Funny thing, as furious as I am, I wouldn’t trade places with anyonefor all the money in the world.

“I’ve got aspirin in my desk drawer-“

“Dr. Warner’s going to ask me if I made you take these.”  Morrison smiles sweetly as she holds out the pills and a cup of water.  “And I’m certain you would never ask me to lie to a superior officer.  Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Everybody else does, why not, Lieutenant.”  I take the pills she hands me, then the water, because there’s no way I’m going to be using my right hand for awhile.

“What Daniel and Hershey are doing has been . . .” she frowns slightly, “I don’t know how to explain it, sir.  But their presence, the laughter they bring, the brightness they inject into the seriousness down here, is invaluable, not just for the patients, sir, but for the staff too.  We see some strange and not so wonderful things; they help us remember there is still normality in our world.  Since they’ve started their own little USO show, the atmosphere has been different - less somber, more optimistic.  The patients really respond to it, they look forward to it every day.  That said, I guess I’m asking that you not be too hard on Daniel, sir.  He’s always been special, even as an adult.  And he’s so engaging in this incarnation, you know he would never hurt anyone or anything on purpose, sir.  Please don’t make them stop doing the shows.”

“You have kids, Morrison?”

“Yes, sir.  Two.”  She meets my gaze levelly, her smile rueful.  “Fortunately they have no paranormal abilities.  But think about it, wouldn’t you rather he experiment with his gifts here, sir, where there’s immediate support if something does go wrong?”

She has a point.  If he’s going to experiment – and stopping him would be like trying to sandbag an already flooded river – I’d rather he do it in a controlled environment.

On a sigh I push up off the bed.  “Your score, Lieutenant.  Thanks for the reframing.”

Hells bells.  No one mentioned I’d need the Wisdom of Solomon to deal with this kid.

Teal’c is still in the room when I arrive at our on-base quarters.  The trio is at the table playing cards.  Daniel appears to be playing Hershey’s hand according to the dog’s instructions.  From the looks of it, the dog is in the lead. 

I took the long way, detouring by the security office to pick up the tape of the incident. 

“Do you have a three, Danieljackson?”

“Go fish,” Daniel yawns.  “Hershey wants to know if you have a three, Teal’c?”

Hershey pats his paw on top of the newly acquired pair and turns to Daniel.  How does the dog knows what cards he has if they’re face down on the table?  Never mind, probably shouldn’t go there either.  Have you noticed there seems to be an infinite number of places I’d rather not go lately?

“No, I don’t have any sevens.  Go fish.”  Daniel slaps a card from the deck down in front of the dog.  “Hershey, do you have any five’s?”  He yawns again and knuckles his eyes.  “I’m going to bed after this hand, Teal’c.”

I tune them out as I shove the DVD in the player and fast forward to the approximate time I left Daniel in the infirmary.  A few more clicks of the remote and I find what I want.  There’s no sound, but the first shots of Daniel are on his makeshift stage, with the dog sitting next to him.  He holds out Teal’c’s rock on his palm, then shows it around holding it between his fingers, and wipes a bit of the gold off on his jeans before placing the rock back in the middle of his palm.  I’ll have to go back and time it, but I doubt it’s more than five seconds before the rock bursts into flame in his hand - gold flames that he shapes into a ball.  He’s talking again, and he reaches blindly for the hoola hoop Hershey has in his mouth.  This tape doesn’t show the dog collecting the hoola hoop.  As Daniel takes the plastic hoop, he pours fire out of a funnel he makes with his fingers.  It races around the circle until the circumference is lit and he holds it aloft triumphantly.  Hershey barks, or appears to at least add his congratulatory two cents to the successful phenomenon. 

Daniel, by word commands alone - I see no hand signs at all - has the dog jump through the burning hoop, instructs Hershey to sit inside the ring of fire, and gets him to do a little shimmy as though the dog, sitting on his butt, is actually twirling the hoop.  Funny thing, the burning hoop is rotating, spinning fire, as though Hershey really is activating the spin.  How come it didn’t catch anything on fire, like the dog, when it was out of Daniel’s hands? 

Just standing here watching, I want to snatch up both of them and instill some honest-to-goodness fear in them.  

Perhaps one of the most poignant differences between this Daniel and the adult incarnation is this Daniel’s total lack of fear.  Don’t get me wrong, adult Daniel didn’t have a cowardly bone in his body, he was as fearless as they come, but not from a lack of fear, rather, from overcoming it.  This incarnation moves through space and time as though he owns it.  In adult Daniel’s timeline, that fearlessness was snatched away, if not at the death of his parents, then I’d guess very soon thereafter. 

Watching him on tape, totally uninhibited, totally unafraid is like watching art in motion. 

He does a series of hops around the small stage using the burning hoola hoop like a jump rope.  Then with a gesture to the dog, he stops, plants himself, and he and the dog jump the hoop in unison as Daniel rotates it over their heads. 

It happens as they’re taking their final bow.  The hoop is still on fire and it appears, for a moment, Daniel’s attention is distracted, though I don’t know by what.  The hoola hoop droops just enough to touch a single piece of paper on a nearby tray table.

The paper flares instantly, rises with its own heat, and floats, burning, to the floor where Morrison grinds it out.  Daniel and Hershey are hustled off the stage by one of medical staff, moments later Teal’c arrives, and the rest, as they say, is history.

I pause the DVD and without turning, inquire as calmly as possible, “What the hell possessed you to pull a stunt like that?  Was I speaking one of the few foreign languages you don’t know when I told you there was no way you were going to have the dog jumping through a flaming hoop inside a building?”

Behind me, Daniel sighs wearily.  “I tried to explain, Jack.  It wasn’t really burning.  And you only said we couldn’t use a burning hoop, you didn’t say flaming hoop.  So I figured out how to make it not burn.”

I do an about face and hold out my burnt hand.  “And this, too, is a figment of my imagination?”

“I told you, I can fix that.”

“Ahhht!  Don’t, I’m not interested in your hocus pocus tonight.  What I do want to know is how the hell that rock plays into this whole dog and pony show.”

Daniel frowns. 

Hershey and Teal’c remain silent.

“The rock doesn’t do anything.  It’s just a thing.  I use it to help me concentrate.”

“Concentrate on what?”

Another frown, followed by a shrug.  “On what I’m doing.”

“Like making the rock burst into flame?”

“Yes.”

“And transfer the fire from your hands to the hoola hoop?”

“Yes.”

“What else does it do?”

“What do you mean what else does it do?  Nothing, it’s a naimate object.”

“Inanimate?”

“Yeah, nanimate.  It doesn’t have any powers of its own.”

My hand is throbbing in time with my heart, my head is beginning to pound as well, and I’m pretty sure we had this exact same conversation a week ago, except I don’t think he’d discovered yet that he could control fire.  So what’s it going to be next week?  Water from the rock?

“Go to bed, Daniel.  I’ll come and get you when I’m ready to go home.” 

Without protest, he climbs down from his chair, stalks over to the bed and climbs up.  He peels back the covers, kicks off his miniature desert boots and crawls under, holding the sheet and blanket up for Hershey who also hopped down from the table and trotted after him.

“Goodnight, Teal’c.”  And after a longish pause.  “’night, Jack,” though the tone is grudging.

I’m none to happy either, but I put the feet in motion and cross the room. “’night, Sport.  I love you.”  For my effort, I’m rewarded with a turned head when I bend down to kiss him goodnight, so I graze an ear instead of his temple.  However, in the act of bending over him, I feel the warmth he’s radiating, as though he’s taken all the heat of the fire into himself.

Teal’c takes my place, bending over him as I step back from the bed, and is allowed to drop a kiss on his forehead. 

It appears, for the moment at least, it’s only me in his black books. 

“Goodnight, Danieljackson.  Slumber unagitatedly.”

“It’s sleep peacefully, Teal’c,” our linguist mutters.

“Of course,” the big guy replies quietly as he turns and follows me out of the room.  “I will stay with him until you return, O’Neill.”  He pulls the door almost closed and queries, “What will you do?”

 “Hell if I know.”  I swipe my hand over my face.  “I wonder if this is why Oma is hanging around?  Coaching, maybe?  Egging on?  Watching over?  I don’t have the foggiest idea where to even begin to rein this in.”

That’s not exactly true.  I still want that rock.  But I have no idea how to go about relieving Daniel of it without starting World War III in the Jackson-O’Neill household. 

The rock has become the focal point of his existence.  He won’t sit down to eat without the rock sitting by his plate.   It goes in the bathtub with him.  It goes to bed in his hand every night.  He refuses to wear pants without pockets anymore, so he can always have the rock on him when he’s awake. 

Carter says the rock is just a rock, there’s nothing harmful about it, nothing in the ore, no animal, vegetable, or mineral, that could be detrimental to Daniel.  But every time he uses it, it seems to me there’s less of my kid and more of this new detached, emotionally-guarded, screw-you, Jack, kid.  It’s like having adult Daniel from four or five years ago, with all his little foibles exaggerated to near caricature status, living in our house. 

There are so many bits and pieces of this overall scenario I’m not comfortable with, and yet people like Morrison are telling me the composition he’s created from the bits and pieces is beneficial, even valuable. 

I feel like I’m between a rock and a hard place, no pun intended.  I can’t let this go on – but how do I stop it before we have a train wreck?

And how do you discipline a genius linguist who also has a near photographic memory?  And not just for things he’s sees, but everything he hears.  He’s right; I didn’t say flaming, I said burning, and until it left his hand, the damn hoop was not burning.  Much like his adult self would constantly argue - strictly speaking, he wasn’t breaking any rules. 

On the other hand, he knew perfectly well I wouldn’t be happy about it, therefore the pre-emptive strike to try and keep me from coming down to watch the show tonight.  I suppose it requires seven-year-old logic to come at why he thought I wouldn’t find out. 

Maybe I should go bang my head against the wall; it can’t feel any worse. 

*     *     *

You’d think, from the atmosphere at home and inside the Mountain, I’d locked him in his room for a year on bread and water, instead of settling for a promise that there will be no more stunts with fire, period, and taking away computer privileges for the week.  He’s also been confined to the classroom, which means no shows this week.

At home, I’m getting the Daniel-Jackson-special on the cold shoulder.  And let me tell you, this incarnation is as good at it as his adult self; though maybe I’m just more susceptible to it from this incarnation.  If he deigns to speaks to me, it’s via the dog –  Hershey, tell Jack I’m not hungry, or, Hershey, tell Jack I’m going to bed.  If we had a dog house, I’d be sleeping in it.

And I still don’t have the rock, which probably means I should be worrying about a second biblical flood if his next trick is going to be water from the damn thing.  I made sure the hoola hoop is history, so I know they’re not up in his room practicing any more voodoo stunts with fire – I should amend that – I know they’re not up there practicing any voodoo stunts with fire that involve a hoola hoop.  I have no idea what they’re doing up in his room, which - about every other minute - makes my blood run cold, but nothing I’ve tried has met with success, so I’m done making overtures. 

The little shit is holding tenaciously to his high moral ground.  He didn’t break any rules, so why is he being disciplined? 

I suspect there’s a conspiracy going on to facilitate a reinterpretation of Daniel’s discipline here on base, but they’ve been smart enough to keep it underground and I haven’t bothered to call security’s bluff the couple times they’ve given me the, “He’s in the bathroom, sir,” line.  I figure by the time I get down there to check, Daniel will be safely back where he belongs anyway. 

So I’m kind of surprised when Chief Master Sergeant Harriman sticks his head in the door of the briefing room to announce, “Sir, Security is on the phone for Colonel O’Neill.  Colonel, they said you would want to be interrupted.”

We’re three days in to this, and frankly, I figured I was going to be one to throw down my cards.  I wait for Hammond’s nod of dismissal before pushing back from the table.

“Take it in my office, Jack.”

The Security officer is succinct, ending with, “I’m sorry, sir.  We should have checked it out sooner.”

Ya think? “I’m on my way,” is all I say.  “Sir, I -”

“Go,” Hammond waves me off.  “We’ll finish here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

An SF is waiting at the elevators on 17 and leads me, unerringly, through a maze of corridors to Storage Room 17-39.  He swipes a card through the reader, opens the door and steps back.

The aroma is enough to knock me back a step or two, though I’ve smelled a lot worse.  It’s so overpowering, I can actually taste it breathing through my mouth.

It takes a minute for the full impact of the macabre scene to unfold in my brain.  My mind catalogs the twinkling Christmas lights strung through the posts of the metal shelving framing three sides of the smallish room.  It inventories the blanket in the corner, the six-pack of chocolate milk, and the chocolate-covered graham crackers, along with the shakable flashlight.  It clinically notes the pile of shards in the center of the room.  It requires another visual sweep before I actually register the Siler-sized hammer camouflaged in the deep shadows of the shelves. 

If my knees protest as I squat to sift through the shards, it doesn’t register.  My stomach heaves though, with anguish. 

The remnants of a 3,000-year-old death mask tops the pile, it’s hung behind adult Daniel’s desk for ten years.  The source of the overpowering smell is a cracked and spilled pot of unguent that was probably sealed before Christianity became a religion – one of the few things he still had from his parent’s Egyptian digs.  My fingers brush a largish shard of pottery that looks like a piece of the Abydonian bowl from his wedding to Sha’re.  I recognize the face of a squat little statue he kept on his desk I’m pretty sure he’s told me dates back to the Ming Dynasty.  The face is the only whole piece left.  Those are just the things I can identify.  The circle is a least two feet in diameter and filled with glittering rubble several inches thick.

I think I’m going to be sick. 

“Sir-“ the SF tries to warn me as I’m nearly knocked off my precarious perch on my heels when a small torpedo slams into my shoulder. 

What the hell was he doing?  Day dreaming?

A kicking, biting, hitting, screeching fury is raining miniature blows on me before I can get my bearings. 

Not fair, I suppose, to expect the SF to be on sentry duty, he’s probably as appalled as I am and just as dumbstruck.

‘Sir?  What – ?” the airman shouts above the mélange of howling dog and shrieking kid.

I snatch the flaying fists, manacle them with one hand, and haul him between my knees where I can semi-contain the kicking and biting.  “Get the dog and get him out of here!”

“Yes, sir.”  The SF grabs Hershey firmly by the collar and drags him out of the room.

“Shut the door,” I grunt as Daniel connects with a singularly vulnerable part of my anatomy and I land on a similarly at-risk – to hard concrete at least – part of my body.  The uncontrolled, awkward fall has the beneficial affect of landing the kicking, biting, clawing, still screeching fury in my lap and instinct takes over.  Folded in half, with his arms tucked between his knees and his chest, he has much less range-of-motion, and therefore considerably less potency.  It does nothing whatsoever to quiet the shrieked obscenities about my ancestry, my person, or the abuse I am heaping on him.

This is so not my kid. 

Daniel, in any incarnation, could never be this vile, this appallingly vulgar.  It’s a long twenty minutes before the obnoxious language gives way to low, keening sobs, and another ten minutes before the rigidity begins to leech from the small body in my arms.  He deflates slowly, like a pin-pricked balloon. 

When his fingers curl around my wrist, I begin to rock slightly, and on a long sigh, he wipes his nose - on his own shirt, thankfully - and tentatively squirms a bit.  I ease my hold and allow him enough maneuvering room to settle, though I don’t make the mistake of letting him go. 

He sighs again, deeply.  “You shouldn’t have come here, Jack.”  The small voice is flat, devoid of emotion.  “Now I’ll just have to start all over again.”

Okay, not what I was expecting at all.  “Start over with what?”

“Appeaselment.”

“Appeaselment,” I parrot stupidly.  “You mean appeasement?”

“Yes.  They’ll be really angry now.”

“Who will be angry, Daniel?”

“Orinea and Watoomah.”

Realization dawns with apalling clarity.  “You’re - sacrificing -” even the word tastes foul in my mouth, “your things to appease the Rezulin deities?”

“You should be glad I was able to appeasel them with my own stuff!”  For a moment, he’s animated again.  “They wanted me to take stuff from General Hammond and Sam and Teal’c and you.”  He subsides and the flatness returns for the follow-up.  “I don’t know what they’ll make me do now.”

Perspective.  Keep this in perspective, O’Neill.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t.  They said if I telled they would take away . . .” he sits up abruptly.  “What did that SF do with Hershey?”  He bucks in my arms, making an aborted attempt at freedom.

“They’re right outside the door.  Shhh!  Be quiet and listen!” 

He stills momentarily and we hear the dog barking madly outside the closed door, which deflates him again. 

It’s no leap of the imagination to figure out what they threatened to take away.  I swear if this keeps up I’m going after that Telchek Fountain of Youth device, with or without permission.  I’m too old to deal with this kind of crap.  “Daniel, I want the rock.”

“The rock?  Why do you want the rock?”  His fingers scrabble frantically at my wrist when I don’t bother to ask again, just fish it out of his flap-pocket.  “It’s not the rock, Jack!” 

“I’m not arguing about it this time.” 

With a strength born of desperation, or maybe possession, he shoves against my chest and catapults out of my arms, tumbling head over heels through the broken shards of pottery, but ultimately landing on his feet.  He snatches something off the shelf that housed the hammer and shoves it in my face, screaming again, though this time there are actual words.  “They live in this!  Not the rock!  Orinea and Watoomah have nothing to do with the rock!  Give it back!”

Talk about déjà vu.  Is anyone else having flashbacks to another storeroom and another obsession that nearly cost us Daniel?

I fold my arms across my knees and wait.

“THAT’S MY ROCK!  YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TAKE MY ROCK!  GIVE IT BACK RIGHT NOW!”

I’m peppered with a few more obscenities before he runs out of steam again.  Either that, or reason and sanity make a reappearance. 

The screaming falters mid-obscenity and whatever he’s waving in my face gets pulled back against his chest.  He staggers back a step or two, puts a hand out to the nearest shelf, and drops his chin to his heaving chest.  There’s a momentary pause before he lifts his head and looks around for his glasses. 

They’re at my feet.  Silently, I pick them up and hand them to him.

When he reaches for them, I see the object in his hand is the totem I brought back from Rezula.  He tucks it under his arm in order to use both hands to put his glasses back on, then brushes the hair from his eyes, and with a resolute sigh, he squats in front of me.  “Orinea and Watoomah don’t live in the rock; they don’t have anything to do with the rock.  They’re in here,” he says, offering the totem displayed like a gift on the flat of his outstretched palms.  “If they take Hershey because you made me tell you, I will never forgive you, Jack.  Now please give me back my rock.”

I’ve come up against some pretty weird things in my career, some even weirder things since Daniel opened the Stargate and we’ve been traveling through it regularly.  But I have to admit this is a first for me; I’ve never been up against a possessed totem.  “When did that – thing – start telling you to smash artifacts?”

“What?”  Daniel sinks to his knees, arms still stretched straight out in front of him as if he’s presenting his offering to his god.  “Oh.”  He flicks a glance at his presentation object, but looks back up at me.  “A few days ago.”

“Since the episode with the hoola hoop?”

His face scrunches up with the effort of recall.  “Uhm, that was just last Saturday night?  No, it was before that.  I don’t remember when it started.  Please, can I have my rock, now?”

“What do they want with your artifacts?”

“Nothing,” he huffs.  “It was mostly Orinea, anyway.  Watoomah never made me bring things.”

“But why smash them?”

“I don’t know.  It was a ceremonious thing with her.  She told me if I didn’t bring her things, she would take Hershey.”

“Take Hershey where?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats, a little more hollowly.  “Away, I guess.  I was afraid she meant she would kill him.”  He stops to listen and Hershey barks accommodatingly.  “How will you stop her from taking him away?  She’s a spirit, Jack.”  He lowers his arms slowly and sets the totem on the floor between us.  “Not human like us.”

Good question.  And one I don’t have an answer for.  “We’ll figure something out.  Does she stay in the totem, or does she come out and talk to you in person?”

“Like Tonane’s spirits you mean?”

“You remember Tonane’s spirits?”  I’d like to forget them myself.

“Sort of, a little bit.  I don’t think Orinea is like Tonane’s spirits though.”

“How so?”

“I think she’s more like the Goa’uld.  She’s more interested in being worshipped than helping the Rezulins’.”

Remind me to pay more attention to Menard’s gut instincts from here on out.  “But she’s not a Goa’uld?”

“How could she be?  She’d have to be a parabolic worm and live inside a host to be a Goa’uld,” Daniel points out with perfect logic.

“Okay, so she’s not a parasitic worm, which means she can’t jump from host to host.  In which case, if we smash the totem, she’ll be gone, right?”

Daniel’s eyes widen, then narrow.  “That’s too easy,” he says, though he’s clearly mulling over the ramifications. 

Where the hell is big Daniel when I need him?  He’d at least have some idea of what might happen if we destroy the artifact.  On a sigh, I slide up to my knees and bang on the door.  “Clayton, get -” The door opens to admit our teammates.  “Never mind.  Hey, guys, can’t imagine how you came to be on level 17 standing outside a storage closet.”

“General Hammond sent us.”  Carter drags her BDU shirt over her mouth and nose as she steps into the room.

Teal’c takes one look around the storage room and meets my troubled gaze.  He remains standing, though he locks his hands behind his back as he looks down at Daniel.  “What is the meaning of this Danieljackson?”

“Holy Hannah!” Carter’s identified pieces of the rubble Daniel’s kneeling position is half blocking from their sight.  “You broke the perfume jar.”  Though maybe she’s identifying from smell alone.

“Teal’c, any idea what will happen if we add that thing to the pile of rubble?”  I sit back and toe the no-longer-fascinating artifact I brought home. 

“I do not know; however, I would be happy to accommodate your desire in this regard.”

Carter’s still trying to take it in.  There’s no doubt she understands what’s been happening in here too.  I think the part she’s still having trouble processing is Daniel doing something like this.

For Daniel, even in this incarnation, to willfully destroy anything, but especially artifacts of this antiquity, is beyond comprehension.  And don’t make the mistake of imagining he didn’t understand what he was doing.  He was fully aware how old these things are he’s smashed to smithereens. 

What I can’t figure out is how the hell he managed to sneak them past the SF’s I’ve had posted in his office since he told me about the Oma incident, unless he’s being less than honest about how long this has been going on.

“Threat assessment, Carter?”

“I have no idea either, sir.  But I’m with Teal’c.  Something has to be done.”

“I want Hershey.”

Oh, for cryin’ out loud.  We’re going to have half the base in here before we’re done with this.  “Clayton,” I raise my voice to yell through the closed door, “send in the dog.”

An anxious Hershey bounds into the room, makes a beeline for the kid, and sniffs and slurps until he’s satisfied everything’s copasetic. 

“Are we drawing straws to see who gets to do the honors?  Carter, the hammer is on the shelf behind you.”

“I think we should all take a turn, sir.”

“Good idea.  Start us off.”

Daniel and Hershey scuttle back away from the totem and Carter takes a swing at it.

I swear the thing shrieks with fury, or possibly fear, as the hammer descends.  The first blow glances off the octopus like rain off a rain-x’d windshield.  The second breaks a tentacle and the third cleaves the thing in half. 

Carter hands the tool off to Teal’c, who brings the flat of the hammer down on the octopus with both hands.  Slivers of stone fly, like shrapnel, in every direction.  Miraculously, no one is impaled. 

It’s better than whack-a-mole and far superior to anything MacKenzie’s licensed to practice, not to mention thoroughly satisfying to feel the thing grinding to dust under the head of the hammer.

Daniel gets to pound the remaining bits into sand, which he does with gusto, then bends down and sweeps the pile of bits and pieces into the larger heap.  “There,” he says, dusting off his hands.  “That will fix it!”  He edges around the pile to wrap an arm around my leg as I push off the floor.  “Won’t it, Jack?” 

Hershey follows, twining around both of us until he nearly knocks me off balance. 

“Let’s get out of here.” I scoop up our kid and head for the door, stumbling over the dog again as he rushes past.  “I think our job here is done for the day.”

“They won’t be able to take Hershey now, will they?”

“They couldn’t do anything to Hershey before, Daniel.  They still can’t.”  I hope.

“But Tonane’s spirits could make people and things disappear.  What if they’re not really gone, they’re just hiding?”  Daniel grabs my face in both hands.  “Jack?  How’re you going to keep him safe?”

“Nothing is going to happen to Hershey.”

“How is it the spirits were able to commune with you, Danieljackson?”

Daniel mumbles something unintelligible.

“Speak clearly, please, so that we may understand you,” Teal’c instructs in his professor voice as our little parade follows the SF back to the elevators. 

Good thing we have him, none of us thought to bring bread crumbs, though the dog is actually at the head of the procession.  Hershey runs ahead several yards then turns to bark at us, as though he can’t put adequate distance between us and that room quickly enough. 

“The totem Jack brought me.  They talk to me through the totem.”

“How?” I ask. 

Daniel shrugs again.  “I don’t know.  They just do.”

“I think what the Colonel is asking is do you hear them inside your head, or do they talk to you like we are now?” Carter picks up the ball and does a competent juggling act.  “Can you hear them with your ears or are you hearing them with your mind?”

“Both,” he responds, as though hearing spirits any which way is really no big deal. 

“Could you communicate with them, Daniel?  Did they hear you too?”

“Yeah.”  Daniel looks over my shoulder at her.  “Well, mostly Orinea, Watoomah just wanted me to keep Orinea happy.”

“What of Carlichich?”

“I never met her, just the other two.”

“So, they talked to your through the totem?”

“Uh huh,” the kid repeats like we’re all being a little dense.

We round the corner to the corridor with the elevators, and Daniel, as if the last half hour had never happened, wants to be put down so he can run my card reader through the slot.

Oh to be that resilient.  This one’s going to haunt me for awhile.  Bad call letting stuff come home from off-world, O’Neill; you never know what you might be bringing home.

As we board the elevator and push the button for twenty-seven - I have an interrupted briefing to return to – Daniel turns to me.  “Now can I have my rock back?” He extends his hand imperatively, in the firm belief that I’m going to cave.

“No.”  Diplomacy in this situation will not gild the lily. 

While I imagine it would be pretty crowded in that smallish habitat if Watoomah and Orinea decided to exchange homes, I’m not taking any chances.  The rock will be destroyed as well. 

The happy grin morphs into an evil glare.  “That’s not fair!  I told you about Orinea and let you smash them so you would give me the rock back.  It has nothing to do with what happened in that storeroom, Jack.  Now give it here.”

Daniel in imperious mode is a hoot, big or little.  Swallowing my grin nearly chokes me, but I do it.  “I’m sorry if you thought I’d agreed to give you the rock back; that was never up for negotiation.”

The hands ball into fists and settle on his hips as he scowls at me.  “You better give me that rock back, or I’ll have Teal’c beat you up!  Teal’c gave me that rock in the first place, you can’t take it away.”

“As your guardian, O’Neill has every right to confiscate anything he deems detrimental to your well being, Danieljackson.  While the rock does not appear to be the cause of the damage that has been done already, it too, may harbor secrets we have yet to unlock.  It would be unwise of O’Neill to return the rock to you at this time.”

Yeah, what he said.

“I’ll tell General Hammond.  He’ll make you give me back the rock!”  Daniel tears off the elevator like the hounds of hell are after him, the ever faithful Hershey on his heels.

“Do you need me anymore, sir?”

“Uh, no.  Did I call you in the first place?”

Carter smiles sheepishly.  “Not exactly, sir, though we both were headed down here when the General found us.”

I just nod.   While this phenomenon isn’t unique to SG-1 - other teams who’ve been together a long time have mentioned similar intuitive experiences - since Daniel descended, it’s been a lot stronger among the four of us.  

“I will be available shortly, to resume lessons; I will not allow myself, or Danieljackson, to be diverted this afternoon.”

“I’ll drop him off at the classroom then, when he’s finished debriefing the General on my heinous crime.”  I have the distinct feeling the atmosphere around me is going to be distinctly chillier for the foreseeable future. 

“I will endeavor to be there before the pair of you.”

“I’m going to go shut things down, I think I’ll keep you company this afternoon,” Carter offers.

Teal’c inclines his head.  “I believe your presence with us would be invaluable, Majorcarter.  Perhaps we could spend some time scouting locations for our next geocaching adventure.”

“That’s a great idea, Teal’c.  Maybe we can distract him from this whole rock thing.” 

I probably shouldn’t admit it, but an insane stab of jealousy snatches my breath for an instant.  To know, in all likelihood, Carter and Teal’c will be able to cajole him out of his sulk hurts like hell. 

Carter gives me a sympathetic wince and a grimace before wheeling around to head back to the elevators and her own lab.  Teal’c turns on his heel to follow.

“Uh, sir?”  Carter yanks around abruptly, her long strides eating up the distance she’s just covered.  “What would you think if I gave Daniel a substitute rock?  I’ve sent most of it on to Area 51 already, but I have a few pieces left.”

“That would be a no, Carter.  At least for now.  If he can do his hocus pocus without the rock, then we’ll have to deal.  Though once we’ve figured out if it’s that particular rock, I would like to see if any rock can be used.”

Carter gives me an odd smile.  “Good thinking, sir.  I’ll put them away for now.”

I tip her a two-fingered salute and we part again.  Teal’c’s holding the elevator for her.  The trip hammer masquerading as my heart still hasn’t settled down, so I’m really glad, if insanely jealous, they’ll both be with Daniel this afternoon.  I don’t think the impact of this little scenario has fully sunk in with him yet.

By the time I reach the office, Daniel has commandeered a seat on the General’s desk and is jabbering away well above the verbal speed limit at a perplexed looking Hammond. 

“Colonel?  You took something that belongs to Dr. Jackson and won’t give it back to him?”  The General looks to me for an explanation.

“The rock, sir.”

“Oh.”  Hammond holds up a hand, stopping Daniel’s monologue.  “You didn’t tell me it was the rock.”

“Well, I didn’t see the point, sir.  It belongs to me.  Teal’c brought it to me, not Jack.  And Jack has no right to take it away just because I’m little and can’t stop him.  I want you to make him give it back.”

“I see.  Do you suppose you could have come to point a little sooner?”

“I thought you would want to hear all the facts of the case, sir,” Daniel says earnestly, batting those baby blues for maximum effect.

I lean against the doorjamb and fold my arms across my chest, awaiting the verdict and wondering just how much Daniel’s told him.

“Suppose I have the Colonel give me the rock and I’ll have it for safe keeping until such time as we determine whether or not the rock is harmful to you, Dr. Jackson?”

“But it’s not!” Daniel explodes, recognizing his moral high ground is rapidly slipping away.  “That’s what I was just trying to tell you.  Obviously you weren’t listening, General!”

“Daniel!”  I shove off the doorjamb, but the General raises his hand again.

“I’m sorry, Daniel.  I heard everything you said, but like the Colonel, I don’t think that rock is beneficial to your overall health and wellness.  And if there’s even a chance the Rezulin spirits might attempt to make the rock their next home, none of us want to see you held hostage by them again.”

“But, sir,” Daniel wails, “I need that rock!  We can’t do our show without it.”

“Both Dr. Fraiser and Dr. Warner have stopped by to tell me how much their patients have benefited from the entertainment you and Hershey have provided.  But even good things come to an end.  You had a good run, son, but if you can’t do the show without the rock, then it seems to me you shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

“You don’t understand,” Daniel snarls, sliding his booted feet onto the arm of Hammond’s chair and pushing off the desk so he can jump to the floor.  “Come on, Hershey.  We may as well go back to solitary confinement.  Nobody’s going to listen to us.  They’ll be sorry though, you wait and see.”

“Excuse me one second, sir.” 

Hammond nods and I follow the pair into the hall.  “Stop, Daniel.”

He hesitates mid-stride and almost stops, but in that split second hesitation I’m guessing he rethinks his instinctive response to my tone of voice and decides to ignore it.  Both of them continue down the hall at a trot with barely a break in stride.

The swat to his six gets his attention real quick.  Daniel grabs his ass and swings around to stare accusingly at me.  “I don’t have to do what you tell me, you’re not a real parent and I’m not a real kid and you can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do,” he hisses at me.  “And you hit me!”

“I did not hit you, I got your attention.  I may not be your real parent, but I am a real parent, Dr. Jackson.  Would you like me to further demonstrate that fact?”  I’ve learned these conversations don’t go over well when I’m towering over him, so I drop to my heels in front of him.  “And while you may not be a real kid, you’re sure acting like one right now, so if you don’t want to be treated like a kid, don’t behave like one.  You will march yourself right back into the General’s office and apologize immediately.”

“Why would I do that?” he snaps.  “I’m not apologizing for telling the truth.  You’re not listening to me!  None of you are!”

“Disagreeing with you does not mean we didn’t hear you.  Your response to the General and to me was extremely disrespectful.  I don’t care if you’re big or little, I will not tolerate your being insolent to anyone, let alone a superior officer.”

“I’m not military and never will be,” he practically spits at me.

“You still get a paycheck from here, Dr. Jackson.  Until that stops, you will treat everyone in this facility with the respect they deserve, including Carter, Teal’c and me.  You will go back in there and apologize to General Hammond and then you will go directly to the classroom and wait for Teal’c.  When I’m ready to go, I will pick you up down there.”

“You can’t order me around.”  Daniel plants his feet in a wide stance, crosses his arms over his chest and glowers at me with all the wrath of seven-year-old can muster.

I raise an eyebrow and rise to my feet; sometimes towering can be very effective. “Unless you’d like to experience the consequences of further defiance, I recommend you obey immediately.” 

He hesitates only a second longer before muttering under his breath, “I hate you,” as his feet turn to take him back in the direction of Hammond’s office. 

Slumping a shoulder against the wall, I wait for the 45 seconds it takes in Hammond’s office, wait while he marches back down the hall, Hershey still shadowing his every move, use my card to call the elevator for them, and wait some more for it to come and take away my personal migraine-inducer. 

The walk back to Hammond’s office doesn’t take long enough.  “I apologize, as well, sir.  I -”

“Dr. Jackson has never pulled his punches, Colonel,” Hammond interjects.  “I would hardly expect him to now when he has even less of a grasp of the niceties of protocol.”

“I have no idea what to do, sir.  I suspect his brain may be downloading information faster than he can process it.  That Desala woman specifically told me in this form he has more control of his ascended capabilities than he did as an adult.  I think a more accurate assessment would be that he has more access to them, not necessarily more control.”  I give him a quick synopsis of the storeroom debacle, though apparently security has already given him a run down, too.  I note, with weary resignation, the flinch he can’t suppress.  “I realize this could have been a huge security risk, sir.  We won’t be bringing anything back from off-world again.”

“There’s more to it than just that, Jack.  We can’t keep sidestepping the issue.”

“Yes, sir.”  It’s my turn to sigh.  “Daniel was always a better chess player; despite my edge in strategy, he can still out think me, sir.  He isn’t aware of that in this incarnation.  Yet.”

“Do we need to consider confining him to the base?”

“I don’t want to go there, sir, until we absolutely have to.”

“I fully understand the sentiment.  What I need to know is – are you objective enough to make the call, Colonel?”

He deserves an honest answer, even if I don’t want to give it.  “No, sir.”  I could add I lost my objectivity when it comes to my team several hundred light years ago, but I don’t. 

Hammond only sighs again.  “There may come a time,” he starts – stops – and starts again.  “In the meantime we’ll deal with this one day at a time.”

“Right.”  I should probably be giving thanks to that God I’m not sure I believe in for a commanding officer who is tolerant of my own less-than-stellar adherence to protocol and who also shares the belief that objectivity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  “Anything else I should know about the briefing, sir?”

“Nothing crucial.  Though there is one other thing.  Do you think we should recall Colonel Edwards and his team?  At last report they were ahead of schedule on the trenching and already laying pipe.”

“I take it there have been no reports of funny business planet side, sir?”

“No, but this incident with Dr. Jackson has me concerned.”

“I don’t know about recalling them, sir.  I do know those people need our help and I doubt an adult could be manipulated like Daniel was. Though we should probably give Edwards a heads up on what happened here.”

“Critical enough we should send someone right away?  Or wait for their next call-in?”

“Ahhh - I suppose if it was me out there, I’d want to know right away.” 

“My thought as well.  I’ll send a couple of Major Warren’s team.  They need something to do besides haunt the infirmary.”

“How is Steve, sir?  I haven’t seen Fraiser today, or been down to the infirmary.”

“He’s holding his own, just barely.  Which reminds me, Dr. Fraiser informed me you’ve failed to report to the infirmary to have that burn checked, Colonel.  She wants to see you before you leave today.”

Oh, crap.

”Why don’t you go now, while you’re thinking about it?”  Hammond says pleasantly.

“Oh, I can think of a dozen other things far more important that need doing right away, sir.”

”I’m sure you can.  Don’t make me make it an order, Colonel.” 

“On my way, sir.  Uhm . . . thank you, sir.”

“For?”  Hammond glances at me puzzled, as he picks up the phone.  “Sergeant, rustle up the members of SG-3 and send them to my office as soon as possible . . . thank you.”

“Nothing, sir.  Just being yourself.”

“Glad to oblige,” he grins, “whenever possible that is.”

If I ever have to fly a desk - god forbid - I hope I can measure up to his standards.  They’ll be hard pressed to replace him when the time comes for him to retire for good.

“Colonel?”

“Sir?”

“The rock?”

“Oh.  Right.”  I pull the rock out of my own pocket.  “What are you going to do with it, sir?”

“Wait and see if it starts talking to me?”  With a twinkle and an almost wink, General Hammond opens his middle desk draw and deposits the rock in the pen tray.  “I’ll keep you posted.”

*     *     * 

“Sam’s rock doesn’t work.”  Daniel body slams my office door open, waits barely long enough for Hershey to trot through and slams it shut with both hands.  The rock clangs as it rebounds off the side of the metal trash can and dings the bottom.

“Well, thank you for trying it, I appreciate that you at least did that much.” 

Finally, an absolute.  This rock doesn’t work!  Yay!

“I don’t want to be reasonable.  I don’t want you to pat me on the head and tell me I did good.”

Shoving back from the desk, I throw down my pen and lean back in the ancient, wooden arm chair I prefer.  “What do you want from me, Daniel?  Besides the rock, which, you know very well, I don’t have anymore.”

“I know where it is and I’m just going to go get it.”

“That would not be a very wise choice, now, would it?”

Hershey woofs approvingly.

When Daniel says nothing further, I take the hint and ask again, “So what do you want from me?”

Apparently some time over the last two days, a great deal of the adult Daniel has resurfaced in this incarnation.  He’s in intense confrontation mode.

“I want to know why you don’t believe me.  Have I ever, in our acquaintance, lied to you?”

“Well, now that’s a tricky question.  Do I believe you’ve ever told me a bold-faced lie?  No.  But there have been circumstances where you’ve withheld facts that certainly could be construed as lying to me.”

“Excuse me,” he states firmly, “that’s only from your perspective.”

“Want to talk about a storeroom on Level 17?”

“I never lied about that room!”

“Then you don’t consider sneaking valuable things out of your office in any way, shape, or form – lying?”

For a moment he stares at me, then snarks, “They were my things.  It was nobody else’s business.  And I didn’t take anyone else’s stuff even though Orinea tried to make me.”  Seeing the pitfalls lying ahead if he continues pursing this path, he changes tack.  “Why do you think I’m lying to you about the rock?”

“I never said you were lying, I don’t think you understand what the rock is doing to you.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand what the rock is doing for me and if you don’t let me have it back, you’ll regret it.  I also want to go live with someone else until I’m big again.  You hit me on purpose and you’re not even sorry.”  He waits expectantly for a response to this zinger.

I let him stew for several seconds while I put together a diplomatic answer.  “I’m very sorry circumstances arose that gave me little choice but to get your attention in a manner you didn’t appreciate.  However, you’re right, I’m not sorry I spanked you.  So I guess we better figure this out.  Who do you want to stay with until you’re big again?”

For a brief second, the eyes widen behind the glasses, and Hershey woofs again.  Interestingly enough, it’s at Daniel, not me.

“I want you to kick those people out of my house and I want someone to stay with me there.”

“They have a lease and I’m not kicking them out because you’re in a snit.”

Some of the confidence drains away and the miniature shoulders sag under the new weight. 

“How can you do this to me?  You’ve told me over and over you love me, I don’t understand . . .” The bottom lip trembles.  “Why does it hurt like this?”

If he’s manipulating me again, I’m going to break the little twerp in half.

The chair creaks like the ancient artifact it is as I get up and cross the few steps between us.  My knees echo the chair as I grit my teeth and struggle to the concrete floor in front of him.  Guess the island effect must have finally worn off.

“I suspect it hurts here, Daniel,” I lay my hand lightly over his heart, “because it feels like I’ve broken your trust.  I’m very sorry for that too.  But while you’re little, it’s our responsibility to make sure the environment around you is safe, that we don’t expose you to something that could hurt you, like the totem, or the rock. Have you thought about what might have happened if security hadn’t noticed something strange was going on down there on Level 17?  What lengths would you have gone to keep Hershey safe?”

“It’s not the same,” he mutters mutinously. 

“You don’t think I would do everything I can to protect you, to keep you safe?”

“I’m trying to tell you, you don’t need to keep me safe, Jack!  The rock isn’t hurting me, or making me do anything to appeasel it!”

“Yet every time you use it, you run a fever and after a show you’re so tired you have to lie down and sometimes even take a nap.”

He hefflalumps at me.  “That’s not the rock.”

“You’re the one who told me using the rock makes you warm all over,” I point out.

“Being warm isn’t the same as having a fever,” Daniel shoots back, balling his fists on his hips.  “I want my rock back, Jack.”

“The rock is gone, Sport, subject closed.  Now, do we still need to talk about what happened the other day?  If you think you’d be able to obey some other adult better, then let’s ask whoever it is you want to live with, I have no doubt anyone you ask will say yes in a heartbeat.”

“I’m not a kid, I don’t have to obey anyone!”

Oy.  Can I phone a friend?  Page Dr. Phil?

conversation two days ago.  Even though you’re not military, when you were grown up you had to abide by the rules of this institution, too, because you work for it.  If you choose not to obey, you’ll get fired and have to find another job.  If I choose not to obey, I get thrown in jail, because I promised, when I took this job, to obey the rules and regulations.  Society has rules, families have rules, hell the universe has rules that can’t be broken without dire consequences.  No matter where you go or who you stay with there will be rules and consequences for breaking them.”

“I don’t want to live with anybody else, but if you’re going to be mean like that, I have to,” he gulps, trying valiantly to hold back tears.

Hershey nudges his arm in sympathy.

“If by mean, you’re suggesting that you don’t want to live with me if I’m going to spank you again, how do you think we could solve the problem?”

He drags an arm across his eyes and shuffles forward to lean against me.  “You could promise, again, never to hurt me.”

“Ummmm, I will gladly promise, again, never to hurt you, but we have a difference of opinion if you think what happened the other day was intentional infliction of harm.”

“What’s that mean?”  His head goes down on my shoulder and his arms go around my neck.

I slide an arm under his ass and push us both up off the floor so we can go back to the chair.  Once we’re comfortably situated, and I’ve had a minute to gather my scattered wits, I try again.  “First of all, does this still hurt?” I ask, patting his ass lightly.

“No.”

“And how bad did it hurt when it happened?”

His shoulders come up around his ears.  “Don’ ‘member.”  And the finger heads north for chewing.

“Since I barely connected, I’m guessing this is what really hurts, right?”  I lay my hand over his heart again.

He nods slightly.

“Why do you suppose it doesn’t hurt here,” another pat to his behind, “but it hurts here?”  This time I leave my hand over his rapidly beating heart.

Several sniffs and a few tears dampening my t-shirt precede, “I don’t know.  Maybe because I broke your trust too?”

“How do you think you did that?”

“Because,” sniff, sniff, sniff, “I didn’t stop when you told me to ‘cause I was mad at you.”

“I think we’ve had several incidences of broken trust lately, starting clear back when that totem began talking to you and you didn’t tell me.”

“I told you why I didn’t tell you that,” he mumbles around the finger.

“Yes, but that doesn’t make not telling me right, does it?”

“But, Jack,” he shoves off my chest to look up at me earnestly, “I couldn’t let them take Hershey.”

“I doubt you remember it, but a long time ago, when you were still big, we agreed to always be honest with each other.  I’m going to hold you to that promise, Daniel.  Can you honestly tell me you believed I would have let something happen to Hershey if you’d told me what was going on with the totem?”

On a sigh he slumps back against me.  “No.  Probably not if I’d thought about it.”

I do this much better in a jet than I do in an arm chair – that would be flying by the seat of my pants for the uninitiated

“Reacting when we’re mad or frightened, without thinking things through, never results in the best choices.  And while that’s easy to say, I fully understand it’s not so easy to accomplish.  So how can we make our situation better now, so that you don’t have to go live with someone else?”

“Were you mad when you hit me?” 

“At the risk of repeating myself, I did not hit you.  But the answer to your question is no, I was not mad at you.”  I rest my cheek against the bright hair, inhaling the scent of No-More-Tears shampoo as if it was the rarest fragrance on Earth. 

Not that I’m in the habit of sticking my nose in big Daniel’s hair, but he doesn’t use No-More-Tears, and, all things considered, I might not have this smell around much longer. 

“Why is this so hard?” he wants to know, using the back of his arm to wipe his nose.

“That’s more your department than mine, Dr. Jackson.  But you did tell me you’d finally figured out your meaning of life stuff awhile back.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”  Would it be rude to mention here, how relieved I am to be back in his good graces?

“Did it have anything to do with you and Sam and Teal’c?”

“Yep.”

“I was pretty smart, huh?”

“You’re still pretty smart, kiddo; way smarter than me.”

“Jack?”

“Daniel?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Sport.”

“I love you better.”

“But I love you best.”

“Nope, I love you bestest of all.”

The bell rings as round two comes to a screeching halt.  And the winner is - Jack O’Neill, by default - because he has the kid who loves him bestest of all.

It’s been a long day and I still have two more meetings this afternoon; I’m already late for the next one.  And destined to be later as I realize Daniel’s fallen asleep cuddled against me.  I kiss the top of his head, slide down in the chair and toe open a bottom drawer to prop a foot on. 

All the information I’m missing will be there for retrieval later, for now the universe can wait. 

This could be gone tomorrow.

*     *     *

“It’s a risk, sir, but one we’re willing to take.  The Tok’ra are certain the power source is viable.” 

SG-6 looks expectantly toward Hammond, who looks over at me.

“If the Tok’ra weren’t involved, I’d feel a lot better.” I shrug slightly.  “I agree with Barnes, it’s a risk well worth taking if we come back with a power source, sir.”

“A calculated risk, with the odds in our . . .” Colonel Barnes starts, then stops mid-sentence to look over at me. 

In the sudden silence, I, too, hear the plodding footsteps and push back from the table.  As I swivel my chair around Daniel appears at the top of the stairs, Hershey padding quietly beside him. 

He hesitates, one hand on the stair railing. 

“What’s wrong, Sport?”

“Are we interrupting?”

“Yes, but the deed is done.  What do you want?”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Sure.” 

Daniel trudges over and points to the floor, where the dog immediately stretches out at our feet, head down on his paws, though his eyes never leave Daniel as I lift him on to my lap. 

I motion for the discussion to continue and Barnes resumes where he left off, though I’m focused on the kid rather than the on-going discussion.

“You okay, Sport?”  I whisper.

“Can we go home soon?” he whispers back.

“Shows over for the day?”

He nods as he tucks himself up as small as possible in my lap and alternately chews and sucks that finger. 

“You feeling okay?” 

He’s not just warm, he’s hot.  Hot enough I’m starting to sweat from the warmth he’s giving off.

He shakes his head slightly and sighs.  “I want to go home.”

I’m sitting at the end of the table next to Hammond, who eyes us questioningly.  “Something wrong?”

“I don’t think he’s feeling well, sir.” 

“SG-6, you have a go,” the General states, “SG-8 will provide back-up on this mission.  Can you be ready to leave at 1400 hours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want it clear this is a reconnaissance mission only.  Under no circumstances will you attempt to take this thing by force.”

“Understood, sir.”

Hammond rises, adjourning the meeting.  “Good luck then.”

“Thank you, sir.”

SG-6 heads out in a knot, Barnes issuing orders for collecting gear, etc., as they file through the door.  He pauses in the doorway to glance over his shoulder.  “Nothing serious, is it?”

“I doubt it.”

“Hey, Sport,” Barnes says to Daniel, “hope you feel better soon.” 

The entire base has picked up the nickname.  The only person who refers to him as Dr. Jackson anymore is the General and even he’s gotten out of the habit.

Daniel grunts in acknowledgement.

“Perhaps a visit to Dr. Fraiser would be in order?” Hammond queries, steepling his fingertips on the top of the briefing table.

“Yes, sir.” 

If it wasn’t the rock, what the hell is it? 

“How about it, Sport?  Let’s go see Janet and then you can go lie down in our quarters, okay?”

“I want to go home,” he says again, plaintively.  

Part 4

~*~

SG1 Stories | Little Daniel Stories | Little Daniel List | Fades to Black: Stargate Videos by Darcy | Links