“My mother says you have a very special little boy, Colonel.  And that she is very grateful for the gift he gave her this afternoon.  She’s telling you that as long as they own this store, your purchases here will be . . .” there’s a slight pause and then the young male voice says, “on the house.  I believe that is the American term.”

Another twenty seconds of Armenian.  “She says to give Daniel kisses from her and she can’t wait to see him again.  That’s it, sir.  She says goodbye.”

”Wait!”

“Sir?”

“I need a little explanation here.  I have no idea what she’s talking about or what in the world Daniel could have done to earn us free groceries.”

Another moment of silence.  “Oh.  He did not tell you?”

At the risk of repeating myself, I hate twenty questions.

“Tell me what?”

“That he restored my mother’s hands?”

“What?”

“He gave her back her hands.  Restored, yes?”

“Restored?”  A close-up of Mrs. H’s gnarled and curled fingers freeze frames in my mind’s eye. 

Restored.

Laughter really is good medicine and, I swear, one or two of my patients have walked out of the infirmary after one of their shows.

Restored.

Shit. 

“Restored,” the young man on the other end of the phone states emphatically.  “She has suffered from rheumatoid arthritis since she was a young girl.  She says she is free from pain for the first time in nearly sixty years.”

“Restored,” I murmur, closing my eyes as another piece of the puzzle shifts into focus.  The rock, the damn rock is the last piece.  But he didn’t have the rock, so how did he do this?

“My mother made homemade kataifi tonight for the first time in more years than even my father can remember.  She is repeating how grateful she is for this gift, sir.  And wants me to tell you again, everything is on the house, and she adds, don’t be shy about taking them up on their offer.  They have spent the afternoon trying to think of something appropriate to give you in return for this gift.  They are humbled that you would allow your child to do this for what amounts to strangers, sir.”

“Tell them . . .”  What?  That Daniel knows no strangers?  That we’re going to have to stop going into their store?  That if they don’t promise to keep this a secret I’ll have to shoot them in the name of international security?  “Could you put your dad on, and then translate for me, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

“’el-lo?  Col-o-nel?” Followed by another explosion of Armenian. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.  You’re welcome, Mr. H.”  I wait through some more heartfelt gratitude and interrupt when the son starts again.  “I got it, okay.  I need you all to understand something.  You cannot tell anyone about this.  No one, do you understand me?”

“But, surely –“

“No one,” I repeat harshly, hating the sound of my own voice.  “Not one word, to anyone.”

“No explanation?”

“I’m sorry, your folks are great people and I’m happy for them.  Make up something, but don’t involve Daniel.  He’s just a kid and I don’t want the press hounding him, or the notoriety that comes with this kind of . . .”

Miracle.  I want to say miracle.  It’s no miracle, but I can’t give them any other frame of reference.

“You can’t tell anybody.  I’m sorry.”  The special ops Colonel rises seamlessly to the surface.  “I’ve made myself clear?  You do understand what I’m telling you?”
Oh, for cryin’ out loud, I’m reduced to threatening a humble grocer and his wife. 

“I believe so, Colonel.  I will relay your message.  Goodnight, sir.”  The tone is bleak and full of injured hurt, but there’s also acceptance, for which I’m very thankful.

The dial tone blares in my ear before the phone drops from my nerveless fingers to the top of the desk as I bury my face in my hands. 

I’d rather have had water from the rock.

*     *     *

“I don’t see a power source, Barnes.  Can we get to the point?  It was gone?  It’s depleted?  There never was a power source?  How about you fill in the blank?”  We were late getting here this morning and they were paging me to this debrief as we were signing in.  Daniel and Hershey went straight to the infirmary for their morning show and for some reason – call it intuition, premonition, call it whatever you want – I have an urgent need to be down there. 

“No, sir.”  Barnes looks directly at the General rather then replying to me.  “There is a power source, it is not depleted, but you said not to make an attempt unless we were sure we could succeed.  We hung around for 24 hours, sir, thinking maybe we could do a snatch and grab.  But it was heavily guarded.  Sorry to say, sir, I think the intel was bad.”

“Surprise, surprise.  After all, it came from -”

The sound of running footsteps on the metal staircase has me pushing back from the table even before Harriman’s head is visible at floor level. 

“Colonel O’Neill,” he gasps, “You’re needed in the infirmary immediately: Daniel collapsed during their show.”

“Go, Jack,” Hammond says to my departing back.

As if.

I don’t have eight floors of knees left, I have no choice but to wait for the elevator, which takes ninety-three seconds to get here, though admittedly it only takes fifteen seconds to woosh me up seven floors. 

Got to do something about that response time though; what if we were under attack?

I’m barely through the doors when I’m nearly bowled over by Hershey, who plants his paws on my waist and woofs anxiously. 

“Yeah, I know buddy.”  I rub his ears.

Hershey barks again, a short, sharp staccato, and drops back on all fours.  He turns and trots off a few feet, looks at me over his shoulder, and when I don’t immediately follow, barks again.

He leads me out the back of the infirmary to one of the ISO rooms where a whole bunch of people are doing who knows what to my kid.

“What the hell happened?”

“Keep out of the way, Colonel.”

That is so not a good tone of voice.  We fade back into a corner, and I hunker down, pulling the softly whimpering dog between my knees.  While I know he understands every word I say, I haven’t yet managed Daniel’s skill at being able to translate BMD – Bernese Mountain Dog.  I’m fluent enough to know the dog is really worried, which translates in OCL -Old Colonel language - to terrified. 

Hershey takes an anxious swipe at my face, whether in sympathy or looking for  reassurance, I don’t understand, but I don’t wipe it off, and he lays his muzzle over my knee, looking up at me out of the corner of his eye like he doesn’t quite understand why I’m not doing something to make this better. 

“I wish I could,” I whisper, fondling his ears.  “I wish I could.”

It’s a long thirty-seven minutes of barked orders and breathless suspense before the pace of the frantic, controlled chaos eases and the crowd around the bed begins to disperse.  I’ve checked my watch thirty-seven times.

Fraiser, rattling off still more orders to the last nurse in the room, finally turns toward us, tucking her stethoscope into a pocket.  “We have him stabilized, sir.  But I recommend we transport to the base hospital as soon as possible.”

“No – and wait!”  I hold up a hand when she starts to protest.  “Please!  I’ve been thinking about this.  If it is in some way connected to that rock or the totem, there’s not a damn thing they can do for him over there.  In fact, moving him could be the equivalent of signing his death warrant.  And if this is some kind of alien bug, or technology we’ve yet to discover, then moving him to the base hospital will only hamper your ability to treat him effectively.  And I don’t imagine the President and Joint Chiefs would take too kindly to the Tok’ra dropping by, or the Asgard beaming in.”

“Sir.”  Fraiser clenches her jaw.  “Everything we’ve done has been ineffective.  You need to understand keeping him here could be equally risky.”

“Hammond will authorize whoever we need.  Bring in the experts, bring in the best pediatricians the military has; but bring them here.  I’ll fill out paperwork for the next thousand years to get them clearance, Janet.  Just bring them here.”

She eyes me for a moment longer, than closes her eyes on a sigh.  “I’ll speak to the General

“We’ve already discussed this.  He said to do what I need to do.  I’m doing it.  What the hell happened?  What’s wrong this time?”

“As for what happened, Daniel didn’t get up when he and Hershey did their play dead routine.  You know how realistic he can make that faint look, sir, but almost the instant Daniel went down, Hershey started barking.  It took a few seconds to realize the dog was trying to make us understand something was wrong.”  Fraiser rubs her forehead wearily.  “We were able to restart his heart without electrical stimulation, but without any understanding of the cause of this, I’m at loss to keep it from happening again.  And I still can’t tell you what’s wrong.”

“It has to have something to do with the rock.”

“Colonel, Sam and I both tested and analyzed that rock.  Sam even brewed up the tincture Teal’c told you about.  There was nothing harmful to us in that either.”

“That was my next thought.  Daniel ingested some of that stuff, licking it off Teal’c’s finger.”

“I can only repeat there was nothing physically injurious about the rock itself.  If it is the rock, then it has some esoteric hold on him.”

“Some kind of alien voodoo, like the totem?  You don’t think –“ I close my eyes.  “If by some chance . . .” I can’t do this. 

“Sir?  I think you better spit it out, whatever it is.  Especially if it’s pertinent to this situation.”

“What if . . . what if the Rezulin spirits . . . moved into him?”

Eyes wide, she stares at me, that brain of hers clicking away.  “Could we even tell physically?  I’ll have to do some research.”  On a sigh, Fraiser shakes her head.  “Though I would think if it was some kind of – spell – it would have been broken when it was destroyed.  I suppose ruling out anything at this point would be foolish.  But there are any number of variables here we haven’t considered.  What if it’s something one of the other teams brought back and we just haven’t isolated it yet.  Maybe whatever it is only affected Daniel because he’s small.  What if it’s a side-effect of the Tel’chak Fountain of Youth technology that’s just now manifesting?  I don’t . . .”

“Jack?”  His voice is little more than a whisper above the sound of the machines measuring his life force and the oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth.

“I’m right here, Sport.”  I palm his head and massage his temple.  “How ya feeling?”

“Hershey?”

“Hey, sweetie,” Fraiser interrupts, pulling out her trusty pen light.  “Can you answer a few questions for me?”

Daniel barely flinches when she flashes it in first one eye, then the other. 

“Hershey?”

The dog stirs at my feet, but subsides when I use Daniel’s hand motion for down. 

“I know he’s under the bed, Colonel.  You may as well let him up.  And then he’s going to Daniel’s office.”

In a single bound the dog is on the bed, nuzzling the kid, licking his face, nosing at him worriedly.

“What happened?”  Daniel shoves irritably at the oxygen mask.  “I don’t need this.”

I snatch up the hand that flops back down on top of the blanket as nausea crawls up the back of my throat.  The small fingers are misshapen and awkwardly bent, the knuckles swollen and inflamed. 

Oh god.  What has he done?  What have I let him do?

Fraiser whips the blanket down to extract his other hand.  It matches the right hand I’m holding, fingers crooked, knuckles a third larger than they should be.

With a calm I can only admire, she squeezes his hand lightly.  “Yes, you do, Sport.  Your oxygen saturation is low; that means if you don’t leave it on, your heart will have to work harder to oxygenate your blood and since your heart just stopped beating, I think it would a very good idea if you left it on.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I know you don’t, but I have to insist.  Do you remember what day it is?”

“Tuesday.”

“Can you tell me when your birthday is?”

“July 8.  Lie down, Hershey.  How long until we can go home?” he sighs wearily.

“First we have to figure out what’s wrong.”

“This wouldn’t be happening—” his breath hitches, “if I had the rock.”

“We’ll get a rock, Sport.”  I’ll strain the ash in the incinerator if I have to.

Daniel rolls his head fretfully.  “I need . . . my rock.”  His eyes roll back in his head and his chin meets his shoulder.

Fraiser whips out her stethoscope as her fingers aim for the carotid artery.  “Daniel?  Get down, Hershey!”

None of the machines are red lining, but more taut moments pass before her posture eases and she looks across the bed at me. 

“Just unconscious.”

As if unconscious is okay.  Which, given what just occurred, I suppose it’s at the bottom of the ten things I’d rather not deal with right now list.  At least his heart’s still beating. 

“If it is the rock, sir, it’s imperative we do something about it quickly.  You have some explanation for this?”  She lifts the hand she’s still holding. 

“We stopped to visit the grocer and his wife near our place, yesterday –“ The nausea nearly gags me as I fight to get the words out.

“Colonel?“

I put up a finger and shake my head, breathing through it until I have it under control again.  “I’ve known them for ten years now.  The wife had rheumatoid arthritis – until yesterday afternoon.”

She’s quick.  “That’s not possible, sir.” 

Bloody hell.  Of course it’s not possible!  For any normal human being; but we’re not talking about any normal human being, we’re talking about Doctor Daniel Jackson.     

“What about that woman we pulled out of the ice in Antarctica?” 

Fraiser’s lips purse as though she’s been sucking persimmons.  “No,” she denies, one hand going protectively to Daniel’s blanket-covered chest.  “No.”

I just look at her. 

“He’s too little.  He hasn’t manifested that kind of – power – before.”

“Oma Desala told me specifically he has more control over his ascended powers in this incarnation than he did as an adult.”

“No, Colonel, it can’t be.  He wouldn’t know how . . . he’s just a kid . . .”

“No, he’s not, Doc.”  More of the puzzle pieces are shifting into focus.  “You mentioned, yesterday, he’d been down here visiting Warren.”

“That was hours before . . .” Fraiser trails off. 

Why can’t he just be a normal kid this time around?  What’s wrong with chicken pox and measles? 

“Daniel woke up chattering about Warren and big Daniel being able to help him.  It made no sense at the time, but if he was down here trying to *fix* Warren and couldn’t?”

“You think that’s why he refused to come back down here,” Fraiser states. 

“Does he have any of Warren’s symptoms?”

“No, but Ayiana wasn’t really healing us, she was taking our sickness into herself. Colonel Warren wasn’t sick, sir, he was injured.”

“So he couldn’t *fix”, Steve, because it wasn’t an illness?”

“I don’t know.  We were unable to do any further genetic testing for fear Ayiana herself was the carrier of the illness we all succumbed to.  We had to have her body cremated.  There was too much risk.”

“If this . . .” the small, gnarled fingers don’t automatically curl around my index finger like Daniel usually does when I touch his hands when he’s asleep.  I have to clear my throat and start again.  “If this is indicative of more serious internal issues we need to know.  Just how much of her disease did he take on?”

“I’ll get set up for a CT scan immediately.”

“Would you have someone page Carter and Teal’c down here, please.”

“Of course.”

It’s less than five minutes before the door slides open.

“What happened?”  Carter starts spewing questions before the door closes behind them.  “Is he okay?  Where’s Hershey?  We passed Janet in the hallway, she said you’d asked her to page us.  Did something happen during the show? 

“What is the status of Daniel Jackson, O’Neill?”  Teal’c knocks on the window to the observation deck where an SF is posted and points authoritatively to the desk chair and then the room.

Good idea. 

“We still don’t know why he collapsed, but I think we’ve figured out some of what’s going on here.”

Show and tell is no easier this time around.

“Do you still believe the rock to be the cause of this O’Neill?”

“I still believe the rock had a pivotal role in this drama; but whether it’s detrimental or therapeutic, as Daniel believes, I don’t know.”

“I will return to Rezula and try to obtain a replacement.”

“The rock Carter gave him didn’t work, Teal’c.  And Daniel keeps saying he needs his rock.  Hammond says he ordered Siler to destroy it.  It went into the incinerator.”

“Incinerator,” Carter repeats blankly. 

“I will go immediately,” Teal’c states calmly, as though the act of going might endow another rock with whatever it is Daniel needs. 

“I’ll get a crew started on sifting through the incinerator ash.”

“1200 degrees, Carter?  Aren’t we grasping at straws?”

“If it’s that rock, sir?”

“Right.”

Hershey whines softly and I let him back up on the bed as I pull up the chair the SF delivered. 

*     *     *

No rock. 

Both Carter and Teal’c were unsuccessful. 

Well, Teal’c brought back a sack full of rocks, just none of them worked.  They’re still sifting through debris from the incinerator, but Carter immediately took some of the rock T found and subjected it to temperatures commensurate with the incinerator.

It turned to ash.    

I had to order them out of the room, but my pissed off teammates have gone to eat, shower, and walk the dog before they come back. 

Basically we’ve accomplished nothing in the last twenty-four hours; with the exception of confirming that Daniel has all the indicators of severe rheumatoid arthritis.  Even I could tell from the scan, every joint is inflamed. 

Like Ayiana, his condition has rapidly deteriorated.  I’m guessing he drained a lot of life force trying to fix Warren and then expended most of the rest fixing Mrs. H.   

I’m physically ill every time I look at him, remembering the empty bandages and the flat bedclothes last time he went glowy on me. 

I know I’m battling more than my own demons in my struggle to keep him here. 

“Daniel, don’t do this to me.”

“Jack?”

“Where the hell have you been?” I snarl, knowing full well if I turn my head it will be my imagination conjuring the voice I so need to hear.  I do it anyway, on the off chance I’m not hallucinating. 

Adult Daniel coalesces, forming like a hologram that solidifies.  He’s dressed in khaki’s and a plaid shirt over a t-shirt.

“Jack?” he says again, dropping easily to balance on his toes. He clasps his hands between his knees and tilts his head, watching me watch him. 

I want to touch him, beg him to stay this time, but my fingers go right through him when I reach out.  He closes his eyes and I realize there are tears sliding down my face.

“You need to find the rock.”

“The rock?” I repeat dully.  Surely he knows the rock is history. 

“The rock Teal’c brought back from P8X-XYZ,” he snaps, using little Daniel’s planet designations.  “Jack, you have to find the rock.”

“It went in the incinerator, they’re still sifting through the ash, but they’re not going to find it.  Carter experimented on the stuff Teal’c brought back.  The rock is history.  And this is the part I haven’t been able to figure out.  He was using that rock somehow, but he didn’t need it for the actual healing, because the rock was gone before he fixed Mrs. H’s hands.”

“No,” Daniel says, rising.  “He’s not healing, he’s taking the sickness into himself, and yes, it’s the same principal Ayiana was using, but unlike her, he found something to put it into - the rock - until you took it away from him.  He didn’t understand what he was doing; he just knew holding the rock made him feel better.”  He touches our twined hands. 

I don’t feel a thing, except a quickening in little Daniel. 

“Jack, you have to find that rock and you have to do it quickly.  He can’t hold on much longer.”

“Where have you been?  Why did you let us throw away the damn rock in the first place?”  I want to snarl again, but I’m too drained to even get an edge in my voice.  I just sound pathetic.

The hologram shimmers, possibly with annoyance, it’s sometimes hard to tell when adult Daniel is pissed. 

“It’s not like we sit around inside his head and chat, Jack.”

Well, that answers that.  Pissed for sure.

“I’m merely a manifestation of his subconscious.  I don’t know why he didn’t try this before.  Would you have listened to me any more than you did him?  He kept telling you he needed the rock.”

“Dammit, Daniel!  You never think anything is going to hurt you!  Why is it you never outgrew your teenage Superman phase?  Why do you think you’re invincible?”

“I never thought I was invincible,” he says bleakly.  “It just never occurred to me someone might care if something happened to me.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.  “That was a long time ago.”

“Old habits die hard.”

“And it’s not true for this incarnation at all.”

“Yes, but old, ingrained habits die even harder.”  He meets my gaze, flinching a shoulder unconsciously. 

Oh, yes, old habits die very hard.  “What about Oma?” I sigh, raising a hand to massage the kinks in my neck.  “Will she help him?”

“I don’t want to ascend again,” he says flatly.  “And you can bet she’d love to get her hands on this incarnation of me.  She thinks I’d be more compliant at this age then closing in on forty.”

I snort.  It’s a conditioned response; I have no control over it.  She’s right, he is a lot more malleable at this age, but I’ll let her have him versus the alternative.  There’s always a chance he’ll get himself kicked out again, even at seven, especially if he has this Daniel hanging over his shoulder coaching him.

“You’d rather die?”

He lifts an eyebrow.  “I’d rather you found the rock.”

“General-Hammond-had-Siler-throw-it-in-the-trash,” I repeat, with staccato emphasis, “it went to the incinerator.”

“I don’t think so, but even if it did, I don’t think it would have burnt up.”

“What is it about that rock?”

“I’m not sure.  All I can tell you is he recognized something in it when he was able to suck out Sam’s exhaustion on the way to the briefing.”

“Carter?  On the way to the briefing?  So he wasn’t doing this before he had the rock?”

“No, the rock was definitely the catalyst.”

“I thought it was just a case of heat exhaustion.”

“Oh, I think it was probably heat induced in you and Sam.  He was experimenting on the two of you.” 

Adult Daniel ripples again.  The shirt that was too big on him all those years ago stretches taut across the shoulders as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Find the rock, Jack.  He keeps asking for it because he can still feel it.  It must be here somewhere.”  He’s a bit more blurry by the time he says, “Tell Teal’c it’s not his fault.”

“Tell him yourself.  In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m barely out of a flamingo pink cast because I was withholding information.”

Daniel smirks.  “Look, I’ve got to go.  Every minute I stay is an hour this Daniel won’t last.  I’m sorry I can’t help more.”

And he’s gone.  No pop, no poof, no glowy lights, thank God; just gone, as if he was a figment of my imagination.  Except I can still hear him. 

“You’re wasting time, Jack.  Find that rock.”

I reach for the radio lying next to little Daniel’s pillow.  Last time he moved, he asked me to help him roll over on his stomach.  He was too weak to do it on his own. The finger’s in his mouth, but he isn’t sucking or chewing.  I haven’t had the heart to take it out. 

“Teal’c?  Got your ears on?”

“I do,” T growls and I can hear the anger and frustration in those two words, or maybe I just feel the vibrations clear up here in the infirmary.   “What do you require, O’Neill?”

“Adult Daniel says the rock is on base.”

There is a moment of dead silence, then the radio crackles with static.  “On base?” 

“Has anybody asked Siler about the rock?”

A second radio crackles.  “Siler is on vacation,” Carter answers.

“Is he off-world?”

“I doubt it, sir.”

“Then presumably, if he’s on Earth, we can make contact with him.  If anybody knows where he’s gone it will be Harriman.”

“Sir, we’re grasping at straws, if the General ordered him to destroy the rock, Siler would have done just that.”

“The rock is on base, Daniel said so.  Search Siler’s desk, search his tool box, search the mechanical rooms.  Search every damn room on this base if you have to, just find it.”  I click off the radio with every intention of hurling it against the wall so it shatters into a million pieces, except I don’t have the energy.

All I can do is wait.  If they find it . . . when they find . . . when they find it, we’ll be here, waiting.

This time I’m not letting him go lying alone in some impersonal hospital bed.  As I lean over to yank at the laces on my boots an airman opens the door and lets Hershey into the room. 

“I’ll be right outside, sir, if you need someone to take him out again.”

“Thanks.”

He tips a salute and closes the door. 

Hershey worriedly nudges at my shoulder.  He was pretty pissed that I made him leave too.  

“Yeah, bud, just a minute and I’ll let you up, okay?” 

I toe off my boots, slide onto the bed and snug the small, blanket-covered body up against me.  Hershey’s head pops up over the side and I pat the bed in invitation. 

“Come on,” I tell him. 

A single bound, a soft swish, and Hershey’s stretched out nose to plumy tail, pressed up against Daniel like a furry hot water bottle.

Janet will probably be pissed.  Too bad.

“Hold on, buddy, hold on.  We’ll find it, I promise.”

Lying here with him, holding him like this, for some reason I’m reminded of the island and our afternoon jaunt with the dog lady. 

“This one belongs to you; your destiny is linked.  Do you understand you are building a bridge for him?”

A bridge? 

“Build it solidly; he may need to cross over it many times before his journey is over.”

Is this one of those times?  Does he have to cross over before we get him back? 

The rise and fall of his chest is slowing, the time between breaths is stretching longer and longer.  He feels fragile in the circle of my arms; as if every bone in his body would snap if I squeezed even a little. 

What kind of bridge?

I close my eyes and rest my chin on the top of his head.  I’m an action kind of guy, normally I leave the mental gymnastics to Daniel and Carter, but if push comes to shove, I can occasionally pull a rabbit out of the hat.

If it’s a bridge he needs, I’ll build a damn bridge.  Hell, I’ll build him the London bridge if he wants, just so long as he uses it to come back home.

It occurs to me, as I’m mentally building this bridge, that Daniel isn’t too fond of heights, so in the end my bridge looks more like the foot bridges we’ve seen a lot of lately on our geocaching travels.  You know, like the pastoral wooden bridges used to cross the streams and eddies tucked away in our neighborhood parks.

My bridge may be rustic, but it’s user friendly and solid and as I look up from hammering in the last mental nail, lo and behold, there’s my kid standing on the other side watching me.  With the dog sitting beside him.

A part of my brain wants to reach out and make sure the dog is still lying in the bed with us, to open my eyes and see the child I can feel lying against my chest; and then the dog in the dream wags his tail and I feel Hershey’s tail thump against my leg in reality.

“Hey, Sport.  Ready to go home?” 

I know he’ll recognize the bridge.  Someone in our area has a series of Wormhole Xtreme caches; we found one a few weeks ago, in a little niche under this very bridge.

Fifteen feet upstream a tumble of rocks pushes the water up almost like a geyser and then spills it over in a cascade of spray that mists over the bridge.  It’s probably nice during the summer when it’s hot.  It was quite cool the day we were there and we avoided getting any wetter than we had to in order to get the cache. 

On the opposite side of the bridge, Daniel shifts his feet and lifts his hand slowly, spreading his fingers – as if in farewell.

“Daniel!  Don’t!  Don’t go!  Teal’c and Carter are going to find the rock.  Don’t go!  I’ll come and get you, just don’t go.”

“You can’t, Jack.  You won’t get here in time.  But Hershey’s going with me and I’ll be all right where we’re going.”

“No! Daniel!” 

It’s as if my feet are mired in the mud on this side of the bridge.  Every time I lift one out, the other sinks deeper.  I grab the bridge railing I’ve just nailed in place and drag one foot, minus my boot, out of what feels like quicksand.

“Hang on, just hang on.  I’ll get to you.”

“It’s okay.  I don’t mind.  The dog lady is waiting for me, Jack.”

“Dammit, Hershey!  Don’t let him go!  We had a deal, we shook on it!  Don’t you dare let him go.”

The dog woofs forlornly.

“Daniel!  Wait!  At least wait until I get over there and can talk to you without shouting.  Wait for me, I’ll go with you.”

“You can’t, Jack,” he says again.  “You can’t go with me this time.”

“You would have taken me with you when we were in Baal’s prison.  Why can’t I go with you now?”

He shakes his head sadly.  “You’re just trying to hold me here; you don’t really want to go now, either.  That’s okay, I understand.  It’s okay, really, Jack.”

“Do you want to go this time?”

He hesitates and one small, booted foot slides onto the bridge.  He’s in the same clothes adult Daniel was wearing, except in miniature.  A tiny plaid shirt over a black t-shirt, khaki’s and desert boots.  The outfit looks familiar because it’s the clothes I loaned him the day after we brought him back from Abydos; the day he demanded General Hammond let him be on my team.

So much troubled water under the bridge since that day – seems like a hundred years ago now.

“Come on, Sport, I know you don’t want to go with the dog lady, your adult self told me so just a few minutes ago.  Wait for me, I’m coming.  Carter and Teal’c are coming too, and the doc and General Hammond.  We’re even trying to track down Siler.  I’ll get Walter too.  Just wait for us, buddy.  Hold on a little bit longer and we’ll find a way to get to you.  Can you do that?”

I’ve got both feet on the bridge, minus boots, I’m caked with mud up to my knees and suddenly there’s a flood pouring over the damn thing, impeding my progress, but I’m determined.  Nothing will keep me from reaching my kid. 

Twice, the rising, rushing water rips my feet out from under me, but the wooden bridge has knobby knots for hand holds and even without my feet on the ground, I can still drag myself across. 

“Don’t, Jack!  You’ll drown!  Go back!  Go back!

This is only in my mind, but I built this bridge and I will not let it defeat me, I will not let it turn into my enemy. 

And it comes to me - the longer I’m struggling to get to him, the longer I can keep him here.  The enemy of my enemy is my friend – as long as he thinks I’m in danger, he’ll do everything in his power to stay.  I’m counting on the fact that Oma Desala will not take him against his will.

On cue, she appears next to the dog and the kid, frowning at me.

“I did not expect you to take me so literally,” she says, holding out a hand.  “Come, Daniel, Hershey.  It’s time to go, the water will disappear as soon as you’re gone and O’Neill will be safe.”

“Don’t go with her, Daniel!  Don’t take that path because you think it will save me!”

He slides his foot back off the bridge and the water recedes briefly, so I get my feet back under me again and am able to surge forward several spans of railing.

“Daniel!”  I lunge as I feel the water building for another assault and my fingers close around his outstretched hand.  “Hang on and don’t let go!”

Both of us are sucked into the vortex of raging water.  Disoriented, unable to tell up from down, my hand smacks the bridge railing and I latch on.  With Daniel, I can’t pull us hand over hand, and, reality or not, I know without a doubt, we’re both going to drown in this maelstrom if I can’t get us to the right side of the bridge.

My own lungs are burning from lack of oxygen and Daniel’s chest heaves as his oxygen-starved brain forces him to gasp.

I hear the words as clearly as if we were lying in his bed playing our nightly game.

“I love you bestest of all.”

“O’NEILL!”

I surge up off the bed, bringing Daniel with me, both of us gasping for air, as the dog jumps up barking madly. 

Teal’c’s massive hands are clamped around my wrists.  Carter has one of Daniel’s hands wrapped up inside both of her own and in my peripheral vision the room is crowded with people.

“O’Neill?” Teal’c gentles both his voice and his grip on my wrists, though his strength is the only thing holding us up. 

Someone shoves pillows behind me and T eases us back against them, careful to keep Daniel tucked up inside my arm.  My hands lie where he places them; not a muscle will respond to the urgent, disconnected messages pulsing in my brain.

“Daniel?”  I’m still gasping for air.

“Has the rock, sir.  His color is better already.”

“Found it.” 

“Yes, sir, under a wrench in Siler’s tool box, but only after Walter managed to track him down a few minutes ago.”

“Give that man a medal,” I wheeze determinedly. 

“He said he didn’t feel right destroying something that belonged to Daniel and admitted he’d planned to give it back to him after all the furor had died down.  What happened, sir?”

“Happened?”

“Just now?  We couldn’t wake you up?  For a second there we thought you’d gone into cardiac arrest.”

I close my eyes.  “What time is it?”

“A little after 17:30, sir.”

Holy buckets!  No wonder I feel like I’ve been run through the ringer.  I crawled into bed with Daniel a little before 14 hunderd hours; three-and-a-half hours ago.  

“Daniel?  Okay?” 

“The rock seemed to initiate a turning point, Colonel.  As soon as Sam put it in his hand, Daniel rallied.  His vitals have stabilized, and it appears he’s just sleeping now.  He has the rock in his own hand, sir, with his fingers closed around it.”  Fraiser’s voice. 

Thank God!  If he can wrap his own fingers around the rock, it’s absorbing that crippling arthritis.

“Colonel, can you tell us what happened?”

That would be Hammond.

“Right now, sir?”  I can barely form coherent thoughts; much less put into words to describe Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. 

I must have been seeing double, because there really aren’t that many people in the room; just my team, along with Fraiser and Hammond.  I could have sworn I saw Siler and his wrench, Harriman, and Barnes with his team.  Though come to think of it, I was sure I saw Steve Warren and his team here too.  So – maybe not. 

“I think I had to wrestle the devil for our Littlest Ancient, sir.”

Hammond cocks an eyebrow at me.  “Perhaps we should save this for later, when you’re both feeling more the thing, Colonel.”

I will an arm up to swipe the back of my wrist at the sweat streaming down my temple into the corner of my eye where it burns like the dickens.  “I’d appreciate that, sir.” 

At least the synapses are connecting finally.  The arm moved when I told it to.

Carter picks up a damp cloth and blots at my forehead.  “You okay, sir?”

“I’m fine, Carter . . .  now.”

*     *     *

“It was . . .” I pause to try and find the right words to conclude this briefing without being overly dramatic.  “An experience I have no desire to repeat.”

“Jack saved me,” Daniel says without looking up from his drawing.  He’s copying a line drawing of Carlichich one of the engineers gave him, except his drawing is a lot more detailed.  He can’t quite get the body proportions and he keeps erasing and redrawing certain lines; the paper’s worn thin in spots.  “If he hadn’t made the bridge and come for me, I would have gone with the dog lady.”

“The dog lady?”  Carter inquires.  “Alissana?”

“Oma Desala,” Teal’c says flatly.  “I believe you are right, O’Neill.  I, too, think they are one and the same.”

“Oh.”  Carter glances at the two of us.  “But - why?”

“Apparently she thinks he’d be easier to control in this incarnation.”

“Boy, she doesn’t know you very well, does she, Sport?” Carter grins at him.

“No, she sure doesn’t,” Daniel agrees, exasperatedly erasing yet again.  “It’s a good thing Jack does, huh?”

“You betcha.  Try looking at it from this angle.”  This time Carter reaches across the table, and when he lifts his hand obligingly, tilts the original sketch a little to the right.  “Maybe that perspective will help you see it better.”

The kid closes one eye and cocks his head to study both pictures.  When he looks up, his grin is as wide as Carter’s.  “That did it, Sam!  Thanks!”

With swift, bold strokes, he fills in the rest of the picture – perfectly proportioned -- and captured with as much skill and imagination as the picture of Watoomah.  In comparison, the engineer’s drawing looks like it belongs to a 7-year-old.

“Does that look like her now?” 

The picture is nearly touching my nose.  “Daniel.”

It moves back six inches.  “Is that better?”

“Another six inches and I might actually be able to distinguish the wings from the head.”

A put-upon sigh accompanies the movement of the picture as Daniel plants his ass on the table and leans back.  The small, elfin face appears over the top of the picture, sporting an impish grin.  “Is that better?” 

“Much, and it looks just like Carlichich.  Come here, you imp.”  I reel him in for a hug and a kiss, but he immediately wriggles out of my lap and scoots under the table, popping up on the other side to shove the picture into Hammond’s face.

I plant an elbow on the arm of the chair, prop my chin in my hand, and lean back to watch my kid make the rounds. 

Ultimately this is just another tactical situation to manage.  What do we have?  What do we need?

What I need is a way to get him to manage these new gifts without killing himself in the process.  What do I have to accomplish that?  Nothing.  Nada.  Squat.  Except he is slightly more malleable in this incarnation, slightly more open to direction.

“Have you asked him how the rock works, sir?”

“Repeatedly, Carter.  Until he got annoyed and told me to ask the other Daniel.  We were in the middle of supper last night, when this happened, so I asked to talk to adult Daniel.”

Teal’c and Carter are leaning toward me.  The General has one ear tuned into Daniel, the other to me.

“He screwed up his face, crossed his eyes, and held his breath until I thought he was going to pass out again.  Then relaxed and said, ‘No go.’  He  picked up his fork and started eating again, before looking over at me and asking if I thought maybe adult Daniel had gone somewhere with the dog lady, since he’d decided not to go with her after all.”

Carter sucks air and drops her forehead into her hand.

“Needless to say, I changed the subject.”

“If I knew how it worked, I’d tell you, Jack,” Daniel interrupts himself to insert. 

“But, Daniel, what made you think you could do something like that with the rock in the first place?”  Carter raises her head to ask. 

He shrugs.  “You were acting kind of funny when you went to the locker room with Jack and Teal’c and you felt kind of funny to me.  When I touched you with the gold on your forehead, you felt better.  Jack, too, only I didn’t try it on him until later when we were home.”

“But how did you know I felt better?”  Carter persists.

“No,” he shakes his head vigorously.  “I don’t mean you felt better, I mean you felt better to me, not strange anymore.  You look different when you don’t feel good inside, so I fixed it for you and you looked the same on the inside and the outside.”

“Do you know what an aura is, Daniel?”

“Like the aurora borealis we saw on the sleigh ride?” he asks, with a patient sigh.  After all, Carter’s interrupted his story telling. 

“No, this is a different kind of aura, it’s a color, or colors, that surround each of us.”

“Yes,” he agrees immediately.  “That’s what I mean.  After I touched you with the powder from the rock, you were better, right?”

“Daniel, what color do you see around me now?”

“Is this pert – what’s that word, Jack?”

“Pertinent?”

“Yeah.  Is this impertinent to this discussion?”

“It might be.  It’s important that we understand as much about how the rock works as we can, so we don’t let you hurt yourself again.”

“Well, if Jack would just have listened to what I was telling him, none of this would ever have happened in the first place.  I’m sorry, Jack,” he offers across the table.  “But I told you and told you and told you and you just didn’t listen.”

“Guilty as charged, your honor.  But Carter’s question is very pertinent.  Can you see colors around us?”

He flicks his eyes heavenward and pats the General’s arm, motioning him to push back from the table.  When he does, Daniel climbs into his lap and settles himself, much to George’s amusement, with his hands clasped on the table.

Like a school teacher, he begins his lecture.  “Sam is usually mostly sunshiny yellow.  Teal’c is almost always dark purple, like the color of those big fat grapes Jack puts in the freezer and they taste like candy when they come out.  Jack is mostly white and blue.  When you’re gone on missions, General Hammond is all red, but when you come home, he changes to white, too.  Now can I finish telling my story?”

“Carter?”

“I’ll have to look it up, sir.”

“Yellow represents intelligence and wisdom, Majorcarter.  Deep purple represents balance and security.  White most often indicates purity, though it can represent protection as well.  Blue is related to your spiritual path, the deeper the blue, the deeper an individual has delved into his or her own spirituality.   And red is most often associated with anxiety and fear.”

We all gape at our resident Jaffa.

“The chakra’s are well understood within the temple system on Chulak.  I have found your Earth teachings on these metaphysical phenomenon to be very close to our own beliefs.”

Will I ever cease to be astounded by the things he knows?

Picking up my jaw from the table as nonchalantly as possible, I ask, “Does this mean you see them, too?”

“I am capable, though it requires effort on my part. I believe Danieljackson has become accustomed to seeing them as part of us.  Do you recall what our colors looked like on the day the rock made its way to you?

Daniel steeples his fingers, thinks for a moment, then nods.

“Can you tell us what you saw?”

“You were all muddy green, like someone had mixed all the colors and repainted you the same.  I knew that wasn’t right.  So I just sorted them out and put them all back in the right places.”  He grins brightly at us.  “Are we done now?

And I was worried he was channeling the Energizer Bunny. 

“But how did the rock help you sort us –“

My cell rings, startling us all, but especially Daniel.  “I didn’t know your cell phone worked down here.” 

Carter’s only recently rigged up some doohickey that works like a cell tower, inside the mountain.  I’ve been after her for years to come up with a phone that will relay off the Gates so we could just phone home if we get in trouble out there.

I fish for it and flip it open as I’m pushing back from the table.  “Permission to adjourn this briefing in favor of an out-door-team-building-exercise, sir.”

“By all means, Colonel.”  Hammond hands the picture back to Daniel.  “I’ll mark our place in the story.”  He taps his forehead with a wink.  “So we can remember where to start up again when we have time for me to hear the rest of the legend.”

I’ve been hoping this call would come in before we had to be off-world again.  I cleared it with the General several days ago, when Paige first told me about it.

She knows we geo cache and called to tell me this cache was going up.

Someday I’m going to figure out how that woman is so connected.  There’s not a thing that goes on in Colorado Springs without her knowing about it – usually in advance. 

“Grab your geo caching packs and meet us at the surface ASAP.  Daniel, get Hershey.  I’ll meet you at the elevators.”

“Is it a new one?” Daniel asks as we all depart the briefing room at a brisk walk.

Our recent crisis kind of put paid to their efforts, but Teal’c and Daniel have been hunting tickets on eBay, for the sold-out sci fi convention in Denver this weekend, starring the Wormhole Xtreme actors. 

It’s a Wormhole Xtreme cache and I happen to know there are tickets up for grabs for the first to find.

Four of them.  Now isn’t that coincidental?

“Yes, it’s a new one.  And based on the coordinates, it’s relatively close by.  We have a shot at a first to find, kids.”

“Yes!” Carter sweeps Daniel up as she breaks into a jog.  “Let’s do it!”

“First to find?”  Teal’c intones.  “Indeed.  Let’s do it.”

My team disperses in different directions and I’m alone at the elevator, scraping at some peeling paint with my key card, and wondering about purity and protection when the doors open on an empty car. 

As I step over the threshold and the doors are closing, a breeze wafts past me.  Hitting the open door button does nothing and I slump against the panel – just briefly.  I swear I didn’t even take an aspirin this morning. 

It’s the white, glowy outfit this time, complete with the crossed arms.

“That was excellent thinking on your part, to build a bridge Daniel was familiar with and happy to be on.”  

“Why are you hanging around here?”  I don’t bother wasting time on pleasantries either..

“I have a vested interest in him, Colonel.  I believe Dr. Jackson may be the saving, not only of your entire universe, but my soul as well.”

“You don’t have a soul, lady.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t,” she says pleasantly.  “I bartered it away recklessly when I was young and foolish.  I did not take him from you, O’Neill, though I could easily have swayed him.”

“Why not?”

“I am not your enemy.”

“Yeah, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend.  No offense, but the ring of truth seems to be missing from this scenario.”

“Here is the plain, unvarnished truth, without metaphors or that zen koan crap you scorn, Colonel.  I will not let him fall into the hands of the enemy.  If that means I must take him because you cannot protect him, I will not hesitate to do so.  You were manipulated and used by the Rezulin’s in order to get that totem and the rock into Daniel’s hands.  They are not your friends, but you will not go to your General Hammond and tell him this, because they have something your Earth politicians want and you know very well your superiors will not draw back from the treaty you put in place.”

“Why should I believe you?  Why should I listen to anything you say?  Both of us nearly drowned on that bridge, in a flood of your making.”

“The water on that bridge was not of my doing.  Do you not see yet?  Daniel draws power to himself like a wick.  And while you are better at shielding your own power, the enemy has met you in battle.  They will not underestimate you again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before we went to Rezula?”  I veer back to the piece of interesting information she’s disclosed, wondering if it’s true. 

“I am not a god, O’Neill, I am not omniscient; I cannot be in multiple places at once; nor am I allowed to interfere.”

“Really?  What the hell are you doing now?”

“Informing you, after the fact, that your poor choice had consequences much farther reaching than your paltry imagination could begin to comprehend.”

“Do you have anything – consequential – to share?  Anything of a pertinent nature?  Because, if not, I’m going to ask politely that you leave and stay the hell out of our business.”

“And if I don’t choose to do so?  You will stop me how?”  She doesn’t bother to leave space for me to answer, which is just as well.  “Please try to remember you are not the only fish in my pond, I do have --- how did Hershey put it? -- other fish to fry?” 

“Your innuendos are less effective than the plain, unvarnished truth.  You’re damn right, without some kind of proof, I’m not going back to Hammond with this.”

”Then I must try to anticipate where next they will attack and throw what forces are at my disposal in the line of fire.”

“I thought you didn’t interfere.”

“He is yours to guard only until such time as your guardianship fails, O’Neill.  There are forces indiscernible on this plane that would take or destroy the essence of Daniel if they could.  Dismantle your bridge, do not let them near it, or next time you need to use it, you will find it worm-riddled and faulty.”

“They who?  And what about the rock?  What does it have to do with any of this scenario?”

“The rock itself is benign; it can do him no harm.  The harm of it comes from the malicious intent that brought it to his hands and perhaps that has burnt itself out.  Though I do not know if this is true.  Do not return again to Rezula and keep Daniel away from anything and anyone who has contact with the people of that planet.”

“So, do I let him keep the rock?”

“I told you, I can’t answer that.  But if you take it away, he will kill himself trying to help others.”

“Right.  Hey, since you’re here anyway, and in a chatty mood, suppose you tell me now if there are other places on the cartouche we should avoid?”

“Orinea’s Gate has long been known as a portal to the dark heart of the universe.”

“Yeah?  How come nobody bothered to tell us?  You people out there keep telling us we’re young.  How’re we supposed to know these things if no one tells us?”

Score one for O’Neill.  She actually looks perturbed for a moment before the ageless features smooth out.  “I suppose you will continue as you have, blundering about until you’ve either annihilated yourselves, or learned to go on with more grace and less ineptness.  That remains to be seen.”

“Wait!”

She’s less distinct, starting to glow more, but she stops the transformation and stares at me unblinking.

“You told me Daniel would be resized.”

She raises an eyebrow after a moment of silence.  “And?  So?  Therefore?”

I hate when someone steals my lines, but, against my will, my lips twitch.  “That damn well wouldn’t have happened if he’d gone with you.”

“I do not know the future, either, O’Neill, I merely predict, with some accuracy, the outcome of certain events.  All outcomes are subject to change given the multitude of choices to be made between now and the realization of the event.”

“So you don’t know that for sure.”

She smiles again, the enigmatic, Mona Lisa smile.  “Have I ever given you reason to believe I’m sure of anything?”

Dratted woman. 

“Well, you’ll get him again over my dead body.  Bye, have a nice life.”  I lift a hand in farewell and turn to punch the button, hoping she’ll take the hint and vamoose. 

She, of course, has to have the last word.  “That remains to be seen as well.”

Light blooms like a nuclear reactor explosion

I have a couple of reasons to be thankful when my hair is lifted, again, by that little puff of breeze;  I have hair - and it’s not Daniel.

Leaning back against the elevator wall, I start prying up the rough hewn planks from the floor of my mental bridge.  The water is still cold, but I haul out my fishing waders and splash into the stream to take down the sides, tossing fifteen-foot timbers over to the bank like they’re matchsticks.  The nicest thing about esoteric carpentry is the ease of building and dismantling. 

There’s a nice pile of kindling on the bank when I haul myself out of the brook.  A flick of a regulation lighter and the mound becomes firewood.  Since this is only mental gymnastics, I probably don’t have to stay and watch it burn down to ashes, but the kid in me can’t resist the blaze, so I sit awhile, toast a few cerebral marshmallows and watch my handiwork disintegrate.  I’d rather build a new one if my kid needs to cross more bridges. 

In the meantime, I find myself whistling an old Simon and Garfunkel tune as I amble off the elevator and down the hall to my office to collect our geocaching backpack. 

When you’re weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes,
I will dry them all,
I’m on your side
When times get rough
When friends just can’t be found 

Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will lay me down.

Daniel and I have negotiated a lot of rough waters over the last eight plus years, and while we've burned a few bridges between us, we've always managed to rebuild. 

Hopefully, if - make that when - Daniel is resized to normal, we won't need anymore bridges.

~*~

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