"I know, Sport, I know.  Let's get you back in the tub, okay?"

"No, I just want to lie down."

"How about if I run the water kind of shallow so you can lie in the tub while I get your bed made again."

"No," he moans, "don't leave me."  His fingers scrabble uselessly at my bare chest.  He's temporarily lost every bit of fine motor control he possesses.

"I'm not leaving you."  I pull him against me so he at least has the security of being held close.  "But we’ve got to get you cleaned up again, Sport." 

I haven't let the water out of the tub from the last time, and it's cooled already, so I wrap my shivering, trembling bundle in a towel and sit down with him on the edge of the tub surround as it drains.

Before I have enough water in the tub to get his rinsed again, he twists out of my arms and throws himself at the toilet. 

The dry heaves sink vicious claws into him as I sink to my knees behind him and slide an arm around his chest. I can feel the waves of spasming contractions rolling through the small body in the circle of my arm.  He's panting heavily, head hanging so low if I wasn't holding him up, he'd be in the toilet.

And this time it's half an hour before the constrictions ease off.  Fine tremors continue to wrack the diminutive frame, but the vomiting seems to have let up.

I let him sink down in the nest of the towels on the floor and lean to the sink for the washcloth.  My knee grinds warningly, cartilage against cartilage, making an ugly popping sound as I shift back.

"I so don't have time for this shit," I order the damn thing. 

I bend over my Littlest Ancient, wash him off with a barely soapy washcloth, rinse quickly with a non-soapy washcloth and tuck him up in a clean blanket.

Surely, surely it's over this time, I think, as I gather him up off the floor, ignoring my stupid, screaming knee.

I'm still calling Janet.  She'll probably even be up by now.

I take him with me to get the phone and go back to my room where we can both lie down on the bed comfortably.  Once he's situated on his side under the covers, still wrapped in his own blanket, I lay his hand beside his face where his ring finger's convenient for chewing, or sucking, as necessary.  He's so spent the hand only twitches toward his mouth before his eyes slide closed. 

Frasier's already on speed dial on my phone.  I punch the button and wait.

She picks up on the first ring and the first words out of her mouth are, "What's wrong with Daniel?"

I keep forgetting everybody has caller ID these days.  "He's sick."

"Uhm," Janet says, and I can 'hear' her scowling, even through the phone line.  "Think you could be a little bit more specific, Colonel?"

"Throwing up.  As in for the last . . ." I glance at the clock.  "Jesus, nearly an hour."

"Jesus has nothing to do with this," she responds tartly.  "Is he running a fever?"

"100.2."

"That's not so bad in a little kid.  I assume it must have stopped since you said he's been vomiting?"

"For the moment anyway."

"Okay, if this has been going on for an hour . . ."

"On and off," I interrupt.

"If this has been going on for an hour, even on and off, he's probably pretty dehydrated already.  See if he'll take some juice.  Don't give him water; it doesn't tend to stay down well after a round of vomiting like this."

"I can do that.  Should I wake him up to make him drink?"

"Yes.  If he gets too dehydrated, it will set off a vicious cycle.  The dehydration will make him nauseous, the nausea will make him vomit, and the vomiting will only make him more dehydrated."

"Great."

"Uh huh," she agrees.  "It's good he's not running a high fever, at least.  It sounds like a viral thing, rather than an infection.  Got any anti-emetic suppositories?"

"Yeah, right," I roll my eyes at the receiver and Janet damn well knows it, too.  I hear her laugh lightly.  "I keep 'em lying around the house."

"They work well for small children when something viral like this won't let up.  I'll call in a prescription in case he's starts vomiting again.  And do try to get him to drink, Jack.  His throat's probably sore, so you might want to try fruit juice instead of anything carbonated, though you may have trouble getting him to drink anything. I'll have the drugstore pull some Pedialite for you, too.  If you mix it with fruit juice it tastes pretty good and works well."

"I'll call Carter and have her pick it up on her way to work."

"You don't have a drugstore in your area that delivers?"

"Not that I've run across."

"Okay, if I remember right there's an Eckerd near your house?"

"Yeah, that's probably the closest one."

"Good, I'll call Sam for you.  How is Daniel now?"

"He's asleep, I think, in my bed."

"Well, then, it sounds like he'll be fine.  I'll let the General know you won't be in today.  I assume you're not still planning to go off-world today?"

"Ahh, hadn't given it much thought this morning, but no.  I'm not leaving him in this condition, even if it is over."

"Didn't think you would," Janet says, and I hear a note of satisfaction in her voice.  "I'll try to stop by later today."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that."

"Sure, see you later, Colonel."

I click off the phone, toss it on the bed and check to see that Daniel is really sleeping before going to grab a quick shower and a change of clothes.

I'm tucking a clean shirt into my jeans when I hear aggravated grunts, then a thud, behind me. 

Before I can get to him, Daniel's on the floor, struggling against the confinement of the blanket, trying desperately to get to his hands and knees as he starts vomiting again.

Oh, for cryin’ out loud!  He's only got stomach lining left to offer up to the porcelain shrine.  He's too little to take this kind of abuse! 

I snatch him up from the floor and rush him back to the bathroom. 

We cycle through the whole shebang again and I can feel his temperature climbing now.  When this round is over, I rinse him in the tub and take him back to bed.  We're down to his last pair of clean pajamas and somehow, I don't think these are going to stay clean.

I tuck him back in, cup his cheek to get his attention, and tell him I'm going to the kitchen to get some juice. 

He blinks, but says nothing, just curls up under the covers and closes his eyes again.

He doesn't want to drink and I can see that he thinks it will only make him sick again.  He's probably right and I don't have the heart to make him.

I leave the juice on the nightstand and try Carter's trick.  I lie down beside him and snug him back against me, feeling the stiffness slowly leach out of his body as he relaxes with a deep sigh. 

Except we have two more rounds of vomiting before Carter arrives with the medication.  We're back on the bed and Daniel is pretty much out of it when I hear her keys in the door. 

The whole team has keys to my house and we all have keys to Carter and Daniel's houses as well.

I meet her in the hall, take the bag she silently hands over, and sigh when she briefly touches my hand. 

"I'm going to get Teal'c and come back, we can do this in shifts, sir.  Want me to start a load of laundry before I go?'

She's delicate, doesn't even mention the horrible smell that pervades the house. 

"Thanks, Carter.  You know where everything is?"

"Don't worry, I'll figure it out.  It's not like its rocket science, sir."  She smiles briefly, starts back down the hall, stops and looks over her shoulder.  "I hate this, you know.  It's worse than when he was big."

Oh, yeah, much worse.  At least when he was big he could tell us what hurt, even if we did have to drag it out of him. 

I nod, smile grimly, and turn back to the bedroom.

"Danny?"  I kneel beside the bed.  "Hey, Sport, Janet sent over some medication she thinks will help stop the vomiting." 

He's not going to like this.

He forces his eyes open.  "’k," he croaks, trying to push up on a non-cooperative elbow.

I keep my hand on his head, threading my fingers through his sweaty hair.  "No, I need you to lie down, Sport.  On your tummy, okay?"

He obeys without question.  There's not a murmur of complaint, he doesn't even flinch as I accomplish the intimate task of inserting the suppository. 

I'm sweating bullets as I adjust his pajamas.

This kind of blind trust is so much harder to accept than his constant questioning - why this, how come that, where does it say that?

The unspoken 'I trust you to make it better, Jack' is heartrending, especially when I don't know that it will make it better.

You're killing me here, Daniel. 

And then I have to think; good grief, was this reality in his timeline from the very beginning?  Is this the reality where our adult Daniel latched onto that blind trust he still occasionally blindsides us with?  Have to put that thought away for further study; maybe run it by Carter.  Can there be two distinctly different realities that converge in one place?  Or did this happen because Daniel ascended?

He stirs a little and I move my hand between his shoulder blades and pat soothingly.  "Just lie still for bit, Daniel.  Give the medicine time to work, okay."

Obediently he stills, though he turns his head toward me and makes an effort to get his finger in his mouth.  He doesn't have the strength to accomplish even that small task. 

I wrap my hand around his tiny fist and move it to his mouth, uncurl his fingers and offer him the ring finger on his left hand.

He gives it a halfhearted chew and closes his eyes on another sigh. 

I hear the washer start down the hall and think we've probably given it enough time. 

I slide an arm under Daniel to turn him over, my mind elsewhere.

His startled cry of pain jerks me instantly back to the here and now.  It barely registers that I hear footsteps pounding back up the hall as I try to gather him to me.

He bucks, jerks away with another smothered cry of pain, and buries his face in the blanket, curling up around the hurt, then snapping his legs out straight again with a heart-wrenching cry of anguish. 

"It hurts . . ." he pants, "it hurts, Jack!" 

I grab his hands when he scrabbles for something to hold onto.

"What hurts?  The suppository?  Daniel!  What hurts?" 

Jesus God Almighty!  Carter's kneeling beside me, trying to hold his head as he thrashes wildly. 

He yanks his hands free and presses them into his stomach, except that elicits a yowl of pain that sinks into my gut like an icy sword. 

"We're taking him to the hospital.  Now!  Call Janet and tell her to meet us there.  I'm thinking I've seen these symptoms before, Carter; when his appendix burst last time."

If the look in Carter's eyes is a reflection of mine, I look horrified.

"Holy Hannah," she breathes.

I'm never useless in an emergency.  I'm always calm, cool and collected.  But my hands are shaking like I've just popped a fistful of amphetamines and I cannot get my act together. 

I'm still kneeling here by the bed as Carter pulls the blanket free and wraps it around Daniel.  She puts a hand on his forehead, then strokes back his hair before she tilts his chin toward her. 

"Daniel, look at me for a minute.  Just look at me, sweetie.  You don't have to do anything, or say anything, just look at me, please."

I'm so glad she's here.

He tries, but his shoulders hunch against the pain.  Carter leans over him and rests her cheek against his so she's speaking directly into his ear, calming him with her voice as much her touch. 

"We're going to take you to the hospital now.  Janet will be there shortly, too, and we're going to get this fixed for you.  I know it hurts now, sweetie, I know it does."  She continues to stroke his hair.  "But, I promise, it will be better soon.  Can you hold on for us for just a little bit longer?  Jack's going to pick you up, okay?  It will probably hurt a lot for a minute or two and then ease off a little bit.  But we're going to get it fixed.  You'll be fine.  You're going to be fine, sweetie."

"It hurts, Sam," there's so little left of his voice, it's hardly more than his lips moving.

"I know, baby," her voice hitches as she gives his shoulders a gentle squeeze.  "I know.  But we're going to get it fixed.  I'm going to move back, okay?  So Jack can pick you up and then we're going to take you to the car and I'm going to drive so Jack can hold you."

"You're going to make it stop hurting?"

"Soon.  I promise.  Soon."   

Note to self.  Buy that woman the most expensive bottle of champagne you can put your hands on and a dozen roses.  She is a jewel among women.

Sam backs off, swiping at tears.  "I'll go start the car, sir."

"We're right behind you, Carter."  I slide my arms under the blanket wrapped bundle, totally oblivious of the creaking knees. 

Daniel moans pitifully, though the writhing has stilled. 

I'm absolutely positive that's not a good sign.

*     *    *

For some stupid reason they have to run fifty thousand tests. 

And they won't give him anything for the pain just in case they do have to take him into surgery.

Stupid, mother-fucking assholes!  Of course they're going to have to take him into surgery!

And they won't let me stay with him. 

Carter's already been kicked out.  They're only tolerating my presence because Daniel won't let go.

"Don't," I order, when a med tech starts to pry Daniel's fingers loose from mine.  "I'll do it myself." 

I'm learning a lot from Carter. I bend over Daniel, put my cheek against his and whisper in his ear.  "It's going to be okay, Sport.  Janet will be here any minute and they can't kick her out.  I'll make sure she knows she has to hold your hand until they take you into surgery, okay?" 

There's betrayal in his eyes when he opens them briefly to look at me. 

I close my own, knowing they're leaking, and squeeze his hand gently before prizing his fingers from my own.

"Colonel," Janet touches my arm.  "They really need you to leave, sir."

"Thank God you're here."  I reach for Janet's hand.  "I know, but Daniel's scared, Doc, and he's still in a lot of pain.  He needs you to hold his hand since they won't let me."

She moves immediately into my place, takes the hand I'm still holding, and wraps her fingers around it. 

"I'm right here, Daniel.  And in just a few minutes we're going to give you something that will make you go to sleep."  She's still talking to him as I back out the door.

For a moment those eyes flick desperately to me, then close with weary resignation.

I push backwards through the door, grab my head, and try to hang on through the tidal wave of emotions that look engendered. 

So much bad shit has happened to Daniel.  One image after another crowds my brain until my head is swimming with them. 

"Can't you just give him a break?"  Even I don't know who I'm shouting at - God, the universe, myself?

"Colonel." Carter's on one side, Teal'c on the other.  "You must be exhausted, sir.  Come and sit down.  I'll get you some coffee."

"I don't want coffee and I don't want to sit down," I snap, shaking them both off.  "I want Daniel to be all right!"

"We all do, sir.  Please, come and sit down."

"Majorcarter is correct, O'Neill.  Unseemly displays of emotion will only result in our being asked to leave this place.  And as long as Danieljackson remains on these premises, so should we."

The only other time I've felt this helpless was sitting here in this very hospital, knowing my son was dead; praying desperately for a miracle I knew damn well wasn't going to happen.

Surely we recognized it in time.  Surely there will be no need for miracles today.  Modern medical science will surely be enough to compensate for my stupidity. 

Why didn't I recognize the symptoms earlier?  Daniel hasn't been himself for the last two days.  How could I have been so inordinately stupid?

"You could have done nothing differently, O'Neill," Teal'c falls instep with me.

I can't sit down; I'm too wired to sit down.

"No parent could have identified this sooner then you did." 

"I should have.  We've been through this before."

"Dealing with a child is very different than dealing with an adult, O'Neill, even a child as intelligent as Danieljackson.  He will be fine."

Somehow my optimism got checked at the door.  I latch on to Teal'c's with the fervor of a Pit bull.

We will get through this, just like we have everything else.

I hope.

Desperately. 

And am reminded again of the Gateroom drama almost two years ago.

"Oma," I mutter under my breath, "you better leave him alone."

I could swear I hear the gentle trill of a woman's low laugh.

We've been shunted to the OR waiting room on the fourth floor, where I alternately pace or stare out the window.

"Sit down, Jack, you're wearing yourself out pacing like that, son," the General passes me on his own proscribed circuit. "Daniel's going to need you later."

"Yes, sir.  As soon as you sit down, sir."

Hammond barks a self-deprecating laugh, and sits, damn the man.

I sit, too. 

Carter's curled up in one of the more comfortable corner chairs.  I know she's not asleep and I'm not sure why she's trying to pretend she is. 

Teal'c's in the other corner, kel'no'reeming and the General and I, until a moment ago, have been sharing the floor space between the seats.

"It's been two hours." I check my watch again, for the fiftieth time in the last hour.  "Frasier said it shouldn't take more than a couple of hours."

"She said it shouldn't take more than a couple of hours unless there were complications."  Carter's pronouncement is muffled from inside her self-imposed cocoon, but I get the gist of it, and then she adds, uncoiling so we get the full effect of this announcement, "Like his appendix was already burst."

"But . . ." I start out of my chair, waving a hand wildly.  "It . . ."

"The fact that his temperature was going up steadily as we drove him over here makes me think it's likely, sir."

I know what that means.  We've been through this once already.

"Carter?"

"I'm just saying, sir.  I think Janet knew when they took him in.  She saw the CAT scan.  Complications don't necessarily mean . . ." she trails off.

Teal'c looks over at her.  "All will be well, Majorcarter.  Danieljackson is as strong and healthy now as he was when this happened to him before.  He will overcome this as well."

The hands of the clock on the wall slowly, slowly drag themselves around the face. 

Another hour passes and I know absolutely something's wrong.

The General gets up from where he's been slumped in a chair for the last hour, announcing firmly, "I'm going to track down some information."

Behind him, Frasier pats him on the back and he swings around stunned.

She's in surgical gear, with those little footie things on, and she came up so silently none of us heard her.

We're all on our feet instantly, breathing sighs of relief just at the look on her face. 

"He'll be fine.  Unfortunately Dr. Mallek couldn't do a laparoscopy.  Daniel's appendix had already burst and there was a lot of cleaning up to do.  He'll be on heavy-duty drugs for several days at least and in the hospital for a week or so.  If you'd like Colonel, we can move him back to the base in a couple of days.  Although the Peds ward here is very good about letting parents stay as much as they want."

"SG-1, consider yourselves off the rotation and on stand-down until Dr. Jackson is well again."

"Sir," Janet warns, "that could be several weeks."

"I'm well aware of that, Doctor.  I clearly recall how ill Dr. Jackson was last time."

"Well, his age will be a big factor in his healing this time.  Young ones bounce back much better than adults with something like this."

"That's good to hear.  Just the same, Colonel, Major, Teal'c, you are all on stand-down for the foreseeable future."

"Thank you, sir," Carter and I chorus together.

"My thanks as well, General Hammond," Teal'c intones, bowing his head.

"When can we see him?"

"He's being moved to recovery now.  If you can hold your domesticated equines for just a little longer, I'll speak with the recovery nurses.  Once they have him settled, they'll probably let you in one at a time.  You can come up to the recovery floor now if you like.  There's a waiting room up there as well."

"I'm going to head back to the base.  I'll stop by later this evening when Daniel's awake."

"He'd like that, General.  Thanks for waiting with us, sir."

"No where else I'd want to be, Jack.  Keep me in the loop."

"Yes, sir."

And so we begin another waiting game, in a different waiting room. 

Janet makes arrangements for us to see him, even culls a favor by letting us all go in at once. 

It's crowded. 

The room is full of familiar equipment.  It's not like we haven't seen Daniel hooked up to all this shit before.

We have . . .  just not little Daniel. 

So, it's kind of intense for the first couple of minutes. 

Carter's crying.  Teal'c puts an arm around her and she buries her face in his shoulder. 

Teal'c's gotten a lot better at this comfort thing; he doesn't even look self-conscious as he holds her with one arm and rubs her back.

We've been told we can touch him, but we can't sit on the bed, and we should avoid any part of him that's hooked up to something.

Which means we can hold his little toe. 

There are leads and lines and wires snaking every which way from under the blanket pulled up over his chest.  I swear there's a lead snaking out from under the blanket approximately where his left ankle is. 

What could they possibly be monitoring on an ankle?

I lean over the railing and brush his hair back off his forehead.  "Hey, Sport.  I love you and I miss you.  Hurry up and wake up so we can talk to you, okay?"  I kiss his forehead and hurriedly depart the room. 

This is almost worse than not being able to see him.  He looks so tiny in that huge bed, dwarfed by the equipment monitoring his vital signs.  

The sooner he's back on base, the better.  At least there I'm intimately acquainted with every piece of machinery Daniel's ever been hooked up to.  They're old friends.  We've spent a lot of time together, those machines and I, watching over Daniel. 

Frasier stays until he's awake and she can assess his condition before she lets them move him to the pediatric ward. 

The surgeon comes by, and what do you know, she's a diminutive blonde, shorter even than the Doc, but with a presence that's so overwhelming you don't realize she's short until after she's blown by you on the way to her next life-saving operation.

The Doc snorts the minute Mallek is far enough away not to hear it. 

"I thought you had to be at least five feet tall to get into the Air Force," I complain, totally reading Frasier's snort.

"What that female individual lacks in stature," Teal'c comments, looking after her, "she compensates for with power."

"Oh, yeah, but she's one of the best.  Daniel will love her.  She's got a great bedside manner with kids.  I don't like her much," Janet admits readily, "but I'm glad she was on this morning.  Daniel will do very well under her care, I'm sure."

Our Doc has her own brand of presence.  We hardly ever remember she's short either, but it's not because she's so arrogant she thinks her shit smells like perfume.

Doc Frasier's got stature over at the SGC because she walks on water around our place.  If she doesn't know the answer, she’s not the least bit shy about admitting it, but you can be certain by the time whatever crisis we've just handed her is over, she’ll have gotten the answers and she'll have that knowledge archived for the next time it's needed. 

Yes, siree, Janet Frasier is one smart cookie. 

She'd tell you she's not, but I'd put her right up there in the brains department with Carter and Daniel.

Once they have Daniel settled in a peds room, we're allowed to visit him for a few minutes all together again. 

"I think it's probably best for Daniel if one of you at a time stays with him for now," Doc says after about twenty minutes of team time.  "He's going to sleep a lot for the next couple of days, so you should all," she emphasizes, "take it in shifts.  He'll need a familiar face whenever he wakes up."

"You said we could move him back to the base in a couple of days," I begin.

Janet holds up a hand.  "I did, Colonel.  But let's give it a day or two.  Daniel might prefer to stay here.  There will be many advantages to staying here we can't offer him on base.  In a few days they're going to let him out of bed.  There will be other children here he can play with, lots of toys and books to entertain him, resources we don't have at the base, sir.  Let's just give it some time and see if it's best to move him back.  In the long run, sir, it may be.  Promise me you'll make a decision based on what's best for Daniel, Colonel."

"Of course I will," I look at her cross-eyed.  Where the hell is this coming from?

"Jack, listen to me.  I need you to make a decision based on what's best for Daniel, not what you think is best for Daniel."

"What have I done that makes you think I wouldn't do what's best for Daniel?"

"Listen to Teal'c and Sam.  They have insights about this Daniel you occasionally miss.  Okay?  I'm just saying . . ." she trails off.

I'm tired and already disgusted with myself for missing the early signs that should have warned me what was coming, so I can't help but think this has to be based on something specific they won't put on the table.  Which, of course, just pisses me off more.

"O'Neill," Teal'c rumbles, "I believe Doctorfrasier is trying to convey that here Danieljackson will not feel so alone in his illness.  Here he can see many other children are ill as well, which will revive some of the confidence this illness may have robbed him of."

"Exactly, sir.  Well put, Teal'c.  At the base, sir, surrounded by adults, no matter how much we pet and pamper him, he will still feel like the odd man out.  Here he will be just one of the gang, so to speak."

"Fine, we can give it a day or two.  If he'd rather stay here, he can stay here."  I don't think that's going to be the case, but I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut this time.  And their argument has definite merit. 

We'll see.

As it turns out, Daniel does stay in the hospital. 

The complications from the burst appendix are mild, for which I give fervent thanks to a God I struggle to believe in.  Several days of IV antibiotics keep the infection from spreading and in just a couple of days, he's up and pushing his IV pole up and down the hall. 

We join in some verboten wheelchair races out on the terrace, but have to give up on those when we nearly rip out Daniel's IV. 

Fortunately, for me in particular, Carter gets it fixed up before the nurses tear me a new one for being involved.

As Janet predicted, Mallek has become a favorite of Daniel's.  She certainly is good with the kids, even if she's an egotistical maniac with other docs and most parents.

For some reason she takes to me.  She's married, so it can't be that she's coming on to me. 

After the first couple of mornings, I try to make sure I'm in the shower when she does rounds. 

However, when she waltzes into the very small bathroom and whips open the shower curtain the fourth morning, because she 'needs', ostensibly, to talk to me and, 'honey, you ain't got nothing I ain't seen' drips off her painted lips, I stop avoiding her. 

It's not worth the embarrassment.

She lost a few brownie points with Daniel over that little shenanigan. 

He's told me repeatedly he tried to tell her I was in the shower.

We've come to terms, she and I; she takes care of my kid and I let her.

The worst thing about this whole thing, the burst appendix, the whole hospital stay, all the indignities Daniel's had to suffer at the hands of the nurses? 

Missing the last few games of baseball.

He was devastated when he realized he'd already missed two games by the time he was really with it again. 

And determined to be up out of his hospital bed and ready to play in time for the last two games, tonight and Thursday night.

He refused to believe it just wasn't possible until Doctor Mallek told him in no uncertain terms this morning he was done with baseball for the season. 

He's been inconsolable since. 

I think Mallek might have released him today, but she thinks I'm stupid enough to give in to his pleading and take him to at least watch the game tonight.

I've had seven years of saying no to Doctor Jackson; seven years of telling him it's time to pack it up and move out; seven years of 'please, Jack, just a few more minutes'; seven years of rescuing Daniel from every goddamn fix he gets himself into. 

I can say no to Daniel Jackson.

When it's necessary.

"Want to watch a video?"  I ask him now.

He's under the covers, chewing on that finger.  I'm not going to go so far as to say he's pouting, I think he's more hurt and disappointed, than angry.

He's six for cryin’ out loud, he's entitled to feel hurt and disappointed at missing out on the last few games of the season.

I put the tape in, corral the remote and sit down on the bed next to my little lump. Carter took Daniel's video camera over to Paige so she could tape the last two games. 

"You might want to take a look at this."

"Hi Daniel," a familiar voice pipes as CoriAnne's face fills the screen.  A close-up of her stuck out tongue is followed by the commentary, "It sure sucks that you're stuck in bed!  We miss you!" 

This is followed by several similar comments from fellow teammates and a few of the hangers-on.  One of whom pulls up her shirt and shoves down her shorts with the comment, "I had my 'pendix out too!  See my scar?" 

The camera zooms in on her scar, a tiny little row of what looks like pinpricks.  Someone was being careful of her bikini line.

By the time the game starts Daniel's crawled out from under the covers and into my lap where he watches, though the demeanor is still subdued, even when he eventually he begins to critique the plays and the game. 

When it's over he tilts his head back to look up at me.  "I wanted to play really, really bad."

"I know you did, Sport.  I'm disappointed, too.  But there's always next year."

"Not if I get big again," he says sadly, snuggling into the curve of my arm. 

"Hey, I've got an idea."  I grab a blanket off the back of the armchair, wrap it around Daniel, and scoop him up. 

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

It's a beautiful day, in the low seventies, with bright sunshine and a smooth-as-silk breeze, which is why I wrapped him in the blanket. 

Daniel lifts his face to the sun as we step out onto the terrace. 

"Oh," he says, "this is nice.  Are we going to the swing?"

"Yep."

"Goody." 

We like the swing. 

I settle us in the right corner, Daniel spooned on my lap so my left arm supports his head, his feet hanging over the arm of the chair and his ear against my heart.  He has his finger in his mouth, sucking.

The swing is free standing, solidly built of aged timber, with a slatted bench seat attached by heavy-duty chains bolted into the top of the frame.  The kind you see in upscale backyards where the landscaping’s been allowed to run wild, but is considered artistic and costs a fortune to maintain.

We've discovered the swing is good for snuggling and swinging, an unbeatable combination.  I shove off with a toe, pull my foot up so we swing gently and close my eyes against the bright sun.

I’m pretty sure Daniel Jackson was born a snuggler.  He certainly hasn't reacted to snuggling like it's a new or unpleasant thing.  In fact, he's reacted like it's always been a natural part of his life.  So, if he wasn't born a snuggler, his parents must have given him a lot of physical affection. 

Our adult Daniel Jackson only snuggles when he's sound asleep and gravitating toward the nearest warm body.  Otherwise he's pretty clear about his personal space.  He's been better since he descended, which is good thing, since even Teal'c occasionally needs to touch him just to make sure he's real, not a figment of our collective imaginations. 

Carter and I?  We need to touch him often.  

"Hey, Sport?"  I open my eyes.

They've told us he’ll tire easily for quite some time and he's been up from an after-lunch nap for a couple of hours, doing his rounds of the ward.

So I'm not surprised he's sucking on that finger. 

He tilts his head and looks up at me trying to suppress a smile while he works at doing the Teal'c thing.  He hasn't quite got the eyebrow lift down yet.

I smile and tickle him, very lightly, just so he knows I got the message.  "I want to talk to you about a couple of things."

"Impor'an shings, huh?" he says, around the finger.

"Well . . . they're important to me anyway."  I'm not sure how to start this, or even if I should bring it up. 

He was so out of it the morning we brought him in he may not remember any of it. 

"Usually, if something's bothering you, you tell me, right?"

He nods. 

"Okay.  So we haven't had our bedtime ritual in a long time now and that's usually when things come up, so I was wondering if there's anything you want to talk about?"

He looks at me curiously.  "Is there something you want to talk about, Jack?"

I drag in air, let it out slowly, and take the plunge.  "Yeah, actually there is.  Two things."

"Oookkaay," he responds, grinning mischievously. 

This mimicking stage is something new and I devoutly hope will pass quickly.

"When I had to leave you in the Emergency Room, you looked at me as though I'd betrayed your trust by leaving you like that." 

I don't know that he's old enough to understand I had no choice; however, I don't want to make excuses.  And I do want to know what he's thinking, especially if he remembers.

"What's betrayed?"

"It means to break someone’s trust.  I thought I might have broken your trust.  Do you understand that?"

Daniel considers for a moment, chewing on his finger.  "That man was going to make me let go of you and you wouldn't let him."

"No, I wouldn't let him, but I did it myself."

He looks up at me again, frowning.  "I know you didn't want to leave me, Jack.  But even Janet said you had to go."

I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to keep the tears at bay.  When I open them again, he's still looking at me, puzzled now.

"Were you afraid I was going to die, too?"  He reaches up to put his hand on my cheek, touching just the tip of his finger to a tear that escapes my rigid control.  "Would you be sad if I died?"

I'm very careful, as a snug him to me, not to squeeze him too tightly.  "Yes, Daniel, I was afraid.  And I would be very sad if you died."

"As sad as you were when Charlie died?"

"Yeah, Sport, as sad as I was when Charlie died."

"Did you cry buckets when Charlie died?"

I don't know if he's going for the comedic routine or not, but it gets a smile anyway. 

A rueful one, but a smile.

"No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I never learned how to cry until you came along and taught me a thing or two."

"About crying?" 

Since I have him tucked up under my chin I can't see his face anymore, but I hear the astonishment in his voice.  Astonishment tinged with awe.

"About tears and a whole lot of other stuff.  I would be very, very sad if something happened to you, Daniel.  We just got you back.  I was scared to death something was going to take you away again."

"I won't ever leave you either, Jack," he promises solemnly.

"I'm going to hold you to that, you know."  I hug him again and let him slide back down so he's comfortable. 

He has his elbow tucked in tight to his side, which probably means I've pulled his incision holding him so tight. 

"Sorry, Sport.  I didn't mean to hurt you."

"That's okay.  It was a good hurt," he snuggles back against my still pounding heart.

"Speaking of hurt . . ." I trail off, not sure how to approach this.  "There's one other thing I want to talk about."

"When you put Janet's medicine inside me."

I swallow hard and drag in air again.  "Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk about." 

How the hell did he know?

"I didn't like it.  It hurt awful bad."  The finger sneaks back into his mouth and he chews hard for a moment.  "I thought I was dying for sure."

"I thought that might be what you were thinking."  I tap a foot on the ground to swing us gently.  "If you think about it, it didn't really hurt right away, did it?  The medicine actually did the job it was supposed to do, it stopped the vomiting . . ."

"I still don't like it and I don't want to have it ever again."

"Okay, we can handle that.  I just want to be sure you know I would never, ever hurt you on purpose."

"I know that," he says, like I'm too stupid for words for even bringing it up. 

I'm so relieved I don't even mind if he thinks I'm stupid. 

As furious as I get with adult Daniel when he pulls some of his more insane stunts, blithely expecting we'll somehow pull his ass out of the fire if he starts to get fried, I would be absolutely sick if I were the one who betrays that blind trust . . . now at least. 

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking.  It never stopped me before.  Machello, the Enkaran's . . . yeah, I know.

But I hadn't met this incarnation of Daniel Jackson then.

When Daniel Jackson gives you his trust, he gives it to you unconditionally.  And it obviously doesn't matter what incarnation he inhabits. 

I was stupid enough not to recognize that for a long, long time.

And damned if that doesn't put me right back at wondering if two distinctly different realities can merge into one timeline.

Note to self.  When you're giving Carter the champagne and roses, remember to ask her about this theory.  This is too much of a quantum leap for me to wrap my head around.

Daniel's asleep; a discovery we made quite by accident.

The heavy duty antibiotics they gave him to knock back the infection also knocked out all of the good flora and fauna in his body.  You know, the stuff that helps you digest your food and turns the waste into solid matter instead of . . . well, I'm sure you get the picture.  It wasn't so bad while he was still doped up on pain meds, but as soon as they started backing off on those, his poor abused digestive tract went on strike.

It must have been about four days after the surgery, Carter was doing her best to entertain him but he wasn't having any of it. 

The bed was too hot; the sheets too uncomfortable; the TV too loud; the channel wasn't right; there was nothing he wanted to watch; he didn't want to be read to; and he didn't want to play games.  In short, he was a miserable little zel’rac.  Teal’c’s word.  He says it means miserable, pain-in-the-ass, sick kid - emphasis on miserable.

Teal'c picked him, wrapped a blanket around him and came out here to the swing.  When Daniel opened his mouth to complain, Teal'c told him to shush, close his eyes, and his mouth, and relax.  It took all of five minutes after the swing was in motion and he was out like a light. 

Daniel, that is, not Teal’c.

I think we might have to install one of these things at home.

I close my eyes, flex my foot so our swinging continues without interruption, and contemplate, from behind closed lids, what we're going to do with all the stuff that's accumulated in Daniel's hospital room.

For about an hour, several days back, the room looked like a cross between a zoo and a terrarium.  There are still enough stuffed animals in there to start a petting zoo and we had flowers, plants, and balloons enough to open our own florist shop. 

The flowers and plants had to go.  Because of all the other shit he's on right now, the allergy meds are ineffective.  I tuned out the minute they started talking about betacarotine blockers, or whatever.

All I knew was Daniel popped some stitches the first time he sneezed and I had every available nurse on the ward clearing out the floral offerings thirty seconds later.

I'm going to have to talk to him about leaving some of this stuff here when we go home tomorrow.  If I spin it right, we might not have to take any of it. And hey, I can tell everybody to write it off on their taxes as a donation.

You can make donations to non-profit organizations, right?

A wonderful smell sneaks into my late afternoon siesta, enticing me gradually to consciousness.

Our swing is motionless and there's a small table set up in front of us, complete with dishes and flatware, even a candle set inside a glass lantern.

Good thing I’ve given up the special ops.

Teal'c and Carter have brought supper and we're apparently eating outside tonight. 

Teal'c is pouring sparkling something out of a bottle into the wine glasses Carter's unwrapping as she takes them out of the picnic basket.

They both look over as we stir. 

"Evening, sir.  Have a nice nap?"

If I wasn't drooling before, I am now; salivating at the wonderful smells emanating from that picnic basket. 

"Yeah," I cover a yawn with the back of a hand.  "It smells wonderful.  What ya got, Carter?"

Daniel pushes off my chest, yawning, too, and sits up to eyeball the food interestedly as Carter starts pulling it out. 

He hasn't been too keen on food of late, so this is a good sign.

He slides off my lap, tugging at his pajama bottoms, the waistband irritates the stitches, and goes over to investigate. 

Carter bought him a nightshirt, blue of course, but he refuses to wear it unless he can wear underwear, which defeats the whole purpose.

This is one of those times his stubborn streak is costing him. 

He gets irritated every time his p.j. bottoms slide down, which is often, since he has no hips and no ass to hold them up when he shoves them down to keep them off the incision. 

Ahhhh, the indignities of life.

There are mashed potatoes, the rolls Daniel likes from the deli, cranberry sauce, salad, and it looks like chicken; all soft food he can eat, plus blue Jell-O mixed with Coolwhip for dessert.

For the first time since he got sick, Daniel eats with something close to an appetite.

I can tell he's still wary.  He doesn't want to reawaken that sleeping dragon in his belly and he's not sure what might or might not catch its attention again. 

Despite regular reassurance the dragon's been slain, he's not quite ready to believe yet.

"Hey, guys!" 

We all look up to find Paige and CoriAnne bouncing onto the terrace. 

"You up for some more company?" 

Looks like they had Tigger vitamins for breakfast.

"Uh," I glance at Carter and Teal'c.  "How much company?"

The entire home school contingent showed up yesterday afternoon, thanks to Paige.

Eleven kids and three moms.

I thought the nursing staff was going to have a fit!

They'd made cards for Daniel and decided to deliver them in person.  A couple of them brought homework assignments they wanted Daniel's help on and the moms had cake and ice cream for everybody on the ward. 

I think in the end, the nurses were pleased as punch with our little crew.

"Just us . . . and the baseball team!  Surprise!" 

Oh, for cryin out loud, we're in for it now.  These are not your typical overprotected, quiet, dare I say it – nerds - that make up our home school group. 

These are rowdy, uncivilized barbarians for the most part, my kid excluded of course, who don't understand the word no.  I don’t think the nursing staff are going to be quite as happy with this contingent.

Teal'c snatches Daniel up out of the way as the flood of small humanity pours onto the terrace shouting and jostling for pride of place.

"Hey, Daniel!"

"Did you watch the video of the game?"  CoriAnne waltzes over to collect hugs from both Carter and I.

"Did you see MY scar?"

"Are you coming back tomorrow night?"

"We whupped ass, man!"

"Tyler!" someone admonishes.

"Too bad you weren't there to see it," Tyler continues, unabashed.

In Teal'c's arms, Daniel smacks both hands over his ears.  "Quiet!" he yells. 

Surprisingly, the crowd stills.  Fourteen small faces turn up to Daniel.

Coach and his band of cronies, saunters in after the team, along with his wife and son, and several other parents. 

The entire baseball contingent has made the pilgrimage to see us.

Wow!

Our little hanger-on from the video, Tyler’s sister, Mallory, pounds on Teal'c ‘s knee to get Daniel’s attention. 

"See, did you see it?”  She pulls her shirt up again.  “I had my 'pedix out, too.  Did you get to eat ice cream and stuff, Dan'el?"

"Mal, put your shirt down, it's not lady like to be showing your chest," Daniel informs her. 

"Hey, Danny," Coach says, snitching a roll, "we really just came by to say hi and tell ya we've missed you, bud; especially your batting average, my man.  We've just barely managed to pull off wins the last two games.  We're missing you bad, bro! But we got to run.  We need to get in a little practice before the game tonight."

"Hey, Danny?"  Coach's wife, Athelia, adds, taking the roll from her husband’s hand and putting it back.  "We been praying for ya, hon.  We put you on our prayer chain, so you better be getting well, boy, or you'll be answering to the Mt. Zion First Baptist prayer chain."

“Dan’el!”  Mallory dances around Teal’c, grabbing one of Daniel’s bare feet and giving it a tug.  “Hey, Dan’el!”

“Oww!” Daniel protests, jerking his foot out of her reach as her mom swoops in and grabs her up.

“You tell Daniel you’re sorry, Mallory.  You hurt him.”

Big, fat tears immediately well up and spill over.  “I sorry, Dan’el.  Did I hurt you?”

Daniel’s still frowning, so she must have gotten him pretty good.  He’s got his hand pressed to his side and I see tears welling in his eyes, too. 

“Its okay, Mallory,” but he puts his head down on Teal’c’s shoulder.

Quick, a distraction. 

“Hey, guys, you're are going to tape tonight’s game and Thursday night’s, too, right?”

“We’re taping tonight,” Paige waves from behind the video camera she's using to record this outpouring of love.  “Of course we’ll tape Thursday night’s game; if we win tonight.”

See, it's not just us. 

Daniel engenders this kind of reaction no matter what age he is, no matter where he goes, whether it’s on Earth or out among the stars, traipsing around the galaxy making new friends.

"So how about a double header?  My house, Saturday afternoon, barbecue after we watch the games?"

It's the least I can do since I can't let him go Thursday night either.

The cheers echo back and forth between the terrace walls.

“Colonel Jack’s!”

“We get to go to Colonel Jack’s!”

“Hey, Daniel, we’ll bring the trophy with us!”

I put my hands over my own ears; it barely lessens the din.

"You got emails, Coach?"  I have to shout over the noise.

"I'll get you the list, Colonel."

"We'll send directions."

"We'll bring the food, Jack,” Athelia whirls up her little guy prowling around Teal’c’s ankles.  “You won't have time to worry about it with a kiddo just home from the hospital.  Let us do this."

"That would be extremely kind of you, Mrsathelia," Teal'c responds before I can get anything out.  "And ColonelO’Neill is extremely grateful."

Athelia winks at Teal'c and grins at me.  "You can provide the grill, Colonel."

"I certainly can do that," I manage, surprised and a little taken back to be included in this outpouring of love.

True to his word, Coach doesn’t let them linger long. 
 
I notice Carter slip out after Athelia and just shake my head. 

Well.  Looks like I won't have to lift a finger here. 

Which is a really good thing, because, I realize, as the last parent shepherds the last kid off the terrace - I'm exhausted.  And Saturday is only three days away. 

What was I thinking?

I flop down on the swing, arms and legs hanging off, absolutely beat. 

I don't realize until much later, Carter takes a picture, with her phone no less.  She's scrap booking this entire journey back into the age of innocence for Daniel.  For some reason she thinks he's going to want to revisit this when he's big again.

Eventually it becomes the last picture in the photo album. 

Jack O'Neill, down for the count.

Daniel, still in Teal’c’s arms, leans over Carter’s shoulder to look at the picture.

“I think you better sleep in my bed tonight, Jack.  I’ll sleep in the chair.”

All I can say is, “It’s a damn good thing we’re going home tomorrow.”

~*~

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