Losses

by Jb

There’s no doubt about it now.

I’ve had my suspicions for the last several days, ever since I called Daniel to come and see me about a new antihistamine I thought he might want to try, one which he could take much less frequently than his usual medication. He never showed up.

Of course, there have been other signs as well. Like yesterday, when I entered the briefing room and he abruptly got up from his seat and walked out, acknowledging my presence with little more than a slight nod. He’d left his virtually full cup of fresh coffee behind on the table.

Then there’s today. Scheduled for their follow-up medical assessment before being declared fit for return to field duty, SG1 was due in the infirmary at 1100 hours. Jack O’Neill, Teal’c and Captain Carter showed up right on time… but no Dr. Jackson. Sam had cheerfully informed me that Daniel had asked her to pass on a message to me; he was in the middle of a difficult translation, and would be along shortly.

It’s turned out to be a busy day for me. In addition to trying to cope with the myriad of unfinished reports stacked up on my desk, I’ve had the added pleasure of SG4 returning from their mission in considerably worse shape than when they left. Tens of stitches and two cast applications later I’ve admitted them all to the infirmary for observation overnight. Now it’s 1830 hours, and finally I get to sit down in my office to tackle the paperwork.

More often than not my days are unpredictable, so I try not to have any unalterable expectations. Today, though, one thing which definitely was expected is the one thing which hasn’t come to pass. I’m off duty in an hour, and so far Daniel is a no-show.

Dr. Daniel Jackon is avoiding me.

Now, ordinarily I like myself well enough that something like that – being avoided – wouldn’t bother me, however, I am the Base Physician here. You have got to wonder when someone starts studiously avoiding the Base Physician. Especially when it’s someone who’s been through a difficult ordeal just five days before. I am only too well aware of how unpleasant it must have been for Daniel… not only to experience the vivid hallucinations, but also the physical side effects and emotional let-down from the large doses of antipsychotic medications he received.

Part of me, the Medical Professional responsible-for-the-health-and-welfare part, wants to hunt the man down and give him the most invasive and stringently thorough medical exam that he has ever had, and will ever have, in his entire life. Then there’s the other part of me. The part that sincerely respects and cares for Daniel. That’s the part of me that is hoping like hell that there’s nothing wrong with him; the part that wonders just why he’s avoiding me but is not really too sure that it wants to find out.

"Dr. Fraiser?" It’s Carol, one of the nurses. "Dr. Jackson is here to see you."

I nod at Carol, and she heads off. I can see him now through the open door, leaning against the bed nearest to the office. He’s picking at the fraying edge of the folded blanket which rests on top of the bed. Daniel never could keep his hands still.  There’s something unsettling about his posture. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m thinking that it might not be a very good idea right now to remind him of how late he is. Later. I’ll pull my strict-doc routine on him later, once I know he’s okay.

"Daniel?" He looks up at me. "Come on in and have a seat."

And finally here he is, in the chair opposite my desk. Shuffling through all the paperwork, I’m having a bit of trouble locating his chart. "Damn." With all the rummaging around, I’ve just dumped half of the files on top of the desk right onto the floor. Fixing what I hope is an expression of apology on my face as I swivel my chair so I can recover the errant paperwork, I look up at Daniel.

Only to have him drop his head and avert his gaze. He’s not making a move to help me, either. I’m starting to get a sinking feeling that this day is not going to end at all well.

"Uh, do you.." oh damn. Grab two more, lose three to the floor again. It’s not easy to bend over to grope around on the floor for slippery file folders while trying to keep your knees together on the chair so nobody can see right up your skirt.

"Daniel, maybe you could just hold onto… mmm, these for me?" I’m in immediate danger of dropping the few I have managed to recover.

This time he kind-of looks at me, his chin held down almost to his chest and eyebrows lifting as he rolls his eyes up to gaze in my general direction. He’s not wearing his glasses, and I get a great view of those brilliant blue eyes. There’s something worrisome about the tilt of his head and the seriousness in those eyes. And he hasn’t moved an inch to take the files from me. Very un-Daniel-like.

Leaning forward, Daniel draws a file out from the disarray on the desk. "It’s right here. At least, I assume you’re looking for my record?"

He sits back and opens it, fingering the papers inside. I’m left to gape at him from my very unprofessional and unladylike position, juggling to keep hold of what I have in my hands and bent so far forward in my chair that I can hardly breathe. Maybe I need to go on a diet.

The heck with the files on the floor. The one that matters is right there, and our normally politely unobtrusive archaeologist is reading through it, apparently without concern for his overt breach of regulation and protocol. Besides, I’d best straighten up before I suffocate myself.

"Daniel, you shouldn’t be reading that."

"It’s about me, isn’t it." Uh-oh. Very un-Daniel-like, now… the expression on his face borders on open belligerence.

It takes considerable effort to shove aside the knowledge of his aggressive behavior of five days ago, when he was afflicted with Machello’s little Goa’uld killing glob. Plus, the look he is giving me now fuels the resurgence of an older memory… a memory of one very sore shoulder courtesy of a previously very ‘un-Daniel-like’ Daniel suffering through the ravages of withdrawal from the narcotic effects of the sarcophagus.

I know what’s in that chart he’s looking at, and I know it’s not something that I want him to see. I actually have been feeling a bit guilty about what is in there, written during that trying time before we knew what the problem really was. Even though most of what’s in there didn’t actually come from me – psychiatry is not my specialty – I had bought into it, had readily agreed with the diagnostic theories and management plans so dispassionately documented there.

Reaching forward, I pluck the file out of his hands. He gives me a disgusted look, rolling his eyes, and my vague sense of apprehension begins to solidify into real concern. The sigh that has been building in my chest is getting so big it could choke a horse. Something not very nice is brewing here.

Okay, try not to react. Keep it professional. "I have to ask you a few questions, and then we’ll do the physical exam, okay?" More for my peace of mind than for his, I look through the papers for the consultation report I received this morning from Dr. MacKenzie.

Finding it, I quickly summarize it aloud. "No headaches for the last few days; you’ve been sleeping all right. Dr. MacKenzie feels you’re fine to return to field duty, pending a thorough physical and my agreement. He suggested that you should continue taking the cogentin tablets for another twenty-four hours, though." I make a mental note to check for any residual tremors during the physical assessment.

Daniel had received frequent injections of several psychotropic medications while hospitalized. Due to the very high doses they had been forced to use, in an attempt to control the worst of his episodes, he had suffered a few side effects, mainly muscular tremors and headaches. While caught up in his spiraling psychosis Daniel had refused all oral meds, so it was only after he had lost his unwelcome passenger – the root of his illness – to Teal’c, that Dr. MacKenzie had been able to give him the cogentin tablets, needed for control of side effects.

Looking at him now, I can’t see any sign of residual side effects of the drugs. I don’t expect any, really; they would have settled within the first few days of being off the antipsychotic meds. What I do see before me is an uncharacteristically aggressive and borderline hostile young man.

As I sit here mulling this over, he’s staring at me. For someone who’s been avoiding me for four days and wouldn’t even look at me just a few minutes ago, his open stare is pretty direct. He’s rubbing the palm of one hand with the fingers of the other, so firmly that I can see patches of redness. Oh, boy… it isn’t a possibility of residual effects of the medications that have me worried. The rest of SG1, not to mention myself, haven’t experienced any lasting influence from the presence of Machello’s devices, but Daniel’s present behavior…

I can’t help but wonder if perhaps, maybe due to the extended length of time Machello’s little gift was inside him, Daniel might be experiencing some residual psychoses. I hope not. I don’t really know what to think, though. Daniel hasn’t exactly been around for me to observe over the last several days. Well, he has been around… just not around me. From the looks if it, that was purposeful on his part. All I really know for sure is that I’m beginning to feel a little unnerved, which is pretty rare for me.

"We should get on with it. I have a translation to get back to." Impatient words, but he doesn’t look particularly impatient. He looks… distinctly unfriendly.

I decide to postpone this conversation until after the physical exam. "All right. Why don’t you go on out to bed four, and put on a gown. We’ll do the physical now, and talk afterwards." Basically, I decide to chicken out… to hide behind the task-oriented efficiency of stethoscopes, blood pressure cuffs, and vinyl examination gloves while I try to figure out where the barely hidden hostility is coming from.

I’m out of my chair and at the door, and Daniel’s… not. He’s slid his rear as far forward in the chair as possible and is slouching against the backrest, the back of his head resting on the top of the back of the chair. I have this weird urge to join him, to tip my head back and look up to see what it is on the ceiling that is so interesting. I know, though, that what he’s really looking at is not on the ceiling.

He seems to have forgotten about wanting to get back to his translation, so I know it’s coming… whatever it is. I wait for it.

"I did some research." His tone is flat, almost as if he’s bored.

"Did you?" I notice his hands, resting in his lap. They’re perfectly still. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not. At least there’s no residual tremors, anyway.

"Loss of touch with reality, thought disorder, mistaken beliefs, hallucinations, excitement …"

Oh. That sort of research… he’s reciting recognized symptoms of psychosis.

"…delusions, changes in affect, fear." He sits up abruptly and turns in my direction, his face unreadable, but I think I see an accusation in his eyes. Or maybe that’s my guilt talking, I don’t know.

"Loss of the ability to function normally; primarily characterized by a loss of contact with reality. Neurochemical abnormalities may be implicated. Accepted treatment includes hospitalization, psychotropic medication, psychotherapy as deemed appropriate."  I realize with some surprise that he’s doing the same thing as I want to do. He’s hiding, behind typical textbook prattle.

"Yes." I nod.  I’m not too sure yet where he’s going with this.

"So, Doctor." I can’t help but wince at the hard emphasis he places on my title. "What was the plan? All of the above?"

Oh. Double-oh. Now I see where he’s going with this, and it hits me like a hammer right between the eyes. It’s a good thing for me that he is in control of his demeanor right now, that outwardly he’s so impassive. Because I think that if he weren’t, I might just start to cry.

The issue he’s just raised is something that I had thought about already… and brushed aside as, after all, things turned out okay in the end. I suppose now that it was naïve to think that it didn’t matter any more. Obviously the distinct possibility that he could have spent the rest of his life in that state matters a whole lot, to Daniel.

"Daniel…" He’s waving me off.

"Never mind. Let’s just get this done." He’s up, brushing past me through the door.

I reach out for his arm and he pauses not two inches in front of me, so that I get a magnificent view of his chest. He’s moving again, to leave. I can’t let him do that; I’ve changed my mind about chickening out. I think we have to have that talk now. I tighten my grip on his arm, but he seems to feel differently, because he’s giving me a look which clearly says ‘back off’.

As if the situation isn’t awkward enough, I need to squeeze out the door so that I can back up enough to get a better look at his face, to talk to him instead of the front of his shirt. As I do that, it’s occurring to me that this is a good thing. I’m on the outside now, and he is inside the office. The only way out is past me, and I’m not moving.

"Daniel, why didn’t you come to me? I could have answered any questions you had. We could have talked about this."

Yes, there’s definitely an accusation in those expressive eyes. The rest of him, though, is not responding to me.

"Okay then. I’m not sure exactly what your questions are, but I think I have a pretty good idea of what you need to know." Actually, more to the point, I have a good idea of what it is that he doesn’t need to know.

I also know Daniel; his single-mindedness and persistent quest for universal understanding is as much a plague to him as it is a gift. I know that if I don’t settle this with him here and now, he’ll seek out the information in other ways, in ways which don’t offer the comfort of friendship and understanding.  In ways like reading the damning cold, hard facts couched in painfully explicit and impersonal language, in medical reports.

I’m putting on my most endearing expression of entreaty, honed to precision many years ago while an intern seeking the invaluable guidance and respect of nursing staff.  Here’s a little tip: if you want to make it through internship, don’t get on the bad side of the nurses.

Now, though, I don’t need to force the look. It comes easily with the thought that behind that cold exterior Daniel is probably screaming… and I think he really needs to hear me.

It seems to be working. I see the possibility of a thaw happening here; a few deep breaths and the nibbling on his lower lip evidence of a slight slip in his control. "Please, Daniel." Ah. He closes his eyes, and I gently rub his arm. "Let me help to put this behind you."

He laughs then. It’s not a nice laugh, and abruptly all pretense is dropped. He’s angry and frustrated and hurt and it’s all showing on his face now. "Put it behind me? What, like put it out of my mind… just forget it?"

He’s not just angry, he’s very angry. "Like you were ready to let MacKenzie lock me away forever so you could put me out of your mind?" The words are hurtful not only for him. His accusation stabs through me like a sharp spear, and even though I realize that it’s an expression of his pain I can’t help but feel that his words are unjustified and cruel.

"No…" I start to protest;  I want to say that I would never forget about him, but he’s not going to let me. Now that I’ve pushed him into talking to me he’s going to make me pay for it.

"No… you, no. Tell me that I’m wrong. Tell me that if I hadn’t have come into direct bodily contact with Teal’c and that thing hadn’t left me… go ahead, tell me that I wouldn’t be locked up there for the rest of my life. Tell me that if Teal’c hadn’t of got sick you ever would have believed in me. Tell me what you were going to do to help me."

He stares at me, his face flushed with anger, but it’s what’s in those eyes, those incredibly expressive eyes, that says it all. There’s fear there, and terrible betrayal. What can I say? There is nothing to say, because he’s right. Barring any miracles he would still be there today, being driven into an ever-increasingly dim world of insanity, a world filled with horrifying visions and paranoia which no amount of forcible restraint and drugs could ever touch. He knows it.

At the start, there was only one of Macello’s Goa’uld-killing organisms and if it had stayed in Daniel, how aggressively would we have pursued the reasons for his illness? Sure, we might have dabbled a bit, mostly to please the very distraught rest of SG1, but deep in my heart I know that’s about it.

And yes, deep in my heart I know that eventually, with regret, I would have put him and his fate and his torment behind me.

He sees that. His pupils are huge as he watches me struggle both with his words and my thoughts. I watch him as he sees that admission on my face and I imagine – I hope – that he acknowledges the pain it causes me to realize that he is right.

His hands are on my shoulders, his touch very firm but not unkind as he moves me out of his way. He tips his head to one side, and for a moment I see our usual Daniel there, compassionate and caring and worried more for those around him than for himself.

"I know it’s nobody’s fault that I got… sick. Look, I know that you had no way of figuring out how to fix it. And maybe it wouldn’t have been your fault if I was left there." As soon as the words are out, he’s gone. The compassion is gone, and I see the hurt and betrayal again.

"But that’s not really the issue." He’s intent on me, and I have to nod. I know what he saying.

"I thought I could depend on you. God… you have no idea… it was torture. How long do you think I would have lasted?  How long before I lost touch with reality completely?  Not very long, and I knew it."  The panic he felt is laid out in front of me, raw pain in every line of his face.

"When you let him put me in there and cloud me up with all those drugs I knew, just like you know right now, that nobody was going to work very hard at doing a damn thing about it. I didn’t have much time, and you were wasting it. ‘Just pump him full of drugs and hide him away…’ you accepted it so quickly, so easily."

I can’t help it anymore, as much as I desperately want to I can’t deny what he’s saying and I can’t hold it back any longer. My chest seizes up as the tears flow and I work to suppress the worst of the sobs. "Daniel, I’m sorry…"

"Well I’m sorry, too.  I’m sorry, Dr. Fraiser, but I don’t know how I can trust you again."  The warmth of his hands on my shoulders is gone and in my next heartbeat, so is he.

It’s late. I’m all alone now, in a special place I know of where I can be completely alone. I’m sitting in the darkness of night, under the stars, in my car on the shoulder of the back access road. The dark majesty of the Colorado mountains surrounds me. Somehow their looming bulk is reassuring; I feel embraced by them.

I’m crying again, only now I don’t bother to hold back the sobs. This time I’m not crying out of guilt. I think I’ve managed to work that through in the four hours since Daniel let loose on me. I hope, this time, that my tears are more for him than for myself; for the horror he endured and the memories and feelings of betrayal that he’ll have to learn to deal with.

There have been times in the past that I have almost regretted joining the Stargate Project; times when the losses and the challenges have seemed too great. Like right now.

I know what happened here, with Daniel. The interests of the Project take precedence, as they always had and always should. Rightly so, we sought the cause of Daniel’s psychotic behavior not only to try to help him but to determine the presence of any threat to the Project… and as with countless times in the past, the emphasis was solidly upon the security of the Stargate Project. But we didn’t look very hard. Our worry about the underlying reasons for the unexpected illness was in the context of the rest of the Program.

That, this time, there was a palpable and immediate threat to the Project in this one man’s tormented behavior, was questionable. So, we concentrated on the still healthy. Without even realizing it we turned our attention away from Daniel’s individual suffering a little too readily, too quickly.

I ended up in the elevator with Daniel as I was leaving the base. The distance between us, in that little enclosure, felt immense. He just nodded at me, carefully neutral. I know just how upset he really is, and I can’t help but wonder what putting on that facade is costing him.

I’ve decided to send Daniel to the clinic at the Academy Hospital for his physical. He still needs it if he is to be approved for field duty, and I really don’t think he wants to bare his private bodily parts to me right now. Although it hurts to think that he has lost his faith in me, I guess I understand how he feels.

I really care about Daniel… I’m only now beginning to realize just how much I value him. I guess in this case it’s true, you really don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. I had his acceptance and his trust, his willing and easy company. His friendship. It’s gone now.

But I’m going to get it back. I’ll work harder than I’ve ever worked before, if I have to.

I am going to get it back.

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