Wasn't Worth It, Was It?
by Pho
Of all the stupid, stupid things to happen. Leave him alone for a little while on a strange planet, and look what happens. He gets dragged off into the sunset by an Unas, for crying out loud. Before he could count to three. In any one of twenty-plus languages. Only Daniel. Shit. Okay. It was three whole weeks and he wasn't alone, SG-11 was there with him, for all the good that did. We have him back now, but we lost some damn fine people doing it. SG-11 is gone. Destroyed by a primitive version of the Goa'uld we fight every minute of every day. Even Rothman. Poor little twerp. Never did like him, but not liking is a long way from wanting him dead. And dead by my hand, dammit-to-hell.
But Daniel's back now, bruised, battered, and bewildered. Safely in Janet Fraiser's very capable hands, and he's not even protesting her tests, even the more invasive ones that most men only endure when their wives finally force them to the doctor. That alone tells me more than I really want to know about his state of mind. He's thinking he's not worth it. That the cost of rescue was too high. And he's right ... about the cost. Even one dead is one too many. Any military commander worth his or her salt will say the same. But it's a price that all too often has to be paid.
He's wrong, though, about his worth. So very wrong. SG-11 did their job in going after Daniel. Daniel knows that. What he doesn't realize is that there wasn't a single team member, Rothman included, who wouldn't have gone to his aid regardless of duty, honor, and country. Still, he's gonna feel guilty. Probably already started to beat himself up, to find something he could have done differently. Yeah. Right. Like die. *Not* an option, Daniel.
The very idea of Daniel becoming ... the midday meal for a pack of Unas-wanta-be's sends a cold chill racing up my spine. We've lost him before. Thought him dead in a number of different ways. Even had his funeral. Twice. But the memorial after the Abydos mission was limited to my team, and the general. No one knew him back then, and sadly, no one really cared. And we've lost him before ... in the Land of Light to the Touched, and to MacKenzie. Enough said.
What makes this different? The blue plate special thing? Probably. I doubt being served as the main course is on anyone's top ten list of things to do in life. Of course dying in any fashion doesn't get top billing either.
With any luck, the Doc won't keep him for observation. What he needs is a night of forgetting. A night on my roof, with an unending supply of beer, pizza and his friends surrounding him. Telling him why it's okay for him to be alive. Hope Sam and Teal'c don't buy any foreign stuff. And I really hope they remember to keep the oven on warm.
******
Ouch! How does she do it? I didn't even know I had bruises there. Crap! There too. Uh oh. Janet's not looking happy. Okay. I know the drill. Shut up. Stop pushing her hands away. Be a good little vict...patient and she won't stick an enema up your butt. Let her do her worst. Think about something else.
Not a good idea. Keep having these visions of me with an apple in my mouth. Yes, Janet, that was a shudder, and no, I'm not cold. Naked, dammit to hell, but not cold. Thank you for asking ... and for making sure the blankets were warm. Wish you'd done the same for the stethoscope.
SHIT! Sorry, Janet. Didn't mean to pull away, but the back of my head is kinda tender. Comes from being knocked to the ground and dragged off. Kinda surprised I still have hair back there. I do still have hair, don't I?
Oh, no, no, no, no, NO. Not that. I've got bruises there. Yes, I know it's standard procedure, but ... Right. Remember the enema. Keep calm, quiet, cooperate, and I might get to go home soon. Odd. That's what I kept thinking back on P3X 888. Tied to the end of a damned vine. Being led along to my death. By all rights, I should be dead. Like the others.
God. It's so hard to take in. SG-11 dead. Robert dead. And for what? Me? It wasn't worth it. I'm not worth it. And from what Sam and Teal'c told me on that long walk back to the 'gate, SG-1 and SG-2 almost took casualties. So many gone. So many could have been gone. Don't dwell on could haves, Daniel. Not a good idea.
This isn't the first time people have died to keep me alive. It's hard to believe that they really want to see me, Daniel Jackson, safe. I used to think they were just doing their job, but I've seen ... actually, Jack's helped me to see ... that for some reason they think I'm important. I don't agree, and I sure don't understand it, but to dismiss their actions, their willingness to help *me*, would be to dishonor them. All of them. Those that have died, and those that are safe at home.
Wonder if Janet will let me go? I'm one big bruise, but staying here won't help that. What I really need is a night on Jack's roof, surrounded by my friends, all telling me that it's okay to be alive and me pretending to believe it. If I know Jack, he's sent Sam and Teal'c out for beer and pizza. Hope they get some foreign brews, they taste so much better than the stuff Jack likes.
******
Four o'clock and all is well. Carter outlasted Teal'c; will wonders never cease? But in all fairness the search for Daniel did keep him from doing that Kelnoreem thing on time. Gotta remember to ask her if the new couch sleeps better than the old one. As for Daniel, I think that last round of English beer ... really must talk to Carter about her choices ... might have turned the tide. The way Daniel's leaning on his hand, I know he's asleep. He'll tilt and lose his balance any minute, and wake up just enough to be steered to bed. But he's gonna be okay now.
Don't envy him the hangover he's gonna have, but it's been worth it. I've lost track of the number of times we toasted SG-11, Rothman, and all the others we've lost in this non-declared war. Leave it to Daniel to remember every name... when and where they died, the whole nine yards. Not just the ones who've given their lives to help rescue SG-1. All of them. And somewhere in the naming of names, it all came together for him. The reason, the purpose, the sacrifice. I saw it in his eyes, in the way his shoulders straightened of their own accord, then I handed him another beer, and the toasts continued.
I wish I could promise him that the dying will end, but I can't and we both know it. The old saying 'it's a dirty job but somebody's gotta do it' was never so true. We've all volunteered to be truly unsung heroes. The world may never know, etceteras, etceteras. Just pick your cliché. So for now, we'll drink a toast and name the names and just be grateful for all the times the list doesn't grow.