Stories by
Danielle
Story Notes:
Type: drama
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, temporary death of major character
Spoilers: The Nox, The Light, Heroes, Reckoning, Threads
Length: 17,520 words
A/N: The science about alternate realities is a complete fabrication for the sake of the story. I apologize to all the people who know better.
Challenging Fate
As usual, I was in the middle of a translation when Jack demanded that I join him for an emergency briefing. I had to wonder if my presence was strictly necessary. Jack had taken to calling me at odd times to ask inane questions like whether Bill Lee knew any good jokes (not really) or whether the commissary coffee tasted like sludge (always) or if I knew who sent flowers to Dr. Brightman yesterday (yes, but I wasn’t telling since I liked my face the way it was). I tried to be patient with Jack’s interruptions. Only the week before, he’d been uncertain if I were alive or dead, a quandary I shared while stuck in the ascended version of a café from my childhood memories. I wasn’t terribly surprised Jack felt the need to check up on me occasionally and make sure I hadn’t disappeared again. However, the constant interruptions were doing nothing for my backlog.
I took the translation with me, scribbling a few notes while I was in the elevator. By the time I’d reached the briefing room, I was so focused, I almost collided with the SF on guard. I gave him an absent nod when he put out a hand to steady me, but since I was thinking of ways to get out of Jack’s “emergency,” the presence of the SF didn’t really register.
“Jack, is this important because I’ve almost--”
I stopped short, taken aback by the sight of the others waiting for me. It wasn’t unusual to see Sam and Teal’c on one side of the briefing table, and after a year of Jack as general, I’d even gotten used to expecting him instead of General Hammond at the table’s head. But the visitors who faced Sam and Teal’c were a little out of the ordinary, even by SGC standards.
“Aren’t you in Atlantis?” I asked the man who was either John Sheppard or an excellent facsimile. Then I looked at the other man, who—odder still—had risen to attention and saluted me as if I were the general instead of Jack. “And aren’t you…dead?”
“So were you. Just last week,” Jack said with tolerant amusement. “Sit down, Daniel.”
I decided this one was worth staying for. I took the empty seat between Sam and Teal’c. Their response to my recent “missing and possibly killed in action” status was an overprotective streak that sandwiched me in their middle. No matter where we were, they invariably shuffled themselves until I had Sam on one side and Teal’c on the other. Mother-henning at its worst. If they didn’t ease off before our mission next week, I was going to have to confront them about it.
The “dead” man waited until I had settled before retaking his own seat. He beamed at me. “I’ve read so much about you, Dr. Jackson. It’s a real honor to meet you in person.”
The hero-worship was obvious…and embarrassing. “Um, thank you, I think. Lieutenant…Barber, isn’t it?”
“Captain Barber, yes, sir.” He looked inordinately pleased that I’d remembered his name. I was rather impressed myself, since it had been over four years since the man had committed suicide because of his addiction to a Goa’uld pleasure palace, and I hadn’t been in the best shape then myself. Besides, I was still sketchy about occasional details after descension had crippled my memory. My first descension, that is. I wasn’t sure if last week’s stunt qualified as a descension or not since I hadn't technically ascended in the first place and I still had my memory when I came back. They really needed to do something about the naked part of the process.
“Tone it down, Barber.” Sheppard’s lips barely moved as he spoke.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs, Barber ducked his chin to his chest and slumped back.
“So, what’s going on?” I asked in a falsely bright tone.
“Our friends here,” Jack indicated Sheppard and Barber, “arrived at Area 51 last night via that alternate reality mirror of yours.”
Though it was long since healed, my arm tingled where the alternate-Teal’c had shot it with a staff weapon. “I thought the mirror was destroyed.”
Jack scowled. “So did I. Luckily, Colonel Reynolds was there and heard the ruckus. He brought Sheppard and his team back with him this morning. Now they’re going to tell us why they decided to pay us a visit.”
Straightening under Jack’s penetrating gaze, Sheppard nodded sharply. “Yes, sir. But first, I think it would be best if I gave you some background. Your reality is actually quite a bit different from ours.”
Sam tilted her head. “How would you know that?”
“That’s part of the background,” Sheppard said. “You see, in our reality, Rodney McKay has devoted what he would call his ‘considerable brain power’ to studying the Mirror. He figured out a way to analyze the significant events of each reality.” Sam opened her mouth to ask a question, and Sheppard anticipated her with a raised hand and a shake of his head. “I couldn’t explain the details, even if I knew them. In one analysis, he determined the realities which have made the most advances in terms of protecting themselves from the Goa’uld were those where Dr. Jackson is an active participant of the SGC.”
I blinked. “Really? That’s…um, freaky, actually.”
Barber leaned forward, gazing at me with awe. “How can you say that? You’re a hero! You opened the Gate and discovered the cartouche on
It was beyond embarrassing. It was mortifying. I fidgeted with my translation and avoided looking at anyone else. I just knew Jack was laughing his ass off. At the last statement, though, I brought my head up with a snap.
“What?! I didn’t--”
Sheppard waved a hand negligently. “Different reality. The point is, it appears your contributions to the Stargate program have often been the deciding factor in whether or not the Goa’uld are defeated.”
I shot my team members sidelong glances, curious and a little nervous about their opinions to Sheppard’s assertions. To my surprise, Teal’c was smiling—well, as much as Teal’c ever smiled. Sam looked proud and gave me a little nudge with her elbow.
“Way to go, Danny,” Jack said with a grin that was almost paternal.
I blinked again and wondered if I were the one in the alternate reality. I had become fairly comfortable with my place on SG-1, especially in the last two years, but the others were more apt to tease than compliment me.
“In our reality, Dr. Jackson didn’t join the SGC,” Sheppard continued. “As soon as Dennis obtained McKay’s report--”
“I’m sorry,” Sam interrupted. “Who’s Dennis?”
“Ah. D-N-S. Department of National Secrecy. Similar to your NID. They oversee the SGC and make sure General Maybourne pursues a rather aggressive policy in SGC missions.”
Jack snorted. “Maybourne? A general? Well, if that isn’t totally screwed up. What happened to
“General Hammond retired before the SGC became operational. You—er, the other you…” Sheppard averted his gaze and tapped nervously on the briefing room table.
When the pause grew long, Jack growled. “Spit it out, Sheppard.”
Sheppard coughed. “Suicide, sir. Four months after the accidental shooting of your son.”
“Huh.” Jack slouched back in his chair. We respected his moment of silence. He cast an enigmatic glance in my direction. “Makes sense, I guess. No Daniel Jackson.”
I shrugged self-consciously. Jack and I rarely discussed that first mission to
“So, your DNS,” Jack said, dragging the discussion back on track, “I’m assuming they weren’t content with Daniel’s continued noninvolvement after that report.”
“That’s correct, sir. They abducted Dr. Jackson from an archaeological dig and insisted on his cooperation.”
Jack snorted again.
“Insisted?” A slow grin spread over Sam’s face. “They obviously didn’t know Daniel very well.”
“Indeed,” Teal’c added.
I wondered if anyone had ever died from embarrassment or if I would be the first.
“It was a definite flaw in their plan,” Sheppard agreed. “The more they—um, insisted, the more Dr. Jackson refused.”
Barber’s face had turned red with the effort to stay quiet, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “They killed him. The bastards killed him!”
There was a stunned silence. Sam grabbed my hand and held on tight. I watched as Jack’s face stilled into an unreadable, blank mask. That didn’t bode well for our visitors.
“At least I managed to stay dead somewhere,” I said. Yeah, it was a weak joke, but Jack’s eyes flickered, and the stony expression relaxed the tiniest bit. Sam released my hand with a murmured apology.
“You can’t have our Daniel,” Jack said in a nonchalant tone that was anything but nonchalant.
Barber looked appalled at the suggestion, but Sheppard twitched guiltily. “Dr. McKay managed to convince Dennis that alternate Dr. Jacksons would be just as uncooperative and that kidnapping from alternate realities would not be in our best interest since it would bring us under negative scrutiny.”
“Damn right,” Jack muttered.
Sheppard acknowledged the comment with a slight dip of his head. “That’s when Dennis came up with a different plan and brought me on board. You see, they had a time ship, and they needed a malleable Dr. Jackson, so--”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “No. Oh, no. Tell me you didn’t.”
For once, I wasn’t following the conversation. “Didn’t what? What did you do?”
Barber bent his head and covered his face with his hands. Sheppard stared at a point beyond Jack’s head, the traditional “hiding-behind-orders” façade. I’d seen it enough times to recognize it.
“We were ordered,” Sheppard said predictably and in a tight voice that seemed to indicate he wasn’t happy with the orders, “to travel back in time to 1970 and retrieve Daniel Jackson.”
Jack swore under his breath.
My brain felt like it had gone on permanent vacation at a critical moment. “I was only five in 1970.”
“Yes, sir.” Sheppard still wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. “I have the gene to operate the time ship. Barber and Hanson were responsible for the extraction. Makepeace and Newman covered the evidence.”
“Evidence,” Sam repeated in a quiet, flat tone. “Daniel’s parents?”
“A car crash. No one knows he’s missing.”
I blinked. Nothing was making sense. “But…the museum…the coverstone…”
“Alternate reality, remember,” Sam said gently. Teal’c poured a glass of water and pressed it into my hand. I swallowed several gulps. Then I removed my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose. It didn’t seem to help. My brain did not want to function for this.
“They were hurting him,” Barber said faintly. “We had to do something.”
Sam’s eyes went wide. “Holy Hannah! You brought him here, didn’t you?”
I opened my mouth and closed it without speaking. I really had no idea what to say. Jack was also sitting very quietly, in a way that reminded me of a volcano about to blow.
“This seemed the safest reality,” Sheppard said. “You’ve eliminated the worst of the Goa’uld and Replicator threats.”
“But we have a Daniel Jackson of our own,” Sam argued. “If yours stays, he’ll be affected by entropic cascade tremors and eventually die.”
Sheppard nodded. “You considered that. I mean, your counterpart in our reality did. But according to the research Dr. Carter-McKay has done--”
“Carter-McKay? We’re married?” Sam sagged back in her chair. “Oh God.”
Jack’s lips twitched as if they were trying to smirk but couldn’t make it past the “General.” I didn’t know why they always pegged me for the schizophrenic. No one turned the parts of his personality on and off the way Jack did.
Sheppard continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “She’s convinced that our Daniel should remain largely unaffected because he’s from the past. Something about a time and space differential. Similarly, it will take a total of eighty-six hours before the cascade tremors hit me because my counterpart here is occupying another galaxy. Everyone else on my team is dead in this reality.”
Sam bent toward the notebook in front of her and scribbled a series of equations. I slid my glasses back on to take a closer look. Math wasn’t one of the languages in which I was fluent, however, so it was just as well that Jack prodded her a few minutes later with a brusque “Carter?” before she got too lost in the analysis.
“I think he’s right, sir. I mean, I can’t say for sure without doing more calculations, but conceivably, someone from the past could remain in an alternate reality, especially if that same someone is dead in their current time stream. The space/time differential would account--”
“Ahht!” Jack stopped her before a long-winded explanation ensued. He turned his attention back to Sheppard. “Reynolds said he left part of your team in the infirmary before he escorted you and Barber here. I’m assuming that’s where we’ll find…Daniel.”
I shot a glance at Jack. He didn’t look half as freaked as I felt.
“Yes, sir.” Sheppard’s fingertips tapped the table again. “Frankly, sir, Daniel isn’t doing well. He doesn’t eat, he hardly sleeps, and he won’t answer when we talk to him. I’ve never even seen him cry. He doesn’t act much like a normal kid.”
“What language are you speaking?” I asked. When Sheppard blinked in confusion, I sighed. I really didn’t want to be dredging through childhood memories, but it seemed I didn’t have much choice. “When I was five, I went through this phase where I decided only two groups of people spoke English: my parents and bad guys.”
Jack snorted. “So you take the kid from his parents, put him in a situation where he’s being hurt, and speak a language that automatically pegs you as dangerous. Three strikes, and you’re out, gentlemen. He’s not likely to trust you anytime soon.”
Sheppard’s gaze was steady. “I don’t need him to trust me, General. I need him to be safe. That’s why we brought him here.”
Jack pursed his lips, assessing the man with a shrewd gaze, and then turned that same gaze on me. “Do you want to do this? We can call in one of your linguists.”
“No, I’ll—I can do it.” I hoped I could do this. It had been oddly terrifying to meet alternate copies of my friends, but that had been years ago, and I’d witnessed a lot of strange things since then. Surely, I could face an alternate copy of myself.
We all trooped up to the infirmary, with me predictably sandwiched between Sam and Teal’c. For once, it was reassuring. I felt jumpy. I had the weirdest feeling that someone was watching me. When we got off the elevator, something seemed to brush over me, like a hand stroking down my back in a proprietary way. But there was no one behind me. My neck prickled the rest of the way to the infirmary.
Colonel Reynolds was stationed just inside with a clear view toward the only occupied bed. The man who stood next to the bed, as obviously on guard as Reynolds, watched us warily. On the bed, a woman with long auburn hair obscuring her face was bent over a much smaller figure, tucked securely in her arms.
“Any problems?” Jack asked quietly.
“The boy refused to be examined,” Reynolds said. “I told Dr. Brightman it could wait until you arrived.”
Jack nodded and started for the bed. I caught his arm.
“Wait. We can’t all go over there. He’s scared enough as it is.”
Jack agreed, dismissed Reynolds, and directed Carter and Teal’c to take our alternate reality guests to some quarters. Sheppard refused to leave, but he sent Barber and Hanson, the man standing on guard beside the bed. I cast Sam an apologetic look. I knew she’d be itching for a chance to question someone who was not only from an alternate reality, but also from the past, but I was pretty sure we’d need to do some groundwork before the kid would be ready to talk.
When it was just the three of us, I asked Jack and Sheppard to hang back for a bit. I approached the bed cautiously. The woman looked up, her arms tightening around the boy she held. I stared at her and forgot how to breathe.
I still saw her face in my dreams. Sometimes with that tender smile while she whispered, “I’ll just get you something for the pain.” Sometimes with that not-to-be-thwarted expression Jack called her “Napoleon” look. Sometimes with that mischievous grin while she and Sam were gossiping. But mostly, I saw the empty stare at the end. The one that made me wonder why she, of all people, had been the one to die.
Jack’s hand seized my elbow, and I managed a shuddering gasp, “Janet.”
The straight, waist-length hair was the most obvious difference between this Janet and ours. Then there was the lack of recognition in her eyes as she tipped her head and gazed at us.
Sheppard came closer. “General? Dr. Jackson? Is something wrong?”
Jack gave my elbow a squeeze, and I pulled myself together. This wasn’t any more unusual than, say, having a dozen personalities downloaded into my head.
When we didn’t answer, Sheppard continued, “Janet Frasier is a nurse at the facility where Daniel was being held. She helped us get him out. She’s the only one Daniel seems to trust.”
I settled into a chair next to the bed so my face was level with the boy’s. He was pressed into Janet’s chest, leaving only the side of his face visible. He wore jeans that looked stiff with newness, a green turtleneck with a price tag still attached to the shirt cuff, and a pair of white socks but no shoes. His eyes were tightly closed, and he sucked on his thumb with single-minded focus, as if the action helped him ignore everything else.
“Marhaba,” I said quietly.
At the Arabic greeting, bright blue eyes blinked open. I had forgotten how blue my eyes could look. I’d gotten used to the way glasses or contacts dulled the color.
The boy—Daniel—pulled out his thumb long enough to ask, “Who are you?” His whisper-soft voice caressed the Arabic words, evoking memories of long-dead friends and workers on my parents’ digs. I swallowed hard.
“My name is Daniel, like yours,” I replied, sticking to the language that was familiar and comfortable to him. I gestured toward Sheppard. “This man has brought you here because it’s a safe place where people won’t hurt you.”
He swiveled an expression of incredulity between me and Sheppard. One eyebrow arched. Jack choked on a laugh.
“Oh, I’ve seen that before!” Even though I couldn’t see Jack while he stood behind me, I knew he was grinning. “That’s the ‘are you an idiot on purpose, or just one of those poor schmucks who can’t help it?’ look. You shoulda seen Kinsey’s face the first time Daniel popped that one on him.”
“Jack,” I said warningly. I didn’t want to get into the whole time travel/alternate reality thing until later.
“They won’t let me talk to my mommy and daddy,” Daniel said suddenly, twisting in Janet’s arms to glare at all of us. Anger made his voice loud, but anger was only a mask for the fear that lurked beneath it. “They said they’re dead, but I don’t believe them. I won’t. I want Mommy and Daddy. Why won’t you let me see them?”
Déjà vu swamped me. I had said the exact same words to my first caseworker. Even after seeing the coverstone fall, I’d denied my parents’ deaths, not wanting to believe the truth that had destroyed my childhood. God, I didn’t want to deal with this again. I bent my head, closed my eyes, and clenched my jaw against a sudden need to cry.
Jack’s hand came to rest on my shoulder. Sometimes Jack could read my moods like a book. Years ago I might have flinched away from his touch, but now I was grateful for the support.
“Your mommy and daddy is dead,” Jack told Daniel in faltering Arabic while his fingers massaged the tightness in my shoulder. “I have sorry. You go here so we have nurse of you.”
“So we can take care of you,” I corrected, lifting my head.
Daniel stared at me with a perceptive gaze that reminded me more of Teal’c than of myself. “Your mommy and daddy are dead too,” he whispered.
“Yes. Yes, they are.”
He surged off Janet’s lap and into mine. My arms moved automatically to catch him and readjust his weight. He buried his face against my shoulder, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. I cradled him with one arm and used my free hand to stroke over his sun-bleached hair and trembling body. I could feel the ribs beneath his shirt and wondered how long he’d been refusing food. I’d lost twenty pounds my first year in America because it had taken my taste buds that long to conform to the bland taste of American food, rather than the spicy Middle Eastern flavors I preferred.
“Finally,” Janet said with a soft sigh. “He’s needed to do that for weeks.”
I tried not to look at her. I could only seem to handle one weird thing for the day, and the boy in my arms was it. Janet would have to wait until my brain was functioning at something resembling its usual speed.
The others waited in silence while I soothed Daniel. When he had calmed, he leaned back and gazed at me again.
“Did the lady tell you too?” he whispered.
A memory flickered, elusive and hazy. I shook my head when it refused to surface. “What lady? Tell me what?”
Daniel took hold of my finger and positioned it to touch the center of his forehead. “The lady with the white eyes. She touched me here--” he lifted his hand, reaching toward the same spot on my forehead that I was touching on his, “and then she said--”
I never heard what the lady said. The moment Daniel’s finger touched my forehead, something arced between us like an electric current. I tried to scream, to jerk back, to break the connection. My body wouldn’t obey me. A flash of light exploded inside my head. Somewhere, a high-pitched shriek rent the air.
Then… nothing.
#
Jack watched the steady rise and fall of Daniel’s chest and remembered too many times sitting in the same hard chair beside the same infirmary bed waiting for the same man to open his eyes and tell them all what the hell had happened. Dr. Brightman was speculating some sort of electrical shock, similar to being ribboned, and the splotch of reddened skin on Daniel’s forehead seemed to bear that out.
How often could someone be ribboned? Daniel was probably holding the world’s record, and it seemed as if he took longer each time to recover from the effects. Brightman hadn’t been willing to speculate on when Daniel might wake up.
“Sir?” At Brightman’s call, Jack turned. The doctor was standing beside the curtained-off portion of the infirmary, gesturing for him to join her. “Sir, I think you need to see this.”
He hauled himself out of the chair. Sheppard had refused to leave the infirmary and was standing guard outside the curtain. Jack tipped his head toward Daniel, and Sheppard gave a sharp nod. Knowing someone was watching Daniel, Jack slipped past the curtain and viewed the scene.
The kid lying in the bed sported the same burned forehead and general look of unconsciousness as the Daniel in the other room. Janet stood beside the bed, almost at attention. Her expression was something between a mother bear guarding her cub and a recruit waiting to be scolded.
She caught his gaze, and for a minute, Jack couldn’t stop staring. She was so…alive. He shook off the pull of memory and forced himself to look away.
“Here, sir.” Brightman motioned him closer to the bed and drew back the sheet that covered the kid.
Jack bit back a curse. The kid’s pale body was littered with bruises, both old and new. Brightman had stripped the kid down to his underwear, and other than his face and hands, there was not an inch of untouched skin.
“They never tried to gain his trust,” Janet said, her voice wooden. “They just expected him to obey. He asked questions. Where were his parents? Why was he locked in a room? They beat him. So he stopped talking altogether. They beat him again. They gave him projects, simple translations, nothing important, just a way to teach him to do whatever they said. He wouldn’t do them. So they beat him more.”
She closed her eyes and drew in a breath. “They’d bring him to the infirmary, bloody and half-conscious. If he had internal injuries, they used the Goa’uld healing device on him, but otherwise, they left him to me. I’d clean him up and give him something for the pain and rock him when he woke in the middle of the night. And he’d thank me for taking care of him. He thanked me…” a sob choked her, “every…single…time…”
She sank into a chair, covering her face. She bent forward until her long hair settled around her like a screen shutting out the world. Her shoulders trembled as she cried softly.
“As she said, there are no major injuries,” Brightman said, pitching her voice low. “He’s malnourished, though, so I’m putting him on an IV. We need to start getting some solid food into him soon.”
“Get some Middle Eastern foods brought in.” Jack listed off a few of Daniel’s favorites.
Brightman nodded. Jack watched while she carefully dressed the kid in hospital scrubs and then inserted the IV. Just as she finished, the kid’s eyes blinked sleepily. Jack moved closer, pulling the kid’s focus toward him instead of the doctor.
“Marhaba,” Jack said.
A tentative smile flickered and then faded. “Is Daniel dead like Mommy and Daddy?”
“No. He’s fine. He’s resting. You can see him later,” Jack replied, hoping he wasn’t mangling the language. It had been decades since he’d had to practice his Arabic.
His hope was dashed when the kid giggled. “Your words are all mixed up.”
“I don’t usually speak Arabic. Can we speak English instead? Would that be all right?”
The kid tilted his head and regarded Jack solemnly, and God, the expression was so Daniel. Even with the “Kinsey look” earlier, the truth hadn’t sunk in. This wasn’t a pretend copy, a robot or a clone or some other alien-conceived duplicate. This was the child Daniel had been almost forty years ago. It was Daniel. A child version, but still…Daniel.
The realization hit him so hard that the air whooshed out of him and he had to steady himself on the edge of Daniel’s bed.
Daniel tried to push himself up. Brightman’s restraining hand prevented the movement, but he didn’t seem to notice as he watched Jack worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
The question was in English. And wasn’t that Daniel too? Caring about someone he didn’t know, giving up his own need for safety, even if it was going to get him killed?
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He smiled to give the words credence and reached out to gently stroke his fingers through Daniel’s hair. “How about you? Are you hurting anywhere?”
Daniel started to shake his head and winced. “My head.”
“I added a low-level pain medication to the IV,” Brightman whispered.
“Anything else…Daniel?” Calling him by name made it even more real. What in the world were they going to do? What would Daniel do? The adult one, that was. Daniel was the master at adapting, better than anyone Jack knew, but what if this situation was too much?
Daniel hadn’t been up to par all week. Jack hadn’t gotten much more than the basics out of Daniel, but even those were enough for him to keep an eye on the guy. What he’d seen hadn’t reassured him. Daniel wore the same faraway, distracted look that had been typical after the first descension had scattered his memory. His attention wandered frequently. He still flinched when Carter came up to him unexpectedly. Jack knew that particular reaction bothered Daniel the most, but even though Daniel knew intellectually that Carter had neither mind-fucked nor killed him, making his body believe it was another matter entirely.
Jack wasn’t sure Daniel could handle another complication right now, and that worried him. Because there was no way he could send the little Daniel back.
“Tired,” Daniel said through a yawn. “Where’s Janet?”
Janet lifted her head, swiped her damp cheeks, and pasted on a smile. When she rose and approached the bed, Jack moved to the other side. Brightman had just finished. She whispered that she’d be back later to check on the boy and left. Janet took Daniel’s hand. She stroked her thumb over the knuckles.
“I’m here, Daniel.”
“Your face is red,” he observed, squinting up at her. “Were you crying? Why?”
“Because I’m happy we found someplace safe for you.”
“For you too.” Daniel gave a contented smile, sighed, and relaxed back into sleep
Janet used a foot to reach back and snag her chair. Without releasing Daniel’s hand, she pulled the chair closer to the bed and settled into it. She looked up at Jack.
“Stay with us awhile?”
Jack shrugged, found another chair, and placed it on the opposite side of the bed. He eased into it, strangely reluctant to face her.
“Dr. McKay said we were dead in this reality, everyone except Major Sheppard and Daniel.” She tipped her head and studied Jack. “But people don’t react to Captain Barber and Lieutenant Hanson the way they react to me. You don’t react the same.”
Jack glanced down at the sleeping boy and wondered if he should leave. Janet was about to ask him questions he didn’t want to answer, questions that would make him look at that Janet-sized hole in his heart he’d been ignoring for the last year. It wasn’t fair that Daniel—either of them—was sleeping through this and leaving Jack to handle Janet’s questions alone.
“Who was I here?”
“You were…” he paused, shuffling through the various answers of doctor, friend, confidante, and settled on the most distant truth, “the commanding medical officer. For almost seven years.”
Her eyes widened. “Well, that explains why the nurses keep glancing at me like they expect me to start barking orders. Are they afraid of me because of who she was or because she’s supposed to be dead?”
“Maybe a little of both. We respected you—her.” He fumbled on the pronoun and found himself trying to explain, “She was very…special. To all of us. It was hard. Losing you. Her.”
“How did it happen?” she asked quietly.
“It was a rescue mission. We were under fire. People were hurt. You were trying to stabilize Lieutenant Wells. He named his baby girl after you. Cute little thing.” He was babbling, but even as he realized it, more words poured out of him. “I couldn’t protect you. You died doing what you were supposed to do, what you loved doing. You died saving lives. But if I’d had to choose between you and Wells, if we’d known going in that you weren’t coming back--”
“I still would have gone,” she interrupted fiercely. “It was my choice to make, and even knowing what would happen, I would still save that one life.”
He looked up at her, startled. “Doc?”
But no, the hair was long, and the skin, not so lined with stress. The eyes were the same, though. Still as perceptive as hell.
“And if she were here, she’d kick your ass for blaming yourself for her decision.” Janet smiled gently. “Wouldn’t she?”
He snorted, feeling something inside let go and a measure of peace slide into its place. “Yeah. She would.”
On the bed between them, Daniel stirred. His forehead scrunched. When he uttered a tiny cry, Janet leaned closer and rested her hand on Daniel’s cheek.
“Ssh. It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
As she continued to croon reassurances, Daniel exhaled heavily and relaxed completely as if the release of air had drained him of tension. Snuggling into his pillow, he brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked, but after a minute, the sucking tapered off, and the thumb drooped.
“Your Daniel must be very brave,” Janet said softly, her thumb brushing over Daniel’s cheekbone.
“He is. A little too much so for his own good some days.”
She nodded. “I can’t imagine a boy this brave not growing up to be the same way.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching little Daniel sleep. Jack realized he had lost his restlessness around this new Janet. He felt comfortable with her, and the thought of Janet’s absence was no longer a sharp, wrenching pain in his gut.
“He was upset when he saw me. Your Daniel.” She glanced at him, the question in her eyes.
Jack sighed. “Daniel was there. He was helping her stabilize Wells, keeping him calm. He was right next to her, just a few feet away, when she was hit.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Daniel may be…skittish…around you. It’s nothing personal.”
“I can understand that.”
He thought about telling her more, about the foster homes and Nick’s rejection and all the childhood secrets he’d finagled out of Daniel over the years. He wanted her to understand how this little Daniel was going to awaken some nasty ghosts from Daniel’s past. Sure, Daniel was brave, but his coping mechanisms sucked. He withdrew from people who cared about him, bottled up his emotions, and worked himself to exhaustion. Jack didn’t want that happening, not so soon after Daniel’s return from the dead.
Before he could decide, a voice over the intercom announced an unauthorized wormhole and soon after, requested General O’Neill’s presence in the control room. Jack sighed and lifted his gaze toward the ceiling.
“Couldn’t we, just once, have one crisis at a time instead of six of them all at once?”
When no answer was forthcoming, he heaved himself out of the chair, gave Janet a parting nod, and went back to the work of being a general.
#
Somebody was tap-dancing on my head, and I really wished they’d stop. I raised my hand and tried to bat them away.
“Easy.” Someone caught my hand. “Dr. Brightman says you’re going to want to avoid sudden movements for a while.”
After a couple tries, I managed to get my eyes open. “Jack?”
“Yeah.” He spooned some ice chips into my dry mouth before I could ask him what had happened, but we’ve done the infirmary thing enough times that he knew the question was imminent and started right in on the explanation, “You and the mini-you collapsed about two hours ago. We’re not quite sure why, though I’ve got a couple visitors waiting who might shed some light on things.”
“Visitors?”
“They won’t talk until you’re up and about.” He eyed me critically. “I’m thinking you should stay put for another couple hours.”
I shook my head, gasping out, “I’m fine,” while pain spiked through the center of my forehead at the movement.
“Sure you are,” Jack said dryly. “Despite the pattern, it basically looks like you’ve been ribboned.”
“Pattern?”
Jack handed me a small mirror and my glasses so I could examine it for myself. Most of my forehead was covered with the blistering sunburn effect that usually resulted after exposure to a Goa’uld hand device. But in the exact center, where Daniel had touched me, was a white spot, the size of a dime. Six white lines, two on each side and one on the top and the bottom, wavered out from that point like the rays of a sun. I’d seen the pattern somewhere, but the memory escaped me.
“How’s--” I waved my hand toward the curtained portion of the infirmary where I could hear the gentle murmur of Janet’s voice crooning a lullaby. My mind still wasn’t grasping the idea of an alternate reality double, so I couldn’t make myself say the name.
“Little Daniel? He’s sporting a sun tattoo just like yours. Brightman thinks it will take him longer to recover from whatever shocked you guys. He’s weaker, physically.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, revealing the anger he wasn’t showing any other way. Sometimes I could read Jack’s moods as well as he could read mine. “Jack?”
Jack gave in to the anger and growled his frustration. “He looks like a goddamn punching bag. Bruises all over his body.” He leaned forward, eyes bleak, and lowered his voice. “Daniel, I need you to be okay about the kid staying because I really, really don’t think I can send him back.”
“I—I’m working on it. It’s—weird, you know.”
Jack nodded and patted my hand. “Get some rest. I’ll have Brightman bring you something for the headache.”
“What about the visitors?”
“They’ll keep. You’re not ready.”
Ready or not, it couldn’t have been ten minutes before Jack trooped back in, followed by Lya of the Nox and another woman I didn’t recognize. I hadn’t taken off my glasses yet, and Dr. Brightman hadn’t arrived with any pain meds. Maybe Jack hadn’t had a chance to tell her I needed them.
“Apparently, I’m not in charge around here,” Jack muttered.
Lya tsked gently at his grumpiness. “As I have explained, we have delayed too long already. Daniel, my friend, it is good to see you again. Forgive us for not allowing you more time to rest.”
I used the remote to bring the bed and myself to a sitting position. The movement made me slightly nauseous. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply until the moment passed. When I opened my eyes, the woman with Lya was standing next to my bed.
She was tall and thin, giving her nose, chin, and cheekbones the appearance of sharp angles. Straight, white hair cloaked her back and stopped at her thighs. She wore a shapeless white robe. Dark blue thread bordered the hems with the same sun design that now adorned my forehead. I looked up into her eyes. They were also white, lacking both irises and pupils.
I remembered the fleeting wisp of memory when Daniel had mentioned the lady with white eyes and asked, “Do I know you?”
“She is of the Moirai,” Lya said. “Like the Fenri, the Moirai depend on the Nox for protection. They are seers of the future.”
I recognized the word. “The Fates. In Greek mythology, the Fates were also called the Moirai. The three goddesses who spun out a child’s destiny at birth. Clotho, the spinner. Lachesis, the apportioner. And Atropos, the inevitable.”
The woman inclined her head and spoke in a sepulchral voice, “We meet again, Daniel Jackson, desert child, seeker of mysteries, bringer of evil. I am Clotho.”
“Bringer of evil,” Jack drawled with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a new one. Pain in the mik’ta, I won’t argue, but Daniel’s not so interested in the dark side, actually.”
I waved Jack to silence. It was disconcerting to meet Clotho’s white eyes, but as usual for me, curiosity proved more powerful than discomfort. “We’ve met before? When? Why can’t I remember it?”
“You had only three of your years. I called you before me in a dream and spun you a new fate.”
The memory tickled the edges of my mind, and I stared inward, trying to chase it down. “You said something about…the Keres.”
“The eater of souls, yes.”
Lya shook her head mournfully. “The monster has ravaged so many in your world.”
“Okay, hold on a minute,” Jack said. “What’s all this about a monster?”
“The Keres has fed here for many centuries,” Clotho said. “It seeks the brilliant among you, the children whose genius reveals the shining life essence within. Some embrace the Keres so that while it feeds, its evil spreads. Your Adolf Hitler was such a one. Others are like a shooting star. They burn brightly but fade quickly. They are consumed by depression because they sense the Keres but cannot escape it. This is why many among you commit suicide, just as Vincent Van Gogh did.”
“So you’re telling me Hitler and Van Gogh were victims of…a monster?”
“The Keres is not one of the flesh and blood monsters portrayed in your literature. It has no substance on its own. Without the life essences upon which it feeds, it would cease to exist. That is why it always seeks the brightest among you. The brighter the essence, the longer the Keres can sustain itself.”
Aided by Clotho’s explanation, the memory of my encounter with her was coming back in fragments. “You said I was too bright.”
“The brightest we had seen in many years. It was Lachesis who first saw your fate. The Keres would use you up, and you would be the rising star of archaeology, but you would die young, penniless and miserable because of the one truth you could not prove. And the Keres would be as strong as when it first came into existence.”
“So you changed his fate somehow,” Jack said, following the conversation without his usual “I’m the dumb one here” routine, which meant he thought it was serious. It was never good when something was so serious that it merited Jack’s full attention.
“We did.”
I reached deeper into the slowly-unfolding memory. “You said…you had to make me dimmer… You said—oh, God.” I choked off as I remembered the words of the white-eyed lady from my past.
Jack took a step that put him slightly between me and Clotho, reacting in automatic defense to my anguished tone. “What?”
I closed my eyes and slumped back. “She said my parents had to die,” I whispered.
“It was necessary,” Clotho said. “The grief of your loss clouded your life essence so the Keres did not react to it and seek you out. I gave you as much time with them as I could, but eventually the protection I placed upon you wore off.”
I felt drained. It was one thing to know my parents’ death was an accident, a careless mistake. It was quite another to realize it was deliberately caused.
“And you’re showing up now because…” Jack trailed off with an upward lilt, inviting Clotho to finish the statement.
Clotho turned her empty, white gaze on Jack. “Jonathan O’Neill, sky child, slayer of demons, protector of worlds. When the Keres wears the face of your friend, will you slay it to save the universe?”
Jack opened his mouth and then closed it without speaking. He cast a sideways glance in my direction with a look that pleaded for me to explain what the hell was going on. Except I really had no clue. I shook my head and winced as the headache I’d been trying to ignore began to pound harder.
“Of course you will,” Clotho answered for him. “Because it is your fate.”
“Look, the cryptic stuff isn’t my department. Why are you here exactly?”
“The Keres has taken Daniel.”
“What?!” Jack and I spoke in unison. I added, out of habit, “I’m fine. Really.”
Clotho ignored me, her gaze centered on Jack. “And if you do not kill Daniel before next he steps through the Stargate, he will bring the evil into the universe, for it is his fate to be the bringer of evil.”
I gaped at her, but words had frozen in my brain.
Jack’s face stilled again, much as it had when Sheppard mentioned the death of their reality’s Daniel. “I thought you said you changed that fate.”
“Perhaps ‘change’ was an inaccurate word. We merely delayed it where possible. Since Daniel joined this program, it has become harder to obscure his essence. We could not touch you, the star child, or the
“Oh God,” I whispered again. Poor Sha’re. She would have been better off if she had never met me. I wanted to curl up into a ball, but I was afraid to move and upset the nausea that churned in my stomach.
Even Jack’s eyes had gone still. They were hard points of iron control. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been manipulating Daniel’s life for years just so this Keres thing wouldn’t get him, and now you say it has. So what happened? Did you goof up on the playing God act?”
“He is also the seeker of mysteries, which led him to the ones you call the Ancients. We could not change something so integral to his fate. Now that ascension clings to him, his life essence flares like a beacon. The Keres would not resist such brilliance. Daniel has been taken, and you will kill him. As it was spun from your birth, as it was fated, so must it be.”
Jack’s harsh gaze flipped to Lya, who was standing quietly on the other side of my bed, with her head bowed and her hands crossed before her as if she were praying. “And you’re on board with this?”
Lya lifted her head and looked at me with such sorrow that I felt tears prick my eyes. Then she turned her gaze on Jack. He stepped backward, as if the force of her gaze had shoved him. He reached down to grip my shoulder. If it was a gesture of comfort, it didn’t work.
“The Moirai and the Keres have long been enemies,” Lya said. “Once, many millennia ago, the Keres swept through the universe like a plague. We would not wish to see that repeat, so yes, we trust the Moirai in this. They were the ones to finally imprison the last of the Keres.”
“Here,” Jack said dryly.
“Yes,” Clotho said. “On the Tau’ri homeworld, where the people were primitive, lacking the strong essences which the Keres needed to survive. Given enough years here, the Keres would have faded out of existence.”
“What happened?” I asked. Despite the apparent death sentence hanging over my head, I was captivated by this glimpse into a long-ago history that predated anything we knew.
“We underestimated the humans.”
“We get that a lot,” Jack said with a smug look. Then he smiled with fake sincerity at Lya. “Some people even call us young, imagine that.”
She arched an eyebrow elegantly. “You are young. You are curious children who do not always listen to the wisdom of your elders. However, your species is also capable of much growth. You adapt quickly.”
“Too quickly,” Clotho said. “The Keres began to find those upon which to feed. It did not fade. My sisters and I returned here, becoming a part of your mythology as we fought to respin the fates of those who would attract the Keres. But it grew and outpaced us until it was necessary for us to flee to the Nox. From there, we used the humans’ dreams to contain the Keres by making certain it would not be attracted to those who were also fated to leave your world.”
“So it’s okay if this thing runs amok on our world as long as it doesn’t go anywhere else? It’s got the primitive Earthlings for food, so you high-and-mighty people don’t have to bother your advanced heads about it, is that it?”
The grip had tightened on my shoulder painfully. “Jack…”
“No, Daniel. Not this time. We’re not rolling over and playing ‘good doggie’ for this one.”
Since I wasn’t too thrilled about the thought of dying, I wasn’t arguing with him—after all, as Jack had reminded me earlier, I’d been dead just last week, and there was still my backlog to consider—but Jack’s fingers were probably leaving bruises.
“Jack, it’s not that. You’re hurting my shoulder.”
He snatched his hand away as if my skin had burned him. “Sorry.”
“You are a protector of worlds,” Clotho said, gazing at Jack. “If you could have locked the Replicators on a single world to save the rest of the universe, would you not have done it?”
“No. I would’ve done what we did. Found a way to kill the things, every freaking one of them.”
“Do you think we have not searched for a way to eradicate the Keres?” Clotho asked, and for the first time, her voice cracked and her smooth, white forehead creased with annoyance. “Do you think we are content to leave an enemy where it might attack again, especially now that the Stargate offers it a chance to escape?”
“It’s already attacking,” Jack said shortly. “You want me to protect worlds? Fine. Then let’s start right here. With this world. This primitive, backwater, insignificant world. How do we kill your Keres thing?”
They stared at each other. If Clotho was waiting for Jack to back down, she was in for a long wait. Even I knew I’d lost the argument when Jack’s voice got brusque like that.
“Well?” Jack demanded when the silence lengthened.
“To kill the Keres, you must kill the one it has taken.”
She turned her gaze on me, and after a moment, so did Jack. I held up my hands weakly.
“Hey, don’t look at me. Other than a splitting headache, I don’t feel any different than I did this morning. If I’ve been taken or whatever, I certainly can’t tell.”
Jack sighed, and though he hid it from our guests, I knew the conflict he faced. Save the world or save his friend. Rock and a hard place. And we both knew what he’d choose—what I would choose. In the end, there was no decision. In the end, if it became necessary, I’d take one for the team, just as I had done at other times, and Jack would let me because, for all Jack might try to deny it, he was a protector of worlds, and that meant sacrifices had to be made.
“It’s okay, Jack,” I said softly. I reached for his hand and squeezed his fingers. Not his fault. Whatever had to happen, I would never blame him.
“Dammit, Daniel,” he breathed and grasped my hand when I tried to pull it away. Then I watched him shove aside the part of himself that was my best friend and become the general who could do whatever needed to be done, regardless of the cost to himself. But he still held my hand as he focused on Clotho. “Is there a way to tell? How can you be sure he’s been taken by your Keres?”
“I can show it to you, if you will allow me to touch Daniel.”
Jack’s fingers spasmed around mine. I squeezed back and then nodded. He let my hand go and stepped aside, giving Clotho room but still remaining close enough to protect me, if necessary. It was oddly touching.
Lya came forward and took Clotho’s arm, helping her as she shuffled toward me. I hadn’t realized she was blind. She had followed our voices and looked directly at our faces when we spoke until I had forgotten the emptiness of her own gaze.
When they reached my bed, Lya guided Clotho’s hands to my face. The hands cupped my cheeks, a barely-there presence so I couldn’t even tell if her fingertips were smooth or calloused. Her fingers slid upward, over my glasses, to my temples. Then they lightly brushed the skin of my forehead as they moved inward. I expected pain since my forehead was always sensitive after a rematch with the Goa’uld hand device, but her touch was soothing. Some of my headache faded. Then she reached the center of the sun-circle left behind by Daniel’s finger and pressed it. I gasped at the tiny spark of electricity that jolted through me. She hissed, snapping her hand away from me.
“What is this?” she demanded.
“Daniel?” Jack asked, looming closer.
I waved off his concern. “I’m fine. What happened, Clotho?”
“This is mine,” she said as she pointed a shaky finger toward the mark on my forehead. “This is the protection I gave you when you were a child. It should have faded long ago, and yet it feels as if it is not even a year old. How can this be possible?”
“Um, I don’t think it’s the one you gave me,” I said. “I mean, me personally, because it was still me, just not…”
I floundered, and Jack took over. “You ladies have heard of alternate quantum realities, right?”
“Of course,” Clotho said.
“Well, we seemed to have picked ourselves up a five-year-old Daniel Jackson from the past of another reality. He touched our Daniel, and this is what happened.”
Clotho leaned forward and traced the mark. “The Keres had started to take you, but when the other shared my protection, the Keres was driven away.”
I remembered the possessive touch I’d felt by the elevator and the screech right before I collapsed. I shuddered.
“This is not your fate,” Clotho said petulantly, as if she were angry I’d narrowly escaped the monster’s clutches. “We have not foreseen such a thing. How could this happen?”
She placed her hand over my heart. Then, still touching my chest, she slid her fingers together. Her bent hand, each finger pressing against her thumb, slowly drew backward. I felt a tug as if she were pulling an invisible thread that was attached to me. Perhaps she was. When her hand was a foot away from my chest, she stopped its movement and stared at the empty space.
“I did not spin this fate.” She twisted her hand, and I felt a corresponding tug. After a minute of examining the nothingness, she lifted her head and gazed at me. “You did this. Before you returned from the ascended plane, you saw the danger to yourself in this time and found another who was also threatened and had the ability to help you. You called him to you, changing your fate and his.”
“I might have. I don’t remember.” Which was partially true. I’d descended the first time with no memory of my time as an ascended being, but the memories I thought didn’t exist were only blocked. The replicator borrowing Sam’s image had cracked open my mind like an egg, and the memories were pouring out like a broken yolk. Now I could remember, but I didn’t understand what was there. It was a sea of information, and I was one drop trying to make sense of the whole. At times, it was so overwhelming that I would stop trying and simply drift on the waves, losing track of where I was or what I was doing or even who I was. Jack teased me about being distracted these days. He had no idea.
The tugs increased. I stifled a groan as both the headache and nausea returned with vengeance.
“I can no longer read your fate.”
“Then you can’t manipulate it,” I said, hardly aware I was spitting out the words until they left my mouth.
She frowned. “I never did more than necessary to save you from the Keres.”
“My parents and my wife died.” I surged upright, too furious to think straight. My body protested vehemently. Pain crippled me. I slumped back, fighting for breath.
“Okay, he’s had more than enough,” Jack said with an air of quiet command. His hand was back on my shoulder, but I couldn’t tell if he was trying to comfort or hold me down.
“The Keres is still here,” Clotho persisted. “We must--”
“Not. Now.”
My head was screaming. The bed shifted beneath me as Jack used the remote to lower it. I squeezed my eyes shut, battling nausea again as light and movement assaulted me. I felt my glasses being slipped off but didn’t dare open my eyes.
“Jack?”
“Get some sleep, okay? Brightman’s coming. I’ll send Teal’c to stay with you while I deal with all our visitors.”
I wanted to protest that I didn’t need a watch dog, but the thought of being alone didn’t appeal to me. My inner vision swam with images of invisible, life-sucking monsters and white-eyed crones cackling about my imminent demise and little boys crying for parents who never came and long-haired Janets with eyes that no longer held life. When the pain meds finally kicked in and brought oblivion, I sank into it gratefully.
Part 2