Story Notes

            Type: drama, angst

            Rating: PG

            Warnings: Language

            Spoilers: Season 4, references Entity, Crystal Skull, The Serpent’s Lair

            Length: 11,000 words

            Author’s Note: Special thanks to my nephews Azariah and Seth, whose imaginary friends inspired this story.

 

 

Imaginary Friends

 

When the slavers came, looking for their lost property, Britta showed them pictures of her son, Timmon.  She showed them the tire swing where he liked to play and the jacket he wore on cold days.  She showed them his ball and his favorite blocks.  She showed them the trundle bed where he slept.

 

She did not tell them about the consumption that had taken her husband during the ninth year of their marriage and then taken their six-year-old child a week later.  She did not tell them about the graves where Timmon and her husband, Ryen, had lain for over a year.  She did not tell them that the little boy in Timmon’s bed was not her child.

 

When the slavers left, Britta went to check on the boy who was not Timmon.  She paused outside the door and listened while the boy murmured to himself.

 

“You was right, Sam.  She is a nice lady.  Maybe she’ll let me stay.  I’m safe now, right, Jack?”  The boy yawned wide and snuggled into the covers.  “Teal’c, you keep watch, ’kay?”

 

If the slavers had come closer, they would have seen the straggly, damp strands of hair and the face smudged with mud.  Britta had returned home from her afternoon trip to the mercantile to find the boy on her porch, curled into a shivering ball, drenched by the rain.  She had witnessed the slavers searching businesses in town and heard how they were also checking all the outlying houses, so she knew she had only minutes to hide the boy in Timmon’s bed, regardless of his wet and muddy condition.  She had seen the exhaustion in the boy’s eyes and wasn’t surprised that sleep claimed him as soon as the slavers had gone.

 

He slept past sunup.  Britta was kneading bread when the boy peeked around the doorway.  She smiled a greeting at him.

 

"Come in, child," Britta invited, wiping flour-covered hands on her apron.

 

He padded closer on bare, dirty feet.  He held his hands outward to the sides, as if she might be frightened of him and he wanted to prove he was harmless.  His answering smile was friendly.  “Hi.  I’m Daniel.”

 

“Good morn, Dannil.  My name is Britta.  Did you sleep well?”

 

Dannil glanced to his left and muttered, “This is meet-and-greet, Jack.  Put that away, and let me do my job.”  The boy returned his gaze to Britta.  “Don’t mind Jack.  He gets nervous around new peoples.  I sleeped good.  Thank you for keeping me safe from the bad mans.  That was very nice of you.”

 

She lifted an eyebrow.  He was surprisingly polite and articulate for a child who couldn’t have been more than four years old.

 

“You must be hungry.”

 

He fidgeted.  “Well, yes, but...”  This time, he glanced toward his right and whispered, “Do you think it’d be okay, Sam?  I really am hungry.”

 

Britta felt an overflow of compassion for the boy.  The slavers must have frightened him very badly to give rise to this cast of imaginary friends from whom he sought encouragement.

 

Dannil looked back to her with a sunny smile.  “Sam says it’s all right.  She thinks you is a good lady.”

 

Britta wasn’t certain how to cope with imaginary people.  Timmon had never had any himself.

 

“Why don’t you sit at the table, Dannil?  I’ll warm some porridge for you.”

 

Dannil walked over to the table and regarded the chair.  The seat of it was as high as his neck, but before she could offer to help, he stood on tiptoe, grasped the sides of the seat, and gave a little hop that put most of his chest flat against the seat.  Then he wiggled and squirmed until he’d managed to pull up the rest of his body.  He climbed to his knees, turned to face the table, and looked at her triumphantly.

 

“Well, aren’t you the resourceful little monkey?”  She made a mental note to find the taller chair that Timmon had used.  She thought Ryen had moved it out to the stable after Timmon declared himself too old for it.

 

He grinned.  “I’m a spacemonkey.”  With a swift glance to his left, he added, “Right, Jack?”

 

Dannil turned his attention to scanning the room.  Britta wondered how it differed from his home.  She and Ryen had built the house themselves.  It was small, only this main room where they ate and lived, and the much smaller room where they slept adjoining the main room.  During the first year of their marriage, Ryen had added pieces of furniture as he finished making them.  In the main room, she had a table, four chairs, and two cabinets, all of Ryen’s workmanship.  Most of her china fit into one of the cabinets, except the decorative platter which her sister had painted as a wedding gift.  That had a place of honor on the mantle above the stone fireplace.  Near the door that led outside to the water pump and the outhouse, her spinning wheel and the butter churn waited for use.

 

His curious gaze landed on the oil lamp on the table.  Then he tilted his head back to look upward at the ceiling.

 

“You don’t have ’lectrissy.”

 

The extended position of his head caused flakes of mud to drift to his shoulders, and underneath the mud, she saw his blond roots.  Timmon’s hair had been dark like hers, though the signs of her thirty-two years were starting to show in the streaks of gray.  Timmon’s tendency toward plumpness usually filled out his clothes, while this boy wore a shirt of burlap-like material that hung on him as if he were a scarecrow.

 

She felt a shiver of relief that the boy was physically so unlike Timmon.  The soft sounds of sleep from the trundle bed had caused the ache of memory to sharpen and for a time, she had reconsidered her decision to take the boy into her home.  In the light of day, however, the pain was not so acute.  He was a child in need, and she couldn’t turn her back on him.  But she was still glad of the physical differences that would help her separate past from present and memory from reality.

 

Britta forced the image of Timmon out of her mind and concentrated on her guest.  “You need a bath after breakfast.”

 

She hoped the bath would also remove the slavers’ mark, an upside-down cross formed with blue and red lines, and the number 67 beneath it.  The symbols seemed to have been dyed onto the boy’s left cheek.

 

He nodded agreeably.  “That sounds like a good idea.  But Jack’s worried cuz we mist-ed our check-in, so can you take me to the Stargate after that?”

 

“The Stargate?”

 

“Do you call it the chappa’ai?  That’s funny cuz you is talking English.  I’m glad, though.  Think how hard it’d be if I had to figure out what language you was talking!  Parlez-vous français?  Sprechen Sie Deutsch? ¿Hablas español?  I’d never get breakfast!”  He giggled.

 

She smiled weakly.  She had no idea what he meant.

 

“Is it very far to the chappa’ai?”

 

“Dannil, I’m afraid I don’t know what a chappa’ai is.”

 

He frowned for a moment and then shrugged.  “Well, it has lotsa names.  Ring of the Gods.  Circle of Woe.  It’s really big.”  He outstretched his arms.  “Big, big, big.  And round with a hole in the middle.  A big stone ring.”

 

He looked at her expectantly.  She shook her head.  “I’m sorry, Dannil.  We don’t have a…a Stargate.”

 

His forehead furrowed.  “Then how do I get home?”

 

She wondered why he had decided a big stone ring would help him find the town from which he’d taken.  It left a sour taste in her mouth to consider how the slavers stole children from their homes, only to sell them so far away that they could never hope to find the place where they had once lived.  Just imagining Timmon in such a situation had been enough for her and Ryen to avoid the slavers whenever they came to town.  Knowing she would be forced to tell Dannil all too soon that his home was lost to him forever, she put aside the thought for now and offered him a reassuring smile as she added a spoonful of molasses to his porridge and brought the bowl to him.

 

“Let’s talk about it later, shall we?”

 

Maybe he had some sense of her thoughts.  He ate in silence, pleasant nature muted by disappointment.

 

#

 

Jack was bored out of his skull.  Teal’c was away, visiting Rya’c.  Carter was resting at home, recovering from the computer entity thing that had tried to take her over.  And Daniel was polishing his skills as ambassador-at-large on PX-something or other.  Not that Danny’s skills needed practicing, but after that blow-up-Moscow dream courtesy of Shifu and a near head-dive off his balcony courtesy of a Goa’uld light addiction, Daniel deserved a normal and unexciting mission.  Coburn had promised to take good care of their head geek, so like a parent sending his kid off to college, Jack made sure Daniel had packed an extra of everything essential, told him to have fun and stay out of trouble, and waved him through the Gate.  Two days later, caught up on paperwork, Jack was missing his “kids” and feeling the effects of his “empty nest.”

 

The blare of an unauthorized gate activation was just the distraction Jack needed.

 

He charged into the control room in time to hear Major Coburn’s announcement to General Hammond, “The village was attacked, sir.  They’re gone now, but we could use backup in case they return, a med team, search and rescue, and a translator or two.”

 

Jack’s heart lurched.  He exchanged a look with Hammond, who leaned closer to the mike and asked, “What happened to Doctor Jackson?”

 

“He and Captain Adams are still unaccounted for, sir.  They accompanied a couple of elders and a group of children on a sort of field trip.  We lost contact with them during the attack.”

 

Jack raised his voice so the mike would pick him up.  “Goa’uld?”

 

“Negative, sir.  We don’t know who they were.  I think the villagers recognized them, but without a translator, I can’t say for certain.”

 

“Very well, Major.  We’ll have people at your position within an hour.”  Hammond nodded toward Jack, granting him silent permission to lead the rescue operation.

 

As promised, Jack arrived at the village an hour later with the requested help.  Despite the language barrier, Major Coburn and his team seemed to have the recovery effort well in hand.  Lieutenant Selway, who served as the team’s field medic, had triaged the wounded and was now assisting the med team.  Captain Petersen accompanied the search and rescue team to Captain Sharon Adams and Daniel’s last known locations.  Jack assigned a perimeter to the backup team, stopped briefly to assess the injuries, and then joined Coburn.

 

“I thought you said they weren’t Goa’uld.  What’s with the staff blast wounds?”

 

Coburn shrugged.  “Their weaponry was hodgepodge, sir.  Staff weapons, zats, slingshots, something that looked like a sniper rifle.  I thought I saw a P-90 even.  Weirdest thing.”

 

“Military hardware store had a big blowout sale, huh?”

 

Coburn huffed a laugh.  “Yeah.  Looked like it.”

 

Jack followed Coburn outside the village, where four bodies had been laid out.  The garments were a hodgepodge as well.  Jack recognized Jaffa armor, but none of the attackers wore a complete set, and there were also pieces of chain mail he’d never seen before.

 

“Take a look at this.”  Coburn bent on one knee next to a body and turned an arm.  On the underside, between the wrist and the elbow, was a dark blue line about two inches long.  A shorter red line intersected the bottom half, forming an upside-down T.  “All four have the same tattoo.”

 

Jack frowned.  “Identification implies a larger group, organization, possibly with a chain of command.”

 

“Whoever they are, they seem to be quite the busy pirates.”  Coburn pointed out the hunting knife hooked to one man’s belt.  “I’m pretty sure that’s Earth-made.”

 

“I’m thinking ‘aggressive scavengers.’  We’ve been taken prisoner enough times by the Jaffa that these people could have picked up some of our stuff when they grabbed the staff weapons and armor.”  Jack gave the dead bodies one last look, memorizing any details that might become pertinent later.  “Let’s see if Doctor Gordon has made any headway.”

 

He and Coburn returned to the village square, where their translator was deep in conversation with an older man.  Michelle Gordon looked up as they approached.  She introduced her companion as Andreas, the head elder.  The elder inclined his head carefully, wincing a little.  A large bandage adorned the right side of his forehead.

 

“Their Greek is a little different than Earth’s, but I think I’ve gotten the gist of it, sir,” Michelle said.  “These people come every year.  They attack different villages, at different times of the year, so there’s never a pattern, never a way to predict when or where they’ll come next.  Their goal is always the same.  They take as many children as they can.”

 

Jack’s gut clenched.  “Wasn’t Daniel with a group of children?”

 

Coburn nodded tersely.

 

“Some villages simply hand over their children, and no one is hurt,” Michelle said.  “But Andreas’s people believe family is sacred, so when the attackers come, they resist and try to protect their children, but they’re usually outnumbered and outgunned.”

 

“What does he think happened to Daniel and the other adults who were with the children?” Jack asked.

 

Captain Adams and Daniel still hadn’t answered their radio hails, and Jack couldn’t help thinking about Daniel’s tendency to throw himself into the path of danger even for a lost cause.

 

Michelle murmured a question to Andreas.  She blanched at his answer.  “He says most adults are injured until they’re not a threat or else killed outright.  But some, if they’re young and good-looking, are stolen along with the children.  He doesn’t know why.  Those who are taken are never seen again.”

 

#

 

Dannil’s quiet distress over his absent Stargate faded and shifted into fascination as the day progressed.   He chattered to his imaginary friends, and Britta found herself constantly bewildered by the terms he used and astounded by the level of his intelligence. 

 

When she heated water and poured it into a metal tub for his bath, he exclaimed over his opportunity to experience “living history.”  He explained to Teal’c that “running water” probably hadn’t been invented yet, just like in the “eighteenth century of Earth.”  Then, to Britta’s amazement, he accurately related how soap was made to Sam.  Jack, it seemed, had no interest in Dannil’s topics, which Dannil acknowledged with a long-suffering sigh.  However, when Britta startled Dannil with more water, Jack was apparently the one who reassured Dannil that he was fine, he was safe, everything was okay.  After Dannil had repeated “Jack says I’m safe” several times, Britta made certain Dannil was aware of her actions before she did anything around him.

 

Dannil talked to her as often as he conversed with his imaginary friends.  He was curious about everything, asking for the stories behind hand-crafted items in her house, like the china platter and the quilt from her mother.  Unlike Timmon, who would have lost interest, Dannil listened to lengthy explanations attentively and drew out further details with more questions.  Yet he was also sensitive to her moods.  Whenever he provoked a sad memory of Ryen or Timmon, he changed the subject immediately, giving the memory no time to take root.

 

Instead of playing with Timmon’s toys, Dannil was more content to follow her through the day, happily helping with whatever task she gave him.  Under her supervision, he scattered dried corn for the chickens and then tried to pet them while they were eating.  He pronounced the milking of the two cows “cool!” and giggled at the feel of the teats within his small hands.  He attempted to stitch together scraps of fabric while she was mending her dresses.  Timmon had always shunned sewing as a “woman’s job.”

 

The common, everyday aspects of life seemed to be a mystery to Dannil.  He admitted he had never used an outhouse and was a little afraid he’d fall down the hole.  He couldn’t figure out how to lace his sandals, something Timmon could manage at three with fingers far stubbier than Daniel’s.  Oddly, even though Dannil didn’t know how to do certain things, he could still explain the process behind them and usually did to a strangely ignorant Teal’c.

 

After Dannil had spent much of the day hampered by the too-large overalls and sandals that had once belonged to her son, Britta gave in to the inevitable.  Dannil’s need for new clothing couldn’t wait until her next weekly trip to the mercantile.  The next day, she hitched the horses to the buggy, much to Dannil’s excitement, and drove them to Hollisbrook.

 

As they neared the town, Dannil whipped his head from side to side, bouncing on the seat.  “Wow!  Jack, it’s just like ‘Little House on the Prairie.’  That’s a TV show, Teal’c, based on a book about pioneer life by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  Ooh, the mercantile!  That’s where we is going, isn’t it?”  Barely waiting for Britta’s nod, Dannil pointed in the opposite direction.  “Hey, Sam, look!  A smithy!  And a one-room school house and a lumber mill and a boarding house and a feed store.  This is so cool!  Isn’t this cool, guys?”

 

While Britta tethered the horses in front of the mercantile, Dannil thanked them for the nice ride and for being such good horsies, even though he would have preferred camels.

 

“What is a camel, Dannil?” she asked as she slid off her sunbonnet and reached for his hand.

 

“Oh, them is like horsies for really hot places like the desert.  Them can walk on sand and go long, long times without drinking cuz them has humps on them back where them stores water.”

 

Britta frowned.  A horse with humps?  Which didn’t drink?  Dannil’s imagination was certainly vivid.

 

“Jack says we should name the horsies.  He wants to call one ‘Homer’ but I think that’s silly so I’m gonna call them ‘Siler’ and ‘Walter’ who is the peoples back home who helps all the other peoples.  Can I, Britta?”

 

The bell above the door jingled as they entered the mercantile.  Dannil’s attention was immediately drawn to the items on the store shelves, the naming of horses forgotten as he stared.  Even the continuous monologue to his imaginary friends was neglected in his rapt state.  Britta wondered about the town where he had once lived.  Was it so lacking in basic necessities that a simple lantern was a source of excitement?  Should she assume from his interest in the burlap bags full of sugar and flour that dry goods weren’t sold in the mercantile of his town? 

 

When Jack apparently commented on the wall on which several knives, hatchets, saws, and other farming implements were hung, the imaginary conversations resumed.  A plow nearby was subjected to scrutiny from every angle, and its purpose explained to Teal’c.  Sam was shown the bolts of cloth on a table and asked to identify the “most prettiest colors.”

 

Dannil wandered through the store and finally paused in front of the main counter.  He wrinkled his nose at a keg of pickles on the floor and then bent toward a smaller barrel beside it.  “Hey, is this the molasses you putted in my cereal, Britta?  Stop nagging, Jack.  I’m not gonna touch it.”

 

“Sorry about the wait.  How may I--”  Kenreth emerged from the back room, wiping his hands on the apron that covered his ample body, and stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Britta.  “Widow Britta!  Did you forget something the other day?  I wasn’t expecting you again until next week.”

 

Britta felt heat rise in her cheeks.  The mercantile owner was in his forties and nothing like Ryen, who had been tall and quiet.  But the quiver of pleasure she found in Kenreth’s company was very much the same as the one she had felt when Ryen asked for her hand in marriage.  A bachelor, Kenreth had begun courting her two months ago, and she still blushed like a school girl whenever she saw him.

 

“Good morn, Kenreth.  I am in need of ready-made clothing for Dannil, if you please.”

 

Dannil came forward, smiling widely.  “Hi!  I’m Daniel.  And this is Jack and Sam and Teal’c.  We is peaceful explorers from Earth.”

 

At being introduced to people he couldn’t see, Kenreth flicked a glance toward Britta.  She shrugged.  Kenreth looked back to Dannil.  She saw the moment he noticed the slavers’ mark.  It had faded some but was still legible.  His face softened in understanding.

 

“The runaway?” he asked quietly.

 

Britta nodded.

 

Kenreth returned the nod and came forward to place a hand on Dannil’s shoulder.  “Well, young man, let’s find you some proper-fitting clothes, shall we?”

 

Thanks to Kenreth’s expert guidance, they had soon picked out two sets of everyday clothing and a nicer outfit for social events.  Kenreth raised an eyebrow as Dannil double-checked their choices with his imaginary friends.

 

Holding one of the shirts against his chest, Dannil scowled toward his right and said, “Don’t be an ass, Jack.  You don’t have to like it.  It’s a ‘When in Rome…’ thing.” 

 

With the exception of a smothered chuckle, Kenreth followed Britta’s example and said nothing.

 

As the shopkeeper wrapped Dannil’s new clothing in brown paper, Britta suggested, “Dannil, why don’t you look around and see if you can find a toy you’d like…” she followed the direction of his hungry gaze, “or perhaps a book?”

 

Dannil grinned and hurried over to the stack of books.  When he reached it, he traced over the spines with a look of reverence.  Then he lifted the first book from the pile as if it were a precious item that could break without careful handling.

 

“He is a fine boy.  Quite well-mannered,” Kenreth said.  “Though it was odd that he didn’t know how to lace his sandals correctly.”

 

“More odd than his habit of seeking approval from invisible people?”

 

“He takes comfort in them.  Perhaps they are his guardian angels.  Hasn’t Reverend Pedras said children see angels where we adults cannot?”

 

“Angels, yes.  But also demons.  I wonder if I should forbid him from speaking to them.”

 

Kenreth chuckled.  “If they are demons, Dannil keeps them well in line.  I thought ‘Don’t be an ass’ was quite the blistering rebuke for such a young one.”

 

Britta scowled at him.  “I’m serious, Kenreth.  He talks to these people all the time.  The same ones.  I’d be less worried if he mentioned his parents more often, but no, it is always Jack, Sam, and Teal’c.”

 

“He was stolen from his home, and who knows what treatment he received from the slavers?  It must have been bad enough that he ran away from them.  And it is obvious that living with us is a completely new experience for him.  If his imagination helps him cope, who are we to say what form it must take or that he must give it up?”

 

Britta gazed at Dannil.  He was sitting on the floor, paging through the open book on his lap, with three other books beside him.  In part, she agreed with Kenreth.  She didn’t want to deny Dannil the security he received from his imaginary friends.  But she worried at the strength of his fantasies.  How would he learn to live in the real world if he always turned to his imagination?

 

“My niece made up her own friend when she was three,” Kenreth said.  “She said he was a fairy named Fookey with red hair and a green body who slept under her bed.  He took away her bad dreams.  By the time she was five, she couldn’t remember a thing about it.”  Kenreth reached out and placed a hand on Britta’s arm.  “He’ll grow out of his need for them eventually.  Have patience.”

 

#

 

There was nothing Jack hated more than sitting calmly at the briefing room table when one of his kids was lost.  Action suited him better than talk.  He wanted to be out there, doing something, making it better.  Unfortunately, he also knew the value of good intel, so he sat as patiently as possible while Jacob Carter examined a copy of the tattooed mark.  Daniel, Captain Sharon Adams, two village elders, and fifty children had been taken, and that mark was the only lead Jack had.

 

“They called themselves the Traders,” Selmak announced.  “Though they don’t trade so much as sell.  They’re child slavers.”

 

“Child slavers?!” Carter repeated in a raspy voice.

 

She was still pale, and her hands trembled slightly, a residual effect of the two times Jack had been forced to zat her.  Jack doubted that Fraiser would approve Carter for a mission, but there was no way she was convalescing at home with Daniel missing.  Teal’c had returned to the SGC as well.  Neither of them would have forgiven Jack if he’d gone off hunting for Daniel without including them.

 

Jacob glanced at his daughter.  “The Goa’uld aren’t the only criminal element out there, Sam.”  Then he dipped his head briefly and allowed Selmak to continue, “Perhaps I should have chosen a different word, given the negative connotation of slavery among humans.  Those purchased from the Traders are usually treated as privileged servants or even members of the family.”

 

“Why haven’t we heard of this group before?” Hammond asked.

 

Another head-dip while Selmak yielded to Jacob.  “The Traders operate in a relatively small area.  Most of their clients are word-of-mouth and pick up their own purchases, so the Traders themselves don’t travel far outside their territory.  Their operation is fairly predictable.  Every once in a while, raiding parties steal children from different planets in their region of space.  They auction some off at two or three low-tech planets without Stargates and advertise the others with periodic…well, I guess you could call them ‘newsletters,’ for lack of a better term.  It’s mostly common knowledge, if you want a child with a specific temperament or physical characteristics, all you have to do is contact the Traders and they’ll find you one.”

 

Carter looked as if she had sucked a lemon.  “Why haven’t you done something about them?”

 

“Our resources are limited, Sam, you know that.  Everything the Tok’ra have, we’ve committed to the fight against the Goa’uld.  Compared to them, the Traders are like petty thieves.  We have a contact inside to keep an eye out, because the Goa’uld do buy slaves or hosts from them occasionally, but that’s all we can manage.”

 

“What about the adults?” Jack asked, redirecting the conversation to the point that worried him the most: where the hell was Daniel?

 

Jacob sighed, but to give him credit, he met Jack’s gaze as he admitted, “I’m sorry, Jack.  The Traders don’t traffic in adults.  Ever.”

 

“They took adults,” Jack persisted.  “They must do something with them.  Why bother taking them if they were just going to kill them?”

 

“There are rumors that the Traders perform medical experimentation.”

 

While Carter paled even more and Jack fought the urge to jump up and punch the wall, Teal’c regarded their Tok’ra liaison.  “You mentioned an inside contact.  Would such a person be able to access information about Daniel Jackson and Captain Adams if we were to pose as potential buyers?”

 

He managed the question steadily enough, but he wasn’t fooling Jack.  Teal’c was as tense as Jack had ever seen him, and Jack made a mental note that they’d need to requisition new punching bags for the gym because he and Teal’c would probably pummel and demolish the ones they had after the briefing.

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jacob promised.

 

#

 

On Solsday, four days after she had found Dannil on her porch, Britta sat with the boy in church.  Unlike the blacksmith’s son who squirmed for the entire hour-long sermon, Dannil sat perfectly still, his head cocked, his gaze fixed on Reverend Pedras.  Dannil really was the most extraordinary child.  With the resilience of youth, he was beginning to adapt to a life that was unfamiliar to him, but he did more than adapt.  He learned.  He examined.  And he noticed.

 

While they exchanged pleasantries with Reverend Pedras after the service, Dannil’s hand clutching hers, Britta saw the busybodies of the church whispering as they cast furtive glances in her direction.  She had expected it.  After denouncing the slavers, she had taken in one of their property, and the gossipers would be looking at her with pity, believing she had bought a substitute for Timmon.  As if her own son could be replaced so easily, she scoffed in silent contempt.

 

Dannil had also observed the glances and the buzz of conversation.  He tugged on Britta’s hand.  “Why is them talking about us?”

 

Britta, who had hoped Dannil wouldn’t notice the gossipers, sighed at the question.  “I’m sure they’re just curious, Dannil.”

 

“Why don’t them come say ‘Hi’ then?  I can tell them all about me.”

 

“I think they may be more interested in me at the moment,” Britta said dryly.

 

Dannil processed that and frowned.  “Is them mean ladies?  Teal’c could shoot them with his staff.”

 

“There will be no shooting of anyone, thank you.  Why don’t you go play with the other children?”

 

He shook his head and pressed closer to her leg.

 

“Now, now, don’t be shy, son,” Reverend Pedras said.  “Some of the boys came here from the slavers, just like you.  Look, there’s a nice game of catch going on.  Liam!” 

 

The reverend’s nine-year-old son abandoned the other three boys playing catch and trotted over to his father.  “Yes, Pa?”

 

“Liam, this is Dannil.  Could you look after him while Widow Britta visits with her neighbors?”

 

“Sure, Pa.”  He caught Dannil’s hand and tugged, but Dannil resisted, pulling back against Britta.  Liam released the boy’s hand, gave him a thoughtful look, and then dug into a pocket.  His hand reemerged with a piece of candy, which was offered to Dannil.  “Here.  This is for you.”

 

Dannil glanced upward for Britta’s encouraging nod and reached hesitantly for the candy.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

 

Liam grinned.  “Now we’re friends.  Come play?  We could just watch, if you want.”

 

This time, Liam extended his hand and waited.  Dannil fidgeted, glancing from the candy to Liam’s unwavering smile to Britta and back to Liam.  No one spoke, and after a minute of internal debate, Dannil cautiously placed his hand on top of Liam’s.  Britta hadn’t thought Liam’s grin could get any wider, but it seemed to split the older boy’s face.  With deliberate slowness, he closed his fingers around Dannil’s small hand.

 

“I’ll introduce you to everyone.  And if anyone bothers you, you just tell me and I’ll beat them up for you.  I’ll be like your big brother.  How’s that?”

 

A smile flickered over Dannil’s face.  “Like Jack and Teal’c.”

 

“Sure,” Liam agreed readily.  “Coming?”

 

Dannil finally allowed himself to be led away.  As the two boys joined a small group of children, Britta smiled at Reverend Pedras.

 

“Liam is a credit to you and your wife.”

 

“Thank you, Widow Britta.  Though I could wish he were a little less full of righteous indignation.  I’m afraid his offer to beat someone up in Dannil’s defense is quite genuine.  Liam tends to be a fireball for any cause he decides to support.”  The reverend gave a rueful sigh, but his eyes were affectionate as he watched his son drape a protective arm around Dannil’s shoulders.

 

Britta tried to keep an eye on Dannil as she chatted with her neighbors, but the hour after church was the community’s largest social activity of the week so she occasionally lost sight of Dannil in the crowd.  Whenever she managed to glimpse him again, he was standing with Liam, watching a game or talking to the older boy.  The longer he remained in Liam’s company, the more comfortable he seemed to become.  What looked like shy comments gradually gave way to a spirited discussion complete with wide arm gestures.  She smiled and hoped Liam could coax the younger boy into playing.

 

One of the busybodies caught up with Britta then, and by the time she had extracted herself from the woman’s bitter commentary, Dannil was nowhere to be seen.

 

She found him on the other side of the church, where there were fewer people.  He and Liam were sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall of the church.  Liam’s shirt was torn and dirty, and his lip was bruised.  Blood trickled from a small cut on his cheek.  Dannil was curled up in his lap, tear-stained face resting on the older boy’s shoulder, as Liam rubbed a hand up and down Dannil’s back.

 

“What happened?” Britta asked.

 

She bent closer.  Dannil gave a hiccupping sob and shot into her arms.  He clung to her, starting to weep again as he wrapped arms around her neck and legs around her waist.  She straightened and rocked him.  Liam stood as well.

 

“He was talking to Teal’c,” Liam explained.  “Some of the boys started teasing.  I told them to shut up.”  He clenched his fists to show how he’d attempted to subdue the teasing.  “But Dannil was still feeling sad.”

 

“I wanna go home,” Dannil mumbled against her neck.

 

“Thank you for watching over him, Liam.”

 

Liam nodded and reached out to touch Dannil’s back.  “Don’t worry, Dannil.  They’re just bullies.  You can talk to your imaginary people if you want.”

 

“I wanna go home,” Daniel repeated.

 

“We’re going now,” Britta said.

 

Dannil’s breath hitched, and his body tensed in her arms just enough that she realized he hadn’t meant her house.  He wanted the home she couldn’t give him, the home he’d been taken from.  But he said nothing in protest as she cradled him closer and headed for the buggy.

 

Dannil was uncharacteristically silent during the drive.  He gazed into the distance, as if his mind were millions of miles away.  His fingers, however, were twisted in the folds of her skirt, anchoring him.

 

He stayed quiet for most of the day.  They sat together on the porch, Britta churning butter and Dannil reading the book she had bought him.  He had decided on a heavy volume that told the country’s history.  Britta thought the language was too dull and suggested a smaller book of children’s stories, but Dannil insisted on the book he’d chosen.  Despite her concern that the book would bore him, he seemed absorbed by it.  Today, however, he would look up and stare at nothing for long periods of time and then sigh heavily and return his attention to the book.  Britta hadn’t realized how comfortable she had become with Dannil’s innocent chatter until it was gone.  The silence felt heavy, like the uneasy calm before a storm.

 

After another period of staring, Dannil suddenly spoke.  “I don’t understand.”

 

The abruptness of Dannil’s announcement had startled her, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she replied, “Don’t understand what?”

 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said almost harshly.  “I’m talking to Jack.”

 

She lifted an eyebrow.  Dannil scowled and turned his face away.  She did nothing to disturb the silence.  After a minute, Dannil relented.  He sighed and looked at her.

 

“Sorry.  Jack says I’m being pissy.”

 

“Would you like to tell me why you’re upset?  Perhaps I can help.”

 

“Liam said Jack and Sam and Teal’c was imag’ary peoples,” he offered tentatively, a slight tilt at the end making it seem as much a question as a statement.

 

“Imaginary means they’re not real.”

 

“I know what it means,” Dannil snapped, but from the way he was gripping his book, she recognized that it was fear, not anger, that had influenced his response.  “But I don’t understand why he called them imag’ary.”

 

“Because they are pretend people you made up,” she said gently.

 

“Them is not!  Them is real!  I talk to them, and them talk to me.”

 

“I know.  That’s the problem.  No one else can see these people.  No one else can hear them.  They only exist in your mind.”

 

His eyes were wide.  “You—you can’t see Jack?”

 

“I can’t see him because he isn’t real, Dannil.”  She moved across the porch, crouched at his side, and cupped his cheek.  “Can you touch him like this?  Can you feel him?”

 

“But…”  His lower lip quivered.  His arms crept upward to hug around his middle, as if he had a pain in his stomach, and he looked more frightened than she had ever seen him.

 

“What is it, Dannil?”

 

“If them isn’t real,” he said, sounding puzzled and uncertain and scared, “and there isn’t no Stargate, does that mean…I don’t have a home?”

 

“Oh, Dannil!”  Britta drew him into her embrace.  “Of course you have a home!  You live here with me.”

 

He was rigid in her arms, not accepting what little solace she tried to give him.  After a while, tears dampened her shoulder, but Dannil didn’t make a sound.

 

#

 

Jack was beginning to hate the briefing room.  Not that the commissary, the gym, his office, or his on-base quarters held any more appeal for him.  In the week since Daniel’s disappearance, he’d spent time in all of them, and if anyone else happened to be occupying the room, they were usually relieved when he left.  His hard-ass reputation was secure for another six months.  Or longer, if they didn’t find Daniel soon.

 

The Traders were apparently meticulous record-keepers, and Jacob’s inside contact had managed to send them a small mountain of paperwork to sift through.  Jacob and Sam Carter had scanned the papers into the computer and then run a program to locate a variety of keywords.  Daniel Jackson, Sharon Adams, Earth, and Tau’ri all came up empty.  So they’d been forced to sit down and start the time-consuming process of looking page by page for something—anything—that would give them a clue about Daniel’s whereabouts.

 

As usual, Carter had pushed herself to exhaustion, ignoring Fraiser’s orders to rest.  By the time she’d discovered something in the Traders’ records, she had dark circles under her eyes, and the tremor in her hands was continuous.  As soon as the briefing was over, Jack knew he’d be sending her to the infirmary.  Under escort, in necessary.

 

“I think I’ve figured out why we couldn’t locate Daniel.”  Stifling a yawn, Carter passed a folder to each of them and sagged back in her chair while they examined the contents.

 

The first page was a color photo of a blond-haired boy.  Blue eyes, bright with fear-tinged defiance, stared back at him.  The boy’s head was turned slightly to display the slavers’ mark and the number 67 on his cheek.  Underneath the photo was a brief description of the boy, repeated in three languages.  Four years old, thirty pounds, thirty-nine inches, and so on.  It reminded Jack of a wanted poster.

 

The second page was another photo and description, this time of a girl, seven years old, brown hair and eyes, bewildered expression, slavers’ mark and the number 43.  Jack flipped to the next page, which reported the location of the two children.  Carter had helpfully written the SGC designation and gate address next to the name of one planet.  According to Jacob, the other didn’t have a Stargate.

 

Nothing on the three pages gave Jack any indication of their significance.  “What is this?”

 

“I think…”  Carter bit her lip uncertainly, then firmed her shoulders and finished with more resolve, “It’s Daniel and Sharon, sir.”

 

Jack lifted an eyebrow and studied the photos more carefully.  He could admit to a physical resemblance between the children and their missing personnel, but it seemed just as likely that the stress was affecting Carter more than anyone realized.

 

“Carter…”

 

“Next page, sir.  Please.  Just look.”

 

He turned to the next page and recognized the top photo instantly.  Daniel had so few pictures of his childhood that Jack would have known any of them.  This one was a copy of the picture that sat on Daniel’s piano at home.  Jack had purchased a frame for it one year as a Christmas present.  It showed a young Daniel grinning upward at something beyond the camera’s range.  It looked—crap, crap, crap—very much like Slave Boy 67.  With his gut clenching over a hunch he didn’t want to acknowledge, he considered the girl in the bottom photo, a dead ringer for Slave Girl 43.

 

Following the direction of his gaze, Carter said, “That’s a first-grade photo of Sharon Adams.”

 

General Hammond cleared his throat.  “Major, are you suggesting that Doctor Jackson and Captain Adams have been transformed into…children?”

 

Carter sighed and rubbed at her eyes.  “Yes, sir.  Some of the records we received from the Tok’ra contact implied that the medical research the Traders had done on adults had progressed beyond research to actual application.  The conversion of adult to child was mentioned enough times that I decided to look more closely at the photos.”

 

Jacob added, “After Sam found this, I spoke with Anise.  She’s heard of the conversion technology, though she was under the impression that it was still theoretical.”

 

“Is it reversible?” Jack asked, barely able to breathe as he stared at the Traders’ photo of Daniel.  God, he looked so small.

 

“We’re not sure.  Anise has made inquiries about the technology and asked permission to either observe the data or the process.  We’re still waiting on a reply.”

 

“In the meantime, we can send someone to retrieve Sharon,” Carter said.  “Thanks to the Traders’ records, we know where she is and who purchased her, so we should be able to negotiate a trade of some sort.”

 

“I’ll send Major Coburn and his team right away,” Hammond said.

 

“What about Dan—oh.”  Jack had flipped back to the page with the planets’ names.  Daniel was on the planet without a Stargate, and the notation on Daniel’s record said, Runaway.  Exact location unknown.

 

Carter hid another yawn.  She was fading fast.  “With Daniel, we have a planet and a general idea where he escaped the Traders, but it looks like we’ll have to search town by town.  Dad’s volunteered to fly us there.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Jacob said firmly.  “After you’ve slept more than three hours in a row.”

 

“Dad…”

 

“He’s right, Carter.  Get some sleep,” Jack said.  He’d already lost one kid; he wasn’t about to lose another.

 

He turned back to the photo of Daniel.  Four years old.  Exact location unknown.  He swore under his breath.  Could it get any worse?

 

#

 

Daniel waked up and stared at the sliver of pre-morning light filtering past the curtain over the bedroom window.  He turned his head and saw Britta sleeping on the big bed beside him.  Daniel had Timmon’s smaller trundle bed, which sat on the floor and got pushed under the big bed when Daniel wasn’t sleeping.  It was really sad that Timmon didn’t need his bed no more and that Britta was all alone.  Daniel thought Kenreth at the mercantile was sweet on her, though, so maybe one day soon she wouldn’t have to live by herself.  He hoped so.  Britta was really nice.  Even Jack said she was okay.  And Sam said—

 

Daniel’s thoughts stuttered to a stop.  Them wasn’t real.  Jack and Sam and Teal’c was imag’ary.  No one could see or hear them.

 

It was all so confusing because Daniel could see and hear them.  He knew exactly how Teal’c inclined his head or quirked his eyebrow.  He knew how Jack snorted and maked mocking remarks.  He knew how Sam’s eyes sparkled.  For everything that happened and everything that was said, Daniel knew precisely how each of his friends would react, what them would say, and how them would say it.  That’s why them seemed so real.

 

But he couldn’t touch them. 

 

He remembered when he’d been captured by the bad mans.  He’d been exploring with some other kids, and then there was confusion and shouting and loud noises.  And somehow, through all that, he had falled asleep.  When he waked up, he was tied to a chair with metal ropes and there was big needles sticking into his head.  His whole body hurted like he’d been squish-ted.  He remembered he was scared and he wanted Jack and Sam and Teal’c.  He wanted them to make the bad mans go away.  He wanted promises that he was safe.  He wanted hugs and pats on the back and even those embarrassing hair-ruffles that Jack did.

 

But Jack and Sam and Teal’c never came.

 

Was it because them wasn’t real?

 

Daniel shivered at the thought.  If Jack and Sam and Teal’c was imag’ary, then what about all the other things Daniel remembered?  What about the office with walls filled with books that maked him feel happy?  What about the black liquid he really liked to drink?  What about the SGC where he was needed and important?  What about all the things that said home, home, home to Daniel?

 

Did he maked them all up?

 

The bad mans had been so excited when them saw Daniel’s jacket with its SG-1 patch.  Them talked about how them would sell Daniel to a Goa’uld.  Daniel knew that was a really, really bad plan, so he had escaped and runned away.  Except for the needles in his head, Daniel didn’t remember the bad mans being mean to him, though.  He just hadn’t wanted to go to the Goa’uld.

 

But maybe Britta was right.  Maybe the bad mans had been so mean that Daniel had pretended lots and lots of things to feel better.

 

If it was all imag’ary, what was real?  Where was his real home?

 

Britta said this was his home.  That was good.  Even if he had pretend memories, he remembered foster homes and not being wanted, so he was really glad he had a home with Britta.  But that was for now.  What about before?

 

He knew—knew—with every part of his body that it was important to have a past.  Everyone had a story which could be read from the smallest fragment of their lives.  A pottery shard, a picture on a cave wall, a scrap of parchment.  Everything had history.

 

It wasn’t fair if none of Daniel’s history was real.

 

Daniel whimpered.  It was too scary like this.  He felt like a hole had opened up beneath him, and he was falling down it.

 

Relax, Sam said.  Calm your mind, Teal’c said.  You’re safe, Jack said.

 

Daniel didn’t know if he could believe them because them wasn’t real and without them, he didn’t have anyone.  He was alone and lost and scared.  Without them, everything was all wrong.

 

“Dannil?”  Britta’s voice sounded faraway.  Maybe he had maked her up too.  Maybe he was still on the bad mans’ ship and there was still needles in his head and he would never be safe…

 

Or maybe he was the imag’ary one.

 

“Ssh.  Ssh.”  Arms closed around him, and he seized the body in front of him because if he could touch and feel it, it was real and he was real, and right now, that seemed the most importantest thing in the whole wide world.  “That’s it.  Big, deep breaths.  I’m here, Dannil.  You’re safe.”

 

He managed to replace the shallow, gasping breaths with harsh gulps.  It hurted to drag air into his lungs, but Britta’s voice urged him to continue.  Jack and Sam and Teal’c agreed, their faces all pinched with worry as they watched.  So he breathed until his chest stopped feeling like it was being crushed by an invisible hand.

 

When he had relaxed, Britta leaned back and brushed sweaty hair off his forehead.  She was sitting beside him on the trundle bed, her legs tucked underneath her.  “What was that about?  Can you tell me?  Did you have a bad dream?”

 

“I was trying to figure out what was real.  I—I don’t know.  It’s all jumbled up.  I got scared.  I wanted…”  He stopped himself by biting his lip hard enough to hurt.

 

“Wanted what?”

 

“Jack,” Daniel admitted in a whisper.  “And Sam and Teal’c.  I want them to be real.”

 

Britta sighed and stroked her fingers through his hair some more.  “If you still need them, Dannil, you can pretend your imaginary friends are real for now.  But they’re private, do you understand that?  They’re just for you.  If you want to talk to them, you need to wait until you’re alone.”

 

Hope and relief flared through him in equal measures.  “Really?  They can stay?” 

 

He could live without everything else, as long as Jack and Sam and Teal’c was real.

 

“For now,” Britta repeated.  “Until you don’t need them anymore.”

 

He thought he would always need them, but he didn’t tell Britta that.  Teal’c pronounced caution to be a wise choice, and Jack asked if it was time for breakfast yet.  Daniel told Jack to hush, but he said it in his head so Britta wouldn’t hear.

 

#

 

Two days after Jacob had dropped them off on the planet, they still hadn’t found Daniel.  Jack had argued for only SG-1 on the search since there was no Stargate and they knew nothing else about the planet, but he was beginning to regret that decision by the eighth town.  They were up to twenty-one towns now, mostly small farming communities with technology that hadn’t progressed beyond pioneer days.  Everyone knew of the Traders, who occasionally sold a handful of children right before the spring planting.  Some had even purchased a child from them.  But none of the children was Daniel.

 

“I just talked to Dad,” Carter announced as they broke camp on the morning of the third day.  “He’s done with his mission, so he’ll be back here tomorrow.  And he’s heard from General Hammond and Janet.”

 

“Is there word on Captain Adams?” Teal’c asked.

 

Carter nodded.  “They’ve brought her home.  She’s fine.”

 

Jack shifted the weight of his pack and set off for the nearest town.  Carter and Teal’c fell in step behind him.  The “road” consisted of two dusty ruts where the wheels of wagons and buggies had left their tracks over a flat, prairie-like countryside.  The occasional homestead rose up out of the tall grasses, but for the most part, the view was boring.  Jack was beginning to miss trees.

 

“Still seven?” he asked to take his mind off the uninspiring landscape.

 

“Yes, sir.  Physically at least.  According to Janet, Sharon still has all her adult memories, but the Traders did something that altered her worldview.  For her, it’s perfectly normal that she’s a child.  Whenever someone tries to explain how she used to be an adult or points out the illogic of a child with so many memories, Sharon gets upset.  She refuses to accept anything that doesn’t fit into her perception of herself as a child.”

 

Jack tried to imagine Daniel in child form but couldn’t.  Daniel was too much of an old soul.  Except when he was excited about his latest discovery or feeling particularly idealistic, Daniel tended to be world-weary and wise beyond his years.  Even his eyes looked ancient some days.  Jack’s attempts to get Daniel to enjoy life were more often acknowledged with tolerant amusement than cheerful acceptance.

 

“It’s reversible, isn’t it?”  Jack didn’t want to contemplate any other possibility.

 

“The Traders have no idea how to undo the process.  It was never an issue for them because they could always steal more adults to experiment on.”  Carter’s voice was carefully professional, hiding her emotions.  “Anise thinks she understands how it works, though, so she’s confident she can reverse it.”

 

“We’re trusting Anise?  That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

 

“We don’t have much choice.  The science is way beyond us.  It would take years for me to figure it out.”

 

Jack grunted.  He’d sooner trust Carter than all the Tok’ra put together, but he’d go with whatever option prevented Daniel from having to relive childhood.

 

The empty prairie gave way to a cluster of buildings that made up this planet’s version of a town.  The ruts widened into well-traveled paths.  Along the main road were a dozen or so wooden buildings, most of them shoddily-constructed in Jack’s opinion.  He felt as if he were walking through the set of a Hollywood western.

 

Townspeople stopped whatever they were doing and stared as Jack, Carter, and Teal’c strode through the center of town.  If the weapons hadn’t given them away as strangers, the uniforms did.  Carter’s lack of a dress and bonnet was always good for a stare.  Despite the odd looks she was receiving, Carter did the make-nice and smiled or nodded at the people they passed while Jack ignored everyone and tried not to imagine Daniel bouncing along beside him, begging for a chance to stop and talk to the locals.

 

They headed for the mercantile.  They’d discovered during their search that the town’s general store was the best place for information.  Everyone stopped there eventually for supplies, and it often served as the post office as well.

 

A bell above the door announced their presence as they entered the mercantile.  Jack took in the large, single room in a quick scan.  The store was empty of customers.  It looked pretty much like every other store they’d visited on this godforsaken planet.  Teal’c stationed himself beside the wall of farming implements and knives.  Not that anyone had ever attacked them, but better to be safe than sorry.  Carter wandered over to the opposite side of the room where bolts of cloth in various materials and colors were stacked on a table.  Already-made garments were either folded in the shelves behind or hung for display.  Jack moved to the store’s counter just as a portly man, who appeared to be around Jack’s age, stepped out of a back room.  The shopkeeper faltered for a moment at the sight of them and then forced a smile.

 

“Welcome to Hollisbrook.  I’m Kenreth.  How may I help you today?”

 

“I’m Colonel Jack O’Neill.”  He indicated the others with a jerk of his thumb and introduced them, “Major Carter.  Teal’c.”

 

Kenreth flickered a glance to Teal’c, an odd expression settling over his face, almost as if he recognized the Jaffa.  “Teal’c,” he repeated slowly.  “And…Jack, you said?”

 

“That’s right.  We’re looking for--”

 

Kenreth’s gaze had slid onward to Carter.  “Are you Sam, by chance?”

 

Carter raised both eyebrows, startled.  “I—yes, I am.  Samantha Carter.”

 

“Jack and Sam and Teal’c.”  He huffed a small chuckle and then sobered, eyeing them warily.  “You are real, aren’t you?  You’re not demons or fairies or hallucinations or anything like that?”

 

“We’re real,” Carter assured him.

 

Hope was trying to curl its way around Jack’s heart.  He dashed it with a heavy dose of suspicion.  “How did you know her name?”

 

Kenreth grinned as if he were fighting back laughter.  “Does ‘don’t be an ass, Jack’ sound familiar to you at all?”

 

“Daniel,” Carter breathed.  “You’ve seen Daniel!”

 

Fifteen minutes later, they were bouncing along the ruts on the opposite side of Hollisbrook.  Teal’c sat on the front bench with Kenreth, watching with interest as the shopkeeper guided his team of horses.  In the back of the wagon, Jack and Carter collected a multitude of bruises as the uneven ride tossed them about.  Carter gritted her teeth and remarked that the wagon was at least faster than walking.  Jack said nothing, his gaze focused ahead and his heart pumping out a single word, Daniel.

 

Their journey ended at a simple, whitewashed house with a front porch.  Looking like a child at Christmas, Kenreth led them to the small house.  A leather latch served as a doorknob, and Kenreth pulled the door open with the familiarity of a welcome, oft-received visitor.

 

“Widow Britta!” he called out.  “I’ve brought guests.”

 

The door opened to a kitchen  The woman kneeling in the center of the room looked up from her task of scrubbing the wood floor.  Jack suspected she was close to Carter’s age, but the pioneer lifestyle had roughened her looks and brought early gray to her hair.  Even if Kenreth had not identified her as a widow, her eyes had the depth of maturity that hinted at loss and grief.

 

Britta dropped the heavy brush into the bucket of soapy water and stood.  She smiled hesitantly as she noted their odd clothes and weapons.

 

Jack thought Kenreth might burst from the anticipation of his surprise.  “Britta, I’d like to introduce…Jack and Sam and Teal’c.”

 

Kenreth spoke their names as if they were magic words.  Judging by Britta’s reaction, they might have been.  She reached blindly for the table beside her and sagged against its support.  Her face drained of color.

 

“They’re—you’re…”

 

“Real,” Kenreth said, his voice soft but triumphant.  He came forward and offered his arm.  She clutched at him, still staring at Jack, Carter, and Teal’c as if they were ghosts.

 

“You came for Dannil.”  That fact seemed to surprise her just as much as their existence.

 

“That’s right.  Where is he?”

 

Jack hadn’t meant the impatient snap in his voice, especially with the poor woman on the verge of a heart attack, but her reaction was making him nervous.  Daniel had obviously talked about SG-1.  Why weren’t they expected?  Why would Daniel bring up “don’t be an ass, Jack” and make no mention of “nobody gets left behind”?

 

Britta pulled herself together.  “This way.  Please.  He’ll be so happy that you’re here.”

 

They followed her into a small bedroom.  The three pieces of furniture—a bed, a chest, and a wash stand with a ceramic basin and pitcher—made the room seem cramped.  Teal’c and Kenreth were forced to wait by the doorway on the kitchen side.  A little, towheaded boy sat on the floor surrounded by a pile of wood blocks in different colors and sizes.  Jack’s heart wrenched.

 

“Daniel,” he said.

 

Daniel looked up and smiled.  “Oh, hey, Jack.”

 

After the brief acknowledgement, Daniel returned his attention to the blocks.  As he stacked the next block on the tower he was creating, his face scrunched in concentration and his tongue peeked out.

 

Jack glanced over his shoulder at Carter and admitted dryly, “Somehow I was expecting a more enthusiastic greeting than that.”

 

On the other side of Jack, Britta said, “Dannil, your friends are here.”

 

Daniel nodded amiably without looking up.  “Them is always here, you know.  But it’s okay, Britta.  I won’t talk to them right now.”

 

He balanced another block on top of his tower.

 

“For crying out loud, Daniel, talk to us.”

 

This time, Daniel glanced up long enough to frown his disapproval at Jack.  “Shush.  You’ll get me into trouble.  Be good, Jack.”

 

The glance flickered over to Britta.  Then guiltily averting his eyes, Daniel hunched his shoulders and focused on the blocks as if they were the most important thing in his world.

 

Carter slid around Jack, knelt beside Daniel, and rested her hand on his shoulder.  “Daniel, it’s us.  We’re here to take you home.”

 

Daniel turned his head to stare at Sam’s hand.  There was a look of confused wonder on his face.  “Sam, you’re touching me!”

 

“Is that wrong?”

 

She started to draw her hand back, but Daniel reached out and gently closed his fingers over hers.  He sucked in a breath at the contact.

 

“I can feel you.”

 

Jack bristled.  Bad enough that Daniel was four, but he was acting really weird.  “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

 

“It’s my fault,” Britta admitted, wringing her hands.  “Dannil talked to you all the time.  He would have entire conversations with no one else there.  I didn’t want others to believe him odd, so I convinced him you were imaginary, that you weren’t real because you couldn’t be touched or felt.  I didn’t know…”

 

She trailed off.  Jack had to admire the woman.  During the trip to her house, Kenreth had explained how Britta had taken Daniel in, pretending he was her own son rather than giving him up to the slavers.  It couldn’t have been easy to deal with a four-year-old who had memories not only of a more technologically advanced society but also an adult’s wider range of experience, especially since she didn’t know he had all those extra memories.  Daniel looked content and healthy, so Jack certainly wasn’t going to complain about being reduced to a flight of fancy.  He’d been called worse in his life.

 

Daniel’s surprise shifted.  “Britta, are you talking to Jack?!”

 

“I am, Dannil.  I see him now.  I see them all.  Jack and Sam and Teal’c.  They’re real, just as you said.  You’re going home.”

 

“Home?”

 

Jack exchanged a look with Carter.  If Daniel had all his memories, why didn’t he seem so confused?

 

“Yeah, home,” Jack said.  “You know.  The SGC.  Colorado.  Earth.”

 

Daniel’s eyes widened.  “The Stargate?  My office with the books?  It’s all real?  I didn’t maked it up?”

 

“It is indeed real, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c said solemnly.

 

With a tiny sob, Daniel scrambled to his feet and rushed at Jack.  He seized Jack’s legs, wrapping his arms around them so Jack couldn’t move without fear of toppling.  Daniel’s face nuzzled the material above Jack’s knee, and Jack didn’t understand what was happening until the tears started to seep through his uniform.  He hesitated briefly while his mind struggled to reconcile “This is a crying child” with “This is Daniel,” but the child’s need outweighed any awkwardness.  He scooped Daniel up and rocked him, whispering nonsense words to calm him.  It was an automatic reaction, a skill never quite forgotten, even though the words were rusty with disuse.

 

“Thank you,” Daniel breathed against Jack’s neck.  “Thank you for being real.”

 

#

 

After a less-than-thrilling procedure under Anise’s supervision, Daniel opened his eyes to the SGC infirmary and took stock.  He was tired, and all his muscles felt achy as if he’d strained them with too much exercise.  But the rest of his body seemed to be working correctly.  Best of all, he was the right age.

 

He remembered everything.

 

He sighed.  It was embarrassing to remember, actually.  He couldn’t connect now to that childlike mind, couldn’t understand why he had needed his teammates so desperately that he’d imagined their presence.  Even during their return to Jacob’s ship, with Daniel riding piggy-back on Teal’c and talking a mile a minute about his time in Hollisbrook, he’d panicked whenever he lost sight of one of his teammates.

 

“Look who’s finally awake.”  Jack approached the infirmary bed and handed Daniel a pair of glasses.  “Found your extras.”

 

Daniel slid them on and looked up.  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting.  Anger at the predicament Daniel had gotten himself into?  Pity?  Amusement?

 

Instead, Jack settled into the chair beside Daniel’s bed with what seemed like resignation.  “Wasn’t this one supposed to be a normal, unexciting mission for you?”

 

“I think I’ve forgotten what that is.”

 

Jack sighed.  “Yeah.  You and me both.”

 

“What would you have done?” Daniel asked, suddenly curious.  He clarified, “If I’d stayed a kid, what would you have done?”

 

“Retired,” Jack answered with blunt finality.

 

Daniel supposed he should have known that.  Ever the team leader, Jack would have found a way to blame himself for Daniel’s condition.

 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Jack stared as if he didn’t understand the comment.  Then his face cleared, and he leaned forward to emphasize his words.  “Retired to take custody of you.  To make sure you had a home to grow up in.”

 

“Oh.”  He needed a moment to realize what Jack was saying.  “Oh!  Um, thanks.”

 

Jack shook his head fondly.  “You were expecting a foster home, weren’t you?”

 

“I guess.  I didn’t…  I think part of me expected you to send me back to Britta.  I hadn’t thought about it, really.”

 

“Britta will be very glad you’re gone in, say, five months or so.  After all, who wants a kid around during the honeymoon?”

 

“You saw that too?”  Daniel grinned, happy that he hadn’t imagined the attraction between his temporary mother and the shopkeeper.

 

“Before we left, Kenreth pulled me aside and asked if I could bring you back for the wedding.  I had to tell him we couldn’t make it.  I figured we didn’t want to explain why you weren’t a kid anymore.”

 

“You know, we’ve had a lot of weird things happen to us, but being a kid again—that has to be one of the weirdest.”

 

“No arguments from me.”

 

Daniel yawned, fighting off an intense desire to sleep.  “What about the Traders?  We have to stop them from doing this to others.”

 

“We’re discussing options.  Don’t worry about it right now, okay?”  Jack patted Daniel’s arm and stood.  “Doc said you’d need a lot of rest.”

 

“Wait.  I wanted to ask…”  He sludged through his most recent thoughts, trying to remember what he needed to know before he could drift off.  “Sharon.  How’s Sharon?”

 

“She’s had a day or three longer than you to get used to being an adult again.  Doc cleared her for duty yesterday.”

 

“Good.”  Daniel yawned again and felt his eyelids drooping.  “Good.”

 

Jack chuckled.  “Get some sleep.”

 

Daniel nodded, but as Jack started toward the exit, a frisson of panic began to build up inside Daniel.  His grasp on reality didn’t feel solid enough for Jack to leave.  If Jack walked out the door, would Daniel ever see him again?  What if he was still a figment of Daniel’s imagination?  Daniel was too tired to remember what he had made up and what had been real.

 

He tried to call for Jack, to keep him from leaving, but the panic strangled everything, and the fatigue was dragging him under.

 

“Hey, breathe, Daniel.”  Jack’s voice sounded right next to Daniel. 

 

Daniel forced his eyes open.  “Jack?  Here?  Real?”

 

Jack lifted their intertwined hands and squeezed his fingers around Daniel’s.  “Feel that?  I’m touching you.  I’m real.”

 

“Stay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m staying.  Just go to sleep.  I’ll be here.”  As Daniel relaxed into the bed, Jack added, “And when you wake up, I expect you to tell me exactly where Kenreth heard the words ‘Don’t be an ass, Jack.’  You got that, spacemonkey?” §