Grounded
by Pho
"I DON'T KNOW!" The scream pierced the darkness as Daniel Jackson sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and unseeing, breathing labored, and sweating profusely. "I don't know. I don't know. Please believe me, I don't know. I...what?" Daniel glanced wild-eyed around the room as the nightmare faded into the past, and the reality of the present took hold. Sighing with relief, he flopped bonelessly back onto his pillow and studied a ceiling that he couldn't quite see. How long was this going to continue? Glancing at the clock, he saw the time - 4:00 AM. Realizing his attempts at slumber were gone for the night, Daniel rose and padded barefoot toward the kitchen, where the coffee should be just about ready and there just might be a Danish that wasn't covered with mold.
As he passed the bathroom, he suddenly became aware of just how hot and sticky he felt. Detouring into the bathroom, Daniel stepped out of the pajama bottoms, kicking them into the open hamper. He turned the shower controls, keeping one hand in the spray until the temperature was right, then stepped in, and promptly leaned against the shower wall. The almost-but-not-quite-hot water felt so good against his over-tired muscles. The ache in his back almost disappeared as the water beat rhythmically against his spine. And the steam seemed to do wonders for his headache. If only something would wash away the ache in his soul as easily.
Just how many ways were there to say, 'I do not know'? Daniel wondered as he lathered the soap across his chest. Actually, he conceded, regretting for once his ingrained need for fair play, probably a lot. After all, *he* knew twenty-three ways of saying the exact words. Not to mention all the variations such as 'I have no knowledge of this incident', 'that's news to me', or the ever popular 'ya think'.
A particularly sore spot on his chest brought home the fact that the Bedrosian commander hadn't seemed to care *which* form of 'I do not know' Daniel had used. Anything was a reason to hit him with the ... shock stick. It had taken over an hour on his knees in front of the unburied DHD - and one dead Bedrosian guard - to convince Daniel that Jack had Rygar pegged from the beginning. A fanatic of the worst kind; perfectly willing to destroy anyone or anything that upset his Bedrosian belief system. "No, we are not Obtrican spies." He sputtered and choked on the water as he realized the nightmare was hovering around him like a living thing. Staying just on the edges of his subconscious, always ready to pounce at a vulnerable moment.
Filling his palm with shampoo, Daniel gingerly washed his hair, taking care not to touch the bruises on his neck. At least, he thought guiltily, he didn't have to watch out for burns - unlike Jack. Daniel shuddered as the image of Jack O'Neill dropping helplessly into the side of the electrified cage presented itself for review. The young scientist could still see every horrifying microsecond of the fall, in glorious Technicolor slow motion cinematography. And time itself had seemed to stand still as he'd pleaded with Rygar to turn off the power to Jack's cage. At least Sam had been spared that horror. Already unconscious when the colonel was hit, but thankfully well clear of the electrified walls when she dropped to the floor.
Daniel yelped suddenly as the shampoo ran into his eyes and he rubbed at them frantically then lifted his face toward the shower stream. Tears poured from his eyes as the last of the shampoo was rinsed out of his eyes, and he wiped them carefully, deluding himself that all of the tears had been the result of the shampoo. Turning a few more times to remove the last of the soap, Daniel turned off the spray, and stepped out onto his linoleum floor. Leaving behind the steamy fog shrouding his bathroom, Daniel toweled himself dry as he returned to his bedroom and rummaged through his drawers for clean pajamas. Finding none, he settled for putting on a pair of boxers before he allowed himself a glance in the mirror.
Damn he looked tired. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and, even the blue in those was darkened by exhaustion. Seven days. It had been seven days since they'd made their ill-fated trip to P4X-947. Seven days of translations in his lab, off-world status reports from other teams, sessions with Nyam to acclimatize the young refugee to this world and visits with Teal'c to reassure himself that the Jaffa had taken no lasting hurt. Seven days - and seven nights. Nights of recurring nightmares of Rygar's hands as he thrust the shock stick into Daniel's body, Rygar's face as he gloated over Jack's potentially fatal position on the cage wall, Rygar's eyes which spoke of nothing but a fanatical need to destroy anything which invalidated his view of the universe, and Jack, God, Jack as his clothing sizzled against the wires. Thank God for military issue jackets.
Shaking his head to clear the horrific images from his mind, Daniel headed for his kitchen, where the coffee was fresh and the Danish were not. Promising himself a trip to the grocery store, Daniel dropped the last of the pastries into his trashcan, and poured himself a large mug of coffee. He contemplated briefly sitting at his table, but knowing how vinyl chairs react with unclothed flesh, he opted for his living room sofa instead.
Leaning his head wearily on the back of his sofa, Daniel wished he could rid himself of the nightmare memories. Why was this mission so much worse than earlier ones had been? Was it because he'd been singled out for questioning by a self-righteous demigod with delusions of adequacy? Was it because his team had been held hostage to his answers? Was it because *Jack* had almost paid the ultimate price for Daniel's inability to bluff? Sadly, the tired man realized it was all of the above. That his sense of failure was driving him down. Jack had said he'd done good, that no one expected any more from him than he'd given on P4X-947. But the truth was, *Daniel* expected more from himself. Words were his life, and they'd failed him on Bedrosia. Failed not only him, but his teammates. If Teal'c hadn't managed to convert Nyam - Daniel shuddered at what *might* have been. Still, Jack had given him glowing marks for his performance during the mission. And Jack was rarely, if ever, wrong about things like that. Daniel knew he'd been avoiding the older man since their escape from P4X-947. Perhaps it was time to seek out his commanding officer - no, his friend - and talk, really talk about what had happened there. Maybe then he could reconcile his own sense of failure to Jack's sense of accomplishment. And maybe then he could rest.