and accused of being a child molester, after which I had to use a letter from President to force them to release you back into my care.  Quite a day, for you."

He put his sandwich down, placed his hand over mine, looked up at me attentively, and smiled sweetly.  "It's okay.  You don't have to thank me, Jack.  I was just happy to do it for you."

continued

Chapter Text

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN...?" Series #6 - Duct Tape

Tuesday, August 18, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"What do you mean we're out of duct tape?"  I squinted at the indistinct form hovering a few inches from my face, then rolled over and glanced at the clock.  2:53 a.m.  Great.

The form stubbornly did not move.  "There was just a little bit left on the roll, Jack, and I was wondering if there were any other rolls around the house?  You know I can't leave the house and go buy any, because I promised you that I wouldn't leave and go shopping without your permission anymore."

"Daniel, why aren't you in bed?"

"I can't sleep, Jack, so I figured I might as well get up and do something productive.  And I'm not doing any housework, because I promised you that I wouldn't do any housework without your permission anymore."

"So why can't you sleep?" I asked, rolling onto my back, longing to return to my dream of me, Mary Steenburgen, and a yacht in the South Pacific.  Daniel wasn't in it.

"I just can't sleep, Jack," Daniel said, softly.  "I've tried and tried and there just seems to be something wrong."  In the dim light, I could see that he was rubbing his eyes, and I decided not to throttle him.

"What's wrong?" I whispered back.

"I'm not sure.  I start thinking about going to sleep, and how important that is, because after all, at dinner you reminded me I needed to get a good night's sleep because you said I'd had a very busy day today going shopping and stuff."

"Stuff like going to the police station and Memorial Hospital?"  I couldn't help myself.

"Well, like that, too," Daniel admitted.  "And then I start thinking about being short and how hard it is, and then I start thinking about Geb and wonder if he's ever coming back to make me taller again, because it sure is taking a long time, and then I think how ungrateful I am, because, after all, the ka'kun saved my life, but I still want to be taller, Jack, even though I appreciate everything you've done for me.  I'm just a little sad, I guess," he said in his quivering little voice, wringing his hands as he talked in the darkness.

"And you can't sleep when you're sad?" I leaned up on one elbow, trying to see his face in the red light from my digital clock radio.

"Like I said, Jack, I tried to sleep but it just didn't work.  I kept thinking about how useless I am to Sha're when I'm just a kid and if she came back now, she'd be really grossed out because I'm not exactly good husband material right now and thinking about... well, you know, that other stuff Sha're and I, uh, you know," he said with a shrug and a sigh, "makes me feel..."  He paused, trying to find the word.  "I guess like I have an upset stomach or something."

"Unsettled?" I offered.

He nodded, leaning up against the bed.  "I'm just no good to anyone like this, Jack.  I ruin everything I do.  I can't fix the leaky tap or do grocery shopping or hang a picture in your office or anything without making a mess of it."

"You can do other things," I said, confidently.  "Not everyone is skilled in doing housework, believe me."

"Like what, Jack?  What can I do?" he implored.

"Look at all the translating you're getting done.  You're just whizzing through your backlog, right?" He shrugged and I plowed along.  "Daniel, I need my sleep, you need your sleep.  We'll talk about this all tomorrow, I promise."

"But what am I supposed to do right now, Jack?  How can I get to sleep?  Nothing is working.  I close my eyes and my thoughts go round and round and round and I just get more and more awake."

"Why don't you go watch something on TV for a while?  That sometimes makes you sleepy."

"I tried that, Jack, but some of things on TV at this time of night I have to watch with my hands over my eyes, because I'm too short to see stuff like that, I think."

"Get the TV off the Playboy Channel then.  I told you that the last time you stayed here."

"It wasn't the Playboy Channel, Jack.  I tried the Documentary Channel but it was about cruelty to female slaves and I kept thinking about Sha're, which made me feel all... all... unsettled, I guess, so then I switched to the Food Channel and it was about coffee and I just don't like coffee much at this height, which I still think I should, but I just don't, so I switched to the Cartoon Channel -- and, Jack, how come they have cartoons all night long?  Shouldn't kids be in bed already?"

"Yes, they should," I said pointedly, but that apparently went over his head.

"I don't like cartoons, Jack.  They're all about cartoon characters dying or being beaten up and suddenly in the next scene they're back to normal, and we know that doesn't happen in real life, don't we, Jack?  And I watched the music channel, but sometimes it looks a lot like the Playboy Channel except the music is faster, and so I watched the History Channel and that didn't work because it was about the pyramids, and you know how I feel about present day theories on the pyramids--”

"You think they're crazy," I offered.

"The blind leading the blind," he said, shaking his head, exasperated.  "So then at last I found CNN and I started watching the news, but it's kinda scary, Jack, especially if I'm not watching it with you.  But then they had a special on called 'Are You Prepared for a Disaster?' and I thought that maybe I wasn't, so I watched it and then I got a paper and pen and took notes about what we should have already prepared for in the event of an emergency.  Even where we are now here in Colorado Springs sometimes there are snow storms and blackouts and blizzards--”

"It's the middle of August, Daniel."

"--and maybe even tornadoes and hurricanes," he rattled on, counting it off on his fingers, "and windstorms and all kinds of things, and that's just the natural disaster stuff.  I made a list of things we need, Jack.  I went on-line and I was able to buy a few of the bigger things, like a portable generator and a short-wave radio -- and you don't have to worry because they will deliver it here and I gave them my credit card number and it said it was a secure site.  And I didn't have to leave the house or get on a bus or any of those other things that seemed to upset you today."

"You bought a generator on the internet?"  That vein in my forehead started throbbing.

"You're welcome, Jack.  Just think of it as a thank you gift for everything you've done for me.  I know how much you like being prepared for stuff, so I thought it might be a really good gift, because CNN had it on the top of their list and everything.  And some things they said we probably didn't need to buy because we already had them around the house, but we should store them in one area in an easy-to-reach place.  I put together all our important documents and put them in your briefcase because we need to copy them tomorrow because it's a good idea to have copies of all your important papers, in case of an emergency, Jack."

Daniel paused for air, then foraged ahead.  "Jack, how come you don't have anything at all in your briefcase?  I thought it sure was light and then I found out why.  It seems kinda weird for you to carry around an empty briefcase, unless, I guess, you were just being prepared in case you needed something to carry stuff -- like the stuff we have to photocopy."  Daniel's face lit up.  "Wow, you really are a prepared guy, Jack.  And do you have extra flashlight batteries?  And I found some bottled water downstairs, but it's all past date, so maybe you should get some newer bottled water.  It might be safer, they said.  And they said to put in some clothes, especially warmer, waterproof clothes, so I got your rain jacket from the front closet and put it in with the rest of the stuff."

"Daniel, I'm not so sure this was a good show for you to watch at two in the morning."

"I watched it from one to two, Jack.  I've just spent the rest of the time trying to assemble everything, to help you, Jack.  And it's not housework, right?" he nodded amiably.  "Do you have any more duct tape, Jack?"

"No."

"Because duct tape can sure be used for a lot of things. We might need lots of duct tape, in order to be prepared for emergencies, Jack. We should probably take duct tape with us on missions, too, because, wow, what amazing stuff it is.  I went on the Internet and there sure are some funny sites that feature things made with duct tape.  Even a wedding dress and formal wear.  Do you know why it's called 'duct tape'?  Well it was used in World War II as waterproof sealing tape for ammunition cases, but because it was so handy to rip and stuff, they started using it for quick repair jobs on other military equipment like jeeps and guns and planes.  After the war it was used on heating and air conditioning ducts, which is where it got its current name from.  In some places it's called 'duck' tape -- that's with a C.K. on the end, Jack, not a C.T., even though it sounds the same.  You know, duck.  Like a bird.  There sure were a lot of different opinions on where it came from.  Jack, should I make a list of all the things we need for our emergency area?  We need to be prepared, Jack, for emergencies."

"Daniel."  I swung my legs out of the bed and he stepped back.  "Let's go for a walk."  I held out my hand, not too surprised that he took it willingly.  I walked him out of my bedroom and down the stairs to the living room, flicking on the television as I went by.  "Let's just sit quietly here for a few minutes."

My old standby.  Sports.  To be specific, the Golf Channel. 

Daniel sat primly next to me, asking politely about the players.  He leaned into me a bit more, asking about the game and scoring.  His head against my shoulder, he asked about what 'par' meant.  He was sound asleep before they teed off.

I gathered him in my arms and got comfortable, watching the little furled brow slowly relax as his body melted against me.  He worries.  I wish he wouldn't.  I wish it was all okay in his world, nothing but wonderful things to translate, fascinating word histories to explore, and exciting rocks to find.  I wish that for the adult Daniel, as well, and not just the child. 

And it wasn't Doug, tonight, that needed the hug.  It was Frederick.

Frederick needed to know his world was safe.  And I can't keep him safe from a lot of things, but I can do this.  I can hold him and make his world safe, at least for tonight.

His mouth was open, tiny baby teeth like a row of pearls barely visible as he breathed.  He took a deep breath and exhaled, molding his body against my chest, his little fingers clutching my T-shirt, anchoring himself to me.

I remembered when Daniel first came back from Abydos, I would wake to hear him crying, and I would listen at his bedroom door, wondering whether I should go in or not.  Twice, maybe three times, he came to me at night, standing at the door of my room with a strangled, "Jack," on his lips, his body shaking not unlike it did when he was addicted to the sarcophagus, needing to be held, needing to be reassured that the universe wasn't crashing down around him.

I'm such a fool.  If the adult Daniel needed my reassurance, I should be plying the smaller Daniel with it daily.  He was more child than adult, however much I tried to think of him as adult.  And I needed to make his place in my life safe, for whatever time he was here.  I needed to make sure he knew he was not alone, that he was not redundant.  That even though he gave me a heart attack daily, that he was important to me.  And even though I might yell at him sometimes for doing things that took years off my life, that it was because I cared deeply for him and only desired his safety and the thought of him injured or dying was unbearable to me.  That even though I couldn't stop the blizzards or the blackouts or the Goa'ulds, that I would do everything in my power to keep him safe and secure.

I needed to spend more time with him.  The previous day, I had been in back-to-back meetings—interrupted briefly to deal with Daniel in a closet covered in yellow paint--then the fiasco at the hospital, a late lunch, plus more trips to Safeway to pick up his credit card, the meat from the butcher, and his groceries; then a dash to the frame-it store to get his framed-and-matted picture, and report in by phone to General Hammond on why I had dashed from the meeting, so that by the time we got home, I was abrupt and tired myself, short with him about the barbecue, I read the newspaper while we ate dinner, and urged him to bed by nine, so I could watch the evening news by myself and get to bed early.

He didn't ask to be little.  But I asked to take him in.  The onus was on me to provide his safety and make his world a place for him to be all he can be.  For I knew only too soon Geb would come back and I would never have the chance again to nurture a child, not like this.  Not like I was holding this child in my arms.

I knew I should put him in bed, cover him, and slip from the room on silent feet, letting him sleep in peace.  But I couldn't let him go, not yet.  For Geb will come, and I'll miss this.  I need to stock up on these moments, because they need to last me a lifetime.

And besides, now I was the one who was wide awake.

But that's okay.

continued...

Chapter Text

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN...?" Series #7 - Jack's Truck is Out of Gas

Tuesday, August 18, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"What do you mean my truck is out of gas?"  I sat at my office desk at the SGC later that Tuesday, with head in hands, amazed that I even bothered to think that just maybe, maybe, I could get through a day without some sort of trip to Daniel-land.  Daniel-land is sort of like Disneyland, but with wilder, faster, and more death-defying rides.

He'd stayed asleep after his quest for duct tape at three in the morning. We had made it through breakfast.  We had made it to the SGC on time.  He worked in his office all morning -- or at least he was there when I stopped by for lunch at 11.00 hours.  We ate lunch without any mishaps, spills, or dropping of trays.  Then he was supposed to have two hours more translating time, then pack up and get up top to meet Catherine's limo, because today they were taking Ernest bowling.  All without a glitch, as he waved goodbye after lunch and headed off down the corridor to his office.

But now?  Now?  What now?   What -- I implore you, God -- has he done now?

"At least I think your truck is out of gas," his little voice carried over the cellphone connection.

"Why would it be out of gas?  It was low, but I knew I had enough to get to a gas station after work.  “Don't worry about it, Daniel.  I can always coast down the hill," I joked.

"Well, I think your truck is already out of gas, Jack.  I can't see the dial thing very well."

Blink.  "Daniel, are you in my truck?"  I leapt to my feet, my rolling office chair living up to its name and rolling across the office.  "What the hell are you doing in my truck?  Who's there with you?  Is Carter there?"

I'll kill her.  I can't kill him, because he's currently a kid and there's laws about such things, but Carter, I can kill.

"Sam's at that lecture this afternoon, remember, Jack?  You said she was meeting with all her nutsoid, geeky friends.  I can't remember what it was about, but I think it had something to do with the Stargate on Ernest's planet and how we all started it without power.  Teal'c sure had a good idea about the lightning, huh, Jack?"

"Daniel," I was to the elevator by now, "are you in my truck?  Just answer me that.  No commentaries or long-winded stories."

"Of course I'm in your truck, Jack.  How else would I know it's out of gas?"

"Then, my second question would be, why are you in my truck when you're supposed to be in your office?  It's almost 1:30, and you're supposed to be doing your translating thing for another half hour."

"Well, that's why I'm in your truck, Jack.  I have to get the translating done before I go."

No, no, no, no, a voice started chanting in my head.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped in, punching the top floor.  "Daniel, do you have the truck running?"

"No, Jack."

I exhaled, leaning against the side of the elevator in relief.

"There's no gas, remember?  It won't run anymore."

Argh!

"Daniel, define what you mean by 'anymore'?"

"Well, it was running okay for a while, then it started acting weird when I tried to move it."

"You moved my truck?" I asked weakly.  Oh, please, let me have misunderstood him.

"I had to, Jack.  The shade moved."

"The shade?"

"You know, Jack, maybe it's not out of gas.  Maybe it's just broke.  When was the last time you had it serviced?"

"Daniel, what are you doing in my truck?"

"You gave me the keys, Jack."

"I gave you the keys a YEAR ago."

"Right.  You said if I needed it, I was welcome to use it anytime.  You said that, Jack.  I remember, and then you gave me the keys."

"Daniel, that was a whole different..."  I trailed off, my brain trying to come up with a different tactic.  "Why were you in the truck, Daniel?"

"I told you already."

"Humor me.  Tell me again."

There was a big sigh, as if I were some kind of idiotic jerk he had to deal with. "I had to use your truck because I wanted to finish the translating before I left today."

The doors opened on Level 11, and I slid out of one set of elevators, scribbled my signature on the sign-out sheet, and headed to the other set of elevators to go the rest of the way to the top.

"That doesn't make any sense, Daniel.  For what possible reason would you need a truck to help with your translating?"

"Remember when you were playing that music today, on the way to work?"

"Mozart's 'The Magic Flute'."

"That was pretty cool, Jack.  I'm not usually a fan of opera, but I really liked it."

"Your point, Daniel?" I demanded, reaching my limit with these endless whirling conversations.  "Did the opera somehow help in translating an obelisk from some planet across the galaxy?"

"How could it do that, Jack?  That's weird."

"I'm just asking what the opera had to do with your translation?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" By now I had reached the top level and was hurrying through security.  "Daniel, you said--” Great, now I'm arguing with him about it.  "Then why did you mention the opera?"

"Because I told you then that you had a very good stereo system, and you said it was top of the line."

"Yeah," I agreed cautiously, foolishly unable to see where this was going.

"Well, I needed to play my CD because I'm just not getting good enough sound on my CD player these days."

"Why?" I asked.

"I'm not sure.  Could be the speakers or something."

"Daniel," I said panting for breath as I raced to catch the shuttle as it pulled out.  I pounded on the side of the bus and the driver slowed down and opened the door.  "Daniel, why did you need my CD player? For what reason did you need to use the CD player in the truck?"  I dropped to my seat in the shuttle, my hand covering my face.  "For what possible reason would you need to do that?"

"I told you, Jack.  Because my CD player doesn't work right."

And the wheels of the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.  The wheels on the bus go round and round, early in the morning.

"So... " I really tried to make it all mean something.  "So, your CD player didn't work, so you decided to use the CD in the truck.  Any particular reason why you didn't just requisition another CD player?  What's wrong with the CD player in your computer?"

"I had another disk in my laptop.  I needed both for comparison, and I don't like having to take them in and out of my laptop.  It's way easier having two, trust me."

"Daniel, I'm almost there.  Listen carefully.  I want you to turn the CD player off and get out of the truck."

"But I can't get my CD out.  The truck's not running."

"Then I want you to just get out of my truck and just wait next to it.  Could you do that for me?"

"Uh... probably not.  It's a little bit tricky."

"What's tricky?  I thought the truck was out of gas?"

"It is, Jack.  It started making all these sputtering noises, then the engine just stopped."

"How long ago?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you been sitting in the truck?"

"Since we had lunch.  I went back to my office and my CD player wasn't working, then I thought of your truck stereo, so I came up here."

"You've been in my truck for almost two hours?  With the motor running?"

"I had to turn the engine on, Jack, or the CD didn't work."

"Get out of the truck, Daniel.  GET out of the TRUCK.  And when I get there, we're going to have a nice long TALK about how from now on, you will ALWAYS call me BEFORE you leave your office.  Even to go to the BATHROOM."

"I've got a bathroom in my office, though, Jack.  I don't really need to call you--”

"Daniel.  Get out of the truck."

"I probably shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"I'm kinda holding the brake down by sitting on it, and I don't think I should move."

I really thought I was going to pass out.  "Is the truck in gear?" I asked, in a hoarse whisper.

"Yeah, I told you, I had to move it because of the shade.  The sun was in my eyes."

"You moved my truck!"  Right -- he had said that earlier.  How did he get me away from that?  How could I have gotten so easily sidetracked?

Because he's Daniel!

"Just a little ways, Jack.  I think.  I can't actually see too much down here.  I had only planned to move it a few inches.  I didn't even take the security bar off."

"Just don't move, Daniel."

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't.  I was trying to reach the CD player, but the angle is wrong.  I want it to go back so I can listen to that last chant again.  I almost had what they were saying, Jack!  Isn't that great?"

"Daniel, I'm just getting off the shuttle now.  I'll be there in a minute.  Don't move, okay?"

"What if I try to take the key out?  Will that help, Jack?"

"Daniel, don't move.  Don't move your hand.  Don't move your butt.  Don't move.  At all.  You understand me?"

"Oh.  Okay."

The truck wasn't exactly where I had left it at the edge of the parking lot.  It was about thirty feet away.  When he put the truck over the six-inch-high cement barrier, it must have slowed it down.  And fortunately it was probably just crawling along when it hit the tree.  And then the engine strained until it ran out of gas.

At least he didn't miss the tree and head on down the side of the steep hill.  At least, he didn't...

The two airmen I had grabbed as I exited the shuttle bus each quickly found a rock to put in place by one of the front tires.  The tree didn't look that sturdy, and I didn't want it to cave on me.

With trembling hands I went to open the truck driver's side door but it was locked.  I opened it with my own set of keys and there he was, sitting on the floor, on the brake, looking up at me with a somewhat sheepish look on his face.

"Wow, look at that!" one of the airmen yelled, looking into the passenger side.  "There's a kid in there!"

I yanked up on the emergency brake, then got behind the wheel and nudged his butt with my toe.  "Okay, I've got the brake.  Get up."

With a fair amount of squirming, he got out of the little nest he'd made for himself.  He'd been there a while.  His laptop was on the passenger-side floor, plugged into my cigarette lighter.   He had some chocolate bar wrappers down there, too, as well as his notepad and paper. 

"Daniel, when did this happen?" I asked.

"Not too long ago," he muttered, powering down his laptop.

"As in... how long?"

"An hour," he shrugged.  "Hour and a half, maybe."

I waved away the airmen, then called them back and asked them to go get me a gallon or two of gas and a tow truck.  Daniel was right.  The truck was out of gas.  I would have no idea what the engine was like until I got the truck level and started.

"An hour and a half.  Why did it take you so long to call me?  Why didn't you call me the INSTANT this happened?" I asked incredulously.

"Because it was to the part of the CD that I really wanted to listen to, Jack.  The truck wasn't even moving anymore!  I called you as soon as it ran out of gas, though," he pointed out, as though that should mollify me.

"Daniel," I started, then stopped.

What was the use?

He already couldn't do housework, couldn't leave the premises -- any premises -- to go shopping.  And after last night's Internet adventure, when he purchased a portable generator and several other high ticket items (including a power lawnmower, I found out at breakfast this morning) he has also been banned from purchasing items on the Internet without discussing it thoroughly with me first.  And, I stipulated, I had to sign a piece of paper authorizing it, so no tricking me.

The tilted truck secured, I picked him up and walked away from it.

"Guess what, Jack?" he piped up, before I could begin my lecture.

"What?"

"I figured out the translation, just now.  I've been thinking about it and thinking about it and thinking about it, and I know I have it now.  Isn't that great?  General Hammond will really be happy now, because he wanted to know what that obelisk said and he asked me specifically if I would--” he caught sight of a dark limo pulling in front of the security building. "JAMES!" he yelled out in an amazingly loud voice.  "Jack, it's James.  You know James, right?  Catherine's driver?  He's a great guy, Jack.  I gotta go.  He's waiting for me.  We're going to go bowling today."

"Daniel," I turned his head to face me, and my grip must have been tight, for he looked at me in alarm.  "Listen to me."

He nodded, suddenly anxious, all wide eyes.

"You scared me, Daniel," I said, softly, trying to reach him.  "You terrified me this afternoon.  You could have easily been killed."  I turned him and pointed to where the truck was sitting on the edge of the hill, held back only by a spindly tree.  "If that tree wasn't there, you might have been killed."

"What?" he asked numbly, trying to understand what he was looking at.

"The truck hit a tree.  If it hadn't hit the tree, it would have rolled all the way down the hill.  Since you had the truck out of gear, it might have hit something else and rolled, or maybe hit a hiker or someone and killed them."

Tears sprung into his eyes.  The linguist disappeared as the child took over.  His face scrunched up and he reached for me.  I took him in my arms, returning his tight hug as he sobbed.  He kept shaking his head, small little "no-no-no's" gasping out.  Then he'd look over at the truck as though maybe the scene would change, and then turn and cling to me tighter.

Finally he pushed back from me.  "I'm sorry, Jack.  I'm so, so, so, so sorry." He wiped his tear-stained face and snotty nose on his shirt sleeve.  "I scared you, Jack.  And I wasn't thinking.  I just wasn't thinking."

"No, you weren't, buddy."

"Take the truck keys back, Jack!  I shouldn't have them!  I might have killed someone.  You can't trust me, Jack.  I'm just a kid now, just like Geb said.  My brain doesn't work right, Jack!" he wailed, throwing himself back at me.  "What's wrong with me, Jack?  Why am I always doing stuff like this?"  He cried again for a long while.

I just held him.  What else could I do?  James, the limo driver, had spotted us and motioned to me that he'd be in the limo waiting.  The tow truck had arrived to pull the truck back into the parking lot.

Daniel watched, occasional sobs shaking his body, his head on my shoulder. "I'll pay for the tow truck," he whispered.  "And I'll fix the bump on your truck."

He would.  I was going to let him.

Finally, the truck was level, the gas was poured in the tank, and the tow truck driver started up the truck, without a problem.  Daniel sighed, his arms again tightening around my neck.  "Jack, I'm sorry I'm such a worry to you.  I wish I could make it up to you now, but I can't seem to do the right thing, even if I'm thinking really, really hard about doing the right thing.  I'll make it all up to you when I'm taller again, I promise."

"Daniel," I said, gently putting him down.  "I think the trick is that you have to live long enough to be turned taller again."

He thought about that a moment, then his face brightened.  "Wow.  That's a smart thing, Jack.   I'll be extra special careful now, because I really want to be tall again.  And very careful, right, Jack?"  He looked over to James.  "I guess I should go.  Ernest shouldn't have to miss out bowling just because I'm--”  He paused, his momentary excitement failing.  "I'm what?  Am I just bad, Jack?"

"No, you just don't always think things through, Daniel.  And that's dangerous."

"It sure is," he agreed, shuddering. 

"So, you will stay with James, and then with Catherine, and do everything they tell you to do.  And you will not go on the Internet, and you will not leave their sides until I pick you up later."

He nodded.

"Daniel?"

"I promise," he said solemnly looking up at me, one hand resting over his heart.

I walked him over to James and watched as the burly limo driver buckled him in.  "Bye, sport."

"Bye, Jack.  Are you going to bring my things home tonight?"

"I'll take them to your office, but I think you better have a work-free evening tonight.  We can have a chat and maybe barbecue something together.  Would you like having an evening for just the two of us?"

He beamed.  "I sure would, Jack.  I've kinda missed you lately."

I watched the limo drive off, then headed to the truck to retrieve Daniel's laptop and the precious CDs.

I didn't know if I handled the situation right.  I'm not sure if I should have yelled more.  Or maybe lectured on safety and common sense.  Maybe swatted his behind.  Maybe handcuffed him and read him his rights. On one hand, he was an adult.  He could make decisions on his own.  He was intelligent and gifted.  But on the other hand, he was a kid who couldn't seem to get it right, who couldn't walk a straight line without spinning around.  A little boy.  A rather special little boy who meant all the world to me.

I sat in my truck alone and cried.

Then I walked to the security building and ducked in the rest room, splashing cold water on my face.  I was fairly sure he had understood how close to danger he'd been.  Maybe that evening I could make him understand how much I cared about him and how special he was and how careful he had to be.

I couldn't stand to lose Daniel the adult, and I didn't think I'd survive losing Daniel the child.

continued...

Chapter Text

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN...?" Series #8 - Defective Bowling Balls

Tuesday, August 18, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"What do you mean the bowling ball is defective?" I asked.

I watched, a smile on my face, as Daniel spun around at the sound of my voice, dropping said bowling ball.  It rolled to the gutter and meandered safely to the side of the pins.

"Jack!" he exclaimed, then whirled back to the others.  "Look, Catherine!  Look, Ernest!  It's Jack!"  He raced over to me, flinging his arms around my legs in a youthful abandon that I had previously not witnessed.  It scared me and delighted me.

"Jack, what are you doing here?" he asked, looking up at me, still clutching my legs.

I picked him up, hitching him on one hip.  "What?  I can't just decide to go bowling?  Maybe I come down here all the time, and I've just never mentioned it."  I nodded to Catherine and Ernest.  "Mind if I join you?"

"By all means, Colonel," Catherine said, in her regal, gracious manner, sliding over so there was room for me on the U-shaped bench around the central table, where Ernest was trying to add their scores, scarcely noticing I was even there -- although as I sat, I could see he had already added my name to the sheet.

I set Daniel down to one side as I took my sneakers off and slipped into the regulation bowling shoes.  I had changed back into my jeans and loose denim shirt.  Daniel was in his cargo shorts and his light blue T-shirt, looking very five with a trace of chocolate milk on his upper lip.  Oh, this was such a Doug moment.

"Did you come to go bowling with us?" Daniel asked, eagerly, apparently not believing that me putting on bowling shoes meant I was staying.

"Sure did."

Ernest looked over at me now, as though I'd finally showed up after them waiting for me.  "Your turn, Colonel.  You better take three turns in a row, so you'll catch up with us.  I'm the one keeping score, right, Catherine?"

"Right, Ernest," she said, smiling at him, then over to me.

"Three turns, Jack!" Daniel exclaimed.  "Need me to coach you?  I've already played one game, so I know all about it.  I also read once that one of the earliest forms of bowling dates back to ancient Egypt."  He skidded over to the lane, one hand resting on the bowling ball that had just been returned.  "See this?  This is called a bowling ball.  Just in case you think there should be holes in it, there aren't.  Those are for ten-pin bowling and we're doing five-pin bowling.  All the other lanes here are ten-pin bowling (that means there are ten pins set up) and this lane only has five pins, so it's called five-pin bowling.  It's better for kids or something -- and for short people -- because the other bowling balls are way too heavy.  Did you know that five-pin bowling is Canadian?  Mr. Pennington, the owner of this bowling alley, he told me that.  He used to be Canadian, you know.  Then he got married to his wife and now he lives here.  He likes five-pin bowling himself, he told me that, so he put in a lane so he can play sometimes.   Jack, you have to pick up this bowling ball, then throw it down the alley here and knock down all five pins.   There are ten pins in ten-pin bowling, that's why they need a bigger ball.  In five-pin bowling, this size works great.  Sometimes.  I don't knock down too many pins yet, because I'm new at this and I keep getting defective balls, but Catherine is sure a whizz at it.  She gets all the pins down."

I nodded, listening intently, as he chattered at me.  Then I was dragged over to Ernest's little table where Ernest was hunched over his score card, meticulously entered, and Daniel explained the scoring rules to me.  I could tell Daniel wasn't exactly sure what he was saying, but he accurately recited all the rules, anyway, taking careful note of any terms that were unique to bowling.  I was sure he would tell me their historical significance, once Daniel got to the Internet tonight to look them all up.

At the moment, though, bowling was his world.

"See this line, Jack?  You can't put your foot over this line when you throw the ball, or you're supposed to lose your turn.  I've had a few warnings and they keep saying next time my turn won't count, but since I'm having a little difficulty getting the ball to go where I want, that hasn't really been an issue.  So, pick up the ball, Jack, and you have to aim for that middle pin, okay?"  He patted my leg as I walked by him to get a ball.  "And don't worry if you mess up the first few times.  It's kinda hard."

With Daniel's eyes glued to me, one hand cupping his chin in concentration, I picked up the much smaller bowling ball.  It reminded me of a set of plastic pins and balls Charlie had had.  We used to set it up on the back lawn and he'd play with them for hours.  Knock them over, set them up.  Knock them over, set them up.

I hefted the ball, checked the weight, then looked down the lane.  It felt a little off, and I glanced to the four nerdy guys to my left, all in matching shirts with their names on it, with their own large personalized bowling balls.   I looked back at the five pins and let her rip.  I nailed those suckers and sent them crashing off to oblivion.  One pin actually bounced onto the next lane and knocked a pin over, setting off a debate on whether the guy who had just bowled could count it or not.  Nerds.

"Jack!" Daniel screamed, jumping up and down.  "Wow, Jack!  That was just excellent!"

Ernest duly made the notation for my strike as I picked up the ball for my next turn.  Okay, maybe I was showing off.  Maybe I'd forgotten how great bowling was to take out your frustrations.  Five little white Goa'ulds all lined up, and this old special ops colonel was about to slaughter them.  I let the ball rip and again, sent the pins flying, envisioning Goa'ulds shot down and lying dead as the pin resetter came down and swept them away.  Yeah.  Take that, you slime-buckets.

Behind me, Daniel was still doing aerobics, bouncing in his little bowling shoes, cheering me on.  It was unnerving, because it was the first time I'd really registered him like this.  Small.  Young.  Five.  Super-Doug.

My third turn, I missed one pin on my first shot, but got a spare on my second, so I was in pretty good shape, and apparently tied with Catherine.  While Daniel and Ernest vied for last place, Catherine and I got a good competition going, and the afternoon proved to be a lot of fun.  While Daniel was clearly cheerleading for me, he made a point of cheering loud for Catherine, too.  He was in his glory.  I think if Teal'c and Carter would have showed up, Daniel would have passed out from the excitement.

We played another game, then moseyed over to the counter to get some sodas and pie.  Daniel perched on the stool next to me, studying the three pie choices carefully.  Apple.  Raisin.  Cherry.  He chose apple, and I opted for cherry, but we switched halfway through, as he wanted to try the cherry, too.  He also scored a mouthful of Catherine's raisin pie.  One look at that light blue shirt and you could see he'd had chocolate milk, something blueberry earlier, then the apple and cherry pie.  Good thing the Mountain Dew didn't show.

"Why do you suppose they call it Mountain Dew, Jack?  I mean, everyone knows it's not really mountain dew, right?"

"Yeah, they should call it Carbonated Corn Syrup.  That would be a catchy name, huh?"

He looked over at me out of the corner of his eye, a slight smile curling his lips.  "That's just silly, Jack."

We ate in silence as Catherine and Ernest spoke together about another surfacing memory he had about his time away.  Since I was at the far end, I couldn't hear it, and Daniel seemed to be concentrating on his pie.

The owner -- I assume the famous Mr. Pennington -- came by and refilled my coffee.  "You folks doing okay here?"

"Great," I replied.  "Coffee's excellent."

"And so's the pie!" Daniel added.

"The wife made them."

"You should say my wife made them," Daniel said seriously, and I cringed.

"Nope.  She's been the wife since we married, thirty-two years ago.  She calls me either her old man or the husband."

"Oh."  Daniel looked at him for a moment, then smiled.  "Is that a Canadian thing?" he asked eagerly.

"Nope.  Just what we say."  Pennington tweaked Daniel's nose, then moved on to the next customers.

I almost spewed my coffee at the look on Daniel's face at having his nose tweaked.  He blinked rapidly about five times, looking straight ahead, then took a long draw on his soda straw, still blinking.

"Canadian thing, I guess," I murmured quietly.

"He gave my nose a little pinch!" Daniel exclaimed softly.  "It didn't hurt, but it felt funny."

"Sort of like someone patting the top of your head."

"Why do people do that, Jack?  They're always patting the top of my head now."

I shrugged.  "It's just what us taller people do.  It'll come back to you when you're resized."

"I sure can't wait to be resized."

"I know."

With a last long inhale on his straw, followed by the hiss of air in his empty glass, Daniel hopped off the stool and joined Ernest in heading to the men's room.  I took Ernest's spot next to Catherine.

"Thanks for this," I said, indicating the bowling alley with an incline of my head.

"My pleasure," she replied.  "He's such a dear soul, no matter his age."

I nodded, feeling a little embarrassed for some reason.  "I want to ask you something, while he's out of earshot."  I paused, trying to figure out how to word it.  "Does he seem younger to you?  I mean, younger than say, last week?"

She considered the question, sipping her coffee.  Finally, she turned to me.  "Jack, Daniel has always had a child's heart, it's just been hidden away for so long, he'd forgotten about it.  He had to grow up quickly, I believe, and he protected himself from all the hurt of losing his parents and the hurt of losing that precious love by focusing on academic things.  External, not internal.  I think what we're seeing is that little child coming out to play.  He's so delightful and careful with Ernest, takes his hand when they walk -- not for himself, but for Ernest.  He seems to realize that Ernest is fragile and still uncertain of what's happening around him.  And while Ernest grows stronger and more capable, yes, I think Daniel is becoming more... himself.  He's learning the joy of being who he is, not what he was.  And that both invigorates him and terrifies him."

"He's had an odd few days," I said, filling her in on some of his adventures with laundry, plumbing, ironing, grocery shopping, duct tape and first aid kits, the police, hospital and the fallout from knocking over his apple juice on my desk.  "I think he needs a little more supervision than I first thought."

"I would use a different word.  He needs more of you than you first thought," Catherine said, turning on her stool to welcome Ernest and Daniel back.

We returned to our lane for one final game.  I thought about my conversation with Catherine, and what I had realized earlier that day.  I had been right, then.  Daniel needed me.  He needed to spend time with me, doing things.   Like laundry, together.  Like housework, together.  Even bowling.  As long as it was with me.  Alongside me.

Frederick had needed me the other night, but I think Doug desperately craved my attention.  Doug needed to be hugged and cuddled and played with.   And maybe if I would spend enough time with Doug at home, then Frederick could relax at the SGC.

Daniel at home, alone with me, was Doug, then.   Daniel at work, doing his job, was Frederick.  It wasn't so much the child and the adult sides of him.  Or the playing vs the working sides.  It was what his focus was.  If his focus was the academic nature, the archaeologist, the linguist, Frederick shone.  Daniel the adult would have easily made the same choice as Frederick, to go out to my truck and use the stereo.  The same problem wouldn't have happened, because he could drive a truck and not endanger his life.   Frederick's problem was that he was too short to do Daniel on a regular basis.  The size thing, and those five-year-old emotions, tripped him up.

So then if Daniel's focus was the personal, non-academic side of him, that was Doug right now.  Who else but me was Daniel relaxed with?  Who else but me would he cry in front of?  Whose arms but mine had accepted him?  Sure Carter and Teal'c were important to him, but had they ever held him in their arms and comforted him, as I had?   Daniel had never felt he had to earn their approval, yet he still looked up to me, trying to fit in, trying to do a good job and be part of the team.  

And Catherine -- she was perfect for Daniel.  I didn't think Catherine was treating Daniel any differently now than she had then.  He was a young kid to her when she first met him, even though he was an adult.  And now, the outside package may have changed, but Catherine saw the inner Daniel, and she'd always spoken to him.  So around Catherine, Daniel had let that inner child emerge, because it was safe.

So maybe if I made sure Doug was happy and secure, then Frederick could enjoy his time working.  And Frederick would know he could call me at work, just like adult Daniel constantly did, because it was okay and he wasn't being a problem.

Catherine beat me by three stinking points, so I challenged her to another game in the future, then I took my still-hyper kid and headed to the parking lot.

Daniel was in seventh-heaven, bouncing, walking backwards, then skipping to catch up to me, his little sneakers lighting up, all the while yapping about Mr. Pennington's accent (apparently he said a few words differently) and about how Ernest had made himself a bowling lane when he was stuck for fifty years on that planet, and about how Daniel was getting better at bowling, Mr. Pennington had told him, but that it was important he not drop the bowling balls, but he should roll the balls, instead...  Non-stop chatter-- until he saw my truck.

Then he stopped, mid-sentence, and stared in stunned silence.  From the angle we had approached the truck, the damage to the front grill was clearly visible.

"Did I do that, Jack?"

"Yeah."  I unlocked the truck, then opened the back door and picked him up, depositing him in his special car seat.

"Sorry," he said, in a soft voice, his head down, all the laughter and joy vanished.

"I know."  I didn't say 'it's okay', or 'that's all right', because it was important for him to see what had happened, and maybe think about what could have happened. 

He was quiet most of the way home, and I thought he'd dropped off to sleep, but he was wide awake when I pulled up at the house.  I got him out of his car seat, but he had lost his energy, listlessly following me into the house.

Finally, as I reset the security system, he said, quietly, "So am I in a lot of trouble?"

"For--?" I prompted, playing dumb.

"Wrecking your truck."

"You didn't wreck my truck.  You wrecked my grill, and yes, you will replace it, and no, you're not in trouble.  You will be in trouble, however, if you pull anything like this again."  I headed into the kitchen, relieved that he trailed after me.

Once there, I picked him up and set him on the counter so we were at the same eye level.  "Help me with dinner?" I asked.

He nodded.   I handed him a bowl and a whisk then added ingredients for my barbecue sauce.  Within a few minutes, he was happily chatting again, something about dialects vs language strains, or something like that, and stirring the sauce. 

continued...

Chapter Text

"Sick" Series #1 - Cheerios

Tuesday, August 18, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"Jack?"

"Daniel?"  I calmly looked down at the solemn child / best friend standing before me.  The barbecue was fired up, I had steaks on the grill, a cold beer in my hand, my official apron on, and state-of-the-art tongs in hand.  A gentle breeze was stirring as evening approached, easing the fierce heat of the day.  All in all, pretty idyllic, like one of those creepy paintings my mother used to have hanging around the house by that Rockwell guy.

Grilling food had always been a relaxing time for me.  Man versus Fire, the battle for supremacy, snatching substance from the edge of disaster.  Steaks, chicken, salmon, halibut, ribs.  And surprisingly, zucchini, corn, asparagus, and peppers.  During the summer months, I always managed to eat my daily allotment of vegetables, providing I could sear them on the barbecue.  There was something manly about scorched vegetables on the barbecue.

And sauces.  Barbecue sauce also fell in the "manly" category.  Thick and heavy, or light and thin.  With crushed garlic and herbs, or hot with peppers.  I liked mixing my own concoction with one of the Budweiser Beer barbecue sauces, because if they could make good beer, why not, I'd say?  Barbecue and beer go together. 

Truth be told, my personal favorite was barbecued brie cheese, thinly smeared with sauce, watched like a hawk, flipped when it began to caramelize, then sprinkled with thinly sliced almonds.  Served with crackers, it was divine.  I was trying to perfect it and debut it at one of my weekend barbecue open-houses.  So far, I haven't got up the nerve, not ready for the jokes and possible teasing, so I continued to indulge in private.

Tonight, though, I had two steaks on the grill, a few zucchinis thinly sliced length-wise with oregano on them, and some big mushrooms already hissing.  Daniel hadn't bought many vegetables during his odd shopping spree the day before, and I hadn't had a chance to pick up some of the staples he missed.

"Jack, I don't think I want a steak anymore." Daniel was staring down at his bare feet.

Okay...  "What do you want then?" I asked.

He shrugged, still not looking up.

"Chicken?"

He shook his head.

"A hot dog?"  Kids liked hot dogs, right? 

Well, not Daniel.  Not tonight.  He shook his head again.

"What then, Daniel?" I prompted, then took a look at the small steak on the grill.  If he didn't want it, I could probably eat it as well.  Or save it for a sandwich later.  "Daniel?" I repeated.

"What?" he asked, standing now on the outside of each foot.  If I'd done that, I would have broken both ankles.

"What do you want for dinner?"

"I don't know," he said with another shrug, aided by his hands turning up in a 'who knows' gesture.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yeah.  I guess.  Maybe." 

Nope.  Not very helpful.  "Daniel, look up at me for a sec."

He glanced up at me for the required second, then started toeing the grass in front of him, his bare little toes digging into the soil.

"So how come you're not hungry?"

Shrug.

"Did you eat too much at the bowling alley?"

He shook his head, then merged it to another shrug.  He had an extensive vocabulary in shrugs, it seemed.   And as usual, I didn't know the language.

I checked the steaks, saw I had a minute or so to leave them unattended, then crouched beside Daniel.  Even crouched down, I still couldn't see his face.

"What's up, sport?  Are you feeling okay?"

Another shrug.

"Daniel, would you answer my question?  I'm asking if you're feeling okay."

"I guess."

My hands on his shoulders halted another shrug.  "'I guess' isn't really an answer."

"I don't know what to say, Jack," he responded, looking up at me finally.  "I just don't feel like eating any of those things."

"What would you like then?  Anything at all?"

A shrug snuck by me. 

"You don't have to eat the steak if you don't want to, but that piece of pie you had was three hours ago.  I think you need to have something on your stomach before you go to bed."

That made him take notice; he showed me his watch.  "Jack, it's only seven o'clock.  Why would I go to bed so early?"

"You don't have to go to bed quite yet.  But you should eat something."

"Why?"

"Because--” I fished around for a reason "--because I told Doc Fraiser that you would eat sensibly."

"Cheerios," he announced suddenly, looking up at me with a triumphant smile.

"Cheerios?"

"I want some Cheerios."

"Daniel, you know we're out of Cheerios.   I'll try to pick up some tomorrow."

"But that's what I want, Jack.  I want Cheerios."

"Cheerios is for breakfast, anyway.  Not dinner."

"But you asked me what I wanted, and I told you."

"That's all fine and dandy, but I don't have them.  You have to choose something in our cupboards."

He shrugged, looking down again.  "But that's what I want," he said softly.

I stood up and turned the steaks over, then glanced down at him.  My memories of similar conversations with Charlie came to mind.  Irritating.  Aggravating.  Round-and-round conversations going nowhere.    I'd bet you good money that if we had a box of Cheerios in the cupboard, he'd never had said the word Cheerios.  It would have been Frosted Flakes.  Or Captain Crunch.  Or Shredded Wheat.  Whatever it was we didn't have in the cupboard.

"Then I guess you'll have to do without.  We've got lots of food to eat here.  You chose barbecue tonight.  You chose the steaks, too, the ones from the butcher, the ones I had to threaten the Safeway manger to get back.  We need to go with that.  I don't like wasting food."

"But I want Cheerios, Jack.  I really have to have Cheerios."

"Daniel, can you hear yourself?  You're not making any sense.  You're talking like a kid."

"Am not!" he fired back at me, his little bottom lip jutting out.

"Are, too!" I responded, very adult-like.

"I'm not a kid.  You can't say I'm a kid," he hissed.

In my mind I chanted: 'You're a kid.  You're a kid.  You're a kid.'  Fortunately I kept my mouth shut.

I decided to ignore him and go back to my grill.  Maybe this would all blow over.  Maybe by the time dinner was ready, Daniel would have forgotten about whatever had set this off, and we'd have a decent meal together.

"Hey, Daniel," I said to the child-man standing next to me, his arms folded defiantly in front of him, again studying the ground at his feet.  "Can you set the table?"

"No."

My beautiful evening was definitely heading up in smoke.  I could see the flames reaching the darkening sky.  On the other hand, my steak was looking great.  I tried again.  "Daniel, you said earlier that you'd set the table while I did the grilling.  Remember?  We were going to work together and make dinner, then we were going to throw the ball around a bit before it got dark."

He was thinking about it, weighing his choices.  Foul temper won.  "I don't want to do that anymore."

"Play ball with me?  Just the two of us?"

He shrugged.  'No."

"How come?"

"I just don't want to.  And I don't want to have steak.  I hate steak."

Yup.  Flames climbing higher.  "Okay.  I'll eat by myself, I guess.  I'm not forcing you to do anything.  You're an adult, right?"

"Right," he agreed swiftly, giving me a look that said 'and don't you forget it'.

I turned off the grill, leaving the steaks to sit while I went into the kitchen, grabbed a plate, steak knife and fork, and another beer.  He was still standing by the barbecue in his defiant little stance that was cute and irritating at the same time.  "Excuse me," I said, indicating I needed to get by him.

He stepped back, allowing me better access to the grill.  "I'm not eating that steak."

"How many plates do you see in my hand?  Just one."  I put both steaks on my plate, plus the veggies I'd grilled.  Then I went over to the picnic table and set everything down.

Daniel scowled at me from ten feet away.

I cut into the steak.  Nicely done.  Medium rare, just a little rarer in the middle.  And tasted great.  The butcher had sold Daniel a more expensive cut than I usually went for, but it was worth it.   I savored the steak, probably more than usual, knowing Daniel was standing away off, pretending to ignore me.

Finally, after a minute of my moans of appreciation over the steak, Daniel stepped closer.  "Well, what am I supposed to eat?"

"Want some steak?  I have lots here."

"I don't want steak.  I want Cheerios."

Again with the Cheerios.  "You did the shopping yesterday.  If you wanted Cheerios, you should have bought some."

"I couldn't.  I could only buy the things on the bottom shelves.  I told you that yesterday, that I couldn't reach a lot of things, Jack."

"Which is why you bought the granola."

"Right."

"Although neither of us eat granola."

He glared at me.  "I wanted the Cheerios."

"Fine.  Tomorrow I'll stop on the way home and get Cheerios."

"Now.  I want Cheerios now."

He didn't.  He and I both know he really didn't want any Cheerios.  So, I tried to make another stab at reaching Frederick.

"Hey, want to know something interesting?  You're acting very similar to how Charlie used to act when he was really overtired."

"I'm not overtired."

"I'm not saying you are," I said calmly.  "I'm just saying that it's interesting how similar your current reactions are to Charlie's reactions when he was tired and cranky."

"I'm not tired.  Or cranky," he said, in a tired, cranky voice.

"Wasn't talking about you, remember?  I was talking about Charlie.  Charlie would sure get in a foul mood sometimes, when he was overtired.  He'd say a lot of things he didn't mean."

"I'm not Charlie," he declared, angrily.

"Did I say you were Charlie?  I'm just saying that this reminds me of Charlie.  So what do you think, Doctor Jackson?  When Charlie was acting like that, wasn't he tired?  I think he might have been."

Daniel stared at me, eyes narrowed, not wanting to participate in this particular conversation.

I went back to my steak, determined to enjoy it while it was still hot.  After another few bites, I courteously offered, "Want some veggies?  The mushrooms and zucchini are great."

He turned his back on me and stomped into the house.

It was odd behavior.  I couldn't decide if it was Doug being stubborn, Frederick thinking he knew better, or maybe the elusive Stanley, making some huge story up and trying to stick Daniel with it.  Stanley hadn't been around for a while, although I suspected some of the mishaps of the previous two days might have been Stanley's work.

On the 'tired' end of it, Daniel had already had a long day.  A morning of meetings and translations at the SGC, followed by the trashing of my truck's front bumper in the early afternoon, four games of bowling later, including all his jumping around and excitement -- yes, Daniel was bound to be tired.

The 'cranky' is what was puzzling me.  Why was he cranky?  Daniel has generally been a fairly even-tempered guy, and that has passed down to his five-year-old self.  Cranky had to have a reason. 

I finished up the food on my plate, then stacked all my assorted barbecue items and headed inside.

Daniel, bless his little heart, the darling child, the thrice-honored doctorate holder, my dear friend, was sitting at the dining room table with an empty bowl and spoon and milk carton purposefully set in front of him, arms crossed, obviously waiting for me to come inside.

I was so not going to deal with that.

I walked past him to the kitchen and started setting up the dishwasher and cleaning the counter.  I fixed the coffee maker so it would automatically come on in the morning, and was rinsing out the dishcloth when Daniel appeared at the entrance to the kitchen.

"Why won't you help me?"  He spoke so seriously that I stopped what I was doing and turned around.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you being so mean?"

I sat down on a kitchen chair and studied him.  "Daniel, I'm not being mean.  There are cupboards full of food here.  There is food in the freezer.  There is food in the fridge.  I would happily prepare you whatever it is you want to eat.  I will not, however, leave the house to go get Cheerios.  And I think it's mean for you to suggest it," I added, cleverly turning the topic on him.

Oh, for crying out loud.  Crocodile tears.  I mean, please...

"Daniel," I tried again.  "I can't figure this out.  I don't get it.  I'm just a dumb colonel after all, I guess.  It's almost eight o'clock.  Just make up your mind.  Do you want me to make you something in the house or not?"

He stared at me.  He wanted something.  And it wasn't Cheerios.

Something was wrong.  I just wasn't getting what it was.  And I should know.

I'd seen this before.  Not in Daniel.  In Charlie.

Charlie had done this before.

Why the hell couldn't I remember?

Wait...  Spaghetti. 

With Charlie it had been spaghetti.  The kind in a can with little letters.  Alphagetti.   Nothing else would do.  It had to be...

Oh.

I looked again at Daniel, standing, swaying a bit in front of me.

His ashen face starting to turn green.

Oh, shit.

I scooped him up and raced down the hall to the bathroom, depositing him in front of the toilet just a moment before he threw up.  And he did a good job of it, too.  I wasn't sure if there was anything left inside of that upset stomach.

See, us adults, we know that feeling.  We know the queasy stomach, the not wanting to eat what we can smell.  The nibbling on crackers or other desperate attempts to hold off the nausea.

Kids don't.  They don't get what's going on.  They think they should be hungry -- after all, it's dinner and I should be hungry -- but for some reason, the hunger pain is different tonight. It feels wrong.  They latch onto an idea of what might make the hunger pain go away. 

Charlie wanted his comfort food: Alphagetti.  Daniel wanted his new morning ritual: Cheerios, because when he woke up in the morning hungry, Cheerios made the hungry feeling go away.

So they didn't know until the very last second that they were about to throw up.  It's something that is learned.  And Daniel obviously didn't know it yet, or at least know it in this body.  Trust me, he'd thrown up a fair amount in his adult body, as I could attest to during his sarcophagus addiction.

I mopped him up, cleaned up the bathroom, had him rinse his mouth out.  I had no idea where Frederick or Stanley was; this was all Doug right now.  Frederick was probably grossed out and hiding.  Stanley had probably decided Daniel wasn't being any fun right now and had gone back to wherever it was Stanley disappeared to.

Doug meanwhile was sweaty and clingy and would probably upchuck again in the next few minutes, if I remembered correctly, so holding his limp, miserable body on one hip, I got a bath ready for him, got together his pajamas and stuff, and right on cue, his hand went over his mouth and we endured round two.

That pretty well took care of whatever was left.  I peeled off his T-shirt and shorts, dumped him in the bathtub, and let him sit there dripping snot into the soapy water while I disposed of his clothes in the laundry room.  Then it was easy to run the wash cloth over him, rinse the shivering little body off, towel him dry, and get him in his pajamas.

All that time he hadn't said a word.  He really was exhausted.  Too much happening that day, and too many emotions for the little guy.  For Charlie it was after a day at the fair, when he was over-stimulated and eating too much junk food.  I thought of the different pies, the chocolate bar wrappers Daniel had left in my car, and who knows what else Catherine and Ernest had fed him.

Add all that to the flu bug making the rounds, and Daniel was feeling the pain...

I tucked him into his bed, found some ginger ale and some crackers that I put by his bedside, and brushed his damp bangs from his eyes.  "You'll feel better in the morning," I said with my gentlest smile.

He looked up at me, sorrowfully.  "I'm sorry, Jack," he whispered.  "About the Cheerios.  I don't know why I did all that."

"Well, I do.  You weren't feeling well and that made you a little cranky.  Happens to all of us.  Why don't you get to sleep, and I can almost guarantee you, you'll feel better in the morning."

"I don't need Cheerios, Jack.  I can eat the granola."

"How about you eat these crackers first, and we'll work our way up to Cheerios?"

He nodded, his eyes closing.  He tried to open them again, but I lightly pressed my fingers over his eyes.

"Just go to sleep, buddy."

"Can we play catch tomorrow, Jack?"

"We can.  Any time you want."

He sighed, exhaling slowly.  "You're sure a good friend to me, Jack," he said, barely audibly.  "I'm glad I picked you to live with."

I kissed his forehead.  "I know.  I am an awesome dude."

He gave a little snort, a little wiggle under the sheets, and he was asleep.

I watched him for a while, taking in the little boy features, and thinking about the man within him.  I was glad he picked me, too.  There are some benefits after all to being picky.

continued...

Chapter Text

"Sick" Series #2 - Cough Syrup

Wednesday, August 19, 1998

DANIEL JACKSON

Daniel woke with a hacking cough.  It felt like his chest was all mucked up and there was a big dog sitting on it.  Except that he was alone in bed and there wasn't a dog anywhere in sight, so that wasn't a good sign.

The coughing made his nose run.   He tried to reach the tissue box, but it was too far away, so he reluctantly pushed himself upright and then leaned over.  In the dim lighting, it was further away than it looked, and he toppled over, landing with a thump on the soft carpet by his bed.

Not a great way to start the day, he thought, staring up at the ceiling.  He sniffed, then coughed again.  His stomach felt hungry.  Or maybe not.  Last night he thought he was hungry and then he wasn't.  He was sick. 

Maybe he was still sick!  No, Jack said he'd feel better in the morning, so he better feel better.  Jack was a busy guy and had lots of work to do.  Jack had another big meeting in the morning, so he wouldn't want to stay home because of Daniel.  And Daniel was fairly sure that Jack wouldn't let him stay home by himself if he was sick, especially since Jack wouldn't let him stay at home by himself if he wasn't sick.

And Jack wouldn't send him to Catherine's if he was sick, because Catherine was old, and she and Ernest were what Daniel's mother used to call 'frail'.  His mother had called the wife of one of their workers 'frail' and then she died a few days later.  Catherine wasn't frail like that, but she was wrinkly, the same as the worker's wife.  Daniel didn't want to take a chance with Catherine.  Being frail was a dangerous thing sometimes.

So I'll just have to be well, Daniel thought, nodding, staring up at the ceiling.  He gave a really big sniff in, so his nose wouldn't run when he sat up.  It mostly worked, at least long enough for him to get up and find a tissue.  He used up almost four full tissues blowing his nose, and he flushed them down the toilet, so Jack wouldn't know.

Jack couldn't find out he was sick, so he had to be smart.  He had to convince Jack he was okay or Jack would miss work, and then General Hammond might get mad.

Daniel got dressed, hiding in the closet so if he coughed, Jack couldn't hear him.  It worked pretty good, because Jack didn't come in his room at all.  Maybe because it was only four o'clock in the morning and Jack was still asleep.  But probably it was because Daniel had hid in the closet first to cough.

He poked his head out, curious that his shirts now were so short he could stand beneath them and still see okay.  He closed the door to the closet again and coughed inside under the shirts just to make sure he got rid of most of the coughs, then he quickly headed to the kitchen.  He'd have breakfast, so Jack would know he was okay.

Daniel stared into the cupboard with the breakfast cereal.  Too bad about no Cheerios.  Cheerios would have been the perfect thing to eat.  You could put whatever kind of sugar you wanted on them, because they weren't sweetened already, so that was good.  They tasted even better with lots and lots of sugar on them, Daniel had discovered last week.  Brown sugar didn't work right, though.  White sugar was best, Daniel had found.

But there weren't any Cheerios.  Just Jack's cereal and the granola.  He moved the granola aside and stared at the box of Fruit Loops.  They almost looked like Cheerios except they were different colors.  They were supposed to be fruit colors, but they sure didn't have any fruit in them.  More false advertising, Daniel thought, with a sad sigh. 

At least Cheerios were honest.  They cheered him up and they were shaped like O's, so they were cheery o's.   Maybe Fruit Loops should be called Fruit-Colored O's.  Because they weren't real fruit and they weren't loops, either. They were Os.

Dejected, Daniel stared at the box of Fruit Loops.  He opened up the top and looked inside, but the smell kinda didn't make him feel very good, so he put it back on the shelf.  The granola smelled okay, but he didn't feel like eating that either.   It was too crunchy.   And nutty or something.  There were just too many things about it.

He didn't really feel like anything, even though he was hungry, but he had to convince Jack that he felt okay, so he had to eat something or Jack would know for sure he wasn't a hundred percent well yet. 

He checked out the fridge again.  Then the cereal cupboard, just in case maybe there really was Cheerios in it, maybe at the back somewhere.  But there wasn't.  So what could he eat?

Or, he could pretend that he ate something...

Daniel stayed really still for a moment and listened.  He couldn't hear him or anything, but he was pretty sure it was Stanley who was excited about seeing if he could fool Jack.  And it was for a good reason, too, so that didn't count as anything bad, right?

Daniel got one of the really big bowls out, then sprinkled a few pieces of granola on the bottom of the bowl, and then tilted the milk jug so just a few drops of milk splashed into the bowl.  He stirred the little bit around inside the bowl and stuck it where he usually sat now at the table.  Then he put the bag of granola and the milk away.

Going to the door of the kitchen, he turned around and came back in and pretended to be Jack coming into the kitchen.  Oh, look.  An empty bowl on the table.  Daniel must have eaten already.

Yeah, it would work.  Perfect. 

A cough was sneaking up on him, so Daniel ran back down the hall, shut the door to his bedroom, then went into his closet and shut that door.  He coughed a few times, then one really big barking kinda cough that almost scared him.  He thought the inside of his throat might accidentally be coughed up.  And it was really a good thing he hadn't had breakfast, or it might have been coughed up, too.

When he was pretty sure he was all coughed up, he left the closet and got another tissue, blew his nose good, and then flushed the tissues.

Now what?  Daniel went back into his room and stared at his bed.  He should probably make the bed.  It sure looked soft and comfortable, though.  It would have been nice to crawl back into it and let his eyes close and go back to sleep. 

It sure was a nice bed.  And the good part about it was that his feet didn't stick over the edge now.  Maybe when he got taller again, Jack would buy one of those extra-long beds for him, in case he spent the night here again.  He remembered his feet always stuck out here.  His bed at his apartment was extra long, because he liked sleeping all stretched out.  Jack liked sleeping kinda curled up, but Daniel often liked to stretch, stretch, stretch.

He jumped on the bed and had a good stretch, trying to see if he could touch the wall with the very tips of his fingers, and see how long down his feet would go, maybe all the way to the bottom of the bed.  But they didn't even go down partway.

He yawned, rolling to his side.  The pillow felt nice beneath his head.  Maybe it would be okay to just stay home today.

No! He had to be good to Jack.  Jack needed him to be well.

Daniel jumped out of bed.  Maybe he just needed to wake up more.  He tried running around the room in circles, but that just made him dizzy, and then he had to go in the closet and cough some more.

Cough syrup!  That's what he needed.  Daniel tried to remember if Jack had cough syrup, but he didn't think so. 

Maybe he could make a cough syrup.  Daniel turned his laptop on and headed onto the internet.  Ten minutes later he found what he was looking for: a recipe for cough syrup.  He carefully wrote down the ingredients and headed to the kitchen.

Honey.  Jack had honey, in one of those plastic little bears that you squeezed.  It looked kinda old and sticky, but it was honey and that's what counted. 

Lemon juice.  Daniel rummaged in the produce section of the fridge and found some limes, but no lemons.  Jack liked limes with beer.   But limes and honey didn't sound very good.  He kept looking and found a bottle of lemon juice on the door of the fridge.  Perfect.

And then it said to add frozen fruit concentrate to the mix, because kids liked it flavored.  Daniel moved the stepstool over to the fridge and tried to open the freezer part on top, but it was a little too difficult.  Instead, he found some chocolate syrup in the cupboard and knew that would do the trick.

As carefully as he could -- and only running to the bedroom closet once to cough -- he tried to mix two tablespoons of honey and one tablespoon of lemon juice.  But since that was two to one, he just took a little glass and squeezed and squeezed the honey bear and then poured half that much of lemon juice in it.  He stuck his finger in it, but it was kind of hard honey, and the juice was just sitting on top of it.  So, he put the glass in the microwave just for ten seconds and then the honey was soft and it stirred up good.  It didn't say how much of the fruit concentrate, but to flavor it really well, Daniel figured he would just fill up the rest of the glass with the chocolate syrup.  It would make everything more syrupy, anyway.

Once it was all mixed to his satisfaction, he looked at his list again.  The two tablespoons of honey and one of lemon juice equaled one dose, it said.  And then he'd added chocolate.  So that meant a dose was about six tablespoons in all.   And since he was in a kid's body, maybe half that would work.  So back to three tablespoons.  

It tasted kinda odd, but then most cough syrups did.  It also made him want to cough.

He ran back to the closet with his glass of cough syrup and decided to drink the whole glass, because then it would work quicker.  It wasn't like it was drugs or anything, so he wouldn't overdose himself.

Then he had to wait for it to work.  He wondered how long it would take, because it made him cough and burp at the same time.

It sure took a long time to work.

A long, long time.

Way longer than he thought.

He didn't have a watch, but it must be almost an hour since he took it.

He still had a tickle on his throat though, so maybe he should just sit there in the closet until the last minute, just before Jack got up. 

Yeah.

That's what he would do.  That's what... he... do...

JACK O'NEILL

I woke up and glanced at my bedside clock.   I needed to go check on Daniel, see how he made it through the night.  I had checked on him at ten the night before, then again before I went to bed, and he was sleeping soundly.

I eased out of bed, hit the ensuite bathroom, and then down the hall to Daniel's room.  He wasn’t there.

Not in the main bathroom.  And not in the kitchen, although there were clear signs he'd been there. 

I glanced at the big mixing bowl on the dining room table with a few bits of granola in it and some milk.  And a big spoon stuck in it.  I checked the cereal cupboard, but although the bag of granola had been opened, it was still mostly full, so whatever Daniel had been doing with the big mixing bowl, it wasn't eating cereal.

The kitchen counter was sticky with what looked like honey, lemon juice and chocolate syrup.  I checked the garbage can, and sure enough there was an empty chocolate syrup container in it.  How much chocolate milk had Daniel made for himself?  Daniel had just bought the chocolate syrup at Safeway the day before!

And where exactly was Daniel?

Not in the living room.  The security system was still on, so he hadn't left the house, thank God.

I checked the basement; no sign of Daniel.

Now what?  I scratched his head.  I clearly wasn't awake enough to deal with a Daniel-mystery at this time of day.  I stood in the hallway, yawned, and listened to see if I could hear him and there was a faint cough coming from... maybe Daniel's room?  I stood at the entrance to the room and leaned in, listening.  Again the cough, coming from...

I walked over and opened the closet door.  Curled on the floor, sound asleep in among his shoes, was Daniel.  Dressed in his desert BDUs.

I leaned down and picked him up.  "Hey, kiddo.  What are you doing?" I asked, rearranging the pliant, drowsy body on my hip.

"I'm feeling great, Jack," Daniel whispered, his eyes closed.  "I'm ready to go to work so you won't miss your meeting."

"I cancelled my meeting last night, sport.  You were sick, remember?  I told General Hammond I wouldn't be in today."

"You did?"  Daniel opened one eye and looked at me.

"I did.  How come you're dressed?"

"But you have a meeting, Jack."

"That why I cancelled it.  How's your stomach?"  I retrieved an empty glass from the floor of the closet and sniffed it.  "What did you drink?  Pure chocolate syrup?"

"We're not going in today?" Daniel mumbled.

"Not today.  I thought we could use a down day."  With Daniel on my hip, I headed down the hallway to the kitchen and put the glass in the sink.

"Oh."

"How's your stomach?" I persisted.

Daniel coughed, and then hiccupped.  "Not so good."

"Yeah.  Why did you drink the chocolate syrup?"

"It was cough syrup, Jack."

"Cough syrup?  More like a sugar rush.  I'm amazed you fell asleep with chocolate and honey mixed."

"And lemon juice," Daniel whispered, his head on my shoulder.

Shuddering, I retrieved the newspaper from the front porch, got my brewed coffee that I had set up the night before, and then settled us both on the couch.  Daniel was running a bit of a temperature, and I supposed that there was some extremely good reason why Daniel thought chocolate syrup was the same as cough syrup.  Even the thought made me want to gag.  Then again, this was Daniel who ate all sorts of weird things. 

Well, the little cuddler was settled in nicely, nestled up against me and sleeping soundly.  Sleep was good, right?

I had just finished the morning's headlines when Daniel raised his head a little from my chest and looked around blearily.  "How're you doing?" I asked softly, not sure how awake he was.

Daniel looked up at me, smiled sleepily and put his head back down.  "Fine," he whispered, sighing, and going back to sleep, comfortably.

I gave him a gentle hug, kissed the damp forehead, and let him sleep.  No matter how Daniel felt physically, at least his spirit was 'fine', which was all I could really hope for.

But... chocolate syrup and lemon juice?

continued...

Chapter Text

"Sick" Series #3 - I Think I'm Better Now

Wednesday, August 19, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

"Jack, I think I'm better now."  Daniel materialized at my elbow as I was making some lunch for myself.

"Oh, you do, do you?"  I buttered my bread, sparing a glance for Daniel, earnest as always.

Daniel nodded quickly.  "Yes.  I was reading up on kids' flu-like symptoms on the Internet, and I think I threw up an hour ago from the cough syrup I made, not from the flu.  It was all just a misunderstanding, Jack.  We can go to the mountain today, after all."

Here we go again.  "Oh, we can, can we?" I asked, keeping my tone serious.  I added my sandwich contents and a token piece of lettuce, then looked down at the tousled-haired doctor who currently did not clear the kitchen counter top.  "We can go the mountain?"

"We sure can, Jack," Daniel smiled brightly.  "What a relief, huh?"  He had brought into the kitchen with him his already-packed laptop in his new rolling briefcase.  He was already dressed in his navy BDUs (since he'd thrown up on his desert BDUs).  He already had his little boots on and laboriously tied.  His hair had been combed but had got mussed somewhere along the line.  Daniel was already... all ready.  "Now you can still make that meeting this afternoon, Jack, and you don't have to worry about me at all."

I cut the sandwich in half.  "Tell you what--you eat this tuna fish sandwich, and keep it down for, oh, let's say an hour, and then we'll discuss again about going to the SGC today."

Daniel swallowed quickly, his face turning paler.  He stared at the sandwich in alarm.  "I'm not sick, Jack.  I'm just not that hungry.  Okay?  I'm not hungry.  I don't want to eat that.  Children shouldn't be forced to eat when they're not hungry.  I was reading on the Internet that--”

"Daniel," I interrupted, "you haven't just thrown up once this morning.  You've thrown up every hour for the last three hours.  There's no way we're leaving the house today."

"But it's all out of my system now, Jack.  And I really don't think I had the flu.  I think it was just in reaction to something I ate.  On the Internet it said--”

"Daniel, for the last three hours, each time shortly after you've thrown up, you've come in here and told me you're feeling fine now, it's all over, and I can go in to my meeting.  Within half an hour, you're throwing up again."

"But I explained that, Jack.  It's not going to happen again."

I waved the sandwich under Daniel's nose.  Daniel stared at me defiantly for a short moment, then ran for the bathroom.

I sighed, shook my head, and took a bite out of my sandwich.  Sometimes looking after Daniel was difficult.  Sometimes, though, it was all too easy.

Five weeks previously

"Jack, I think I'm better now."

"Oh, you do, do you?"  I glanced up from my paper to see Daniel standing at the top of the short flight of stairs, trying to stand as upright and still as he could, long fingers taloned around the railing.

"No reason for you to have to miss work for me," Daniel added, his grip on the bannister becoming white-knuckled.  Even from where he was sitting, I could see the slight quivering to his limbs and the sheen of sweat on the young man's brow.

"I have another suggestion, Danny Boy."  I put the paper down, took a few gulps of my still too-hot coffee, then got up and moved towards Daniel, who backed away nervously.

"What?"

"How about a nap first?" I suggested, cupping my hand under Daniel's elbow, the other arm reaching around him to support the trembling shoulders.  It had been a week since the 'storeroom incident', and Daniel was certainly on the mend from his addiction, but he had a ways to go yet. 

"A nap?  I think I'm done with napping, Jack.  I'm okay now.  Just a little residue weakness."

"Still," I said, as we walked down the hall, "why not give it a try?"

"I don't think this is necessary."

"Just try it,” I said, guiding Daniel into his room, toward the bed.

"But I'm not tired at all," Daniel insisted.

"You're sick, Daniel.  You need your rest."   I eased him back and then drew a sheet over the too-thin man. 

"I'm not sick," Daniel whispered hoarsely.

I smiled grimly.  "You're sweating, feverish, throwing up on the hour, etc., etc."

"But I'm getting better," Daniel sighed, his eyes closing.

"Yes, you are." I looked down at my young friend.  "But you're not there yet."  I sat on the edge of the bed until Daniel was asleep

It had been an odd week.  For some unknown reason, I had brought Daniel home with me, suspecting that Daniel would heal faster out of the sterile environment of the base.  Unfortunately, that also meant that I was his number one caregiver, and once Daniel was well enough to understand that I was missing work because of him, Daniel started trying to convince me that he was better.  He was better, he’d tell me.  He really wasn't feverish, just hot, because after all, it was July, right?  He really was better.  Just a little jumpy, from the meds Janet had prescribed.  Just a little tired, that's all.

Satisfied my civilian teammate was out for the count, I had headed to my home office.  One up side to this, was that I was flying through my overdue paperwork.  The general had given me permission to bring my backlog home with me, and once I had finished the first batch and returned it with Carter, she appeared that evening with a second batch.  I was almost finished with the second load, and she was due that evening, along with Teal'c who wanted to visit with Daniel.

Daniel was still awkward with them, feeling guilty for how he'd treated them in the mines, but he was also starting to realize they had forgiven him.  They cared about him.  They wanted him to get better.

The background hum of the washing machine stopped as the final spin cycle ended.  Jack headed downstairs to put the washed towels and sheets into the dryer.  No doubt, Daniel would be needing them.

PRESENT DAY

"Jack, I think I'm better now."  Daniel appeared at the top of the stairs.  He had his little beige BDUs on and a new black T-shirt.  This would be the fourth outfit he'd had on that day, if I was keeping count.  And I was.

"Put your pajamas on, kiddo," I said, looking back at my newspaper.

"No, really, Jack.  It's been over an hour.  I think I'm fine.  I'm better."  Daniel came down the stairs, his little feet walking carefully, I suspected, because he was a little dizzy and knew if he wasn't careful, he'd pitch over and roll down the staircase, thus ruining his case.

"Daniel, we're not going in today.  Let it go."

"But I'm fine.  I'm better."

"You're not better.  I thought you were having a nap."

"A nap!  I don't need naps, Jack."

"Beg to differ."

"Well, maybe sometimes I do, but not today."

"Today."

"I'm not even tired, Jack."  Daniel was at my elbow now.  "Why don't we go to the SGC, just for the afternoon?  Then we can both get some work done."

"I'm happy here," I said, turning to the Sports section of the paper.

"Wouldn't you be happier in your office, though, Jack?" Daniel persisted, fingering the sleeve of my shirt.  "I don't want you to be held back because of me."

"Why not?"

Daniel looked up at me, frowning.  "Why not?"

"Yeah.  Why not?  Why can't I be held back because of you?"

"Because you're too important, Jack.  They need you at the SGC.  General Hammond needed you to run the meeting."

"Carter and Ferretti are taking the meeting.  Not a problem."

"But if you were there, you could run the meeting."

"That's true.  But I'm not there.  I'm here."

"But if you were there--”

"Daniel, you're driving me a little crazy here.  You are sick.  You are not well.  And since you are sick and you are not well, you are not going into work today.  And since you are sick and not well and are not going into to work today, therefore, I am also not going into work today.  All day.  Not at all.  End of story."

Daniel rested his forehead on the arm of the couch, one hand still on me sleeve.  "I'm really sorry, Jack," he said softly.

"It's not a problem."  I gave up and folded the paper and put it down.  Then I bent forward again and picked Daniel up, settling him on my lap.  "So what's really the problem here?" I said, softly as Daniel leaned back against me comfortably.

Daniel shrugged.  "I dunno."

"How come you're not napping?"

"I dunno," Daniel said with a yawn.  "Just not tired."

"Thinking about stuff?"

Daniel nodded.  "Around and around and around."

I got comfortable, put my feet up on the coffee table and tucked Daniel under my arm.  It was sad that Daniel being sick meant I got to be comfortable.  Oh, not at cleaning up after him, but just at being at home, with my... kid.  Even when Daniel was bigger, it was almost the same thing: then I was cast as the big brother, the older guy helping him out.  Well, the not-that-much older guy.  But it helped him knowing I was taking care of things, and for me, it meant I was helping out someone who was, for the moment, worse off emotionally than me.

Ferretti had once not-so-unbluntly offered the unasked for opinion that I was taking on more than I'd bargained for, but, well...  what could I say?  Daniel needed someone, and it appeared I could be that someone.  What did it really cost me?  A few hours?  The kid had opened the damned Stargate.  He deserved a hand, now and then.

And now that Daniel was knee-high to a grasshopper, he deserved more than a hand; he needed a hug.  And he still needed someone to listen to him.

"What were you thinking about?" I asked him.

"Stuff."

"Like..."

"I wish I wasn't so much trouble."

"Who said you were trouble?"

"I'm not stupid, Jack.  I know what this has cost you.  In time and everything."

"I know." I gave him a gentle squeeze.  "But you know what?"

"What?"

"This is kinda nice, too, isn't it?"

Daniel didn't respond for a moment, then his eyes opened a crack and a little smile touched his pale face.  "Yeah. How come?"

"Because we get to just hang out.  You know, spend some time just you and me.  We don't get to do that often.  And who knows, maybe you'll be big again soon, then Sha're will come back, and we won't be able to do this again.  This might be our last chance.  I don't know about you, but I don't want to waste one minute of guy time."

Daniel sat up, turning to look at me.  He blinked a few times, as though trying to remember something.  "That's a really good idea, Jack.  The spending time together part."

"How about we have a short nap first, then watch a movie together, since we’re home for the day?" I suggested, resettling Daniel on my lap.  "The sooner we have the nap part, the sooner we can watch the movie part.  And then Carter and Teal'c will be here after that."

"And maybe I'll be better tomorrow."  Daniel closed his eyes, squirmed to get comfortable, then effortlessly drifted toward sleep.

Five weeks previously

"What about tomorrow?" Daniel asked, appearing at the entrance of the kitchen at eight in the morning.

I draped the dish towel over my shoulder, and started putting the dishes from the dishwasher back into the cupboard.  "Tomorrow what?"

"I think tomorrow I'd like to go in to work."  Daniel cautiously walked over to the coffee pot, bent over and inhaled deeply.  A smile broke out across his face, and he poured himself a mug.  "Yeah. Tomorrow."

"What about today?" I asked, watching bemused as the adult Daniel enjoyed his first cup of coffee since the sarcophagus addiction had hit him.

"I guess I just need a day to find myself again, if you don't mind." Daniel looked over at me tentatively, as though worried what I would think.

"Fine by me.  We could just hang out, the two of us. A little chess maybe?"  I poured myself a cup of coffee.

Daniel exhaled, relieved.  "Thanks, Jack. I'll go set up the board.”  He headed out of the kitchen, then paused in the doorway and looked back.  "Thanks."

"For...?"

"This.  All of this," Daniel said, one hand waving in a circle.  "Taking care of me.  Being so patient.  For a guy who's usually yelling at me for something or other, you've been remarkably benevolent with me this last week."

"I think I heard that my 'sainthood' papers are in the mail."

"Right..." Daniel smiled.  "I don't think I'd be ready to go back tomorrow if it weren't for you.  I just want you to know that I appreciate it."

"Just don't pull a gun on me again, okay?"

"I'll try to remember that."

PRESENT DAY 

"Jack?"

"Daniel?"

"I think I'm better now," he announced, returning from the bathroom and crawling up onto the couch next to me.

"Why is that?"

"I slept for two hours, and I haven't thrown up yet."  Daniel held up his watch for me to see.  "Pretty good, huh?"

"Marvellous."  I flicked on the DVD player as Daniel curled up beside me and grabbed for the remote control.

"I guess you're happy because now you can go back to work tomorrow, huh, Jack?"

"I'm happy because you're feeling better, squirt."

"AND because we'll both be back to work tomorrow."

"Daniel, to be honest with you, I'm actually a little sad.  I'm going to miss just hanging out with you like this.  It feels like it’s been a long time."

Daniel thought about it for a moment, frowning in thought, then he handed the remote to me.   "I'll be right back."  He disappeared up the stairs and out of sight down the hallway.  Five minutes later he was back, hands held behind his back. 

That would be my cue to ask, "What'cha got there?"

"This came in the mail."  Daniel formally held out an envelope on which he had carefully scrawled my name.

That stumped me.  Was he giving me my walking papers?  "What is it?"

"Open it up."  Daniel hovered in front of me anxiously, his head looking down at the envelope as I tried to see what was in it.

I took out a folded piece of paper.  On it, Daniel had written a short sentence, then had drawn a quick sketch of me-- not with the skill the adult Daniel had shown, but with a heart-felt honestly that only a pencil and felt pens could match.  And this version of me had a halo on my head.

"It's your sainthood papers," Daniel whispered.  "They took a while to get here, like five weeks.  But you deserve them.  Not just for now, but for before, too, when you took care of me when I was taller."

I put the drawing to one side and gathered Daniel in my arms for a long hug. "Thank you," I said finally, when I could. 

"And if you ever get sick, Jack, I'll take real good care of you," Daniel said solemnly, resting his head on my shoulder, "until you're all better."

I had thought that was cute at the time.

continued

Chapter Text

Sick" Series #4 - Juice for Jack

Thursday, August 20, 1998

DANIEL JACKSON

Daniel yawned widely and rubbed his eyes.  It was morning and the sunlight was coming through his east facing window.   He liked watching the funny lines it made on the opposite wall as the light came through the Venetian blinds.  All stripey.  And it bent funny around the dresser and the closet door.  And if Jack came into the room, the lines went all over Jack, too.

He slowly rolled over, scrunched his face and stared at the clock on his night table.  And then he popped his eyes open really wide.

Huh?

He sat up and stared at the clock.  8:00 a.m.  He blinked rapidly.

Then scowled.   Most days, they'd be up by 6:30, but it was already 8:00.  Darn that Jack.  Daniel had specifically told him the night before that he was perfectly fine and able to get up for work and now Jack was making him stay home another day.  What would it take to get the man to listen to him?

Daniel rolled out of bed, both feet landing firmly on the carpet with only a little stagger.  He was getting better at it.   He was back in his light blue cotton pajamas that Janet had bought for him, the ones with the sailboats on them, because his other big T-shirts that he liked to sleep in were in the wash.  Because he'd sorta thrown up on them.

But he was fine now.  Totally fine.  And he was certainly going to tell Jack all about it.

He stormed down the hallway and into the kitchen but it was empty.  The coffee pot was still waiting for coffee.  And the living room was empty, too.   No Jack sitting around reading the morning paper or anything. 

Wait a second.  Had Jack gone to the SGC and forgotten all about him?  Why would Jack do that?  Jack was usually pretty good about things like remembering him.  How many missions had they been on when Daniel had suddenly looked up from the interesting thing he was doing and panicked because he suddenly realized he couldn’t hear any voices talking and it was really quiet and he thought they’d left without him, but then he saw Jack standing silently guarding him, scanning the area around them to keep him safe.

Daniel peered through the little window on one side of the front door, but Jack's truck was still in the driveway.  He turned and looked up and down the silent hallway.  "Jack?" he called, but not too loud because he was a little nervous.  "Where are you, Jack?"  Daniel’s voice cracked.

No answer.

Daniel tiptoed down the hallway and poked his head in Jack's home office, but Jack wasn't there.  And he went down the stairs to the basement, but Jack wasn't there, either.  So that just left Jack's bedroom. 

He slowly pushed the door open just a tiny bit, just enough for him to put his face up to the crack to see inside.  He had to look carefully, because it was very dark inside the room, so he had to wait for his sight to adjust, just like looking inside caves and tombs.  He could sorta see Jack in bed.  He started to push the door open more, but then he jumped backwards with a big shudder.  What if Jack was dead?  That happened, right?  Sometimes? 

Once when he was a kid, he remembered his dad sending him in to one of the worker's tents to get him up, because they were excavating something and they were waiting for Tommy.  Daniel liked Tommy, because Tommy always chewed gum and gave him some.  And they were called Bubble something and were pink and had cartoons in the package that Daniel couldn't read yet, but Tommy would read them to him. 

Daniel had called out Tommy's name, and he'd called the man's name again, but he thought that Tommy was sleeping really hard, because Tommy didn't move.  So then he'd gone into the tent and given his shoulder a little shake, but Tommy didn't wake up.  So Daniel had given Tommy a big, big shake and that's when he knew Tommy wouldn't be waking up because he was dead.  And everyone was really surprised about it all, because Tommy was really young, they said, and was in good health, and had a girlfriend back in England where he was from.

Daniel couldn't remember why Tommy had died.  But he remembered shaking Tommy's shoulder and that funny, quivery feeling inside his stomach when he started figuring out that maybe something was wrong with Tommy, and then it got worse when he figured out that something was really wrong and then that cold, icy feeling when he felt like he couldn't breathe anymore, just like Tommy wasn't breathing.

Jack was still youngish, at least not too very old, although his hair was going gray.  And Jack was still in really good condition because he went through the Stargate even though his knees weren't perfect anymore. 

Jack wouldn't have died overnight, though, Daniel told himself firmly.  Jack was still alive.  And Daniel had been worried once before that maybe Jack had slipped in the bathroom and knocked himself out, but Jack had been fine.

Daniel stared at the narrow space of the open doorway, then crept back to it, putting his ear there.  He listened, and listened, his fingers crossed, until he heard the bed creak as Jack turned over.

So he wasn't dead.  Whew.  That was good.  He sure didn't want Jack to be dead, like Tommy.

Had Jack forgotten to set his alarm, then?  Was that what had happened?  If so, that would be a good laugh.  He'd be able to tease Jack about that for a long time.  As long as that's all it was.  Just forgetting to set the alarm.  

So he'd just wake Jack up and let him know.  Daniel pushed the door open wide enough for him to slip through. 

The problem with waking Jack up was that he might accidentally kill Daniel, or at least really hurt him, which wasn't on Daniel's "to do" list.  No, Jack had to be approached carefully.  Daniel looked around for something to poke him with, but couldn't see anything.  Maybe the broom would work.  But the broom was in another room.

Maybe he should just yell in a loud voice, "GOOD MORNING, JACK!"  That would be funny, because Jack would probably jump a mile.

Yeah.

Maybe not. 

Funny how he never thought about Jack killing him when he snuck into Jack's bed the other night when he got scared about squirrels getting in the window and Goa'uld eyes glowing in the darkness, even though he sorta knew they were just the knobs on the dresser reflecting the light from the streetlamps outside.  Maybe he was just being so sneaky about it that he didn't wake Jack up, because as far as he knew, Jack had never caught him being sneaky that night when he got scared about stupid stuff.

But this was different.  This time he wanted Jack to wake up.  And waking Jack up might not be so good.  It had to be done just right and with caution.  Jack was a superior trained warrior, after all.

Daniel bent down and picked up one of Jack's sandals that was by the dresser near the door.  He gave it a quick toss toward the bed, arching it through the air end-over-end until it landed with a soft plunk on Jack's leg.  Daniel speedily ducked beside the dresser, out of the way of Jack's quick reflexes and killing hands.

Jack moaned and rolled over again.  Then it was all quiet.

Okay, this was weird.  Daniel moved closer to the bed.  Maybe Jack was drunk or something.  Drunk out of his skull, so he didn't know it was morning.  With a bad hangover.  Daniel sniffed deeply, but he couldn't smell alcohol.  He ran back down the hallway to the living room and kitchen and looked in the garbage and in the recycling, but he didn't see any sign that Jack had been drinking.  Jack always put his beer bottles away in the recycling box.   And he'd never seen Jack drunk before.

Back in the bedroom, Daniel crept towards the bed again.  Jack was all sweating and stuff.   "Jack?" he asked, very quietly, ready to run really quick if Jack suddenly leapt out of bed and attacked him.   He sure wished he was taller right now.  Being short was dangerous to his health. "Jack?" he said a little louder, stepping even closer.

Jack opened one eye.  It sorta fluttered, then closed again.  Jack made smacking noises with his mouth, like it was really dry, then he went back to sleep.

Daniel stared at him.  This was really weird.  It looked almost like Jack was sick or something.  What if that was it?  What if Jack was sick?  Jack never got sick, though.  Daniel couldn't remember Jack ever being sick, except if he was injured, which wasn't the same thing.  Except for that lip smacking sound, which Daniel remembered from when Jack was unconscious in the infirmary when he was hurt in Antarctica. 

Daniel backed out of the room.  Jack must have got what Daniel'd had.  Jack called it the twenty-four-hour flu.  He said it was no big deal, you just had to deal with it.  Piece of cake.

So, Daniel thought, he was sure going to have his hands full today, because he was going to have to deal with Jack having the twenty-four-hour flu.   He ran into his bedroom and put on his shorts and a T-shirt, then headed to the phone in Jack's office.  He called the duty clerk and informed him that Colonel Jack O’Neill would not be in today, due to illness, and also that he, Daniel Jackson, would be off another day, as well.

"Daniel Jackson?" the duty clerk asked.  "I can't find you on the list."

"Why aren’t I on the list?  I should be.”

“Are you scheduled to work today?” the guy asked him.  “You sound… uh… a little young… to be here.”

“That’s age discrimination!” Daniel was going to say, and be very indignant, but instead he said reluctantly, “Try Daniel Jackson Junior.”

“I have no Daniel Jackson Junior listed on the civilian schedule for work today.”

“But I was supposed to go there today.  I have work to do. I have a department to run.”  Did Jack call earlier and have me taken of the list? Daniel wondered.

“How old are you?” the duty clerk asked.  “You sound like my son who is in first grade.”

Daniel stalled.  “Uh….” Did he have to answer the guy?  “Uh…  Well…” Maybe he could just say it was top secret…

“Were you wanting the daycare at the other base?”

“Daycare?  No way!” Daniel exclaimed and hung up.

But the man had a good point.  So Daniel phoned Catherine and left a message with the maid that Jack was sick so Daniel wouldn't be coming over again today.

That done, Daniel went to get his supplies together.  He went into his bathroom and crawled onto the counter and got the washcloth wet and tried to wring it out.  And he got the thermometer out of the medicine cupboard there.  Jack probably had his own stuff in his bathroom, but Daniel couldn't reach it very well.  There was no real countertop to climb on.

He put the damp washcloth and the thermometer on the floor outside of Jack's room, then added a pen and paper to the pile, three boxes of Kleenex (the extra soft kind with the lotion in it), and he headed off to the kitchen.  Jack needed orange juice.  Daniel tugged open the fridge door, but after careful scrutiny, saw there was no orange juice.  He'd have to make some.

First though, he had to get that freezer door open.  He opened the broom closet and took out the white step ladder.  It was hard to make the step ladder open because it was so stiff, but he finally got it pulled out right so he could climb up high enough to open the freezer door.  Jack always kept frozen orange juice cans on the inside rack of the freezer door, and sure enough, there was a can of frozen orange juice.  Perfect.

Yes, he'd be able to take care of Jack just fine.  Jack took care of him, so he'd just take care of Jack.  Piece of cake.  After all, he was an adult.

He got the can out, shut the freezer door, and carefully crawled down the ladder.  He put the orange juice can on the floor.  Next, he needed a pitcher of some kind.  A quick look unearthed one in the lower cupboard. 

He carefully set the glass pitcher on the floor of the kitchen and picked up the frozen juice can.  There had to be a way of getting the top off it.  It said to pull on this little plastic thing, but it didn't budge at all when Daniel tried.  He put it between his legs, gripping his knees around the frozen can and shivered and tugged on the white plastic thing but nothing happened.

He put it down and frowned at it.  He needed a can opener or something, that's what he needed.  A can opener to open the can.  Jack had one mounted below the kitchen cupboards, so Daniel moved the stepladder to the right place, then retrieved the stupid frozen can of orange juice and climbed the ladder with it.  After much struggling, he finally got it to open the can around the top but it wouldn't pull the top off after it was done.  And then the can got stuck on the opener, and he couldn't get if off.  He tugged and tugged with both hands until finally it unstuck and he almost fell off the counter.  He didn't, but the orange juice can did, flying across the room to land on the floor with a plop.  At least the frozen orange juice was coming out of it now. 

Daniel got down from the counter and scooped up the frozen orange stuff with his hands and dropped it into the pitcher.  Waste not, want not.

Daniel paused.  He liked the sound of the 1576 version: Willful waste makes woeful want.   It had a lot of W’s in it, which Daniel approved of.  He got back onto the counter to get some paper towels to clean up the stuff he couldn't scoop and drop. 

Now he needed to add water -- according to the orange juice can, he needed to fill the can up four times.  That seemed like an awful lot of times to go up and down the ladder carrying water.  Instead, Daniel picked up the heavy glass pitcher with the frozen orange juice concentrate in it, and carried it to the bathroom.  He set it on the edge of the bathtub, turned the cold water on, then leaned over the bathtub edge and set the pitcher down, so the cold water would run into it.  When the pitcher started getting filled close to the top, Daniel shut off the water.

Was that ever good thinking, or what? 

He ran back to the kitchen for the long chopsticks, and then back to the bathroom so he could stir the frozen glop around and make orange juice.  He couldn't lift the pitcher up because it was too heavy now that it had water in it, so he got in the tub and crouched down and stirred and stirred and stirred until it was mostly mixed up.  His arms were getting a little too tired to keep stirring but it was almost perfect.  Now he needed a glass.

With another sigh, he got out of the bathtub, went to the kitchen, up the step ladder to the counter, then he was able to get a glass out of the cupboard easily.  He dropped it climbing down the ladder, but careful examination showed that it hadn't broken or anything.  Back to the bathroom, and he had to get back into the bathtub to lift the heavy pitcher enough to pour it in the cup.  Good thing he was in the bathtub, he thought, because when he spilled, it just went down the drain and not all over the floor again.

Mission accomplished.  He had a glass of orange juice for Jack. 

Daniel picked up the washcloth, the thermometer, the pen and paper, the Kleenex box and the glass of orange juice and headed into Jack's bedroom. And he didn't even drop them.

The room was dark and kinda sweaty smelling.  And the bed was empty.  And he could hear Jack in his bathroom, throwing up.  At least, he thought it was probably Jack.

Daniel backed out quickly.   Maybe he should wait a while before going in.  Maybe he needed more things.

He put everything down, making sure the orange juice glass was okay and wouldn't get knock over if Jack suddenly went racing hysterically down the hallway, for some reason Daniel couldn’t think of.

He tried to remember what Jack had done when Daniel had been the one throwing up.  The first time, Jack had been there the whole time, just there, kinda rubbing his back lightly to let him know it was okay, that Daniel was just a little sick and he'd feel better soon.

When he'd thrown up after that, every hour or so, Jack would wait until he was finished, then come in and help him get changed, help him rinse his mouth out, and then Jack would clean up the bathroom.

He could hear Jack's bed creak a little as Jack got back onto it.  So, maybe he should go in now.  Should he make sure Jack's bathroom was okay?  He didn't feel very good about that.  He didn't want to clean it up if it was... messy.   Maybe he should wait a few minutes.  The first time he'd thrown up, he'd thrown up again a minute or so later.

He wasn't sure what the best plan of action should be and then he remembered the Internet.  Right.  He should check the Internet.  The Internet always had an answer.

It took him a while to find what he was looking for, but he finally discovered a site that talked about influenza.   It said the virus caused fever, coughs, nausea, vomiting, shaking chills, body aches, headaches, and fatigue.

Nausea just meant someone thought they might and vomiting meant they did.

Funny thing how 'throwing up' sounded not quite as bad as 'vomiting' did.  Upchucking, hurling, barfing, retching, heaving, puking... he tried to think of more words.  Regurgitating might be one.  Jack had asked him if he felt like he was going to be sick or not.  And Daniel knew Jack had meant did he think he was going to throw up.  He already was sick, because he had been throwing up and had been really tired and a little feverish.  It was just one of those understood wording things, commonly said in one culture and tricky translating.

Like the word 'pissed'.  In some countries, if you said that Bob was really pissed tonight, that meant he was really angry.  In other countries, if you said that Bob was really pissed tonight, that meant he was really drunk.  And yet 'piss' meant something different.  It meant urine, or 'to take a piss' meant using the toilet. 

Ferretti always said that.  "I'm going to take a piss."  Translating that would be tricky, because a translator might wonder where exactly he was transporting piss. Unless Ferretti meant he was literally transporting urine inside him as he was going somewhere.

Most people didn't mention the urine part at all.  They'd say something like, "I'm going to the bathroom."  If they were at a long meeting, Jack would say something like, "I'm going to see a man about a horse", another one of those things that didn't translate well.  Jack had lots of weird ways of saying he had to urinate.  Like he had to "spring a leak" or "water the garden".  Sam would say, "Excuse me, I'll be right back."  Everyone knew what she was doing though.

Daniel tried to remember what he would say, and he was pretty sure he would just usually stammer through a "uh, I've got to... uh, sorry, I won't be long..." and then he'd get up and run out the door and down the hallway before his bladder burst. 

Teal'c had never left the room to go to the bathroom that Daniel could recall.  Neither did General Hammond, although sometimes he would say he had to get something from his office or excused himself to make a quick phone call in his office, and maybe that wasn't exactly true, or maybe since he was already up from the briefing room table to do those things, he'd stop by his little bathroom attached to his office. 

Then Daniel remembered what he was supposed to doing, and he started reading again.  It said he had to watch Jack for dehydration, especially if he'd been throwing up.  That was important.  Jack had to drink one ounce of water every twenty minutes, or better yet, water mixed with apple juice or grape juice, or even weak tea with a little sugar was good. 

Oh.  When Daniel had been sick, that's probably why Jack had kept giving him stuff to drink in those little shot glasses.  Daniel had said he didn't want to drink anything, and Jack said this was hardly anything at all, so Daniel had done it.

And it said on the Internet that he shouldn't give Jack any orange juice!  That was just plain weird!  No orange juice or grapefruit juice or lemonade.

Daniel stared at the screen of his laptop, but the words wouldn't change.  That really was frustrating, especially since he'd gone to all the trouble to make orange juice for Jack.

He headed into the kitchen, but there wasn't any apple juice or grape juice in the fridge.  He climbed up on the stepladder and tugged open the freezer door, but there wasn't any frozen apple juice or frozen grape juice in the freezer.  He climbed down off the ladder and checked the fridge again.  There were some apples there, maybe he could just make some apple juice.  How hard could it be?  There was a blender on the counter.  What if he just cut up some apple slices and put them in the blender on 'juice' and it would turn into apple juice.  What a great idea!

Daniel took a big apple out of the fridge and put it on the floor.  Then he got a knife from the drawer, but it really wasn't sharp enough to cut through the apple easily.  He needed one of the knives on the butcher rack on the counter.  So he moved the step ladder over to that area and got the knife he wanted from the butcher block rack.   He didn't want to go down the ladder holding the knife, as that might not be a great idea, so he tossed the knife to the floor and went down the three steps of the little stepladder. 

He looked back at the ladder.  It should really be called a 'steps-ladder' not a 'stepladder'.  Those little ones, like the one Jack had for him in the bathroom, those were a stepladder or step stool, because there was only one step in them.  These were bigger, so they should be called steps-ladders.

He picked up the knife, which had slid under the kitchen table, then he went over to the apple and very, very carefully cut it into pieces.  He dropped the knife over the counter into the sink and pushed all the apple pieces onto the counter.  Then he pushed the stepladder thing over to where the blender was, and he climbed back up onto the counter.

The blender was hard to move, because it had big rubber legs on it, but he got all the little pieces of apple into the blender, then he studied the fourteen different buttons he could choose.  He couldn't find one that said "juice" on it, but there was one that said "pulverize" so that was very close, he figured.  He pushed that button and all of a sudden there was apple bits going everywhere, so he yanked the plug out of the wall so it would stop.  Maybe he should have put the lid on the blender.  He crawled around the counter and got all the escaped apple slices and put them back in the blender, then he slid over to the sink and put a little bit of water in a glass and went back to the blender and put the water in, too, since it said that the apple juice could be watered down.  Then he put the lid on the blender and pushed the 'pulverize' button, and everything did what it was supposed to.

Blenders were sure loud.

Daniel put his hands over his ears and watched it, waiting for it to turn into apple juice.

Then, all of a sudden, Jack's hand appeared, and the blender turned off.  "What the blazes are you doing?" Jack asked, not very happily.

"Jack!  Are you okay?  You shouldn't be out of bed.  You're sick."

"I know I'm sick," Jack said, lifting him down from the counter.  "What are you doing in here?  Why didn't you come wake me up if you wanted something?"

"I didn't want to wake you, Jack, because I didn't want you to attack me and kill me," Daniel said, very calmly and slowly, so Jack would understand.  "I'm taking care of you, Jack.  We didn't have any apple juice, so I was making some for you.  You mustn't get dehydrated, Jack.  You were throwing up -- I heard you, so you can't deny it, Jack -- and I don't want you to get sicker.  I looked it up on the Internet, and it says you need rest and apple juice or tea and I didn't want to get tea because I knew you'd worry about the kettle and everything, so I made you apple juice.  You know what, Jack?  You should keep frozen apple juice on hand, just in case you get sick.  You had frozen orange juice, but no apple juice."

Jack stared at him, then sneezed and belatedly grabbed a paper towel.  "I have no idea what you're talking about," he mumbled, wiping his nose.  "If we had orange juice, that would be fine."

"No, Jack.  Orange juice is all wrong.  You should never have orange juice when you have influenza."

"Since when?"

"It was on the Internet, Jack."

"Oh, well pardon me," Jack said, quite sarcastically, Daniel thought.  Then Jack squinted over at the clock and wearily sat down at the kitchen table.  "I didn't realize it was so late.  I must have been sleeping hard."

"Maybe you were just delirious," Daniel offered.  "We need to take your temperature, Jack."  Daniel hurried down the hall to where his pile of stuff was along the wall outside of Jack’s door, and he got the thermometer and the pencil and paper.  He ran back to Jack, who was still sitting in the kitchen, but his head was resting on the surface of the table.  Daniel climbed onto the chair next to Jack, then sat on the tabletop.  "Jack, open your mouth.  I have to take your temperature."

He was a little surprised when Jack opened his mouth wide and let him put the thermometer in it.  But then Jack didn't close his mouth and Daniel had to push it closed which was really hard, and then Jack smiled, and he realized Jack was just fooling around.  Jack was like that; even when he was sick, he was still grumpy and funny at the same time.

Daniel carefully noted the time on the paper and waited and waited for the thermometer to make that little ping sound, and finally it did.  He took it out and looked at it.  "It says 102.5, Jack.  It's not too bad.  A fever of 102 is normal during influenza, because it means you are fighting the infection.  We have to make sure that if it goes up to 103 or 104, that it doesn't stay that way too long."

"You've really been reading up on this," Jack mumbled, his head back on the table.

"You helped me, Jack, so I'm helping you now."

"I appreciate your help, kiddo, but I'm probably better off on my own today.  Let's call Catherine and see if the driver can pick you up here this morning and you can spend the day with Catherine and Ernest."

"I already told them I wasn't coming over today, Jack.  I have to take care of you."  Daniel got down off the table and climbed the stepladder to get to the counter.  He carefully lifted the blender container up and poured the juice into a little shot glass.  It looked a little like watered down applesauce and it had little bits of red apple skin in it, but it was fresh and it would help Jack get better.  "You only get one ounce every twenty minutes, Jack.  I'll time it.  When you keep it all down for one hour, then you can have something more."

Jack grimaced but drank it.  He looked really, really tired, like he shouldn't be out of bed. 

Daniel took the glass from Jack and helped him get to his feet.  "You need to go back to bed, Jack.  You need your rest," Daniel said, taking Jack's hand and leading him down the hallway.  "Now, don't worry about a thing.  I'll take care of you."

"You will? Thanks," Jack said, squeezing his hand.

"And there's lots to do to entertain myself.  I've got work in my briefcase that I haven't even touched yet.  I'll get caught up."

Jack stopped in the middle of the hallway.  "Work... Crap.  I've got to call in and--”

"I already did, Jack," Daniel interrupted.

"You did?"

"I called in and told them you wouldn't be in today because you were sick.  And that I wouldn't be in because I was taking care of you.  I am an adult, after all."

Jack smiled down at him and patted the top of his head, which Daniel didn't like but he let Jack get away with it this morning, because Jack was sick.  "You're a good friend, Daniel."

"I know, Jack.  You're a good friend, too." 

Daniel tugged on Jack's hand and got him down the hallway and into his bed.  He covered Jack up carefully, then patted his shoulder.  "Now you get to sleep, Jack.  I'll be back in about fifteen minutes with more apple juice for you.  Just one ounce, that's all you need.  And it's okay if you throw up again, Jack."

"Thanks," Jack said, then coughed a little and lay back.

"You're welcome," Daniel said.  He turned to leave but then he couldn’t, and he went back to Jack's bedside.  He looked at Jack's whisker-rough face and closed eyes and he bent low and whispered, "Don't worry about anything at all, Jack.  I'm here, and I'll take care of you." 

Daniel tiptoed out the door and got the Kleenex box and took it to Jack's night table where he could see it.  The washcloth was getting dry, so he got it wet again in the bathtub and tried to wring it out.  He had a glass of orange juice while he was there.  Then he tiptoed back into Jack's bedroom and laid the dripping wet cloth gently on Jack's forehead.  Jack's eyes opened, a little startled, but then he squeezed Daniel's hand again and closed his eyes.  Daniel adjusted the blankets again, then ever so quietly, he left the room and closed the door. 

Jack was sick, and Daniel would take care of him.

continued

Chapter Text

Sick" Series #5 - Peanut Butter Crunches

Thursday, August 20, 1998

DANIEL JACKSON

Daniel walked down the hallway, then paused and looked around.  So what to do first...  Probably set the timer.  That would be a good idea.  He needed to set it for fifteen minutes-- no, fourteen minutes.  And he'd get the next cup of apple juice ready for Jack in another shot glass.

He found a timer on top of the stove and reached very, very carefully for it because he didn't want to get burned, even though the stove wasn't on.  He didn't trust those dials.  What if they didn't work right?  What if the stove elements were really on, even though they said they weren't?   He didn't want to get burned.   He really didn't want to get burned.

He gotten burned once in one of the foster homes, trying to make popcorn. He thought he'd read the dials right but he'd put the front burner on instead of the back burner because he'd gotten them mixed up. And the popcorn oil didn't heat up but the oven mitt did and had started on fire and he'd grabbed it and thrown it into the sink which was good because it stopped the house from burning down, but bad because it melted Mrs Oliviar's Tupperware in the sink and also because it burned his fingers.

Daniel studied the timer, then set it for twelve minutes, because it took him a while to climb up to the stove, make sure there were no burners on, get the timer, then figure out how it worked.

Twelve minutes.  He had twelve minutes before the next shot glass could be taken to Jack.   He should probably wash the floor, but that was one of those housework things that Jack said he shouldn't do anymore.  And he'd promised Jack he wouldn't, because Jack was so serious about it and worried and stuff. Did wiping the floor with a cloth count?  Not the whole floor, of course, just where it was sticky from dropping the orange juice can and from where the apple slices had spun out of the blender.

He figured wiping the floor was okay, because it was only being responsible and adult, so he got a cloth and ran to the bathroom to get it damp because it was easier working with the tub.  He was getting hungry because he hadn't had any breakfast yet, so he had some more orange juice because it was sitting in the tub and he could use the glass he used when he brushed his teeth.  Then he ran back to the kitchen with the damp soapy cloth and wiped down the floor and just as he finished -- BING, the timer went. 

And then it kept BINGing!  BING BING BING BING BING BING BING.  And it seemed that it got louder and louder and louder as Daniel ran across the kitchen floor toward the stepladder and louder yet when he slipped on a wet spot in the middle of the floor and landed on his butt.

BING BING BING BING.  Daniel climbed up the step ladder and reached for the timer, but his hands were soapy and the timer squirted out of his grasp and dropped to the floor, sliding across the tiles and under the table, all the time going BING BING BING BING.

And Daniel tried to grab the timer as it slipped from his hands -- BING BING BING -- and he accidentally tilted the stepladder off balance and it fell with a loud crash and clang that was almost as loud as the BING BING BING BING and he bumped his elbow and both his knees BING BING BING but he crawled under the table and grabbed the timer and turned it off.

And then he saw Jack's bare feet standing in the middle of the kitchen.  Jack crouched down and looked at him sitting under the table.  "Time for my apple juice?" Jack asked.  

Once Daniel had given Jack his apple juice and got him safely back to bed, he covered him carefully with the sheet and told him to go back to sleep for at least twenty more minutes until his next time to have apple juice.  Jack just nodded with his eyes closed and a funny smile on his face.

So Daniel once more headed out to the hallway on his tip toes, closing the door partway so Jack could rest, but open just a little so he could hear Jack if Jack called for him.  It was important that Jack got his rest because he needed it.

Now what should I do?  Daniel asked himself again.  His stomach growled so he decided he would make himself some breakfast.  Because he was an adult, after all, and could take care of himself, as well as Jack.

He went down the hallway to the kitchen and climbed up the stepladder and set the kitchen timer for nineteen minutes, and then he carefully poured another glass of apple juice into one of the little shot glasses, and he set the glass right on the edge of the counter.  Not on the edge, or he might knock it over, but close enough to the edge so that he could reach it without going up and down the stepladder, which he was starting not to like very much at all. 

He put the timer up by the shot glass, then looked at it and frowned.  He didn't need a timer, did he?  It was 9:10 a.m. right now, so at 9:30 he had to give Jack the apple juice.  He could remember that without a timer.  That way, it wouldn't go off again and wake Jack up.  He could just walk into the room and very gently coax Jack into drinking the juice, just like Jack had done with him.

That done, he turned to breakfast.  Which was a good thing because his stomach growled again.  He opened the breakfast cupboard, but there still was no box of Cheerios because they hadn't gone to the store yet.  It was sure taking a long time to get more Cheerios.  He wondered if he would even remember what they tasted like.

He stood back so he could see more in the cupboard, and he saw a jar of peanut butter.  That would be perfect.  He would make some toast and peanut butter for breakfast.  Carbs and protein.  That would be easy to do.  He moved the stepladder over to the bread box and took out two pieces of bread.  He was really lucky, because there were only two pieces of bread left.  That was another thing they needed to buy. 

Daniel climbed down the ladder and moved it over to where the toaster was, and then he climbed up the ladder and put the bread in the toaster.  He didn't press it down yet, because he wanted his toast warm, so he had to get everything ready first.

Back down the ladder, Daniel relocated the stepladder at the pantry cupboard, and he climbed back up to retrieve the peanut butter.  Halfway down the ladder again, he saw it was crunchy peanut butter.  Crunchy!  Jack ate crunchy peanut butter?  Why?  Why would someone eat peanut butter that wasn't buttery at all, but still had hunks of peanuts in it, like it was only half made?  It tasted like having eggshells in your scrambled eggs or finding a clove in your spiced apple cider, or a piece of tinfoil in your MRE.

Or maybe like eating in the desert when sand would get in your food and your teeth would crunch on it.  He'd never gotten used to that.  Yuck.

Daniel checked the cupboard again, but unfortunately there were no other kinds of peanut butter.  He started to put the peanut butter jar back, but stopped because now he kinda had his stomach set on having peanut butter, and he really didn't want to disappoint it.  Maybe he could pick out the chucks.

Daniel put the jar on the floor and unscrewed the top.  He counted fifteen chunks, all in plain sight.  Well that would take a long time, to pick them all out, and then there would be more chunks underneath.  If it was orange juice, and he didn't want the pulp in it, he could strain it out, because Daniel had done that many times before, and it usually worked really well.  But peanut butter?  You couldn't strain peanut butter... could you?  Daniel opened the drawer that had the strainer, and he took it out and stared at it.  There had to be some way of straining peanut butter...

Daniel got a plate and put the strainer on the plate, then he got a really big spoon and took a really big spoonful of peanut butter and put it in the strainer.  But nothing happened.  No smooth and creamy peanut butter came out the other side.  Daniel took the spoon and started mashing the peanut butter, and finally it started working and some non-crunchy peanut butter got pushed through the strainer.  He stopped and checked it, and sure enough, it did look like it was smooth.

He took his finger and scooped up a whole bunch of the now smooth and creamy peanut butter that had oozed out the strainer, and he stuck his finger in his mouth.  Yum... that was good.  What a great idea he'd had.  This way, Jack could have the peanut butter he wanted, with the crunch stuff in it, and Daniel could have the kind of peanut butter he loved with the smooth and creamy stuff.

Daniel climbed the stepladder to the toaster.  Jack liked his toast really light, and Daniel liked his toast really dark.  He'd have to remember to turn it back on 'light' for Jack later – because he hadn’t remembered to change it a few weeks ago, and Jack wasn’t very happy about having ‘burned’ toast, even though it wasn’t burned, just really dark.  But for now, he turned it up all the way, just the way he liked it.  Boy, this was going to be a really good breakfast after all.

Daniel scooped up another mouthful of peanut butter, and sure enough, the phone rang as soon as he had stuck his finger in his mouth.   He hurried over to the living room phone to answer it, so it wouldn't wake up Jack.

"Hu-woh," he said, around the peanut butter in his mouth.  "Dan-wah peekin'."  It was supposed to be 'Daniel speaking,' but it was sure hard to talk.

"Daniel?  Janet asked.  "Is that you?"

"Yeth," Daniel responded, trying to chew the peanut butter but it was tricky getting his tongue unstuck.

"Daniel, is everything okay?"

"'Ack ith ick," Daniel said.

"Jack is sick?" Janet asked.

"Yeth.  He'th goth da fwu."

"He's got the flu?" Janet asked, sounding more worried.  "Daniel are you okay?  You sound like you're still congested."

"I hath peanah buddah on da woof oud my moufah," Daniel tried very hard to be clear, but it was kinda very hard to talk.

"Peanut butter?" Janet asked, as though she wasn't sure whether to believe him or not.  "Daniel, how is Jack?"

"He'th fine.  I hath it undah contwal."

"Who's there with you?"

"Whad?"

"Is anyone else there?  Anyone besides you and Jack?"

"No.  Why?  We fine."

"Can I speak to Jack?"

"Nah now.  He 'leepin'.  Danet, I godda go dwink tomtin."

"Okay.  Are you sure you're okay?  I can come over..."

"Ebery tin ith okay, Danet.  Bye.  Thee you tomawwow."  Daniel shook his head in exasperation and hung up the phone.  Janet was such a worry wart.

He glanced at the clock.  Wow!  Time had really flown by.   It was already 9:27. Jack was supposed to have his juice in three minutes.  Doug barely had enough time to eat.  He'd have to hurry.

The toast should have been done by now, but he hadn't heard it 'ding' yet.  Daniel went back into the kitchen and stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the toaster that was smoking.  The bread must be stuck in it!  His toast was burning!  NO!!  Those were the last two pieces!

He quickly dragged his stepladder over to the toaster and started to reach inside to dislodge the toast that was stuck but there was a lot of smoke now and he remembered that it wasn't a good idea to stick things in toasters like forks or fingers.  It wasn't being safe.

So he grabbed the cord and tugged on it and unplugged it from the wall first.  But the smoke didn't stop and he could see the charred bits in the toaster.

And then the smoke detector went off!  BEEP BEEP BEEP Once before when Daniel was at Jack's the smoke detector went off. BEEP BEEP BEEP Jack had been making something -- Daniel couldn't remember what it was now -- but it had bubbled over and went on an element and started smoking BEEP BEEP BEEP and the smoke detector went off, so Jack had taken the newspaper and waved it around under the detector, and it had stopped making such a loud noise. BEEP BEEP BEEP

So Daniel quickly ran to the living room and got one of the old newspapers BEEP BEEP BEEP and ran back to the kitchen and tried to wave the newspaper above his head BEEP BEEP BEEP but the loud alarm wouldn't stop so he ran back and forth with the paper under the smoke detector BEEP BEEP BEEP and it still didn't stop so he ran to the front door and opened it, hoping the fresh air would blow the smoke away BEEP BEEP BEEP but instead the security alarm went off EEEE EEEE EEEE because he forgot to push the buttons first, BEEP BEEP BEEP so he ran for his long chopsticks in the kitchen EEEE EEEE EEEE and then back to the front entrance BEEP BEEP BEEP and poked at the code EEEE EEEE EEEE and the security alarm finally stopped BEEP BEEP BEEP and then the smoke detector stopped and Daniel sank to the floor in exhaustion.

And he opened his eyes and saw Jack crouched down in front of him with that funny little almost-perplexed smile on his face, and Jack said, "I guess it's time for my apple juice again."

JACK O'NEILL

Daniel scrambled to his feet.  "Jack!  You shouldn't be out of bed!  I was going to bring you your juice."

I trailed Daniel into the kitchen and a quick glance revealed the smoke culprit -- two pieces of charred toast in the toaster.  I pushed open the kitchen windows further and turned on the fan above the stove, then carefully stepped over a rather sickly looking peanut-butter mound on the floor in a strainer.   Sometimes I just didn't want to know what Daniel's projects were all about, especially when I had just popped a few painkillers to wipe out the headache throbbing just behind my eyes.  The smoke detector going off, followed by the security alarm had not helped my head any.

"Don't worry about the mess.  I'll take care of it."  Daniel picked up the peanut-butter clogged strainer and put it on the table.  "Maybe later, when you're hungry, Jack, you can have these 'peanut butter crunches'.  I've saved them for you."

I peered at the ‘peanut butter crunches’ and swallowed desperately.  I couldn't begin to fathom why Daniel had strained out the peanut chips from the peanut butter for me to eat.  Maybe one day, when I felt better, I'd ask, but right now... my stomach was churning, and I really didn’t want to know. 

Some things that this ‘Short’ version of Daniel does is still very ‘Tall” Daniel, and I get it.  Tall Daniel would have probably had the same chain reaction from the toast burning.  Tall Daniel seemed to get into these situations…   But I cannot imagine Tall Daniel making ‘Peanut Butter Crunches’.  This was all in Short Daniel’s world.  Young Daniel.  Kid Daniel.

I turned and looked at him through bleary eyes.  Who was he now?  Could I tell just by staring at him.

Daniel picked up the shot glass of apple juice.  "You need to drink this, Jack."  Big blue eyes looked up at me, ever so serious.  

No clues there.  Ever since I first met Doctor Daniel Jackson, he has looked at me with those serious eyes.

I nodded, trying to be just as serious.  "Thanks for making the shot of apple juice for me, Daniel."  I wasn't sure what else to say, and I really needed to get horizontal.  But should I phone someone first?  Was Short Kid Daniel okay here without adult supervision if I needed to sleep?  Would his adult Tall Daniel side keep him in line?  Did it even work that way?   He’d already set off the security alarm, triggered the smoke detector, and had broken my oven timer – all within the last hour.  Maybe Catherine could send her limo over for Daniel.

Then before he could hand me the glass, Daniel coughed roughly, spilling his precious glass of apple juice over his hand.  He huffed, then resolutely climbed the stepladder and poured more.  I lifted him up so he could wash his hands in the sink, then Daniel refilled the shot glass with the very odd apple juice he’d made.

"Come on, Jack.  You can drink it in bed."  Daniel took my hand firmly and led me back to my bedroom.  He placed the juice on the bedside table, then pushed at me to get in bed, making sure I was tucked in again.  "You should stay in bed, Jack, because you're sick," Daniel said, trying to fluff the pillow.  Unfortunately for me, my head was on the pillow, and Daniel's errant hands whacked the side of my face a few times.  "You need to sleep. You need your rest."

"Sorry," I started to say, then gagged as Daniel suddenly stuck the thermometer in my mouth.  It was mind over matter for me to keep my stomach contents in place.

"Keep that in," he ordered. "I have to check your temperature, and then you can have the apple juice.  I'll be right back."

I waited until Daniel cleared the door before pulling the thermometer from my mouth.  The kid was trying so damned hard, it was difficult to be mad at him.  I had the same problem with the adult-sized version.  Oh, I could be mad at him, and often was, but it was always tempered with respect for how diligent and focused he was. 

Add to it, it was really hard not to smile at this short version’s serious mothering.  Fortunately, Daniel had been mercifully asleep while I had been up half the night puking my guts up.  Daniel had only been aware of what I sincerely hoped was my last bout of sickness.  Now I just felt exhausted, cold, hot, and... yeah, exhausted.  I wanted to sleep uninterrupted for the rest of the day.

Except, there was a child in the house at the moment.  True, not a 100% child.  More of a semi-child.  On one hand, as long as Daniel didn't burn the house, maybe he could be left unattended for a while.  Then again, this was Daniel I was thinking about.  Daniel who couldn't seem to handle a timer without it going berserk on him, I once again reminded myself.  Daniel who couldn't make toast without setting off the smoke detector.  And the security alarm.

Should I call Catherine or not?

I could hear Daniel hurrying down the hallway, so I popped the thermometer back into my mouth and closed my eyes. 

Daniel tiptoed up to the side of the bed.  "Are you sleeping, Jack?" he whispered.

"Hmm?" I said, opening my eyes as though I’d just drifted off for a moment.

"Don't talk!" Daniel ordered.  He opened his notepad, looked at his watch, and dutifully noted the time.   Then he stared at the thermometer expectantly.

A minute passed and he grew restless.  "How come it hasn't beeped yet?  It should have beeped already."  He pulled the thermometer from my mouth, frowned at it, and stuck it back in, looking at me suspiciously.

I feigned sleeping again until at last the thermometer beeped and Daniel snatched it.  "What's it say?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Not as bad as before.  I'm keeping track, in case you suddenly get worse, and I have to call an ambulance," Daniel answered, writing it down.  He put his notepad down and handed me the shot glass of apple juice.  "Here's your juice, Jack.  Now, drink it all." 

I drank it in tiny sips, enjoying the intense concentration on Daniel's face as he watched.  When I finished, I handed the glass to him.  "You're taking very good care of me."

"I know."  Daniel gathered up his notepad.  "I'll be back in twenty minutes for your next juice.    If you keep that down, you can have more food if you want.  Maybe the peanut butter crunches."

"I think I'll get some sleep then."

"That's a good idea, Jack.  And don't worry about anything," Daniel said, coughing again.  "I'll take care of everything.  And I'll clean up that stuff in the kitchen, too."  Daniel turned off the bedside lamp and tiptoed out of the room. 

I turned on my side and listened as Daniel ran down the hall to the kitchen.  I could hear the sound of what was probably the glass dropping into the sink.  The stepladder being moved.  Ah, probably more apple juice being poured.

And then a startled yell followed by a crash--the stepladder?  It sounded like the stepladder had fallen over.  I sat up, but I could hear a thump, then Daniel running around in the kitchen, so whatever had happened, he was okay, at least.  Should I go check?  Or… maybe just stay where I was.  Sometimes not knowing was good.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, running towards the darkened bedroom.  I faked sleep, watching through slitted eyes as Daniel pushed the door open and peered in at me.  Just checking to see if I had heard the crash, I guessed, because Daniel let out a "whew", then ran back to the kitchen.

I had almost drifted to sleep when I heard the bedroom door open.  It was handy being able to see Daniel clearly, standing in the light from the hallway, but Daniel couldn't see much of me, hidden by the shadows.   He had a fresh shot glass of apple juice clasped in one hand, the other resting on the doorknob.  He looked down at his watch, his face scrunching up as he considered the time.  I glanced at the clock, but there was still another fifteen minutes before the next ounce of juice.  For the next few minutes, Daniel stood, alternately watching me and staring at his watch. 

After a short time, Daniel sat down in the doorway, slouching back against the door frame.  Then he hummed to himself.  Sighed.  Coughed a few times.  Sighed again.  Studied his watch.  Sighed.

Then he got up and came into the room, walking with exaggerated quietness. I closed my eyes as Daniel got within a few feet of the bed, staying motionless as Daniel crept closer and closer.  I waited until Daniel was just inches from my face, then I scrunched up my nose and sniffed, making certain not to laugh as Daniel jumped back a few feet.

I stayed motionless and could feel and hear Daniel move in closer again, checking me out as best he could.  Tentative little hands touched my forehead, checking for himself that my fever was better.

Satisfied that I was okay, and probably asleep, Daniel raced out the door and down the hall.  Jack heard the bathroom door shut, the sound of a toilet being used, then the flush, the scrape of the footstool, the tap on, the tap off, again the scrape of the footstool, then probably Daniel jumped from the stool to the floor.  The door reopened and Daniel raced back to my bedside, again giving me a close check, probably making sure my condition had not deteriorated in his two-minute absence, before retreating to the doorway.

I almost burst out laughing when, bored, Daniel lay down on the carpet and tried to balance the shot glass of apple juice on his stomach.  Successful, he went one step further and tried to make his stomach go up and down, but apparently it was a skill he had yet to master.  The glass tipped over, and an ounce of the precious liquid ran over Daniel's T-shirt.  With a yelp of surprise, Daniel scrambled to his feet and again ran down the hallway. 

I fell asleep to the sound of first Daniel's bedroom door opening and closing--no doubt, changing his T-shirt--and then more kitchen sounds, including the reappearance of the soothing sounds of a blender set to pulverize a hapless apple.

DANIEL JACKSON

"Jack?" Daniel whispered, standing as close to Jack as he dared, considering the black ops stuff and all.  "Time to wake up, okay?"

The apple juice took longer to make than he had thought it would, so it was now half an hour past what he'd planned.  Everything had gone okay, except he'd added too much water and it was too weak, so then he'd had to put another apple in.  Making apple juice was really tricky, and he'd had to drink a lot of it to see if was right or not.  Then he had to go pee again because of all the orange juice and apple juice he'd had.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?" Jack mumbled, opening one eye.  "What?"

"You need to drink this juice."  Now that Jack was awake, Daniel could safely venture closer.  His life was no longer in danger.

Jack stared at him, almost looking like he couldn't remember who Daniel was, and then Jack gave his head a little shake, as though it would help his brain remember better.  Jack reached for the juice glass and gulped it down in one gulp and handed Daniel the glass back.  Jack put his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes.  "Thanks," he whispered.

"You're welcome."  Daniel watched Jack for a minute, then he had to ask, "Are you feeling any better, Jack?"

"Yeah," Jack said, after a moment. "I'm just tired, though.  I think a nice long sleep would be just what the doctor ordered.  What do you think?"

"I think that's a good idea, Jack.  I'll try to be quiet."

"What time is it, sport?"

Daniel consulted his watch. "Ten o'clock.  I'm sorry I'm late with the juice, Jack."

"That's quite all right."  Jack looked over at him.  "How are you feeling?  You're still looking a little pale."

"I'm fine.  You're the one who's sick today."

"That's true.  But I heard you coughing."

"Only a little bit," Daniel said quickly.  "I can still take care of you."

"Of course.  You're doing a great job.  I'm just thinking that you might be a little sleepy.   You've been up for quite a while working.  And now that you've got my stomach settled, maybe you could take a little break, right?"

Daniel didn't want to admit that was right, but it was a little right.  He was tired and it was hard not to yawn.  It had been a busy morning; his legs were kinda tired from going up and down the stepladder.

"I've got an idea," Jack said, softly.  "I know what would help me go to sleep."

"What?" Daniel asked, leaning closer against the bed so he could hear what Jack was saying.

"Why don't we both have a nap at the same time?  That way I can relax, knowing you're nearby if I need you for something."

Daniel wanted to object to the nap thing, but he couldn't think of what he wanted to say.  And it would be a big help to Jack if maybe he laid down for a little while.

"Maybe for a few minutes, Jack.  Just until you get to sleep."  Daniel crawled up on the mattress, and curled up beside Jack on the big bed.  "Because it will help you, right?"

"Right," Jack murmured, already half asleep.

Daniel lay on the bed and listened to Jack breathe in and out.  He'd just wait until he was sure Jack was asleep, and then he'd get up and go clean the kitchen.  That's what he'd do.  Just a few more minutes.  Just a few... just a...

continued...

Chapter Text

Sick" Series #6 - Sunshowers

Thursday, August 20, 1998

DANIEL JACKSON

Daniel woke with a start, blinking rapidly.  He sat up and looked around, and looked at Jack lying sleeping.  Jack needed to shave.  His beard was all whiskery.  He was lying on his back, and his mouth was open and he wasn't snoring.

Daniel leaned sideways and listened.  Jack was breathing, which was always a good sign.  Tentatively, Daniel put his palm on Jack's forehead, and it didn't feel hot, so that was also a good sign.  Jack was getting better.

The clock said it was almost twelve o'clock noon.  That's probably why Daniel woke up, because it was time to get something to eat.  Lunchtime.  And Jack would probably want to eat something when he woke up, and since Daniel was taking care of him, he better get started, so he'd be ready on time, because everything seemed to be taking a little longer to do than it used to.

Daniel slipped out of the bed and headed down the hall to the kitchen.  That nap had sure worked great.  Jack had gone right to sleep, just like a charm.

He looked around the kitchen, trying to figure out what to make for Jack for lunch.  Maybe some crackers would be nice.  Soda crackers were supposed to be great on a delicate stomach.  Jack probably wouldn't want it to get around that he had a delicate stomach, but Daniel had to 'call them as he saw them'.  Yes, sir.

And the peanut crunches would be great on the crackers.  And maybe some noodle soup.  Jack probably had chicken noodle soup in the pantry.  And chicken noodle soup is what you fed to sick people.  Jack had made soup for Daniel in a mug once when Daniel was sick.  Before.  When he was taller and had gotten addicted to the sarcophagus.  That sure seemed like a long time ago, but it had only been a few weeks.  Jack said that it made it easier to have the soup in a mug instead of a bowl.

So, Daniel pulled the stepladder--or steps-ladder, as he liked to call it now--over to where the mugs were, and he climbed up to the counter and carefully opened the doors, but the mug Jack used to have soup in wasn't there, so he climbed back down and checked in the dishwasher.  But it wasn't there either, so Daniel checked the kitchen table, and then dining room table, and then Jack's office, and finally he saw it from the stairs to the living room.  It was sitting on the little table next to the comfy chair by the window that looked out over the backyard.

He went to retrieve the mug and looked outside the window and saw that it was raining outside on the patio.  That was kinda good, because it hadn't rained much for a while and everyone was saying that they sure could use a good rain, and now there it was.  He picked up the mug and went back to the kitchen.

Next, he had to get the soup from the pantry, which was easy, and then he had to open it, which would be a little harder.  That darned electric can-opener wasn't always very cooperative, Daniel had discovered, because when you opened things with it, it didn't always make the lid stick to the magnet thing so you could get at what you opened.  Sometimes, even if you went all the way around, the part you cut off would still be sitting there on top of the stuff in the can, and you might cut your finger if you stick it in to push the top off.  That had happened to Daniel a few times, before, when he was taller, and he never seemed to remember not to do that until after he yelled, "Ouch!" and his finger started bleeding.

He was going to remember this time, because he didn't want it to cut all the way through these much littler fingers of his.

He stopped and looked at his fingers.  They sure were little.  They wiggled just fine, though.  They even made a fist when he clenched them all up, but it was such a little and pathetic fist, it wasn't really worth it.  He sure hoped he didn’t get into a bar room fight, because he’d lose for sure with these fists.  Although he probably would have lost anyway, even if he was taller. 

Daniel went over and looked at the calendar again and wondered when Geb would be coming back to make him taller again. That sure would be nice. Really nice. It would be much easier taking care of Jack if Daniel was taller. He wouldn’t have needed the steps-ladder.  Then again, he might not have even known Jack was sick, because he wouldn't have been living here. Jack would have been sick all by himself, with no one to take his temperature, or make him apple juice, or make him soup. Jack might have needed an ambulance, and there would be no one to call one for him.

Thinking of Jack made him wonder how Jack was, and so he ran down the hallway to the back of the house where Jack's room was, and then he tiptoed all the way over to Jack and looked at him carefully. He was still asleep. And breathing and everything, which was good, so he tiptoed back out of the room and ran back down the hallway to the kitchen, so he'd have Jack's soup ready for him.

This time, the electric can opener did its job just like it was supposed to. Daniel picked up the chicken noodle soup can and looked inside at all the stuff in it, then he read the label on the can to see what he should do next. And then he wished he had read the label before he'd opened the can, because tilting the can made it spill on the counter, so he had quickly tilted it the other way and one of the noodles jumped out and landed on top of his head!  He could sorta see the noodle hanging down over his eyes, and that was kinda funny.

Daniel put the can down and ran back down the hallway to his bathroom, and then climbed on his step stool so he could see in the mirror. Yeah, that was really funny! Daniel had to put his hands over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud! The noodle was just hanging there! It sure was a big, fat, long noodle. That darn noodle had tried to make a break for freedom and had jumped out of the can and tried to escape!

Daniel carefully took the noodle off and laid it on the bathroom counter. When Jack was awake, he would put it back on and show Jack how funny it had been.  It was sorta the kind of thing you had to see to believe. How crazy was that? Daniel thought, shaking his head as he headed back to the kitchen.

Right. Soup. Daniel tilted his head sideways and read the label so that no more noodles would jump out, but it said he didn't need to add water or anything, just heat it up. And there were directions for the microwave, which was a way safer idea than putting the soup in a pot on the stove and turning on elements and stuff that would make Jack nervous… if he'd been awake to be nervous. Daniel had the sneaking suspicion that even if Jack was sound asleep, Jack still might know if he turned on the stove elements.

So, better to be safe and use the microwave. Daniel carefully washed the big soup mug of Jack's and rinsed all the soap off it, because that would ruin the taste of the soup if it was soapy, and then he spooned some of the soup in it, trying not to laugh at the crazy noodles now in the mug. One noodle kind of slithered down the side of the mug really, really slowly... and then joined the rest of the good noodles.

That sure had been funny about the one that had jumped out.

Okay, the soup was ready to be heated up, but he wouldn't have to do that until Jack was awake. The peanut butter crunches were ready, and the soda crackers. He was really ready for Jack.

Now he needed the newspaper, because Jack hadn't read it yet, and Jack liked to read the newspaper when he got up.

Daniel remembered that it had been raining outside when he looked out the living room window, so he opened the closet by the front door and since there were no rubber boots his size, he put on Jack's rubber boots.  They came all the way up to his crotch!  He tried walking around in them, but it was kinda hard.  Best he could do, though, since Jack hadn't thought of buying him rubber boots, in case it rained.

Jack really should have thought of that. 

And a rain hat and jacket. Daniel didn't have a rain hat or rain coat either, so he decided to wear Jack's.  The rain hat was waaaayyy up top in the closet, so Daniel waded to the kitchen in the rubber boots and waded back dragging the stepladder.  He tried to go up the stairs wearing the boots, but he had to give up and take them off, because even if it was a little fun, it was starting to get dangerous--and besides, the newspaper was just getting wetter and wetter outside, probably lying on the grass, because the girl who delivered the paper didn't always throw it properly.  Not because she was a girl or anything, but because she was in a hurry and just threw it towards the house without looking.

Daniel found that if he stood on the very top of the stepladder and held onto the coats in the closet, he could lean forward far enough to grab the yellow rain hat.  The coat he was hanging onto slipped off the hanger and Daniel tumbled down on top of it, but he was okay because all the coats kinda broke his fall.  And lucky for him, one of the coats that fell was the yellow rain jacket, so that was fine.

He put the hat on first, and it covered his entire head!  He couldn't see anything, except the floor around him, but that was all right because the newspaper would be on the ground outside.  He didn't need to look up at all.  The yellow jacket was harder to put on.  It went down to his feet, and his hands were covered in sleeves so he couldn't do up the jacket.  This was even worse than when he had hand-me-downs from the Tucker’s son who was six years older than him.  His foster brother’s shirts would hang down to his knees and Mrs. Tucker would just roll up the sleeves and tell him to tuck in the shirt properly and it would be “fine”.  He had to wear suspenders for the pants and roll up the pant legs.  In Mrs. Tucker defense, the clothes were always clean and mended and he had new socks and underwear.  She just didn’t like buying new clothes, as that would be “wasting good clothes what had a lot of life left in them.” 

On Abydos, Daniel had been given some clothing to wear that had belonged to one of the young men who’d been killed, he found out afterwards.  They’d given the robes to Daniel because the guy who’d been killed in the battle with Ra had been very tall—much taller than most of the Abydos men, so they figured the clothing would be perfect for Daniel.  Sha’re’s father was a few inches shorter than Daniel, and Skaara was smaller yet.

Daniel’s chin quivered for a minute and his eyes got watery thinking about Sha’re and Kasuf and Skaara.  That Geb better show up soon; I have people I have to rescue.

Meanwhile, Daniel thought, bravely get control of his emotions, he had a job to do—take care of Jack.  He waddled over to the door in the big rain boots and the too long rain jacket and the droopy rain hat.  The alarm was already turned off, so he didn't need to punch in the code before opening the door.  He'd forgotten to reset it after it going off earlier.  They could have been murdered in their beds while they were having their nap!  Daniel would have to be more careful about stuff like that.  Jack wouldn't be very happy if he'd woken up to find they'd been murdered in their beds.

Daniel carefully opened the door by fumbling with the doorknob, which he couldn't see at all.  But he got it open and waded out the front door into the pouring rain.  He held tight to the banister going down the stairs.  Fortunately, he could sorta see the stairs if he looked down, although the boots and jacket were making his visibility really small.

He went onto the grass where the newspaper usually was and finally found it.  He didn't pick it up though, because one thing was kinda weird.  The newspaper was dry.  Daniel worked one hand out of the arm of his jacket and stuck it out into the pouring rain, except his hand stayed dry, because apparently it wasn't raining.  Daniel took the hat off and looked around.  The ground was even dry, and the sidewalk and everything.  Totally dry.

But it had been raining in the backyard!

Daniel looked up at the blue sky and spotted the gray cloud and a really interesting rainbow.  Then he waded into the backyard--and it was raining in the backyard!  It was really raining, and not one of those things where it was a sprinkler on or something, because Daniel found the sprinkler and it wasn't on.  And his head was getting wet, because he'd taken the hat off and left it in the front yard, so he waded back into the front yard and got it.  And it wasn't raining in the front yard!

Wow.  He'd heard of this before.  It was called a "sunshower".  When he'd been in university, one of his linguistic lab partners had done a report about it.  If he remembered correctly--and he was sure he did--in South Africa, they called the phenomenon a "monkey's wedding".  In Egypt, it was "the rats are getting married."  In Italy, as well as Japan, they would say, "when it rains with sun, the foxes are getting married," and in Korean, it was tigers getting married.

Daniel waded from the sunny front yard to the backyard.  Yup.  It was still raining there.

In Turkish, it wasn't animals getting married, but devils.  And Poland had witches, but they weren't getting married.  "When the sun is shining and the rain is raining, the witch is making butter."  He didn’t get the significance of that one.  In France and even in America, in the south, there was an old saying that "the devil’s behind his kitchen door beating his wife with a frying pan".

It sure was weird.  He stood in the backyard and looked up.  The rain hit him on the face.  Daniel's head was getting wet from the rain, yet... when he waded... to the front... yard -- it wasn't raining!!  Daniel shook his head in amazement, looking around the front yard.  That was so weird.

He waded... back... to... the... backyard.

Rain!

Back... to... the... front yard.

No rain!

Back... to... the... backyard.

Rain!

Maybe Sam could explain this, Daniel thought, staring up at the rain.  It felt good splashing his face.

"Daniel?"

Daniel's head turned so fast, he got a kink in it.  "Janet?"

Janet was standing at the fence between the front and backyard, on the dry side.  "Daniel, what on earth are you doing?  What do you have on?"

"Janet, it's raining in the backyard."  Daniel grabbed Janet's hand and dragged her into the backyard, where she joined him in laughing about it, and he told her all about the strange sayings around the world, although she made him go back to the dry front yard which was starting to get a little wet, so he picked up the paper and waded inside after her.

She took the rain jacket off while he was telling her about how in some parts of the USA they say that the "devil is kissing his wife". And she lifted him straight up in the air out of Jack's rubber boots while he was telling her that in German the saying is that "the devil is having a parish fair".

"How's Colonel O'Neill doing?" Janet asked, when he stopped for air.

"Fine. He's sleeping. Hey, Janet," Daniel asked, rubbing his neck, "why do they call it a kink in your neck when you turn your head too fast?"

"It's usually just a temporary neck joint spasm." Janet massaged his neck a littl and it hurt at first and then it felt better.

Funny how making something feel better often meant feeling worse first.

"Thanks, Janet," Daniel said, putting the boots on the rubber mat by the door so they could dry. Janet hung the jacket up and put it on a hook above the rubber mat to dry, and she put the hat above it.

"So, Daniel," Janet said, crouching down to look at him, "you're basically on your own here."

Daniel didn't answer right away, because it sounded like a trick question, even though her voice didn't go up at the end meaning it was a question.

"No one's taking care of you," Janet added, looking at his face really carefully.

"Oh, uh," Daniel said, trying to think of just the right thing to say. "Uh, uh, umm," he said, twisting his face up and trying to not look at her. Why was it so hard to think of the right thing to say?  He didn't want to say that Jack was looking after him, because he was the one looking after Jack right now.  And he didn't want to say that he didn't need anyone to look after him, because Janet would jump on that idea right away, because Daniel already knew she didn't have the same idea about things that he did.  "Uh, that's not exactly true, Janet... uh... not exactly true... because... uh... Jack and me... uh... we're okay."

"You're okay?" Janet asked, sounding a little surprised and yet very skeptical, Daniel thought.

"We are," he said, confidently.  "We're taking care of each other in shifts.  We're doing a great job, too.  It's his turn to sleep right now, so you have to keep your voice down and let him sleep."  Daniel went into the kitchen and Janet followed him.  "See, Janet," Daniel said, handing her his notepad.  "I've been taking care of Jack and taking his temperature.  You can see by my notes that his temperature is now back to normal.  I've also made him fresh apple juice and I'm following correct procedures for influenza care, so he won't become dehydrated from throwing up.  I've got lunch all ready for him--it just has to go in the microwave when he wakes up."

Janet studied his notes for a very long time, Daniel thought, with one hand over her mouth, and he wasn't sure, but he thought she might have been trying not to laugh, but that didn't seem right.  She was probably just impressed.

Then she looked around the kitchen and Daniel was glad he had cleaned up the sticky stuff and orange juice and flying apple splotches.  She peaked into the blender and looked at him, her eyebrows raising, and then she picked up the strainer with the peanut crunches in it and then slowly put it back on the plate, her head tilted to one side and her eyes narrowing like she had no idea what it was or something.

Then Janet looked down at him, her arms folded.  "Why were you outside, Daniel?"

Daniel folded his arms and looked back at her, his chin out.  "I was getting the newspaper for Jack."

"Why were you wearing Colonel O'Neill's clothes?"

"Because I looked out the living room window and it was raining, and I knew I shouldn't get wet because I was sick yesterday and even though there is little evidence that colds are caused or worsened by getting wet in the rain, I didn't want to the chance."

"How do you treat influenza?"

"You monitor temperature, make sure the patient gets plenty of rest and fluids, and if symptoms persist, you contact a doctor.  That would be you, Janet."

Janet nodded.  "How long has your patient been asleep?"

"Since ten o'clock.  I was planning on letting him sleep until one o'clock, then getting him up so he can have some soup and more liquid, then encourage him to have a nap the rest of the afternoon."

"And you?"

"My plans are to finish some research quietly in my room.  I can set the alarm on my laptop, so I can remember to check on Jack."

"What about cooking?"

"Only in the microwave, and Jack will take the things out, not me, because I might spill them."

"What about cleaning?"

"Nothing involving more than a dishcloth to wipe up drips.  Jack's been quite clear about that."

"Yes. I heard."  Janet still was looking down at him, her arms folded.  She didn't say anything more, and Daniel thought she might have run out of questions.

Finally, Janet took a deep breath and slowly let it out, apparently making up her mind about something.  "Okay, Daniel.  Here's what's going to happen.  You will continue to monitor your patient.  You will inform me if his temperature goes up.  You will call me around dinnertime tonight and advise me of his current condition.  I want his temperature and his pulse rate.  You got that?"

"Temperature and pulse rate at dinnertime,” Daniel recited, thinking that Janet liked ordering him around as much as Jack did.

"You will not leave the house without speaking to Jack or calling me first," she went on.

"Sounds a little bossy, considering that I'm really an adult, but for today, okay."

"You will not do any cooking."  Janet opened the fridge and looked in.  "There are cold cuts and lots of fruit here.  Anything else you need food-wise?"

Daniel shook his head.  "We're fine here. I can always order in."  Then he remembered, "We're out of Cheerios, though."

"I've got some in the car.  I bought some groceries on the way over, and I remembered you liked Cheerios, so I picked some up for you."

"Cheerios!!!  You have Cheerios??"  Daniel exclaimed, a brilliant smile on his face.  "Now everything is absolutely perfect, Janet!  You sure are a great doctor!"

Janet smiled and rested her hand on the side of his face.  "And it looks like the colonel has a great nurse looking after him.  I'll get you your Cheerios and leave him in your hands."

Ten minutes later, Daniel happily hugged the box of Cheerios and watched Janet's car drive away.  He knew exactly what he was going to have for lunch.  The day was just getting better and better.  First sunshowers and now Cheerios.  And pretty soon Jack would be up and Geb would come back and Daniel would rescue Sha’re and Skaara, and everything would be perfect.

Now he just had to find a really big bowl.  And milk.

And maybe some orange juice, if there was any left in the bathtub.  Oh, man, Daniel thought, I should have been a good host and offered some to Janet.

continued

Chapter Text

Sick" Series #7 -  It's All Up to Geb

Thursday, August 20, 1998

JACK O'NEILL

We sat across the table from each other, quietly enjoying our dinner--the comfort food for a tired stomach:  macaroni and cheese.  They didn't say much, still nursing their wounds, the odd cough piercing the soft background chatter of the evening news playing in the living room.  The patio doors were open, a breeze ruffling the sheers, and the sounds of the end of a summer's day wafted in through the dining room window: lawnmowers humming, children playing street hockey, and a chorus of barking dogs.

"Want some juice?" I asked Daniel, as I got up from the dining room table.

"I think I've had so much juice today that I don't need any more for a week," Daniel answered. His mouth opened wide to catch a cheesy macaroni noodle that fell from his spoon.  "Especially orange juice.  And apple juice," he added, using his left finger to push a few more noodles on the spoon.  "What other kind of juice do we have?"

"Grape."

Daniel chewed thoughtfully, thinking about it as I waited at the doorway to the kitchen.  "Hmm... I guess so.  If you're making some for yourself.  Don't go out of your way or anything."

"Not a problem, sport."  I smiled and retrieved a can of frozen grape juice from the back of the freezer and then watched the container spin on the electric opener.  I’d slept on and off all day but still felt like something a truck had run over.  I didn't get sick often, but when I did, I usually bounced back quickly. 

Daniel was definitely feeling better.  He still had a bit of a cough, but he was happy enough, sitting contentedly in his booster seat at the dining room table, concentrating on keeping the macaroni noodles on his spoon as it made the journey from plate to mouth.

I slid the frozen concentrate into a pitcher and filled the container with the required amount of water, then stirred, staring at the circling liquid.  Daniel was happy.  Despite wanting to be 'taller' again, Daniel seemed to be happy being here, living with him.  He was content.  Sure, he got himself into messes a lot--he was my own personal version of Denis the Menace--but if anything, the problems were because he was trying too hard to be good.  How could I fault him for that?

Daniel was trying to be thoughtful, and considerate, and caring, and adult, and I smiled as I stirred the grape juice, thinking about the ironed shirts and dripping faucets and Mellow Yellow paint.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if... 

I stopped stirring and closed my eyes.  If what?  If Daniel never became taller?  If Geb never returned to resize him, and Daniel remained a child?

Would it be so bad?

Would it?

... Maybe for Daniel. 

"...and then I'm going to make sure Sam remembers about the mapping we were going to do of Nanar.  She's been promising to help me with it.  And Teal'c is going to help me with the staff weapon he got me for my birthday--well, you know what I mean, Jack--not my real birthday but my pretend fifth birthday--and I know that General Hammond didn't seem very..."

I put my feet up on the lounge chair on the deck and closed my eyes.  It was one of those perfect summer evenings I loved and never tired of, the breeze through the trees, the zapping of the mosquitoes in the trap, a bottle of cold beer in my hands.

"... enthusiastic about my learning the staff weapon, but I think it's important I learn, don't you, Jack?  And Teal'c really wants to teach me so I don't want to disappoint him.  Wherever do you think he found one?  I've never seen one before, have you, Jack?  Not that little.  I wonder how young Teal'c was when he started to learn to use one.  Maybe younger than me.  Probably.  Because if I can learn it now, then someone like Teal'c would have used it before.  It's kinda interesting, Jack, how different cultures treat their young in regards to war.  Jack, have you noticed that..."

I wasn't going to drink the beer; my stomach wouldn't be too thrilled with the whole idea.  It just felt great to hold it, and it felt cooling to my warm skin.

"... some cultures don't do that, of course.  Most don't, I don't think.  I dunno.  I read a book about it once -- children and war.  It was kinda sad, Jack, because of the stuff they have to go through.  I don't remember going through a war when I was a kid the first time around.  Or maybe my parents just kept me really really safe and I never noticed it.  We used to play War though, in one of my foster homes.  Did I ever tell you about Stanley, Jack?  We used to play War with some of the guys on the block and one day... "

The lawn needed mowing again.  It sure grew quickly in the summer.  When I'd taken possession of this place, I'd hired a landscaper to redo the lawn in the back yard.  I had never thought much about grass before--it was just there--but the guy sat down and explained the difference between Kentucky bluegrass and perennial ryegrass, all the different fescue grasses whose names I couldn't remember now, and then the buffalo grass and blue grama grass.

"... and my translations are going really well.  I'm sure getting caught up on a lot of things.  I like translating, Jack.  It's like a game sometimes, trying to break the code.  Or like trying to remember why something sounds so familiar or why something written in what appears to be Linear--has the root structure of an Ancient Gaelic language pattern or even... "

The guy had spent a lot of time discussing pros and cons about them all, what kind of care they needed, how long it would take each type to establish itself, and then finally I had just asked him which type he suggested would be best for Colorado Springs and his own backyard, and when he gave me an answer, I told him to go ahead and put that kind in here.  For the life of me, I couldn't remember what kind of grass it was now.

"... and then the noodle jumped right out of the can!  It sure was funny, Jack.  I know you laughed when I tried to show you what happened, but you would have laughed even harder if you'd actually been there for when it happened the first time.  It was like some souped up propellant had pushed it out--wait!  Did you hear what I just said??  That was hysterical, Jack.  I said, ' some souped up propellant!  Get it?  Souped up?  Where do I get this stuff from, hey, Jack?  Sam knows about propellants, so I'll ask her... "

Still, it needed mowing.  And watering.  We sure could use a little rain.  The back lawn actually didn't look too bad, considering how long it had been since the last rainfall.  The truck needed washing, though.  And I still needed to get the front bumper fixed, after Daniel’s ‘incident’.

"... so Sam'll probably help me with the mapping.  She did promise, after all.  I want to record as much as possible about Nanar so I'll remember it later.  When I get taller again, do you think I might forget all this and just go back to my adult memories?"

I turned to Daniel, sprawled on the lounge chair beside me on the deck.  "I hope you remember.  I'll always remember it, Daniel.  I'll always remember how great it was just sitting out here with you on a summer evening and relaxing."

"If I forget, will you tell me all about it?" Daniel asked, after a moment, a tear rolling down his face.

I put my beer down and motioned for Daniel to join me.  With the little trembling body safe under one arm, I whispered a promise to both Doug and Frederick, "I'll tell you all about it."

"And you won't laugh at me," Daniel asked softly, "or make fun of me for being small?"

"Not at all.  Or if we laugh, we laugh together, okay?  Because we've had a lot of fun times that deserve to be remembered and enjoyed, right?"

"Yeah," Daniel murmured, leaning back against me.

"Yeah," I agreed, closing my eyes and listening to the sound of the summer evening, and the quiet breathing of the little boy curled beneath my arm asleep.

It was almost seven in the evening when I heard a car pull up to the front of my house and stop.  A car door shut.  Mindful of the sleeping child beside me, I was just about to get up when I heard a faint click, click, as someone came down the walk.  With a cane.  Catherine, I realized.

I scooped up the sleeping Daniel and went around the house, catching Catherine's eye and motioning for her to follow me to the backyard.  She stopped to gently stroke Daniel's cheek, then I led the way to the deck.

"I was worried about him," she said, softly, as she took her seat on the bench, leaning back against the picnic table.  "I've missed him the last few days."

"He's feeling much better.  We're feeling much better."  I settled back on the wooden rocker, with Daniel tucked beneath my arm again.

"Yes, I heard you were ill."

"Twenty-four-hour variety.  Actually, more like the twelve-hour variety," I laughed.  "I think you're safe."

"I've had my shots," Catherine said, with a fond smile, her gaze resting back on Daniel.   She indulged herself for a long moment, then looked up at me.  "How is he doing?  Really?"

"Good."  I glanced down at Daniel, then back to Catherine.  "He's doing good."

Daniel yawned just then and pushed himself upward.  "Who's doing good?" he mumbled, trying to look at me through squinted eyes.

"Some mythical person we were discussing," I said, with a smile to Catherine as I hoisted Daniel to sit on the rocking bench beside me.

"I can help you there, Jack," Daniel said, waking up, but still half sprawling against me.  "I know lots and lots about myths."

"I know you do, sport."

Daniel yawned again and turned his head slightly, seeing our guest.  He sat up quickly, almost losing his balance as the rocker's motion caught him off guard.  "Catherine! What are you doing here, Catherine?"

"I came to see you, Daniel."

"But where's Ernest?" Daniel asked, looking around the yard.

"Ernest was with Doctor Fraiser today, doing tests, so he wanted to stay home and go to bed early."

"Janet was over here for a while this afternoon," Daniel told her.  "She didn't say anything about Ernest."

"Doc Fraiser was here?" I asked, surprised.  This was news to me. "When?"

"When you were sleeping, Jack," Daniel said, excitedly.  "Don't worry, I handled everything.  I told her to keep her voice down because you were sleeping, and I showed her how I had lunch prepared for you, and I told her my diagnosis and treatment plan for you, and I showed her the chart where I was keeping track of your temperature, and I promised her that before I go to bed, I'll phone her with your current pulse rate and temperature.  And she brought me Cheerios, Jack!  Didn't I tell you that?  That was so great of her.  Hey, when are we going to have dessert, Jack?  I'm getting hungry again," Daniel said, wiggling his way down off the rocking bench to the deck.  "Hey, Catherine--wait until you see this!  Stay right there!"  Daniel ran into the house.

"So you were in good hands," Catherine said with a smile.

"I had no idea Frasier had been here,” I murmured, in shock.  “That's not good.  Daniel could have let anyone in the house, and I slept right through it."

"But he didn't let just anyone in.  He can see who's at the door."

"True," I admitted.  "It's just that--”

Daniel exploded back onto the deck.  "See?  I'm back, Catherine.   You just have to see this, because seeing is believing, right?  You'll just never believe it otherwise.  Just a sec."  Daniel whirled around and stuck a thermometer in my mouth, startling me, then turned back to Catherine.  "See, I was opening a can of noodle soup," he mimed using the can opener, "and then it wouldn't let go properly so I tugged on it and stuff, and, and, anyway, this noodle jumped out of the can," --a rather pathetic, dried-up noodle was waved through the air-- "and landed on my head, Catherine.  It was the funniest thing.  It just jumped out of the can and landed on my head just like this."  Said noodle was placed on his forehead, hanging over one eye.

It wouldn't stick anymore, so Daniel had to hold it in place, causing it to crack in two, one half dropping to the floor.  He bent quickly to pick it up, and then he held the two pieces against his face.  "Isn't that the funniest thing, Catherine?"

"It most certainly is, Daniel."

"Yeah," Daniel agreed.  "If you'll excuse me, I have to take Jack's pulse."  Daniel found the place on my wrist he was looking for, then at his watch, silently counting off the beats.  The thermometer beeped; Daniel grabbed it from my mouth, painstakingly wrote both pieces of information down on his chart pad, and raced back inside, returning for a moment to explain, "Sorry, I need to call Janet with this information on my patient."

Catherine watched him disappear.  "Jack, I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

"Welcome to my world."

"How are you doing with this?"

"Honestly?"   I shrugged.  "I don't know.  I'm having fun--and I feel guilty for enjoying this.  If he never gets changed back, well, that's okay.  I'd definitely be okay with that, even though he's a handful.  He's so happy a lot of the time, over the littlest things, too.  Like that noodle."

"He's getting younger."

Her quiet pronouncement made me shiver.  "It seems that way, but I think he's just spending more time being five lately, because we've been here.  When he's at the mountain, he's more focused on his adult memories."

"Do you miss him?"

I glanced up at Catherine.  After a moment, I nodded.  "Yeah.  I miss the adult.  A lot."  I held up the now-warm, still unopened bottle of beer.  "I miss just hanging out with him.  I miss our missions.  I miss... Daniel."  I looked up at the sky.  "For a whole year, when he was on Abydos, I wondered how he was.  If he was doing okay.  If they were treating him okay.  And then I found him again, and we broke his heart when his wife was abducted.  And that's the most important reason we need Thirty-Two back.  Because Sha’re needs him."

"Do you think she's still alive?"

I shrugged.  "No idea.  And I've no idea if we could save her if we could find her.  Daniel seems to think that this ka'kun is the answer.  I don't know."

"So what are you going to do?" Catherine asked, after a thoughtful silence.

"Wait for Geb," I said, getting up and heading inside.  Daniel had been quiet far too long, which rarely was a good sign, unless he was sleeping.

I found him in the kitchen, hanging up the phone.  "What's up?"

"She says if we're feeling better in the morning, we can go to work.  She also wants us to stop by the infirmary when we get there.  Do you think we have to do that, Jack?  I don't think we have to if we're feeling okay.  And she just said that she wants us to stop by.  She didn't say we had to stop by."

I stared at Daniel until the little guy squirmed. 

"Okay.  We'll go see her," Daniel sighed, then brightened up.  "Hey, Jack, is Catherine staying for dessert?  What are we going to have for dessert?  Or has she had dinner yet?  Jack, we could barbecue something for her, couldn't we?  That would be easy, right?  Just throw it on the grill?  Maybe hot dogs.  We had hot dogs at the bowling alley and Catherine ate one, too, so I know she likes them.  I like hot dogs, Jack.  I never used to, but I like them now.  They're easy to hold on to but you just have to make sure you don't turn them upside down or all the stuff will fall out.  And you have to be careful not to put too much mustard on, or it gets all over your face.  Do we still have those turkey hot dogs?  Hey, why do we call them hot dogs anyway?  Do you know?  I should look it up on the Internet.  I mean, wieners don't look like dogs or anything, right?  And when we say 'turkey hot dogs', is it a turkey or a dog? They're hot-turkeys, right?  I'm going to ask Catherine if she wants a hot-turkey for dinner or just have dessert with us."

I watched him race out the door.  I ducked into my office and grabbed my still-in-the-box digital camera.  Carter had given the gadget to me for Christmas and I’d never used it.  I tossed the instructions aside.  Aim and shoot, she'd said.  It apparently was idiot proof. 

If I could only have the five-year-old Daniel for a few more days or weeks, I was damn well going to take lots and lots of pictures.

I found the turkey smokies and got the hot dog buns out.  Dinner had been two hours before so maybe some hot dogs were in order.  If it wasn't for Daniel's desperate need to become Thirty-Two again, so he could one day reunite with his wife... I had listened to the adult Daniel cry at night because he missed his wife so deeply it almost shattered him.  I knew this smaller version of Daniel needed to be 'taller' again.  I understood.  Totally.

If I could have my way, though, I wanted them both. 

The child.  The adult. 

Five.  Thirty-two. 

Daniel.  Doug, Frederick, and Stanley. 

Big Daniel and Little Daniel.  How could I possibly choose one over the other?

I grabbed a basket and tossed in the mustard, ketchup, relish, still musing it all over. Fortunately, it wasn't my decision to make.  It was all up to Geb.  Everything hinged on Geb.  Everything.   

And so we waited.

I smiled grimly as I reminded myself yet again that either way, whether Geb showed up or not, whether the ka’kun worked its magic or not, whether the end result was an adult or a child… whatever happened, what was important was that I still had Daniel.

The End of "Jack's Son 3: Waiting for Geb"

I hope you enjoyed "Waiting for Geb".  Drop me a note. 

The next novel is "Jack's Son 4: The Return of Geb".