“So how’s our patient this morning?”
           
His face is buried between his arm and my neck so all that’s visible is this mop of honey-blond hair. 

“Daniel?  The General asked you a question.”
           
“I’m fine,” is the muffled reply.
           
I’m a little puzzled.  There wasn’t this reaction to Frasier, or Carter, or Teal’c. 

“Daniel?”  I say again, giving him a slight squeeze.  “I think the General would like to talk to you.” 

For a couple of seconds I think he’s going to ignore me, then his arms tighten a little around my neck, and I feel him move his arm and turn his head.  He’s still got his cheek pressed against my chest and though I can’t see what Hammond is seeing, I imagine it’s something of a shock for the General. 

Without glasses to camouflage them, this manifestation of Daniel is nothing but eyes. 
           
“Morning, General.”
           
I’m watching the General watch Daniel and hoping Daniel isn’t watching the General quite as closely as I am, because I see the sheen of tears brighten his eyes briefly; see his hand start to raise; and then I see him get himself back under control like the excellent officer he is. 

“Good morning, Daniel.  Did you sleep well last night?”
           
“Yes, sir.”
           
“Feeling okay this morning?”
           
“Yes, sir.”
           
“Good.  I understand breakfast is on the way.  I ran into . . . into the rest of SG-1 in the corridor as I was headed down here.”
           
Daniel says nothing, but his arms continue to tighten incrementally around my neck.
           
“Sir, any word from the Tok’ra or the Asgard?”
           
“I don’t believe so, Colonel, but check with Major Carter.  Doctor, what’s the status here?”
           
Frasier turns back to us.  I think she was looking at Daniel’s EEG again. 

“The Colonel has asked if they can go home, sir.  I don’t believe there’s any reason to keep Daniel here for now.  We can get information to them just as quickly at home as here.  As long as it’s all right with you, I can release him into Colonel O’Neill’s care.”
           
“Then you’re satisfied there’s nothing physically wrong with him?”
           
“Nothing, sir.  Daniel seems to be in perfect health.” 

Janet smiles at Daniel, shoving her hands in her pockets, probably to keep from petting him.  He is irresistibly cute.  Even Hammond is smitten already.  But then, Daniel was a favorite of his before this happened.
           
“Is there anything you need from me, Colonel?”
           
“I’d appreciate it if you’d put SG-1 on stand down until we can resolve this . . . situation, sir.”
           
“By all means. Consider yourselves on stand down.  Unless there is an emergency, I won’t schedule you off-world again until this is resolved.”
           
“Thank you, sir.”
           
“Dr. Jackson, is there anything you need from me?”
           
“No, sir.”
           
“All right then.”  Hammond glances from me to Frasier, to Daniel, and back to me.  “Keep me posted.”
           
“Yes, sir,” Janet and I respond in stereo. 

Though one arm still anchors him, Daniel’s unclasped his hands from around my neck and turns to watch the General leave.
           
“What’s keeping Sam and Teal’c?” he wants to know.
           
“I’ll go check,” Janet volunteers. 

I wonder if she wants to discuss something privately with Hammond.  If it’s something I need to know, she’ll get me the information - all in due time.
           
The door barely closes behind her when it’s pushed open again, admitting Carter, with Teal’c right behind her, both of them carrying loaded trays. 

Teal’c snags the rolling bed tray with his foot and scoots it over in front of Daniel and me.
           
“What was that all about?” I ask as I start to move him off my lap.
           
“What?” 

The arm around my neck squeezes tight again, though his gaze is now fastened on the stack of pancakes dripping syrup.
           
Okay, obviously he doesn’t want to move off my lap.  I just roll my eyes and shift him around so we can both eat. 

“The whole shy bit with Hammond.” 

I’m surprised to see his ears pink up.  I turn his chin up to look at his face.  

“Why would talking to Hammond embarrass you?”
           
“It wasn’t talking to him,” he mumbles, jerking his chin from my grasp and grabbing the utensils Teal’c holds out to him.
           
“Then what?” 

Okay, I have to hand it to him, usually I’m not this dense, I am just playing with him.  This morning I haven’t got a clue. 

When he doh’s me, I just shake my head. 

“I’m not tuning in here, Daniel.”
           
“I’m little again,” Daniel informs me through gritted teeth, nose squinched into slitted eyes.  “And I haven’t forgotten how this went last time.”
           
Light dawns. 

“Ohhhh.” 

Okay, proportionate response here, O’Neill. 

“Daniel,” I say carefully, “this time will be different.” 

I’m good at setting boundaries.  Being 2IC of the base doesn’t hurt when it comes to enforcing them. 
           
“No, it won’t be,” he predicts, adding lowered eyebrows to his almost sinister look – of course, given that he looks like a tiny elfin child, it’s difficult to get even close to sinister to begin with. 

Which is exactly why he knows he’s right.
           
“You want everybody to salute when they see you?”
           
“No,” he snaps, digging into his pancakes.  “Don’t be any stupider than you have too, Jack.”
           
Now that hurts, especially when I’m only trying to help. I adjust him on my lap as I reach for my own plate.  

“All right, that’s something we’ll have to work on.  Don’t slime me,” I warn, only half in jest. 

Daniel reaches immediately for the cup of coffee Carter sets down next to his plate of pancakes. 

It’s in a real cup, not styrofoam, mind you, so ya gotta know somebody in the kitchen is already aware of what’s going on, and I get a good look at it as it’s headed north.  I don’t know if he’s got his eyes closed or what, but I’m waiting. 

“Daniel,” I warn, in my not-to-be-messed-with Colonel voice, just as he’s about to spew the entire contents of his mouth all over me and breakfast.  “Don’t even think about it.”

It works . . . this time. 

I feel him swallow and the cup plunks down on the tray table with a thud.
           
“What is this?” he demands, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he pokes a finger in the caramel-colored liquid. 

From the look he gets back, I’m guessing he must be giving Carter the suspicious look. 

“That’s not coffee,” he accuses.
           
Carter gives him a totally bland face.  “It’s half and half, which is exactly what Dr. Frasier said you can have and if you think I’m bucking Janet’s orders, you’re out of your mind, Doctor Jackson.”
           
“But, Sam . . .”
           
“No,” she says, with more assurance than I could muster; of course, he’s not sitting in her lap.  “Not today.” 

Which leaves the door wide open for bucking Janet’s orders in the future. 

And with that, Daniel Jackson will have to settle, because no one in this room is bucking her orders today.
           
“Eat,” I order, imagining I can get away with it too.  “You were whining about being hungry two minutes ago.”
           
“I don’t whine,” Daniel mutters, picking up his fork.
           
It occurs to me giving orders with him sitting in my lap is like asking for trouble.  I wonder if I’m gonna be head to toe syrup before we’re done with breakfast, accidentally-on-purpose. 

Fortunately for me, he really is hungry, so he’s more interested in eating than pushing my buttons. 

I pick up my own fork, keeping an eye out for trouble.  Teal’c’s already halfway through his breakfast by the time I start on the eggs and hash browns he brought me.
           
“So, what are we doing?”  Carter asks, around a mouthful of blue jello.
           
“Waiting,” Daniel replies, reaching both hands for the cup of coffee again. 

Guess he’s decided it’s better than nothing.
           
“Waiting?”  Carter inquires.  “For?”
           
“Your dad, for one.  The Asgard?  The Teprins?”
           
“Oh,” she glances at me and looks back at Daniel.  “Daniel, I think you should know the Tok’ra don’t think there’s anything they can do.  My dad’s coming, but he’s already talked to some of their scientists.  They’ve never heard of anything like this, they know of no way to counteract it, or reverse it.  And I don’t think the Asgard are going to go against the Teprins in this.”
           
“Why can’t we just go back?  We have the coordinates, what’s to stop us?”
           
“Danieljackson, the Teprins do not allow their Stargate to be activated unless they have invited incoming guests.  We cannot just go back to their planet without an invitation.”
           
“You mean they have an iris or something in place to block incoming wormholes?”
           
“No, they control the activity of their Gate, both on and off the planet,” Teal’c responds, wiping his hands on a napkin as he pushes away his empty plate. “They simply do not allow unauthorized incoming wormholes.”
           
Daniel turns to look up at me again.  “I want that technology too.”
           
I have to smile, can’t help it.  “It’s certainly worth a try.” 

He’s got syrup on his face and hands already.  How is it possible for a thirty-four-year-old to revert to six overnight? 

“Are you done?” 

He puts his fork down in the syrup without drawing a single hieroglyph. Normally it’s his favorite way to pass the time while he’s waiting for us to finish.  Daniel’s never been big into the eating thing, he eats because he has to, or because someone’s making him. 
           
“Yes.” 
           
“Hey, don’t touch anything until we get your hands cleaned.”
           
Daniel holds out a hand to look at it.  “Oh,” he says, reaching for the napkin Teal’c thoughtfully provided. 

However, it’s useless given the amount of syrup he’s currently sporting. 
           
“Drink your orange juice while Teal’c gets a washcloth.”
           
“I don’t want orange juice.  Besides, I’ve got to go to the bathroom again.”  

He says this like he’s surprised.  Which he probably is.  Adult Daniel, under normal circumstances, could hold twenty cups of coffee before he had to use the facilities.
           
“Ahht!” I hiss, grabbing him under the arms as he starts to slide down off my lap.  “I said don’t touch anything.  And no standing on the toilet seat again, Daniel,” I add, as I swing him to the floor.
           
Daniel shuffles across the room without bothering to acknowledge either statement, back ramrod stiff, still trying to hold up the too-big, too-long scrubs currently clothing his small body.
           
“Quickly, Carter.  Is there anything new?”
           
“No, sir.  Unfortunately not.  Are you going to hang around until my Dad gets here?”
           
“Do we need to?  Does Jacob or Selmak actually need to see Daniel?”
           
“No, sir,” Carter says again.  “Janet thinks she has enough tissue and blood samples to send back, though I think Dad would probably like to see him.”
           
“Well, we’re not waiting if we don’t have too.  We need to make a couple of stops on the way home, get some clothes at the very least.  I’m thinking he’s not going to take too kindly to running around for the next couple of weeks in those scrubs.”
           
“Uhm, there were some things dropped off this morning, sir.  It’s apparently all over the Mountain all ready.  Sergeant Clueless, in Daniel’s department, stopped by my lab earlier with a couple pairs of jeans and some t-shirts.  She said her kids have outgrown them and they were in her car to be delivered to the Salvation Army drop box.”
           
“Not exactly as clueless as we thought, huh?  Oh, well, we knew we couldn’t keep it quiet inside the Mountain.  Anything that might fit?”
           
“Actually, sir, there probably are a number of things that will fit.”
           
“Sheesh, Carter.  Tell me you’re not inundated already.”
           
“Not quite, sir.  Should I go get some of it?”
           
“Yeah, why don’t you.  That saves us at least one stop.  I think we’ll still probably go by Daniel’s apartment and collect a few things.  By the way, we’re on stand down for the immediate future.”
           
“I’m sure I can find something to do, sir.  I’ll just go get some of those clothes.” 

Carter disappears again through the swinging doors and I glance over at Teal’c.  “T?”
           
“O’Neill?”  Teal’c looks over at me as he gathers up plates and utensils and piles them back on a tray.
           
I roll my eyes.  I don’t need anybody else channeling Daniel.  Daniel channeling Daniel is more than enough.

“Any chance you’d be willing to come home with us this morning?  I think we might need to move some furniture around to accommodate Daniel’s changed stature.  I could probably use a hand if you’re not busy.”
           
“I have previously scheduled classes this morning; however, I would be happy to lend a hand later this afternoon.”
           
“Great.  No hurry.” 

Teal’c leaves with the trays and I get up to go check on Daniel.  I’m gonna kill him if I find him standing on the toilet again. 

“Daniel!”  I bang on the door when I realize it’s locked this time.  “Open up right now.” 

From the monumental quiet issuing from inside the bathroom, I know damn well he’s up to something he’s not supposed to be.  And then the door unlocks and he’s looking up at me through the crack.
           
“What?”  He swings the door open, catching a bare toe, and hops back on one foot, hanging onto the doorknob.  “Owwww.”
           
“What took you so long?”
           
“Were you timing me?” he demands, letting go of the doorknob to grab his foot. 

I yelp as he drops down on his ass, on purpose I realize belatedly, to inspect his toe. 

“I’m bleeding,” the kid announces dramatically. 

And sure enough he is - copiously. 
           
“Oh, shit!”

I snatch him up off the floor, yelling for Frasier as I plop him down on the bed, trying to keep blood from dripping on the sheets. 

His foot in my hand is ludicrously small.  I grab what looks like a washcloth off the night stand and wrap it around his foot. 

“Doc!” 

Where the hell is she?  She was just in her office a few minutes ago.
           
“ Colonel?  What’s all the yelling about?”
           
“He stubbed his toe on the door.  It’s bleeding.”
           
Daniel’s watching both of us, eyes wide. 

“Ice would be good,” he offers. 

There’s not a tear in sight over this, though it’s got to hurt like hell.  He’s actually gashed his big toe, okay, his tiny little big toe, which means the gash can hardly be significant, but it’s still got to hurt.
           
“Tetanus,” Janet pronounces.  “You need to at least find some socks for him, Colonel.  He can’t go barefoot.”
           
“I just had a tetanus shot,” Daniel squeaks, “less than six months ago, when I cut my hand so bad on P4X 399.”
           
“And your point would be?”  Janet inspects the toe, wiggling it a bit.  “Does that hurt?”
           
“Ya think?  Of course it hurts!” Daniel spits back.  “Is it broken?” 

He leans forward to inspect it as well, bumping heads with Janet, who pulls back with a frown.
           
“Daniel . . .”

He looks up at her with those huge eyes and I can almost see her melting. 

Whatever she intended to say comes out as, “Sweetie, I need you to sit up so I can see, please.”
           
He obeys immediately. 

Frasier and I exchange surprised glances.  Daniel never does what he’s told, at least not until he’s analyzed it six ways to Sunday, and only then if it’s convenient.
           
“What?  She said please.”
           
“She also called you sweetie.”
           
“Yeah, well, don’t do it again.”  Daniel leans back on his elbows with a sigh.  “It’s starting to hurt more now.  Can I have some ice?”  He looks at us.  “Please?”
           
“Since you said please.”  I get up to get ice. 

Janet goes to the locked cupboard and pulls out supplies, including a syringe and vial, as well as gauze and iodine, all of which she sets out on the tray table. 

I sit back down on the edge of the bed with on of those fancy smancy pliable thing one of the nurses handed me that’s cold already. 

Daniel scoots around so he can lean back against me as Frasier works on his toe.  He’s got his bottom lip between his teeth by the time she’s cleaned it and blown on the iodine to stop the sting. 

He pulls the foot into his lap and holds out his hand for the cold pack as soon as she’s got a bandaid on it.  “Thank you.”
           
“You’re welcome.”  Janet gathers up all the supplies but the syringe and vial.  “I’ll be back in a minute,” she offers and disappears again.
           
“Hey, what happened?”  Carter comes in with an armload of clothes that actually look like they might fit.
           
“Where’d that stuff come from?” Daniel wants to know. 
           
“What happened?” Carter repeats, looking from Daniel to me when he doesn’t answer.
           
“Minor accident with the bathroom door.  Any shoes in that pile of stuff?” 

Not that he’s going to want to put a shoe on that toe any time soon.
           
“No shoes, sir.  I think kids tend to wear out shoes before they outgrow them.”
           
“They do?” 

Most of the stuff she’s brought looks practically new.  Kids outgrow clothes, but not shoes? 
           
Daniel watches curiously as she piles the clothes on the foot of the bed.  Jeans and t-shirts for the most part, though there are a couple of really nice button-down shirts in the pile. Nothing in plaid though; Daniel won’t like them. 

“Where did this stuff come from?” he asks again, letting go of his ice pack with one hand to pick up one of the t-shirts.  “I don’t think so.” 

He tosses it back before I get a good look at it, but it has some super hero on the front. 

I look up at Carter, suppressing a grin.
           
“It came from my office.  Can you stand up?”
           
“Why do you have kid’s clothes in your office?”  Daniel clambers to his feet and lets her hold up a pair of jeans against his waist, putting a hand on her shoulder to support himself since he’s not putting weight on his hurt foot.
           
“Seems like just about everybody’s heard what happened already.  Several people stopped by my office this morning.”  Carter holds up another pair; Ralph Lauren. 

Who the hell can afford to keep their six-year-old in Ralph Lauren jeans on a military salary?  Looks like they’ll fit though.
           
“What size are they, Carter?”
           
“Six,” she says with emphasis.
           
“What’s that mean?”  Daniel asks, already sliding out of the scrubs.  “Turn around, Sam.”
           
Carter obligingly turns her back.  There isn’t any size six underwear in that stack, not that he’d wear somebody else’s underwear anyway, guess we’re still in for a trip to the mall. 
           
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I say, reaching around him to rifle through the t-shirts.  “What about this one?” 

I hold up a light blue oxford button down.  All the t-shirts have some super hero on them.
           
Daniel’s lip curls, but he attempts to shed the too-large scrub top, nearly falling off the bed in the process when he gets tangled in the excess material.  Finally, he’s sitting down again, attempting to manipulate the buttons on the shirt front. 

The shirt obviously hasn’t seen much wear; I’m guessing it was part of somebody’s holiday outfit.  Charlie had a few of those, worn once and outgrown before the next holiday.  The button holes are stiff still, as is the material of the shirt.  He’s having trouble getting the buttons through the button holes and when he does get it done up, he’s missed one and has one button too many at the bottom of the shirt.
           
Carter tsks, brushes his hands aside, and unbuttons and re-buttons in the time it took him to get one button in the buttonhole. 

Daniel rotates his shoulders uncomfortably.  He likes his clothes soft and well worn.  I swear he takes new stuff home and washes it several times before he ever puts it on.

The shirt’s a little big on him and Carter rolls back the cuffs on the sleeves a couple times so he has hands again. 
           
Daniel hitches up his pants, plops down, and returns the ice pack to his bare toe. 

“Can we go home now?”
           
“As soon as the Doc releases you.”
           
On cue, Frasier reappears, picking up the syringe to poke the needle into the rubber top of the vial. 

“Was there a reason you let him get dressed?” she inquires, looking directly at me.
           
“Uh . . .” is all I can say.
           
“Janet, I just had a tetanus shot, why do I have to have another one?”
           
“Did you have an appendix when you got your last tetanus shot, Daniel?”
           
“What’s that got to do with anything?” 
           
“I rather doubt this newly revitalized body of yours has had any immunizations.”
           
He looks at her wide-eyed as the realization of what she’s saying dawns. 

“Oh no,” he sidles back against me again, shaking his head.  “Not going there.”
           
“Perhaps the two of you should give us a few minutes.  I doubt Daniel wants an audience,” Frasier says decisively.
           
I can feel Daniel’s heart beginning to hammer against my side.  He’s definitely going into overdrive here. 

“Carter,” I glance across at her as I haul Daniel back onto my lap.  “A little privacy would be good.”
           
She’s already gathering up the super-hero t-shirts.  “I’ll just take these back to my office and make a few phone calls.”
           
“Thanks.”  I wait until Carter’s headed through the doors.  “Doc?”  I take Frasier’s hand and lay it over Daniel’s pounding heart; he’s watching us both, all eyes.
           
The doc puts the syringe down, sits back down on the bed, and takes his very small hands in hers. 

“Daniel, I know all of this is scary suddenly, okay?  I understand that.  Do you understand it isn’t something you have much control over right now?”
           
After a moment of puzzled mulling over, he shakes his head. 
           
“Your body and your body’s reactions have changed dramatically.  Even though you have all those thirty-four-year-old memories intact still, your body is still reacting like . . .” she pauses here, “well, like a six-year-old’s would react.  A typical six-year-old wouldn’t have much control over his reactions to . . . oh, say, a big dog jumping up on him, or . . . being scared of the dark.  It’s just part of being six.  Its how the brain works in a six-year-old.  So what I’m trying to help you understand is that it’s okay to be scared.” 

She smiles, that heart stopping, tender smile she occasionally gave adult Daniel, only now it’s like ten times sappier.  Okay, maybe only five times, but it’s damn sappy.  She leans in to hug him too. 

“It will be over in ten seconds, okay?”  She kisses the worry line between the eyebrows before she pulls back and looks up at me.

“Can I hold him?”
           
“This would be easier if he’s lying down, Colonel.”
           
“I don’t want to,” Daniel whispers, clinging to me.
           
Janet shrugs.  “You’ll have to hold him still.”
           
Okay, so in the end it maybe takes sixty seconds and there are tears making fresh tracks down cheeks that are bright red with embarrassment by the time his jeans are back in place and his shirt pulled down over his probably-going-to-be-sore butt.  His face is pressed tightly against my neck again, though there’s no sound as my t-shirt gets thoroughly soaked. 

Apparently shots in the ass are much more traumatic at six than thirty-four.

Janet rubs the back of his head, I rub his back, and eventually I feel him begin to relax again. 

“Ready to blow this joint, pal?” 

He nods against my neck.
           
I call Hammond from Daniel’s office while our archeologist is piling books and papers into his everyday backpack, watch Daniel look around as I tell Hammond we’re headed out, and slam the phone down to snatch him off his precarious perch as he pulls a stool over to a book shelf and clambers up to retrieve something he thinks he needs. 

Grey?  Forget grey, I’m gonna be white-haired by the time this is over, and that’s only if I haven’t snatched myself bald! 

I plunk him down on the counter, keeping a grip on his arms as I glare at him. 

He winces. 

Ouch - probably wasn’t comfortable for him at all, but maybe it will help make my point. 

“If you want something out of your reach, you need to ask for it, Daniel.”
           
“I’m not helpless, Jack, just short,” he informs me, wriggling to get out of my hold. 

Since he’s sitting on the counter, bare feet dangling three feet above the floor, I’m not about to let go of him.                 
           
“I didn’t say you were helpless, I asked you to ask if you need something that’s out of your reach.”
           
He eyes me for a minute.  “What if you’re not around when I need something?”
           
“Then ask somebody else.  We can get something stable, a ladder or step stool, for in here.  Just don’t go climbing up on that stool again, okay?  Promise?”
           
“No,” he says grumpily.  “I’m not making promises I don’t intend to keep.”
           
I let go of him with one hand, grab the stool, drag it over in front of us, and rock the damn thing.  One leg is slightly shorter than the other three. 

He blinks, shrugs, and says, “Oh, I forgot.”
           
“Yeah, well, don’t forget again.” 

I don’t bother to ask him to promise because I know he won’t, which just means he doesn’t get left in here alone anymore. 

“Have you got what you want now?”
           
He thinks for a second, slides his butt to the edge of the counter so I have to put him down or hold him hanging in mid-air, which I consider doing for about a millisecond before I ease him down to the floor. 

He takes off immediately, trotting to yet another bookcase where he deliberates for several minutes, touching the spines of half a dozen books before he pulls out one and comes back to the desk - which is a foot and a half lower than the counter and therefore just about chest height on him now - and shoves it into the backpack. 

“I think that’s everything I need from here.  I might have some stuff at home I need too.”
           
“I figured we’d stop by your apartment.”
           
“Okay, then I’m ready.”
           
“One more stop and we can head out.”
           
“Where?”
           
“The locker room.” 

We all keep a change of clothes in our lockers.  If he doesn’t have clean socks, I do, and he needs something on his feet, even if it’s just socks.  I know these floors are cold and it’s only in the teens on the surface, he can’t go out barefoot.  Definitely going to have to make a stop at the mall, for underwear and shoes if nothing else.
           
Hammond catches up with us as we get on the elevator that takes us up to level ten.  At ten we have to switch elevators to make the trip to the surface. 

Daniel’s refused to let me carry him, though he’s holding my hand.  The elevator dings for ten and Hammond and I are chatting as we get off and Daniel swipes my card for the next set of elevators on the opposite side of the corridor. 

I feel him sway against me and look down as his hold on my hand mutates to a death grip.
           
“Jack ...” the grip on my hand loosens and he crumples in a heap at my feet. 

I don’t feel a thing as I drop to my knees beside him.   “THOR!” 
           
He’s not breathing, there’s no pulse and no heartbeat when I put my hand on his chest. I straighten the crumpled limbs and check again for a pulse at his throat, disbelieving. 

This has to be a nightmare, it absolutely can’t be happening. 

Frasier said he was fine. 

He was acting like he was fine.
           
 “THOR!” I roar again, “You damn well better fix this!  NOW!” 

If there was anybody in the Mountain who didn’t know, they do now. 

Think, O’Neill, think! 

Get the heart beating again. 

I feel and hear ribs crack as I smack – at the last second – my open hand down on his chest.

He’s little, O’Neill, think tiny!  I could have caved his whole chest in if I’d caught him with the full force of my adult fist. 

No time to sweat it, just do it!  Clear his airways, tilt his head back, breathe.

Chest compressions. 

Think tiny, tiny! 

One, two, three, four, five, one, two, three, four, ten, one, two, three, four, fifteen. 

I hear Hammond on the hall phone behind me calling for a med team. 

Breathe.  Chest compressions.  One, two, three . . .

And then there’s no Daniel Jackson under my hands and I’m doing chest compressions in midair, only just catching myself before I take a nosedive into the floor myself.
           
“Thor,” Hammond says, as we find ourselves standing on the obs deck of Thor’s ship. 

I look around to find Carter and Teal’c looking back at us. 

Carter’s looking flabbergasted; Teal’c is standing as usual, with his hands behind his back, looking for all the world like this kind of thing happens to him every day.
           
“Why are we here, O’Neill?”
           
“Something happened to Daniel.”

I put up a hand when Carter rushes in with questions. 

“I don’t know what.  We’d just gotten off the elevators at level ten and were waiting for the elevator to the surface and he just . . . went down.  No warning, no nothing. He said my name and just crumpled.  No pulse, no heartbeat.  I broke some ribs when I tried to get his heart started again.”
           
“It’s a good thing the Asgards were monitoring the situation,” Carter gapes at me.  “He was fine when I left.  Wasn’t he?”
           
“Frasier gave him the tetanus shot, that’s all.  If he’d gone into shock, we’d have had some warning surely.”
           
“Where’s Thor?”  Carter whirls around in a full circle.
           
“He damn well better be fixing Daniel,” I snarl, fisting a hand in my hair. 

Wonder if I’ll look as good as Teal’c does bald. 

Probably not.
           
There are Asgard all around us, but I don’t see Thor, not that I can tell them apart.  They’re all hurrying and scurrying, as if on business of vital importance.  No one’s paying the least bit of attention to us.

Ahhh, here comes our escort now.
           
“I am Loki, we have met before,” he bows slightly at the waist, looking at me.  “Colonel O’Neill.  Major Carter. Teal’c.  General Hammond, I do not believe we have met.  If you would come with me, I will take you to Daniel Jackson.”
           
“Where’s Thor?”
           
“He is with the boy.”
           
“What, sir?”  Carter asks, leaning toward me as I mutter under my breath.
           
“Nothing, Carter.” 

I’ve got nothing to keep my hands busy; no weapon to hang onto, no tools to be fidgeting with, nothing . . . which is not good since I want to strangle somebody here! 

Empty hands and a sorely pissed off covert ops Colonel don’t go together too well. 

Teal’c puts a large hand on my shoulder.
           
“Thor will not let anything happen, O’Neill.  He as much as guaranteed it when he returned Danieljackson to us on the Teprins planet.”
           
Well, okay, he might have something there.  There was something from Thor about Daniel being . . . what was the term? 

Safeguarded? 

I remember wondering at the time if that was anything like be Scotchguarded.  What?  They safeguarded him like a piece of furniture? 

But hey, I’m not gonna argue if that means they’re on guardian angel duty 24/7.  I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I knew the Asgard were watching out for him too. 
           
We’re ushered into a small room.  It’s probably only small by human standards, but with four full-size humans, one pint size one, and two Asgard, the room’s really crowded.  The pint-sized human is encased in a pint-sized stasis chamber with the dome closed over the top.
           
“Carter, you get to kiss him to wake him up.”  I tap lightly on the glass, or whatever animal, vegetable or mineral makes up the component bits of what looks like a glass shield.
           
“Daniel Jackson cannot hear you, O’Neill,” Thor informs me.  “He is in an altered state of consciousness.  We brought you here to reassure you that all is well, but it will be a few hours of your Earth time before we can revive him again.  Do you wish to wait here on our ship?  Or may I send you home?”

“If Dr. Jackson is all right, you may send me back to the SGC,” Hammond states authoritatively.
           
“We’ll wait here,” Carter asserts, pressing both palms to the glass, as though she can reach Daniel by force of will.  “If that’s okay, sir?”  She glances at Hammond.

“Of course.  Report to me as soon as you’re back, SG-1.”
           
“Yes, sir.”  I respond, rounding on Thor.  “What happened?”  I demand.

The General disappears in a stream of sparkling light.
           
“To what do you refer, O’Neill?”  Thor is a master of diplomacy and tact.
           
I’m not interested in diplomacy, much less tact, at the moment. 

“He was dead.  As in - heart not beating, no pulse, not breathing, unexpectedly crumpled at my feet - dead.  What happened?”
           
“We do not know what caused this, perhaps it was your Earth medicine your Dr. Frasier insisted he have.”
           
“She gave him a tetanus shot, for crying out loud!  How could that possibly have stopped his heart?”
           
“I do not know, O’Neill.  Perhaps it was too soon, in combination with the things that altered his body chemistry to reduce his age.  It was unexpected, or we would have intervened sooner.  We did not expect you to allow him to hurt himself so quickly.”
           
“This is Daniel we’re talking about,” I growl furiously.  “You know, the universal trouble magnet?”

“I had not realized he was quite so accident prone.”
                       
Loki is fluttering around near the end of the stasis chamber, moving those glowing stones around rather agitatedly. 

“He is not supposed to be awakening yet.”
           
Thor steps up to the console, fiddles with the stones too, and glances at me. 

“I wish him to stay in this altered state for several more hours, O’Neill.  Please assure Daniel Jackson all will be well so he will stop trying to surface.”   
           
I just look at the little grey alien. 

“Yeah, right,” I say finally.  “If he’s unconscious, how the hell am I supposed to do that?”
           
“I believe Major Carter pressing her hands against the shield is what has beckoned him from his deep sleep.  Just lay your hands on the shield and reassure him you are here looking out for him.  His subconscious mind will understand and process it.”
           
“How?” 

Now Thor just looks at me. 

“Alright, alright.” 

Cautiously I spread both palms against the glass and look over at Carter. 

“What did you do?”
           
“Nothing, sir.  It just . . .  felt . . . like maybe I could reach him.”
           
“He’s not dead, is he?”
           
“He is not dead, O’Neill,” Thor repeats patiently.
           
I look down at the small troubled face, wishing I could see those bright blue eyes, just to reassure myself. 

“Daniel,” I move my fingers over top of his impossibly small chest, “go back to sleep, or whatever it is you’re in.  We’re all here.  Carter, Teal’c and me, and we’re not going anywhere, okay?” 

And damn if I don’t see him relax and stop struggling.  I can just about guarantee I’m gonna wish I had that kind of power over him when he’s awake sometime during the next week or two.

It’s a very subdued Daniel that walks out with Thor several hours later. 

It seems apparent to me the Asgard told him something, but as usual, Daniel plays it close to the chest. 

He latches on to my hand and presses in to my side, but says nothing.

I hunker down beside him, trying to ignore my twinging knees as I squat on them, at just about eye level with Daniel. 

“You okay?”  I ask quietly, taking his hands between my own and rubbing gently.  “Are you cold?” 

His hands are like ice, as are his feet when I put my hand around a very small ankle.

He just looks at me, blinking owlishly.

Carter slides up behind him and puts her arms around his shoulders.  Daniel leans back with a sigh. 

“Daniel, are you okay?” she asks again.

“Guess so,” he replies with a shrug.

“Thor?”  I raise an eyebrow.

“He is fine, Colonel, though likely very fatigued.”

Teal’c steps forward. 

“I will carry him this time, O’Neill.” 

He scoops Daniel up in one arm and I have to smile as Daniel lays his head down on Teal’c’s shoulder without the slightest self-consciousness.

“It is likely Daniel Jackson will be extremely weary for a few days,” Thor offers, diplomatically. 

Read he’s going to sleep nearly around the clock for the next three days and scare the shit out of you, I realize after the fact.

“This is a complication no one foresaw,” the little grey alien offers, tilting his head and his slanting eyes up in Daniel’s direction.  “But he is fine, as I said.  I will return you all to the SGC now.” 

“Wait!”  I shoot a hand up.  “Just wait.  You told us Daniel was being safeguarded, back on the Teprins planet.  How?”
           
If the Asgard can frown, Thor’s frowning at me now, though his facial expression doesn’t change much. 

“You do not need to worry, O’Neill.”

“Yeah, well,” I suck in air, “I do, so why don’t you help relieve me of that worry by telling me what you meant.”

“Daniel Jackson will grow again to adulthood, O’Neill, that is all I’m able to tell you.  I will return you to the SGC now.”

“But  . . . oh, shit.” 

We’re standing in the boardroom.  Hammond’s getting up from behind his desk, even though he’s on the phone.  I can tell he’s cutting it short.

 Daniel’s asleep on Teal’c’s shoulder, drooling slightly, as Teal’c rubs his back.

“Everything okay?”  General Hammond asks quietly, in deference to the sleeping child. 

Again, I don’t realize until much later, we could have had a shouting match going on over his head and it wouldn’t have woken Daniel.

“Yes, sir.  As far as it goes, sir.  The Asgard said they’ve put everything back the right way this time.  Daniel is fine.  Thor thinks he might be a little tired for the next few days is all.”

“Dr. Frasier wants to see him again before you leave the mountain.”

“Of course she does,” I sigh.  “Teal’c, want me to take him?”                 

“I will accompany you to the infirmary with Danieljackson, O’Neill.  I believe he is sound asleep,” Teal’c rumbles.

“I believe you’re right, T.  Carter?”

She checks her watch and sees we’ve spent the better part of the day in space again. 

“I’m going to go shut down my lab equipment, sir.  Think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Yeah, it’s been another day from hell, Carter.  I totally understand.”

“Do you still wish me to go home with you and Danieljackson, O’Neill?”

“Ya know, T, I think when we’re done here, we’re gonna call it a night ourselves.  We can move furniture tomorrow.  No hurry, whenever you can make it.”

“I’ll bring him out, sir.”

“Yeah, that would be good.”

“Sir,” I turn to the General.  “Permission to take Daniel to the infirmary and then home when Doc’s finished with him.”

“Granted, Colonel.  You take care of our boy now.”

“Yes, sir.  I’ll do my best, sir.”
                                                                                               

Epilogue

 The official memo went to Washington today. 

 It was militarily brief.

 Dr. Daniel Jackson, a civilian employee of Stargate Command, was killed in an accident on an off-world archeological dig.  A memorial service will be held for Dr. Jackson at 2:00 p.m, on November 15th, at the SGC.

 I happen to know the official report went to Washington two days ago, with the official details of Daniel Jackson’s official death.  Daniel gleefully participated in writing the damn thing and I must admit we did have a little fun at the brass’s expense.

 If we’d held memorial services for every time Daniel Jackson has died - well, let’s see - I think that would be at least one a year for as long as he’s been here.  This will be the second time we’ve actually held a memorial for him. 

 Daniel wants to go, though I’ve yet to tell him the President is planning to be there.  He wants to write his own eulogy too, thinks it would be really cool. 

 Anyway, the memorial is still a few days away, and while I probably will let him help write the eulogy, I don’t think I’m going to let him go to the memorial.  He’s got enough macabre stuff he carries around inside his head already, he doesn’t need to add this on top of it. 

 But we’ll see. 

 He’s already proven extremely strong-willed.  If he really wants to go, short of chaining him up in my office, I doubt I’ll be able to keep him away. 

 I doubt Dr. Daniel Jackson has ever been thwarted when it comes to something he really wants.  I have serious doubts he will ever be thwarted when it comes to something he seriously wants . . . except to be big again overnight. 

 Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

 ~*~

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